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The Boy Lived Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four Privet Drive were proudto say that they were perfectly normal thank you very much.They were the last people youd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.¼ÒסŮÕê·4 ºÅµÄµÂ˼Àñ·ò¸¾×ÜÊǵÃÒâµØËµËûÃÇÊǷdz£¹æ¾ØµÄÈ˼ҡ£°Ý-ÍУ¬°ÝÍÐÁË¡£ËûÃÇ´ÓÀ´¸úÉñÃØ¹Å¹ÖµÄʲ»Õ´±ß£¬ÒòΪËûÃǸù±¾²»ÏàÐÅÄÇЩаÃÅÍáµÀ¡£
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Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at number four, Privet Drive. Mr. Vernon Dursley had been woken in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from his nephew Harry's room.ÕâÌ죬ŮÕê·4ºÅµÄÔç²Í×ÀÉÏÓÖÆðÁËÕùÖ´¡£Ò»´óÔ磬¸¥Å©µÂ˼ÀñÏÈÉú¾Í±»ËûÍâÉû¹þÀïÎÝÀïµÄÒ»Õó¸ßÉù¹Ö½Ð³³ÐÑÁË¡£
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Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. For one thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of year. For another, he really wanted to do his homework but was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night. And he also happened to be a wizard.¹þÀû-²¨ÌØÊÇÒ»¸öÔÚºÜ¶à·½Ãæ¶¼·Ç³£²»Ñ°³£µÄÄк¢¡£ÆäÖУ¬Ëû×îÌÖÑá·ÅÊî¼Ù£»»¹ÓУ¬ËûºÜϲ»¶×ö¹¦¿Î£¬µ«²»µÃ²»ÃØÃܵؽøÐУ¬Í¨³£Ö»ÄÜÔÚÉîÒ¹£¬ÒòΪ£¬ËûÊÇÒ»¸öÎ×ʦ¡£
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The villagers of Little Hangleron still called it "the Riddle House," even though it had been many years since the Riddle family had lived there. It stood on a hill overlooking the village, some of its windows boarded, tiles missing from its roof, and ivy spreading unchecked over its face. Once a fine-looking manor, and easily the largest and grandest building for miles around, the Riddle House was now damp, derelict, and unoccupied.Сºº¸ñÁֶٵĴåÃñ»¹½ÐËü¡°ÃÕÕ¬¡±£¬¾¡¹ÜÀíµÂ¼ÒºÜ¶àÄêÇ°Ôø¾ÓסÔÚÄÇÀï¡£ÃÕլ׸ÂäÔÚСɽÉÏ£¬É½ÏÂÊÇ´åׯ£¬ÓÐʱ´°»§Óðå·â×Å£¬Îݶ¥ÉÏÍ߯¬²»È«£¬³£ÇàÌÙÅÀÂúÎÝǰ£¬ÒѺܾÃÎÞÈË´òÀí¡£ËüÒ»¶ÈÊÇÒ»×ù»ªÀöµÄׯ԰£¬ÊÇ·½Ô²¼¸ÀïÄÚ×î´ó×îÐÛΰµÄ½¨ÖþÎµ«ÏÖÔÚÈ´³±ÊªÒõö²£¬²Ð»¸¶Ï±Ú£¬ÎÞÈ˾Óס¡£
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The hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to a close and a drowsy silence lay over the large, square houses of Privet Drive. Cars that were usually gleaming stood dusty in their drives and lawns that were once emerald green lay parched and yellowing¡ªfor the use of hosepipes had been banned due to drought. Deprived of their usual car-washing and lawn-mowing pursuits, the inhabitants of Privet Drive had retreated into the shade of their cool houses, windows thrown wide in the hope of tempting in a nonexistent breeze. The only person left outdoors was a teenage boy who was lying flat on his back in a flowerbed outside number four.Ïļ¾×îÑÏÈȵÄÈÕ×ÓÖð½¥×ßÈëβÉù£¬Ð¡ÎĽðÕòÅ®Õê·ÉÏ˶´óµÄ·½·¿×Ó¶¼ÁýÕÖÔÚÏÄÄ©µÄã¼ÀÁºÍÄþ¾²Ö®ÖС£Ô±¾²ÁµÃêµÁÁµÄÆû³µÉÏÏÖÔÚÕ´ÂúÁ˳¾ÍÁ£¬Í£ÔÚ·¿×ÓÅԱߵijµÎ»ÉÏ£¬¶ø´äÂÌµÄ²ÝÆºÒ²ÏÔ³öÁËÆ¬Æ¬»Æ°ß££ÒòΪÏļ¾¸ÉºµÈ±Ë®£¬Õþ¸®ÒѾ½ûÖ¹ÓÃË®½½µØºÍÏ´³µÁË¡£ÔÚÏÄÌì³ýÁËÏ´³µÓë½½²ÝƺÔÙÎÞ±ðʵÄÅ®Õê·ס»§ÔÚ±»°þ¶áÁËÕâÁ½ÏîȨÁ¦Ö®ºó£¬Ö»ÓÐ·×·×¶ã»ØËûÃÇÒõÁ¹µÄ·¿×ÓÀ°Ñ´°»§¿ªµÃ´ó´óµÄ£¬»ÃÏë×ÅÄÜÓÐһ˿·çͨ¹ý¡£Õâʱºò´ýÔÚ·¿×ÓÍâÃæµÄÖ»ÓÐÌÉÔÚÅ®Õê·£´ºÅ»¨´ÔÀïµÄÒ»¸öÊ®ËÄÎåËêµÄÄк¢¡£
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It was nearing midnight and the Prime Minister was sitting alone in his office, reading a long memo that was slipping through his brain without leaving the slightest trace of meaning behind. He was waiting for a call from the President of a far distant country, and between wondering when the wretched man would telephone, and trying to suppress unpleasant memories of what had been a very long, tiring, and difficult week, there was not much space in his head for anything else. ²î²»¶à¿ìµ½ÎçÒ¹ÁË£¬Ê×Ïà¶À×Ô×øÔڰ칫ÊÒÀ¶Á×ÅÒ»·Ý³¤³¤µÄ±¸Íü¼£¬µ«ÊÇËûÄÔ×ÓÀïһƬ¿Õ°×£¬¸ù±¾²»Ã÷°×ÄÇÉÏÃæÐ´µÄÊÇʲôÒâ˼¡£ËûÔÚµÈÒ»¸öÒ£Ô¶¹ú¼ÒµÄ×Üͳ´òÀ´µç»°¡£ËûÒ»·½Ã滳ÒÉÄǸöµ¹Ã¹µÄ¼Ò»ïµ½µ×»á²»»áÀ´µç»°£¬ÁíÒ»·½Ãæ¿ËÖÆ×ŶÔÕâÒ»Âþ³¤¶øÀÛÈ˵ÄÒ»ÖܵÄÐí¶àÁîÈ˲»¿ìµÄ»ØÒ䣬ËùÒÔÄÔ×ÓÀï±ãûÓжàÉÙ¿Õ¼äÏë±ðµÄÊÂÇéÁË¡£
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The two men appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit lane. For a second they stood quite still, wands directed at each other¡¯s chests; then, recognizing each other, they stowed their wands beneath their cloaks and started walking briskly in the same direction.ÔÚÒ»ÌõÈ÷ÂúÔ¹âµÄÏÁÕС·ÉÏ£¬Á½¸öÄÐÈËÆ¾¿Õ³öÏÖÔÚÁËÏà¾à¼¸ÂëµÄµØ·½¡£ËûÃÇÒ»¶¯²»¶¯µØ¾²Á¢×Å£¬»¥ÏàÓÃħÕÈÖ¸×ŶԷ½µÄÐØÌÅ£»ºÜ¿ì£¬ËûÃÇÈϳöÁ˶Է½£¬½«Ä§ÕÈÊÕÔÚÁ˳¤ÅÛÏ£¬³¯×Åͬһ¸ö·½Ïò·ÉËÙ×ßÈ¥¡£
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