购买选项
| Kindle电子书价格: | ￥21.54 |
下载免费的 Kindle 阅读软件，即可立即在智能手机、平板电脑或电脑上阅读 Kindle 电子书 - 无需 Kindle 设备。了解更多信息
使用手机摄像头 - 扫描以下代码并下载 Kindle 阅读软件。
![“The Secret Garden (English Edition)”，作者：[Frances Hodgson Burnett, Sandra M. Gilbert]](https://images-cn.ssl-images-amazon.cn/images/I/51doYEnNW+L._SY346_.jpg)
The Secret Garden (English Edition) Rei Cen 版本, Kindle电子书
广告
显示所有 格式和版本
隐藏其他格式和版本
Two lonely children discover the power of friendship in this classic novel that inspired the film starring Colin Firth, Julie Walters, and Dixie Egerickx.
Mary Lennox, a spoiled and disagreeable child, has been orphaned in India and sent to live with her uncle Archibald Craven in Yorkshire, England. Still mourning the loss of his wife, Mr. Craven is away often and wants nothing to do with his niece, leaving Mary free to roam about the estate and spend time with Martha, her maidservant, and Ben Weatherstaff, the gardener.
When Martha tells her the tragic tale of Mrs. Craven and the cherished rose garden that Mr. Craven locked up after her death, Mary decides to find the key to this “secret garden.” Meanwhile, there is another mystery at Misselthwaite Manor: a strange crying sound that all of the servants pretend not to hear. Precocious Mary vows to discover the truth behind that as well . . .
A timeless story of friendship, loss, and renewal, The Secret Garden is a masterpiece of children’s literature.
This ebook edition has been professionally proofread to ensure accuracy and readability on all devices
Mary Lennox, a spoiled and disagreeable child, has been orphaned in India and sent to live with her uncle Archibald Craven in Yorkshire, England. Still mourning the loss of his wife, Mr. Craven is away often and wants nothing to do with his niece, leaving Mary free to roam about the estate and spend time with Martha, her maidservant, and Ben Weatherstaff, the gardener.
When Martha tells her the tragic tale of Mrs. Craven and the cherished rose garden that Mr. Craven locked up after her death, Mary decides to find the key to this “secret garden.” Meanwhile, there is another mystery at Misselthwaite Manor: a strange crying sound that all of the servants pretend not to hear. Precocious Mary vows to discover the truth behind that as well . . .
A timeless story of friendship, loss, and renewal, The Secret Garden is a masterpiece of children’s literature.
This ebook edition has been professionally proofread to ensure accuracy and readability on all devices
商品描述
????????????
From Publishers Weekly
Soothing and mellifluous, native Briton Bailey's voice proves an excellent instrument for polishing up a new edition of Burnett's story. Bratty and spoiled Mary Lennox is orphaned when her parents fall victim to a cholera outbreak in India. As a result, Mary becomes the ward of an uncle in England she has never met. As she hesitantly tries to carve a new life for herself at imposing and secluded Misselthwaite Manor, Mary befriends a high-spirited boy named Dickon and investigates a secret garden on the Manor grounds. She also discovers a sickly young cousin, Colin, who has been shut away in a hidden Manor room. Together Mary and Dickon help Colin blossom, and in the process Mary finds her identity and melts the heart of her emotionally distant uncle. Bailey makes fluid transitions between the voices and accents of various characters, from terse Mrs. Medlock and surly groundskeeper Ben to chipper housemaid Martha. And most enjoyably, she gives Mary a believably childlike voice. A brief biography of the author is included in an introduction. Ages 6-12.
Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to the Audio CD edition.
From School Library Journal
Grade 4-8-Originally published in 1911, the story of Mary Lennox's transformation from impudent orphan to compassionate friend in the forbidden garden of Misselthwaite Manor has been recorded for a new generation to enjoy. Frances Hodgson Burnett's classic is done justice by the vocal talents of Josephine Bailey. From the start, the narrator's lilting English accent will capture students' attention, but it is her vocal characterizations that will hold it. Abundant dialogue is enhanced with the authentic-sounding broad Yorkshire of the brusque Mrs. Medlock, the talkative Martha, and the crotchety old Ben, contrasted with Mary's precise and proper English. Bailey effortlessly captures the innocence of the young and the world-weariness of the old, while moving seamlessly between the two. There are no sound effects, and they are not needed. The overall aural quality is excellent. While the length of the production may initially scare off some listeners, those who persevere will be rewarded with a rich literary experience.
Leigh Ann Rumsey, Penn Yan Academy, NY
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. --This text refers to the Audio CD edition.
--此文字指其他 kindle_edition 版本。
Soothing and mellifluous, native Briton Bailey's voice proves an excellent instrument for polishing up a new edition of Burnett's story. Bratty and spoiled Mary Lennox is orphaned when her parents fall victim to a cholera outbreak in India. As a result, Mary becomes the ward of an uncle in England she has never met. As she hesitantly tries to carve a new life for herself at imposing and secluded Misselthwaite Manor, Mary befriends a high-spirited boy named Dickon and investigates a secret garden on the Manor grounds. She also discovers a sickly young cousin, Colin, who has been shut away in a hidden Manor room. Together Mary and Dickon help Colin blossom, and in the process Mary finds her identity and melts the heart of her emotionally distant uncle. Bailey makes fluid transitions between the voices and accents of various characters, from terse Mrs. Medlock and surly groundskeeper Ben to chipper housemaid Martha. And most enjoyably, she gives Mary a believably childlike voice. A brief biography of the author is included in an introduction. Ages 6-12.
Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to the Audio CD edition.
From School Library Journal
Grade 4-8-Originally published in 1911, the story of Mary Lennox's transformation from impudent orphan to compassionate friend in the forbidden garden of Misselthwaite Manor has been recorded for a new generation to enjoy. Frances Hodgson Burnett's classic is done justice by the vocal talents of Josephine Bailey. From the start, the narrator's lilting English accent will capture students' attention, but it is her vocal characterizations that will hold it. Abundant dialogue is enhanced with the authentic-sounding broad Yorkshire of the brusque Mrs. Medlock, the talkative Martha, and the crotchety old Ben, contrasted with Mary's precise and proper English. Bailey effortlessly captures the innocence of the young and the world-weariness of the old, while moving seamlessly between the two. There are no sound effects, and they are not needed. The overall aural quality is excellent. While the length of the production may initially scare off some listeners, those who persevere will be rewarded with a rich literary experience.
Leigh Ann Rumsey, Penn Yan Academy, NY
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. --This text refers to the Audio CD edition.
--此文字指其他 kindle_edition 版本。
??????
??????
CHAPTER I
There Is No One Left
When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow, and her face was yellow because she had been born in India and had always been ill in one way or another. Her father had held a position under the English Government and had always been busy and ill himself, and her mother had been a great beauty who cared only to go to parties and amuse herself with gay people. She had not wanted a little girl at all, and when Mary was born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, who was made to understand that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib she must keep the child out of sight as much as possible. So when she was a sickly, fretful, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when she became a sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the way also. She never remembered seeing familiarly anything but the dark faces of her Ayah and the other native servants, and as they always obeyed her and gave her her own way in everything, because the Mem Sahib would be angry if she was disturbed by her crying, by the time she was six years old she was as tyrannical and selfish a little pig as ever lived. The young English governess who came to teach her to read and write disliked her so much that she gave up her place in three months, and when other governesses came to try to fill it they always went away in a shorter time than the first one. So if Mary had not chosen to really want to know how to read books she would never have learned her letters at all.
One frightfully hot morning, when she was about nine years old, she awakened feeling very cross, and she became crosser still when she saw that the servant who stood by her bedside was not her Ayah.
“Why did you come?” she said to the strange woman. “I will not let you stay. Send my Ayah to me.”
The woman looked frightened, but she only stammered that the Ayah could not come and when Mary threw herself into a passion and beat and kicked her, she looked only more frightened and repeated that it was not possible for the Ayah to come to Missie Sahib.
There was something mysterious in the air that morning. Nothing was done in its regular order and several of the native servants seemed missing, while those whom Mary saw slunk or hurried about with ashy and scared faces. But no one would tell her anything and her Ayah did not come. She was actually left alone as the morning went on, and at last she wandered out into the garden and began to play by herself under a tree near the veranda. She pretended that she was making a flower-bed, and she stuck big scarlet hibiscus blossoms into little heaps of earth, all the time growing more and more angry and muttering to herself the things she would say and the names she would call Saidie when she returned.
“Pig! Pig! Daughter of Pigs!” she said, because to call a native a pig is the worst insult of all.
She was grinding her teeth and saying this over and over again when she heard her mother come out on the veranda with some one. She was with a fair young man and they stood talking together in low strange voices. Mary knew the fair young man who looked like a boy. She had heard that he was a very young officer who had just come from England. The child stared at him, but she stared most at her mother. She always did this when she had a chance to see her, because the Mem Sahib—Mary used to call her that oftener than anything else—was such a tall, slim, pretty person and wore such lovely clothes. Her hair was like curly silk and she had a delicate little nose which seemed to be disdaining things, and she had large laughing eyes. All her clothes were thin and floating, and Mary said they were “full of lace.” They looked fuller of lace than ever this morning, but her eyes were not laughing at all. They were large and scared and lifted imploringly to the fair boy officer’s face.
“Is it so very bad? Oh, is it?” Mary heard her say.
“Awfully,” the young man answered in a trembling voice. “Awfully, Mrs. Lennox. You ought to have gone to the hills two weeks ago.”
The Mem Sahib wrung her hands.
“Oh, I know I ought!” she cried. “I only stayed to go to that silly dinner party. What a fool I was!”
At that very moment such a loud sound of wailing broke out from the servants’ quarters that she clutched the young man’s arm, and Mary stood shivering from head to foot. The wailing grew wilder and wilder.
“What is it? What is it?” Mrs. Lennox gasped.
“Some one has died,” answered the boy officer. “You did not say it had broken out among your servants.”
“I did not know!” the Mem Sahib cried. “Come with me! Come with me!” and she turned and ran into the house.
After that appalling things happened, and the mysteriousness of the morning was explained to Mary. The cholera had broken out in its most fatal form and people were dying like flies. The Ayah had been taken ill in the night, and it was because she had just died that the servants had wailed in the huts. Before the next day three other servants were dead and others had run away in terror. There was panic on every side, and dying people in all the bungalows.
During the confusion and bewilderment of the second day Mary hid herself in the nursery and was forgotten by every one. Nobody thought of her, nobody wanted her, and strange things happened of which she knew nothing. Mary alternately cried and slept through the hours. She only knew that people were ill and that she heard mysterious and frightening sounds. Once she crept into the dining-room and found it empty, though a partly finished meal was on the table and chairs and plates looked as if they had been hastily pushed back when the diners rose suddenly for some reason. The child ate some fruit and biscuits, and being thirsty she drank a glass of wine which stood nearly filled. It was sweet, and she did not know how strong it was. Very soon it made her intensely drowsy, and she went back to her nursery and shut herself in again, frightened by cries she heard in the huts and by the hurrying sound of feet. The wine made her so sleepy that she could scarcely keep her eyes open and she lay down on her bed and knew nothing more for a long time.
Many things happened during the hours in which she slept so heavily, but she was not disturbed by the wails and the sound of things being carried in and out of the bungalow.
When she awakened she lay and stared at the wall. The house was perfectly still. She had never known it to be so silent before. She heard neither voices nor footsteps, and wondered if everybody had got well of the cholera and all the trouble was over. She wondered also who would take care of her now her Ayah was dead. There would be a new Ayah, and perhaps she would know some new stories. Mary had been rather tired of the old ones. She did not cry because her nurse had died. She was not an affectionate child and had never cared much for any one. The noise and hurrying about and wailing over the cholera had frightened her, and she had been angry because no one seemed to remember that she was alive. Every one was too panic-stricken to think of a little girl no one was fond of. When people had the cholera it seemed that they remembered nothing but themselves. But if every one had got well again, surely some one would remember and come to look for her.
But no one came, and as she lay waiting the house seemed to grow more and more silent. She heard something rustling on the matting and when she looked down she saw a little snake gliding along and watching her with eyes like jewels. She was not frightened, because he was a harmless little thing who would not hurt her and he seemed in a hurry to get out of the room. He slipped under the door as she watched him.
“How queer and quiet it is,” she said. “It sounds as if there was no one in the bungalow but me and the snake.”
Almost the next minute she heard footsteps in the compound, and then on the veranda. They were men’s footsteps, and the men entered the bungalow and talked in low voices. No one went to meet or speak to them and they seemed to open doors and look into rooms.
“What desolation!” she heard one voice say. “That pretty, pretty woman! I suppose the child, too. I heard there was a child, though no one ever saw her.”
Mary was standing in the middle of the nursery when they opened the door a few minutes later. She looked an ugly, cross little thing and was frowning because she was beginning to be hungry and feel disgracefully neglected. The first man who came in was a large officer she had once seen talking to her father. He looked tired and troubled, but when he saw her he was so startled that he almost jumped back.
“Barney!” he cried out. “There is a child here! A child alone! In a place like this! Mercy on us, who is she!”
“I am Mary Lennox,” the little girl said, drawing herself up stiffly. She thought the man was very rude to call her father’s bungalow “A place like this!” “I fell asleep when every one had the cholera and I have only just wakened up. Why does nobody come?”
“It is the child no one ever saw!” exclaimed the man, turning to his companions. “She has actually been forgotten!”
“Why was I forgotten?” Mary said, stamping her foot. “Why does nobody come?”
The young man whose name was Barney looked at her very sadly. Mary even thought she saw him wink his eyes as if to wink tears away.
“Poor little kid!” he said. “There is nobody left to come.”
It was in that... --此文字指其他 kindle_edition 版本。
There Is No One Left
When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow, and her face was yellow because she had been born in India and had always been ill in one way or another. Her father had held a position under the English Government and had always been busy and ill himself, and her mother had been a great beauty who cared only to go to parties and amuse herself with gay people. She had not wanted a little girl at all, and when Mary was born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, who was made to understand that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib she must keep the child out of sight as much as possible. So when she was a sickly, fretful, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when she became a sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the way also. She never remembered seeing familiarly anything but the dark faces of her Ayah and the other native servants, and as they always obeyed her and gave her her own way in everything, because the Mem Sahib would be angry if she was disturbed by her crying, by the time she was six years old she was as tyrannical and selfish a little pig as ever lived. The young English governess who came to teach her to read and write disliked her so much that she gave up her place in three months, and when other governesses came to try to fill it they always went away in a shorter time than the first one. So if Mary had not chosen to really want to know how to read books she would never have learned her letters at all.
One frightfully hot morning, when she was about nine years old, she awakened feeling very cross, and she became crosser still when she saw that the servant who stood by her bedside was not her Ayah.
“Why did you come?” she said to the strange woman. “I will not let you stay. Send my Ayah to me.”
The woman looked frightened, but she only stammered that the Ayah could not come and when Mary threw herself into a passion and beat and kicked her, she looked only more frightened and repeated that it was not possible for the Ayah to come to Missie Sahib.
There was something mysterious in the air that morning. Nothing was done in its regular order and several of the native servants seemed missing, while those whom Mary saw slunk or hurried about with ashy and scared faces. But no one would tell her anything and her Ayah did not come. She was actually left alone as the morning went on, and at last she wandered out into the garden and began to play by herself under a tree near the veranda. She pretended that she was making a flower-bed, and she stuck big scarlet hibiscus blossoms into little heaps of earth, all the time growing more and more angry and muttering to herself the things she would say and the names she would call Saidie when she returned.
“Pig! Pig! Daughter of Pigs!” she said, because to call a native a pig is the worst insult of all.
She was grinding her teeth and saying this over and over again when she heard her mother come out on the veranda with some one. She was with a fair young man and they stood talking together in low strange voices. Mary knew the fair young man who looked like a boy. She had heard that he was a very young officer who had just come from England. The child stared at him, but she stared most at her mother. She always did this when she had a chance to see her, because the Mem Sahib—Mary used to call her that oftener than anything else—was such a tall, slim, pretty person and wore such lovely clothes. Her hair was like curly silk and she had a delicate little nose which seemed to be disdaining things, and she had large laughing eyes. All her clothes were thin and floating, and Mary said they were “full of lace.” They looked fuller of lace than ever this morning, but her eyes were not laughing at all. They were large and scared and lifted imploringly to the fair boy officer’s face.
“Is it so very bad? Oh, is it?” Mary heard her say.
“Awfully,” the young man answered in a trembling voice. “Awfully, Mrs. Lennox. You ought to have gone to the hills two weeks ago.”
The Mem Sahib wrung her hands.
“Oh, I know I ought!” she cried. “I only stayed to go to that silly dinner party. What a fool I was!”
At that very moment such a loud sound of wailing broke out from the servants’ quarters that she clutched the young man’s arm, and Mary stood shivering from head to foot. The wailing grew wilder and wilder.
“What is it? What is it?” Mrs. Lennox gasped.
“Some one has died,” answered the boy officer. “You did not say it had broken out among your servants.”
“I did not know!” the Mem Sahib cried. “Come with me! Come with me!” and she turned and ran into the house.
After that appalling things happened, and the mysteriousness of the morning was explained to Mary. The cholera had broken out in its most fatal form and people were dying like flies. The Ayah had been taken ill in the night, and it was because she had just died that the servants had wailed in the huts. Before the next day three other servants were dead and others had run away in terror. There was panic on every side, and dying people in all the bungalows.
During the confusion and bewilderment of the second day Mary hid herself in the nursery and was forgotten by every one. Nobody thought of her, nobody wanted her, and strange things happened of which she knew nothing. Mary alternately cried and slept through the hours. She only knew that people were ill and that she heard mysterious and frightening sounds. Once she crept into the dining-room and found it empty, though a partly finished meal was on the table and chairs and plates looked as if they had been hastily pushed back when the diners rose suddenly for some reason. The child ate some fruit and biscuits, and being thirsty she drank a glass of wine which stood nearly filled. It was sweet, and she did not know how strong it was. Very soon it made her intensely drowsy, and she went back to her nursery and shut herself in again, frightened by cries she heard in the huts and by the hurrying sound of feet. The wine made her so sleepy that she could scarcely keep her eyes open and she lay down on her bed and knew nothing more for a long time.
Many things happened during the hours in which she slept so heavily, but she was not disturbed by the wails and the sound of things being carried in and out of the bungalow.
When she awakened she lay and stared at the wall. The house was perfectly still. She had never known it to be so silent before. She heard neither voices nor footsteps, and wondered if everybody had got well of the cholera and all the trouble was over. She wondered also who would take care of her now her Ayah was dead. There would be a new Ayah, and perhaps she would know some new stories. Mary had been rather tired of the old ones. She did not cry because her nurse had died. She was not an affectionate child and had never cared much for any one. The noise and hurrying about and wailing over the cholera had frightened her, and she had been angry because no one seemed to remember that she was alive. Every one was too panic-stricken to think of a little girl no one was fond of. When people had the cholera it seemed that they remembered nothing but themselves. But if every one had got well again, surely some one would remember and come to look for her.
But no one came, and as she lay waiting the house seemed to grow more and more silent. She heard something rustling on the matting and when she looked down she saw a little snake gliding along and watching her with eyes like jewels. She was not frightened, because he was a harmless little thing who would not hurt her and he seemed in a hurry to get out of the room. He slipped under the door as she watched him.
“How queer and quiet it is,” she said. “It sounds as if there was no one in the bungalow but me and the snake.”
Almost the next minute she heard footsteps in the compound, and then on the veranda. They were men’s footsteps, and the men entered the bungalow and talked in low voices. No one went to meet or speak to them and they seemed to open doors and look into rooms.
“What desolation!” she heard one voice say. “That pretty, pretty woman! I suppose the child, too. I heard there was a child, though no one ever saw her.”
Mary was standing in the middle of the nursery when they opened the door a few minutes later. She looked an ugly, cross little thing and was frowning because she was beginning to be hungry and feel disgracefully neglected. The first man who came in was a large officer she had once seen talking to her father. He looked tired and troubled, but when he saw her he was so startled that he almost jumped back.
“Barney!” he cried out. “There is a child here! A child alone! In a place like this! Mercy on us, who is she!”
“I am Mary Lennox,” the little girl said, drawing herself up stiffly. She thought the man was very rude to call her father’s bungalow “A place like this!” “I fell asleep when every one had the cholera and I have only just wakened up. Why does nobody come?”
“It is the child no one ever saw!” exclaimed the man, turning to his companions. “She has actually been forgotten!”
“Why was I forgotten?” Mary said, stamping her foot. “Why does nobody come?”
The young man whose name was Barney looked at her very sadly. Mary even thought she saw him wink his eyes as if to wink tears away.
“Poor little kid!” he said. “There is nobody left to come.”
It was in that... --此文字指其他 kindle_edition 版本。
作者简介
Frances Hodgson Burnett (1849-1924) grew up in England, but she began writing what was to become The Secret Garden in 1909, when she was creating a garden for a new home in Long Island, New York.Burnett was already established as a novelist for adults when she turned to writing for children.Little Lord Fauntleroy, written for her two young boys; the play A Little Princess, which became the basis for the novel of the same name; and The Secret Garden are the works for which she is most warmly remembered. --此文字指其他 kindle_edition 版本。
媒体推荐
基本信息
- ASIN : B00K5EBDX4
- 出版社 : Open Road Media Teen & Tween; 第 Rei Cen 版 (2014年5月27日)
- 出版日期 : 2014年5月27日
- 语言 : 英语
- 文件大小 : 2709 KB
- 标准语音朗读 : 已启用
- X-Ray : 未启用
- 生词提示功能 : 未启用
- 纸书页数 : 85页
- 亚马逊热销商品排名: 商品里排第174,814名Kindle商店 (查看商品销售排行榜Kindle商店)
- 商品里排第214名Children's Literature Classics（儿童文学名著）
- 商品里排第903名Fiction Classics（经典文学著作）
- 商品里排第1,856名Teen & Young Adult Literature & Fiction（青少年文学和虚构）
- 用户评分:
买家评论
4.6 颗星，最多 5 颗星
4.6星，共 5 星
131
买家评级
评分是如何计算的？
在计算总星级评分以及按星级确定的百分比时，我们不使用简单的平均值。相反，我们的系统会考虑评论的最新程度以及评论者是否在亚马逊上购买了该商品。系统还会分析评论，验证评论的可信度。
104 个顾客评论
热门评论
现在无法筛选评论。请稍后再试。
2016年7月2日
报告滥用情况
已确认购买
还以为是塔莎奶奶重新以秘密花园的故事位蓝本改编的绘本呢。。结果有点失望，并不是，不过，送货速度挺快的。是一本英文小说，但我本来是想买精装本就是塔莎奶奶的的画册。。我想我并不会看这本英文小说，毕竟太长了。纸质很薄，而且没有彩页，里头仅有的几副插画都是黑白的，呜呜。
有帮助
2015年11月17日
已确认购买
好好的书，送到手时书皮都折了，书角还开裂了！好心疼呜呜呜，只能赶紧用透明胶封一下。除此之外一切都很好，书的大小、字体大小和纸张手感都比较满意，封面也好看。书的内容是未经删改、完整的原版，唯一不足是前言里没什么有价值的内容，跟十几年前Penguin Classics版本的前言相比差远了。
2018年3月30日
已确认购买
一直都想阅读英文原版书，但大多数时候都在想法上，没有实际的行动，遇到这本书以后，我才真正的打开了我阅读英文原版书籍的大门。这本书我前后读了三遍才读懂，随着整个故事的脉络越来越清晰，感动也接踵而来。
2017年11月30日
已确认购买
我就是喜欢企鹅经典的封面，它象征着“放心去看”
2018年2月28日
已确认购买
这是一本关于友情和亲情的书，最终的一切都会被原谅，友情的温暖让少年找到生命的意义，亲人之间血浓于血的联系不会被多年的忽略所斩断，希望你可以好好爱我～
该商品在亚马逊美国有 2,139 条商品评论
%2520%25E4%25BD%259C%25E8%2580%2585%2520Frances%2520Hodgson%2520Burnett%2520%25EF%25BC%258C%25E7%258B%25AC%25E4%25B9%2590%25E4%25B9%2590%25E4%25B8%258D%25E5%25A6%2582%25E4%25BC%2597%25E4%25B9%2590%25E4%25B9%2590%25EF%25BC%2581%25E5%2588%2586%25E4%25BA%25AB%25E7%25BB%2599%25E5%25A4%25A7%25E5%25AE%25B6%25E3%2580%2582%26desc%3D%25E5%25BE%2597%25E6%259D%25A5%25E5%2585%25A8%25E4%25B8%258D%25E8%25B4%25B9%25E5%25B7%25A5%25E5%25A4%25AB~%25E6%2588%2591%25E5%259C%25A8%25E4%25BA%259A%25E9%25A9%25AC%25E9%2580%258AZ.cn%2520%25E6%2589%25BE%25E5%2588%25B0%25E4%25BA%2586%2520The%2520Secret%2520Garden%2520(English%2520Edition)%2520%25E4%25BD%259C%25E8%2580%2585%2520Frances%2520Hodgson%2520Burnett%2520%25EF%25BC%258C%25E7%258B%25AC%25E4%25B9%2590%25E4%25B9%2590%25E4%25B8%258D%25E5%25A6%2582%25E4%25BC%2597%25E4%25B9%2590%25E4%25B9%2590%25EF%25BC%2581%25E5%2588%2586%25E4%25BA%25AB%25E7%25BB%2599%25E5%25A4%25A7%25E5%25AE%25B6%25E3%2580%2582%26url%3Dhttps%253A%252F%252Fwww.amazon.cn%252Fdp%252FB00K5EBDX4%252Fref%253Dcm_sw_r_qq_dp_Z576YBT8SJZ493EM5PG6%26pics%3Dhttps%253A%252F%252Fimages-cn.ssl-images-amazon.com%252Fimages%252FI%252F51doYEnNW%252BL.jpg%26site%3DAmazon&token=9B13DA85CA79AC5AD1A80B4E48FB63BD551B5F2E){kind=link}
%2520%25E4%25BD%259C%25E8%2580%2585%2520Frances%2520Hodgson%2520Burnett%2520%25E3%2580%2582%26pic%3Dhttps%253A%252F%252Fimages-cn.ssl-images-amazon.com%252Fimages%252FI%252F51doYEnNW%252BL.jpg%26url%3Dhttps%253A%252F%252Fwww.amazon.cn%252Fdp%252FB00K5EBDX4%252Fref%253Dcm_sw_r_si_dp_Z576YBT8SJZ493EM5PG6%26appkey%3D620381579%26ralateUid%3D1732523361&token=36B9AEAD467564EF8BDA7C02AF2FBCFF86132272){kind=link}
%2520%25E4%25BD%259C%25E8%2580%2585%2520Frances%2520Hodgson%2520Burnett%26title%3D%25E6%2588%2591%25E5%258F%25AA%25E8%25B4%25AD%25E4%25B9%25B0The%2520Secret%2520Garden%2520(English%2520Edition)%2520%25E4%25BD%259C%25E8%2580%2585%2520Frances%2520Hodgson%2520Burnett%26pics%3Dhttps%253A%252F%252Fimages-cn.ssl-images-amazon.com%252Fimages%252FI%252F51doYEnNW%252BL.jpg%26url%3Dhttps%253A%252F%252Fwww.amazon.cn%252Fdp%252FB00K5EBDX4%252Fref%253Dcm_sw_r_qz_dp_Z576YBT8SJZ493EM5PG6&token=87C7E025B3B0C6F05A568CB05473FD455E4201D1){kind=link}