Then Dr. Armstrong jumped up and went over to him, kneeling beside him. When he raised his head his eyes were bewildered.
阿姆斯特朗大夫随即跳起来，跑了过去，在马斯顿身边蹲下。当他再抬起头来的时候，双眼茫然，透出深感迷惑不解的神态。
He said in a low awe-struck whisper: “My God! he’s dead.”
他轻轻地低语着，惊恐之极。“我的天！他死了。”
It was so sudden and so unexpected that it took every one’s breath away. They remained stupidly staring at the crumpled figure on the floor.
事情来得如此突然，如此意外，使在座的每个人都为之失神屏息，呆呆地干瞪着地上躇缩成一团的人。
No, they couldn’t take it in.
不，谁也不相信。
Dead? Dead? That young Norse God in the prime of his health and strength. Struck down all in a moment. Healthy young men didn’t die like that, choking over a whiskey and soda…
死了？死了？这位青春无限美好的年轻尊神，一下子就被打翻在地了？健壮的小伙子不会这样子死的，怎么会给一杯白兰地苏打呛住……
They didn’t take it in. Not at once.
那些人都没听懂，没有马上听懂。
General Macarthur said: “Dead? D’you mean the fellow just choked and — and died?”
麦克阿瑟将军说道：“死了？你是说这家伙呛了一下，于是——于是就完了？”
Dr. Armstrong was peering into the dead man’s face. He sniffed at the blue twisted lips. Then he picked up the glass from which Anthony Marston had been drinking.
阿姆斯特朗大夫凝视着死者的脸，还凑过去用鼻子嗅了嗅那发青的，扭歪了的嘴唇。然后把安东尼·马斯顿跌落在地上的酒杯拣起来。
The physician said: “You can call it choking if you like. He died of asphyxiation right enough.” He was sniffing now at the glass. He dipped a finger into the dregs and very cautiously just touched the finger with the tip of his tongue.
大夫说道：“你要说他是呛了一下，就说是呛了一下吧。但他完完全全是窒息而死的。”他现在去嗅那只杯子了。只见他用一个手指头蘸了一下杯中的余沥，万分小心地伸向舌尖轻轻地那么一碰。
Emily Brent said in a clear voice: “In the midst of life we are in death.”
埃米莉·布伦特清清楚楚地说道：“生即是死，无时无死。”
The judge said sharply: “It was in his glass?”
法官尖声问道：“那东西在他的杯子里？”
“Yes.”
“是在他的杯子里。”
General Macarthur said: “Never knew a man could die like that — just of a choking fit!”
麦克阿瑟将军说道：“从来没有听说过一个人能这样死了——就这么呛一下！”
“They’re both all right.”
“都没问题。”
Armstrong nodded.
阿姆斯特朗点点头。
His expression altered.
他换了一副神色。
“Yes. Can’t say exactly. Everything points to one of the Cyanides. No distinctive smell of Prussic Acid, probably Potassium Cyanide. It acts pretty well instantaneously.”
“是的。说不准。一切迹象看来像是氰化物之类。闻不出氢氰酸的特殊气味，可能是氰化钾。那玩意儿发作得特别快。”
Lombard said: “You mean — he must have put the stuff in his glass himself?”
隆巴德说道：“你意思是——想必是他自己把那玩意儿放到自己的杯子里去的了？”
Vera said almost in a whisper: “Was there — something — in the whiskey?”
维拉说话了，声音低得几乎像耳语：“搁了——什么——在白兰地里了吧？”
The doctor strode to the table where the drinks were. He removed the stopper from the whiskey and smelt and tasted it. Then he tasted the soda water. He shook his head.
大夫走到放酒的桌子那里，打开白兰地的瓶塞，闻闻，还尝尝。接着又尝了尝苏打水。他摇摇头。
Dr. Annstrong stood up. He said brusquely: “No, a man doesn’t die of a mere choking fit. Marston’s death wasn’t what we call a natural death.”
阿姆斯特朗大夫站起身来，突然说：“不，一个人不会因为这么呛一下就死了的。马斯顿的死并不是我们所说的那种自然死亡。”
Blore said: “Suicide, eh? That’s a queer go.”
布洛尔说道：“自杀，呃？真是怪事！”
Armstrong nodded with a curiously dissatisfied expression. He said: “Seems like it.”
阿姆斯特朗点点头，但是神色古怪，极不满意地说道：“看来好像是这样。”
Vera said slowly: “You’d never think that he would kill himself. He was so alive. He was — oh — enjoying himself! When he came down the hill in his car this evening he looked — he looked — oh, I can’t explain!”
维拉慢腾腾地说道：“谁也不会想到他会自杀。他多么生气勃勃！他正——喔——正过得美着呢！今天晚上他把车开下那个山坡的时候，他的神气简直就像——就像——喔，我真没法形容！”
But they knew what she meant. Anthony Marston, in the height of his youth and manhood, had seemed like a being who was immortal. And now, crumpled and broken, he lay on the floor.
其实大家都知道她要说什么：安东尼·马斯顿正处于青春年华、胸怀远大抱负的时光，怎么看都像是不朽的、死不了的。哪知而今竟一命呜呼，倒毙在尘埃之中了呢。
Dr. Armstrong said: “Is there any possibility other than suicide?”
阿姆斯特朗大夫问道：“有没有自杀以外的可能呢？”
Slowly every one shook his head. There could be no other explanation. The drinks themselves were untampered with. They had all seen Anthony Marston go across and help himself. It followed therefore that any Cyanide in the drink must have been put there by Anthony Marston himself.
他们一个个都慢慢地摇了摇头，沉思着。还能有什么别的说法呢？酒，谁也没有去动过，他们全都看见是安东尼·马斯顿走过去自己动手倒的。因此，不言而喻，酒里的氰化物也就是安东尼·马斯顿自己放下去的。
And yet — why should Anthony Marston commit suicide?
至于下一个问题——安东尼·马斯顿为什么要自杀呢？
Armstrong answered: “I agree.”
阿姆斯特朗回答说：“我同意。”
They had left it like that. What else was there to say?
话也就到此为止了，还有什么别的好说呢？
Blore said thoughtfully: “You know, doctor, it doesn’t seem right to me. I shouldn’t have said Mr. Marston was a suicidal type of gentleman.”
布洛尔思忖着说：“你知道，大夫，依我看，这不对头。我认为马斯顿先生决不是会自杀的那种人。”
Together Armstrong and Lombard had carried the inert body of Anthony Marston to his bedroom and had laid him there covered over with a sheet.
阿姆斯特朗和隆巴德一起把安东尼·马斯顿死沉沉的尸体放到他自己的房里，用被单盖起来。
He went across the hall into the dining-room.
他穿过客厅到饭厅去了。
Emily Brent said: “We’d better go to bed. It’s late.”
埃米莉·布伦特说道：“我们都去睡吧，不早了。”
“I’ll go and see, Sir.”
“我去看看，先生。”
It was past twelve o’clock. The suggestion was a wise one — yet every one hesitated. It was as though they clung to each other’s company for reassurance.
已经过十二点钟了。这个建议挺合适——但是谁都赖着不走，似乎都想呆在一起，好放心些。
The judge said: “Yes, we must get some sleep.”
法官说了：“是啊！我们得睡一会儿。”
Armstrong said to him: “Is your wife all right?”
阿姆斯特朗大夫则问他：“你太太没事了吧？”
Lombard said curtly: “Do it in the morning.”
隆巴德随口说道：“明天早上再干吧。”
He returned a minute or two later. “Sleeping beautiful, she is.”
他一会儿他回来了。“睡得正香呢。”
“Good,” said the doctor. “Don’t disturb her.”
“很好，”大夫说道，“别吵醒她。”
When they came downstairs again, the others were standing in a group, shivering a little, though the night was not cold.
他们下楼的时候，其余那些人正围成一圈站着。尽管那天晚上天气并不冷，但大家似乎都有点哆嗦。
“No, sir. I’ll just put things straight in the dining-room and make sure everything’s locked up right, and then I’ll turn in.”
“是，先生。我就把饭厅拾掇一下，也看看四周的门是不是都关好锁上了，我再回去。”
Rogers said: “I haven’t cleared yet — in the dining-room.”
罗杰斯说道：“我还没有收拾呢——得收拾饭厅。”
The others went upstairs, a slow unwilling procession.
其余的人，一个挨着一个，勉勉强强，慢慢腾腾地开始上楼。
In his pleasant softly tinted room, Mr. Justice Wargrave removed his garments and prepared himself for bed.
在这间色调柔和、摆设宜人的房间里，沃格雷夫法官先生正脱鞋宽衣，准备上床。
Somehow, that was the most frightening thing of all.
不知怎么搞的，现在却成了恐怖的深渊……
He was thinking about Edward Seton.
他一边还在想着爱德华·塞顿。
If this had been an old house, with creaking wood, and dark shadows, and heavily panelled walls, there might have been an eerie feeling. But this house was the essence of modernity. There were no dark comers — no possible sliding panels — it was flooded with electric lighteverything was new and bright and shining. There was nothing hidden in this house, nothing concealed. It had no atmosphere about it.
如果这是一所老宅院，地板踩上去嘎嘎作响，这儿阴一块、那儿黑一块，夹板墙又厚又沉的话，倒可能给人一种毛骨悚然的感觉。但现在这所房子是再时髦不过的了，找不到任何阴暗的角落——不可能有暗门滑墙什么的——到处灯火通明，一览无遗——每件东西都崭新、发亮，光鉴照人。屋子里啥都藏不住，没有秘密可言，连一点这样的气氛也没有。
They exchanged good-nights on the upper landing. Each of them went into his or her own room, and each of them automatically, almost without conscious thought, locked the door…
他们上了楼，互相道过晚安，各归各的卧室，而且不用说，全都自动地、想都不用想地锁上了门……
Llewellyn, for the Crown, had bungled it a bit. He had been overvehement, had tried to prove too much.
卢埃林，作为公诉人一方，捅了点儿漏子，冲动过火，太急于求成了。
He remembered Seton very well. His fair hair, his blue eyes, his habit of looking you straight in the face with a pleasant air of straightforwardness. That was what had made so good an impression on the jury.
他完全记得塞顿：漂亮的头发，蓝眼珠，看起人来总是那样坦然地直望着你，一脸的老实随和相，这也是为什么陪审团对他有那样强烈的好感的原因。
Matthews, on the other hand, for the Defence, had been good. His points had told. His cross-examinations had been deadly. His handling of his client in the witness box had been masterly.
马修斯，作为被告的一方，则表现得很出色。论点有力。他的盘问句句击中要害，简直是要命，他对证人席上当事人的那一套处理方法，真叫绝。
The judge wound up his watch carefully and placed it by the bed.
法官小心地把表上好弦，放在床头。
He remembered exactly how he had felt sitting there — listening, making notes, appreciating everything, tabulating every scrap of evidence that told against the prisoner.
他确切地记得当时他高坐在上的那股滋味儿——耳朵听着，手里记着，每一点都不放过，搜罗足以证实罪犯的那怕一丁点儿的证据。
He’d enjoyed that case! Matthews’ final speech had been first-class. Llewellyn, coming after it, had failed to remove the good impression that the defending counsel had made.
他对本案极感兴趣！马修斯的结束发言堪称第一流的了。而接着发言的卢埃林却全然未能消除被告律师所取得的普遍好感。
And then had come his own summing up…
之后就轮到他自己作总结了……
And Seton had come through the ordeal of cross-examination well. He had not got excited or over-vehement. The jury had been impressed. It had seemed to Matthews, perhaps, as though everything had been over bar the shouting.
而且，塞顿也顺利地经受住了盘问的考验，既没有紧张，也没有冲动，陪审团成员的脸上都浮现出受到感动的表情。按马修斯的估计，也许是大局铁定，就等着听众最后向他齐声欢呼的那个场面了。
Carefully, Mr. Justice Wargrave removed his false teeth and dropped them into a glass of water. The shrunken lips fell in. It was a cruel mouth now, cruel and predatory.
沃格雷夫法官现在小心地取下假牙，泡在水杯里。干瘪的嘴唇塌下去了，显示出一张冷酷无情的嘴，不但冷酷无情，而且还嗜血。
General Macarthur tossed from side to side.
麦克阿瑟将军在床上辗转反侧。
Downstairs in the dining-room, Rogers stood puzzled.
罗杰斯站在楼下的餐厅里，百思不得其解。
Sleep would not come to him.
瞌睡虫就是不肯光临。
With a slightly rheumatic grunt, he climbed into bed and turned out the electric light.
关节风湿病又有点来劲儿了，他哼哼卿卿地上了床，随手熄了灯。
In the darkness he kept seeing Arthur Richmond’s face.
黑影里，不断浮现出阿瑟·里奇蒙的面庞。
But she hadn’t found Arthur Richmond dull. They’d got on well together from the beginning. They’d talked of plays and music and pictures together. She’d teased him, made fun of him, ragged him. And he, Macarthur, had been delighted at the thought that Leslie took quite a motherly interest in the boy.
然而，她却不觉得阿瑟·里奇蒙傻。他们俩从一开始就相处得挺好。他们在一起谈论戏剧，谈论音乐和电影。她打趣他，取笑他，逗他乐。而麦克阿瑟呢，一想到莱斯利像母亲一样喜爱着这个大孩子，也感到乐滋滋的。
He was staring at the china figures in the centre of the table.
他对着桌子中央的那盘小瓷人儿在发愣。
He muttered to himself: “That’s a rum go! I could have sworn there were ten of them.”
他自言自语地嘀咕着：“见鬼了！我可以赌咒说原来统共是十个。”
He’d cooked Seton’s goose all right!
结果他还是把塞顿干掉了。
He’d liked Arthur — he’d been damned fond of Arthur. He’d been pleased that Leslie liked him too.
他喜欢过阿瑟——他一直是真他妈的宠爱过阿瑟，对莱斯利也喜欢阿瑟这一点，他也高兴过。
Hooding his eyes, the judge smiled to himself.
法官眯着眼，暗自好笑。
Leslie was so capricious. Lots of good fellows that Leslie would turn up her nose at and pronounce dull. “Dull!” Just like that.
莱斯利真叫人难以捉摸。对多少挺不错的人物她都嗤之以鼻，总是这么说：“傻瓜蛋一个！”
Motherly indeed! Damn fool not to remember that Richmond was twenty-eight to Leslie’s twenty-nine.
好一个像母亲一样！该死！竟连里奇蒙已经二十八岁而莱斯利只有二十九岁都忘了。
It had come about exactly in the way things happened in books, The letter in the wrong envelope. She’d been writing to them both and she’d put her letter to Richmond in the envelope addressed to her husband. Even now, all these years after, he could feel the shock of it — the pain…
事情发生得和小说里的故事一模一样。信纸装错了信封。她同时给他们两人写信，却把给里奇蒙的信纸装到寄给丈夫的信封里了。即使在事隔多年之后的今天，他仍然能感觉到当时的打击——痛苦……
He’d loved Leslie. He could see her now. Her heart-shaped face, and her dancing deep grey eyes, and the brown curling mass of her hair. He’d loved Leslie and he’d believed in her absolutely.
他是一直爱莱斯利的。他现在就看得见她。她那瓜子儿脸，深灰色的盼顾自如的双眸，褐色而浓密的鬈发。他一直爱着莱斯利，也一直绝对信任她。
And then — he’d found out!
可是，随后，他发现了！
Leslie — Leslie and Arthur!
莱斯利——莱斯利和阿瑟！
God, it had hurt!
天哪！真受不了！
And the business had been going on some time. The letter made that clear. Week-ends! Richmond’s last leave…
事情已经发生一段时间了，信里写得明明白白的。每逢周末，还有里奇蒙上次的公休……
Out there in France, in the middle of all the hell of it, he’d sat thinking of her, taken her picture out of the breast pocket of his tunic.
部队远处法国，日子过得够呛的。他总是坐着思念她，从军装上衣口袋里掏出她的像片来看。
God damn the fellow! Damn his smiling face, his brisk “Yes, sir.” Liar and hypocrite! Stealer of another man’s wife!
这个该死的家伙！他那张该死的笑脸，那个该死的响亮清脆的“是，长官！”骗子，伪君子！偷别人老婆的贼！
Had he succeeded? He thought so. Richmond hadn’t suspected. Inequalities of temper were easily accounted for out there, where men’s nerves were continually snapping under the strain.
他办到了吗？他认为还行。里奇蒙毫无察觉。身居异乡，远离家园，脾气好好坏坏算不了一回事，神经绷得太紧了，总是不断会犯嘀咕的。
It had gathered slowly — that cold murderous rage.
阴森森的杀机一点儿一点儿地滋长起来了。
He’d managed to carry on as usual — to show nothing. He’d tried to make his manner to Richmond just the same.
他得想法子照常办事——不露声色。对里奇蒙的态度也千方百计地做到一如既往。
Armitage, perhaps, had guessed — when the time came.
后来时机终于来了——也许，阿米泰奇是看出来了。
Only young Armitage had looked at him curiously once or twice. Quite a young chap, but he’d had perceptions, that boy.
就是小阿米泰奇有过那么一两次好奇地望着他，那孩子年纪还小着哪，就是有心眼。
He’d sent Richmond deliberately to death. Only a miracle could have brought him through unhurt. That miracle didn’t happen. Yes, he’d sent Richmond to his death and he wasn’t sorry. It had been easy enough. Mistakes were being made all the time, officers being sent to death needlessly. All was confusion, panic. People might say afterwards, “Old Macarthur lost his nerve a bit, made some colossal blunders, sacrificed some of his best men.”
他故意让里奇蒙去送死，要是那次里奇蒙能毫发不伤地回来，那才真叫做奇迹了，当然，奇迹并没有出现。不错，是麦克阿瑟有意叫他送命的，这一点他全无悔疚。那原本是件轻而易举的事，无时不有失误，军官们不断地被派去蒙受无谓的牺牲。到处是混乱，惊慌。过后有人也许会说：“老麦也慌神了，捅了大漏子，挺棒的部下，损失了好几个。”
But young Armitage was different. He’d looked at his commanding officer very oddly. He’d known, perhaps, that Richmond was being deliberately sent to death. (And after the War was over-had Armitage talked?)
但是，阿米泰奇可不是那么回事。他瞧起他的司令长官来，眼神就是与众不同。估摸他已经看出，里奇蒙是被有意派去断送了性命的。（那么，战争结束以后——阿米泰奇会不会讲出去呢？）
They couldn’t say more.
也就是这些了，别的还能说什么！
Leslie hadn’t known. Leslie had wept for her lover (he supposed) but her weeping was over by the time he’d come back to England. He’d never told her that he’d found her out. They’d gone on together — only, somehow, she hadn’t seemed very real any more. And then, three or four years later, she’d got double pneumonia and died.
莱斯利是不知道的。莱斯利为了心上人的死亡哭泣过（他估计），但当他重返英国的时候，她的伤心已经过去了。他从来没有向莱斯利戳穿他所察觉了的问题。他们又在一起生活下去了——只是她免不了经常惘然若失。就这样又过了三、四个年头之后，她患两侧性肺炎，香消玉殒了。
That had been a long time ago. Fifteen years — sixteen years?
那也是多年以前的事了，有十五年——十六年了吧？
And he’d left the Army and come to live in Devon — bought the sort of little place he’d always meant to have. Nice neighbourspleasant part of the world. There was a bit of shooting and fishing. He’d gone to church on Sundays. (But not the day that the lesson was read about David putting Uriah in the forefront of the battle. Somehow he couldn’t face that. Gave him an uncomfortable feeling.)
后来，他也离开军队在德文郡住了下来——买了小小的一块产业，实现了多年的愿望。邻居挺不错——天下乐土也莫过于此了。再来点狩猎、垂钓什么的，每逢礼拜上上教堂（除了布道讲大卫怎样把尤里亚弄到前线去送死的那天之外。他无论如何也听不得这个，太使他坐立不安了）。
Everybody had been very friendly. At first, that is. Later, he’d had an uneasy feeling that people were talking about him behind his back. They eyed him differently, somehow. As though they’d heard something — some lying rumour… (Armitage? Supposing Armitage had talked?)
大家都对他客客气气的。起初，情况就是这样。后来，他不安起来了，总感到有人在背后议论他的长短似的，见到他的时候，神色也不对头，多少有这么点儿吧，就好像他们都听到了什么——流言蜚语似的……（阿米泰奇？会是阿米泰奇说了些什么吗？）
And now — this evening — a hidden voice had blared out that old hidden story.
现在——就是这个晚上——一个神秘莫测的声音揭穿了一直保守秘密的这件陈年往事。
Surely nobody could have taken the accusation seriously. There had been a pack of other nonsense, just as far-fetched. That charming girl — the voice had accused her of drowning a child! Idiotic! Some madman throwing crazy accusations about!
当然，这种指控，谁也不会认真看待。水分太大，近似于捕风捉影。就拿那个可爱透顶的姑娘来说吧——那个“声音”指控她把一个孩子淹死了！疯话！天知道是哪一个疯子随便乱告乱攀的！
He’d avoided people after that — withdrawn into himself. Unpleasant to feel that people were discussing you.
从此以后，他总躲着别人——隐居独处。一个人总觉得有人在议论自己，确是不够舒坦的。
And all so long ago. So — so purposeless now. Leslie had faded into the distance and Arthur Richmond, too. Nothing of what had happened seemed to matter any more. It made life lonely, though. He’d taken to shunning his old Army friends. (If Armitage had talked, they’d know about it.)
总之，事过境迁，多少年过去了。所以说——所以现在完全是无缘无故的事了。莱斯利久已音容消逝，阿瑟·里奇蒙也一样。已经是过眼云烟了，还有什么问题呢？这样一来，生活也真孤单，他只能躲开军队里的那些老朋友。（万一阿米泰奇讲出来，那么他们就全都知道了。）
Had he dealt with it all right? Kept a stiff upper lip? Betrayed the right amount of feeling — indignation, disgust — but no guilt, no discomfiture? Difficult to tell.
他这样处理是否对头呢？咬紧牙关不开口？表示错综复杂的感情——愤慨、厌恶，但就不能显得心虚、张惶？说不准。
Emily Brent, too — actually a niece of old Tom Brent of the Regiment. It had accused her of murder! Any one could see with half an eye that the woman was as pious as could be — the kind that was hand and glove with parsons.
埃米莉·布伦特——其实就是军团里老汤海·布伦特的侄女。竟然也指控她谋杀！谁都能一眼就看出她真是再虔诚不过的人了——说她是牧师的羔羊吧，也相称！
Damned curious business the whole thing! Crazy, nothing less.
该死的怪事，压根儿就是！就是发疯，没别的！
He thought: “I wonder when we shall get away again.”
他想：“我真不知道什么时候才能脱身啊！”
He thought: Best of an island is once you get there — you can’t go any further… you’ve come to the end of things.
他想：小岛的妙处就妙在既来之则安之，再也无法往前走了……到了万事的归宿了……
Funny, just this minute he didn’t want much to get away from the island…
真有意思，此则此刻，他又不太想离开这个岛了……
To go back to the mainland, back to his little house, back to all the troubles and worries. Through the open window he could hear the waves breaking on the rocks — a little louder now than earlier in the evening. Wind was getting up, too.
再回到岸上去，回到他那所小宅院，去重新经受种种的是非烦恼。从敞开着的窗户里传来了阵阵惊涛骇浪拍击礁石的声音——要比傍晚时分更加沉重响亮。风也起来了。
Tomorrow, of course, when the motor boat came from the mainland.
当然，明天，只要岸上的摩托艇一来就走。
The light beside her was on. She was frightened of the dark.
她床头的灯还亮着。她怕黑。
She was thinking: “Hugo… Hugo… Why do I feel you’re so near to me tonight?… Somewhere quite close…”
她思潮起伏：“雨果……雨果……为什么我觉得今晚你老是盯着我？……好像就在我的身旁……
Ever since they had got here — when was that? Why, damn it, it was only this afternoon! Seemed a good bit longer than that.
自从他们到达这儿以来——什么时候到的？哟，该死！不是今天下午才到的吗？怎么好像过了那样长久了啊！
Vera Claythorne lay in bed, wide awake, staring up at the ceiling.
维拉·克莱索恩躺在床上，清醒地瞪着天花板。
He thought: Peaceful sound. Peaceful place…
他想，安息之声啊，安息的所在……
He knew, suddenly, that he didn’t want to leave the island.
他忽然之间明白了，他不想离岛往别处去了。
Cornwall…
康沃尔……
“Come out for a stroll, Miss Claythorne.”
“克莱索恩小姐，出来走走。”
(Or thought she knew.)
（也可以说她认为她清楚。）
“I want to swim out to the rock, Miss Claythorne. Why can’t I swim out to the rock?”
“我要游到礁石那边去，克莱索恩小姐。为什么不让我游到礁石那边去？”
Looking up — meeting Hugo’s eyes watching her.
睁眼往上一瞧——正好碰上雨果注视着她的目光。
The evenings after Cyril was in bed…
晚上，西里尔上床睡了以后……
Yes, she knew.
当然，她清楚。
“I love you. I love you. You know I love you, Vera?”
“我爱你，我爱你，你清楚我爱你吗，维拉？”
“I can’t ask you to marry me. I’ve not got a penny. It’s all I can do to keep myself. Queer, you know, once, for three months I had the chance of being a rich man to look forward to. Cyril wasn’t born until three months after Maurice died. If he’d been a girl…”
“我没法子要求你嫁给我。我一个子儿也没有，我只能养活我白己。你知道，说来也怪，有一次，足足有三个月我盼着一下子变成富翁的机会，机会就在我面前。要知道莫里斯（雨果的哥哥——译者注）死了整整三个月之后西里尔才出生的。要是西里尔是个女孩子……”
And then, Hugo’s arms round her.
就在这个时候，雨果用胳臂搂住了她的腰。
“I think perhaps I will.”
“好吧，我们去走一走吧。”
The decorous stroll down to the beach. The moonlight — the soft Atlantic air.
他俩规规矩矩地走到海滩了，月光——一派大西洋的气息。
It was no good trying not to think of Hugo. He was close to her. She had to think of him — to remember…
要躲开不去想雨果是不成的。他就在她的身边。她没法不去想他——没法忘了他……
The black rocks, the smooth yellow sand. Mrs. Hamilton, stout, good — humoured. Cyril, whining a little always, pulling at her hand.
黑色的海礁，坦荡的金色沙滩，胖墩墩而好心肠的汉密尔顿夫人，等等，等等。而西里尔呢，拉着她的手，吵着闹着没个完。
“Where is he really? I don’t know. I never shall know. He just went away — right away — out of my life.”
“他究竟在哪儿啊？我不清楚，我也永远不打算知道。他就这么走了——直截了当地走了——同我没有关系了。”
And then –?
后来——？
If the child had been a girl, Hugo would have come into everything. He’d been disappointed, he admitted.
要是这孩子是个女的，那就什么全归雨果所有了。他承认他失望极了。
Ten little Indian boys went out to dine; One choked his little self and then there were nine.
十个印地安小男孩，为了吃饭去奔走；噎死一个没法救，十个只剩九。
She thought: “I wish I had some proper sleeping stuff.”
她想：“如果我带着真正的安眠药就好了。”
“Miss Claythorne, why can’t I swim to the rock?”
“克莱索恩小姐，为什么不让我游到礁石那边去？”
“But, Miss Claythorne…
“可我……克莱索恩小姐……”
Vera got up. She went to the dressing — table and swallowed three aspirins.
维拉从床上爬起来，走到梳妆台旁，吃了三片阿司匹林。
“It’s too far, Cyril.”
“那儿太远了，西里尔。”
She thought: “If I were doing away with myself I’d take an overdose of Veronal — something like that — not Cyanide!”
她又想：“要是我也想了此一生的话，我就多吃些安眠药，可不要氰化物！”
“I hadn’t built on it, of course. But it was a bit of a knock. Oh, well, luck’s luck! Cyril’s a nice kid. I’m awfully fond of him.” And he was fond of him, too. Always ready to play games or amuse his small nephew. No rancour in Hugo’s nature. I Cyril wasn’t really strong. A puny child — no stamina. The kind of child, perhaps, who wouldn’t live to grow up.
“当然，我没有全扑在上面。然而，这仍然是个不小的打击。好吧，运气归运气！西里尔还是讨人喜欢的，我可是挺疼爱他的。”而这个孩子也确实喜欢他。他总是听这个侄子的，说要玩什么就玩什么，雨果是天性不记恨和怨的。西里尔先天不足，是个弱不禁风的孩子——缺乏耐力。也许可以说，是那种养不大、活不长的孩子……
Irritating whiney repetition.
生气，执拗，没完没了的唠叨。
She shuddered as she remembered Anthony Marston’s convulsed purple face.
她一想到安东尼·马斯顿七歪八扭的紫青脸，不由得一阵寒战。
As she passed the mantelpiece, she looked up at the framed doggerel.
她走到壁炉架前，又抬头望了望镜框里关于印地安小孩儿的歌谣。
She thought to herself: “It’s horrible — just like us this evening. Why had Anthony Marston wanted to die? She didn’t want to die. She couldn’t imagine wanting to die. Death was for — the other people…”
她暗自想道：“简直太可怕了——就像我们今天晚上一样……干吗安东尼·马斯顿要死呢？她可不要死。她不能想像要去死……死亡是别人的事……”
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