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[FONT=宋体]I thought of all those heroines of fiction who looked pretty when they cried, and what a contrast I must make with blotched and swollen face, and red rims to my eyes. It was a dismal finish to my morning, and the day that stretched ahead of me was long. I had to lunch with Mrs Van Hopper in her room because the nurse was going out, and afterwards she would make me play bezique with all the tireless energy of the convalescent. I knew I should stifle in that room. There was something sordid about the tumbled sheets, the sprawling blankets, and the thumped pillows, and that bedside table dusty with powder, spilt scent, and melting liquid rouge. Her bed would be littered with the separated sheets of the daily papers folded anyhow, while French novels with curling edges and the covers torn kept company with American magazines. The mashed stubs of cigarettes lay everywhere - in cleansing cream, in a dish of grapes, and on the floor beneath the bed. Visitors were lavish with their flowers, and the vases stood cheek-by-jowl in any fashion, hot-house exotics crammed beside mimosa, while a great beribboned casket crowned them all, with tier upon tier of crystallized fruit. Later her friends would come in for a drink, which I must mix for them, hating my task, shy and ill-at-ease in my corner hemmed in by their parrot chatter, and I would be a whipping-boy again, blushing for her when, excited by her little crowd, she must sit up in bed and talk too loudly, laugh too long, reach to the portable gramophone and start a record, shrugging her large shoulders to the tune. I preferred her irritable and snappy, her hair done up in pins, scolding me for forgetting her Taxol. All this awaited me in the suite, while he, once he had left me at the hotel, would go away somewhere alone, towards the sea perhaps, feel the wind on his cheek, follow the sun; and it might happen that he would lose himself in those memories that I knew nothing of, that I could not share, he would wander down the years that were gone. The gulf that lay between us was wider now than it had ever been, and he stood away from me, with his back turned, on the further shore. I felt young and small and very much alone, and now, in spite of my pride, I found his handkerchief and blew my nose, throwing my drab appearance to the winds. It could never matter. 'To hell with this, ' he said suddenly, as though angry, as though bored, and he pulled me beside him, and put his arm round my shoulder, still looking straight ahead of him, his right hand on the wheel. He drove, I remember, even faster than before. 'I suppose you are young enough to be my daughter, and I don't know how to deal with you, ' he said. The road narrowed then to a corner, and he had to swerve to avoid a dog. I thought he would release me, but he went on holding me beside him, and when the corner was passed, and the road came straight again he did not let me go. 'You can forget all I said to you this morning, ' he said; 'that's all finished and done with. Don't let's ever think of it again. My family always call me Maxim, I'd like you to do the same. You've been formal with me long enough. ' He felt for the brim of my hat, and took hold of it, throwing it over his shoulder to the back seat, and then bent down and kissed the top of my head. 'Promise me you will never wear black satin, ' he said. I smiled then, and he laughed back at me, and the morning was gay again, the morning was a shining thing. Mrs Van Hopper and the afternoon did not matter a flip of the finger. It would pass so quickly, and there would be tonight, and another day tomorrow. I was cocksure, jubilant; at that moment I almost had the courage to claim equality. I saw myself strolling into Mrs Van Hopper's bedroom rather late for my bezique, and when questioned by her, yawning carelessly, saying, 'I forgot the time. I've been lunching with Maxim. ' I was still child enough to consider a Christian name like a plume in the hat, though from the very first he had called me by mine. The morning, for all its shadowed moments, had promoted me to a new level of friendship, I did not lag so far behind as I had thought. He had kissed me too, a natural business, comforting and quiet. Not dramatic as in books. Not embarrassing. It seemed to bring about an ease in our relationship, it made everything more simple. The gulf between us had been bridged after all. I was to call him Maxim. And that afternoon playing bezique with Mrs Van Hopper was not so tedious as it might have been, though my courage failed me and I said nothing of my morning. For when, gathering her cards together at the end, and reaching for the box, she said casually, 'Tell me, is Max de Winter still in the hotel?' I hesitated a moment, like a diver on the brink, then lost my nerve and my tutored self-possession, saying, 'Yes, I believe so - he comes into the restaurant for his meals. ' Someone has told her, I thought, someone has seen us together, the tennis professional has complained, the manager has sent a note, and I waited for her attack. But she went on putting the cards back into the box, yawning a little, while I straightened the tumbled bed. I gave her the bowl of powder, the rouge compact, and the lipstick, and she put away the cards and took up the hand glass from the table by her side. 'Attractive creature, ' she said, 'but queer-tempered I should think, difficult to know. I thought he might have made some gesture of asking one to Manderley that day in the lounge, but he was very close. ' I said nothing. I watched her pick up the lipstick and outline a bow upon her hard mouth. 'I never saw her, ' she said, holding the glass away to see the effect, 'but I believe she was very lovely. Exquisitely turned out, and brilliant in every way. They used to give tremendous parties at Manderley. It was all very sudden and tragic, and I believe he adored her. I need the darker shade of powder with this brilliant red, my dear: fetch it, will you, and put this box back in the drawer?' And we were busy then with powder, scent, and rouge, until the bell rang and her visitors came in. I handed them their drinks, dully, saying little; I changed the records on the gramophone, I threw away the stubs of cigarettes. 'Been doing any sketching lately, little lady?' The forced heartiness of an old banker, his monocle dangling on a string, and my bright smile of insincerity: 'No, not very lately; will you have another cigarette?' It was not I that answered, I was not there at all. I was following a phantom in my mind, whose shadowy form had taken shape at last. Her features were blurred, her colouring indistinct, the setting of her eyes and the texture of her hair was still uncertain, still to be revealed. She had beauty that endured, and a smile that was not forgotten. Somewhere her voice still lingered, and the memory of her words. There were places she had visited, and things that she had touched. Perhaps in cupboards there were clothes that she had worn, with the scent about them still. In my bedroom, under my pillow, I had a book that she had taken in her hands, and I could see her turning to that first white page, smiling as she wrote, and shaking the bent nib. Max from Rebecca. It must have been his birthday, and she had put it amongst her other presents on the breakfast table. And they had laughed together as he tore off the paper and string. She leant, perhaps, over his shoulder, while he read. Max. She called him Max. It was familiar, gay, and easy on the tongue. The family could call him Maxim if they liked. Grandmothers and aunts. And people like myself, quiet and dull and youthful, who did not matter. Max was her choice, the word was her possession; she had written it with so great a confidence on the fly-leaf of that book. That bold, slanting hand, stabbing the white paper, the symbol of herself, so certain, so assured. How many times she must have written to him thus, in how many varied moods. Little notes, scrawled on half-sheets of paper, and letters, when he was away, page after page, intimate, their news. Her voice, echoing through the house, and down the garden, careless and familiar like the writing in the book. And I had to call him Maxim.

我想起小说里的那些女主角,她们在啜泣的时候,照样讨人喜欢。而我呢?浮肿的垢面,加上一对哭红的眼目,与她们相比起来,定是天上地下!整个上午就要这样郁郁地过去,而这一天剩下的时间还长着呢!护士即将离去,所以我又得同范-霍珀夫人一道在房间里吃中饭。饭后,她可能叫我一道玩贝西克①,而由于流感初愈,肯定兴致特别高,劲头特别足。我知道,关在那个房间里我迟早会闷死。乱作一团的床单,四散拖地的毯子,横七竖八的枕头,污秽的床边柜上沾着灰尘的香粉,泼翻的香水和溶化的口红——一想到这些,简直叫人恶心。她的床上一定又乱七八糟摊着各种报纸,看过随手胡乱一折就扔在那儿了;纸页卷着边、封面已残破不全的法国小说和美国杂志作了伴。在香膏瓶里,在葡萄果盘里,在床底下的地板上,到处是被捻熄的烟蒂。客人慷慨地送来许多鲜花,花瓶比肩接踵,杂乱无章。含羞草被暖房培养的奇花异卉挤得水泄不透,而在这一堆花草之上是一只缀着缎带的大花盒,排着一层又一层的蜜饯水果。再过一会儿,她的朋友们又会来串门,我就得为他们调制饮料。我痛恨这个差使。我还得躲在角落里听他们鹦鹉一样地饶舌,臊红着脸,手脚都不知往哪儿搁才好。客人一多,她就兴奋,所以准会在床上坐起,高声叫嚷,爆发出连串的笑声,伸手去打开手提式唱机放唱片,随着音乐的节拍晃动她肥大的肩胛。这时,我就又成了一个代主人受过的小厮,替她难为情。我宁愿她生气,宁愿看她用扣针扎起头发,责骂我忘记买回塔克索尔牌香烟时的样子——

①一种按规定凑花色的纸牌游戏,两人或四人玩,玩时用六十四张纸牌。

这一切都在旅馆房间里等待着我,而他呢?在把我扔在旅馆之后就可以独自出游。也许到海边去,让微风吹拂脸颊,追赶着太阳。也许他又会陷入那些我既无所知也无法共享的回忆之中,在逝去的岁月里漫步游荡。

我们之间的鸿沟张着大嘴,从来没像此刻这么不可逾越。他仿佛背向我站在辽远的彼岸。我深感自己幼稚而渺小,子然一身,于是再也顾不上面子,拿起他的手帕就擤鼻子。反正已经到了这种地步,我的样子再难看也无所谓了。

“见鬼去吧!”他突然说,好像是发火,又好像终于不耐烦了。他把我拉到身边,用手臂搂着我的肩头,一面仍然笔直地望着前方,用右手操纵方向盘。我还记得当时他甚至把车开得更快。“你还年轻,差不多可以做我的女儿,我实在不知道怎么对付你才好,”他说。这时,路面变狭,前面出现一个弯角。他不得不绕个圈避开一条狗。我以为他要放开我了,但他仍然把我搂在身边,转弯以后,公路又笔直地向前伸展,他还是没放开我。

“把今天早上我说的一切全忘了吧,”他说。“这些全是过去的事,统统都已了却。今后咱们再不许想这些往事。家里人都叫我迈克西姆,我要你也这样称呼我。你对我一本正经得够了。”他摸索着我的帽沿,接着把帽子抓在手里,摞到后座,他弯身吻我的前额。“答应我,你一辈子不穿黑缎子衣服,”他说。我破涕为笑。他也笑了,龃龉顿时冰释,早晨又变得光明灿烂!范-霍珀夫人和下午一切不愉快的事情都算不了什么,下午会很快过去,接着是夜晚,夜晚之后就是明天!我洋洋自得,欣喜若狂,在那一刻简直有勇气要求别人平等待我。我仿佛看到自己误了玩贝酉克的时间,很晚才懒洋洋走进范-霍珀夫人的卧室,一面漫不经心地打着阿欠回答她的问话:“我玩过头了,刚和迈克西姆一道吃了中饭。”

我实在还是个孩子,竟把一个教名看作非常值得炫耀的东西。事实上,从一开始,他就一直用教名称呼我。尽管出现过阴霾,这天的早晨把我推到友谊的一个新高度。原来我并不像自己想象的那样糟糕。他还吻了我,自然而又安静的一吻,使人很舒服,压根儿没有书本里描写的那种戏剧性,也不使人发窘。这一吻似乎使得我俩的关系变得自然而无拘无束,一切都简单多了。两人当中横着的沟壑终于填平;今后我要叫他迈克西姆了。那天下午陪范-霍珀夫人玩贝西克似乎也不像平时那么单调无味。不过我的勇气还不足,没敢跟她谈起早上的事情。牌局终了,她收起纸牌,伸手去取牌盒,这时她无心地问起他:“迈克斯-德温特还没离开吧?”我像潜水员离岸时那样稍稍迟疑一下,终于失却了勇气和苦练多时的自制力,回答道:“嗯,我想是吧。他——我看见他到餐厅吃饭来着。”

一定有谁看到我俩在一起,去对她说了。也许网球职业教练来告过状;也许旅馆经理写过条子给她。我等着她发起进攻。可她仍自顾自把纸牌收进盒子,打着呵欠,由我在一旁收拾皱乱的床铺。我把香粉罐、胭脂盒和口红一样一样递过去。她收好纸牌,从身边桌上拿起一面小镜子,又说起他:“挺诱人的家伙。我看就是脾气有点儿古怪,难以理解。那天在休息室里,我原以为他会作一点表示,邀请别人到曼陀丽去,没想到他的嘴咬得这么紧。”

我没答话,看着她拿着口红,在自己硬撅撅的嘴上勾出血红的弓形线条。她把镜子拿得远些,看着化妆效果如何,一面接着说:“我从来没见过她,但我相信她一定长得非常可爱、穿着考究,举止出众。在曼陀丽过去常常举行盛大的宴会。她的死实在是意外的悲剧。看来他一定深深爱她。我得敷上颜色深一点的脂粉才能与这儿的鲜红相配。亲爱的,给我拿点深色的粉来好吗?把这盒放回抽屉里去。”

接着,我就帮她涂脂抹粉,洒香水,搽口红,忙得不可开交,直到铃响客来。我迟钝地端上饮料,说不出几句应酬话;我在唱机上换唱片;我去拾掇烟蒂。

“小姑娘,最近画过什么素描吗?”一个老银行家装着热情的样子问我,单片眼镜悬在线上摆荡着。我言不由衷地装出一个明快的笑容回答他:“没有,最近没有。再来支烟吧?”

说这话的不是我,我的心根本不在那儿。我的思想在追逐一个幻影,她那影影绰绰的轮廊终于逐渐显露。不过,她的面貌依然隐晦,肤色尚不清晰;她那眼睛的长相和头发的色泽都还不甚分明,有待于显现。

她的秀美是永恒的;她那甜密的笑使人终生不忘。她的声音还在某处余音缭绕;她说过的话还留在人们记忆中。她曾涉足的地方景色依旧;到处都还有她亲手抚摸过的东西。也许柜子里还收藏着她穿过的衣服,上边仍然遗留着香水的气味。在我的卧室里,压在枕头底下的那本书,她就曾经捧在手里。我仿佛看见她打开空白的第一页,脸上挂着微笑,一挥弯曲的笔尖,在纸上写下:“给迈克斯——吕蓓卡赠”。那天一定是他生日,她把这本诗集连同其他礼物一起放在早餐桌上。当他撕开包装纸,解开丝线的时候,他们俩一起开怀大笑;当他翻阅诗集的时候,也许她曾伏在他的肩头。迈克斯!她叫他迈克斯!这称呼多亲昵,多帅,叫起来自在极了。家里人可以叫他迈克西姆,也就是说祖母、外婆、姨妈、婶婶都这么叫他,再有就是像我这样沉默寡言、平庸无趣、毫不相干的年轻人。而迈克斯是她选定的称呼,这个名字只属于她一人。诗集的扉页上,她就是带着这种自负写上这个名字的。那种粗大的斜体字,在白纸上飞扬跋扈,这本身就象征着她:如此旁若无人!如此自信!

多少次她就这样挥笔给他写信,报告自己的喜怒哀乐。其中有信手写在半张纸上的便条,也有当他出门时寄去的整页整页别人不能看的家信,上面写着只有他们俩才知道的事情。她的嗓音在屋子里回响,传到花园,无忧无虑,亲切流畅,就像她在书上留下的字迹一样。

可是,我只能叫他迈克西姆!
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[FONT=宋体]第06章

打点行装!起程真烦死人:忙着寻找失落的钥匙,领取空白的行李标签,包装薄纸狼藉一地,我讨厌这一切。即使在今天,我已习惯于动身出门,或者像俗话说的那样以旅馆为家,打点行装依然叫我心烦。今天,砰砰关上抽屉,打开旅馆或临时租赁别墅内那些毫无个性的衣橱和衣架,整理行装,已经成为生活里有条不紊的常规,但我仍感到悲凉,若有所失。这里毕竟是我俩住过的地方,在这里我们一起度过愉快的时光。不管逗留的时间何其短暂,即使只有区区两个夜晚,这地方曾经属于我们,这里留下了我们的痕迹。这并不是指留在梳妆台上的一枚发针,阿斯匹林药片的空瓶或枕头底下的手绢。不,不是指这些物质的有形痕迹;我们留下的是一生中的一个时刻,是思想和心境,是一种难以名状的东西。

这所房子曾接纳我们,我们在这儿互诉衷情,相亲相爱。但那已是昨天的事。今天,我们继续赶路,从此再也看不见这所房子。我俩身上都发生了些微的变化,再也不与昨天的自己完全一样了。有时我们在路边小客店歇响吃饭,我走进一间黑糊糊的陌生屋子去解手。我是第一次捏到这个门把,第一次看到这剥落成条的糊壁纸和洗手盆上方那面映像滑稽的小破镜。此刻,这一切都属于我,我和这些物件彼此相识。这一切都属于此时此刻,不是以往,也不是未来。此时此刻我在这儿洗手,破镜子映出我的脸,超越了时间的流逝。镜子里出现的是我,这一刻仿佛凝滞了。

接着,我打开门,走进饭厅。他正坐在桌旁等我。我顿时意识到倏忽之间自己又年长了一些,在人生的道路上向着未知的命运又跨出一步。

我俩相视而笑,一起点菜用饭,一面天南地北地闲聊。可是我暗暗对自己说,同五分钟前离开他时的自我相比,我已稍有改变;那个女人犹在往昔流连,我已变成另外一个人,一个更年长,更成熟的人……

前几天,我在报上看到蒙特卡洛的“蔚蓝海岸”旅馆换了经理,改了名,房间都重新布置,里面整个儿变样了。二层楼上当年范-霍珀夫人租用的那一套房间可能已经不复存在;我的那间小卧室大概连一点痕迹都没留下。那天,我跪在地上,笨手笨脚地替她的皮箱上锁,当时就有一去不返的预感。

皮箱啪地一声上了锁,我也就结束这一段遐想。望望窗外,我觉得自己仿佛在影集里翻开了另外一页。远近的屋顶和大海不再归我所有,而是属于昨日,属于往昔。随身衣物收拾停当之后,房间显得空荡荡,似乎巴不得我们快走,准备明天接待新客。大件行李已捆扎就绪,上了锁就放在外面的走廊里;小件衣物还得收拾。废纸篓塞满乱七八糟的东西,快撑不住了。这里有她的药瓶(里面还装着半瓶药)、丢弃的雪花膏罐、撕碎的账单和信件。抽屉洞开着,镶镜衣柜已空空如也。

前一天晨餐时,我正替她斟咖啡,她丢过来一封信,并告诉我:“海伦星期六坐船去纽约。小南希可能生了阑尾炎,所以他们打电报催海伦快口去。这一来我的主意打定了,我们也马上动身。欧洲委实无聊得要命,不妨等到初秋再来,怎么样,带你观光纽约这个主意不错吧?”

这主意比坐牢更可怕。我一定愁形于色,所以她始而惊讶地望着我,接着就生气了:

“你这孩子简直荒唐,不识好歹!我真不懂你是怎么想的。你难道不知道,只有在美国,像你这种没钱没势的年轻姑娘才能过得舒心。男朋友成群,那才有劲呢!都是些和你门当户对的小伙子。你可以自己找几个朋友,也不必像现在这样成天听我使唤。我原以为你并不怎么喜欢蒙特卡洛。”

“我只不过是在这儿住惯了,”我可怜巴巴地想出这个站不住脚的借口,心里可直嘀咕。

“那么,你就必须使自己也习惯于纽约的生活。行啦,就这么定了。我们得赶上海伦的那班船,所以立刻就得联系车票。你马上到楼下接待室跑一趟,让那小伙子办事麻利些。这一整天可够你忙的。哼,这样也好,省得你有时间为离开蒙特卡洛发愁。”她阴险地一笑,把香烟捻熄在黄油里,接着就去打电话通知朋友们。

我没有勇气马上到接待室去办这件事,于是,就走进浴室,锁上门,双手抱头坐在软木垫毯上、事情终于发生,得准备动身了。一切都完啦!明天晚上我将坐上火车,像个女佣人一样,抱着她的首饰盒子和她在车上用的护膝毛毯。卧车车厢里,她坐在我对面的位置上,头戴其大无比的崭新女帽,上插一支孤零零的鸟羽,身子缩在毛皮上衣里。我们将在那阿塞的小房间里漱洗。因为车行震动,房门呕嘟呕嘟作声,脸盆里溅出水来。毛巾湿漉漉的;肥皂上沾着一根头发;餐桌上的饮料瓶装着半瓶水;壁上则是千篇一律的通告:“Sonslelavabosetrouveunevase①”。列车吼叫着前进,每一次哐啷,每一下震动和摇晃都在宣告,我正离他越来越远。而他呢?他也许正坐在餐厅里我熟悉的那张桌旁看书,既不想念,也不留恋——

①法语:盥洗盆下有便壶。

动身前,也许会在休息室里跟他道声再会,但因为夫人在场,仅仅只能偷偷做个仓促的表示。道别之后,也许会有短暂的沉默,接着相互一笑,说几句客套话,诸如:“当然啦,一定得来信啊!”“喔,你真客气,我可不知道怎么感谢你才好!”“务必把照片寄来啊!”“请问你的地址?”“我一定奉告,”等等,等等。接着,他若无其事地掏出烟来,招呼从身边走过的侍者送个火,而我却在一旁黯然神伤:“再过四分半钟,我就再也见不到他了。”

因为我即将离开,因为我俩之间的友谊就此告终,一下子倒反而不知说什么好。我们就像素昧平生的路人,在此邂逅,既是最后一次,也是唯一的一次。但是我的心在剧痛中嚎叫:“我多么爱你,又多么不幸!这一切对我说来是生平头一遭,今后也决不会有了。”可是脸上还要装出平常的一本正经的假笑,嘴上还得哺哺胡说些什么:“看,那老头儿多滑稽!他是谁,大概是旅馆的新客。”就这样,我们在一起嘲笑一个陌生人,浪费了这最后的时刻。我们所以会这样做是因为此时我们自己也已经成了陌生人。

“但愿那些照片印出来还不错,”绝望之中,我只好老调重弹。他回答说:“是啊。广场上照的那张大概相当不错,那天光线恰到好处。”两人就这么漫无边际地胡扯,大家都心照不宣,按着一样的口径说话。其实,照片印出来是不是模糊,或者是否印得出,我根本不在乎,因为这已是最后话别的时刻。

我脸上挂着凄戚的苦笑,再一次向他道谢:“嗯,真得再好好谢谢你,玩得实在很‘来劲’①……”说话时用上几个平素不用的字眼。“来劲”,这个词儿什么意思?天知道。我可不管,用了再说。那原是女学生观看曲棍球时使用的词,拿来形容过去几周悲喜交集的感受极不恰当——

①原文为“ripPing”。

接着,电梯门大开,范-霍珀夫人出现在眼前,我穿过休息室向她走去,;他则信步走回自己的一隅,随手捡起一张报纸。

坐在浴室的地上,我就这样做着一连串可笑的想象,还想到了旅途和到达纽约时的情景。我想到海伦尖利的嗓音,那女人简直是她母亲惟妙惟肖的翻版;还有南希,海伦的女儿,一个成天哭闹的小淘气。我想到范-霍珀夫人将介绍我认识的那些大学男生以及和我地位相当的银行小职员,都是些长着塌鼻子的油滑少年,轻佻地对我说:“星期三晚上出去逛逛好吗?”“喜欢爵士音乐吗?”而我还不得不装作礼数周到的样子。到那时,我一定也会像此刻一样,只想关在浴室里独自出神遐思

她来了,砰砰地撞门:“你在干什么?”

“啊,好了,好了。对不起,我这就来。”我故意打开水龙头,在里边忙乎一阵,把一块毛巾搭上横木。

我打开门,她疑惑地打量着我说:“你怎么在里头呆了老半天?今儿早上可没时间让你胡思乱想,要干的事情多着呢?”

几周之内他自然要回曼陀丽去,这点我敢肯定。大厅里,一大堆来信等着他,我在船上匆匆写出一封信也混在其中。这是一封言不由衷的信,闲话同船旅伴,仅仅想博他一笑。读完以后,他把信往吸墨纸台里随手一插,直到几个星期以后,某一个星期天的早上,午饭之前,他在付账时偶然发现了,这才匆匆目覆。以后,音讯告绝,一直到圣诞节才寄张贺年卡,让受件人再次痛感你只不过是无足轻重之辈。圣诞贺年片,上印的可能就是满地白霜的曼陀丽庄园。贺辞是烫金的印刷文字:“祝圣诞愉快,新年如意。迈克西米利安-德温特。”不过,为了表示友好,他可能破例用笔把贺年片上印着的名字划去,在底下亲笔写上:“迈克西姆赠”,而倘若贺年片上还有空余的地方,至多再加上一句:“希望你在纽约过的愉快。”接着,用舌尖舔湿信封的胶水,贴上邮票,把它往一大堆待发的信件中一扔完事。

“明天就走?太遗憾了。”旅馆接待室的职员一手拿着电话筒一面对我说。“下星期上演芭蕾舞,范-霍珀夫人知道吗?”基地,我从曼陀丽的圣诞节回到火车卧车的现实中来。

那天,范-霍珀夫人在餐厅吃中饭,这是她患流行性感冒以来第一次进餐厅。跟她走进大厅,我直觉得胸口阵阵灼痛。关于他的行止,我只知道他白天到戛纳去了,这是上一天他自己告诉我的。可我还是提心吊胆,生怕侍者唐突地跑来问我:“小姐今天是不是同往常一样与先生一道进餐?”所以,每当侍者走近餐桌,我就捏把汗,幸好他什么也没说。

一整天都在收拾行李。晚上,人们跑来告别。晚饭是在起居室里吃的,饭后她立刻上床。到这时为止,我还没见到他。九点半钟的时候,我借口索取行李标签,下楼到休息室去,可他不在那里,接待室那个令人厌恶的职员冲着我笑笑说:“如果你是找德温特先生,那是白费心了,戛纳方面来电话说,他在半夜以前不会回来。”

“我要一纸袋行李标签,”我回答说。但从他的眼色我看出他根本不相信我的话。

这么说来,连最后一个夜晚也被剥夺了。整个白天,我一直期待着这个宝贵的时刻,这样一来,也只得由我独自关在房间里苦挨苦度,呆呆地望着我那破旧的皮箱和塞得满满的帆布袋出神。不过,这样也好,因为倘若那晚和他在一起,我一定是个很糟的伴儿,他可能从我脸上看出我的心思。

我记得那一夜把头深埋在枕头里大哭了一场,年轻姑娘辛酸的眼泪滚滚不住。那时我才二十一岁,换了今天,就不可能哭得这么伤心。那天晚上真是哭得昏天黑地,两眼红肿,咽喉干涩。早上起来,我急得要命,用海绵浸着冷水洗脸,搽花露水,偷偷地敷粉,想把夜里大哭的痕迹掩盖过去。我平时不搽粉,这么一来其实反而招眼。同时,我还怕情不自禁地再哭,嘴角抽搐几下就可能引起灾祸,引出涌泉似的泪水。我记得自己曾推开窗户,探出身子,希望早晨清新的空气能拂散脂粉底下眼圈上的红肿,别让人一看就知道我哭过。太阳似乎从来没有像今天这样明亮;白昼也从来没有像今天这样和煦晴朗。蒙特卡洛突然变得友善而妩媚,成了世间唯一诚挚待人的地方。我爱蒙特卡洛,我的心头充满着柔情。我多么希望一辈子都住在这里。可是,今天就得离开!我站在这面镜子前最后一次梳理头发;我在这脸盆里最后一次漱洗;我再也不会睡在这张床上过夜;我再也不会去扭这个开关熄灯。我穿着晨衣在这普普通通的旅馆房间里踱步,沉浸在离别的怅惘之中,不能自拔。

“你没受凉吧?”吃早饭的时候她问我。

“不,大概没有。”这倒是根救命稻草。如果我的眼圈过分红肿,待会儿可以用这个去搪塞一阵。

“我不喜欢在打好行李之后还拖沓着不走,”她咕哝着说。“我们本应打定主意坐早一班车走。要是想想办法,大概能弄到票的。这样,我们在巴黎就可以多呆些时候。打个电报给海伦,叫她不要凑我们时间了,另外想法子碰头。不知道——”她看看表,接着说:“我看让他们调车票还来得及,不管怎么样,可以试一试,你下楼去问问看。”

“好吧。”我是个十足的傀儡,由她随心所欲地差遣。我走进卧室,脱了晨衣,穿上那件从不离身的法兰绒裙子,套上自己缝的短褂。对于她,这会儿,我已不但是抱着冷淡态度,我开始恨她。这样一来,一切全完了,连早上这点时间也从我手里夺去,甚至无法在庭院里花半个小时——即使短短的十分钟也好——说一声再见!而唯一的原因就是没有料到早饭那么快就吃完,她厌烦了。好吧,既然这样,我也顾不得什么清规戒律,什么分寸和脸面。我砰地关上起居室的门,沿走廊奔去,等不及电梯来,就一步三级跑上扶梯,直登四楼。我知道他住在148号房间,我满脸通红,上气不接下气地擂起门来。

“进来!”他叫道。我一边推门,一边已经有点后悔,勇气渐渐消失。因为昨夜睡得晚,他此刻也许刚刚醒来,头发蓬乱地躺在床上,火气特别大。

他正站在打开的窗户旁刮脸,睡衣外面套着一件驼毛茄克。与他一比,穿着法兰绒衣裙和大皮鞋的我显得十分臃肿,原先我还以为自己这样寻上门来颇有点戏剧性,殊不知不过是出洋相。

“怎么啦?”他问道。“发生什么事了?”

“我是来告别的,”我说。“今天早上我们就要走了。”

他直愣愣地看着我,接着把剃刀放在洗睑架上,要我把门关上。

我带上门。局促不安地垂手站着。“你在胡说八道些什么?”他问我。

“真的,我们今天就走。本来决定晚一班车走,可是现在她又想赶乘早班车。我怕再也见不到你,我感到走以前必须再见你一面,说声谢谢。”

在我的想象中,这是两个毫无意义的字,但它们还是笨拙地滚了出来。我浑身僵直麻木,觉得说不出的别扭。一刹那之间,我甚至想用“来劲”这个词儿形容他的为人。

“为什么不事先告诉我?”

“她昨天才匆匆决定。她女儿星期六坐船去纽约,我们要同她一路走,所以要到巴黎去会合,然后再到瑟堡会。”

“她要把你带到纽约去吗?”

“是的。可我不想去。我恨纽约之行。我会很苦恼的。”

“那干吗还要跟她去?”

“我不得不跟她去,这你是知道的。我在挣钱,和她分手,对我说来损失太大。”

他又捡起剃刀,把脸上的肥皂弄掉。“坐下,”他对我说。“只要一会儿,我到浴室里去穿衣服,五分钟就好。”

他从椅子里拿起衣服,扔在浴室地上,接着走进浴室,砰地把门关上。我在床边坐下,开始咬指甲。整个儿事情像在做梦;我觉得自己像个木偶。不知道他这会儿作何感想,准备怎么办。我环顾四周,这是普普通通的一个男子的卧室,凌乱而缺乏个性。鞋子很多,多得根本穿不了;还有成串的领带;镜台上空荡荡的,只有一大瓶洗发液和一对象牙梳子。没有照片,没有小影,这类东西一点也没有。我凭着直觉寻找这类东西,以为房间里至少会有一帧照片,也许放在床头,也许在壁炉架搁板的当中,一帧镶着皮边镜框的大照片,但是没有。我只看到一些书,还有一箱香烟。

果然,五分钟之内他穿好了衣服。“走,下楼到平台去,陪我吃早饭。”

我看看表说:“没时间了。我这会儿本来早该在服务台换车票了。”

“别管这些,我一定得跟你谈一谈,”他说。

我们沿走廊走去,他按铃招呼电梯。我暗暗想,他自然不知道再过一个半小时左右,早班车就要开车。一会儿,范-霍珀夫人一定会打电话到服务台去问,我是不是在那儿。

我们乘电梯下楼,一路没说话,又沉默着走上平台,早餐桌子都已布置停当。

“你吃点什么?”

“我吃过早饭了,”我告诉他。“无论如何我在这里只能再果四分钟。”

“咖啡、煮鸡蛋、吐司、果酱。再来一客蜜桔。”他吩咐侍者拿早饭来,接着就从衣袋里取出一块刚石片,开始修挫指甲。

“这么说来,范-霍珀夫人对蒙特卡洛厌倦了,她想回家。我跟她一样,也想回家。她回纽约,我回曼陀丽,你爱上哪儿?自己选择吧。”

“别开玩笑,这时候还说笑话真不该,”我说,“看来,我得去弄票了,就在这儿告别吧。”

“如果你以为我是那种在吃早饭时故作滑稽的人,你就错了,”他说。“清早总是我脾气最坏的时候。我再说一遍:要末跟范-霍珀夫人去美国,要末跟我回曼陀丽老家,两条路由你选择。”

“你是说,你想雇一个秘书之类的人?”

“不,我是要你嫁给我,你这个小傻瓜!”

侍者送来早饭,我两手放在膝上,看他把咖啡壶和牛奶壶一一摆上桌子。

“你不懂,”侍者走开后,我说。“男人可不找我这样的人结婚。”

他放下小匙,瞪眼望着我,问道:“你这话究竟是什么意思?”

我看着一只苍蝇落在果酱上,他不耐烦地一挥手把它赶走。

“我说不上来,”我一字一顿地说。“说不清,至少有一点:我不是你那个圈子里的人。”

“什么圈子?”

“曼陀丽啊,你知道我的意思。”

他拿起舀匙,吃了一点果酱。

“你简直和范-霍珀夫人一样无知,愚蠢。关于曼陀丽你知道些什么呢?你是不是属于那个圈子,只有我才能下判断。你以为我是一时冲动才向你求婚的吗?因为你说了不愿去纽约?你以为我要你嫁给我,就像我开车带你出去一样;对了,还有第一次请你吃饭,都仅仅为了表示我的仁慈?难道你不是这样想的吗?”

“我正是这样想的,”我想。

他一面把果酱厚厚地涂在吐司上,一面说:“总有一天,你会发现慈善决不是我的优良品质。眼下,我看你什么也不明白。你还没给我一个答复。你打算嫁给我吗?”

即使在神魂颠倒、忘乎所以的时刻,我也从未想过这种可能性。有一次,同他一起乘车出去,走了好几里路两人一言不发,我就开始胡思乱想,想象他病了,病得厉害,甚至昏迷着说胡话。他派人叫我去护理。我一直幻想着,刚想象到我把花露水敷在他头上,汽车回到旅馆了,故事也就此收场。还有一次,我想象自己住在曼陀丽地界上的一座小屋里,他有时也跑来看我,两人坐在炉火前。可突然谈到婚姻,弄得我六神无主,甚至大为震惊,就好比求婚的是英王。这事听上去不像是真实的;可他在一边自顾自吃着果酱,好像这一切都挺自然。在书上,男人跪在地上向女人求婚,还得有月光陪衬。根本不像这样,在吃早饭的时候谈婚姻大事。

“看来我的建议并不太对你的胃口,”他说。“遗憾!我还以为你爱我呢。这对我的自负倒是一个很好的教训。”

“我确实是爱你的,”我说。“非常非常爱。你弄得我好苦。整个晚上我都在哭,因为我想大概从此再也见不到你了。”

我说这话的时候,我记得,他笑了,并从餐桌那头向我伸过手来。“为此,愿上帝保佑你,”他说。“你对我说过,做个三十五岁的神气女人是你的抱负,到了那一天,我还要跟你提起此时此地的情景。当然,你一定不会相信我的话,但我要说,要是你不会变老多好!”

这时,我已开始感到羞怯,并因为他笑我而着恼。这么说来,女人不该向男人作这样的表白,这类事情,我还得好好学一学。

“好,就这么定了,行不行?”他一边说,一边继续吃涂果酱的吐司。“你不再是范-霍珀夫人的伴侣,而是开始和我作伴。你的职责几乎同以前完全一样,我也爱读图书馆新到的书报,也要人在客厅里摆上鲜花;饭后我也爱玩玩贝西克,也需要有人替我斟茶。唯一的区别在于我不抽塔克索尔牌香烟,而喜欢伊诺公司的出品。另外,你得及时替我准备好我用惯的那种牙膏。”

我用手指弹着桌面,弄不清自己和他是怎么回事。他是不是在嘲弄我?也许这一切全是开个玩笑?他抬起头来,看到我脸上焦虑的表情。“对你说来,我大概是个狠心的家伙,对吗?”他说,“这种求婚方式大概不合你的理想。在你看来,我们应该在音乐院里谈这种事;你手执玫瑰,穿一件雪白的衣裳,远远传来小提琴奏出的华尔兹舞曲。而我呢?我应该在一棵芭蕉树后狂热地向你求爱。这样一来,也许你才觉得自己有了身价。可怜的小宝贝,不害臊吗?不要紧,我带你到威尼斯去度蜜月,手挽手去乘冈陀拉①游玩。不过我们不能呆太久,因为我要带你看看曼陀丽。”——

①意大利威尼斯运河上的一种窄长平底船。

他要带我看看曼陀丽……突然间,我意识到这一切都是行将发生的真事!我将做他的妻子,我俩将在花园里并肩散步,信步穿过幽谷小径,向海滨沙滩走去。我想象着自已如何在早餐之后站在石级上,眺望天色,把面包残属向鸟群撤去;接着,我又如何戴上遮阳帽,手持大剪刀,走出屋子去剪专为室内陈设使用的鲜花。我现在才明白童年时候为什么买下那张彩图明信片。原来,这是一种预兆,是茫茫然之中向未来跨出的一步。

他要带我看看曼陀丽……我的思想自由自在地驰骋开了,眼前出现各种各样的人物,一幕又一幕的情景。与此同时,他却始终只管吃着蜜桔,时而给我递上一片,看着我吃。我俩将被客人团团围在中间,他把我介绍给大家:“各位大概还没见到过我妻子吧。”德温特夫人。我将成为德温特夫人。我反复掂量着这个名字。在支票上、商人的账单和邀客赴宴的请来上,都将签上这个名字。我仿佛还听到自己在打电话:“这个周末请到曼陀丽来好吗?”客人,总是大群大群的客人。“啊,她实在迷人,你一定得结识她——”人群外圈有谁低声这么说。我马上转过身去,假装不曾听见。我又想象自己挎着装满葡萄和梨子的果篮,走到门房看望一位生病的老妇人,她向我伸出双手:“夫人,您真太好了,愿主保佑您。”我回答说:“你要什么,就叫人到宅子来说一声。”德温特夫人,我将成为德温特夫人。我仿佛看到餐厅里擦得亮堂堂的餐桌和长蜡烛。迈克西姆坐在餐桌的一端,一桌共二十四人的宴会。我头发上插着一朵鲜花。大家都看着我,举起酒杯:“一定得为新娘的健康干一杯!”接着,我又听到迈克西姆对我说:“我从来没看见你像今天这么可爱。”一间间摆满鲜花的凉爽的大房间。我的卧室,冬天生着火。有人敲门,进来的是一位笑容可掬的女人。这是迈克西姆的姐姐。我听得她说:“你能使他那么幸福,这真不简单!大家都高兴极了。你真行!”德温特夫人,我将成为德温特夫人。

“剩下的这点桔子太酸,不吃了,”他说。我睁大眼睛望着他,这才慢慢听懂他的意思。接着,我低下头去看看自己的盘子,那四分之一个桔子果然僵缩得变了颜色,的确酸得走味儿。我满嘴的苦涩,这会儿才感觉到。

“谁去跟范-霍珀夫人谈这件事儿?你去还是我去?”他间。

他折起餐巾,推开盘子。我不明白,他怎么能这样漫不经心地说话,好像这事一点没什么大不了,只不过是对计划作些微调整而已。可是对我,这是颗碎片横飞的重磅炸弹。

“你去跟她说,”我回答。“她一定会气个半死!”

我们从桌边站起身来。我双颊绯红。因为想到未来而激动得浑身颤抖。我不知道他会不会挽起我的手臂,微笑着告诉侍者:“祝贺我们吧。小姐和我决定结婚了。”然后,全体侍者都会听说这消息,微笑着向我们鞠躬。我俩相偕走进休息室,只听得背后有人兴奋地议论,另一些人则交头接耳,都想一睹我俩的丰采。

可是他什么也没说,一言不发离开平台。我跟着他往电梯走去。经过接待室服务台时,人们连看都不朝我们看。那职员忙着对付一扎票据文件,正转过头去对他的助手说话。我暗想,他还不知道我就要成为德温特夫人,我将居住在曼陀丽,曼陀丽将归我所有。

我们乘电梯来到二楼,沿着走廊走去。他一边走,一边执着我的手摇晃。“你觉得四十二岁是不是太老了?”他问。

“啊,不,”我忙不迭回答,那神态也许显得过分急切。“我不喜欢毛头小伙子。”

“你可从没跟毛头小伙子打过交道,”他说。

我们来到范-霍珀夫人的套房门口。他说:“我看最好还是让我独自来处理。告诉我,你是不是很在乎我俩什么时候结婚?你不会要妆奁吧?你不喜欢这一套吧?这事儿要不了几天,很容易就能办妥,找个办事机构,弄到一张证书,然后就乘车出发到威尼斯或者随便哪个你喜欢的地方去。”

“不在教堂里行礼吗?”我问。“不穿白色礼服,不请女傧相,没有钟声,没有唱诗班的童子?你的亲戚朋友也不请吗?”

“你忘啦,”他说。“那样的婚礼我以前曾行过。”

我们仍旧站在房门前。我注意到报纸还在信箱里塞着,那是因为吃早饭的时候太忙,没空看报。

“怎么样?”他说,“就这样办行吗?”

“当然行啦!”我回答。“刚才我还以为咱们得回到家再结婚。什么教堂,客人,我可不向往这些,我不喜欢那一套。”

我向他微笑,装出兴高采烈的样子。“这不是挺有趣吗?”我说。

可是他已经转过身去,推开了房门。我们走进套间狭小的门廊。

范-霍珀夫人在起居室里大叫起来:“是你吗?老天爷,你究竟捣什么鬼?我给服务台挂了三次电话,他们都说没见你人影。”

一时间,我既想笑,又想哭,想同时又笑又哭,另外我还觉得胸口发闷。一阵心慌意乱之中,我甚至希望这一切都未发生,要是此刻独自在一个什么地方吹着口哨散步多好。

“大概都怪我不好,”他说着走进起居室,随手带上门。我听见她惊诧地大叫一声。

我走进自己的卧室,在打开的窗户边坐下,这滋味就像在医生手术室的前厅坐等。我应该随手找本杂志来翻阅,浏览那些毫不相干的照片和那些根本读不进去的文章,等待护士走出来报信。护士来了,脸色开朗,模样很干练,但是因为长年与消毒剂打交道,人情味已被冲洗得荡然无存。“一切都好,手术很顺利,不用担心,我要回家去睡一会了。”

房间的墙相当厚实,隔壁的谈话声一点儿也听不见,他跟她说些什么呢?怎么措词?也许,他说:“您知道,第一次见面,我就爱上了她。这些日子,我们每天见面。”她的回答是:“嗬,德温特先生,这实在是我听说过的恋爱事件中最最罗曼蒂克的!”罗曼蒂克,这就是我乘电梯上楼时一路苦思而又始终没想起来的词儿。是啊,当然啦,够罗曼蒂克的!人们都会这么说。事情很突然,非常罗曼蒂克。两人一下子决定结婚,而且说到立刻做到。不啻是奇遇!在临窗的座位上,我抱着双膝,甜滋滋地对着自己笑,这一切多么美好,我将何等幸福!我要同自己心爱的男子结婚,我将成为德温特夫人!在这么幸福的时刻,居然还感到胸口发问,委实荒唐。当然,这是神经在作怪。正像在手术室前厅坐等结果。看来,如果两人手牵手一道走进起居室跟她说清楚,就更有意思,也更自然一些,两人相视一笑,一面由他站出来向她宣布:“我们决定结婚,我俩深深相爱着。”

相爱。到现在为止,他还未说过这话,也许是没来得及。方才吃早饭那阵子多匆忙,一边还得往嘴里送果酱、咖啡和蜜桔。那有闲暇?那蜜桔的味道可真糟糕。是的,他还没说到相爱之类的话,他只说到结婚,口气就事论事,毋庸置疑,倒也别致。正因为方式别致,他的求婚才更合我的意,显得更真诚。他可不同于一般的芸芸众生,不像那些毛头小伙子,那种人也许满嘴胡言乱语,心里却远不是那样想;那种人连篇的山盟海誓,热烈得让人受不了,但却前言不搭后语。这一次的求婚也不像他头一次对吕蓓卡……我决不能想到这上头去,快把这念头遣开。是魔鬼在诱使我去闯这思想的禁区。滚到后边去,撒旦!这些事绝对不能想,永远想不得,永远,永远!他爱我,他要带我看看曼陀丽。那边两人的谈话还有个完没有?他们究竟是不是还打算把我叫过去?

那部诗集就搁在床边。他已忘了借书给我这回事,可见这些诗对他是无关紧要的。“去!”魔鬼在耳边轻声怂恿。“翻开扉页。你心里难道不正想这么做吗?去翻开扉页。”胡扯!我说。我只是想把书放进行李堆去。我打个呵欠,漫不经心地往床头柜走去,信手捡起诗集。我被床灯的电线绊了一下,差一点摔倒,诗集从我手中掉到地板上,恰好散开在扉页。“给迈克斯——吕蓓卡赠。”她死了,人们不该去想起死者。死者已经长眠,青草掩埋了他们的坟墓。不过,她的字迹多么活泼,多么道劲!那一手不凡的斜体字,还有那墨水渍,仿佛是昨天刚刚写上的。我从化妆盒里取出指甲剪子,把这页纸剪下来;一边剪,一边做贼心虚地往后张望。

这一页被我剪得一干二净,连毛边也没留下。剪掉这一页后,诗集显得洁白,变成一部没人翻阅过的新书。我把剪下的扉页撕成碎片,丢入废纸篓。接着,我又在临窗的座位坐下,可是心里还尽想着纸篓里的碎片。过了一会儿,我不得不站起身来,再去看看纸篓,即使在撕碎以后,墨水还是又浓又黑地出现在眼前,字迹并没有毁掉。我拿了一盒火柴,把碎纸片点着。火舌吐出美丽的火焰,仿佛在给纸片涂色,卷得纸边起皱,使上面的斜体字无从辨认。纸片抖散,变得褐色的灰烬。最后消失的是字母R,它向外扭曲着,显得比原先更雄伟,接着也在火焰中成了齑粉。留下的不是灰烬,而是一种轻盈的细尘……

我走向脸盆,洗了手,顿时觉得好过一些。好过多了,就好像新年之初墙上挂的日历掀在元月一日,我有一种一切从头开始的洁净感,觉得一切都春意盎然,充满欢快的信念。门开了,他走进房间来。

“一切顺利,”他说。“开始她惊诧得说不出话来,不过这会儿已开始恢复,我现在下楼到服务台去给她弄车票,保证让她赶上第一班车。她曾犹豫了一下。我想她是想当我们的证婚人。我可是坚决不同意。去吧,跟她谈谈去。”

什么高兴、幸福,这类话他都没说,他也没有挽起我的手臂,陪我去起居室。他只是朝我一笑,挥挥手,就独自沿着走廊走开了。

我惴喘不安又难以为情地去见范-霍珀夫人,那模样活像一个通过别人之手递上辞呈的女佣。

她临窗站着抽烟。我从此再也见不到这个肥胖的矮怪物了;肥大的胸部那儿上衣绷得紧紧的,那顶可笑的女帽歪斜地覆在脑门上。

“啊,”她的声音干巴巴,冷冰冰,一定与对他说话时的腔调完全不一样。“看来我得付你双倍工资。你这人城府实在深。这事怎么给你办成的?”

我不知道怎么回答才好。我讨厌她那种奸笑。

“算你走运,幸亏我患了流行性感冒,”她说。“现在我才知道这些日子你是怎么打发的,还有,你为什么这样健忘。天哪,还说在练网球。你知道,你满可以对我说实话。”

“对不起,”我说。

她好奇地打量着我,上下左右,眼光扫过我的身子。“他对我说,过不了几天你们就要结婚。你没有亲人,不会东问西问,这对你说来又是一件幸事。好吧,从现在起这事与我无关,我一点也不管了。我倒是想,他的朋友们会作何感想。不过,得由他自己拿主意。你知道他比你大多了。”

“他才四十二岁,”我说。“而我看上去并不止我这点年纪。”

她笑了,把烟灰往地板上乱撒着说;“这倒不假。”她仍然用从来没有过的异样眼光端详着我。她是在判断我全身的价值,像家畜市场上的行家那样,她的眼光寻根究底,使人觉得难堪。

“你说,”她装出亲呢的样子,像是朋友间说私房话,“你有没有做什么不该做的事情?”

她简直就像提议付我百分之十佣金的女裁缝布莱兹。

“我不明白你在说些什么,”我说。

她又笑了,还耸耸肩。“啊,好吧……没有关系。不过,我常说英国姑娘都是黑马①,别看她们表面上只关心曲棍球,其实很难捉摸。这么说来,我得独自去巴黎,让你留下,等你那位情郎弄到结婚证书。我注意到他并没有邀请我参加婚礼。”——

①指实力难以预见,成绩出人意料的赛马。现常引申指人。

“他大概谁也不请。再说,到时候你反正已经动身了,”我说。

“-,-!”她取出化妆盒,动手往鼻子上扑粉。“想来,你作这个决定总是经过考虑的,”她接着说。“不过,事情毕竟很仓促,对吗?只有几星期的工夫。我看他这人并不怎么随和,你得改变自己的生活去适应他的习惯。你得明白,到目前为止,你一直过着非常闭塞的日子,我也没带你跑过多少地方。你今后要担负曼陀丽女主人的职责,说句老实话,亲爱的,我看你根本对付不了。”

这就像一小时前我对自己说的那一切的回声。

“你没有经验,”她又接着说。“你不了解那种环境。在我的桥牌茶会上,你连两个连贯的句子都说不上来。那么,你能对他的朋友们说些什么呢?她在世的时候,曼陀丽的宴会远近闻名。当然,这一切大概他都跟你说起过?”

我沉吟着没有接话。感谢老天,她不等我回答又接着往下说了:

“我自然希望你幸福;另外,实话对你说吧,他的确很诱人。不过,嗯,请原谅,我个人以为,你犯了个大错,日后会追悔莫及。”

她放下粉盒,回头看我的脸色,也许,她终于说出真心话了,可我决不爱听这样的真心话。我抿着嘴不说话,也许表情有点阴沉,所以她只好一耸肩,往镜子跟前走去,把那顶蘑菇状的的小帽拉直。她终于要走了,我可以从此不再见到她,我打心眼里庆幸。想起与她一起度过的、受雇于她的几个月时光,我不免怨气难平:替她捧着钱袋,跟在她后面东奔西跑,像个呆板、无声的影子。确实,我没有阅历,羞怯幼稚,一个十足的傻瓜。这一切我全明白,用不着她唠叨。我看她刚才说这番话完全是有意的,因为出于某种无法解释的女性立场,她恨这桩婚事,她对于人们各种价值的估计,由此遭到了当头一棒。

我才不管这些,我要忘掉这个女人和她的讥讽。从撕下扉页,烧掉残片时起,我开始产生一种新的自信。往昔对我俩已不复存在,他与我两人正在重新开始生活。过去,就像废纸篓里的灰烬一样,已经烟消云散。我将成为德温特夫人,我将以曼陀丽为家。

她马上就要离去,独个儿坐着卧车哐啷啷赶路。他与我将在旅馆餐厅里共进午餐。仍旧坐在那张餐桌旁,规划着未来。这是意义重大的新生活的起点。也许,她走后,他终于会告诉我他是爱我的,他觉得幸福。到目前为止,还没有时间;另外,这类话毕竟不很容易说出口,一定要等到时机成熟。我抬起头来,正好看到她在镜子里的映像。她盯着我瞧。嘴角挂着隐约的容忍的浅笑。这下子,我以为她终于要做一点友好的姿态了,伸出手来,祝我走运,给我打气,对我说一切将非常顺利。但她还是只管微笑,绞着一绺散开的头发,塞回帽子底下去。

“当然啦,”她说。“你知道他为什么要娶你。你不会自欺欺人地以为他爱着你吧?实际情况是一幢空房子弄得他神经受不了,简直要把他逼疯。你进房间之前,他差不多承认了这一点。要他一个人在那儿生活下去,他硬是受不了……”[/FONT]
 
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[FONT=宋体]Chapter six

Packing up. The nagging worry of departure. Lost keys, unwritten labels, tissue paper lying on the floor. I hate it all. Even now, when I have done so much of it, when I live, as the saying goes, in my boxes. Even today, when shutting drawers and flinging wide an hotel wardrobe, or the impersonal shelves of a furnished villa, is a methodical matter of routine, I am aware of sadness, of a sense of loss. Here, I say, we have lived, we have been happy. This has been ours, however brief the time. Though two nights only have been spent beneath a roof, yet we leave something of ourselves behind. Nothing material, not a hair-pin on a dressing-table, not an empty bottle of Aspirin tablets, not a handkerchief beneath a pillow, but something indefinable, a moment of our lives, a thought, a mood. This house sheltered us, we spoke, we loved within those walls. That was yesterday. Today we pass on, we see it no more, and we are different, changed in some infinitesimal way. We can never be quite the . Same again. Even stopping for luncheon at a wayside inn, and going to a dark, unfamiliar room to wash my hands, the handle of the door unknown to me, the wallpaper peeling in strips, a funny little cracked mirror above the basin; for this moment, it is mine, it belongs to me. We know one another. This is the present. There is no past and no future. Here I am washing my hands, and the tracked mirror shows me to myself, suspended as it were, in time; this is me, this moment will not pass. And then I open the door and go to the dining-room, where he is sitting waiting for me at a table, and I think how in that moment I have aged, passed on, how I have advanced one step towards an unknown destiny. We smile, we choose our lunch, we speak of this and that, but -I say to myself -I am not she who left him five minutes ago. She stayed behind. I am another woman, older, more mature... I saw in a paper the other day that the Hotel Cote d'Azur at Monte Carlo had gone to new management, and had a different name. The rooms have been redecorated, and the whole interior changed. Perhaps Mrs Van Hopper's suite on the first floor exists no more. Perhaps there is no trace of the small bedroom that was mine. I knew I should never go back, that day I knelt on the floor and fumbled with the awkward catch of her trunk. The episode was finished, with the snapping of the lock. I glanced out of the window, and it was like turning the page of a photograph album. Those roof-tops and that sea were mine no more. They belonged to yesterday, to the past. The rooms already wore an empty air, stripped of our possessions, and there was something hungry about the suite, as though it wished us gone, and the new arrivals, who would come tomorrow, in our place. The heavy luggage stood ready strapped and locked in the corridor outside. The smaller stuff would be finished later. Waste-paper baskets groaned under litter. All her half empty medicine bottles and discarded face-cream jars, with torn-up bills and letters. Drawers in tables gaped, the bureau was stripped bare. She had flung a letter at me the morning before, as I poured out her coffee at breakfast. 'Helen is sailing for New York on Saturday. Little Nancy has a threatened appendix, and they've cabled her to go home. That's decided me. We're going too. I'm tired to death of Europe, and we can come back in the early fall. How d'you like the idea of seeing New York?' The thought was worse than prison. Something of my misery must have shown in my face, for at first she looked astonished, then annoyed. 'What an odd, unsatisfactory child you are. I can't make you out. Don't you realize that at home girls in your position without any money can have the grandest fun? Plenty of boys and excitement.

All in your own class. You can have your own little set of friends, and needn't be at my beck and call as much as you are here. I thought you didn't care for Monte?' 'I've got used to it, ' I said lamely, wretchedly, my mind a conflict. 'Well, you'll just have to get used to New York, that's all. We're going to catch that boat of Helen's, and it means seeing about our passage at once. Go down to the reception office right away, and make that young clerk show some sign of efficiency. Your day will be so full that you won't have time to have any pangs about leaving Monte!' She laughed disagreeably, squashing her cigarette in the butter, and went to the telephone to ring up all her friends. I could not face the office right away. I went into the bathroom and locked the door, and sat down on the cork mat, my head in my hands. It had happened at last, the business of going away. It was all over. Tomorrow evening I should be in the train, holding her jewel case and her rug, like a maid, and she in that monstrous new hat with the single quill, dwarfed in her fur-coat, sitting opposite me in the wagon-lit. We would wash and clean our teeth in that stuffy little compartment with the rattling doors, the splashed basin, the damp towel, the soap with a single hair on it, the carafe half-filled with water, the inevitable notice on the wall 'Sous le lavabo se trouve une vase', while every rattle, every throb and jerk of the screaming train would tell me that the miles carried me away from him, sitting alone in the restaurant of the hotel, at the table I had known, reading a book, not minding, not thinking. I should say goodbye to him in the lounge, perhaps, before we left. A furtive, scrambled farewell, because of her, and there would be a pause, and a smile, and words like 'Yes, of course, do write', and 'I've never thanked you properly for being so kind', and 'You must forward those snapshots', 'What about your address?' 'Well, I'll have to let you know". And he would light a cigarette casually, asking a passing waiter for a light, while I thought, 'Four and a half more minutes to go. I shall never see him again. ' Because I was going, because it was over, there would suddenly be nothing more to say, we would be strangers, meeting for the last and only time, while my mind clamoured painfully, crying 'I love you so much. I'm terribly unhappy. This has never come to me before, and never will again. ' My face would be set in a prim, conventional smile, my voice would be saying, 'Look at that funny old man over there; I wonder who he is; he must be new here. ' And we would waste the last moments laughing at a stranger, because we were already strangers to one another. 'I hope the snapshots come out well, ' repeating oneself in desperation, and he 'Yes, that one of the square ought to be good; the light was just right. ' Having both of us gone into all that at the time, having agreed upon it, and anyway I would not care if the result was fogged and black, because this was the last moment, the final goodbye had been attained. 'Well, ' my dreadful smile stretching across my face, 'thanks most awfully once again, it's been so ripping... " using words I had never used before. Ripping: what did it mean? - God knows, I did not care; it was the sort of word that schoolgirls had for hockey, wildly inappropriate to those past weeks of misery and exultation. Then the doors of the lift would open upon Mrs Van Hopper and I would cross the lounge to meet her, and he would stroll back again to his corner and pick up a paper. Sitting there, ridiculously, on the cork mat of the bathroom floor, I lived it all, and our journey too, and our arrival in New York. The shrill voice of Helen, a narrower edition of her mother, and Nancy, her horrid little child. The college boys that Mrs Van Hopper would have me know, and the young bank clerks, suitable to my station. 'Let's make Wednesday night a date. ' 'D'you like Hot music?' Snub-nosed boys, with shiny faces. Having to be polite. And wanting to be alone with my own thoughts as I was now, locked behind the bathroom door... She came and rattled on the door. 'What are you doing?' 'All right - I'm sorry, I'm coming now, ' and I made a pretence of turning on the tap, of bustling about and folding a towel on a rail.[/FONT]
 
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终于在家园上看到有讨论原版书的帖子啦~~~
兴奋之余先感谢一下楼主辛苦发帖~~

有点小可惜,不是我喜欢的类型呢。。。
觉得文风有点老旧了,虽然挺有画面感的,但是叙述方式对我来说时实在没有太大的吸引力呢。
不少第一人称的表达方式, 外加大量细腻的场景和联想描述,觉得整个剧情都被拖散了, 削弱了主人公存在感,性格特征也不明显。。于是弃书逃离~~
这类书应该很容易就可以在网上搜到原著的,真的是很佩服楼主那么认真地贴双语章节哦~~

发现sabre了~~
 
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终于在家园上看到有讨论原版书的帖子啦~~~
兴奋之余先感谢一下楼主辛苦发帖~~

有点小可惜,不是我喜欢的类型呢。。。
觉得文风有点老旧了,虽然挺有画面感的,但是叙述方式对我来说时实在没有太大的吸引力呢。
不少第一人称的表达方式, 外加大量细腻的场景和联想描述,觉得整个剧情都被拖散了, 削弱了主人公存在感,性格特征也不明显。。于是弃书逃离~~
这类书应该很容易就可以在网上搜到原著的,真的是很佩服楼主那么认真地贴双语章节哦~~

发现sabre了~~
鼓励为主,
文字不错, 适合等车坐车的时候读,
不适合中文,
 
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[FONT=宋体]She glanced at me curiously as I opened the door. 'What a time you've been. You can't afford to dream this morning, you know, there's too much to be done. ' He would go back to Manderley, of course, in a few weeks; I felt certain of that. There would be a great pile of letters waiting for him in the hall, and mine amongst them, scribbled on the boat. A forced letter, trying to amuse, describing my fellow passengers. It would lie about inside his blotter, and he would answer it weeks later, one Sunday morning in a hurry, before lunch, having come across it when he paid some bills. And then no more. Nothing until the final degradation of the Christmas card. Manderley itself perhaps, against a frosted background. The message printed, saying 'A happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year from Maximilian de Winter. ' Gold lettering. But to be kind alone with my own thoughts as I was now, locked behind the bathroom door... She came and rattled on the door. 'What are you doing?' 'All right - I'm sorry, I'm coming now, ' and I made a pretence of turning on the tap, of bustling about and folding a towel on a rail. She glanced at me curiously as I opened the door. 'What a time you've been. You can't afford to dream this morning, you know, there's too much to be done. ' He would go back to Manderley, of course, in a few weeks; I felt certain of that. There would be a great pile of letters waiting for him in the hall, and mine amongst them, scribbled on the boat. A forced letter, trying to amuse, describing my fellow passengers. It would lie about inside his blotter, and he would answer it weeks later, one Sunday morning in a hurry, before lunch, having come across it when he paid some bills. And then no more. Nothing until the final degradation of the Christmas card. Manderley itself perhaps, against a frosted background. The message printed, saying 'A happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year from Maximilian de Winter. ' Gold lettering. But to be kind he would have run his pen through the printed name and written in ink underneath 'from Maxim', as a sort of sop, and if there was space, a message, 'I hope you are enjoying New York'. A lick of the envelope, a stamp, and tossed in a pile of a hundred others. 'It's too bad you are leaving tomorrow, ' said the reception clerk, telephone in hand; 'the Ballet starts next week, you know. Does Mrs Van Hopper know?' I dragged myself back from Christmas at Manderley to the realities of the wagon-lit. Mrs Van Hopper lunched in the restaurant for the first time since her influenza, and I had a pain in the pit of my stomach as I followed her into the room. He had gone to Cannes for the day, that much I knew, for he had warned me the day before, but I kept thinking the waiter might commit an indiscretion and say: 'Will Mademoiselle be dining with Monsieur tonight as usual?' I felt a little sick whenever he came near the table, but he said nothing. The day was spent in packing, and in the evening people came to say goodbye. We dined in the sitting-room, and she went to bed directly afterwards. Still I had not seen him. I went down to the lounge about half past nine on the pretext of getting luggage labels and he was not there. The odious reception clerk smiled when he saw me. 'If you are looking for Mr de Winter we had a message from Cannes to say he would not be back before midnight. ' 'I want a packet of luggage labels, ' I said, but I saw by his eye that he was not deceived. So there would be no last evening after all. The hour I had looked forward to all day must be spent by myself alone, in my own bedroom, gazing at my Revelation suit-case and the stout hold-all. Perhaps it was just as well, for I should have made a poor companion, and he must have read my face. I know I cried that night, bitter youthful tears that could not come from me today. That kind of crying, deep into a pillow, does not happen after we are twenty-one. The throbbing head, the swollen eyes, the tight, contracted throat. And the wild anxiety in the morning to hide all traces from the world, sponging with cold water, dabbing eau-de-Cologne, the furtive dash of powder that is significant in itself. The panic, too, that one might cry again, the tears swelling without control, and a fatal trembling of the mouth lead one to disaster.

I remember opening wide my window and leaning out, hoping the fresh morning air would blow away the tell-tale pink under the powder, and the sun had never seemed so bright, nor the day so full of promise. Monte Carlo was suddenly full of kindliness and charm, the one place in the world that held sincerity. I loved it. Affection overwhelmed me. I wanted to live there all my life. And I was leaving it today. This is the last time I brush my hair before the looking-glass, the last time I shall clean my teeth into the basin. Never again sleep in that bed. Never more turn off the switch of that electric light. There I was, padding about in a dressing-gown, making a slough of sentiment out of a commonplace hotel bedroom. 'You haven't started a cold, have you?' she said at breakfast. 'No, ' I told her, 'I don't think so, ' clutching at a straw, for this might serve as an excuse later, if I was over-pink about the eyes. 'I hate hanging about once everything is packed, ' she grumbled; 'we ought to have decided on the earlier train. We could get it if we made the effort, and then have longer in Paris. Wire Helen not to meet us, but arrange another rendezvous. I wonder' - she glanced at her watch - 'I suppose they could change the reservations. Anyway it's worth trying. Go down to the office and see. ' 'Yes, ' I said, a dummy to her moods going into my bedroom and flinging off my dressing-gown, fastening my inevitable flannel skirt and stretching my home-made jumper over my head. My indifference to her turned to hatred. This was the end then, even my morning must be taken from me. No last half-hour on the terrace, not even ten minutes perhaps to say goodbye. Because she had finished breakfast earlier than she expected, because she was bored. Well then, I would fling away restraint and modesty, I would not be proud any more. I slammed the door of the sitting-room and ran along the passage. I did not wait for the lift, I climbed the stairs, three at a time, up to the third floor. I knew the number of his room, 148, and I hammered at the door, very flushed in the face and breathless. 'Come in, ' he shouted, and I opened the door, repenting already, my nerve failing me; for perhaps he had only just woken up, having been late last night, and would be still in bed, tousled in the head and irritable. He was shaving by the open window, a camel-hair jacket over his pyjamas, and I in my flannel suit and heavy shoes felt clumsy and over dressed. I was merely foolish, when I had felt myself dramatic. 'What do you want?' he said. 'Is something the matter?' 'I've come to say goodbye, ' I said, 'we're going this morning. ' He stared at me, then put his razor down on the washstand. 'Shut the door, ' he said. I closed it behind me, and stood there, rather self-conscious, my hands hanging by my side. 'What on earth are you talking about?' he asked. 'It's true, we're leaving today. We were going by the later train, and now she wants to catch the earlier one, and I was afraid I shouldn't see you again. I felt I must see you before I left, to thank you. ' They tumbled out, the idiotic words, just as I had imagined them. I was stiff and awkward; in a moment I should say he had been ripping. 'Why didn't you tell me about this before?' he said. 'She only decided yesterday. It was all done in a hurry. Her daughter sails for New York on Saturday, and we are going with her. We're joining her in Paris, and going through to Cherbourg. ' 'She's taking you with her to New York?' 'Yes, and I don't want to go. I shall hate it; I shall be miserable. ' 'Why in heaven's name go with her then?' 'I have to, you know that. I work for a salary. I can't afford to leave her. ' He picked up his razor again, and took the soap off his face. 'Sit down, ' he said. 'I shan't be long. I'll dress in the bathroom, and be ready in five minutes. ' He took his clothes off the chair and threw them on the bathroom floor, and went inside, slamming the door. I sat down on the bed and began biting my nails. The situation was unreal, and I felt like a lay-figure. I wondered what he was thinking, what he was going to do. I glanced round the room, it was the, room of any man, untidy and impersonal. Lots of shoes, more than ever were needed, and strings of ties. The dressing-table was bare, except for a large bottle of hair-wash and a pair of ivory hair-brushes. No photographs. No snapshots. Nothing like that.
[/FONT]

[FONT=宋体]
终于在家园上看到有讨论原版书的帖子啦~~~
兴奋之余先感谢一下楼主辛苦发帖~~

有点小可惜,不是我喜欢的类型呢。。。
觉得文风有点老旧了,虽然挺有画面感的,但是叙述方式对我来说时实在没有太大的吸引力呢。
不少第一人称的表达方式, 外加大量细腻的场景和联想描述,觉得整个剧情都被拖散了, 削弱了主人公存在感,性格特征也不明显。。于是弃书逃离~~
这类书应该很容易就可以在网上搜到原著的,真的是很佩服楼主那么认真地贴双语章节哦~~

发现sabre了~~

请问您能给个网上搜到的本书原著链接吗?在此先谢了。曾经从国内带来了大量的国外原著,有书籍、有音像磁带、有 CD 和 DVD,有些还在用。
[/FONT]
鼓励为主,
文字不错, 适合等车坐车的时候读,
不适合中文,

多谢大师鼓励。觉得家园是中文论坛,应中文为主。在英文论坛上,我只偶尔地提到中文,提到最多的是“Wall A Knee!我爱你”,和“恭喜发财!”
 
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[FONT=宋体]She glanced at me curiously as I opened the door. 'What a time you've been. You can't afford to dream this morning, you know, there's too much to be done. ' He would go back to Manderley, of course, in a few weeks; I felt certain of that. There would be a great pile of letters waiting for him in the hall, and mine amongst them, scribbled on the boat. A forced letter, trying to amuse, describing my fellow passengers. It would lie about inside his blotter, and he would answer it weeks later, one Sunday morning in a hurry, before lunch, having come across it when he paid some bills. And then no more. Nothing until the final degradation of the Christmas card. Manderley itself perhaps, against a frosted background. The message printed, saying 'A happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year from Maximilian de Winter. ' Gold lettering. But to be kind alone with my own thoughts as I was now, locked behind the bathroom door... She came and rattled on the door. 'What are you doing?' 'All right - I'm sorry, I'm coming now, ' and I made a pretence of turning on the tap, of bustling about and folding a towel on a rail. She glanced at me curiously as I opened the door. 'What a time you've been. You can't afford to dream this morning, you know, there's too much to be done. ' He would go back to Manderley, of course, in a few weeks; I felt certain of that. There would be a great pile of letters waiting for him in the hall, and mine amongst them, scribbled on the boat. A forced letter, trying to amuse, describing my fellow passengers. It would lie about inside his blotter, and he would answer it weeks later, one Sunday morning in a hurry, before lunch, having come across it when he paid some bills. And then no more. Nothing until the final degradation of the Christmas card. Manderley itself perhaps, against a frosted background. The message printed, saying 'A happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year from Maximilian de Winter. ' Gold lettering. But to be kind he would have run his pen through the printed name and written in ink underneath 'from Maxim', as a sort of sop, and if there was space, a message, 'I hope you are enjoying New York'. A lick of the envelope, a stamp, and tossed in a pile of a hundred others. 'It's too bad you are leaving tomorrow, ' said the reception clerk, telephone in hand; 'the Ballet starts next week, you know. Does Mrs Van Hopper know?' I dragged myself back from Christmas at Manderley to the realities of the wagon-lit. Mrs Van Hopper lunched in the restaurant for the first time since her influenza, and I had a pain in the pit of my stomach as I followed her into the room. He had gone to Cannes for the day, that much I knew, for he had warned me the day before, but I kept thinking the waiter might commit an indiscretion and say: 'Will Mademoiselle be dining with Monsieur tonight as usual?' I felt a little sick whenever he came near the table, but he said nothing. The day was spent in packing, and in the evening people came to say goodbye. We dined in the sitting-room, and she went to bed directly afterwards. Still I had not seen him. I went down to the lounge about half past nine on the pretext of getting luggage labels and he was not there. The odious reception clerk smiled when he saw me. 'If you are looking for Mr de Winter we had a message from Cannes to say he would not be back before midnight. ' 'I want a packet of luggage labels, ' I said, but I saw by his eye that he was not deceived. So there would be no last evening after all. The hour I had looked forward to all day must be spent by myself alone, in my own bedroom, gazing at my Revelation suit-case and the stout hold-all. Perhaps it was just as well, for I should have made a poor companion, and he must have read my face. I know I cried that night, bitter youthful tears that could not come from me today. That kind of crying, deep into a pillow, does not happen after we are twenty-one. The throbbing head, the swollen eyes, the tight, contracted throat. And the wild anxiety in the morning to hide all traces from the world, sponging with cold water, dabbing eau-de-Cologne, the furtive dash of powder that is significant in itself. The panic, too, that one might cry again, the tears swelling without control, and a fatal trembling of the mouth lead one to disaster.

I remember opening wide my window and leaning out, hoping the fresh morning air would blow away the tell-tale pink under the powder, and the sun had never seemed so bright, nor the day so full of promise. Monte Carlo was suddenly full of kindliness and charm, the one place in the world that held sincerity. I loved it. Affection overwhelmed me. I wanted to live there all my life. And I was leaving it today. This is the last time I brush my hair before the looking-glass, the last time I shall clean my teeth into the basin. Never again sleep in that bed. Never more turn off the switch of that electric light. There I was, padding about in a dressing-gown, making a slough of sentiment out of a commonplace hotel bedroom. 'You haven't started a cold, have you?' she said at breakfast. 'No, ' I told her, 'I don't think so, ' clutching at a straw, for this might serve as an excuse later, if I was over-pink about the eyes. 'I hate hanging about once everything is packed, ' she grumbled; 'we ought to have decided on the earlier train. We could get it if we made the effort, and then have longer in Paris. Wire Helen not to meet us, but arrange another rendezvous. I wonder' - she glanced at her watch - 'I suppose they could change the reservations. Anyway it's worth trying. Go down to the office and see. ' 'Yes, ' I said, a dummy to her moods going into my bedroom and flinging off my dressing-gown, fastening my inevitable flannel skirt and stretching my home-made jumper over my head. My indifference to her turned to hatred. This was the end then, even my morning must be taken from me. No last half-hour on the terrace, not even ten minutes perhaps to say goodbye. Because she had finished breakfast earlier than she expected, because she was bored. Well then, I would fling away restraint and modesty, I would not be proud any more. I slammed the door of the sitting-room and ran along the passage. I did not wait for the lift, I climbed the stairs, three at a time, up to the third floor. I knew the number of his room, 148, and I hammered at the door, very flushed in the face and breathless. 'Come in, ' he shouted, and I opened the door, repenting already, my nerve failing me; for perhaps he had only just woken up, having been late last night, and would be still in bed, tousled in the head and irritable. He was shaving by the open window, a camel-hair jacket over his pyjamas, and I in my flannel suit and heavy shoes felt clumsy and over dressed. I was merely foolish, when I had felt myself dramatic. 'What do you want?' he said. 'Is something the matter?' 'I've come to say goodbye, ' I said, 'we're going this morning. ' He stared at me, then put his razor down on the washstand. 'Shut the door, ' he said. I closed it behind me, and stood there, rather self-conscious, my hands hanging by my side. 'What on earth are you talking about?' he asked. 'It's true, we're leaving today. We were going by the later train, and now she wants to catch the earlier one, and I was afraid I shouldn't see you again. I felt I must see you before I left, to thank you. ' They tumbled out, the idiotic words, just as I had imagined them. I was stiff and awkward; in a moment I should say he had been ripping. 'Why didn't you tell me about this before?' he said. 'She only decided yesterday. It was all done in a hurry. Her daughter sails for New York on Saturday, and we are going with her. We're joining her in Paris, and going through to Cherbourg. ' 'She's taking you with her to New York?' 'Yes, and I don't want to go. I shall hate it; I shall be miserable. ' 'Why in heaven's name go with her then?' 'I have to, you know that. I work for a salary. I can't afford to leave her. ' He picked up his razor again, and took the soap off his face. 'Sit down, ' he said. 'I shan't be long. I'll dress in the bathroom, and be ready in five minutes. ' He took his clothes off the chair and threw them on the bathroom floor, and went inside, slamming the door. I sat down on the bed and began biting my nails. The situation was unreal, and I felt like a lay-figure. I wondered what he was thinking, what he was going to do. I glanced round the room, it was the, room of any man, untidy and impersonal. Lots of shoes, more than ever were needed, and strings of ties. The dressing-table was bare, except for a large bottle of hair-wash and a pair of ivory hair-brushes. No photographs. No snapshots. Nothing like that.
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请问您能给个网上搜到的本书原著链接吗?在此先谢了。曾经从国内带来了大量的国外原著,有书籍、有音像磁带、有 CD 和 DVD,有些还在用。
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多谢大师鼓励。觉得家园是中文论坛,应中文为主。在英文论坛上,我只偶尔地提到中文,提到最多的是“Wall A Knee!我爱你”,和“恭喜发财!”

楼主若是爱书之人,就去办个当地的图书卡吧~~~加拿大的书籍资源还是很丰富的,名著经典类的更不用说啦~~
我办理的是多伦多的图书卡,一般都是下载电子书啦,虽然每本最多只能借3周, 然后可以再续借两次。
而且不少图书馆里还有有声读物,朗读者也是超赞的。。。
也可以办理Amazon.ca的 kindle Unlimited, 每月$9.99,再买个Kindle 的读书器, 就可以无限看好多书啦。。
中文翻译过来的外国名著,我看得不多,所以具体的网站就不了解啦。。。
不过呢,Amazon.cn也是有包月读书的哦。每月12元~~~
若是想找免费的也应该不难,google或百度都可以查查。。

楼主若是喜欢国外经典名著类的,可以先去Amazon下载,类似《傲慢与偏见》, 《艾玛》,《小妇人》, 莎士比亚的所有著作都是免费的啦。。。这些名著早过了版权期了。。
 
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Toronto Library Card、Kindle 都有了。花钱办事不难,但是想找到免费共享的《Rebecca》 TXT 或 PDF 在线阅读极难(只找到一个 jpg 图片的),不知哪位网友能助一臂之力?

楼主若是爱书之人,就去办个当地的图书卡吧~~~加拿大的书籍资源还是很丰富的,名著经典类的更不用说啦~~
我办理的是多伦多的图书卡,一般都是下载电子书啦,虽然每本最多只能借3周, 然后可以再续借两次。
而且不少图书馆里还有有声读物,朗读者也是超赞的。。。
也可以办理Amazon.ca的 kindle Unlimited, 每月$9.99,再买个Kindle 的读书器, 就可以无限看好多书啦。。
中文翻译过来的外国名著,我看得不多,所以具体的网站就不了解啦。。。
不过呢,Amazon.cn也是有包月读书的哦。每月12元~~~
若是想找免费的也应该不难,google或百度都可以查查。。

楼主若是喜欢国外经典名著类的,可以先去Amazon下载,类似《傲慢与偏见》, 《艾玛》,《小妇人》, 莎士比亚的所有著作都是免费的啦。。。这些名著早过了版权期了。。
 
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我的临床经验, 中文翻译不帮助阅读,
不论是什么阅读能力, 一定要坚持不用字典看完一本书,
因为词汇量的贫乏, 在未来的阅读中, 猜的能力特别重要,

很多人不可避免地会看中文,而且对阅读速度的要求还不能快,否则会很快就坚持不下去的。我有新的感觉:实地经历和文化背景能提高推测的准确性,在去观光过“The Breaker”后,就会发现对《 The Sound of Music 》的理解和体会与以前大不相同。
 

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