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她确定康妮已有了情人了，她的灵魂里有什么东西在欢欣着，但是他是谁呢？他是谁呢'也许弗林太太替她牵线的罢。 Connie would not take her bath this evening. The sense of his flesh touching her, his very stickiness upon her, was dear to her, and in a sense holy. 那晚上，康妮不愿意洗澡。她觉得他触过她的肉，她觉得他的肉紧贴过她，这感觉于她走可贵的。是一神圣的感觉。 Clifford was very uneasy. He would not let her go after dinner, and she had wanted so much to be alone. She looked at him, but was curiously submissive. 克利福觉得非常烦躁。晚饭后，他不愿让她走开，而她却渴望着快点到房是城去孤独地待着，她的眼睛望着他但是奇异地顺从他。 'Shall we play a game, or shall I read to you, or what shall it be?' he asked uneasily. " 我们玩玩牌呢。还是让我念书给你听？"他不安地问道。 'You read to me,' said Connie. " 念书给我听罢。"康妮说。 
念什么……诗呢。散文呢，还是戏剧呢？" 'Read Racine,' she said. " 念点拉车的诗罢。"她说。 It had been one of his stunts in the past, to read Racine in the real French grand manner, but he was rusty now, and a little self-conscious; he really preferred the loudspeaker. But Connie was sewing, sewing a little frock silk of primrose silk, cut out of one of her dresses, for Mrs Flint's baby. Between coming home and dinner she had cut it out, and she sat in the soft quiescent rapture of herself sewing, while the noise of the reading went on. 从前，他法式的抑扬婉转地念拉车的诗是他的拿手好戏，但是现在呢，他再也没有那种气派，而且有点局促了，其实，与其念书，她是宁愿听收音机，但是康却替弗林太大的婴孩缝着一件黄绸的小衣裳；那衣料是她散步回一晚餐以前，从她的一件衣裳剪裁下来的，她静航海地坐着，在温柔地情绪中沉醉着，疑缝缀着，与此同时，他在继续在念着拉辛的诗。 Inside herself she could feel the humming of passion, like the after-humming of deep bells. 在她的心晨，她可以感觉到热情在嗡嗡发声，好象沉钟的尾声。 Clifford said something to her about the Racine. She caught the sense after the words had gone. 克利福对她说了些关于拉辛的话，他说过了好一会，她才明白他说什么。 
是的！是的！"她抬头望着他说，"做得真好。" Again he was frightened at the deep blue blaze of her eyes, and of her soft stillness, sitting there. She had never been so utterly soft and still. She fascinated him helplessly, as if some perfume about her intoxicated him. So he went on helplessly with his reading, and the throaty sound of the French was like the wind in the chimneys to her. Of the Racine she heard not one syllable. 她的眼睛的深妙的蓝光，和她的温柔的静坐着的神情、重新使他惊骇起来，她来没有那么温柔，那么静航海的，她使他不能自己地迷惑着，好象她在发着什么香味使他沉醉似的。这样，他无力地继续着念诗；他的法文发音的喉音，她觉是烟囱里的风似的，他念的拉辛的诗句，她一宇也都没有听到。 She was gone in her own soft rapture, like a forest soughing with the dim, glad moan of spring, moving into bud. She could feel in the same world with her the man, the nameless man, moving on beautiful feet, beautiful in the phallic mystery. And in herself in all her veins, she felt him and his child. His child was in all her veins, like a twilight. 她已经沉醉在她的温柔的美梦里了，好象一个发着芽的春天的森林，梦昧地，欢快地，在呜咽着，她可以感觉着在同一曲世界里，他和她是在一起的，他，那无名的男子，用着美丽的两脚，神妙地美丽的两脚，向前移支，在她的心里，在她的血脉里，她感觉着他和他的孩子，他的孩子是在她所有血脉里，象曙光一样。 'For hands she hath none, nor eyes, nor feet, nor golden Treasure of hair...' " 因为她没有手，没有眼，没有脚，也没有金发的宝藏 She was like a forest, like the dark interlacing of the oakwood, humming inaudibly with myriad unfolding buds. Meanwhile the birds of desire were asleep in the vast interlaced intricacy of her body. 她象一个森林似的，象一个阴暗的、橡树交错的树林似的，千千万万地蓓苗在开发着，在无声地低语着。同时，那些欲望的鸟儿，在她错缩浓密的身体里睡着。 
但是克利福的声音不停地、异乎寻常地轨轹着，咕噜着。多么异样的声音！多么异样的他，倾着身在他的书本上，样子是奇怪的，贪婪的，文明的，他有宽阔的肩膊，却没有两条真腿！多么怪异的生物，天赋着尖锐的！冷酷无情的、某种鸟类的意志，没有热力，一点都没有！这是未一煌生物之一，没有灵魂，只有一个极活支斩冷酷的意志。她怕他，微微地颤战起来，不过，温柔的热烈的生命之火焰，是比他更强的，并且真实的事情却瞒着他呢。 The reading finished. She was startled. She looked up, and was more startled still to see Clifford watching her with pale, uncanny eyes, like hate. 诗念宛了。她吃了一惊，她抬头看见克利福的灰白而乖恶的眼睛，好象含恨地在望着她，这更使她惊愕起来。 'Thank you so much! You do read Racine beautifully!' she said softly. " 非常感谢！你念拉辛念得真好！"她温柔地说。' 'Almost as beautifully as you listen to him,' he said cruelly. 'What are you making?' he asked. " 差不多念和昨你听着一样的好。"他残酷地说。"你在什么着什么？"他问。 'I'm making a child's dress, for Mrs Flint's baby.'" 我替弗林太太的孩子做件衣裳。" 
他的头转了过去，孩子！孩子！她只想着这个。 'After all,' he said in a declamatory voice, 'one gets all one wants out of Racine. Emotions that are ordered and given shape are more important than disorderly emotions. " 毕竟呢，"他用一种浮夸的口气说，"我们所需要的，都可以从拉辛的诗里得到，有条理有法则的情绪。是比紊乱的情绪更重要的。" She watched him with wide, vague, veiled eyes. 'Yes, I'm sure they are,' she said. 她的两只朦胧的大眼睛注视着他。"是的，的确！"她说。 'The modern world has only vulgarized emotion by letting it loose. What we need is classic control.' " 近代人让情绪放荡无羁，这只有使情绪平庸化罢了，我们所需要的，便是有古典的约束。" 'Yes,' she said slowly, thinking of him listening with vacant face to the emotional idiocy of the radio. 'People pretend to have emotions, and they really feel nothing. I suppose that is being romantic.' " 是的。"她缓缓地说看见他的脸孔毫无表情，正在听着收套机的激动人心的痴话，"人们假装着有情绪、其买他们是毫无所感的，我想这便是所谓浪温罢。" 
一点不错！"他说。 As a matter of fact, he was tired. This evening had tired him. He would rather have been with his technical books, or his pit-manager, or listening-in to the radio. 实在说，他是疲惫了。这种晚上使他疲惫了，与其过着这样的晚上，他是宁愿读点技术上的书，或和矿场的经理谈话，或是听收半日机的。 Mrs Bolton came in with two glasses of malted milk: for Clifford, to make him sleep, and for Connie, to fatten her again. It was a regular night-cap she had introduced. 被太太带了两杯麦芽牛奶走了进来，一杯是给克利福喝了好安睡的，一杯是给康妮喝了好长胖的，这是她介绍勒格贝来的一种经常的的夜点。 Connie was glad to go, when she had drunk her glass, and thankful she needn't help Clifford to bed. She took his glass and put it on the tray, then took the tray, to leave it outside. 康妮喝完了后，心里高兴，她可以走开，并且心里感激着不必去帮助克利福就寝的事了。 'Goodnight Clifford! Do sleep well! The Racine gets into one like a dream. Goodnight!' " 晚安。克利福，祝你安睡？拉车的涛好象一个梦似的深人人心，晚安！" 
她向门边走去她没有吻他晚安便走了，他的尖锐而冷酷的眼瞄望看她，好！他为她念下整晚的诗她却连一个晚安的吻都不给他这样的铁石心肠！即令说这种亲吻只是一种形式罢，但生命是筑在这种形工上的、她实在是个波尔雪维克主义者！她的本能鄙是波尔雪维克主义者的！他冷酷地、愤怒地望着她从那里出支泊那个门。愤怒！"
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