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A convincing thunder rumbled through the words. He lifted another spadeful of earth.
一聲有說服力的霹靂通過這話隆隆炸出。他鏟起了另一鍬土。
Why had Linda died? Why had she been allowed to become gradually less than human and at last … He shuddered.
琳妲是為什么死的？為什么要讓她慢慢地變，變得越來越沒有個人樣，然后終于？……他打了一個寒磣。
A good kissing carrion.
一塊大可親吻的臭狗肉。
He planted his foot on his spade and stamped it fiercely into the tough ground.
他把腳踏在鏟子上狠狠地往結實的土地里踩。
As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport.
我們在上帝面前就像頑童眼里的蒼蠅；他們殺死我們只為了取樂。
Thunder again; words that proclaimed themselves true–truer somehow than truth itself.
又是一聲炸雷。那可是千真萬確的道理——在一定的意義上比真理還要真實。
And yet that same Gloucester had called them ever-gentle gods.
可是那同一個格羅斯特又把他們叫做永遠溫柔的神靈。
Besides, thy best of rest is sleep and that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st thy death which is no more.
你最好的休息是睡眠，你也常常渴望睡眠，可你又愚蠢地怕死，而死只是不存在而已。
No more than sleep.Sleep. Perchance to dream. His spade struck against a stone; he stooped to pick it up.
死亡不過是睡覺，睡覺，也許還做夢。他的鐵鍬鏟在一塊石頭上，他彎下身子要揀起石頭。
For in that sleep of death, what dreams? …
因為在那死亡的夢里，會出現什么樣的夢？……
A humming overhead had become a roar; and suddenly he was in shadow, there was something between the sun and him.
頭頂的嗡嗡聲變成了轟鳴；一片陰影突然遮住了他，有什么東西插到他和陽光之間了！
He looked up, startled, from his digging,
他吃了一驚，停下挖土和思想，抬頭一看。
from his thoughts; looked up in a dazzled bewilderment,
眼前的景象使他頭昏眼花，混亂糊涂。
his mind still wandering in that other world of truer-than-truth, still focused on the immensities of death and deity;
他的心還在另外一個世界游蕩，在那比真實還真實的世界里，還集中在死亡與神靈的汗漫天涯里，
looked up and saw, close above him, the swarm of hovering machines.
抬頭卻看見了那黑壓壓一大片懸浮的直升機向他的頭頂逼了過來。
Like locusts they came, hung poised, descended all around him on the heather.
直升機像蝗蟲一樣飛著，懸浮在空中，在他四面八方降落，落到石南叢里，
And from out of the bellies of these giant grasshoppers stepped men in white viscose-flannels,
然后從這些碩大無朋的蝗蟲肚子里走出了穿白色黏膠法蘭絨衫的男士，
women (for the weather was hot) in acetate-shantung pyjamas or velveteen shorts and sleeveless, half-unzippered singlets–one couple from each.
和因為怕熱穿著人造絲山東寬袍、天鵝絨短褲、或無袖坦胸連衣裙的女士——每架飛機一對。
In a few minutes there were dozens of them, standing in a wide circle round the lighthouse, staring, laughing, clicking their cameras,
幾分鐘之內已經下來了好幾十對。他們圍著燈塔站成了一個大圓圈，瞪著眼看著，哈哈地笑著，照相機咋噠咋噠響著，
throwing (as to an ape) peanuts, packets of sex-hormone chewing-gum, pan-glanduar petite beurres.
向他扔著花生、性激素口香糖和泛腺小奶油餅，像扔給猴子一樣。
And every moment–for across the Hog's Back the stream of traffic now flowed unceasingly–their numbers increased.
他們的人數在每時每刻增加，因為現在野豬背上飛機的洪流還在不停擁來。
As in a nightmare, the dozens became scores, the scores hundreds.
幾十個立即變成了上百個，然后是幾百個，仿佛是一場噩夢。
