評論
打印
Haven't you got a match, you fool?
“你沒有火柴嗎，你這笨蛋？”
Strickland's voice, coming out of the darkness, harshly, made me start.
從黑暗里傳來思特里克蘭德的呵斥的聲音，把我嚇了一跳。
Stroeve cried out.
施特略夫驚叫起來。
Oh, my God, I thought you were dead.
“哎呀，上帝，我還以為你死了呢。”
I struck a match, and looked about for a candle. I had a rapid glimpse of a tiny apartment, half room, half studio, in which was nothing but a bed, canvases with their faces to the wall, an easel, a table, and a chair. There was no carpet on the floor. There was no fireplace. On the table, crowded with paints, palette-knives, and litter of all kinds, was the end of a candle. I lit it. Strickland was lying in the bed, uncomfortably because it was too small for him, and he had put all his clothes over him for warmth. It was obvious at a glance that he was in a high fever. Stroeve, his voice cracking with emotion, went up to him.
我劃了一根火柴，四處看了看有沒有蠟燭。匆猝間我看到的是一間很小的屋子，半做住房，半做畫室，屋子里只有一張床，面對墻放著的是一些畫幅，一個畫架，一張桌子和一把椅子。地板上光禿禿的沒有地毯。室內(nèi)沒有火爐。桌子上亂堆著顏料瓶、調(diào)色刀和雜七雜八的東西，在這一堆凌亂的物品中間我找到半截蠟燭頭。我把它點上。思特里克蘭德正在床上躺著，他躺得很不舒服，因為這張床對他說來顯然太小了。為了取暖，他的衣服都在身上蓋著。一眼就能看出來，他正在發(fā)高燒。施特略夫走到床前，因為感情激動連嗓子都啞了。
Oh, my poor friend, what is the matter with you? I had no idea you were ill. Why didn't you let me know? You must know I'd have done anything in the world for you. Were you thinking of what I said? I didn't mean it. I was wrong. It was stupid of me to take offence.
“啊，可憐的朋友，你怎么啦？我一點也不知道你生病了。為什么你不告訴我一聲？你知道為了你我什么事都會做的。你還計較我說的話嗎？我不是那個意思。我錯了。我生了你的氣太不應該了。”
Go to hell, said Strickland.
“見鬼去吧！”思特里克蘭德說。
Now, be reasonable. Let me make you comfortable. Haven't you anyone to look after you?
“別不講理，好不好？讓我使你舒服一些。沒有人照料你么？”
He looked round the squalid attic in dismay. He tried to arrange the bed-clothes. Strickland, breathing laboriously, kept an angry silence.
他在這間邋里邋遢的小閣樓里四處張望著，不知從何下手。他把思特里克蘭德的被子整了一下。思特里克蘭德呼呼地喘著氣，忍著怒氣一語不發(fā)。
