評論
打印
He gave me a resentful glance. I stood quite quietly, looking at him.
他氣哼哼地看了我一眼。我靜靜地站在那里，盯著他。
If you want to do something for me, you can get me some milk, he said at last. "I haven't been able to get out for two days." There was an empty bottle by the side of the bed, which had contained milk, and in a piece of newspaper a few crumbs.
“要是你想替我做點什么事的話，就去給我買點牛奶吧，”最后他開口說，“我已經有兩天出不了門了。”床旁邊放著一只裝牛奶用的空瓶，一張報紙上還有一些面包屑。
What have you been having? I asked.
“你吃過什么了？”
Nothing.
“什么也沒吃。”
For how long? cried Stroeve. "Do you mean to say you've had nothing to eat or drink for two days? It's horrible."
“多久了？”施特略夫喊道。“你是說兩天沒吃沒喝了嗎？太可怕了。”
I've had water.
“我還有水喝。”
His eyes dwelt for a moment on a large can within reach of an outstretched arm.
他的眼睛在一個大水罐上停留了一會兒；這只水罐放在他一伸手就夠得到的地方。
I'll go immediately, said Stroeve. "Is there anything you fancy?"
“我馬上就去，”施特略夫說。“你還想要別的東西嗎？”
I suggested that he should get a thermometer, and a few grapes, and some bread. Stroeve, glad to make himself useful, clattered down the stairs.
我建議給他買一只熱水瓶，一點兒葡萄同面包。施特略夫很高興有這個幫忙的機會，噔噔地跑下樓梯去。
Damned fool, muttered Strickland.
“該死的傻瓜。”思特里克蘭德咕嚕了一句。
I felt his pulse. It was beating quickly and feebly. I asked him one or two questions, but he would not answer, and when I pressed him he turned his face irritably to the wall. The only thing was to wait in silence. In ten minutes Stroeve, panting, came back. Besides what I had suggested, he brought candles, and meat-juice, and a spirit-lamp. He was a practical little fellow, and without delay set about making bread-and-milk. I took Strickland's temperature. It was a hundred and four. He was obviously very ill.
我摸了摸他的脈搏。脈搏很快，很虛弱。我問了他一兩個問題，他不回答。我再一逼問，他賭氣把臉轉過去，對著墻壁。沒有其他事可做了，只能一語不發地在屋里等著。過了十分鐘，施特略夫氣喘吁吁地回來了。除了我提議要他買的東西以外，他還買來了蠟燭、肉汁和一盞酒精燈。他是一個很會辦事的人，一分鐘也沒有耽擱，馬上就煮了一杯牛奶，把面包泡在里面。我量了量思特里克蘭德的體溫。華氏一百零四度，他顯然病得很厲害。
