評論
打印
I was still listening in thought to her well-remembered tones,
我心里仍傾聽著記憶猶新的聲調，
still picturing her pale and spiritual aspect, her wasted face and sublime gaze,
仍然描摹著她蒼白而脫俗的容貌，消瘦的臉龐和崇高的目光。
as she lay on her placid deathbed, and whispered her longing to be restored to her divine Father's bosom
那時她平靜地躺在臨終的病榻上，低聲地傾吐著要回到神圣的天父懷抱的渴望。
when a feeble voice murmured from the couch behind: "Who is that?"
正想著，我身后的床上響起了微弱的響聲：“是誰呀？”
I knew Mrs. Reed had not spoken for days.
我知道里德太太已經幾天沒有說話了。
Was she reviving? I went up to her.
難道她醒過來了？我走到她跟前。
It is I, Aunt Reed.
是我，里德舅媽。
"Who -- I?" was her answer. "Who are you?" looking at me with surprise and a sort of alarm, but still not wildly.
“誰--我？”她回答。“你是誰？”她詫異地看著我，頗有些吃驚，但并沒有失去控制。
You are quite a stranger to me -- where is Bessie?
我完全不認識你--貝茜呢？
She is at the lodge, aunt.
她在門房，舅媽。
"Aunt," she repeated. Who calls me aunt?
“舅媽！”她重復了一聲。誰叫我舅媽來著？
You are not one of the Gibsons, and yet I know you -- that face, and the eyes and forehead, are quiet familiar to me.
你不是吉卜森家的人，不過我知道你--那張面孔，那雙眼睛和那個前額，我很熟悉。
You are like -- why, you are like Jane Eyre!
你像--唉，你像簡·愛！
