第十章（第29/42页）

"I don't know," he said, "I don't know.” And she knew he would never tell her anything he didn't want to tell her. She watched his face, and the passion for him moved in her bowels. She resisted it as far as she could, for it was the loss of herself to herself.

“我不记得了，”他说，“都忘记了。”她清楚，那些他不愿让她知晓的事情，他不会透露半字。她盯着他的脸庞，热烈的爱意在心底翻涌。她竭力抑制着这种情绪，因为那样会让她迷失自我。

He put on his waistcoat and his coat, and pushed a way through to the path again.

他穿上马甲和外衣，挤过树丛，重新踏上通往拉格比的小路。

The last level rays of the sun touched the wood. "I won't come with you," he said; "better not." She looked at him wistfully before she turned. His dog was waiting so anxiously for him to go, and he seemed to have nothing whatever to say. Nothing left.

夕阳洒落最后几缕余光，给树林着上金色。“我不送你了，”他说，“还是不送为好。”她依依不舍地望着他，最终转身离去。猎犬正焦急地等着主人启程返家，他似乎已经说完所有该说的话。没有半句遗漏。

Connie went slowly home, realizing the depth of the other thing in her. Another self was alive in her, burning molten and soft in her womb and bowels, and with this self she adored him. She adored him till her knees were weak as she walked. In her womb and bowels she was flowing and alive now and vulnerable, and helpless in adoration of him as the most naive woman. It feels like a child, she said to herself it feels like a child in me. And so it did, as if her womb, that had always been shut, had opened and filled with new life, almost a burden, yet lovely.

康妮脚步徐缓，踏上回家的路，意识到内心深处潜伏着另一个自我。这个自我如今活跃异常，它灼热地燃烧着，让子宫及脏腑中的一切尽数熔化变软，对他顶礼膜拜。这样的爱慕让她走路时都感觉两膝发软。这个自我正在她的子宫和脏腑里起伏跳跃，有几位脆弱，如同天真烂漫的少女，不可救药地思慕着他。它就像个活生生的婴孩，她默默自语，它就像在我体内成长着的婴孩。的确如此，似乎她那封闭已久的子宫已经开启，承载着新的生命，虽然是种负担，但却让人倍感愉悦。

"If I had a child!" she thought to herself; "if I had him inside me as a child!"—and her limbs turned molten at the thought, and she realized the immense difference between having a child to oneself and having a child to a man whom one's bowels yearned towards. The former seemed in a sense ordinary: but to have a child to a man whom one adored in one's bowels and one's womb, it made her feel she was very different from her old self and as if she was sinking deep, deep to the centre of all womanhood and the sleep of creation.

“要是能有个孩子该多好！”她心想，“要是能怀上他的孩子该多好！”想到这里，她的四肢几近熔化，她清楚，只为自己生个孩子，和为自己心爱的男人诞下后代，简直有天壤之别。前者似乎变得再普通不过，但与倾心恋着的男人生下爱的结晶，这样的想法让她感觉自己已经不再是昔日那个浑浑噩噩的康妮，好像自己已经深深陶醉，陶醉在女性毕生的要务中，陶醉在孕育新生命的梦乡里。

It was not the passion that was new to her, it was the yearning adoration. She knew she had always feared it, for it left her helpless; she feared it still, lest if she adored him too much, then she would lose herself become effaced, and she did not want to be effaced, a slave, like a savage woman. She must not become a slave. She feared her adoration, yet she would not at once fight against it. She knew she could fight it. She had a devil of self-will in her breast that could have fought the full soft heaving adoration of her womb and crushed it. She could even now do it, or she thought so, and she could then take up her passion with her own will.