第十三章（第18/19页）

"Have you ever read Proust?" he asked her.

“你读过普鲁斯特（注：1871-1922，法国作家）的作品吗？”他问道。

"I've tried, but he bores me.” "He's really very extraordinary.” "Possibly! But he bores me: all that sophistication! He doesn't have feelings, he only has streams of words about feelings. I'm tired of self-important mentalities.” "Would you prefer self-important animalities?” "Perhaps! But one might possibly get something that wasn't self-important.” "Well, I like Proust's subtlety and his well-bred anarchy.” "It makes you very dead, really." "There speaks my evangelical little wife." They were at it again, at it again! But she couldn't help fighting him. He seemed to sit there like a skeleton, sending out a skeleton's cold grizzly will against her. Almost she could feel the skeleton clutching her and pressing her to its cage of ribs. He too was really up in arms: and she was a little afraid of him.

“读过，可实在太无趣了。”“他的确非常优秀。”“可能吧！但却让我感到很沉闷，通篇都是强词夺理的语句！他的作品缺乏感情色彩，只是将描写感情的语句堆叠起来。我受够了这种妄自尊大的心态。”“你宁愿选择自以为是的兽性？”“或许吧！还是要点不那么自以为是的东西好。”“呵，普鲁斯特的作品充满微妙的情感，以及高雅的无政府主义情结，我欣赏的正是这些。”“那会让你变得死气沉沉，此话当真。”“我的小传教士夫人又开始讲道了。”他俩再度开始争吵，吵个没完没了！但她就是忍不住，非要跟他争辩。他坐在那里，就像具骷髅，向她发出骷髅冰冷阴郁的意志。她觉得这骷髅快要将她攫住，塞进自己肋骨间的空洞里。他也摆出应战的架势，而她还真惧他三分。

She went upstairs as soon as possible, and went to bed quite early. But at half past nine she got up, and went outside to listen. There was no sound. She slipped on a dressing-gown and went downstairs. Clifford and Mrs. Bolton were playing cards, gambling. They would probably go on until midnight.

她抽冷子脱了身，返回楼上，早早就上床休息。可九点半的时候，她悄悄起身，踱到房间外面，听着动静。声息皆无。她穿好睡衣，轻手轻脚地下了楼。克利福德和博尔顿太太正在赌牌。他俩可能要继续到午夜时分。

Connie returned to her room, threw her pyjamas on the tossed bed, put on a thin tennis-dress and over that a woollen day-dress, put on rubber tennis-shoes, and then a light coat. And she was ready. If she met anybody, she was just going out for a few minutes. And in the morning, when she came in again, she would just have been for a little walk in the dew, as she fairly often did before breakfast. For the rest, the only danger was that someone should go into her room during the night. But that was most unlikely: not one chance in a hundred.

康妮回到卧室，把睡衣丢在床上，穿上一件单薄的网球裙，外面套着毛料长裙，蹬上胶底网球鞋，然后披上风衣。她已经做好准备。要是遇到什么人，就说要出去遛个弯。若早晨回来的时候被发现，就说刚刚趁着朝露散步回来，她早餐前经常如此。至于其他的，唯一的危险就是有人半夜来她的房间。但这根本就不可能，连百分之一的可能性都没有。

Betts had not locked up. He fastened up the house at ten o'clock, and unfastened it again at seven in the morning. She slipped out silently and unseen. There was a half-moon shining, enough to make a little light in the world, not enough to show her up in her dark-grey coat. She walked quickly across the park, not really in the thrill of the assignation, but with a certain anger and rebellion burning in her heart. It was not the right sort of heart to take to a love-meeting. But À La Guerre Comme À La Guerre!