Out of the corner of his eye he looked at the dark, sensitive face of his companion; he ought to have gone into business at eighteen, was Jacobsen’s verdict. It was bad for him to think; he wasn’t strong enough.
A great sound of barking broke upon the calm of the garden. Looking up, the two strollers saw George White running across the green turf of the croquet lawn with a huge fawn-coloured dog bounding along at his side.
[Pg 142]
“Morning,” he shouted. He was hatless and out of breath. “I was taking Bella for a run, and thought I’d look in and see how you all were.”
“What a lovely dog!” Jacobsen exclaimed.
“An old English mastiff our—one aboriginal11 dog. She has a pedigree going straight back to Edward the Confessor.”
Jacobsen began a lively conversation with George on the virtues12 and shortcomings of dogs. Bella smelt13 his calves14 and then lifted up her gentle black eyes to look at him. She seemed satisfied.
He looked at them for a little; they were too much absorbed in their doggy conversation to pay attention to him. He made a gesture as though he had suddenly remembered something, gave a little grunt15, and with a very preoccupied16 expression on his face turned to go towards the house. His elaborate piece of by-play escaped the notice of the intended spectators; Guy saw that it had, and felt more miserable17 and angry and jealous than ever. They would think he had slunk off because he wasn’t wanted—which was quite true—instead [Pg 143]of believing that he had something very important to do, which was what he had intended they should believe.
A cloud of self-doubt settled upon him. Was his mind, after all, worthless, and the little things he had written—rubbish, not potential genius as he had hoped? Jacobsen was right in preferring George’s company. George was perfect, physically18, a splendid creature; what could he himself claim?
“I’m second-rate,” he thought—“second-rate, physically, morally, mentally. Jacobsen is quite right.”
The best he could hope to be was a pedestrian literary man with quiet tastes.
NO, no, no! He clenched19 his hands and, as though to register his resolve before the universe, he said, aloud:
“I will do it; I will be first-rate, I will.”
He was covered with confusion on seeing a gardener pop up, surprised from behind a bank of rose-bushes. Talking to himself—the man must have thought him mad!
He hurried on across the lawn, entered the house, and ran upstairs to his room. [Pg 144]There was not a second to lose; he must begin at once. He would write something—something that would last, solid, hard, shining. . . .
“Damn them all! I will do it, I can . . .”
There were writing materials and a table in his room. He selected a pen—with a Relief nib20 he would be able to go on for hours without getting tired—and a large square sheet of writing-paper.
“HATCH HOUSE,
BLAYBURY,
Station: Cogham, 3 miles; Nobes Monacorum, 4? miles.”
Stupid of people to have their stationery22 printed in red, when black or blue is so much nicer! He inked over the letters.
He held up the paper to the light; there was a watermark, “Pimlico Bond.” What an admirable name for the hero of a novel! Pimlico Bond. . . .
“There’s be-eef in the la-arder
And du-ucks in the pond;
Crying dilly dilly, dilly dilly . . .”
[Pg 145]
He bit the end of his pen. “What I want to get,” he said to himself, “is something very hard, very external. Intense emotion, but one will somehow have got outside it.” He made a movement of hands, arms, and shoulders, tightening23 his muscles in an effort to express to himself physically that hardness and tightness and firmness of style after which he was struggling!
He began to draw on his virgin24 paper. A woman, naked, one arm lifted over her head, so that it pulled up her breast by that wonderful curving muscle that comes down from the shoulder. The inner surface of the thighs25, remember, is slightly concave. The feet, seen from the front, are always a difficulty.
It would never do to leave that about. What would the servants think? He turned the nipples into eyes, drew heavy lines for nose, mouth, and chin, slopped on the ink thick; it made a passable face now—though an acute observer might have detected the original nudity. He tore it up into very small pieces.
A crescendo26 booming filled the house. It was the gong. He looked at his watch. [Pg 146]Lunch-time, and he had done nothing. O God! . . .
点击收听单词发音
1 drooped | |
弯曲或下垂,发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2 trotted | |
小跑,急走( trot的过去分词 ); 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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3 sleek | |
adj.光滑的,井然有序的;v.使光滑,梳拢 | |
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4 desultory | |
adj.散漫的,无方法的 | |
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5 inveigle | |
v.诱骗 | |
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6 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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7 disciple | |
n.信徒,门徒,追随者 | |
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8 trespass | |
n./v.侵犯,闯入私人领地 | |
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9 domain | |
n.(活动等)领域,范围;领地,势力范围 | |
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10 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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11 aboriginal | |
adj.(指动植物)土生的,原产地的,土著的 | |
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12 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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13 smelt | |
v.熔解,熔炼;n.银白鱼,胡瓜鱼 | |
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14 calves | |
n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子,腓;腿肚子( calf的名词复数 );牛犊;腓;小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 );(冰川)崩解;生(小牛等),产(犊);使(冰川)崩解 | |
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15 grunt | |
v.嘟哝;作呼噜声;n.呼噜声,嘟哝 | |
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16 preoccupied | |
adj.全神贯注的,入神的;被抢先占有的;心事重重的v.占据(某人)思想,使对…全神贯注,使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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17 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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18 physically | |
adj.物质上,体格上,身体上,按自然规律 | |
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19 clenched | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20 nib | |
n.钢笔尖;尖头 | |
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21 wilts | |
(使)凋谢,枯萎( wilt的第三人称单数 ) | |
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22 stationery | |
n.文具;(配套的)信笺信封 | |
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23 tightening | |
上紧,固定,紧密 | |
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24 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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25 thighs | |
n.股,大腿( thigh的名词复数 );食用的鸡(等的)腿 | |
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26 crescendo | |
n.(音乐)渐强,高潮 | |
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