The McGregors got home from their vacation in Oregon, and Scott was much amused to find the Professor so doggedly1 anchored in the old house.
“It never struck me, Doctor, that you were a man who would be keeping up two establishments. They’ll be coming home pretty soon, and then you’ll have to decide where you are going to live.”
“I can’t leave my study, Scott. That’s flat.”
“Don’t then! Darn it, you’ve a right to two houses if you want ’em.”
This encounter took place on the street in front of the house. The Professor went wearily upstairs and lay down on the couch, his refuge from this ever-increasing fatigue2. He really didn’t see what he was going to do about the matter of domicile. He couldn’t make himself believe that he was ever going to live in the new house again. He didn’t belong there. He remembered some lines of a translation from the Norse he used to read long ago in one of his mother’s few books, a little two-volume Ticknor and Fields edition of Longfellow, in blue and gold, that used to lie on the parlour table: For thee a house was built Ere thou was born; For thee a mould was made Ere thou of woman camest.
Lying on his old couch, he could almost believe himself in that house already. The sagging3 springs were like the sham4 upholstery that is put in coffins5. Just the equivocal American way of dealing7 with serious facts, he reflected. Why pretend that it is possible to soften8 that last hard bed?
He could remember a time when the loneliness of death had terrified him, when the idea of it was insupportable. He used to feel that if his wife could but lie in the same coffin6 with him, his body would not be so insensible that the nearness of hers would not give it comfort. But now he thought of eternal solitude9 with gratefulness; as a release from every obligation, from every form of effort. It was the Truth.
One morning, just as St. Peter was leaving the house to go to his class-room, the postman handed him two letters, one addressed in Lillian’s hand and one in Louie’s. He put them into his pocket. The feel of them disturbed him. They were of a suspicious thinness — as if they didn’t contain amusing gossip, but announced sudden decisions. He set off down the street, sniffing10 the lake-cooled morning air and trying to overcome a feeling of nervous dread11.
All the morning those two letters lay in his breast pocket. Though they were so light, their effect was to make him drop his shoulders and look woefully tired. The weather, too, had changed, come on suddenly hot and sultry at noon, as if getting ready for a storm. When his classes were over and he was back in his study again, St. Peter felt no interest in lunch. He took out the two letters and ripped them open with his forefinger12 to have it over. Yes, all plans were changed, and by the happiest of expectations. The family were hurrying home to prepare for the advent13 of a young Marsellus. They would sail on the sixteenth, on the Berengaria.
Lillian added a postscript14 to the effect that by this same mail she was getting off a letter to Augusta, who would come to him for the keys of the new house. She would be the best person to open the house and arrange to have the cleaning done. She would take it entirely15 off his shoulders and see that everything was properly put in order.
They were sailing on the sixteenth, and this was the seventeenth; they were already on the water. The Berengaria was a five-day boat. St. Peter caught up his hat and light overcoat and started down the stairs. Halfway16 down, he stopped short, went back to his study, and softly shut the door behind him. He sat down, forgetting to take off his overcoat, though the afternoon was so hot and his face was damp with perspiration17. He sat motionless, breathing unevenly18, one dark hand lying clenched19 on his writing-table. There must, he was repeating to himself, there must be some way in which a man who had always tried to live up to his responsibilities could, when the hour of desperation came, avoid meeting his own family.
He loved his family, he would make any sacrifice for them, but just now he couldn’t live with them. He must be alone. That was more necessary, even, than his marriage had been in his vehement20 youth. He could not live with his family again — not even with Lillian. Especially not with Lillian! Her nature was intense and positive; it was like a chiselled21 surface, a die, a stamp upon which he could not be beaten out any longer. If her character were reduced to an heraldic device, it would be a hand (a beautiful hand) holding flaming arrows — the shafts22 of her violent loves and hates, her clear-cut ambitions.
“In great misfortunes,” he told himself, “people want to be alone. They have a right to be. And the misfortunes that occur within one are the greatest. Surely the saddest thing in the world is falling out of love — if once one has ever fallen in.”
Falling out, for him, seemed to mean falling out of all domestic and social relations, out of his place in the human family, indeed.
St. Peter did not go out of the house that afternoon. He did not leave his study. He sat at his desk with bent23 head, reviewing his life, trying to see where he had made his mistake, to account for the fact that he now wanted to run away from everything he had intensely cared for.
Late in the afternoon the heaviness of the air in the room drove him to the window. He saw that a storm was coming on. Great orange and purple clouds were blowing up from the lake, and the pine-trees over about the Physics laboratory were blacker than cypresses24 and looked contracted, as if they were awaiting something. The rain broke, and it turned cold.
The rain-storm was over in half and hour, but a heavy blow had set in for the night. The wind would be a protection, he thought. Even Augusta would hardly come plodding25 up the stairs to-night. It seemed strange to be dreading26 Augusta, but just now he did dread her. He believed he was safe, for to-night. Though it was only five o’clock, the sky was black, and the room was dusky and chilly27. He lit the stove and lay down on the couch. The fire made a flickering28 pattern of light on the wall. He lay watching it, vacantly; without meaning to, he fell asleep. For a long while he slept deeply and peacefully. Then the wind, increasing in violence, disturbed him. He began to be aware of noises — things banging and slamming about. He turned over on his back and slept deeper still.
When St. Peter at last awoke, the room was pitch-black and full of gas. He was cold and numb29, felt sick and rather dazed. The long-anticipated coincidence had happened, he realized. The storm had blown the stove out and the window shut. The thing to do was to get up and open the window. But suppose he did not get up —? How far was a man required to exert himself against accident? How would such a case be decided30 under English law? He hadn’t lifted his hand against himself — was he required to lift it for himself?
点击收听单词发音
1 doggedly | |
adv.顽强地,固执地 | |
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2 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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3 sagging | |
下垂[沉,陷],松垂,垂度 | |
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4 sham | |
n./adj.假冒(的),虚伪(的) | |
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5 coffins | |
n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 );使某人早亡[死,完蛋,垮台等]之物 | |
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6 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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7 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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8 soften | |
v.(使)变柔软;(使)变柔和 | |
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9 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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10 sniffing | |
n.探查法v.以鼻吸气,嗅,闻( sniff的现在分词 );抽鼻子(尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气);抱怨,不以为然地说 | |
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11 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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12 forefinger | |
n.食指 | |
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13 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
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14 postscript | |
n.附言,又及;(正文后的)补充说明 | |
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15 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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16 halfway | |
adj.中途的,不彻底的,部分的;adv.半路地,在中途,在半途 | |
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17 perspiration | |
n.汗水;出汗 | |
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18 unevenly | |
adv.不均匀的 | |
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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 vehement | |
adj.感情强烈的;热烈的;(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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21 chiselled | |
adj.凿过的,凿光的; (文章等)精心雕琢的v.凿,雕,镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
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22 shafts | |
n.轴( shaft的名词复数 );(箭、高尔夫球棒等的)杆;通风井;一阵(疼痛、害怕等) | |
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23 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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24 cypresses | |
n.柏属植物,柏树( cypress的名词复数 ) | |
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25 plodding | |
a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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26 dreading | |
v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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27 chilly | |
adj.凉快的,寒冷的 | |
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28 flickering | |
adj.闪烁的,摇曳的,一闪一闪的 | |
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29 numb | |
adj.麻木的,失去感觉的;v.使麻木 | |
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30 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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