Into the cozy4, bookish atmosphere of the novelist's study penetrated5 the muffled6 chime of Big Ben; it chimed the three-quarters. But, with his mind centered upon his work, Leroux wrote on ceaselessly.
An odd figure of a man was this popular novelist, with patchy and untidy hair which lessened7 the otherwise striking contour of his brow. A neglected and unpicturesque figure, in a baggy8, neutral-colored dressing-gown; a figure more fitted to a garret than to this spacious9, luxurious10 workroom, with the soft light playing upon rank after rank of rare and costly11 editions, deepening the tones in the Persian carpet, making red morocco more red, purifying the vellum and regilding the gold of the choice bindings, caressing12 lovingly the busts13 and statuettes surmounting14 the book-shelves, and twinkling upon the scantily-covered crown of Henry Leroux. The door bell rang.
Leroux, heedless of external matters, pursued his work. But the door bell rang again and continued to ring.
“Soames! Soames!” Leroux raised his voice irascibly, continuing to write the while. “Where the devil are you! Can't you hear the door bell?”
Soames did not reveal himself; and to the ringing of the bell was added the unmistakable rattling15 of a letter-box.
“Soames!” Leroux put down his pen and stood up. “Damn it! he's out! I have no memory!”
He retied the girdle of his dressing-gown, which had become unfastened, and opened the study door. Opposite, across the entrance lobby, was the outer door; and in the light from the lobby lamp he perceived two laughing eyes peering in under the upraised flap of the letter-box. The ringing ceased.
“Are you VERY angry with me for interrupting you?” cried a girl's voice.
“My dear Miss Cumberly!” said Leroux without irritation16; “on the contrary—er—I am delighted to see you—or rather to hear you. There is nobody at home, you know.”...
“I DO know,” replied the girl firmly, “and I know something else, also. Father assures me that you simply STARVE yourself when Mrs. Leroux is away! So I have brought down an omelette!”
“Omelette!” muttered Leroux, advancing toward the door; “you have—er—brought an omelette! I understand—yes; you have brought an omelette? Er—that is very good of you.”
He hesitated when about to open the outer door, raising his hands to his dishevelled hair and unshaven chin. The flap of the letter-box dropped; and the girl outside could be heard stifling17 her laughter.
“You must think me—er—very rude,” began Leroux; “I mean—not to open the door. But”...
“I quite understand,” concluded the voice of the unseen one. “You are a most untidy object! And I shall tell Mira DIRECTLY she returns that she has no right to leave you alone like this! Now I am going to hurry back upstairs; so you may appear safely. Don't let the omelette get cold. Good night!”
“No, certainly I shall not!” cried Leroux. “So good of you—I—er—do like omelette.... Good night!”
Calmly he returned to his writing-table, where, in the pursuit of the elusive18 character whose exploits he was chronicling and who had brought him fame and wealth, he forgot in the same moment Helen Cumberly and the omelette.
The table-clock ticked merrily on; SCRATCH—SCRATCH—SPLUTTER—SCRATCH—went Henry Leroux's pen; for this up-to-date litterateur, essayist by inclination19, creator of “Martin Zeda, Criminal Scientist” by popular clamor, was yet old-fashioned enough, and sufficient of an enthusiast20, to pen his work, while lesser21 men dictated22.
So, amidst that classic company, smiling or frowning upon him from the oaken shelves, where Petronius Arbiter23, exquisite24, rubbed shoulders with Balzac, plebeian25; where Omar Khayyam leaned confidentially26 toward Philostratus; where Mark Twain, standing27 squarely beside Thomas Carlyle, glared across the room at George Meredith, Henry Leroux pursued the amazing career of “Martin Zeda.”
It wanted but five minutes to the hour of midnight, when again the door bell clamored in the silence.
Leroux wrote steadily28 on. The bell continued to ring, and, furthermore, the ringer could be heard beating upon the outer door.
Leroux stood up, dashing his pen upon the table.
“I shall have to sack that damned man!” he cried; “he takes too many liberties—stopping out until this hour of the night!”
He pulled open the study door, crossed the hallway, and opened the door beyond.
In, out of the darkness—for the stair lights had been extinguished—staggered a woman; a woman whose pale face exhibited, despite the ravages30 of sorrow or illness, signs of quite unusual beauty. Her eyes were wide opened, and terror-stricken, the pupils contracted almost to vanishing point. She wore a magnificent cloak of civet fur wrapped tightly about her, and, as Leroux opened the door, she tottered31 past him into the lobby, glancing back over her shoulder.
With his upraised hands plunged32 pathetically into the mop of his hair, Leroux turned and stared at the intruder. She groped as if a darkness had descended33, clutched at the sides of the study doorway34, and then, unsteadily, entered—and sank down upon the big chesterfield in utter exhaustion35.
Leroux, rubbing his chin, perplexedly, walked in after her. He scarcely had his foot upon the study carpet, ere the woman started up, tremulously, and shot out from the enveloping36 furs a bare arm and a pointing, quivering finger.
“Close the door!” she cried hoarsely—“close the door!... He has... followed me!”...
The disturbed novelist, as a man in a dream, turned, retraced37 his steps, and closed the outer door of the flat. Then, rubbing his chin more vigorously than ever and only desisting from this exercise to fumble38 in his dishevelled hair, he walked back into the study, whose Athenean calm had thus mysteriously been violated.
Two minutes to midnight; the most respectable flat in respectable Westminster; a lonely and very abstracted novelist—and a pale-faced, beautiful woman, enveloped39 in costly furs, sitting staring with fearful eyes straight before her. This was such a scene as his sense of the proprieties40 and of the probabilities could never have permitted Henry Leroux to create.
His visitor kept moistening her dry lips and swallowing, emotionally.
She waved her hand, enjoining43 him to silence, and at the same time intimating that she would explain herself directly speech became possible. Whilst she sought to recover her composure, Leroux, gradually forcing himself out of the dreamlike state, studied her with a sort of anxious curiosity.
It now became apparent to him that his visitor was no more than twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, but illness or trouble, or both together, had seared and marred44 her beauty. Amid the auburn masses of her hair, gleamed streaks45, not of gray, but of purest white. The low brow was faintly wrinkled, and the big—unnaturally big—eyes were purple shaded; whilst two heavy lines traced their way from the corner of the nostrils46 to the corner of the mouth—of the drooping47 mouth with the bloodless lips.
Her pallor became more strange and interesting the longer he studied it; for, underlying48 the skin was a yellow tinge49 which he found inexplicable50, but which he linked in his mind with the contracted pupils of her eyes, seeking vainly for a common cause.
He had a hazy51 impression that his visitor, beneath her furs, was most inadequately52 clothed; and seeking confirmation53 of this, his gaze strayed downward to where one little slippered54 foot peeped out from the civet furs.
He crossed to his writing-table, and seated himself, glancing sideways at this living mystery. Suddenly she began, in a voice tremulous and scarcely audible:—
“Mr. Leroux, at a great—at a very great personal risk, I have come to-night. What I have to ask of you—to entreat56 of you, will... will”...
Two bare arms emerged from the fur, and she began clutching at her throat and bosom57 as though choking—dying.
Leroux leapt up and would have run to her; but forcing a ghastly smile, she waved him away again.
“It is all right,” she muttered, swallowing noisily. But frightful58 spasms59 of pain convulsed her, contorting her pale face.
“Some brandy—!” cried Leroux, anxiously.
“If you please,” whispered the visitor.
She dropped her arms and fell back upon the chesterfield, insensible.
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收听单词发音
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1
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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mosaic
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| n./adj.镶嵌细工的，镶嵌工艺品的，嵌花式的 | |
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opulence
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| n.财富，富裕 | |
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cozy
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| adj.亲如手足的，密切的，暖和舒服的 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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6
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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7
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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13
busts
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| 半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 )； 妇女的胸部； 胸围； 突击搜捕 | |
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14
surmounting
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| 战胜( surmount的现在分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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15
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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16
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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18
elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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19
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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20
enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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21
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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22
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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23
arbiter
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| n.仲裁人，公断人 | |
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24
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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plebeian
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| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
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confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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27
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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28
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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30
ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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31
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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32
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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33
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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35
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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36
enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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37
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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38
fumble
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| vi.笨拙地用手摸、弄、接等，摸索 | |
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39
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
proprieties
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| n.礼仪，礼节；礼貌( propriety的名词复数 )；规矩；正当；合适 | |
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41
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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42
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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43
enjoining
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| v.命令( enjoin的现在分词 ) | |
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44
marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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45
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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46
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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47
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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48
underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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49
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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50
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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51
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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52
inadequately
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| ad.不够地；不够好地 | |
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53
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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54
slippered
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| 穿拖鞋的 | |
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55
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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56
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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57
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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58
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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59
spasms
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| n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 )；抽搐；（能量、行为等的）突发；发作 | |
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