The afternoon of the 9th of September was exactly like any other afternoon. None of those whowere to be concerned in the events of that day could lay claim to having had a premonition ofdisaster. (With the exception, that is, of Mrs. Packer of 47, Wilbraham Crescent, who specializedin premonitions, and who always described at great length afterwards the peculiar2 forebodings andtremors that had beset3 her. But Mrs. Packer at No. 47, was so far away from No. 19, and so littleconcerned with the happenings there, that it seemed unnecessary for her to have had a premonitionat all.)
At the Cavendish Secretarial and Typewriting Bureau, Principal, Miss K. Martindale,September 9th had been a dull day, a day of routine. The telephone rang, typewriters clicked, thepressure of business was average, neither above nor below its usual volume. None of it wasparticularly interesting. Up till 2:35, September 9th might have been a day like any other day.
At 2:35 Miss Martindale’s buzzer4 went, and Edna Brent in the outer office answered it in herusual breathy and slightly nasal voice, as she manoeuvred a toffee along the line of her jaw5.
“Yes, Miss Martindale?”
“Now, Edna — that is not the way I’ve told you to speak when answering the telephone.
Enunciate6 clearly, and keep your breath behind your tone.”
“Sorry, Miss Martindale.”
“That’s better. You can do it when you try. Send Sheila Webb in to me.”
“She’s not back from lunch yet, Miss Martindale.”
“Ah.” Miss Martindale’s eye consulted the clock on her desk. 2:36. Exactly six minutes late.
Sheila Webb had been getting slack lately. “Send her in when she comes.”
“Yes, Miss Martindale.”
Edna restored the toffee to the centre of her tongue and, sucking pleasurably, resumed hertyping of Naked Love by Armand Levine. Its painstaking7 eroticism left her uninterested—asindeed it did most of Mr. Levine’s readers, in spite of his efforts. He was a notable example of thefact that nothing can be duller than dull pornography. In spite of lurid8 jackets and provocativetitles, his sales went down every year, and his last typing bill had already been sent in three times.
The door opened and Sheila Webb came in, slightly out of breath.
“Sandy Cat’s asking for you,” said Edna.
Sheila Webb made a face.
“Just my luck—on the one day I’m late back!”
She smoothed down her hair, picked up pad and pencil, and knocked at the Principal’s door.
Miss Martindale looked up from her desk. She was a woman of forty- odd, bristling9 withefficiency. Her pompadour of pale reddish hair and her Christian10 name of Katherine had led to hernickname of Sandy Cat.
“You’re late back, Miss Webb.”
“Sorry, Miss Martindale. There was a terrific bus jam.”
“There is always a terrific bus jam at this time of day. You should allow for it.” She referred to anote on her pad. “A Miss Pebmarsh rang up. She wants a stenographer11 at three o’clock. She askedfor you particularly. Have you worked for her before?”
“I can’t remember doing so, Miss Martindale. Not lately anyway.”
“The address is 19, Wilbraham Crescent.” She paused questioningly, but Sheila Webb shookher head.
“I can’t remember going there.”
Miss Martindale glanced at the clock.
“Three o’clock. You can manage that easily. Have you any other appointments this afternoon?
Ah, yes,” her eye ran down the appointment book at her elbow. “Professor Purdy at the CurlewHotel. Five o’clock. You ought to be back before then. If not, I can send Janet.”
She gave a nod of dismissal, and Sheila went back to the outer office.
“Anything interesting, Sheila?”
“Just another of those dull days. Some old pussy12 up at Wilbraham Crescent. And at fiveProfessor Purdy—all those awful archaeological names! How I wish something exciting couldsometimes happen.”
Miss Martindale’s door opened.
“I see I have a memo13 here, Sheila. If Miss Pebmarsh is not back when you arrive, you are to goin, the door will not be latched14. Go in and go into the room on the right of the hall and wait. Canyou remember that or shall I write it down?”
“I can remember it, Miss Martindale.”
Miss Martindale went back into her sanctum.
Edna Brent fished under her chair and brought up, secretly, a rather flashy shoe and a stilettoheel that had become detached from it.
“However am I going to get home?” she moaned.
“Oh, do stop fussing—we’ll think of something,” said one of the other girls, and resumed hertyping.
Edna sighed and put in a fresh sheet of paper:
“Desire had him in its grasp. With frenzied15 fingers he tore the fragile chiffon fromher breasts and forced her down on the soap.”
“Damn,” said Edna and reached for the eraser.
Sheila picked up her handbag and went out.
Wilbraham Crescent was a fantasy executed by a Victorian builder in the 1880’s. It was a half-moon of double houses and gardens set back to back. This conceit16 was a source of considerabledifficulty to persons unacquainted with the locality. Those who arrived on the outer side wereunable to find the lower numbers and those who hit the inner side first were baffled as to thewhereabouts of the higher numbers. The houses were neat, prim17, artistically18 balconied andeminently respectable. Modernization19 had as yet barely touched them—on the outside, that is tosay. Kitchens and bathrooms were the first to feel the wind of change.
There was nothing unusual about No. 19. It had neat curtains and a well-polished brass20 frontdoorhandle. There were standard rose trees each side of the path leading to the front door.
Sheila Webb opened the front gate, walked up to the front door and rang the bell. There was noresponse and after waiting a minute or two, she did as she had been directed, and turned thehandle. The door opened and she walked in. The door on the right of the small hall was ajar. Shetapped on it, waited, and then walked in. It was an ordinary quite pleasant sitting room, a littleoverfurnished for modern tastes. The only thing at all remarkable21 about it was the profusion22 ofclocks—a grandfather clock ticking in the corner, a Dresden china clock on the mantelpiece, asilver carriage clock on the desk, a small fancy gilt23 clock on a whatnot near the fireplace and on atable by the window, a faded leather travelling clock, with ROSEMARY in worn gilt letters acrossthe corner.
Sheila Webb looked at the clock on the desk with some surprise. It showed the time to be a littleafter ten minutes past four. Her gaze shifted to the chimney piece. The clock there said the same.
Sheila started violently as there was a whir and a click above her head, and from a woodencarved clock on the wall a cuckoo sprang out through his little door and announced loudly anddefinitely: Cuckoo, Cuckoo, Cuckoo! The harsh note seemed almost menacing. The cuckoodisappeared again with a snap of his door.
Sheila Webb gave a half-smile and walked round the end of the sofa. Then she stopped short,pulling up with a jerk.
Sprawled24 on the floor was the body of a man. His eyes were half open and sightless. There wasa dark moist patch on the front of his dark grey suit. Almost mechanically Sheila bent25 down. Shetouched his cheek—cold—his hand, the same … touched the wet patch and drew her hand awaysharply, staring at it in horror.
At that moment she heard the click of a gate outside, her head turned mechanically to thewindow. Through it she saw a woman’s figure hurrying up the path. Sheila swallowedmechanically—her throat was dry. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, to cry out …staring in front of her.
The door opened and a tall elderly woman entered, carrying a shopping bag. She had wavy26 greyhair pulled back from her forehead, and her eyes were a wide and beautiful blue. Their gazepassed unseeingly over Sheila.
Sheila uttered a faint sound, no more than a croak27. The wide blue eyes came to her and thewoman spoke28 sharply:
“Is somebody there?”
“I—it’s—” The girl broke off as the woman came swiftly towards her round the back of thesofa.
And then she screamed.
“Don’t—don’t … you’ll tread on it—him … And he’s dead….”
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收听单词发音
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1
prologue
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| n.开场白，序言；开端，序幕 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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buzzer
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| n.蜂鸣器；汽笛 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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enunciate
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| v.发音；（清楚地）表达 | |
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painstaking
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| adj.苦干的；艰苦的，费力的，刻苦的 | |
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lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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stenographer
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| n.速记员 | |
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pussy
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| n.(儿语)小猫，猫咪 | |
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memo
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| n.照会，备忘录；便笺；通知书；规章 | |
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latched
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| v.理解( latch的过去式和过去分词 )；纠缠；用碰锁锁上（门等）；附着（在某物上） | |
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frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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artistically
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| adv.艺术性地 | |
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modernization
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| n.现代化，现代化的事物 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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croak
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| vi.嘎嘎叫，发牢骚 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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