The afternoon had turned very warm; Neeland, in his room, lay on the lounge in his undershirt and trousers, having arrived so far toward bathing and changing his attire3.
No breeze stirred the lattice blinds hanging over both open windows; the semi-dusk of the room was pierced here and there by slender shafts4 of sunlight which lay almost white across the carpet and striped the opposite wall; the rue Soleil d’Or was very silent in the July afternoon.
And Neeland lay there thinking about all that had happened to him and trying to bring it home to himself and make it seem plausible5 and real; and could not.
For even now the last ten days of his life seemed like a story he had read concerning someone else. Nor did it seem to him that he personally had known all those people concerned in this wild, exaggerated, grotesque6 story. They, too, took their places on the printed page, appearing, lingering, disappearing, reappearing, as chapter succeeded chapter in a romance too obvious, too palpably sensational7 to win the confidence and credulity of a young man of today.306
Fed to repletion8 on noisy contemporary fiction, his finer perception blunted by the daily and raucous9 yell of the New York press, his imagination too long over-strained by Broadway drama and now flaccid and incapable10 of further response to its leering or shrieking11 appeal, the din12 of twentieth-century art fell on nerveless ears and on a brain benumbed and sceptical.
And so when everything that he had found grotesque, illogical, laboured, obvious, and clamorously redundant13 in literature and the drama began to happen and continued to happen in real life to him—and went on happening and involving himself and others all around him in the pleasant July sunshine of 1914, this young man, made intellectually blasé, found himself without sufficient capacity to comprehend it.
There was another matter with which his mind was struggling as he lay there, his head cradled on one elbow, watching the thin blue spirals from his cigarette mount straight to the ceiling, and that was the metamorphosis of Rue Carew.
Where was the thin girl he remembered—with her untidy chestnut14 hair and freckles15, and a rather sweet mouth—dressed in garments the only mission of which was to cover a flat chest and frail16 body and limbs whose too rapid growth had outstripped17 maturity18?
To search for her he went back to the beginning, where a little girl in a pink print dress, bare-legged and hatless, loitered along an ancient rail fence and looked up shyly at him as he warned her to keep out of range of the fusillade from the bushes across the pasture.
He thought of her again at the noisy party in Gayfield on that white night in winter; visualised the tall, shy, overgrown girl who danced with him and made no 307complaint when her slim foot was trodden on. And again he remembered the sleigh and the sleighbells clashing and tinkling19 under the moon; the light from her doorway20, and how she stood looking back at him; and how, on the mischievous21 impulse of the moment, he had gone back and kissed her––
At the memory an odd sensation came over him, scaring him a little. How on earth had he ever had the temerity22 to do such a thing to her!
And, as he thought of this exquisite23, slender, clear-eyed young girl who had greeted him at the Paris terminal—this charming embodiment of all that is fresh and sweet and fearless—in her perfect hat and gown of mondaine youth and fashion, the memory of his temerity appalled24 him.
Imagine his taking an unencouraged liberty now!
Nor could he dare imagine encouragement from the Rue Carew so amazingly revealed to him.
Out of what, in heaven’s name, had this lovely girl developed? Out of a shy, ragged25, bare-legged child, haunting the wild blackberry tangles26 in Brookhollow?
Out of the frail, charmingly awkward, pathetic, freckled27 mill-hand in her home-made party clothes, the rather sweet expression of whose mouth once led him to impudent28 indiscretion?
Out of what had she been evolved—this young girl whom he had left just now standing29 beside her boudoir door with the Princess Naïa’s arm around her waist? Out of the frightened, white-lipped, shabby girl who had come dragging her trembling limbs and her suitcase up the dark stairway outside his studio? Out of the young thing with sagging30 hair, crouched31 in an armchair beside his desk, where her cheap hat lay with 308two cheap hatpins sticking in the crown? Out of the fragile figure buried in the bedclothes of a stateroom berth32, holding out to him a thin, bare arm in voiceless adieu?
And Neeland lay there thinking, his head on his elbow, the other arm extended—from the fingers of which the burnt-out cigarette presently fell to the floor.
He thought to himself:
“She is absolutely beautiful; there’s no denying that. It’s not her clothes or the way she does her hair, or her voice, or the way she moves, or how she looks at a man; it’s the whole business. And the whole bally business is a miracle, that’s all. Good Lord! And to think I ever had the nerve—the nerve!”
He swung himself to a sitting posture33, sat gazing into space for a few moments, then continued to undress by pulling off one shoe, lighting34 a cigarette, and regarding his other foot fixedly35.
That is the manner in which the vast majority of young men do their deepest thinking.
However, before five o’clock he had scrubbed himself and arrayed his well constructed person in fresh linen36 and outer clothing; and now he sauntered out through the hallway and down the stairs to the rear drawing-room, where a tea-table had been brought in and tea paraphernalia37 arranged. Although the lamp under the kettle had been lighted, nobody was in the room except a West Highland38 terrier curled up on a lounge, who, without lifting his snow-white head, regarded Neeland out of the wisest and most penetrating39 eyes the young man had ever encountered.
Here was a personality! Here was a dog not to be approached lightly or with flippant familiarity. No! That small, long, short-legged body with its thatch40 of 309wiry white hair was fairly instinct with dignity, wisdom, and uncompromising self-respect.
“That dog,” thought Neeland, venturing to seat himself on a chair opposite, “is a Presbyterian if ever there was one. And I, for one, haven’t the courage to address him until he deigns41 to speak to me.”
He looked respectfully at the dog, glanced at the kettle which had begun to sizzle a little, then looked out of the long windows into the little walled garden where a few slender fruit trees grew along the walls in the rear of well-kept flower beds, now gay with phlox, larkspur, poppies, and heliotrope42, and edged with the biggest and bluest pansies he had ever beheld43.
On the wall a Peacock butterfly spread its brown velvet44 and gorgeously eyed wings to the sun’s warmth; a blackbird with brilliant yellow bill stood astride a peach twig45 and poured out a bubbling and incessant46 melody full of fluted47 grace notes. And on the grass oval a kitten frisked with the ghosts of last month’s dandelions, racing48 after the drifting fluff and occasionally keeling over to attack its own tail, after the enchanting49 manner of all kittens.
A step behind him and Neeland turned. It was Marotte, the butler, who presented a thick, sealed envelope to him on his salver, bent50 to turn down the flame under the singing silver kettle, and withdrew without a sound.
Neeland glanced at the letter in perplexity, opened the envelope and the twice-folded sheets of letter paper inside, and read this odd communication:
Have I been fair to you? Did I keep my word? Surely you must now, in your heart, acquit51 me of treachery—of any premeditated violence toward you.
I never dreamed that those men would come to my 310stateroom. That plan had been discussed, but was abandoned because it appeared impossible to get hold of you.
And also—may I admit it without being misunderstood?—I absolutely refused to permit any attempt involving your death.
When the trap shut on you, there in my stateroom, it shut also on me. I was totally unprepared; I was averse52 to murder; and also I had given you my word of honour.
Judge, then, of my shame and desperation—my anger at being entrapped53 in a false position involving the loss in your eyes of my personal honour!
It was unbearable54: and I did what I could to make it clear to you that I had not betrayed you. But my comrades do not yet know that I had any part in it; do not yet understand why the ship was not blown to splinters. They are satisfied that I made a mistake in the rendezvous55. And, so far, no suspicion attaches to me; they believe the mechanism56 of the clock failed them. And perhaps it is well for me that they believe this.
It is, no doubt, a matter of indifference57 to you how the others and I reached safety. I have no delusions58 concerning any personal and kindly59 feeling on your part toward me. But one thing you can not—dare not—believe, and that is that I proved treacherous60 to you and false to my own ideas of honour.
And now let me say one more thing to you—let me say it out of a—friendship—for which you care nothing—could not care anything. And that is this: your task is accomplished61. You could not possibly have succeeded. There is no chance for recovery of those papers. Your mission is definitely ended.
Now, I beg of you to return to America. Keep clear of entanglement62 in these events which are beginning to happen in such rapid succession in Europe. They do not concern you; you have nothing to do with them, no interest in them. Your entry into affairs which can not concern you would be insulting effrontery63 and foolish bravado64.
I beg you to heed65 this warning. I know you to be personally courageous66; I suppose that fear of consequences would not deter67 you from intrusion into any affair, however dangerous; but I dare hope that perhaps 311in your heart there may have been born a little spark of friendliness—a faint warmth of recognition for a woman who took some slight chance with death to prove to you that her word of honour is not lightly given or lightly broken.
So, if you please, our ways part here with this letter sent to you by hand.
I shall not forget the rash but generous boy I knew who called me
Scheherazade.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
rue
|
|
| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
attire
|
|
| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
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） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
plausible
|
|
| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
sensational
|
|
| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
repletion
|
|
| n.充满，吃饱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
raucous
|
|
| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
incapable
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
shrieking
|
|
| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
din
|
|
| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
redundant
|
|
| adj.多余的，过剩的；(食物)丰富的；被解雇的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
chestnut
|
|
| n.栗树，栗子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
freckles
|
|
| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
frail
|
|
| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
outstripped
|
|
| v.做得比…更好，（在赛跑等中）超过( outstrip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
maturity
|
|
| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
tinkling
|
|
| n.丁当作响声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
mischievous
|
|
| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
temerity
|
|
| n.鲁莽，冒失 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
appalled
|
|
| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
tangles
|
|
| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
freckled
|
|
| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
impudent
|
|
| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
sagging
|
|
| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
crouched
|
|
| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
berth
|
|
| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
posture
|
|
| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
lighting
|
|
| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
fixedly
|
|
| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
linen
|
|
| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
paraphernalia
|
|
| n.装备；随身用品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
highland
|
|
| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
penetrating
|
|
| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
thatch
|
|
| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
deigns
|
|
| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
heliotrope
|
|
| n.天芥菜；淡紫色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
beheld
|
|
| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
twig
|
|
| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
incessant
|
|
| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
fluted
|
|
| a.有凹槽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
racing
|
|
| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
enchanting
|
|
| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
acquit
|
|
| vt.宣判无罪；(oneself)使(自己)表现出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
averse
|
|
| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
entrapped
|
|
| v.使陷入圈套，使入陷阱( entrap的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
unbearable
|
|
| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
rendezvous
|
|
| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
mechanism
|
|
| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
delusions
|
|
| n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 )；谬见；错觉；妄想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
treacherous
|
|
| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
entanglement
|
|
| n.纠缠，牵累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
effrontery
|
|
| n.厚颜无耻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
bravado
|
|
| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
heed
|
|
| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
courageous
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
deter
|
|
| vt.阻止，使不敢，吓住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |