【敞开的窗户】敞开的窗户原文
【敞开的窗户】敞开的窗户原文
世界各国排名
阴道痛是什么原因湖北师范学院外国语学院喻劲梅编译一位不善言辞的客人登门拜访，也
许仅仅在几分钟之内，接待他的这家的小主人，一个15岁的小姑娘，编出了一
个与客厅里敞开的落地长窗有关的恐怖故事，吓得客人落荒而逃。小姑娘真是天
小狗喜欢吃什么
才的故事编造者，而在她身后，这篇著名短篇小说的作者，苏格兰裔杰出小说家
赫克托・门罗(Hector Hugh Munro．1870―1916，笔名萨基)，才是真正的天才
的故事写作者。尽管萨基也出版有数部长篇小说，但最为人们称道的还是他的短
篇作品。这些作品机智、俏皮、奇特，故事结构巧妙，多以异峰突起式的意外结
局点明主题。
“My aunt will be down prently, Mr. Nuttel,” said a very lf-possd young lady of fifteen, “in the meantime you must try and put up with me.”
Framton Nuttel endeavoured to say the correct something which should duly flatter the niece of the moment without unduly discounting the aunt that was to come. Privately he doubted more than ever whether the formal visits on a succession of total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure which he was suppod to be undergoing.
“I know how it will be,” his sister had said when he was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat, “you will bury yourlf down there and not speak to a living soul, and your nerves will be wor than ever from moping. I shall just give you letters of introduction to all the people I know there. Some of them, as far as I can remember, were quite nice.”
Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton, the lady to whom he was prenting one of the letters of introduction came into the nice division.
“Do you know many of the people round here?” asked the niece, when she judged that they had had sufficient silent communication.
“Hardly a soul,” said Framton. “My sister was staying here, at the rectory, you know, some four years ago, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here.”
He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret.
“Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?” pursued the lf-possd young lady.
“Only her name and address,” admitted the caller. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the married or widowed state. An undefinable something about the room emed to suggest masculine habitation.
“Her great tragedy happened just three years ago,” said the child,“that would be since your sister’s time.”
“Her tragedy?” asked Framton; somehow in this restful country spot tragedies emed out of place.
“You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon,” said the niece, indicating a large French window that opened on to a lawn.
“It is quite warm for the time of the year,” said Framton, “but has that window got anything to do with the tragedy?”
温度计英语“Out through that window, three years ago to a day, her husband and her two y oung brothers went off for their day’s shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor to their favorite snipe-shooting ground they were all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that dreadful
wet summer, you know, and places that were safe in other years gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was the dreadful part of it.” Here the child’s voice lost its lf-possd note and became falteringly human. “Poor
aunt always thinks that they will come back someday, they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them, and walk in at that window just as they ud to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt, she has often told me how they went out, her husband with his white waterproof coat over his arm, and Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing ‘Bertie, why do you bound?’ as he always did to tea her, becau she said it got on her nerves. Do you know, sometimes on still, quiet evenings like this, I almost get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in through that window―”
She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her appearance.
“I hope Vera has been amusing you?” she said.
“She has been very interesting,” said Framton.
“I hope you don’t mind the open window,” said Mrs. Sappleton briskly; “my husband and brothers will be Home directly from shooting, and t hey always come in this way. They’ve been out for snipe in the marshes today, so they’ll make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you menfolk, isn’t it?”
She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds, and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to turn the talk on to a less ghastly topic, he was conscious that his hostess was giving him only a fragment of her attention, and her eyes were constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond. It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his visit on this tragic anniversary.
“The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest, an abnce of
mental excitement, and avoidance of anything in the nature of violent physical exerci,” announced Framton, who labored under the tolerably widespread delusion that total strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the least detail of one’s ailments and infirmities, their cau and cure. “On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement,” he continued.
“No?” said Mrs. Sappleton, in a voice which only replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she sud
denly brightened into alert attention―but not to what Framton was saying.
“Here they are at last!” she cried. “Just in time for tea, and don’t they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes!”
Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The child was staring out through the open window with a dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear Framton swung round in his at and looked in the same direction.
In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across the lawn towards the window, they all carried guns under their arms, and one of them was additionally burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept clo at their heels. Noilessly they neared the hou, and then a hoar young voice chanted out of the dusk: “I said, Bertie, why do you bound?”
Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat; the hall door, the gravel drive, and the front gate were dimly noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had to run into the hedge to avoid imminent collision.
“Here we are, my dear,” said the bearer of the white mackintosh, coming in through the window, “fairly muddy, but most of it’s dry. Who was that who bolted out as we came up?”
“A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel,” said Mrs. Sappleton, “could only talk about his illness, and dashed off without a word
of goodby or apology when you arrived. One would think he had en a ghost.”
“I expect it was the spaniel,” said the niece calmly, “he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges by a pack of pariah dogs, and had
to spend the night in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming just above him. Enough to make anyone lo their nerve.”
Romance at short notice was her speciality.
“家姑母马上就要下来了，纳特尔先生。”一位神情自若的15岁的小女士道：“在此期间您得暂时忍耐我了。”
弗拉姆顿・纳特尔尽力想说几句得体的话，既要适时恭维了眼前的侄女，又爱情是什么意思
不能不合时宜地贬低马上就要下楼来的姑妈。私下里他却比平常更加怀疑这种接
连不断的正式拜访完全陌生之人对他正在进行的镇定神经的治疗是否有益。
“我知道是怎么回事。”他姐姐在他准备隐居乡里的时候对他道：“你会把
声泪俱下的意思自己完全埋起来，不跟一个活人讲话，你的神经会因为闷闷不乐而更加糟糕。我
会多写几封信，将你介绍给我在当地认识的所有人，我记得有几个人相当不错的。”
弗拉姆顿在想，眼下他已经呈上一封介绍信的这位萨普尔顿太太是否属于不
错的阵营。
“这一带您认识的人很多吗？”这位侄女问他，因为她觉得她与这位来访者
之间已经沉默够久了。
“我几乎谁都不认识。”弗拉姆顿道。“家姐4年前曾在这儿小住，住在教
区长公馆，您知道，她给了我几封写给这里一些人的引见信。”
他的最后一句话带上了明显的悔恨语气。
幼儿古诗三百首
“这么说来您实际上对家姑母一无所知了？”这位神情自若的年轻女士追
购销合同
问道。
