第十章（第12/34页）

但或许情况并非想象得那样糟糕。毕竟，他的温柔源自她的女性特质，而在此之前，从来没有男人有过类似的反应。男人们尊重的是她的躯壳，但对待她的女性特质，却异常残酷，或轻蔑鄙视，或视若无睹。男人们对康斯坦斯·里德或者查泰莱夫人都极其友善，但却从不把她当做有情有欲的女人。而他对康斯坦斯或是查泰莱夫人毫不在意，只会温柔地抚弄她的私处或者乳房。

She went to the wood next day. It was a grey, still afternoon, with the dark-green dogs-mercury spreading under the hazel copse, and all the trees making a silent effort to open their buds. Today she could almost feel it in her own body, the huge heave of the sap in the massive trees, upwards, up, up to the bud-a, there to push into little flamey oak-leaves, bronze as blood. It was like a ride running turgid upward, and spreading on the sky.

翌日，她再度造访树林。那是个阴郁寂静的午后，墨绿色的水银菜在榛丛下蔓延，所有树木都一声不响地绽出嫩芽。今天，她几乎能在自己体内感觉到这种盎然的生机，大树的汁液向上喷涌，向上，不断向上，直至芽尖，生发成闪亮的嫩橡树叶，呈现出血青色。如同汹涌的潮水不断向上攀升，在天空激荡澎湃。

She came to the clearing, but he was not there. She had only half expected him. The pheasant chicks were running lightly abroad, light as insects, from the coops where the fellow hens clucked anxiously. Connie sat and watched them, and waited. She only waited. Even the chicks she hardly saw. She waited.

她来到那片空地，却不见他的身影。她原本也没抱太大希望。野鸡宝宝步履轻盈地向笼外跑去，灵活得像是微小的昆虫，而鸡妈妈则在笼中忧心忡忡地咯咯叫着。康妮坐下来，注视着它们，等待着。她只剩等待。甚至连鸡宝宝都无法留住她视线。她等待着。

The time passed with dream-like slowness, and he did not come. She had only half expected him. He never came in the afternoon. She must go home to tea. But she had to force herself to leave.

时间如梦，缓缓逝去，而他依然没有出现。她本来就没太指望见到他。他下午从不会来这儿。她得赶回家去喝下午茶。但离去时，她是那样地不情愿。

As she went home, a fine drizzle of rain fell.

回家的路上，天空飘起细雨。

"Is it raining again?" said Clifford, seeing her shake her hat.

“又下雨了？”看到她抖落帽子上的水滴，克利福德问。

"Just drizzle." She poured tea in silence, absorbed in a sort of obstinacy. She did want to see the keeper today, to see if it were really real. If it were really real.

“小雨而已。”为他斟茶时，她默默不语，想见他的念头在脑海中挥之不去。她今天实在太想见他，只为了解那天发生的一切究竟是梦是真。究竟是真是幻。

"Shall I read a little to you afterwards?" said Clifford.

“过会儿我读书给你听吧？”克利福德问。

She looked at him. Had he sensed something? "The spring makes me feel queer—I thought I might rest a little," she said.

她的视线转向他。难道丈夫已经有所察觉？“春天让我感觉有点乏累——我本想去休息一会的。”她说。

"Just as you like. Not feeling really unwell, are you?" "No! Only rather tired—with the spring. Will you have Mrs. Bolton to play something with you?” "No! I think I'll listen in.” She heard the curious satisfaction in his voice. She went upstairs to her bedroom. There she heard the loudspeaker begin to bellow, in an idiotically velveteen-genteel sort of voice, something about a series of street-cries, the very cream of genteel affectation imitating old criers. She pulled on her old violet coloured mackintosh, and slipped out of the house at the side door.

“想就去吧。你真的感觉身体不适么？”“没事！只是有点困乏——都是春天惹的祸。让博尔顿太太来陪你玩会牌？”“不用！我想听会儿收音机。”她听出他语调中那奇异的满足感。她上楼回到卧室。即使在自己房间，她仍能听到扬声器在叫嚷，那是种白痴似地故作风雅的呓语，像是接连不断的沿街叫卖声，对老套叫卖者刻意模仿和时髦粉饰。她披上那件紫色旧雨衣，从侧门溜了出来。

The drizzle of rain was like a veil over the world, mysterious, hushed, not cold. She got very warm as she hurried across the park. She had to open her light waterproof.

蒙蒙细雨好像给世界罩上轻纱，神秘莫测，安详静谧，却并不冰冷。康妮急匆匆穿过花园，感觉燥热起来。她只得解开单薄的雨衣。