阿兰闷闷不乐地钻进自己的睡袋,渐渐地进入了梦乡。躺在他身旁的爱丽丝也睡着了,她的呼吸声似乎和蛐蛐儿的鸣叫声保持同步。
Alan dreamt. The crickets had stopped. There was a slight breeze and the luminous hand of his watch registered just after two. Her sleeping bag was empty; Alice had gone. For a while he just couldn't believe it. He sat up and felt the dark walls of Santa Caterina close in on him.
阿兰做了一个梦。蛐蛐声都停止了。一阵微风拂过。他的手表上的夜光针刚过了两点。爱丽丝的睡袋空了;她已经走了。好一阵子,他都无法相信这个事实。他坐起来,感到圣卡塔林纳的黑黢黢的墙壁将他团团围住了。
Then he was on the mountainside, stumbling blindly up the mountain path, hearing their laughter. Softly he crept up on them until he could see their bodies entwined. Alan's anger rose to fever pitch and he rushed towards them. They fell apart. He sobbed as he had never sobbed since he was a child.
随后,他来到山边,踉踉跄跄地沿着山路盲目前行。听见他们的朗朗笑声,他轻轻地爬过去,看到两个身体紧紧地贴在一块。他感到痛苦万分,怒不可遏地冲向他们。他们猛地分开了。他低声啜泣,尽管他从孩提时起就从来没有哭过。
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