“可是这不公平,”芬哭叫着。“这头猪愿意让自己生下来就小吗,它愿意吗?如果我生下来时也很瘦小,你就会杀死我吗?”
Mr. Arable smiled. "Certainly not," he said, looking down at his daughter with love. "But this is different. A little girl is one thing, a little runty pig is another."
阿拉贝尔先生微笑了。“当然不会了,”他说着,低下头慈爱地望着女儿。“但这是不一样的。一个小女孩是一码事儿,一个小瘦猪是另一码事儿。”
"I see no difference," replied Fern, still hanging on to the ax. "This is the most terrible case of injustice I ever heard of."
“我看没什么不一样,”芬回答着,仍死抓着斧柄不放,“这是我曾经听到过的最恐怖的案件!”
A queer look came over John Arable's face. He seemed almost ready to cry himself.
约翰·阿拉贝尔先生的脸上出现了某种奇特的表情。他好像也要哭了。
"All right," he said." You go back to the house and I will bring the runt when I come in. I'll let you start it on a bottle, like a baby. Then you'll see what trouble a pig can be."
“好吧,”他说。“你先回家吧。等我回家,我会把那头小猪带回来。我将让你用奶瓶喂他,象喂婴儿一样。那时你就会明白一头小猪会多么麻烦了。”
When Mr. Arable returned to the house half an hour later, he carried a carton under his arm. Fern was upstairs changing her sneakers. The kitchen table was set for breakfast, and the room smelled of coffee, bacon, damp plaster, and wood smoke from the stove.
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