送信人

• 苏夫佳

  2015-08-04
  I feared for Lord Trimingham, I wept with Marian, but for Ted I grieved. Only he, it seemed to me, had a real life outside the problem, a life unconnected with it to which he was always reaching. Into that other life he admitted me as a real person, not only as an errand boy who must be petted or scolded to make him function. Perhaps this was unfair to Marian and Lord Trimingham, who had both treated me with signal kindness. But to them, I knew, I was a go-between, they thought of me in terms of another person. When Lord Trimingham wanted Marian, when Marian wanted Ted, they turned to me. The confidences that Marian had made me had been forced out of her. With Ted it was different. He felt he owed me something — me, Leo: the tribute of one nature to another.
• 苏夫佳

  2015-08-04
  ... The shrub [the deadly nightshade] had spread amazingly; it topped the roofless walls, it pressed into their crannies, groping for an outlet, urged by a secret explosive force that I felt would burst them. It had battened on the heat which had parched everything else. Its beauty, of which I was well aware, was too bold for me, too uncompromising in every particular. The sullen heavy purple bells wanted something of me that I could not give, the bold black burnished berries offered me something that I did not want. All other plants, I thought, bloom for the eye; they are perfected for our view: the mysterious principle of growth is manifest in them, mysterious yet simple. But this plant seemed to be up to something, to be carrying on a questionable traffic with itself. There was n...
• 苏夫佳

  2015-08-03
  ... The surface of the pool was still blue, but many more boulders than before showed ghostly, corpse-like, at the bottom. And on the other side, the shallow side, the change was greater. Before, it had been untidy, now it was a scene of mad disorder: a tangled mass of water-weeds, all high and dry, and, sticking out from them, mounds of yellow gravel, like bald patches on a head. The clusters of round, thin, grey-green rushes, whose tufted tops had made me think of an army of spearmen with pennons, were now much taller than a man; and for a yard or more above the water-line they were coated with a grey deposit — mud. But many had fallen over, let down by their native element, back-broken under their own weight; they lay pointing this way and that, all discipline gone. The army of s...
• 苏夫佳

  2015-08-02
  The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.