《了不起的盖茨比·Chapter VII》第32节
The circle closed up again with a running murmur of expostulation; it was a minute before I could see anything at all. Then new arrivals deranged the line, and Jordan and I were pushed suddenly inside. Myrtle Wilson’s body, wrapped in a blanket, and then in another blanket, as though she suffered from a chill in the hot night, lay on a worktable by the wall, and Tom, with his back to us, was bending over it, motionless. Next to him stood a motorcycle policeman taking down names with much sweat and correction in a little book. At first I couldn’t find the source of the high, groaning words that echoed clamorously through the bare garage—then I saw Wilson standing on the raised threshold of his office, swaying back and forth and holding to the doorposts with both hands. Some man was talking to him in a low voice and attempting, from time to time, to lay a hand on his shoulder, but Wilson neither heard nor saw. His eyes would drop slowly from the swinging light to the laden table by the wall, and then jerk back to the light again, and he gave out incessantly his high, horrible call:
注释摘要
尼克和乔丹终于被推挤进了车库。之前在外面，人墙围得严严实实，只听得到嘈杂的议论声；此刻，这个封闭空间里的景象一下子砸到眼前。菲茨杰拉德用了一个很冷的细节来写梅朵·威尔逊的尸体：她躺在工作台上，身上裹了一条毯子，又裹了一条，仿佛在这个闷热的夜晚，她怕冷似的。这个“as though”意味深长——死者当然不会怕冷，是活人无法直视那具被撞得支离破碎的身体，只能用…