the open window中文翻译 以及作者介绍

“内特尔先生，我婶婶马上下楼来，”说话的是一位十五岁的神情自若的年轻姑娘，她说，“在她下来之前的这段时间，暂且有我来陪您。

”内特尔西先生努力说些好听的话，想在这种场合下既恭维了这位侄女，又不会冷落那位即将出现的婶婶。

他患了精神忧郁症，该接受治疗。

他怀疑这次礼节性的拜访，对于他神经的毛病，究竟会有多大好处。

“我知道事情会变成什么样子，”当他准备搬到这个偏僻的乡村时，他姐姐曾对他说，“你到了乡下就会迷糊，不跟任何人讲话，然后，由于孤独，会使你的忧郁症更加严重。

我会给我在那里认识的所有人都写封信，把你介绍给他们。

在我的记忆中，其中有些人是相当友好的。

”内特尔想知道，他拿者信来拜访的这位萨普顿夫人是否属于那种友善的人。

“这附近您认识很多人吗？”那位侄女问，这时她认为，他们之间不做声地坐着的时间已经够久了。

“几乎没有一个认识的，”内特尔说，“大约四年前，我姐姐住在这个区。

她叫我拿者她写的信去拜访这里的一些人。

”他说最后一句话时，语调中带着明显的悲伤。

“那么，您对我婶婶的情况一无所知？”这位神情自若的姑娘追问道。

“仅仅知道她的名字和地址。

”内特尔承认。

他推测着萨普顿夫人是有丈夫还是寡居。

这个屋子似乎有男人住过。

“她那场大悲剧刚好发生在三年前，”那个孩子说，“那应该是你姐姐走了之后。

”“她的悲剧？”内特尔问道。

在某种程度上，悲剧看上去和这个宁静的乡村有些不协调。

“你可能会觉得奇怪，为什么在十月的午后，我们还把那扇窗户大开着。

”那位侄女说。

她指着一扇巨大的法式落地窗，窗子外面是一个草坪。

“今年这个时候还相当暖和，”内特尔说，“可是，那扇窗户和你婶婶的悲剧之间有什么关系吗？”“到今天正好三年了，就是从那扇窗子，他的丈夫和她的两个年轻的弟弟出去了，他们去打猎。

然后就再也没回来。

他们穿过沼泽地，去最喜爱的猎场。

可是，他们陷到了沼泽中。

你知道，那是个可怕的多雨的夏天，往年可以安全走过的地方会突然塌陷下去，事先没有一点征兆。

适合中学生阅读的英文小说The Open Window 英汉对照by H.H. Munro (SAKI)"My aunt will be downpresently, Mr. Nuttel," said avery self-possessed young ladyof fifteen; "in the meantime youmust try and put up withme."Framton Nuttelendeavored to say the correctsomething which should dulyflatter the niece of the momentwithout unduly discounting the aunt that was to come.Privately he doubted more than ever whether these formalvisits on a succession of total strangers would do muchtowards helping the nerve cure which he was supposed tobe undergoing"I know how it will be," his sister had said when hewas preparing to migrate to this rural retreat; "you willbury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul,and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. Ishall just give you letters of introduction to all the peopleI know there. Some of them, as far as I can remember, werequite nice."Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton, the ladyto whom he was presenting one of the letters ofintroduction came into the nice division."Do you know many of the people round here?" askedthe niece, when she judged that they had had sufficientsilent communion."Hardly a soul," said Framton. "My sister was stayinghere, at the rectory, you know, some four years ago, andshe gave me letters of introduction to some of the peoplehere."He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret."Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?"pursued the self-possessed young lady."Only her name and address," admitted the caller. Hewas wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the marriedor widowed state. An undefinable something about theroom seemed to suggest masculine habitation.。

The Open WindowBy Saki (H H Munro)In this story a very imaginative young lady of fifteen plays an amusing trick on a visitor to her aunt`s house. As you read, watch closely how smoothly she conducts herself. The story is told with a charm and grace that is characteristics of this English author (1870-1916),who commonly wrote under the pen name of Saki.“My aunt will be down presently，Mr. Nuttel，” said a very s elf-possessed young lady of fifteen；“in the meantime you must try and put up with me.”Framton Nuttel endeavoured to say the correct something which should duly flatter the niece of the moment without unduly discounting the aunt that was to come. Privately he doubted more than ever whether these formal visits on a succession of total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing.“I know how it will be，” his sister had said when he was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat，“you will bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul，and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I shall just give you letters of introduction to all the people I know there. Some of them，as far as I can remember，were quite nice.”Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton，the lady to whom he was presenting one of the letters of introduction，came into the nice division.“Do you know many of the people round here？” asked the niece，when she judged that they had sufficient silent communion.“Hardly a soul，” said Framton. “My sister was staying here，at the rectory you know，some four years ago，and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here.”He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret.“Then you know practically nothing about my aunt？” pursued theself-possessed young lady.“Only her name and address，” admitted the caller. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the married or widowed state. An undefinable something about the room seemed to suggest masculine habitation.“Her great tragedy happened just three years ago，” said the child；“that would be since your sister's time.”“Her tragedy？” asked Framton；somehow in this restful country spot tragedies seemed out of place.“You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon，” said the niece，indicating a large French window that opened on to a lawn.“It is quite warm for the time of the year，” said Framton；“but has that window got anything to do with the tragedy？”“Out through that window，three years ago to a day，her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day's shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor to their favorite snipe-shooting ground they were all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that dreadful wet summer，you know，and places that were safe in other years gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was the dreadful part of it.” Here th e child's voice lost its self-possessed note and became falteringly human. “Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back some day，they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them，walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt，she has often told me how they went out，her husband with his white water proof coat over his arm，and Ronnie，her youngest brother，singing 'Bertie，why do you bound？' as he always did to tease her，because she said it got on her nerves. Do you know，sometimes on still，quiet evenings like this，I almost get a creepy feeling that they will walk in through that window - ”She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her appearance.“I hope Vera has been amusing you？” she said.“She has been very interesting，” said Framton.“I hope you don't mind the open window，” said Mrs. Sappleton briskly；“My husband and brothers will be home directly from shooting，and they always come in this way. They have been out for snipe in the marshes today，so they will make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you menfolk，isn't it？”She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds，and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to turn the talk on to aless ghastly topic；he was conscious that his hostess was giving him only a fragment of her attention and her eyes were constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond. It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his visit on this tragic anniversary.“The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest，an absence of mental excitement，and avoidance of anything in the nature of violent physical exercise，” announced Framton，who laboured under the tolerablywide-spread delusion that total strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the least detail of one's ailments and infirmities，their cause and cure. “On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement，” he continued.“No？” said Mrs. Sappleton，in a voice which only replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly brightened into alert attention - but not to what Framton was saying.“Here they are at last！” she cried. “Just in time for tea，and don't they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes！”Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The child was staring out through the open window with dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear Framton swung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across the lawn towards the window；they all carried guns under their arms，and one of them was additionally burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels. Noiselessly they neared the house，and then a hoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk：“I said，Bertie，why do you bound？”Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat；the hall-door，thegravel-drive，and the front gate were dimly noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had to run into the hedge to avoid (an) imminent collision.“Here we are，my dear，” said the bearer of the white mackintosh coming in through the window；“fairly muddy，but most of it's dry. Who was that who bolted out as we came up？”“A most extraordinary man，a Mr. Nuttel，” said Mrs. Sappleton；“could only talk about his illnesses，and dashed off without a word of good-bye or apology when you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost.”“I expect it was the spaniel，” said the niece calmly；“he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges by a pack of pariah dogs，and had to spend the night in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming just above him. Enough to make any one lose their nerve.”Romance at short notice was her specialty.。

theopenwindow英文完整版The Open WindowBy Saki (H H Munro)In this story a very imaginative young lady of fifteen plays an amusing trick on a visitor to her aunt`s house. As you read, watch closely how smoothly she conducts herself. The story is told with a charm and grace that is characteristics of this English author (1870-1916),who commonly wrote under the pen name of Saki.“My aunt will be down presently，Mr. Nuttel，” said a very s elf-possessed young lady of fifteen；“in the meantime you must try and put up with me.”Framton Nuttel endeavoured to say the correct something which should duly flatter the niece of the moment without unduly discounting the aunt that was to come. Privately he doubted more than ever whether these formal visits on a succession of total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing.“I know how it will be，” his sister had said when he was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat，“you will bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul，and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I shall just give you letters of introduction to all the people I know there. Some of them，as far as I can remember，were qui te nice.”Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton，the lady to whom he was presenting one of the letters of introduction，came into the nice division.“Do you know many of the people round here？” asked the niece，when she judged that they had sufficient silent communion.“Hardly a soul，” said Framton. “My sister was staying here，at the rectory you know，some four years ago，and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here.”He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret.“Then you know practically nothing about my aunt？” pursued theself-possessed young lady.“Only her name and address，” admitted the caller. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the married or widowed state. An undefinable something about the room seemed to suggest masculine habitation.“Her great tragedy happened just three years ago，” said the child；“that would be since your sister's time.”“Her tragedy？” asked Framton；somehow in this restful country spot tragedies seemed out of place.“You may wonder why we k eep that window wide open on an October afternoon，” said the niece，indicating a large French window that opened on to a lawn.“It is quite warm for the time of the year，” said Framton；“but ha s that window got anything to do with the tragedy？”“Out through that window，three years ago to a day，her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day's shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor to their favorite snipe-shooting ground they were all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that dreadful wet summer，you know，and places that were safe in other years gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was thedr eadful part of it.” Here the child's voice lost its self-possessed note and became f alteringly human. “Poor auntalways thinks that they will come back some day，they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them，walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt，she has often told me how they went out，her husband with his white water proof coat over his arm，and Ronnie，her youngest brother，singing 'Bertie，why do you bound？' as he always did to tease her，because she said it got on her nerves. Do you know，sometimes on still，quiet evenings like this，I almost get a creepy feeling that they will walk in through that window - ”She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her appearance.“I hope Vera has been amusing you？” she said.“She has been very interesting，” said Framton.“I hope you don't mind t he open window，” said Mrs. Sappleton briskly；“My husband and brothers will be home directly from shooting，and they always come in this way. They have been out for snipe in the marshes today，so they will make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you menfolk，isn't it？”She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds，and the prospects for duck in the winter. T o Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to turn the talk on to aless ghastly topic；he was conscious that his hostess was giving him only a fragment of her attention and her eyes were constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond. It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his visit on this tragic anniversary.“The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest，anabsence of mental excitement，and avoidance of anything in the nature of violent physical exercise，” announced Framton，who laboured under the tolerablywide-spread delusion that total strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the least detail of one's ailments and infirmities，their cause and cure. “On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement，” he continued.“No？” said Mrs. Sappleton，in a voice which only replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly brightened into alert attention - but not to what Framton was saying.“Here they are at last！” she cried. “Just in time for tea，and don't they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes！”Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The child was staring out through the open window with dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear Framton swung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across the lawn towards the window；they all carried guns under their arms，and one of them was additionally burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels. Noiselessly they neared the house，and then a hoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk：“I said，Bertie，why do you bound？”Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat；the hall-door，thegravel-drive，and the front gate were dimly noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had to run into the hedge to avoid (an) imminent collision.“Here we are，my dear，” said the bearer of the white mackintosh coming in through the window；“fairly muddy，but most of it's dry. Who was that who bolted out as we came up？”“A most extraordinary man，a Mr. Nuttel，” said Mrs. Sappleton；“could only talk about his illnesses，and dashed off without a word of good-bye or apology when you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost.”“I expect it was the spaniel，” said the niece calmly；“he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges by a pack of pariah dogs，and had to spend the night in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming just above him. Enough to make any one lose their nerve.”Romance at short notice was her specialty.。

“家姑母马上就要下来了，纳特尔先生。

”一位故作深沉的十五岁的小女士道：“在此期间您得暂时忍耐我了。

”弗拉姆顿.纳特尔尽力想说几句得体的话，即能适时恭维了眼前的侄女有得提防止怠慢了就要登场的姑母。

私下里他却比平常更加怀疑这种接连不断的正式拜访完全陌生之人对他正在进行的镇定神经的治疗是否有益。

“我知道是怎么回事。

”他姐姐在他准备隐居乡里的时对他道：“你会把自己完全埋起来，不跟一个活人讲话，你的神经会因为闷闷不乐而更加糟糕。

我会多写几封信，将你介绍给我在当地认识的所有人，我记的有几个人相当不错的。

”弗拉姆顿在想，眼下他已经呈上一封介绍信的这位萨普尔顿太太是否属于不错的阵营。

“这一带您认识的人很多吗？”“我几乎谁都不认识。

”弗拉姆顿道。

“家姊四年前曾在这儿小住，住在教区长公馆，您知道，她给了我几封写给这里一些人的引见信。

”他的最后一句话带上了明显的悔恨语气.“这么说来您实际上对家姑母一无所知了？”这位颇为自持的年轻女士道.“只知道她的姓名和住址。

”拜访者承认道。

他在捉摸萨普而顿太太是已婚呢还是寡居。

房间里某种无以名状的气氛让人觉得逐个该是个男性的居所.“她的重大悲剧就发生在三年前，”侄女道：“应该是令姊离开之后的事了。

”“她的悲剧？”弗拉姆顿问，在这个宁静的乡居之地，似乎绝无发生什么悲剧的可能。

“您也许会想，十月天的午后温暖干吗还要把那扇窗户大开着。

”侄女道，指向一扇开往草坪的巨大法式窗户。

“虽然已是十月天了，今年倒还暖和，”弗拉姆顿道：“不过听您这么说，那扇窗难道跟您提到的悲剧有关？”“三年前的一天，她丈夫和她的两个幼弟就是通过那扇窗户出去打猎的。

他们在也没有回来。

经过那片沼泽地到他们喜欢猎鹬场时，三个人全都被一片背信弃义的沼泽吞没。

那年夏天潮湿的可怕，您知道，很多原本安全的地方突然就没法立足了。

他们的尸体一直没找到。

可怕的正是这个。

”说到此处，侄女颇为自持的态度也消失不见了，开始变的结结巴巴了。

“可怜的姑母总是觉得他们总有一天会回来，他们还有跟他们一起去打猎的小黄，而且会像以往那样通过那扇窗户进来。

the open window主要内容“The Open Window” is a famously ironic short story by Saki. Published in 1914, the story is set in the countryside and revolves around a young girl named Vera and her mischief-making ways. Though the story is deceptively simple, it isfull of clever ironies and surprises that make it a natural favorite among readers of all ages.The story begins with a young man named Framton Nuttel going to visit the Sappletons, who are relatives of hissister's. His sister has given him a letter of introductionas he is new to the area and does not know anyone. When he arrives, the daughter of the Sappletons, Vera, is the onlyone home and offers to entertain him until her aunt and two cousins return from their walk. While they wait, Vera tells Framton a tall tale involving hunting, a tragic accident, and the open window facing the garden.As the story unfolds, people do indeed come into view outside the window, causing Framton to believe that Vera’s story is true, which leads him to become more and more anxious. When the aunt and cousins come back from their walk, they are too friendly and gregarious, and they do not seem at all like the grieving family that Vera had described. However, when Framton tells them what Vera had said and speculates about the ghosts who are now outside, the Sappletons quickly whisk him away, dismissing his words with a curt explanation that Vera often tells tall tales.The irony of the ending is that although Framton hasbeen invited to the Sappletons’ to recover from hi s illness,the encounter has instead heightened his anxiety and caused him to feel like he has lost his grip on reality. The use of irony in the story reflects Saki's own attitude towards the world. This irony is marked by the author’s tone, which isat on ce satirical and mocking, making “The Open Window” a highly enjoyable read.In conclusion, “The Open Window” is a short story that is full of irony and clever twists. The story is well-told and the characters are charming. Its unexpected ending makes the story memorable and thought-provoking. The use of irony throughout the story emphasizes the complexity and unpredictability of human experiences. Despite its seeming simplicity, the story's messages about the nature of reality and human perception remain relevant today.。

The Open WindowBy Saki (H H Munro)In this story a very imaginative young lady of fifteen plays an amusing trick on a visitor to her aunt`s house. As you read, watch closely how smoothly she conducts herself. The story is told with a charm and grace that is characteristics of this English author (1870-1916),who commonly wrote under the pen name of Saki.“My aunt will be down presently，Mr. Nuttel，” said a very s elf-possessed young lady of fifteen；“in the meantime you must try and put up with me.”Framton Nuttel endeavoured to say the correct something which should duly flatter the niece of the moment without unduly discounting the aunt that was to come. Privately he doubted more than ever whether these formal visits on a succession of total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing.“I know how it will be，” his sister had said when he was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat，“you will bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul，and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I shall just give you letters of introduction to all the people I know there. Some of them，as far as I can remember，were quite nice.”Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton，the lady to whom he was presenting one of the letters of introduction，came into the nice division.“Do you know many of the people round here？” asked the niece，when she judged that they had sufficient silent communion.“Hardly a soul，” said Framton. “My sister was staying here，at the rectory you know，some four years ago，and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here.”He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret.“Then you know practically nothing about my aunt？” pursued theself-possessed young lady.“Only her name and address，” admitted the caller. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the married or widowed state. An undefinable something about the room seemed to suggest masculine habitation.“Her great tragedy happened just three years ago，” said the child；“that would be since your sister's time.”“Her tragedy？” asked Framton；somehow in this restful country spot tragedies seemed out of place.“You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon，” said the niece，indicating a large French window that opened on to a lawn.“It is quite warm for the time of the year，” said Framton；“but has that window got anything to do with the tragedy？”“Out through that window，three years ago to a day，her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day's shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor to their favorite snipe-shooting ground they were all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that dreadful wet summer，you know，and places that were safe in other years gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was the dreadful part of it.” Here th e child's voice lost its self-possessed note and became falteringly human. “Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back some day，they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them，walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt，she has often told me how they went out，her husband with his white water proof coat over his arm，and Ronnie，her youngest brother，singing 'Bertie，why do you bound？' as he always did to tease her，because she said it got on her nerves. Do you know，sometimes on still，quiet evenings like this，I almost get a creepy feeling that they will walk in through that window - ”She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her appearance.“I hope Vera has been amusing you？” she said.“She has been very interesting，” said Framton.“I hope you don't mind the open window，” said Mrs. Sappleton briskly；“My husband and brothers will be home directly from shooting，and they always come in this way. They have been out for snipe in the marshes today，so they will make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you menfolk，isn't it？”She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds，and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to turn the talk on to aless ghastly topic；he was conscious that his hostess was giving him only a fragment of her attention and her eyes were constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond. It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his visit on this tragic anniversary.“The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest，an absence of mental excitement，and avoidance of anything in the nature of violent physical exercise，” announced Framton，who laboured under the tolerablywide-spread delusion that total strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the least detail of one's ailments and infirmities，their cause and cure. “On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement，” he continued.“No？” said Mrs. Sappleton，in a voice which only replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly brightened into alert attention - but not to what Framton was saying.“Here they are at last！” she cried. “Just in time for tea，and don't they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes！”Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The child was staring out through the open window with dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear Framton swung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across the lawn towards the window；they all carried guns under their arms，and one of them was additionally burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels. Noiselessly they neared the house，and then a hoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk：“I said，Bertie，why do you bound？”Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat；the hall-door，thegravel-drive，and the front gate were dimly noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had to run into the hedge to avoid (an) imminent collision.“Here we are，my dear，” said the bearer of the white mackintosh coming in through the window；“fairly muddy，but most of it's dry. Who was that who bolted out as we came up？”“A most extraordinary man，a Mr. Nuttel，” said Mrs. Sappleton；“could only talk about his illnesses，and dashed off without a word of good-bye or apology when you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost.”“I expect it was the spaniel，” said the niece calmly；“he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges by a pack of pariah dogs，and had to spend the night in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming just above him. Enough to make any one lose their nerve.”Romance at short notice was her specialty.。

“家姑母马上就要下来了，纳特尔先生。

”一位故作深沉的十五岁的小女士道：“在此期间您得暂时忍耐我了。

”弗拉姆顿.纳特尔尽力想说几句得体的话，即能适时恭维了眼前的侄女有得提防止怠慢了就要登场的姑母。

私下里他却比平常更加怀疑这种接连不断的正式拜访完全陌生之人对他正在进行的镇定神经的治疗是否有益。

“我知道是怎么回事。

”他姐姐在他准备隐居乡里的时对他道：“你会把自己完全埋起来，不跟一个活人讲话，你的神经会因为闷闷不乐而更加糟糕。

我会多写几封信，将你介绍给我在当地认识的所有人，我记的有几个人相当不错的。

”弗拉姆顿在想，眼下他已经呈上一封介绍信的这位萨普尔顿太太是否属于不错的阵营。

“这一带您认识的人很多吗？”“我几乎谁都不认识。

”弗拉姆顿道。

“家姊四年前曾在这儿小住，住在教区长公馆，您知道，她给了我几封写给这里一些人的引见信。

”他的最后一句话带上了明显的悔恨语气.“这么说来您实际上对家姑母一无所知了？”这位颇为自持的年轻女士道.“只知道她的姓名和住址。

”拜访者承认道。

他在捉摸萨普而顿太太是已婚呢还是寡居。

房间里某种无以名状的气氛让人觉得逐个该是个男性的居所.“她的重大悲剧就发生在三年前，”侄女道：“应该是令姊离开之后的事了。

”“她的悲剧？”弗拉姆顿问，在这个宁静的乡居之地，似乎绝无发生什么悲剧的可能。

“您也许会想，十月天的午后温暖干吗还要把那扇窗户大开着。

”侄女道，指向一扇开往草坪的巨大法式窗户。

“虽然已是十月天了，今年倒还暖和，”弗拉姆顿道：“不过听您这么说，那扇窗难道跟您提到的悲剧有关？”“三年前的一天，她丈夫和她的两个幼弟就是通过那扇窗户出去打猎的。

他们在也没有回来。

经过那片沼泽地到他们喜欢猎鹬场时，三个人全都被一片背信弃义的沼泽吞没。

那年夏天潮湿的可怕，您知道，很多原本安全的地方突然就没法立足了。

他们的尸体一直没找到。

可怕的正是这个。

”说到此处，侄女颇为自持的态度也消失不见了，开始变的结结巴巴了。

“可怜的姑母总是觉得他们总有一天会回来，他们还有跟他们一起去打猎的小黄，而且会像以往那样通过那扇窗户进来。

The Open Window“努特尔先生，我婶婶很快就回来了，”一个颇自负的十五岁小姑娘说道，“那时候您可得多包涵点。

”弗兰顿．努特尔设法说上几句阿谀的话，恭维一下这位侄女和那位很快就回家的婶婶。

他越来越疑心，对这么一大群毫不相识的人作正式拜访，于他的正在治疗的神经病究竟有何益处当他做好准备到乡下去时，姐姐对他说：“我看，你要是老不合群，不跟人打交道，整天在家郁闷，病情会越来越严重。

我写封信，给你带去，和那边我的熟人认识。

我记得他们当中有不少热情的好人。

”弗兰顿想：萨伯莱顿夫人——就是他正在拜访的这位女主人——是不是也在“好人”之列呢小侄女觉得他们静坐太久了，于是打破沉默，问道：“这儿的人您认识多不多”“几乎没一个，”弗兰顿道，“我姐姐在邻近的教区长家里住过，那可能是四年前的事情。

她给我信，让我和这儿的人认识。

”说完，他不可掩饰地流露出后悔的心情。

“这么说，您一点也不知道我婶婶的事啦”自负的少女又问道。

弗兰顿承认：“我只知道她的名字和地址。

”他不知道萨伯莱顿的丈夫是否还健在，但屋子里的摆设使他觉得夫人不可能是个寡妇。

“她有个大大的悲剧，发生在三年前，”女孩说，“那时候您姐姐已经搬走了。

”“大悲剧”弗兰顿反问。

在这个幽寂僻静的小乡村，“悲剧”一词根本不可思议。

“您不觉得奇怪，为啥这样冷的十月天气，下午我们还把窗户敞开着”侄女手指向一扇开向草坪的巨大落地玻璃窗。

“是啊。

这时节，天气已经有点凉意了，”弗兰顿道，“但这窗户跟你婶婶的悲剧有什么关系呢”“刚好是三年前的今天，她丈夫和两个弟弟从这窗户前走过，去打猎。

他们再也没有回来。

在穿过沼泽地到他们最中意的水鹭狩猎场时，三个人被一片险恶的泥沼吞没了。

您知道吗，那个阴雨连绵的可恶的夏天，林子里原先安全的道路神不知鬼不觉陷进了泥沼。

时至今日，三个人的尸体还没找到，真可怕！”讲到这，姑娘的声音不再像原来那么平静安详了，她支支唔唔地说：“可怜的婶婶还一直认为他们有一天会回来，他们三个和一条棕色小长耳狗——它也不见了——就像以往那样，从这扇窗户走过。