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drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run。 The front was broken by a line of French windows； glowing now with reflected gold and wide open to the warm windy afternoon； and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch。 于是，在一个温暖有风的晚上，我开车到东卵去看望两个我几乎完全不了解的老朋友。他们的房子比我料想的还要豪华，一座鲜明悦目，红白二色的乔治王殖民时代式的大厦，面临着海湾。草坪从海滩起步，直奔大门，足足有四分之一英甲，一路跨过日文、砖径和火红的花园…最后跑到房子跟前，仿佛借助于奔跑的势头，爽性变成绿油油的常春藤，沿着墙往上爬。房子正面有一溜法国式的落地长窗，此刻在夕照中金光闪闪，迎着午后的暖风敞开着。汤姆？布坎农身穿骑装，两腿叉开，站在前门阳台上。
He had changed since his New Haven years。 Now he was a sturdy strawhaired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner。 Two shining arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward。 Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing； and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat。 It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body。 从纽黑文时代以来，他样子已经变了。现在他是三十多岁的人了，时体健壮，头发稻草色，嘴边略带狠相，举止高傲。两只炯炯有神的傲慢的眼睛已经在他脸上占了支配地位，给人一种永远盛气凌人的印象。即使他那会像女人穿的优雅的骑装也掩藏不住那个身躯的巨大的体力…他仿佛填满了那双雪亮的皮靴，把上面的带子绷得紧紧的。他的肩膀转动时，你可以看到一大块肌肉在他薄薄的上衣下面移动。这是一个力大无比的身躯，一个残忍的身躯。
His speaking voice； a gruff husky tenor； added to the impression of fractiousness he conveyed。 There was a touch of paternal contempt in it； even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts。 他说话的声音，又粗又大的男高音，增添了他给人的性情暴戾的印象。他说起话来还带着一种长辈教训人的口吻，即使对他喜欢的人也样、因此在纽黑文的时候时他恨之入骨的大有人在。
“Now； don’t think my opinion on these matters is final；” he seemed to say； “just because I’m stronger and more of a man than you are。” We were in the same senior society； and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh； defiant wistfulness of his own。 〃我说，你可别认为我在这些问题上的意见是说了算的，〃他仿佛在说，〃仅仅因为我力气比你大，比你更有男子汉气概。〃我们俩属于同一个高年级学生联谊会，然而我们的关系并不密切，我总觉得他很看重我，而且带着他那特有的粗野、蛮横的怅惘神气，希望我也喜欢他。
We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch。 我们在阳光和煦的阳台上谈了几分钟。
“I’ve got a nice place here；” he said； his eyes flashing about restlessly。 〃我这地方很不错。〃他说，他的眼睛不停地转来转去。
Turning me around by one arm； he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista； including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden； a half acre of deep； pungent roses； and a snubnosed motorboat that bumped the tide offshore。 他抓住我的一只胳臂把我转过身来，伸出一只巨大的手掌指点眼前的景色，在一挥手之中包括了一座意大利式的凹型花园，半英亩地深色的、浓郁的玫瑰花，以及一艘在岸边随着浪潮起伏的狮子鼻的汽艇
“It belonged to Demaine； the oil man。” He turned me around again； politely and abruptly。 “We’ll go inside。” 〃这地方原来属于石油大王德梅因。〃他又把我推转过身来，客客气气但是不容分说，〃我们到里面去吧。〃
We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosycolored space； fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end。 The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house。 A breeze blew through the room； blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags； twisting them up toward the frosted weddingcake of the ceiling； and then rippled over the winecolored rug； making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea。 我们穿过一条高高的走廊，走进一间宽敞明亮的玫瑰色的屋子。两头都是落地长窗，把这间屋子轻巧地嵌在这座房子当中。这些长窗都半开着。在外面嫩绿的草地的映衬下，显得晶莹耀眼，那片草仿佛要长到室内来似的。一阵轻风吹过屋里，把窗帘从一头吹进来，又从另一头吹出去，好像一面面白旗，吹向天花板上糖花结婚蛋糕似的装饰；然后轻轻拂过绛色地毯，留下一阵阴影有如风吹海面。
The only pletely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon。 They were both in white； and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house。 I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall。 Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room； and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor。 屋子里唯一完全静止的东西是一张庞大的长沙发椅，上面有两个年轻的女人，活像浮在一个停泊在地面的大气球上。她们俩都身穿白衣，衣裙在风中飘荼？好像她们乘气球绕着房子飞了一圈刚被风吹回来似的。我准是站了好一会，倾听窗帘刮动的劈啪声和墙上一幅挂像嘎吱嘎吱的响声。忽然砰然一声，汤姆？布坎农关上了后面的落地窗，室内的余风才渐渐平息，窗帘、地毯和两位少妇也都慢慢地降落地面。
The younger of the two was a stranger to me。 She was extended full length at her end of the divan； pletely motionless； and with her chin raised a little； as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall。 If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it—indeed； I was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed her by ing in。 两个之中比较年轻的那个，我不认识。她平躺在长沙发的一头，身子一动也不动，下巴稍微向上仰起，仿佛她在上面平衡着一件什么东西，生怕它掉下来似的。如果她从眼角中看到了我，她可毫无表示其实我倒吃了一惊，差一点要张口向她道歉，因为我的进来惊动1她。
The other girl； Daisy； made an attempt to rise—she leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression—then she laughed； an absurd； charming little laugh； and I laughed too and came forward into the room。 另外那个少妇，黛西，想要站起身来她身子微微向前倾，一脸诚心诚意的表情接着她噗嗤一笑，又滑稽又可爱地轻轻一笑，我也跟着笑了，接着就走上前去进了屋子。
“I’m pparalyzed with happiness。” She laughed again； as if she said something very witty； and held my hand for a moment； looking up into my face； promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see。 That was a way she had。 She hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker。 （I’ve heard it said that Daisy’s murmur was only to make people lean toward her； an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming。） 〃我高兴得瘫。。。。。。瘫掉了。〃她又笑了一次，好像她说了一句非常俏皮的话，接着就拉住我的手，仰起脸看着我，表示世界上没有第二个人是她更高兴见到的了。那是她特有的一种表情。她低声告诉我那个在搞平衡动作的姑娘姓贝克（我听人说过，黛西的喃喃低语只是为了让人家把身子向她靠近，这是不相干的闲话，丝毫无损于这种表情的魅力）。
At any rate； Miss Baker’s lips fluttered； she nodded at me almost imperceptibly； and then quickly tipped her head back again—the object she was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given her something of a fright。 Again a sort of apology arose to my lips。 Almost any exhibition of plete selfsufficiency draws a stunned tribute from me。 不管怎样，贝克小姐的嘴唇微微一动，她几乎看不出来地向我点了点头，接着赶忙把头又仰回去她在保持平衡的那件东西显然歪了一下，让她吃了一惊。道歉的话又一次冒到了我的嘴边。这种几乎是完全我行我素的神情总是使我感到目瞪口呆，满心赞佩。
I looked back at my cousin； who began to ask me questions in her low； thrilling voice。 It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down； as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again。 Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it； bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth； but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget： a singing pulsion； a whispered “Listen；” a promise that she had done gay； exciting things just a while since and that there were gay； exciting things