些情感也都消失不见了。只有失去知觉后的空白。

Constance, his wife, was a ruddy, country-looking girl with soft brown hair and sturdy body, and slow movements, full of unusual energy. She had big, wondering eyes, and a soft mild voice, and seemed just to have come from her native village. It was not so at all. Her father was the once well-known R.A., old Sir Malcolm Reid. Her mother had been one of the cultivated Fabians in the palmy, rather pre-Raphaelite days. Between artists and cultured socialists, Constance and her sister Hilda had had what might be called an aesthetically unconventional upbringing. They had been taken to Paris and Florence and Rome to breathe in art, and they had been taken also in the other direction, to the Hague and Berlin, to great Socialist conventions, where the speakers spoke in every civilized tongue, and no one was abashed.

其妻康斯坦斯，面若桃花，一副乡下姑娘的模样，满头柔软的棕发，体格结实强壮，行动慢条斯理，精力异常充沛。她那一对杏眼，充满好奇，嗓音温软，像是刚从故乡的村子里走出。但事实并非如此。其父老马尔科姆·里德爵士，曾是尽人皆知的皇家艺术学会（注：位于英国伦敦的著名艺术机构）会员