the frost on their underside. A jay called harshly, many little birds fluttered. But there was no game; no pheasants. They had been killed off during the war, and the wood had been left unprotected, till now Clifford had got his game-keeper again.

林中鸦雀无声，地上的枯叶掩住冰霜。松鸦的嘶鸣惊起许多小鸟。但这里早已没有可供猎取的飞禽走兽，连只野鸡的踪影也见不到。战争期间，它们早被斩尽诛绝，树林也多年无人照管，直到最近，克利福德才又雇来一位守林人。

Clifford loved the wood; he loved the old oak-trees. He felt they were his own through generations. He wanted to protect them. He wanted this place inviolate, shut off from the world.

克利福德深爱这片树林，深爱那一株株古老的橡树。他觉得它们世世代代都归他所有。他希望保护它们免受损害。他希望使这片净土不受侵扰，成为与世隔绝的桃源。

The chair chuffed slowly up the incline, rocking and jolting on the frozen clods. And suddenly, on the left, came a clearing where there was nothing but a ravel of dead bracken, a thin and spindly sapling leaning here and there, big sawn stumps, showing their tops and their grasping roots, lifeless. And patches of blackness where the woodmen had burned the brushwood and rubbish.

轮椅缓慢地攀爬