not read. He sat by the fire in his shirt-sleeves, not smoking, but with a mug of beer in reach. And he thought about Connie.

他挎着猎枪，带着爱犬，回到漆黑的农舍，点上油灯，燃起炉火，晚餐吃的是面包、奶酪和小洋葱，还喝了些啤酒。他孤单一人，重归笃爱的寂静之中。房间干净整洁，但却空荡荡的。然而，炉火通明，灶台洁净，饭桌铺着白色油布，煤油灯悬在桌子上方，将小屋照得亮堂堂的。他本想读本有关印度的书，但今晚却有些心不在焉。他身着长袖衬衣，坐在壁炉旁，香烟没有点燃，而手边却放着一大杯啤酒。他的心里全是康妮。

To tell the truth, he was sorry for what had happened, perhaps most for her sake. He had a sense of foreboding. No sense of wrong or sin; he was troubled by no conscience in that respect. He knew that conscience was chiefly fear of society, or fear of oneself. He was not afraid of himself. But he was quite consciously afraid of society, which he knew by instinct to be a malevolent, partly-insane beast.

说心里话，他为发生那档子事感到懊恼，或许主要是为她感到不值。他有种预感。他并不认为那样做是过错乃至罪恶，他从未在这方面受过良心的谴责。他知道，所谓是非之心不过是对社会的畏惧，或者对自我的胆怯。他从不害怕自我。但他却对社会充满敬畏，并将之视为几近疯狂的凶恶野兽，这样想完全出自本能。

The woman! If she could be there with him, arid there were nobody else in the world! The desire rose again, his penis began to stir like a live bird. At the same time an oppression, a dread of exposing himself and her to that outside Thing that sparkled viciously in the electric lights, weighed down his shoulders. She, poor young thing, was just a young female creature to him; but a young female creature whom he had gone into and whom he desired again.

那个女人！要是能与她朝夕相处，且世间再无他人，那该多好！欲望再度点燃，他的阳具兴奋起来，像只活蹦乱跳的鸟儿。与此同时，苦恼的情绪重重地压在他的肩头，担心自己与她再度暴露在外物面前，那东西在刺眼的灯光中闪烁着邪恶的光亮。她，那可怜的女人，对他而言，她不过是正处妙龄的姑娘，但却是曾承过他的雨露、且令他日思夜想的妙龄女子。

Stretching with the curious yawn of desire, for he had been alone and apart from man or woman for four years, he rose and took his coat again, and his gun, lowered the lamp and went out into the starry night, with the dog. Driven by desire and by dread of the malevolent Thing outside, he made his round in the wood, slowly, softly. He loved the darkness arid folded himself into it. It fitted the turgidity of his desire which, in spite of all, was like a riches; the stirring restlessness of his penis, the stirring fir