The living room, with its long windows and deep, cushiony chairs, had been designed for cheerfulness and informal fort. To Jake it looked about as cheerful as a lonely stretch of swampland in a fog. A thin, gray January rain slid down the windows, curtaining the room to a gloomy half-darkness. Chairs and tables all seemed to be in the wrong places. On every table was a revolting little litter of empty match folders, tiny scraps of waste-paper, crumpled cigarette packages, and overflowing ash trays. Jake’s tie hung limply over a bridge lamp, his overcoat was flung over one end of the sofa. There were unread magazines everywhere, a half-empty bottle of Scotch was on the floor beside the biggest chair, and a full bottle of gin stood on the bookcase.
杰克站在这片荒芜的中央，回忆起来。海伦，在这个房间里举行的派对上，他们结婚的那天。就是在那个派对上，莫娜?麦克莱恩下了那个该死的赌注。海伦，在靠窗的大蓝色椅子上。海伦在小厨房里调酒。海伦在门边的镜子前整理帽子。海伦无处不在。杰克决定不打扫公寓了。去他的。
Jake stood in the middle of the desolation and remembered. Helene, at the party here in this room, the day of their marriage. It had been at that party Mona McClane had made her damned bet. Helene, in the big blue chair by the window. Helene mixing a drink in the kitchenette. Helene adjusting her hat by the mirror near the door. Helene everywhere. Jake decided not to clean up the apartment. The hell with it.
他感觉糟透了。
He felt terrible.
他们俩本可以在这个公寓里度过一段美好的时光。
The two of them could have had a swell time here in this apartment.
他给自己倒了四分之三英寸高的苏格兰威士忌，回到卧室，穿上另一只鞋。
He poured himself three quarters of an inch of Scotch, went back to the bedroom, and put on the other shoe.
二十分钟后，他在戈登餐厅的一张桌子对面面对着马龙。
Twenty minutes later he faced Malone across a table in Gordon’s.
“我希望你昨晚睡得比我好。” 杰克咆哮道。
“I hope you had a better night’s sleep than I did,” Jake growled.
马龙本想说他根本就没睡，不管是好是坏，又改变了主意，说：“当然，好极了。”
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