老福赛特的印第安之夏 - (EPUB全文下载)

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Indian Summer of A Forsyte
John Galsworthy
老福赛特的印第安之夏
（英）约翰•高尔斯华绥 著
北外12级MTI笔译2班 译
外语教学与研究出版社
FOREIGN LANGUAGE TEACHING AND RESEARCH PRESS
北京 Beijing
Chinese translation copyright © Foreign Language Teaching and Research Press 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Foreign Language Teaching and Research Press.
本书版权由外语教学与研究出版社独家所有。如未获得该社书面同意，书中任何部分之文字及图片，不得用任何方式抄袭、节录、翻印或存储利用于任何数据库及检索系统等。
Published by Foreign Language Teaching and Research Press
No. 19 Xisanhuan Beilu
Beijing, China 100089
http://www.fltrp.com
目 录
I 1
II 2
III 3
IV 4
"And Summer's lease hath all too short a date." —Shakespeare
“夏日的逗留总是如此短暂。” ——莎士比亚
I
1
In the last day of May in the early 'nineties, about six o'clock of the evening, old Jolyon Forsyte sat under the oak tree below the terrace of his house at Robin Hill. He was waiting for the midges to bite him, before abandoning the glory of the afternoon. His thin brown hand, where blue veins stood out, held the end of a cigar in its tapering, long-nailed fingers—a pointed polished nail had survived with him from those earlier Victorian days when to touch nothing, even with the tips of the fingers, had been so distinguished. His domed forehead, great white moustache, lean cheeks, and long lean jaw were covered from the westering sunshine by an old brown Panama hat. His legs were crossed; in all his attitude was serenity and a kind of elegance, as of an old man who every morning put eau de Cologne upon his silk handkerchief. At his feet lay a woolly brown-and-white dog trying to be a Pomeranian—the dog Balthasar between whom and old Jolyon primal aversion had changed into attachment with the years. Close to his chair was a swing, and on the swing was seated one of Holly's dolls—called 'Duffer Alice'—with her body fallen over her legs and her doleful nose buried in a black petticoat. She was never out of disgrace, so it did not matter to her how she sat. Below the oak tree the lawn dipped down a bank, stretched to the fernery, and, beyond that refinement, became fields, dropping to the pond, the coppice, and the prospect—'Fine, remarkable'—at which Swithin Forsyte, from under this very tree, had stared five years ago when he drove down with Irene to look at the house. Old Jolyon had heard of his brother's exploit—that drive which had become quite celebrated on Forsyte 'Change. Swithin! And ............

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