恐怖谷
The Valley of Fear
孪生兄弟 安布罗斯·比尔斯
One of Twins Ambrose Bierce
掘墓盗尸人 罗伯特·路易斯·史蒂文森
The Body-snatcher Robert Louis Stevenson
姨妈历险记 华盛顿·欧文
The Adventure of My Aunt Washington Irving
带家具出租的房间 欧·亨利
The Furnished Room O.Henry
神秘屋
The House of Mystery
羊腿与谋杀 罗尔德·达尔
Lamb to the Slaughter Roald Dahl
敞开的窗户 萨基
The Open Window Saki
波思克姆比溪谷秘案 亚瑟·柯南·道尔
The Boscombe Valley Mystery Arthur Conan Doyle
蓝宝石十字架 G. K.切斯特顿
The Blue Cross G.K.Chesterton
大冒险
The Death of Adventure
鹰溪桥上 安布罗斯·比尔斯
An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge Ambrose Bierce
老虎！老虎！ 约瑟夫·鲁德亚德·吉卜 林
Tiger！Tiger！ Joseph Rudyard Kipling
內容試閱：
孪生兄弟
One of Twins
安布罗斯·比尔斯 Ambrose Bierce
安布罗斯·比尔斯（Ambrose
Bierce，1842～1914），美国恐怖、灵异小说家，出生在美国俄亥俄州梅格斯县一个贫苦的农民家庭。他参加了美国南北战争，这段不平凡的经历为他以后的文学创作打下了崾档幕? Ｕ秸?崾?螅???剂艘桓霰嗉?孀骷业拿β瞪?摹Ｋ?缙诘淖髌分饕?撬姹屎头泶潭淌??舶?ㄒ恍┬∷怠Ｋ?冉媳?郏?蝗嗣浅莆?靶晾北榷?埂薄Ｖ饕?拇?碜髌酚小赌Ч泶堑洹贰妒勘?桶傩盏墓适隆返取?br
You ask me if in my experience as one of a pair of twins I
ever observed anything unaccountable by the natural laws with which
we have acquaintance. As to that you shall judge； perhaps we have
not all acquaintance with the same natural laws. You may know some
that I do not， and what is to me unaccountable may be very clear to
you.
You knew my brother John — that is， you knew him when you knew
that I was not present； but neither you nor， I believe， any human
being could distinguish between him and me if we chose to seem
alike. Our parents could not； ours is the only instance of which I
have any knowledge of so close resemblance as that. I speak of my
brother John， but I am not at all sure that his name was not Henry
and mine John. We were regularly christened， but afterward， in the
very act of tattooing us with small distinguishing marks， the
operator lost his reckoning； and although I bear upon my forearm a
small ‘H’ and he bore a ‘J’， it is by no means certain that the
letters ought not to have been transposed. During our boyhood our
parents tried to distinguish us more obviously by our clothing and
other simple devices， but we would so frequently exchange suits and
otherwise circumvent the enemy that they abandoned all such
ineffectual attempts， and during all the years that we lived
together at home everybody recognized the difficulty of the
situation and made the best of it by calling us both “Jehnry.” I
have often wondered at my father’s forbearance in not branding us
conspicuously upon our unworthy brows， but as we were tolerably
good boys and used our power of embarrassment and annoyance with
commendable moderation， we escaped the iron. My father was， in
fact， a singularly good-natured man， and I think quietly enjoyed
Nature’s practical joke.
Soon after we had come to California， and settled at San Jose
where the only good fortune that awaited us was our meeting with
so kind a friend as you， the family， as you know， was broken up by
the death of both my parents in the same week. My father died
insolvent， and the homestead was sacrificed to pay his debts. My
sisters returned to relatives in the East， but owing to your
kindness John and I， then twenty-two years of age， obtained
employment in San Francisco， in different quarters of the town.
Circumstances did not permit us to live together， and we saw each
other infrequently， sometimes not oftener than once a week. As we
had few acquaintances in common， the fact of our extraordinary
likeness was little known. I come now to the matter of your
inquiry.
One day soon after we had come to this city I was walking down
Market Street late in the afternoon， when I was accosted by a
welldressed man of middle age， who after greeting me cordially
said： “Stevens， I know， of course， that you do not go out much， but
I have told my wife about you， and she would be glad to see you at
the house. I have a notion， too， that my girls are worth knowing.
Suppose you come out to morrow at six and dine with us， en famille；
and then if the ladies can’t amuse you afterward I’ll stand in with
a few games of billiards.”
This was said with so bright a smile and so engaging a manner
that I had not the heart to refuse， and although I had never seen
the man in my life I promptly replied： “You are very good， sir， and
it will give me great pleasure to accept the invitation. Please
present my compliments to Mrs. Margovan and ask her to expect
me.”
With a shake of the hand and a pleasant parting word the man
passed on. That he had mistaken me for my brother was plain enough.
That was an error to which I was accustomed and which it was not my
habit to rectify unless the matter seemed important. But how had I
known that this man’s name was Margovan· It certainly is not a name
that one would apply to a man at random， with a probability that it
would be right. In point of fact， the name was as strange to me as
the man.
The next morning I hastened to where my brother was employed and
met him coming out of the office with a number of bills that he was
to collect. I told him how I had “committed” him and added that if
he didn’t care to keep the engagement I should be delighted to
continue the impersonation.
“That’s queer，” he said thoughtfully. “Margovan is the only man
in the office here whom I know well and like. When he came in this
morning and we had passed the usual greetings some singular impulse
prompted me to say： ‘Oh， I beg your pardon， Mr. Margovan， but I
neglected to ask your address.’ I got the address， but what under
the sun I was to do with it， I did not know until now. It’s good of
you to offer to take the consequence of your impudence， but I’ll
eat that dinner myself， if you please.”
He ate a number of dinners at the same place—more than were good
for him， I may add without disparaging their quality； for he fell
in love with Miss Margovan， proposed marriage to her and was
heartlessly accepted.
Several weeks after I had been informed of the engagement， but
before it had been convenient for me to make the acquaintance of
the young woman and her family， I met one day on Kearney Street a
handsome but somewhat dissipated-looking man whom something
prompted me to follow and watch， which I did without any scruple
whatever. He turned up Geary Street and followed it until he came
to Union Square. There he looked at his watch， then entered the
square. He loitered about the paths for some time， evidently
waiting for some one. Presently he was joined by a fashionably
dressed and beautiful young woman and the two walked away up
Stockton Street， I following. I now felt the necessity of extreme
caution， for although the girl was a stranger it seemed to me that
she would recognize me at a glance. They made several turns from
one street to another and finally， after both had taken a hasty
look all about—which I narrowly evaded by stepping into a
doorway—they entered a house of which I do not care to state the
location. Its location was better than its character.
I protest that my action in playing the spy upon these two
strangers was without assignable motive. It was one of which I
might or might not be ashamed， according to my estimate of the
character of the person finding it out. As an essential part of a
narrative educed by your question it is related here without
hesitancy or shame.
A week later John took me to the house of his prospective
father-in-law， and in Miss Margovan， as you have already surmised，
but to my profound astonishment， I recognized the heroine of that
discreditable adventure. A gloriously beautiful heroine of a
discreditable adventure I must in justice admit that she was； but
that fact has only this importance： her beauty was such a surprise
to me that it cast a doubt upon her identity with the young woman I
had seen before； how could the marvellous fascination of her face
have failed to strike me at that time· But no—there was no
possibility of error； the difference was due to costume， light and
general surroundings.
John and I passed the evening at the house， enduring， with the
fortitude of long experience， such delicate enough banter as our
likeness naturally suggested. When the young lady and I were left
alone for a few minutes I looked her squarely in the face and said
with sudden gravity： “You， too， Miss Margovan， have a double： I saw
her last Tuesday afternoon in Union Square.”
She trained her great grey eyes upon me for a moment， but her
glance was a trifle less steady than my own and she withdrew it，
fixing it on the tip of her shoe.
“Was she very like me·” she asked， with an indifference which I
thought a little overdone.
“So like，” said I， “that I greatly admired her， and being
unwilling to lose sight of her I confess that I followed her
until—Miss Margovan， are you sure that you understand·”
She was now pale， but entirely calm. She again raised her eyes to
mine， with a look that did not falter.
“What do you wish me to do·” she asked. “You need not fear to
name your terms. I accept them.”
It was plain， even in the brief time given me for reflection，
that in dealing with this girl ordinary methods would not do， and
ordinary exactions were needless.
“Miss Margovan，” I said， doubtless with something of the
compassion in my voice that I had in my heart， “it is impossible
not to think you the victim of some horrible compulsion. Rather
than impose new embarrassments upon you I would prefer to aid you
to regain your freedom.”
She shook her head， sadly and hopelessly， and I continued， with
agitation：
“Your beauty unnerves me. I am disarmed by your frankness and
your distress. If you are free to act upon conscience you will， I
believe， do what you conceive to be best； if you are not—well，
Heaven help us all！ You have nothing to fear from me but such
opposition to this marriage as I can try to justify on—on other
grounds.”
These were not my exact words， but that was the sense of them， as
nearly as my sudden and conflicting emotions permitted me to
express it. I rose and left her without another look at her， met
the others as they re-entered the room and said， as calmly as I
could： “I have been bidding Miss Margovan good evening； it is later
than I thought.”
John decided to go with me. In the street he asked if I had
observed anything singular in Julia’s manner.
“I thought her ill，” I replied； “that is why I left.” Nothing
more was said.
The next evening I came late to my lodgings. The events of the
previous evening had made me nervous and ill； I had tried to cure
myself and attain to clear thinking by walking in the open air， but
I was oppressed with a horrible presentiment of evil—a presentiment
which I could not formulate. It was a chill， foggy night； my
clothing and hair were damp and I shook with cold. In my
dressing-gown and slippers before a blazing grate of coals I was
even more uncomfortable. I no longer shivered but shuddered—there
is a difference. The dread of some impending calamity was so strong
and dispiriting that I tried to drive it away by inviting a real
sorrow—tried to dispel the conception of a terrible future by
substituting the memory of a painful past. I recalled the death of
my parents and endeavoured to fix my mind upon the last sad scenes
at their bedsides and their graves. It all seemed vague and unreal，
as having occurred ages ago and to another person. Suddenly，
striking through my thought and parting it as a tense cord is
parted by the stroke of steel—I can think of no other comparison—I
heard a sharp cry as of one in mortal agony！
The voice was that of my brother and seemed to come from the
street outside my window. I sprang to the window and threw it open.
A street lamp directly opposite threw a wan and ghastly light upon
the wet pavement and the fronts of the houses. A single policeman，
with upturned collar， was leaning against a gatepost， quietly
smoking a cigar. No one else was in sight. I closed the window and
pulled down the shade， seated myself before the fire and tried to
fix my mind upon my surroundings. By way of assisting， by
performance of some familiar act， I looked at my watch； it marked
half-past eleven. Again I heard that awful cry！ It seemed in the
room—at my side. I was frightened and for some moments had not the
power to move. A few minutes later—I have no recollection of the
intermediate time—I found myself hurrying along an unfamiliar
street as fast as I could walk. I did not know where I was， nor
whither I was going， but presently sprang up the steps of a house
before which were two or three carriages and in which were moving
lights and a subdued confusion of voices. It was the house of Mr.
Margovan.
You know， good friend， what had occurred there. In one chamber
lay Julia Margovan， hours dead by poison； in another John Stevens，
bleeding from a pistol wound in the chest， inflicted by his own
hand. As I burst into the room； pushed aside the physicians and
laid my hand upon his forehead he unclosed his eyes， stared
blankly， closed them slowly and died without a sign.
I knew no more until six weeks afterwards， when I had been nursed
back to life by your own saintly wife in your own beautiful home.
All of that you know， but what you do not know is this—which，
however， has no bearing upon the subject of your psychological
researches—at least not upon that branch of them in which， with a
delicacy and consideration all your own， you have asked for less
assistance than I think I have given you：
One moonlight night several years afterward I was passing through
Union Square. The hour was late and the square deserted. Certain
memories of the past naturally came into my mind as I came to the
spot where I had once witnessed that fateful assignation， and with
that unaccountable perversity which prompts us to dwell upon
thoughts of the most painful character I seated myself upon one of
the benches to indulge them. A man entered the square and came
along the walk toward me. His hands were clasped behind him， his
head was bowed； he seemed to observe nothing. As he approached the
shadow in which I sat I recognized him as the man whom I had seen
meet Julia Margovan years before at that spot. But he was terribly
altered — grey， worn and haggard. Dissipation and vice were in
evidence in every look； illness was no less apparent. His clothing
was in disorder， his hair fell across his forehead in a derangement
which was at once uncanny， and picturesque. He looked fitter for
restraint than liberty — the restraint of a hospital.
With no defined purpose I rose and confronted him. He raised his
head and looked me full in the face. I have no words to describe
the ghastly change that came over his own； it was a look of
unspeakable terror — he thought himself eye to eye with a ghost.
But he was a courageous man.“Damn you， John Stevens！” he cried， and
lifting his trembling arm he dashed his fist feebly at my face and
fell headlong upon the gravel as I walked away.
Somebody found him there， stone-dead. Nothing more is known of
him， not even his name. To know of a man that he is dead should be
enough.
您曾经问过我，身为孪生兄弟之一，是不是感觉有些事情难以用人们所熟知的自然法则来解释。我是这样说的：或许我们之间所熟知的自然法则并不相同。一些法则为你所熟知，而我并不知晓；而你无法理解的道理，我则相当熟悉。
在我没有现身时，你一定可以认出我的兄弟——约翰。然而，我确信，不管你还是其他人，当我们身着相同的服装出现时，谁都无法分清哪个是我，哪个是约翰。即便是我们的父母，也分不清楚。因此我说，或许世上再也没有和我们这样相像的孪生兄弟了！提起约翰这个名字，我也不确定到底属于谁。和其他人一样，我们出生后也接受了洗礼。然而，就在那个人给我们印上记号的时候，他也弄不清了。尽管我的前臂上印着一个小小的“H”，意思是Henry（亨利），他的前臂上印着“J”，代表John（约翰），然而现在再也不能证实记号是否弄错了。童年时，父母打算给我们穿上不同的衣服来区分我们，我们却常常故意交换，这样一来，他们又无所适从。后来，大家干脆放弃了对我们的区分。只要我们同时出现，大家就晕头转向，索性叫我们“约翰亨利”。我时常想，父亲怎么不直接将记号烙在我们的眉毛上呢。但是，我们两个还是比较乖，尽管有时候会淘气、惹人烦，但终究没做什么过分的事情。事实上，父亲是一个性格温顺的人，没准还把我们视为上天对他的恩赐呢！
之后，我们来到了加利福尼亚，并在圣·约瑟安了家。值得庆幸的是，我们在这里和您这样的好人成了朋友。您知道，后来父母在一周之内先后去世，我们这个家就支离破碎了。父亲去世时已经破产，为了偿还债务，一家人只好将宅地低价抵押。姐妹们都去投靠东部的亲戚，因为得到您的帮助，22岁的我和约翰得以在旧金山谋职。由于公司在不同城市，我们两人只好各自居住，一周也难得相聚一次。这样一来，我们拥有了自己的朋友，朋友中无人知晓我们彼此有一个颇为相像的兄弟。有关您的疑问，请听我娓娓道来。
就在刚到旧金山不久的一天下午，我在市场大街上散步。突然，一位穿着考究的中年男子走上前，跟我热情地打招呼：“史蒂夫，我知道你一般不爱出门，但当我跟我的太太说起你时，她非常希望你能到家里做客。另外，你可以认识一下我的女儿们。明天晚上6点，你是否能到我的家里吃顿便饭。如果我的女儿们和你没有共同语言，我们也可以打台球。”
那个中年男子谈笑风生，兴致勃勃，我都不忍心拒绝，于是我爽快地答应了这个从未谋面的男人：“您真是太客气了，很荣幸能得到您的邀请，请代我向马戈温夫人致以谢意，明晚我一定准时到。”
一阵寒暄之后，我们愉快地道别。和这位先生一样，经常会有人将我错认为我的哥哥，不过我早习惯了。除非事关重大，否则我不会急于纠正。可是我怎么知道这个人姓马戈温呢？这并非一个普通的姓氏。可能我真的叫对了。实际上，我对这个姓氏和这个人同样陌生，
第二天早上，我急匆匆地赶到约翰所在的公司，正好看到他抱着一大摞账单从办公室走出来。我对他讲述了如何以他的身份作出承诺，还说假如他不愿意赴约，我可以接着装扮下去。
约翰思考了一下说道：“真奇怪，在办公室里，我唯一熟悉并谈得来的人就是马戈温先生。今天早上他进来时，我们还互道了早安，我莫名其妙地问了一句：‘噢，马戈温先生，我把您家的地址给忘记了。’他告诉了我，当时我也不知道我要这个地址有什么用，现在知道了。看来你硬着头皮答应他的邀请是正确的，我会亲自赴宴的。”
自此以后，约翰就经常到马戈温先生家“赴宴”。我不是贬低他们家的厨艺他家饭菜的味道的确不怎么样。时间长了，约翰对马戈温的一个女儿心生爱意，向她求婚。那位小姐冷淡而礼貌地接受了他的求婚。
几个星期之后，约翰告诉我，他已经和那位小姐订婚了。在我与那位年轻小姐和她的家人没有见面前，发生了这样一件事。那天，我在卡尼大街碰到一个相貌英俊、外表有些放荡不羁的小伙子。他的模样促使我不由自主地想监视他的一举一动。我无所顾忌地跟在他后面，到了吉尔利大街，并一直跟到联合广场。他看了看手表，然后走进广场，徘徊了很长时间。显然他在等人。正在这时，一位穿着时尚、模样俊俏的年轻小姐走了过去。紧接着，他们一起离开广场，我一直尾随他们走到斯托克顿大街。那时我十分谨慎，怕被他们觉察出来，总感觉那个陌生的女孩能一眼就把我认出来。他们七拐八绕地走了好几条街，最后在一所房子前停了下来。两人不约而同地朝四周看了看，一起走进了屋子。虽然我躲在暗处，但也差点被他们发现。至于那幢房子的具体地址，这里不再做详细说明。总之，它看起来非常普通，毫无特色。
需要说明的是，我跟踪这对陌生男女没有一点恶意。依我看，无论是否有碍道德，大部分人在类似情况下都会有同样的反应。下面这个故事就是您要我回忆的重要环节。讲述时，我心里坦坦荡荡，无所顾忌。
一周以后，约翰带我去拜望他未来的岳父。我想您一定已经想到了，我见到了马戈温小姐。令我惊讶的是，她竟然就是我那天跟踪的女孩。说实话，马戈温小姐有倾国倾城的美貌，然而，这副娇艳的面孔在她和那位青年在一起时却没有打动我。这使我怀疑自己是不是看错了人，但仔细想想又觉得不可能。或许是因为得体的服饰和轻松的气氛所致吧！
那晚，我和约翰坐立不安，那时的尴尬一点也不比我们被认错时的狼狈差。当我终于有机会和马戈温小姐单独相处时，便郑重地问她：“
马戈温小姐，您也有个孪生姐妹吧。上个星期二下午，我在联合广场看到过她。”
一听这话，她睁大眼睛看着我，马上就把视线移开了，然后一直盯着自己的鞋尖出神。和我的目光比起来，她似乎没有那么从容与镇静。
“她长得和我一模一样吗？”她故意装出一副不在意的样子。
“非常像，我简直被她迷住了，唯恐以后再也见不到她，所以就一直在她的后面跟着……马戈温小姐，您能明白我在说什么吗？”
听到我的提问，她的脸“唰”地一下变得苍白。但她抬起头，用眼神告诉我她没有被我的话吓垮。
“你想怎样办？”她问，“把你想要的条件说出来吧，我全都接受。”
很显然，这个姑娘是个厉害角色，惯常的勒索方法对她是不起作用的。
“马戈温小姐，”我的话语流露出由衷的怜悯之情，“我想您一定是迫于奈才服从什么人的管束。我只是想帮你重获自由，决不会损害你的名誉。”
她伤心而绝望地摇了摇头。我继续鼓动她：
“您的美貌让我震惊，而您的坦率和不幸则消除了我对您的怀疑。如果您问心无愧，我相信您一定能找到最恰当的脱身方法。假如您是迫不不得已，那么上天自有安排。您无须担心我会泄秘。假如您不满意这桩婚姻，我会找出其他理由。”
当时的原话可能不是这样的，不过就是这个意思。当时我心绪烦乱，情急之下脱口而出。我没有再看她，站起身准备离开时，其他人都走了进来，我尽力保持镇静。“我刚向马戈温小姐道了晚安。也许待得太久了。”
约翰也要和我一起走。途中他问我有没有觉得茱莉叶小姐的神色有些怪异。
我搪塞说：“也许是身体不舒服，所以我才要告辞。”至于方才谈话的内容，我没有告诉他。
第二天我回到卧室时，已经很晚了。前天晚上的事让我惴惴不安。我走了出来，希望外面的空气能让我的头脑清醒一下。然而不知什么原因，我的心里有一种不祥的预感，让我很长时间不能释怀。深夜的寒气逼人，薄雾打湿了我的头发和衣服。我冷得发抖，又回到卧室，穿上睡衣和拖鞋坐在熊熊的炉火旁。我越想越害怕，身子也不停地发抖。此时的颤抖不是因为天气寒冷，而是因为内心恐惧，也许这就是所谓的“胆战心惊”吧。我有一种强烈的预感，某种不幸的事情就要发生了。这种预感让我备受折磨，我宁愿回想已经成为事实的往日的伤心之事，也不愿承受这种不知道结果的猜测性的困扰。于是，我回忆起已逝的父母，追忆着在他们床前的最后诀别以及在墓前的沉痛悼念。这些情景仿佛光影般看不真切，就像发生在遥远的过去，发生在某个和我不相干的人身上。突然，我被一个极度惊恐的尖叫声惊醒，就好像是钢刀斩断了绷紧的绳索。
那是约翰的声音，听起来好像是从窗外的街道上传来的。我一跃而起，打开窗户向四外查看。街灯昏暗，人行道湿气缭绕，临街的住房隐隐约约，看不清楚，有些阴森恐怖。一个竖着衣领的警察，背靠在门柱上，悠闲地点着一根香烟。我关上窗户，放下帘子，回到炉火旁，一边做些习惯性的动作，极力不去想刚才那个可怕的叫声，一边焦虑地看着手表。11点半的时候，我又听到那个让我毛骨悚然的叫声。那声音仿佛就在我的身边，触手可及。我害怕极了，待在那里一动都不动。过了很长时间，我跑出屋子，不由自主地朝一条陌生的街道飞奔。那个时候，我既不知道自己身在何处，也不知要去往何处。最后，我停在一户人家的前面。门外停着两三辆马车，屋内灯光晃动，人声鼎沸。这就是马戈温先生的家。
朋友，至于屋里到底发生了什么事，相信你已经猜想到了。我破门而入，首先看到茱莉叶·马戈温小姐躺在屋子里。因为中毒，她在几个小时之前就离开了人世。约翰·史蒂夫躺在另一个房间里，他的胸部中了一枪，还冒着血，他的手里握着一把枪。我冲进房间，把医生推开，蹲下身来抚摸着他的额头。约翰目光茫然地睁着眼睛，然后慢慢地闭上，悄无声息地死了。
之后的6个星期，我一直处于昏迷状态。幸运的是，我住到了您舒适的家中，在您妻子的精心照料下，我的身体很快恢复了。想必您对这段时间发生的事都非常清楚，但有一点恐怕您还不知道，这跟您的心理研究无关，至少与您曾经问我的问题没有一点联系。我知道您当时是顾及到我的身体情况才没有追根问底，不过我还能为您提供更多的情况。
几年后的一个夜晚，月明星稀，我独自一人在联合广场漫步。夜色已深，广场上空荡荡的。当我再次走到曾经目睹那次约会的地方，即预示了那次悲剧要发生的地方时，往事涌上心头，我不由地回想起那最凄惨的一幕。正当我坐在长椅上胡思乱想的时候，一名男子穿过人行道，走进了广场，径直向我走来。只见他低着头，双手放在身后，悠闲地走着。当他快走到我的座位时，我一下子认出了他。他不是別人，正是几年前在这里茱莉叶·马戈温小姐幽会的浪荡公子。不过，他整个人已经变成了一幅苍白、疲惫、憔悴的模样，每一处都显露出生活放荡和重病缠身的迹像。他衣衫不整，前额垂着几绺头发，看起来既恐怖又怪异，就像一个刚从医院跑出来的病人。
我下意识地站到他面前，面对着他，而他也抬起头，仔细打量我的脸。突然，他呆住了，脸上呈现出难以言状的恐惧——就像遇到了鬼。但是，他并不示弱。“快滚开，约翰·史蒂夫。”他一面喊，一面举起颤抖的手臂向我的脸打来。只是那一拳软弱无力，我向一边躲开，他就栽倒在地上。
当人们发现他躺在那里的时候，他的身体已经僵硬。谁也不知道他是谁，甚至连他叫什么名字都无人知晓。他留在人间的唯一信息就是他已经死了。
词汇笔记
词汇笔记
acquaintance [··kwent·ns] n.相识的人，熟人；相识；对……有了解；知识，心得
The proprietor was his an old acquaintance.
业主是他的一位旧相识。
singularly [·s··ɡj·l·l·] adv.非常地；格外地；奇怪地；异常地
Where he got that singular notion I just can''t think.
我真想不出来他从哪来的那种奇怪念头。
amuse [··mjuz] v.使人发笑；逗乐；使消遣；娱乐
Their antics never fail to amuse.
他们滑稽的举止总是让人发笑。
loiter [·l··t·] v.（在公共场所）走走停停；闲逛；游荡；磨蹭
Unemployed young men loiter at the entrance of the factory.
失业的小年轻在工厂门口游荡。
就在刚到旧金山不久的一天下午，我在市场大街上散步。
几个星期之后，约翰告诉我，他已经和那位小姐订婚了。
当时我心绪烦乱，情急之下脱口而出。
...but owing to your kindness John and I， then twenty-two years
of age...
owing to：由于，因为；多亏
In point of fact， the name was as strange to me as theman.
in point of fact：实际上
……
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