The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter 精彩片段：
Part Two-15
He stood on the threshold of a small white room furnished only with an iron bed, a cabinet, and two chairs. On the bed lay the terrible Negro he had met on the stairs at Singers house. His face was very black against the white, stiff pillows.
The dark eyes were hot with hatred but the heavy, bluish lips were composed. His face was motionless as a black mask except for the slow, wide flutters of his nostrils with each breath.
Get out, the Negro said.
Wait------ Jake said helplessly. Why do you say that?’
This is my house.’
Jake could not draw his eyes away from the Negros terrible face. But why?’
You are a white man and a stranger.’
Jake did not leave. He walked with cumbersome caution to
one of the straight white chairs and seated himself. The Negro moved his hands on the counterpane. His black eyes glittered with fever. Jake watched him. They waited. In the room there was a feeling tense as conspiracy or as the deadly quiet before an explosion.
It was long past midnight. The warm, dark air of the spring morning swirled the blue layers of smoke in the room. On the floor were crumpled balls of paper and a half-empty bottle of gin. Scattered ashes were gray on the counterpane. Doctor Copeland pressed his head tensely into the pillow. He had removed his dressing-gown and the sleeves of his white cotton nightshirt were rolled to the elbow. Jake leaned forward in his chair. His tie was loosened and the collar of his shirt had wilted with sweat Through the hours there had grown between them a long, exhausting dialogue. And now a pause had come.
So the time is ready for------ Jake began.But Doctor Copeland interrupted him. Now it is perhaps necessary that we------ he murmured huskily. Theyhalted. Each looked into the eyes of the other and waited. I beg your pardon, Doctor Copeland said.
Sorry, said Jake. Go on.’
No, you continue.’
Well------ Jake said. I wont say what I started to say.