弄假成真3
时间：2025-03-03 03:20:59
（单词翻译:单击）
Three
It was Mrs. Folliat who led the way into the house and Poirot followed her. It was a gracious
house, beautifully proportioned. Mrs. Folliat went through a door on the left into a small daintily
furnished sitting room and on into the big drawing room beyond, which was full of people who all
seemed, at the moment, to be talking at once.
“George,” said Mrs. Folliat, “this is M. Poirot who is so kind as to come and help us. Sir George
Stubbs.”
Sir George, who had been talking in a loud voice, swung round. He was a big man with a rather
florid red face and a slightly unexpected beard. It gave a rather disconcerting effect of an actor
particularly penetrating4 pale blue.
“We’re so glad that your friend Mrs. Oliver managed to persuade you to come,” he said. “Quite
a brain wave on her part. You’ll be an enormous attraction.”
“Hattie?” He repeated the name in a slightly sharper tone. “Hattie!”
Lady Stubbs was reclining in a big armchair a little distance from the others. She seemed to be
paying no attention to what was going on round her. Instead she was smiling down at her hand
which was stretched out on the arm of the chair. She was turning it from left to right, so that a big
solitaire emerald on her third finger caught the light in its green depths.
She looked up now in a slightly startled childlike way and said, “How do you do.”
Poirot bowed over her hand.
Sir George continued his introductions.
“Mrs. Masterton.”
Mrs. Masterton was a somewhat monumental woman who reminded Poirot faintly of a
bloodhound’s baying note.
“This silly dispute about the tea tent has got to be settled, Jim,” she said forcefully. “They’ve
“Oh, quite,” said the man addressed.
“Captain Warburton,” said Sir George.
Captain Warburton, who wore a check sports coat and had a vaguely horsy appearance, showed
a lot of white teeth in a somewhat wolfish smile, then continued his conversation.
“Don’t you worry, I’ll settle it,” he said. “I’ll go and talk to them like a Dutch uncle. What
about the fortune-telling tent? In the space by the magnolia? Or at the far end of the lawn by the
rhododendrons?”
Sir George continued his introductions.
“Mr. and Mrs. Legge.”
A tall young man with his face peeling badly from sunburn grinned agreeably. His wife, an
attractive freckled11 redhead, nodded in a friendly fashion, then plunged12 into controversy13 with Mrs.
Masterton, her agreeable high treble making a kind of duet with Mrs. Masterton’s deep bay.
“—not by the magnolia—a bottle-neck—”
“—much cooler. I mean, with the sun full on the house—”
“And this,” said Sir George, “is Miss Brewis—who runs us all.”
Miss Brewis was seated behind the large silver tea tray.
She was a spare efficient-looking woman of fortyodd, with a brisk pleasant manner.
“How do you do, M. Poirot,” she said. “I do hope you didn’t have too crowded a journey? The
trains are sometimes too terrible this time of year. Let me give you some tea. Milk? Sugar?”
“Very little milk, mademoiselle, and four lumps of sugar.” He added, as Miss Brewis dealt with
his request, “I see that you are all in a great state of activity.”
“Yes, indeed. There are always so many last-minute things to see to. And people let one down
equipment. One has to keep on at them. I was on the telephone half the morning.”
“That’s all arranged, Sir George. Mr. Benson at the golf club was most kind.”
She handed Poirot his cup.
“A sandwich, M. Poirot? Those are tomato and these are paté. But perhaps,” said Miss Brewis,
thinking of the four lumps of sugar, “you would rather have a cream cake?”
one.
Then, balancing it carefully on his saucer, he went and sat down by his hostess. She was still
letting the light play over the jewel on her hand, and she looked up at him with a pleased child’s
smile.
“Look,” she said. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
straw. Beneath it her face showed its pinky reflection on the dead-white surface of her skin. She
was heavily made up in an exotic un-English style. Dead-white matt skin; vivid cyclamen lips,
mascara applied20 lavishly21 to the eyes. Her hair showed beneath the hat, black and smooth, fitting
like a velvet22 cap. There was a languorous23 un-English beauty about the face. She was a creature of
the tropical sun, caught, as it were, by chance in an English drawing room. But it was the eyes that
startled Poirot. They had a childlike, almost vacant, stare.
She had asked her question in a confidential24 childish way, and it was as though to a child that
Poirot answered.
“It is a very lovely ring,” he said.
She looked pleased.
“George gave it to me yesterday,” she said, dropping her voice as though she were sharing a
secret with him. “He gives me lots of things. He’s very kind.”
Poirot looked down at the ring again and the hand outstretched on the side of the chair. The
described her as a lily of the field. She was a far more artificial product.
“This is a beautiful room you have here, Madame,” he said, looking round appreciatively.
“I suppose it is,” said Lady Stubbs vaguely.
Her attention was still on her ring; her head on one side, she watched the green fire in its depths
as her hand moved.
She burst out laughing and Poirot had a sense of sudden shock. It was a loud uncontrolled
laugh.
From across the room Sir George said: “Hattie.”
His voice was quite kind but held a faint admonition. Lady Stubbs stopped laughing.
Poirot said in a conventional manner:
“Devonshire is a very lovely county. Do you not think so?”
“It’s nice in the daytime,” said Lady Stubbs. “When it doesn’t rain,” she added mournfully.
“But there aren’t any nightclubs.”
“Ah, I see. You like nightclubs?”
“And why do you like nightclubs so much?”
the other women have nice clothes and jewels, but not as nice as mine.”
“And all that amuses you very much?”
“Yes. I like the casino, too. Why are there not any casinos in England?”
“I have often wondered,” said Poirot, with a sigh. “I do not think it would accord with the
English character.”
“I won sixty thousand francs at Monte Carlo once. I put it on number twenty-seven and it came
up.”
“That must have been very exciting, Madame.”
“Oh, it was. George gives me money to play with—but usually I lose it.”
She looked disconsolate35.
“That is sad.”
“Oh, it does not really matter. George is very rich. It is nice to be rich, don’t you think so?”
“Very nice,” said Poirot gently.
“Perhaps, if I was not rich, I should look like Amanda.” Her gaze went to Miss Brewis at the tea
table and studied her dispassionately. “She is very ugly, don’t you think?”
Miss Brewis looked up at that moment and across to where they were sitting. Lady Stubbs had
not spoken loudly, but Poirot wondered whether Amanda Brewis had heard.
As he withdrew his gaze, his eyes met those of Captain Warburton. The Captain’s glance was
Poirot endeavoured to change the subject.
“Have you been very busy preparing for the fête?” he asked.
Hattie Stubbs shook her head.
“Oh, no, I think it is all very boring—very stupid. There are servants and gardeners. Why
should not they make the preparations?”
are the ideas you were brought up with on your island estates. But life isn’t like that in England
these days. I wish it were.” She sighed. “Nowadays one has to do nearly everything oneself.”
“I think it is stupid. What is the good of being rich if one has to do everything oneself?”
“Some people find it fun,” said Mrs. Folliat, smiling at her. “I do really. Not all things, but
some. I like gardening myself and I like preparing for a festivity like this one tomorrow.”
“It will be like a party?” asked Lady Stubbs hopefully.
“Just like a party—with lots and lots of people.”
“Well, not quite like Ascot,” said Mrs. Folliat. She added gently, “But you must try and enjoy
country things, Hattie. You should have helped us this morning, instead of staying in bed and not
getting up until teatime.”
“I had a headache,” said Hattie sulkily. Then her mood changed and she smiled affectionately at
Mrs. Folliat.
“But I will be good tomorrow. I will do everything you tell me.”
“That’s very sweet of you, dear.”
“I’ve got a new dress to wear. It came this morning. Come upstairs with me and look at it.”
Mrs. Folliat hesitated. Lady Stubbs rose to her feet and said insistently40:
“You must come. Please. It is a lovely dress. Come now!”
“Oh, very well.” Mrs. Folliat gave a half laugh and rose.
As she went out of the room, her small figure following Hattie’s tall one, Poirot saw her face
and was quite startled at the weariness on it which had replaced her smiling composure. It was as
though, relaxed and off her guard for a moment, she no longer bothered to keep up the social
mask. And yet—it seemed more than that. Perhaps she was suffering from some disease about
which, like many women, she never spoke. She was not a person, he thought, who would care to
invite pity or sympathy.
Captain Warburton dropped down in the chair Hattie Stubbs had just vacated. He, too, looked at
the door through which the two women had just passed, but it was not of the older woman that he
spoke. Instead he drawled, with a slight grin:
“Beautiful creature, isn’t she?” He observed with the tail of his eye Sir George’s exit through a
french window with Mrs. Masterton and Mrs. Oliver in tow. “Bowled over old George Stubbs all
right. Nothing’s too good for her! Jewels, mink41, all the rest of it. Whether he realizes she’s a bit
wanting in the top storey, I’ve never discovered. Probably thinks it doesn’t matter. After all, these
financial johnnies don’t ask for intellectual companionship.”
“Looks South American, I always think. But I believe she comes from the West Indies. One of
those islands with sugar and rum and all that. One of the old families there—a creole, I don’t mean
a half-caste. All very intermarried, I believe, on these islands. Accounts for the mental deficiency.”
Young Mrs. Legge came over to join them.
“Look here, Jim,” she said, “you’ve got to be on my side. That tent’s got to be where we all
decided—on the far side of the lawn backing on the rhododendrons. It’s the only possible place.”
“Ma Masterton doesn’t think so.”
“Well, you’ve got to talk her out of it.”
He gave her his foxy smile.
“Mrs. Masterton’s my boss.”
“Wilfred Masterton’s your boss. He’s the M.P.”
“I dare say, but she should be. She’s the one who wears the pants—and don’t I know it.”
Sir George reentered the window.
“Oh, there you are, Sally,” he said. “We need you. You wouldn’t think everyone could get het
up over who butters the buns and who raffles43 a cake, and why the garden produce stall is where the
fancy woollens was promised it should be. Where’s Amy Folliat? She can deal with these people
—about the only person who can.”
“She went upstairs with Hattie.”
“Oh, did she—?”
Sir George looked round in a vaguely helpless manner and Miss Brewis jumped up from where
she was writing tickets, and said, “I’ll fetch her for you, Sir George.”
“Thank you, Amanda.”
Miss Brewis went out of the room.
“Must get hold of some more wire fencing,” murmured Sir George.
“For the fête?”
“No, no. To put up where we adjoin Hoodown Park in the woods. The old stuff’s rotted away,
and that’s where they get through.”
“Who get through?”
“Trespassers!” ejaculated Sir George.
Sally Legge said amusedly:
“You sound like Betsy Trotwood campaigning against donkeys.”
“Betsy Trotwood? Who’s she?” asked Sir George simply.
“Dickens.”
“Oh, Dickens. I read the Pickwick Papers once. Not bad. Not bad at all—surprised me. But,
out at you from everywhere wearing the most incredible shirts—boy this morning had one all
covered with crawling turtles and things—made me think I’d been hitting the bottle or something.
—tell me—iss way to ferry?’ I say no, it isn’t, roar at them, and send them back where they’ve
come from, but half the time they just blink and stare and don’t understand. And the girls giggle46.
All kinds of nationalities, Italian, Yugoslavian, Dutch, Finnish—Eskimos I shouldn’t be surprised!
Half of them communists, I shouldn’t wonder,” he ended darkly.
“Come now, George, don’t get started on communists,” said Mrs. Legge. “I’ll come and help
you deal with the rabid women.”
She led him out of the window and called over her shoulder: “Come on, Jim. Come and be torn
to pieces in a good cause.”
“All right, but I want to put M. Poirot in the picture about the Murder Hunt since he’s going to
present the prizes.”
“You can do that presently.”
“I will await you here,” said Poirot agreeably.
In the ensuing silence, Alec Legge stretched himself out in his chair and sighed.
He turned his head to look out of the window.
“And what’s it all about? Some silly garden fête that doesn’t matter to anyone.”
“Why can’t people have some sense? Why can’t they think? Think of the mess the whole world
has got itself into. Don’t they realize that the inhabitants of the globe are busy committing
suicide?”
Poirot judged rightly that he was not intended to reply to this question. He merely shook his
head doubtfully.
“Unless we can do something before it’s too late…” Alec Legge broke off. An angry look swept
over his face. “Oh, yes,” he said, “I know what you’re thinking. That I’m nervy, neurotic—all the
rest of it. Like those damned doctors. Advising rest and change and sea air. All right, Sally and I
came down here and took the Mill Cottage for three months, and I’ve followed their prescription49.
“I noticed that you had sunbathed, yes,” said Poirot politely.
“Oh, this?” Alec’s hand went to his sore face. “That’s the result of a fine English summer for
once in a way. But what’s the good of it all? You can’t get away from facing truth just by running
away from it.”
“No, it is never any good running away.”
“And being in a rural atmosphere like this just makes you realize things more keenly—that and
the incredible apathy51 of the people of this country. Even Sally, who’s intelligent enough, is just the
same. Why bother? That’s what she says. It makes me mad! Why bother?”
“As a matter of interest, why do you?”
“Good God, you too?”
“No, it is not advice. It is just that I would like to know your answer.”
“Don’t you see, somebody’s got to do something.”
“And that somebody is you?”
“No, no, not me personally. One can’t be personal in times like these.”
“I do not see why not. Even in ‘these times’ as you call it, one is still a person.”
“But one shouldn’t be! In times of stress, when it’s a matter of life or death, one can’t think of
one’s own insignificant52 ills or preoccupations.”
“I assure you, you are quite wrong. In the late war, during a severe air raid, I was much less
preoccupied53 by the thought of death than of the pain from a corn on my little toe. It surprised me
at the time that it should be so. ‘Think,’ I said to myself, ‘at any moment now, death may come.’
But I was still conscious of my corn—indeed, I felt injured that I should have that to suffer as well
as the fear of death. It was because I might die that every small personal matter in my life acquired
increased importance. I have seen a woman knocked down in a street accident, with a broken leg,
and she has burst out crying because she sees that there is a ladder in her stocking.”
“Which just shows you what fools women are!”
“It shows you what people are. It is, perhaps, that absorption in one’s personal life that has led
the human race to survive.”
Alec Legge gave a scornful laugh.
“Sometimes,” he said, “I think it’s a pity they ever did.”
slogan that was written up in your underground railways here, I remember, during the war. ‘It all
dangerous and undesirable56 doctrine57. For it is not true. Everything does not depend on, say, Mrs.
Blank of Little-Blank-in-the-Marsh. And if she is led to think it does, it will not be good for her
character. While she thinks of the part she can play in world affairs, the baby pulls over the kettle.”
“You are rather old-fashioned in your views, I think. Let’s hear what your slogan would be.”
me very well.”
“What is that?”
“‘Put your trust in God, and keep your powder dry.’”
“Well, well…” Alec Legge seemed amused. “Most unexpected coming from you. Do you know
what I should like to see done in this country?”
“Something, no doubt, forceful and unpleasant,” said Poirot, smiling.
Alec Legge remained serious.
“I should like to see every feeble-minded person put out—right out! Don’t let them breed. If,
for one generation, only the intelligent were allowed to breed, think what the result would be.”
needs roots as well as flowers on a plant, Mr. Legge. However large and beautiful the flowers, if
the earthy roots are destroyed there will be no more flowers.” He added in a conversational59 tone:
“Yes, indeed. What’s the good of a woman like that? What contribution has she ever made to
society? Has she ever had an idea in her head that wasn’t of clothes or furs or jewels? As I say,
what good is she?”
he shook his head sadly—“it is true, I fear, that we are not nearly so ornamental63.”
“Ornamental…” Alec was beginning with a fierce snort, but he was interrupted by the reentry of
Mrs. Oliver and Captain Warburton through the window.
点击
收听单词发音
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1
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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dominions
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| 统治权( dominion的名词复数 )； 领土； 疆土； 版图 | |
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3
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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4
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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5
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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7
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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8
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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9
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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10
feuds
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| n.长期不和，世仇( feud的名词复数 ) | |
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11
freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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13
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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14
disperse
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| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
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15
coconut
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| n.椰子 | |
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catering
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| n. 给养 | |
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17
pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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18
squelchy
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| adj.嘎吱声的 | |
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19
magenta
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| n..紫红色（的染料）；adj.紫红色的 | |
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20
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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lavishly
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| adv.慷慨地，大方地 | |
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22
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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languorous
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| adj.怠惰的，没精打采的 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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varnished
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| 浸渍过的，涂漆的 | |
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quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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27
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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29
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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34
wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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chic
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| n./adj.别致(的)，时髦(的)，讲究的 | |
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insistently
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| ad.坚持地 | |
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mink
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| n.貂，貂皮 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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43
raffles
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| n.抽彩售物( raffle的名词复数 )v.以抽彩方式售（物）( raffle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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44
hostel
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| n.（学生）宿舍，招待所 | |
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mimicked
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的过去式和过去分词 )；酷似 | |
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46
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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47
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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48
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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50
sunbathed
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| 日光浴( sunbathe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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53
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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54
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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56
undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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57
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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58
formulate
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| v.用公式表示；规划；设计；系统地阐述 | |
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59
conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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60
lethal
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| adj.致死的；毁灭性的 | |
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61
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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62
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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