狄更斯的小说特点 狄更斯双语小说:《董贝父子》第22章Part 1

狄更斯双语小说:《董贝父子》第22章Part 1  

Mr Carker the Manager sat at his desk
smooth and soft as usual
reading those letters which were reserved for him to open
backing them occasionally with such memoranda and references as their business purport required
and parceling them out into little heaps for distribution through the several departments of the House. The post had e in heavy that morning
and Mr Carker the Manager had a good deal to do.
The general action of a man so engaged - pausing to look over a bundle of papers in his hand
dealing them round in various portions
taking up another bundle and examining its contents with knitted brows and pursed-out lips - dealing
and sorting
and pondering by turns - would easily suggest some whimsical resemblance to a player at cards. The face of Mr Carker the Manager was in good keeping with such a fancy. It was the face of a man who studied his play
warily: who made himself master of all the strong and weak points of the game: who registered the cards in his mind as they fell about him
knew exactly what was on them
what they missed
and what they made: who was crafty to find out what the other players held
and who never betrayed his own hand.
The letters were in various languages
but Mr Carker the Manager read them all. If there had been anything in the offices of Dombey and Son that he could read
there would have been a card wanting in the pack. He read almost at a glance
and made binations of one letter with another and one business with another as he went on
adding new matter to the heaps - much as a man would know the cards at sight
and work out their binations in his mind after they were turned. Something too deep for a partner
and much too deep for an adversary
Mr Carker the Manager sat in the rays of the sun that came down slanting on him through the skylight
playing his game alone.
And although it is not among the instincts wild or domestic of the cat tribe to play at cards
feline from sole to crown was Mr Carker the Manager
as he basked in the strip of summer-light and warmth that shone upon his table and the ground as if they were a crooked dial-plate
and himself the only figure on it. With hair and whiskers deficient in colour at all times
but feebler than mon in the rich sunshine
and more like the coat of a sandy tortoise-shell cat; with long nails
nicely pared and sharpened; with a natural antipathy to any speck of dirt
which made him pause sometimes and watch the falling motes of dust
and rub them off his smooth white hand or glossy linen: Mr Carker the Manager
sly of manner
sharp of tooth
soft of foot
watchful of eye
oily of tongue
cruel of heart
nice of habit
sat with a dainty steadfastness and patience at his work
as if he were waiting at a mouse's hole.
At length the letters were disposed of
excepting one which he reserved for a particular audience. Having locked the more confidential correspondence in a drawer
Mr Carker the Manager rang his bell.
'Why do you answer it?' was his reception of his brother.
'The messenger is out
and I am the next
' was the submissive reply.
'You are the next?' muttered the Manager. 'Yes! Creditable to me! There!'
Pointing to the heaps of opened letters
he turned disdainfully away
in his elbow-chair
and broke the seal of that one which he held in his hand.
'I am sorry to trouble you
James
' said the brother
gathering them up
'but - '
'Oh! you have something to say. I knew that. Well?'
Mr Carker the Manager did not raise his eyes or turn them on his brother
but kept them on his letter
though without opening it.
'Well?' he repeated sharply.
'I am uneasy about Harriet.'
'Harriet who? what Harriet? I know nobody of that name.'
'She is not well
and has changed very much of late.'
'She changed very much
a great many years ago
' replied the Manager; 'and that is all I have to say.
'I think if you would hear me -
'Why should I hear you
Brother John?' returned the Manager
laying a sarcastic emphasis on those o words
and throwing up his head
but not lifting his eyes. 'I tell you
Harriet Carker made her choice many years ago beeen her o brothers. She may repent it
but she must abide by it.'
'Don't mistake me. I do not say she does repent it. It would be black ingratitude in me to hint at such a thing
' returned the other. 'Though believe me
James
I am as sorry for her sacrifice as you.'
'As I?' exclaimed the Manager. 'As I?'
'As sorry for her choice - for what you call her choice - as you are angry at it
' said the Junior.
'Angry?' repeated the other
with a wide show of his teeth.
'Displeased. Whatever word you like best. You know my meaning. There is no offence in my intention.'
'There is offence in everything you do
' replied his brother
glancing at him with a sudden scowl
which in a moment gave place to a wider smile than the last. 'Carry those papers away
if you please. I am busy.
His politeness was so much more cutting than his wrath
that the Junior went to the door. But stopping at it
and looking round
he said:
'When Harriet tried in vain to plead for me with you
on your first just indignation
and my first disgrace; and when she left you
James
to follow my broken fortunes
and devote herself
in her mistaken affection
to a ruined brother
because without her he had no one
and was lost; she was young and pretty. I think if you could see her now - if you would go and see her - she would move your admiration and passion.'
The Manager inclined his head
and showed his teeth
as who should say
in answer to some careless small-talk
'Dear me! Is that the case?' but said never a word.