Chapter 11 Chapter Eleven

For a full week, the weather was cold and rainy.In early summer, this kind of weather is common in the western countryside. We never went to the beach again.But looking out from the terrace and the lawn, I can still see the sea.The turbulent waves swept past the lighthouse on the headland and rushed into the bay; the sea was black and daunting.I imagined how the waves crashed against the reefs in the bay, made a loud noise, and then rushed to the sloping beach in a hurry.Standing on the platform, I could hear the roar of the sea below, low and melancholy, monotonously sustained, without a break.Because of the weather, the seagulls also flew into the land, and they circled nervously over the house, flapping their spread wings.It wasn't until then that I began to understand why some people couldn't bear the noise of the sea. The sound sometimes sounded like a gun, sometimes rumbled, and then hissed, and it kept coming to your eardrums, making your nerves unbearable.I'm glad we live in the east wing, and we can see the rose garden from the window.Sometimes when I couldn't sleep at night, I would get up from the bed and tiptoe over to lean against the window frame, enjoying the peace and silence of the night.Here I could not hear the noise of the restless sea, so that my mind could be quiet, and I could not think about the steep path through the woods to the brown cove, and the abandoned beach house.I really hate to think about the cottage, but it can't be done during the day.When I stand on the platform and look at the sea, I always think of it: the blue mildew on the china; the cobwebs on the mast of the model boat; the rat-bitten holes in the day-bed; the sound of raindrops on the roof .I also think of that stranger named Bane, with his little watery blue eyes and his idiot-like smirk.All this disturbed me and made me restless and restless.I tried to forget all this; at the same time, I wanted to find out what caused me to be so disturbed and troubled.Although I refuse to admit it, somewhere in my heart there is indeed a kind of secret curiosity, a kind of seed of doubt and fear, which is slowly but constantly growing.I have fully experienced the doubts a child has after being told that "these things can't be talked about, and I can't let you know", as well as the eagerness to find out.

I can't forget Maxim's terrified and bewildered eyes as he walked on the path in the forest that day, and his words: "Oh, God, I'm so stupid, why do I want to come back?" The bay ran, which brought back his memories of the past.Although Maxim returned to normal afterward, although we ate at the same table, slept in the same bed, walked hand in hand, wrote letters side by side at desks, drove to the village together, and were inseparable all the time, I always felt that because of what happened that day , There has been a gap between us. He seemed to be walking alone on the other side of the road, and I had no choice but to step closer to him.I was always on the nerves, afraid that if I slipped my tongue, or if I accidentally changed the subject in a casual conversation, I would make him look that way again.I'm afraid to mention the sea because when you talk about the sea you think of ships, of shipwrecks, of drowning people... Frank Crowley came to lunch one day.He talked of a regatta at Crissport, three miles from here, and even this talk made me feel like a fever, and my heart was so sick that I dropped my head and stared at the plate in front of me.But Maxim didn't seem to care, and he was still talking and laughing.Only I was worried and sweating, wondering what unpleasant things this conversation might cause.

I remember when everyone was eating cheese.Frith had just walked away, so I got up and went to the sideboard to get some more cheese.This was done not because the cheese ran out, but because I didn't want to sit at the table and listen to them talk.I hummed a little tune as I walked, so that I could not hear what they were talking about.Of course, my worries were unwarranted, even a little silly.This uncharacteristic hypersensitivity, characteristic of the behavior of psychopaths, had nothing in common with my usual cheerful disposition.But this is completely uncontrollable, otherwise what should I do?

Besides, every time I had a visitor, I suffered more and became more bewildered and dumbfounded.In the first few weeks of my return to Manderley, I recall a steady stream of visits from neighbors from around the county.To receive these guests, to shake hands, to pass half an hour of courtesies with nothing to say--all this was more torturous than I had imagined, for now a new layer of misgiving was added, lest these people might say something wrong. What should be said comes.Distraught, I hurried to hide in my room at the sound of wheels slithering in the driveway, followed by the ear-drum-splitting doorbell.All this is tormenting!Once in my room, I frantically put some powder on my nose, do a quick brush through my hair, and there is always a knock at the door, and the servant brings the visitor's card on a silver tray.

"Okay, I'll come down now." Then, my footsteps sounded on the stairs and in the hall.The door of the library is opened (sometimes worse, the guest is led into the big cold and lifeless drawing room), and inside is a strange female guest, maybe two, or a couple. "Good morning! I'm sorry, but Maxim is in the garden. Frith has gone to him." "We felt we should pay a visit to both of you to pay our respects to the bride." A smile in response to the occasion, a few words of entertainment in a panic, and then the host and guest could no longer find anything to say, so they had to look around the room to relieve their difficulties.

"Manderley is still so charming, do you love this place?" "Oh, of course, I'm quite..." Because of my shyness and wanting to please these guests, I couldn't help but use the language of female students that I don't usually use, such as "ah, very handsome", "Oh, wonderful ", "I didn't say it", "It's really exciting" and so on, all will be blurted out.I remember once yelling "croak" to a maharaja widow holding a long-handled spectacles!After Maxim came into the room, although I was relieved, but at the same time, I was frightened. The uncle and the guest had no taboo to say some things that should not be said.As a result, I was immediately mute, with my hands in my arms and an awkward, frozen smile on my lips.When the guests saw this situation, they always turned to chat with Maxim, talking about people and places I knew nothing about, and from time to time cast me puzzled and questioning eyes.

I can imagine the conversation when the guest drove away from Manderley: "My dear, what a dull woman! She hardly spoke." Then there was the first time I heard it from Beatrice. That sentence: "How different she is from Becca!" has haunted me since that time, and I seem to see these words in every visitor's look and speech: " How different she is from Rebecca!" Sometimes, in such conversations, I am able to glean bits and pieces of material to fill up my inner storehouse of secrets.The so-called sporadic material is nothing more than a word, a question, or a phrase that slips out of the mouth during the conversation.If Maxim hadn't been there, I would have had a secret, painful pleasure in hearing bits and pieces of this sort, for stealing information.

Sometimes, it may be necessary to pay homage to the guests.In such matters Maxim was rigid and would not let me go. If he doesn't come with me, I'll have to go all out and deal with the formality by myself.I have to search all my brains and have nothing to say, so there are often cold scenes between the host and the guest.At such times, the host would ask: "Mrs. de Winter, do you plan to receive guests frequently at Manderley?" I replied: "I don't know. So far, Maxim has not mentioned anything about it." Yes." "Of course, the season hasn't come yet. I remember that Manderley was always crowded with guests." After a short pause, the man went on to say, "You know, they are all guests from London. Then There are often very large banquets." I had to answer, "Yes, I have heard of it." There was another short pause, and then the speaker lowered his voice (people talk about the dead or when they talk in church. Such): "You know, she's very popular, what a character!" "Yes, that's right." After a while, I looked at my watch covered by my gloves and said, "Is it past four? I'm afraid I have to say goodbye."

"Stop drinking tea? My family always has afternoon tea at a quarter past four." "No, no. Thank you very much. I told Maxim when I came out..." The sentence was drawn out, but the meaning was tacitly understood.In this way, both the host and the guest stood up at the same time, and both parties knew that the other party's farewell excuses or retention gestures were all polite and vain.Sometimes I also think, what will happen if I throw all the etiquette and conventions out of the sky?After getting into the car and waving to the hostess standing on the doorstep, he suddenly opened the car door and said, "I'm not in a hurry to go back. Let's go and sit in your living room. If you think it's okay, I'll Have supper before leaving, or simply spend the night here."

I often wonder whether the etiquette and manners of foreigners can make the hosts bear the shock caused by my above-mentioned actions, and whether there will be a smirk of welcome on their cold faces: "Why not? You take the initiative I'd be honored to offer to stay." I've often thought it would be fun if I had the courage to try it out.But actually, getting into the car, the door always slams shut, and the car drives slowly down the smooth gravel driveway while the hostess I've just called lolls back to the room with a sigh of relief, She returned to her original form.

There is a church in the neighboring county, and the wife of the bishop there once said to me: "Does your husband intend to re-give the Masquerade Ball at Manderley? Every ball is so spectacular that I will never forget it." I had no choice but to pretend to know the mysteries of this kind of dance, smiled slightly, and replied, "We haven't made up our minds yet. There are too many things to discuss." "Yes, you must be busy enough. But I hope you don't cancel the custom of the masquerade. You tell him. Of course it didn't take place last year, but I remember the time two years ago when I went there with the bishop, and the scene was really moving. There is no better place for such a dance than Manderley.The hall was colorfully decorated, and the ball was held there.The band was playing in the corridor.Everything was well arranged.It must have taken a lot of effort to organize such a dance, but the guests all came home happy. " "Yes," I said. "Well, I must ask Maxim." At this time, I thought of the pigeonhole file rack with labels on the writing desk in the exhibition room; I imagined her sitting at the writing desk with stacks of invitations in front of her, a long list of guests and addresses.Whoever she intends to invite, puts a tick next to the person's name.Then, she reached out to take the invitation card, dipped the pen into the ink bottle, and wrote on the invitation bundle quickly and without hesitation in the slender italic characters... The bishop's wife added: "One summer, we also went to a garden party. As usual, the scene was spectacular and beautiful. I remember it was a sunny day, the flowers were in full bloom, and the guests sat around in the rose garden. Tea at little tables. It's such a brilliant idea that no one else would have thought of it. Of course, she's brilliantly clever..." The bishop's wife stopped suddenly, blushing slightly, worried that she was not prudent enough to speak.In order to avoid embarrassment for both parties, I immediately followed her words and agreed, and boldly said: "Rebecca—must be a great person." I couldn't believe I finally said her name like a boner.I waited, not knowing what the consequences would be.I finally said the name, "Rebecca," to a great relief.It was as if I had undergone a baptism, a relief from an unbearable pain. "Rebecca," I say her name! I don't know if the bishop's wife saw the blush on my face, but anyway, she still talked and laughed freely. I listened greedily from the sidelines, as if eavesdropping from behind a closed window. The bishop's wife asked me: "So you never saw her?" I shook my head. She pondered for a moment, looking a little embarrassed, not knowing what to say. "We don't know her well. You know. My husband only started working here four years ago.But even so, she was of course polite when we went to dances and garden parties.One winter, we also went to have a meal.Yes, she was a real stunner, full of life. " As I fiddled with the tassels on my gloves, I said in a nonchalant tone: "It seems that she is good at everything. It is rare to see such a smart, beautiful and fun-loving person." "Yes, it is rare," said the Bishop's wife. "She was talented. I can still see her at the ball that night: her long black hair against her white skin, standing at the foot of the stairs shaking hands with every visitor. Her masquerade dress fit her perfectly. Yes Yes, she is indeed a remarkable beauty." "She also manages the house herself," I said with a smile, as if to say to the other party: "I'm not at all uncomfortable. I often talk about her." With less time and effort, I will leave all these to the housekeeper to take care of." "Oh, of course, one can't do everything. You're young, aren't you? No doubt you'll be able to manage after a while, when you're used to living here. Besides, don't you have Is it your own hobby? I heard people say that you love sketching from life.” "Oh, that?" I said. "It's nothing." "That's a nice thing to do. Not everyone can draw. Don't lose it. Manderley has a lot of beauty for you to sketch." "Yes, you are right," I said.After hearing the words of the bishop's wife, I suddenly became dingy, and a picture suddenly appeared in front of me: I was walking slowly across the lawn with a folding canvas stool, a box of pencils under one arm and a box of pencils under the other. A picture book that expresses "a little skill" as the bishop's wife said. "A little skill", how worthless it sounds!It's just an unhealthy addiction. "Which game do you like to play? Horseback riding or shooting?" asked the bishop's wife again. "No, I can't do any of these things." Then I added pitifully: "However, I like walking." How insignificant compared with riding, shooting, etc.! But the bishop's wife immediately went on to say, "This is the best sport in the world. The bishop and I also often take walks." Hearing what she said, I imagined that the bishop was wearing the shovel shape of the church. Strange hat and leggings, with the lady slung on her arm, circling up and down his cathedral.Then she told of the vacations they had hiked in the Pennine Mountains some years ago, and how they had walked an average of twenty miles a day.I kept nodding, with a polite smile on my face, while I was wondering where Pennain was, which was probably similar to the Andes Mountains in South America.It was only later that I remembered that there was this term in the atlas of my school days. It seemed that in the middle of England painted light red, a hairy area was drawn, indicating that this was a mountain range, which was Pendons. And the Bishop must still be wearing his spade hat and leggings. At this point in the conversation, there was another unavoidable silence.The living room clock struck four, and I looked at my watch completely superfluously, and got up to say goodbye: "I'm so glad you're home; I hope you two can come and play sometime." "Very well, but the Bishop is always so busy. Please send your husband your regards, and don't forget to ask him to start the Manderley ball again." "Okay, I will definitely tell him." I pretended that I knew everything about this kind of dance, and lied again. On the way home, I huddled in the corner of the car, gnawing my thumbnails, envisioning the scene of a ball: Manderley's hall filled with costumed guests, bustling guests everywhere, The house was full of laughter; the band was playing in the colonnade; in the evening there might be a banquet in the living room, with long tables lined up along the wall for guests to serve their own meals; A side-by-side companion, a tall, slender man with black hair--the bishop's wife said black hair against a pale face--a man who looked everywhere and attended to all the needs of her guests; she turned her head, Giving orders to the servants; the person's manners are graceful and graceful, never embarrassed; and when she dances, there is a scent of white rhododendrons in the air... "Mrs. De Winter, do you have any plans to entertain guests frequently at Manderley?" The voice of the lady who lived on the other side of Chris that I visited once sounded in my ear again, her voice was full of provocation, loudly. There is a taste of breaking the casserole and asking the end.I also think of the dame's ambiguous eyes, examining my dress from head to toe, and at the same time, with the eyes that people look at a bride, quickly glanced at my belly to see if I was pregnant. I don't want to see this woman again, I really don't want to see all these treasures again.They came to Manderley only out of curiosity, and because they liked to pry into other people's privacy; they wanted to comment on my appearance, manners, figure, and to see how Maxim was related to me. Are you in love.That way, when they got home, they'd have something to gossip about: "Well, it's not what it used to be." They came because they wanted to compare me with Rebecca... I made up my mind that I will never pay back to anyone from now on.I'm going to make this clear to Maxim.I don't care if these people call me rude or disrespectful.Of course, in this way, there will be more gossip and gossip for them to comment on, and they will say that I am uneducated: "Hmph, I expected that she is an unknown person after all!" Then there was a sneer, He shrugged his shoulders contemptuously and went on: "Didn't you know, my dear? He got her by chance in Monte Carlo or something. She was penniless at the time, and she was working as a maid for an old woman." Follower." There was another sneer, and people raised eyebrows and stared in surprise. "Nonsense, really? Well, men are so strange, especially a man like Maxim, who is usually so picky. After Rebecca, how could he marry such a woman?" I don't care a bit, they can say what they like. I straightened up in the seat as the car pulled through the gate and smiled at the woman who lived in the concierge.She bent over to pick flowers in the garden in front of the main gate, and when she heard the sound of the car, she hurriedly straightened up.But she didn't see me smiling at her.I waved at her, but she stared at me blankly, probably not knowing me.I had to shrink back into the corner of the carriage. The car pulled up the driveway, and at a narrow turn, I saw a man walking a short distance in front of us. It was Chief Steward Frank Crawley.Hearing the sound of the car, he stopped immediately, and the driver also slowed down.Frank Crowley took off his hat when he saw me in the car, and smiled, looking pleased to see me.I also smiled back.He was so kind, he actually showed a happy expression when he saw me.I like this guy, I don't think he's mediocre like Beatrice, and it's because I'm a mediocre character myself, we're both alike, we're not good at words, it's called; birds of a feather flock together. I knocked on the window and asked the driver to stop: "Let me get down, I will walk back with Mr. Crawley." Crowley opened the car door for me, and asked, "Have you been visiting, Mrs. de Winter?" "Yes, Frank." I followed Maxim's example and called him Frank, but he always called me Mrs. de Winter.He was the type, and even if the two of us were thrown on an island to spend the rest of our lives together day and night, I would still be Mrs. de Winter. "I went to visit the Bishop, and he was away, and only the lady was at home. The couple liked to walk, sometimes twenty miles a day, in the Pennance Hills." Frank Crowley said: "I'm not familiar with that area. I heard that the countryside around the mountains is very beautiful. I have an uncle who lived there." It was a standard Frank Crowley conversation: plain, Rigid rules, foolproof! "The Bishop's wife wants to know why we're having a masquerade ball at Manderley," I said, giving him out of the corner of my eye. "She said she had a great time at the last ball. Frank, I don't know about that." He seemed a little embarrassed, and hesitated for a while before answering: "Well, yes." After a while he said: "The Manderley ball is usually held once a year, and all the celebrities in the county come to attend, and many of them come from London." The guests, is a big scene... "It must have taken a lot of preparation," I said. "yes." I deliberately pretended to be casual and asked, "Rebecca probably did most of the preparation work?" I was looking straight ahead in the driveway, but I felt him turn his face to look at me, as if trying to read something in my expression. He replied calmly, "It took a lot of effort for all of us." He spoke with a curious reserve, and his timidity reminded me of my own embarrassment, and at the same time I wondered whether the man had ever been in love with Rebecca.If this kind of thing did happen, then I would definitely speak in his current tone.This idea led to many new speculations.Shy and mediocre Frank, if he fell in love with Rebecca, he would never confide in anyone, especially Rebecca herself. "If there's a ball, I'm afraid I can't help at all," I said. "I simply don't have the ability to arrange social scenes." "You don't need to worry about it, as long as you keep your usual color, you will be quite beautiful." "Frank, I appreciate your kindness. But I'm afraid I can't even do that." "I think you will do well." Dear Frank Crawley, what a wit, what a thoughtfulness!I was almost on the verge of believing him, but then realized that he was complimenting me. I asked him, "Would you ask Maxim? Would you like to have a dance?" "Why don't you ask him yourself?" he answered. "No, I don't want to ask." For a while, neither of them spoke, and walked along the driveway silently.I have overcome my reluctance to speak Rebecca's name, first in the presence of the Bishop's wife, and now in the presence of Frank Crawley.As a result, there was an urge to say these three words all the time in my heart, and chanting Rebecca's name gave me a strange satisfaction. These three words were like a stimulant to me.I feel like I'll have to say her name in a few minutes. "I went to the beach the other day," I said. "Just the beach near the jetty. Jesper's such a nuisance, barking at some poor wretch with eyes like an idiot." "You must be talking about Bane," Frank's voice became natural at this moment. "He's always wandering by the sea. But he's a good man, you needn't be afraid of him, he won't hurt a fly. " "Ah, I'm not afraid at all." I paused, humming a little tune to gain a little confidence. "I'm afraid that hut by the sea is going to rot." I pretended to be understated. "I went into the house that day to find a rope or something to bind Jasper. The china in the house was moldy, and the books were in tatters. Why didn't they deal with it? I wondered. pity." I figured he wouldn't answer right away, and sure enough, he leaned over to tie his shoelaces. I also pretended to look at a leaf on a bush.Frank said as he tidied up his shoes, "If Maxim wants to do with that house, I think he'll tell me." I asked, "Are those all Rebecca's things?" "Yes," he said. I threw away that leaf, picked up another one casually, and tossed it back and forth in my palm. "What is she using that cabin for?" I asked. "It's fully furnished. At first, from the outside, I thought it was a boathouse!" "Indeed the cabin was a boathouse at first," he said, and his voice became awkward again, and the way he labored showed that the subject made him uncomfortable. "Later, er, later on, she remodeled the house into what it is now, with furniture and china." I found it odd that he kept referring to Rebecca as "she" and I expected him to call her by her first name, or to refer to her as "Mrs. de Winter". "Does she use that cabin often?" I asked again. "Yeah, she uses the cabin a lot. Moonlight picnics and, uh, always that sort of thing." At this time, we walked side by side again, and I was still humming a little tune. "How fun," I said, with mock amusement. "Will you go to the picnic under the moon?" "I did once or twice," he replied.His demeanor became very quiet; he was obviously very reluctant to talk about these things.I deliberately turned a blind eye to all this. "Why is there a buoy in that little bay?" "It used to be used to tie ships." "What ship?" "Her ship." I suddenly felt an inexplicable urge.I had to continue the interrogation like this.I know he doesn't want to talk about it.Although I feel bad for him.At the same time, I felt that it was outrageous for me to do so, but I just couldn't control myself, and I really couldn't shut up. "What happened to her ship?" I said. "Is it the ship that got into trouble later?" "Yes," he said flatly. "The boat capsized and then sank and she was washed out of the cabin by the sea." "How big is this boat?" "It has a load of about three tons, and there is a small cabin on board." "Then how did it turn over?" "Sometimes there are storms in the bay." I imagined the dark green sea, foaming and forming streams, rushing across the headlands.Is it a sudden wind?Maybe the wind is funneling down from the lighthouse on top of the hill?Was the skiff trembling and heeling against the wind?The white sails may be facing the stormy sea "Is there no one to rescue?" I said. "No one saw anything happen to the boat, no one knew she had gone to sea." I was careful not to look at him, and he might have seen the surprise on my face, because I always thought the accident happened in a boat race, and there were many boats around, all from Chris. There are also many people standing on the cliff to watch the game.Little did I know she was alone in the bay at the time. "Then the people in the house must know Luo?" I asked. "No, she often goes out to sea alone like this, and comes back when she likes, and sleeps in a beach hut at night." "Is she not afraid at all?" "Scared?" he said. "No, she's not afraid of anything." "So, er, doesn't Maxim care? Let her go out alone like this?" He paused for a moment, and then said briefly, "I don't know." I had a feeling that he seemed to be faithfully guarding someone's secret, for Maxim?Or for Rebecca?Or, maybe even his own secret?This man is very strange, and I really don't understand how it happened. "So she must have drowned trying to swim to shore after the boat sank?" I said. "yes." I can imagine how the boat trembled and sank into the sea, how the sea water poured into the wheelhouse.Suddenly a terrible gale arose at sea, and the sails weighed down the ship.It must have been dark in the bay, and the shore must have been very remote for a man paddling furiously in the water. "How long, then, did it take her body to be found?" "About two months." two months!I thought the drowned would be found in two days, and their bodies would be washed ashore as soon as the tide rose. "Where was her body found?" I asked. "Near Edgecombe, in the Channel about forty miles from here," said he. When I was seven years old, I was on vacation at Edgecombe.It was a big city with a pier and donkeys everywhere, and I remember riding donkeys on the beach. "How do people know that the deceased is her? Can they be identified after two months?" I don't understand why every time he answers my question, he always has to think carefully for a while.Did he have special feelings for this woman, did this matter hurt him deeply? "It was Maxim who went to Edgecombe to identify the body," he said. Suddenly, I didn't want to ask anything, I just felt that I was boring and contemptible.I was like a spectator, standing on the periphery of the crowd, and when I heard that someone had been knocked down, I became very curious.I felt like the poor tenant in a tenement apartment again, asking if I could see the body when someone died in the apartment.I hate myself.These questions I have raised are really disrespectful and shameless.Frank Crawley must think me very low. So I quickly said, "It was a rough time for all of you. I know you don't want to bring it up; I was just asking if I could do with that beach house, that's all. Look at the furniture It's damp and moldy, which is a pity." He didn't say anything.I just felt so hot and stuffy all over my body.He must have realized that my concern for the abandoned house was by no means the reason I asked all these questions, and his silence at the moment showed that he was shocked by my behavior.There was already a kind of comfortable and solid friendship between the two, and I felt that this person was a good helper. Perhaps, all this has been destroyed by my own hands, and his impression of me will no longer be the same as before. . "It's a long driveway," I said. "It always reminds me of the forest path where the prince lost his way in the Grimm's fairy tale. You always think you are going to the end, but you don't. There are such dense black trees on both sides." "It's true that the driveway is unusual," he said. From his demeanor, it can be seen that he is still on guard, ready to deal with my further questioning.Anyone can see through at a glance that the relationship between the two has become very rigid.I have to find a way to redeem it, and I will not hesitate to lose face for this. "Frank," I risked it. "I know what you're thinking at this moment. Of course, you can't understand why I asked so many questions just now. You think I'm an anomaly, inquiring, and indifferent to other people's feelings. To tell you the truth, it wasn't that time The reason, well, the reason for it, is simply that I can't help feeling sometimes that I'm at a disadvantage. Life at Manderley was new and foreign to me, and my upbringing didn't suit it. Whenever I go back to visit strangers like I did this afternoon, I'm always aware of people looking up and down, and at the same time they're full of suspicion, wondering how well I'm going to adjust to my new life. I can imagine these people Behind my back, 'What's in Maxim's eye for her?' And then, Frank, I was confused myself, and began to wonder. I was haunted by the dreadful thought that I shouldn't have Marry Maxim, and he and I will never be happy. You know, every time I see a stranger, I'm not aware that they're all thinking the same thing in their minds—how different she is from Rebecca. !" I stopped talking abruptly, out of breath, and at the same time feeling ashamed of myself for having been having a fit for a while. I feel that now that the whole thing has been brought out, there is no turning back. He turned his face away with a look of great concern and at the same time seemed preoccupied. "Mrs de Winter, please don't think so," he said. "As far as I am concerned, I can't express how happy you are to marry Maxim. His life has been completely changed by it. I'm sure you'll get used to the new life perfectly. From my point of view, it's -- it's new and gratifying, meeting someone like you, and you're not quite -- well, "he blushed, trying to find the right word," we might say, People who are not completely an fait for Manderley.If the people around here give you a bad impression and seem to be judging you, it's - well - that's all they want to offend you, that's all.I have never heard a single word of criticism. If I hear someone say something bad, I will definitely prevent it myself, and I will never let this person say anything. "①French, meaning "knowledge like the palm of your hand". "It's very kind of you, Frank," I said. “你这一席话真给我鼓了劲。我明白自己是个没用的笨人，待人接物都不懂，因为以前从来不必在这方面下工夫。我老是猜想曼陀丽在过去大概是什么样子的。那时的女主人无论出身和教养都同这座庄园相配，做什么事情都是驾轻就熟；我每时每刻总意识到自己的缺陷正是她的长处——自信、仪态、美貌、才识、机智——啊，反正对女人说来最重要的素质全有了！想到这些，叫人丧气，弗兰克，真叫人灰心丧气。” 他没作声，仍然愁眉苦脸，心事重重。他掏出手帕擤鼻子，过后才说：“你不能这么讲。” “为什么不能？都是事实，”我说。 “您所拥有的素质同样重要，甚至比那些重要得多。我这么说也许有点冒失无礼，我毕竟不太了解您。我是个单身汉，对于女人知之不多。您也知道，我在这儿过着多少有点闭塞的生活，可我还是要说：心地善良，待人诚挚，还有，如果你不见怪，谦逊端庄，这些对于男子，对于一个做丈夫的来说，比之世上所有的机智和美貌，价值大得多。” 他看上去内心甚不平静，又擤了一次鼻子。我发现，我挑起了这场谈话纵然使自己难过，但在很大程度上他比我更加不安。认识到这一点之后，我倒反而安静下来，享受到了某种优越感。我不明白，他为什么如此小题大做，毕竟，我又没多罗唆什么，只不过说了像我这样继吕蓓卡之后来到曼陀丽的人有种不安全感。另外，他刚才说到我身上的一些所谓长处，这些素质她一定也有；她肯定是个善良而诚挚的人，不然哪来那么多的朋友？哪会有口皆碑？至于谦逊端庄，我拿不准他指的是什么。这个词儿的确义我始终没能弄明白，我总以为，这个词或多或少就是指走在通往浴室的过道里生怕碰到人……可怜的弗兰克，而比阿特丽斯还曾把他称为无聊人物，说他一辈子说不出一句带个性的话。 “呃，”我尴尬地说，“呃，你说的这些我都不大懂。我并不觉得自己心地善良，待人也不怎么特别真诚；至于谦逊端庄，从小到大我一直处在这样的地位，不得不如此。 不过，在蒙特卡洛先是单身借住旅馆，接着匆匆结婚，自然不能算太端庄吧。也许你不计较这些？ " “亲爱的德温特夫人，难道您不明白，我从来不以为你们俩在南方邂逅有任何不能端上桌面的地方？”他低声说。 “哦，我当然不会这么想，”我严肃地说。可爱的弗兰克，看来我真把他吓坏了。 “端上桌面，”之么典型的弗兰克式语言。一听到这个词，你马上就会想到桌子底下暗中发生的事。 “我敢肯定，”他开了个头又踌躇起来，仍是一副心神不定的样子。“我敢肯定，倘若迈克西姆了解您的心情，他会犯愁的，还会非常痛苦。大概什么都没觉察到。” “你不会告诉他吧？”我忙不迭地说。 “不会，当然不会。您把我当什么人了？不过，您得明白，德温特夫人，我很了解迈克西姆这个人，亲眼看他经历了许多……不同的心境。如果他觉得您在为——嗯——为往事伤神，那将是他活在世上最大的痛苦。我说这话有十分的把握。眼下，他气色正好，看上去十分健康。不过莱西夫人那天的话不假，去年，他差一点就要神经失常，当然莱西夫人当着他的面这么说有些失策。所以，对他说来您是何其重要。您年轻，生气勃勃，呃，又明白事理，您与往昔的生活没有一丝瓜葛。忘了吧，德温特夫人，把过去忘掉。感谢老天，他可已经把一切忘了，这儿的其他人也是这样。对我们中的任何人说来，往事都是不堪回首的，对迈克西姆尤其如此。而您知道，能不能引着大家从往昔的羁缚中挣脱出来，全靠您啦。别再把大家推到昔日去吧。” 他是对的，当然，他完全对。可爱的弗兰克好人，我的朋友，我的帮手。我太自私，神经过敏，一味沉溺在自卑感里不能自拔。“我真应该早就跟你这样谈一次，”我说。 “我也这么想，”他说。“那样，我可能会帮您摆脱些烦恼。” “这会儿我才觉得好受些，”我说。“好受多了。今后不管发生什么事，你总是我的朋友，对吗，弗兰克克？” “当然对的，”他说。 我们走出黑林子，车道豁然开朗，迎面出现了石南花。石南的季节行将过去，所以花朵已多少过了全盛期，开始褪色凋败。到了下个月，花瓣将从浓艳的花盘上纷纷坠地，园丁就会跑来打扫。石南的美是短暂的，决不能永远驻颜。 “弗兰克，”我说，“但愿我们永远不再谈这个话题，可在谈话结束之前，你能不能如实回答我一个问题？” 他狐疑地看着我，好一会儿才说：“这个要求不太合理。也许您提的问题我无从回答，或者完全答不上来。” “不，”我说，“不是什么怪问题。决不涉及个人的私生活或类似的方面。” “那好，我尽力而为，”他说。 我们已拐弯走上车道的开阔地段，曼陀丽座落在草坪环绕的低地上，静谧而安详。 每次见到这大宅，我总是为其完美的对称和气派，为其朴实无华而惊诧。 阳光在竖框窗上闪耀。围绕着爬满地衣的石墙，有一种色彩柔和的古色古香的光华。 一缕青烟从藏书室烟囱袅袅飘起。我咬着拇指指甲，用眼相打量着弗兰克。“告诉我，”我用若无其事的声调说着，什么顾虑也没有了。“告诉我，吕蓓卡非常美吗？” 弗兰克沉吟半晌，我没法看见他的睑，因为这时他已转过身去面对着宅子。“不错，”他慢条斯理地说。“不错，依我说，她是我有生以来见过的最美的女人。” 然后，我们走上台阶，来到大厅；我按铃让仆人送上茶点。