It was after dinner. As usual Walter sat by the lamp and read. He read every evening till Kitty went to bed and then went into a laboratory which he had fitted up in one of the bungalow's empty rooms. Here he worked late into the night. He slept little. He was occupied with she knew not what experiments. He told her nothing of his work; but even in the old days he had been reticent on this: he was not by nature expansive. She thought deeply of what he had just said to her: the conversation had led to nothing. She knew him so little that she could not be sure if he was speaking the truth or not. Was it possible that, whereas he now existed so ominously for her, she had entirely ceased to exist for him? Her conversation, which had entertained him once because he loved her, now that he loved her no longer might be merely tedious to him. It mortified her.

She looked at him. The light of the lamp displayed his profile as though it were a cameo. With his regular and finely cut features it was very distinguished, but it was more than severe, it was grim: that immobility of his, only his eyes moving as he perused each page, was vaguely terrifying. Who would have thought that this hard face could be melted by passion to such a tenderness of expression? She knew and it excited in her a little shiver of distaste. It was strange that though he was good-looking as well as honest, reliable and talented, it had been so impossible for her to love him. It was a relief that she need never again submit to his caresses.

He would not answer when she had asked him whether in forcing her to come here he had really wished to kill her. The mystery of this fascinated and horrified her. He was so extraordinarily kind; it was incredible that he could have had such a devilish intention. He must have suggested it only to frighten her and to get back on Charlie (that would be like his sardonic humour) and then from obstinacy or from fear of looking foolish insisted on her going through with it.

Yes, he said he despised himself. What did he mean by that? Once again Kitty looked at his calm cool face. She might not even be in the room, he was so unconscious of her.

“Why do you despise yourself?” she asked, hardly knowing that she spoke, as though she were continuing without a break the earlier conversation.

He put down his book and observed her reflectively. He seemed to gather his thoughts from a remote distance.

“Because I loved you.”

She flushed and looked away. She could not bear his cold, steady and appraising gaze. She understood what he meant. It was a little while before she answered.

“I think you do me an injustice,” she said. “It's not fair to blame me because I was silly and frivolous and vulgar. I was brought up like that. All the girls I know are like that... It's like reproaching someone who has no ear for music because he's bored at a symphony concert. Is it fair to blame me because you ascribed to me qualities I hadn't got? I never tried to deceive you by pretending I was anything I wasn't. I was just pretty and gay. You don't ask for a pearl necklace or a sable coat at a booth in a fair; you ask for a tin trumpet and a toy balloon.”

“I don't blame you.”

His voice was weary. She was beginning to feel a trifle impatient with him. Why could he not realize, what suddenly had become so clear to her, that beside all the terror of death under whose shadow they lay and beside the awe of the beauty which she had caught a glimpse of that day, their own affairs were trivial? What did it really matter if a silly woman had committed adultery and why should her husband, face to face with the sublime, give it a thought? It was strange that Walter with all his cleverness should have so little sense of proportion. Because he had dressed a doll in gorgeous robes and set her in a sanctuary to worship her, and then discovered that the doll was filled with sawdust he could neither forgive himself nor her. His soul was lacerated. It was all make-believe that he had lived on, and when the truth shattered it he thought reality itself was shattered. It was true enough, he would not forgive her because he could not forgive himself.

She thought that she heard him give a faint sigh and she shot a rapid glance at him. A sudden thought struck her and it took her breath away. She only just refrained from giving a cry.

Was it what they called--a broken heart--that he suffered from?

晚饭后，沃尔特跟往常一样坐在灯下看书，他每天晚上都要读会儿书直到凯蒂上床睡觉才把书放下。然后他会走进实验室，这个实验室是他在平房的一间空屋子里自己搭建起来的。在那儿，他要工作到深夜。他的睡眠很少，整天忙于实验，她根本不知道这些实验是干什么的，他也从来不跟她谈他的工作，甚至在以前的日子里，他对自己的工作也闭口不谈，在本性上，他也不是个张扬的人。她认真地思索了他刚才跟她说的那些话，从两个人的对话中，她还是理不出头绪，她对他了解得太少，无法确定他的话是否真的是内心的想法。该不会是这样的情况吧，他现在对她来说是无处不在，而相反，对他来说，她在他眼中已经完全不存在了呢？她过去跟他聊天，能让他兴致勃勃地听着，是因为他爱她，而如今他已经不再爱她，她的话可能只会让他觉得烦扰。这让她觉得很屈辱。

她看着他，灯光映照着他的侧影，好像一座浮雕，端正的五官轮廓非常清晰，但脸上的表情不仅仅是严肃，甚至可以说是严厉。他纹丝不动，只有在细读每一页时，眼睛才会在动。他甚至让人觉得可怕，可谁又能想到就是这张冰冷的面孔会被感情所融化，露出充满柔情的神色呢？她知道这一点，心里由于厌恶哆嗦了一下。真是奇怪，他长相英俊，而且诚实可靠和睿智，可过去她就是不爱他，每当想到自己永远不用再忍受他的爱抚了，反而让她如释重负。

她询问沃尔特强迫她来这危险之地，是不是真的想借刀杀人，他并没回答。这反倒增加了事情的神秘感，她既迫切地想解开谜团，又对真相十分恐惧。他确实与众不同，但如果真有这样邪恶的想法，也太不可思议了。他一定是想用这种方式吓唬她，并向查理进行报复（这正符合他讽刺性幽默的性格），后来出于固执，或者害怕被人当作傻瓜耻笑，才不肯松口，坚持让她承受这一切。

是的，他说鄙视自己，这么说是什么意思呢？凯蒂又一次看了看他安静而严肃的脸庞，可好像她根本不在屋子里一样，他没有理会她。

“你为什么会鄙视你自己？”她问道，几乎是脱口而出，好像正在继续早些时候的对话，中间没有任何的停顿一样。

他放下书，若有所思地观察着她。然后，他似乎从遥远的地方神游回来，定了定神，说道：

“因为我爱你。”

她的脸红了，把脸扭过了一边，因为她无法忍受他冷淡、平稳和审视的目光，她终于明白他的意思了。过了一会儿，她才回答。

“我觉得你这样对我太不公正了。”她说，“因为我的愚蠢、草率和粗俗而责怪我，这不公正。我从小就是在这样的环境中被培养长大的，我所认识的女孩子也都是这样……就像责怪某个没有音乐细胞的人，就仅仅因为她对一场交响音乐会感到枯燥乏味。你以为我会有某些品质，而实际上我没有，你就责怪我，这公平吗？我从来没有企图欺骗你，假装自己十全十美，而实际上我根本不是你期望的那样。我只是人长得还不算差，有些虚荣，追求快乐。你当然不会去市场上小商小贩那里买珍珠项链和黑貂皮大衣，要买锡制的喇叭和玩具气球时你才会去那儿。”

“我没有责怪你。”

他的声音显得有些疲倦，她开始觉得他可能有点儿不耐烦了。突然之间，以前的困惑现在变得明确起来。为什么他不能认识到他们之间的事是多么的微不足道，因为他们每天都笼罩在死亡的恐怖阴影之下，而另一方面，大自然是那么壮丽，人性是那么壮美，都那么令人敬畏，两者她都曾见识过。一个蠢女人红杏出墙真的就那么罪不可赦吗？为什么她的丈夫面对着庄严崇高的自然与人性之美，还是那么的在乎？沃尔特是那么的睿智，可就在这一点上那么想不明白，真是咄咄怪事。可能是他已经把一个洋娃娃套上了华丽的衣装，将其放置在圣殿中加以膜拜，随即却发现这个洋娃娃的肚子里装满了稻草，于是他既不能原谅这个洋娃娃，也不能原谅他自己。他的灵魂被撕裂了，恰恰人为制造出来的信仰是他的精神支柱，当真相水落石出后，他的梦想也就破灭了。现在她看明白了，他不能原谅她的原因在于他无法原谅自己。

她觉得听到了他轻轻地叹了一口气，便迅速地瞥了他一眼。一个念头突然出现在脑海里，让她倒吸了一口凉气，差一点儿叫出声来。

他现在所遭受的，难道就是人们所说的——心如死灰？