instant coffee and put it and the yellow mug and the teaspoon into the bag in which I had brought them:it was still lying folded on the shelf.I wished childishly to take some vengeance on the potted plant,which sat in the corner with the flowery teapot,the wastebasket,the cushion,and-I forgot-a little plastic pencil sharpener behind it. Para.82:When I was taking things down to the car Mrs.Malley came.I had seen little of her since that first day.She did not seem upset,but practical and resigned. Para.83:“He is lying down,.”she said.“He is not himself.” Para.84:She carried the bag with the coffee and the mug in it.She was so still I felt my anger leave me,to be replaced by an absorbing depression Para.85:I have not yet found another office.I think that I will try again someday,but not yet.I have to wait at least until that picture fades that I see so clearly in my mind,though I never saw it in reality-Mr.Malley with his rags and brushes and a pail of soapy water,scrubbing in his clumsy way,his deliberately clumsy way,at the toilet walls,stooping with difficulty,breathing sorrowfully,arranging in his mind the bizarre but somehow never quite satisfactory narrative of yet another betrayal of trust.While I arrange words,and think it is my right to be rid of him. 办公室 [加拿大]艾丽丝门罗 温峰宁译 有一晚在熨衣服的时候，我突然想到要怎样解决当前的生活难题。这办法简单而大胆。我走 进起居室，对正在看电视的丈夫说：“我觉得我应该找间办公室。” 这主意即使对我来说也是异想天开的。我要间办公室干什么？我有一间屋子：它宽敞舒适， 还能看到海：它提供空间让我吃好睡好、沐浴更衣，还能让我与朋友交谈：我还有一个花园：我不 缺地方。 不。虽然很难开口，但我还是得说：我是个作家。这样听起来不太对头。太放肆，太假了， 怎么说都不太可信。我说着再说一遍吧。我写作。这样听起来会不会好点？我试着去写。这样听起 来更糟。虚伪的人性啊。好吧，然后呢？ 不管了。无论我怎么说，词语还是会创造出属于自己的寂静空间，在这美妙的时刻里展示一切。 可惜人们太体贴了，寂静很快就被友好之声带来的焦虑打破了，这些声音大叫，太好了，很不错， 好吧，这很有趣。他们还起劲地问，你写些什么呀？我只好回答，小说，于此同时还得忍受着羞辱， 不过我还是轻松自在的，甚至还有几分轻蔑，虽然我并不总是这样。一次又一次，近在眼前的恐慌 还是会被这些巧妙而圆滑的言语平息一但这些言语最终耗尽了安慰的存货，到最后他们只能说一 句，“啊”。 99 instant coffee and put it and the yellow mug and the teaspoon into the bag in which I had brought them; it was still lying folded on the shelf. I wished childishly to take some vengeance on the potted plant, which sat in the corner with the flowery teapot, the wastebasket, the cushion, and—I forgot—a little plastic pencil sharpener behind it. Para.82: When I was taking things down to the car Mrs. Malley came. I had seen little of her since that first day. She did not seem upset, but practical and resigned. Para.83: “He is lying down,” she said. “He is not himself.” Para.84: She carried the bag with the coffee and the mug in it. She was so still I felt my anger leave me, to be replaced by an absorbing depression. Para.85: I have not yet found another office. I think that I will try again someday, but not yet. I have to wait at least until that picture fades that I see so clearly in my mind, though I never saw it in reality—Mr. Malley with his rags and brushes and a pail of soapy water, scrubbing in his clumsy way, his deliberately clumsy way, at the toilet walls, stooping with difficulty, breathing sorrowfully, arranging in his mind the bizarre but somehow never quite satisfactory narrative of yet another betrayal of trust. While I arrange words, and think it is my right to be rid of him.办公室 [加拿大]艾丽丝.门罗 温峰宁 译 有一晚在熨衣服的时候，我突然想到要怎样解决当前的生活难题。这办法简单而大胆。我走 进起居室，对正在看电视的丈夫说：“我觉得我应该找间办公室。” 这主意即使对我来说也是异想天开的。我要间办公室干什么？我有一间屋子；它宽敞舒适， 还能看到海；它提供空间让我吃好睡好、沐浴更衣，还能让我与朋友交谈；我还有一个花园；我不 缺地方。 不。虽然很难开口，但我还是得说：我是个作家。这样听起来不太对头。太放肆，太假了， 怎么说都不太可信。我说着再说一遍吧。我写作。这样听起来会不会好点？我试着去写。这样听起 来更糟。虚伪的人性啊。好吧，然后呢？ 不管了。无论我怎么说，词语还是会创造出属于自己的寂静空间，在这美妙的时刻里展示一切。 可惜人们太体贴了，寂静很快就被友好之声带来的焦虑打破了，这些声音大叫，太好了，很不错， 好吧，这很有趣。他们还起劲地问，你写些什么呀？我只好回答，小说，于此同时还得忍受着羞辱， 不过我还是轻松自在的，甚至还有几分轻蔑，虽然我并不总是这样。一次又一次，近在眼前的恐慌 还是会被这些巧妙而圆滑的言语平息——但这些言语最终耗尽了安慰的存货，到最后他们只能说一 句，“啊