马龙探案卷四 之 正确的凶案 十七
马龙不安地动了动，朝窗户的方向睁开一只眼睛，又迅速闭上，含含糊糊地嘟囔了几句关于一个叫麦克白的人和谋杀睡眠的话，然后又打起盹来。
Malone stirred unfortably, opened one eye in the direction of the window, shut it quickly, muttered something incoherent about someone named Macbeth and the murder of sleep, and dozed off again.
几分钟后，他睁开双眼，呻吟了一声，看到房间里的光线是深沉而忧郁的灰色，便伸手去拿放在旁边桌子上的手表。
A few minutes later he opened both eyes, groaned, saw that the light in his room was a deep, melancholy gray, and reached for the watch on the table beside him.
刚过四点。
Just a little past four o’clock.
这时候醒来可真不是时候。
A hell of a time to wake up.
他把脸埋在胳膊里，假装只要闭着眼睛足够长时间，就会自动再次入睡，等他再次睁开眼睛的时候，就会是好几个小时以后了。
He buried his face in his arm and pretended that if he kept his eyes closed long enough, he would automatically drop off again, and when he opened them once more it would be hours and hours later.
但这不管用。
It didn’t work.
最后他放弃了，坐起来，若有所思地挠着脸。他不明白自己为什么穿着所有衣服就睡着了。说到这个，他也不明白自己为什么在椅子上就睡着了。
At last he gave it up, sat up, and scratched his face meditatively. He wondered why he had gone to sleep with all his clothes on. For that matter, he wondered why he had gone to sleep in the chair.
而且，谁在他床上睡觉呢？某个家伙 ——
Besides, who was sleeping in his bed? Some guy—
罗斯?麦克劳林。
Ross McLaurin.
现在不是早上四点，而是下午四点。
It wasn’t four in the morning, it was four in the afternoon.
从窗户透进来的光被飘落的雪遮住了，而不是黎明的阴影。
That light from the window was darkened by falling snow, not by the shadows of dawn.
他试着动了动。一只胳膊和一条腿的一部分瘫痪了，可能一辈子都这样了。除此之外，他感觉很好，只是显然在他睡觉的时候，某个爱开玩笑的人进来把他的舌头粘在了上颚上。
He moved experimentally. One arm and part of one leg were paralyzed, probably for life. Outside of that, he felt fine, except that apparently while he slept some practical joker had e in and glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth.
也许只要有点耐心，他就能再次入睡，或者更好的是，就这么平静地死去。
Maybe with a little patience he could go back to sleep again, or better yet, just die peacefully.
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