这是一个又小又脏的房间，有两把破旧的椅子和一张桌子。马龙把女孩推到其中一把椅子上，把雪茄烟头扔进痰盂，自己坐在桌子上，开始拆开一支新雪茄。
It was a small, dingy room, with two battered chairs and a table. Malone shoved the girl into one of the chairs, threw his cigar butt into the cuspidor, sat down on the table, and began to unwrap a fresh cigar.
“告诉我，孩子。是你杀了这个人吗？”
“Tell me, kid. Did you murder this bird?”
她摇了摇头，牙齿咬得紧紧的。
She shook her head, her teeth clenched.
“我觉得你没杀。不过这也没什么区别。” 他点燃雪茄，从眼角余光看着她。大约六十秒后，那美丽的镇定就会被打破。突然，他想起口袋里为应急准备的半品脱杜松子酒。他迅速掏出来，拧开瓶盖，塞到她手里。
“I didn’t think you did. Not that it makes any difference.” He lit the cigar, watching her from the corner of his eye. In about sixty seconds that beautiful self-possession would crack. Suddenly he remembered the half-pint of gin in his pocket, carried for emergencies. He whipped it out, unscrewed the cap quickly, and shoved it into her hand.
“喝几大口。这会让你的脸色好看些。你这种人脸色苍白的时候总是像魔鬼一样。” 她照做的时候，他为她点了一支烟，塞进她手指间。
“Take a couple of good big swallows. It’ll bring the color back into your face. Your type always looks like the devil when you’re pale.” He lighted a cigarette for her while she obeyed, and slipped it between her fingers.
“好多了。也许我该为这是便宜的杜松子酒而道歉。你大概不习惯喝这个。”
“That’s better. Maybe I ought to apologize for its being cheap gin. You’re probably not accustomed to it.”
她出人意料地笑了，一种奇怪而沙哑的笑声。“不习惯？我是喝便宜杜松子酒长大的。” 她深深地吸了一口烟，然后把烟扔在地上，用她那小巧的牛津鞋的鞋跟把烟踩灭。“不管发生什么，真相总会大白。所以我有没有杀人没多大关系。我没犯过任何罪，但我还是可能会进监狱。我也没别的地方可去了。”
She laughed unexpectedly, a strange, hoarse laugh. “Not used to it? I was raised on cheap gin.” She took a long, deep drag on her cigarette, dropped it on the floor, and crushed it out under the heel of her trim little oxford. “The whole truth is bound to e out, no matter what happens. So it doesn’t make much difference whether I murdered anybody or not. I haven’t mitted any crimes, but I might as well go to jail. I won’t have anywhere else to go.”
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