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The taxicopter landed on the roof of Lenina's apartment house.
计程直升机在列宁娜公寓房顶降落。
"At last," she thought exultantly as she stepped out of the cab. At last—even though he had been so queer just now.
“终于”她下了飞机兴奋激动地说。终于——哪怕他刚才那么奇怪。
Standing under a lamp, she peered into her hand mirror. At last. Yes, her nose was a bit shiny. She shook the loose powder from her puff.
她站在一盏灯下望着小镜子。终于到手了，是的，她的鼻子有点发亮。她用粉扑拍上了一点粉。
While he was paying off the taxi—there would just be time.
时间正好，他在付计程飞机机费。
She rubbed at the shininess, thinking，He's terribly good-looking. No need for him to be shy like Bernard.
她抹着发光的地方想着，他漂亮得惊人，其实用不着像伯纳那样害羞。
And yet ... Any other man would have done it long ago. Well, now at last."
可是......要是换了个人，老早就干起来了。好了，现在，终于到手了。
That fragment of a face in the little round mirror suddenly smiled at her.
小圆镜里那半张脸突然对她笑了。
"Good-night," said a strangled voice behind her. Lenina wheeled round.
“再见。”她身后一个声音吃力地说。列宁娜急忙转过身子。
He was standing in the doorway of the cab, his eyes fixed, staring;
约翰站在计程飞机门口，眼睛紧盯着她，
had evidently been staring all this time while she was powdering her nose, waiting—but what for?
显然从她给鼻子擦粉时起就在盯着，等待着。可他在等什么？
or hesitating, trying to make up his mind, and all the time thinking, thinking—she could not imagine what extraordinary thoughts.
是在犹豫，是还没有下定决心，一直在想，想——她想不出他究竟有些什么不寻常的念头。
"Good-night, Lenina," he repeated, and made a strange grimacing attempt to smile.
“晚安，列宁娜。”他又说，努力做出个奇怪的面相，想笑。
But, John ... I thought you were ... I mean, aren't you? ...
可是，约翰......我以为你打算......我是说，你是否......？
He shut the door and bent forward to say something to the driver. The cab shot up into the air.
他关了门，向前弯过身子对驾驶员说了点什么，计程飞机射向了空中。
Looking down through the window in the fioor, the Savage could see Lenina's upturned face, pale in the bluish light of the lamps.
野蛮人从机底的窗户往下看，看见了列宁娜仰起的头在淡蓝色的灯光里显得苍白，
The mouth was open, she was calling.
嘴张着，在叫着什么。
Her foreshortened figure rushed away from him; the diminishing square of the roof seemed to be falling through the darkness.
她那因透视而缩小的身姿急速离他而去。房顶那越来越小的方形似乎落进了黑暗里。
Five minutes later he was back in his room.
五分钟后他已回到了自己的房间。
From its hiding-place he took out his mouse-nibbled volume, turned with religious care its stained and crumbled pages, and began to read Othello.
他从隐藏的地方找出了那本被老鼠咬破的书。带着宗教的细心翻开了那脏污打皱的书页，开始读起了《奥塞罗》。
Othello, he remembered, was like the hero of Three Weeks in a Helicopter—a black man.
他记得，奥塞罗跟《直升机上三星期》里的人一样是黑人。
Drying her eyes, Lenina walked across the roof to the lift.
列宁娜擦着眼睛走过房顶，来到电梯前。
On her way down to the twenty-seventh floor she pulled out her soma bottle.
在下到二十七楼时，她掏出了她的唆麻瓶子。
One gramme, she decided, would not be enough; hers had been more than a one-gramme affliction.
一克是不会够的，她决定，她的痛苦比一克要大。
But if she took two grammes, she ran the risk of not waking up in time to-morrow morning.
但是如果吞下两克，她就有明天早上不能及时醒来的危险。
She compromised and, into her cupped left palm, shook out three half-gramme tablets.
她折中了一下，往她左手手心抖出了三粒半克的药片。
