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I don't think I understand, I said.
“我不懂你说的话，”我说。
Strickland can't work with anyone else in the studio.
“思特里克兰德身边有人的时候不能工作。”
Damn it all, it's your studio. That's his lookout.
“去他妈的，那是你的画室啊。他应该自己想办法。”
He looked at me pitifully. His lips were trembling.
他凄凄惨惨地看着我，嘴唇抖个不停。
What happened? I asked, rather sharply.
“出了什么事了？”我问，语气很不客气。
He hesitated and flushed. He glanced unhappily at one of the pictures on the wall.
他吞吞吐吐地半天没说话，脸涨得通红。他看了看墙上挂的一张画，脸色非常痛苦。
He wouldn't let me go on painting. He told me to get out.
“他不让我画下去。他叫我到外边去。”
But why didn't you tell him to go to hell?
“你为什么不叫他滚蛋呢？”
He turned me out. I couldn't very well struggle with him. He threw my hat after me, and locked the door.
“他把我赶出来了。我不能同他动手打架呀。他把我的帽子随后也扔了出来，把门锁上了。”
I was furious with Strickland, and was indignant with myself, because Dirk Stroeve cut such an absurd figure that I felt inclined to laugh.
思特里克兰德的做法使我气得要命，但是我也挺生自己的气，因为戴尔克·施特略夫扮演了这样一个滑稽角色，我居然憋不住想笑出来。
But what did your wife say?
“你的妻子说什么了？”
She'd gone out to do the marketing.
“她出去买东西去了。”
Is he going to let her in?
“他会不会也不让她进去？”
I don't know.
“我不知道。”
I gazed at Stroeve with perplexity. He stood like a schoolboy with whom a master is finding fault.
我不解地看着施特略夫。他站在那里，象一个正挨老师训的小学生。
Shall I get rid of Strickland for you? I asked.
“我去替你把思特里克兰德赶走怎么样？”我问。
He gave a little start, and his shining face grew very red.
他的身体抖动了一下，一张闪闪发光的面孔涨得通红。
No. You'd better not do anything.
“不要。你最好什么也不要做。”
He nodded to me and walked away. It was clear that for some reason he did not want to discuss the matter. I did not understand.
他向我点了点头，便走开了。非常清楚，由于某种原因他不想同我讨论这件事。我不懂他为什么要这样。
