唱着唱着灯光慢慢暗转了——暗转了，同时温暖起来，甜美起来，更红了，最后他们已是在胚胎库的红色朦胧中舞蹈。

　　"Orgy-porgy …" In their blood-coloured and foetal darkness the dancers continued for a while to circulate, to beat and beat out the indefatigable rhythm.

　　“欢快呀淋漓。”舞蹈者在他们那胚胎的血红的昏暗中继续转了几圈，敲打着不知疲倦的节奏。

　　"Orgy-porgy …" Then the circle wavered, broke, fell in partial disintegration on the ring of couches which surrounded–circle enclosing circle–the table and its planetary chairs.

　　“欢快呀淋漓……”终于，那圆圈动摇了，分散了，捉对儿躺到了周围的睡榻上——那些睡榻绕着桌子和它周围的椅子围成了一圈又一圈。

　　"Orgy-porgy …" Tenderly the deep Voice crooned and cooed; in the red twilight it was as though some enormous negro dove were hovering benevolently over the now prone or supine dancers.

　　“欢快呀淋漓……”那深沉的声音温柔地低吟着，细语着；昏暗的红色中仿佛有一只硕大无朋的黑鸽爱意殷勤地悬浮在此刻俯仰颠倒的跳舞的人上空。

　　They were standing on the roof; Big Henry had just sung eleven. The night was calm and warm.

　　他们俩站在屋顶上。大亨利刚唱过十一点。夜平静而温暖。

　　"Wasn't it wonderful?" said Fifi Bradlaugh. "Wasn't it simply wonderful?"

　　“真美妙，是吗？”菲菲·布拉劳芙说“确实美妙极了是吗？”

　　She looked at Bernard with an expression of rapture, but of rapture in which there was no trace of agitation or excitement–for to be excited is still to be unsatisfied. Hers was the calm ecstasy of achieved consummation, the peace, not of mere vacant satiety and nothingness, but of balanced life, of energies at rest and in equilibrium.

　　她一脸兴奋淋漓的表情望着伯纳，那欢乐里再没有丝毫激动或兴奋的迹象——因为兴奋意味着没有餍足，而她所得到的却是完成之后的狂欢，心满意足的平静。那平静不是空洞的满足与无聊，而是匀称的生命和获得休息与平衡的精力，

　　A rich and living peace. For the Solidarity Service had given as well as taken, drawn off only to replenish.

　　是一种丰富而生动的平静。因为团结祈祷式既是索取也是给予，索取原是为了补偿。

　　She was full, she was made perfect, she was still more than merely herself.

　　菲菲充实了，菲菲完美了，她仍然感情洋溢，喜不自胜。

　　"Didn't you think it was wonderful?" she insisted, looking into Bernard's face with those supernaturally shining eyes.

　　“你不觉得美妙吗？”她用她闪耀着超自然光芒的眼睛望着伯纳的脸，盯着他问。

　　"Yes, I thought it was wonderful," he lied and looked away;

　　“美妙，我觉得很美妙，”他望着一边，撒了个谎。

　　the sight of her transfigured face was at once an accusation and an ironical reminder of his own separateness.

　　他那张不自然的脸对他那分裂的性格既是指斥，也是讽刺性的暴露。

　　He was as miserably isolated now as he had been when the service began–more isolated by reason of his unreplenished emptiness, his dead satiety.

　　他现在仍孤独得痛苦，跟开始祈祷时一样——由于没有得到救赎的空虚和死板的餍足，他反倒觉得更加孤独了。

　　Separate and unatoned, while the others were being fused into the Greater Being; alone even in Morgana's embrace–much more alone, indeed, more hopelessly himself than he had ever been in his life before.

　　在别人融汇成更伟大的存在时，他却处于局外，没有得到救赎；即使在摩尔根娜的怀抱里他也孤独——实际上更为孤独，比平生任何时候都更加绝望的孤独。

　　He had emerged from that crimson twilight into the common electric glare with a self-consciousness intensified to the pitch of agony.

　　他是带着强化到痛苦程度的自我意识从猩红的昏暗中进入普通的电灯光里的。

　　He was utterly miserable, and perhaps (her shining eyes accused him), perhaps it was his own fault.

　　他透体悲凉。也许那得怪他自己（她那闪亮的眼睛指责着他）。

　　"Quite wonderful," he repeated; but the only thing he could think of was Morgana's eyebrow.

　　“很美妙。”他重复道。可是他唯一能够想起的却是摩尔根娜那一道眉毛。