Carla heard the car coming before it toppedthe little rise in the road that around here they called a hill. It ’s her, shethought. Mrs. Jamieson—Sylvia—home from her holiday in Greece. From the barndoor—but far enough inside that she could not readily be seen—she watched theroad Mrs.Jamieson would have to drive by on, her place being half a milefarther along the road than Clark and Carla’s.
If it was somebodygetting ready to turn in at their gate it would be slowing down by now. Butstill Carla hoped. Let it not be her.
It was. Mrs.Jamieson turned her head once, quickly—she had all she could do maneuvering hercar through the ruts and puddles the rain had made in the gravel—but she didn’tlift a hand off the wheel to wave, she didn’t spot Carla. Carla got a glimpseof a tanned arm bare to the shoulder, hair bleached a lighter color than it hadbeen before, more white now than silver-blond, and an expression that wasdetermined and exasperated and amused at her own exasperation—just the way Mrs.Jamieson would look negotiating such a road. When she turned her head there wassomething like a bright flash—of inquiry, of hopefulness—that made Carla shrinkback.
Maybe Clark didn’tknow yet. If he was sitting at the computer he would have his back to thewindow and the road.
But Mrs. Jamiesonmight have to make another trip. Driving home from the airport, she might nothave stopped for groceries—not until she’d been home and figured out what sheneeded. Clark might see her then. And after dark, the lights of her house wouldshow. But this was July, and it didn’t get dark till late. She might be sotired that she wouldn’t bother with the lights, she might go to bed early.
On the other hand,she might telephone. Any time now.
This was the summerof rain and more rain. You heard it first thing in the morning, loud on theroof of the mobile home. The trails were deep in mud, the long grass soaking,leaves overhead sending down random showers even in those moments when therewas no actual downpour from the sky and the clouds looked like clearing. Carla wore a high,wide-brimmed old Australian felt hat every time she went outside, and tuckedher long thick braid down her shirt.
Nobody showed up fortrail rides, even though Clark and Carla had gone around posting signs in allthe camping sites, in the cafes, and on the tourist office billboard andanywhere else they could think of. Only a few pupils were coming for lessonsand those were regulars, not the batches of schoolchildren on vacation, thebusloads from summer camps, that had kept them going through last summer. Andeven the regulars that they counted on were taking time off for holiday trips,or simply cancelling their lessons because of the weather being sodiscouraging. If they called too late, Clark charged them for the time anyway.A couple of them had complained, and quit for good.
翻译划线句子。 这段几乎没生词，大家发挥自己的文学功底吧。 100HY