从通往厨房的传菜窗口看的到三个并排的厨子，其中一个上嘴唇缝了针，正一边盯着玛拉和我一边把三个淤青的脑袋凑到一起嘀嘀咕咕。
Through the pass-through window into the kitchen, three line cooks, one with stitches along his upper lip, are watching Marla and me and whispering with their three bruised heads together.
沼泽谷另一边的山峦隐隐约约地把回答传了过来——“你在哪儿？”我倾听着。风在冷杉中低吟着，一切只有荒原的孤独和午夜的沉寂。
The hills beyond Marsh Glen sent the answer faintly back — Where are you? I listened. The wind sighed low in the firs: all was moorland loneliness and midnight hush.
担心它又出来闹事，一边赶《水浒传》的稿件时，一边咕噜咕噜地灌了一大杯杯水，试图把刚萌芽的热气压下来。
Worry about it out of trouble, while in time "water Margin" and to critique, while rolling a large Bei Bei irrigation water, trying to pressure down the heat just budding.
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