当你擦火柴点雪茄时,我发现你就是芝加哥警方通缉的人。
When you struck the match to light your cigar I saw it was the face of the man wanted in Chicago.
我一次又一次地擦火柴,擦不亮再摸索出一根新的,这样汽油的蒸汽顺着斜坡悄无声息地蔓延到汽油罐周围。
While I struck it on the box, again and again, and then fumbled for a better match, gasoline vapors were flowing invisibly back down the slope toward where I'd left the can.
最后,我变得粗心大意,不再麻烦地每次都盖好汽油罐的盖子了,自然,也会因为一根火柴擦不亮而不耐烦。
Eventually, I got careless with the gas can, not bothering to recap it between killings, and there came then, naturally, a match that refused to be lit.
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