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He gave me a resentful glance. I stood quite quietly, looking at him.
他气哼哼地看了我一眼。我静静地站在那里，盯着他。
If you want to do something for me, you can get me some milk, he said at last. "I haven't been able to get out for two days." There was an empty bottle by the side of the bed, which had contained milk, and in a piece of newspaper a few crumbs.
“要是你想替我做点什么事的话，就去给我买点牛奶吧，”最后他开口说，“我已经有两天出不了门了。”床旁边放着一只装牛奶用的空瓶，一张报纸上还有一些面包屑。
What have you been having? I asked.
“你吃过什么了？”
Nothing.
“什么也没吃。”
For how long? cried Stroeve. "Do you mean to say you've had nothing to eat or drink for two days? It's horrible."
“多久了？”施特略夫喊道。“你是说两天没吃没喝了吗？太可怕了。”
I've had water.
“我还有水喝。”
His eyes dwelt for a moment on a large can within reach of an outstretched arm.
他的眼睛在一个大水罐上停留了一会儿；这只水罐放在他一伸手就够得到的地方。
I'll go immediately, said Stroeve. "Is there anything you fancy?"
“我马上就去，”施特略夫说。“你还想要别的东西吗？”
I suggested that he should get a thermometer, and a few grapes, and some bread. Stroeve, glad to make himself useful, clattered down the stairs.
我建议给他买一只热水瓶，一点儿葡萄同面包。施特略夫很高兴有这个帮忙的机会，噔噔地跑下楼梯去。
Damned fool, muttered Strickland.
“该死的傻瓜。”思特里克兰德咕噜了一句。
I felt his pulse. It was beating quickly and feebly. I asked him one or two questions, but he would not answer, and when I pressed him he turned his face irritably to the wall. The only thing was to wait in silence. In ten minutes Stroeve, panting, came back. Besides what I had suggested, he brought candles, and meat-juice, and a spirit-lamp. He was a practical little fellow, and without delay set about making bread-and-milk. I took Strickland's temperature. It was a hundred and four. He was obviously very ill.
我摸了摸他的脉搏。脉搏很快，很虚弱。我问了他一两个问题，他不回答。我再一逼问，他赌气把脸转过去，对着墙壁。没有其他事可做了，只能一语不发地在屋里等着。过了十分钟，施特略夫气喘吁吁地回来了。除了我提议要他买的东西以外，他还买来了蜡烛、肉汁和一盏酒精灯。他是一个很会办事的人，一分钟也没有耽搁，马上就煮了一杯牛奶，把面包泡在里面。我量了量思特里克兰德的体温。华氏一百零四度，他显然病得很厉害。
