原文——Sarah Waters
Chapter Seven
The start, I think I know too well. It is the first of my mistakes.
I imagine a table, slick with blood. The blood is my mother's. There is too much of it. There is so much of it, I think it runs, like ink. I think, to save the boards beneath, the women have set down china bowls; and so the silences between my mother's cries are filled—drip drop! drip drop!—with what might be the staggered beating of clocks.
Chapter Seven
The start, I think I know too well. It is the first of my mistakes.
I imagine a table, slick with blood. The blood is my mother's. There is too much of it. There is so much of it, I think it runs, like ink. I think, to save the boards beneath, the women have set down china bowls; and so the silences between my mother's cries are filled—drip drop! drip drop!—with what might be the staggered beating of clocks.