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| 內容簡介： |
HE SEES the faces which surround him mirror astonishment，
puzzlement， then outrage， then fear， as if they looked beyond his
wild antics and saw behind him and looking down upon him， in his
turn unaware， the Final and supreme Face Itself， cold， terrible
because of lts omniscient detachment. He knows that they see more
than that: that they see the trust of which he proved himself
unworthy， being used now for his chastisement， it seems to him now
that he talks to the Face: "Perhaps I accepted more than I could
perform. But is that criminal? Shall be punished for that? Shall I
be held responsible for that which was beyond my power?" And the
Face: "It was not to accomplish that that you accepted her. You
took her as a means toward your own selfishness. As an instrument
to be called to jefferson; not for my ends， but for your own."
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| 關於作者： |
福克纳（William Faulkner）（1897-1962）， American writer and Nobel
Prize laureate from Oxford， Mississippi. He is primarily known and
acclaimed for his novels and short stories， many of which are set
in the fictional Yoknapatawpha County， a setting Faulkner created
based on Lafayette County， where he spent most of his
life.
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| 目錄：
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CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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| 內容試閱：
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He takes the team out and waters and stalls and feeds them，
and lets the cows in from the pasture. Then he goes to the kitchen.
She is still there， the gray woman with a cold， harsh， irascible
face， who bore five children in six years and raised them to man-
and womanhood. She is not idle. He does not look at her. He goes to
the sink and fills a pan from the pail and turns his sleeves back.
"Her name is Burch，" he says. At least that''s what she says
the fellow''s name is that she is hunting for. Lucas Burch. Somebody
told her back down the road a ways that he is in Jefl:erson now" He
begins to wash， his back to her. "She come all the way from
Alabama， alone and afoot， she says." Mrs. Armstid does not look
around. She is busy at the table. "She''s going to quit being alone
a good while before she sees Alabama again，" she says.
"Or that fellow Burch either， I reckon." He is quite busy at the
sink， with the soap and water. And he can feel her looking at him，
at the back of his head， his shoulders in the shirt of sweatfaded
blue. "She says that somebody down at Samson''s told her there is a
fellow named Burch or something working at the planing
millinjefferson."
"And she expects to find him there. Waiting. With the house all
furnished and all."
He cannot tell from her voice if she is watching him or not now.
He towels himselfwith a split floursack. "Maybe she will. Ifit''s
running away from her he''s after， I reckon he''s going to find out
he made a bad mistake when he stopped before he put the Mississippi
River between them." And now he knows that she is watching him: the
gray woman not plump and not thin， manhard， workhard， in a
serviceable gray garment worn savage and brusque， her hands on her
hips， her face like those of generals who have been defeated in
battle.
"You men， she says.
"What do you want to do about it? Turn her out? Let her sleep in
the barn maybe?"
"You men，" she says. "You durn men."
They enter the kitchen together， though Mrs. Armstid is in front.
She goes straight to the stove. Lena stands just within the door.
Her head is uncovered now， her hair combed smooth. Even the blue
garment looks freshened and rested. She looks on while Mrs. Armstid
at the stove clashes the metal lids and handles the sticks of wood
with the abrupt savageness of a man. "I would like to help，" Lena
says.
Mrs.Armstid does not look around. She clashes the stove savagely
"You stay where you are. You keep off your feet now， and you''II
keep off your back a while longer maybe."
"It would be a beholden kindness to let me help."
"You stay where you are. I been doing this three times a day for
thirty years now. The time when I needed help with it is done
passed." She is busy at the stove， not backlooking. ''Armstid says
your name is Burch." "Yes，" the other says. Her voice is quite
grave now， quite quiet. She sits quite still， her hands motionless
upon her lap. And Mrs. Armstid does not look around either. She is
still busy at the stove. It appears to require an amount of
attention out of all proportion to the savage finality with which
she built the fire. It appears to engage as much of her attention
as if it were an expensive watch.
"Is your name Burch yet?" Mrs. Armstid says.
The young woman does not answer at once. Mrs. Armstid does not
rattle the stove now though her back is still toward the younger
woman.
Then she turns. They look at one another， suddenly naked，
watching one another: the young woman in the chair， with her neat
hair and her inert hands upon her lap， and the older one beside the
stove， turning， motionless too， with a savage screw of gray hair at
the base of her skull and a face that might have been carved in
sandstone. Then the younger one speaks.
……
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