乔谨言本来打算就让寺门当她的课代表了,眼见狱寺举手,饶有兴致地点了他起身。 狱寺张口便是流利的美式英语,“Lolita,light of my life,fire of my loins.My sin,my soul.Lo-lee-ta:the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap,at three,on the teeth.Lo.Lee.Ta.” 话音刚落,掌声便稀疏地响起,愈演愈烈。 乔谨言微微笑,一面慢慢地走下讲台,一面接着背诵《洛丽塔》,“I stood listening to that musical vibration from my lofty slope, to those flashes of separate cries with a kind of demure murmur for background……”
她操着一口英国上流社会的腔调,比起夸张有范的美式口语,更加优雅,像是教堂里圣洁的钟声,动听且高贵。
乔谨言从容地踱着步,往狱寺所在的位置走,其间一直注视着他祖母绿的眼珠。她的眼眸墨黑似夜,不允许逃脱,只允许沉溺。 她用形同歌唱的语调吟完了后半句,“and then I knew that the hopelessly poignant thing was not Lolita\\\'s absence from my side, but the absence of her voice from that concord.”