CHRISTY [taking off his hat and sha

CHRISTY [taking off his hat and shawl
and going to the rack to hang them up.] The
minister is to break the news to you. He’ll be
here presently.
MRS. DUDGEON. Break what news?
CHRISTY [standing on tiptoe, from boyish
habit, to hang his hat up, though he is quite
tall enough to reach the peg, and speaking
with callous placidity, considering the nature
of the announcement.] Father’s dead too.
MRS. DUDGEON [stupent.] Your father!
CHRISTY [sulkily, coming back to the fire
and warming himself again, attending much
more to the fire than to his mother.] Well, it’s
not my fault. When we got to Nevinstown we
found him ill in bed. He didn’t know us at
first. The minister sat up with him and sent
me away. He died in the night.
MRS. DUDGEON [bursting into dry an-
gry tears.] Well, I do think this is hard on
me—very hard on me. His brother, that was a
disgrace to us all his life, gets hanged on the
public gallows as a rebel; and your father, in-
stead of staying at home where his duty was,
with his own family, goes after him and dies,
leaving everything on my shoulders. After sending this girl to me to take care of, too!
[She plucks her shawl vexedly over her ears.]
It’s sinful, so it is; downright sinful.
CHRISTY [with a slow, bovine cheerful-
ness, after a pause.] I think it’s going to be
a fine morning, after all.
MRS. DUDGEON [railing at him.] A
fine morning! And your father newly dead!
Where’s your feelings, child?
CHRISTY [obstinately.] Well, I didn’t
mean any harm. I suppose a man may make a
remark about the weather even if his father’s
dead.
MRS. DUDGEON [bitterly.] A nice comfort
my children are to me! One son a fool, and the
other a lost sinner that’s left his home to live
with smugglers and gypsies and villains, the
scum of the earth!
Someone knocks.
CHRISTY [without moving.] That’s the
minister.
MRS. DUDGEON [sharply.] Well, aren’t
you going to let Mr. Anderson in?
Christy goes sheepishly to the door. Mrs.
Dudgeon buries her face in her hands, as it
is her duty as a widow to be overcome with
grief. Christy opens the door, and admits the
minister, Anthony Anderson, a shrewd, ge-
nial, ready Presbyterian divine of about 50,
with something of the authority of his profes-
sion in his bearing. But it is an altogether
secular authority, sweetened by a conciliatory,
sensible manner not at all suggestive of a
quite thorough-going other-worldliness. He is
a strong, healthy man, too, with a thick, san guine neck; and his keen, cheerful mouth cuts
into somewhat fleshy corners. No doubt an ex-
cellent parson, but still a man capable of mak-
ing the most of this world, and perhaps a lit-
tle apologetically conscious of getting on better
with it than a sound Presbyterian ought.
ANDERSON [to Christy, at the door, look-
ing at Mrs. Dudgeon whilst he takes off his
cloak.] Have you told her?
CHRISTY. She made me. [He shuts the
door; yawns; and loafs across to the sofa where
he sits down and presently drops off to sleep.]
Anderson looks compassionately at Mrs.
Dudgeon. Then he hangs his cloak and hat
on the rack. Mrs. Dudgeon dries her eyes and
looks up at him.
ANDERSON. Sister: the Lord has laid his
hand very heavily upon you.
MRS. DUDGEON [with intensely recalci-
trant resignation.] It’s His will, I suppose; and
I must bow to it. But I do think it hard. What
call had Timothy to go to Springtown, and re-
mind everybody that he belonged to a man
that was being hanged?—and [spitefully] that
deserved it, if ever a man did.
ANDERSON [gently.] They were brothers,
Mrs. Dudgeon.

Kết quả (Việt) 1:

CHRISTY [cất cánh mũ của ông và shawlvà đi đến các rack để treo chúng.] Cácbộ trưởng là để phá vỡ những tin tức cho bạn. Ông sẽtại đây hiện nay.BÀ DUDGEON. Phá vỡ tin gì?CHRISTY [đứng trên tiptoe, từ trẻ conthói quen, ñeå keát thuùc mũ của mình, mặc dù ông là kháđủ cao để đạt được tỷ giá, và nóivới da tay bị chay placidity, xem xét bản chấtthông báo việc.] Cha chết quá.MRS. DUDGEON [stupent.] Cha của bạn!CHRISTY [sulkily, sắp trở lại ngọn lửavà sự nóng lên của mình một lần nữa, tham gia nhiềunhiều hỏa lực hơn mẹ.] Vâng, nó đãkhông phải lỗi của tôi. Khi chúng tôi đã Nevinstown chúng tôitìm thấy anh ta bị bệnh tại giường. Ông không biết chúng tôi tạiđầu tiên. Bộ trưởng ngồi với anh ta và gửitôi đi. Ông qua đời trong đêm.MRS. DUDGEON [bursting vào Giặt một -nước mắt gry.] Vâng, tôi nghĩ rằng điều này là khó khăn trênTôi-rất khó khăn với tôi. Anh trai của ông, đó là mộthoen cho chúng tôi tất cả cuộc sống của mình, bị treo cổ cácgiá treo cổ công cộng là nổi loạn; và cha của bạn, tại-sự ổn của tạm trú ở nhà nơi mà nhiệm vụ của mình là,với gia đình của mình, đi sau anh ta và qua đời,để lại tất cả mọi thứ trên vai của tôi. Sau khi gửi cho cô gái này với tôi để chăm sóc, quá![Cô plucks cô shawl vexedly qua tai cô.]Nó là tội lỗi, vì vậy nó; hết sức tội lỗi.CHRISTY [với một bò chậm, vui vẻ-Ness, sau khi một tạm dừng.] Tôi nghĩ rằng nó sẽmột buổi sáng tốt, sau khi tất cả.MRS. DUDGEON [Lan can Anh.] Atốt buổi sáng! Và cha cậu đã chết mới được!Đó là cảm xúc của bạn, trẻ em?CHRISTY [obstinately.] Well, I didn’tmean any harm. I suppose a man may make aremark about the weather even if his father’sdead.MRS. DUDGEON [bitterly.] A nice comfortmy children are to me! One son a fool, and theother a lost sinner that’s left his home to livewith smugglers and gypsies and villains, thescum of the earth!Someone knocks.CHRISTY [without moving.] That’s theminister.MRS. DUDGEON [sharply.] Well, aren’tyou going to let Mr. Anderson in?Christy goes sheepishly to the door. Mrs.Dudgeon buries her face in her hands, as itis her duty as a widow to be overcome withgrief. Christy opens the door, and admits theminister, Anthony Anderson, a shrewd, ge-nial, ready Presbyterian divine of about 50,with something of the authority of his profes-sion in his bearing. But it is an altogethersecular authority, sweetened by a conciliatory,sensible manner not at all suggestive of aquite thorough-going other-worldliness. He isa strong, healthy man, too, with a thick, san guine neck; and his keen, cheerful mouth cutsinto somewhat fleshy corners. No doubt an ex-cellent parson, but still a man capable of mak-ing the most of this world, and perhaps a lit-tle apologetically conscious of getting on betterwith it than a sound Presbyterian ought.ANDERSON [to Christy, at the door, look-ing at Mrs. Dudgeon whilst he takes off hiscloak.] Have you told her?CHRISTY. She made me. [He shuts thedoor; yawns; and loafs across to the sofa wherehe sits down and presently drops off to sleep.]Anderson looks compassionately at Mrs.Dudgeon. Then he hangs his cloak and haton the rack. Mrs. Dudgeon dries her eyes andlooks up at him.ANDERSON. Sister: the Lord has laid hishand very heavily upon you.MRS. DUDGEON [with intensely recalci-trant resignation.] It’s His will, I suppose; andI must bow to it. But I do think it hard. Whatcall had Timothy to go to Springtown, and re-mind everybody that he belonged to a manthat was being hanged?—and [spitefully] thatdeserved it, if ever a man did.ANDERSON [gently.] They were brothers,Mrs. Dudgeon.