介绍： The Fly
Edited version Katherine Mansfield

1. " Y'ARE very snug in here," piped old Mr. Woodifield to his former boss, and now best friend. It was time for him to be off. But he did not want to go. Since he had retired, the wife and the girls kept him in the house every day of the week except Tuesday. On T...

介绍： The Fly
Edited version Katherine Mansfield

1. " Y'ARE very snug in here," piped old Mr. Woodifield to his former boss, and now best friend. It was time for him to be off. But he did not want to go. Since he had retired, the wife and the girls kept him in the house every day of the week except Tuesday. On Tuesday he was allowed to go outside. Though what he did there the wife and girls did not know, luckily.
2. " Yes, it's comfortable enough," agreed the boss; he liked to have it admired, especially by his friend old Woodifield." There was something I wanted to tell you," said old Woodifield, and his eyes grew dim remembering. "Now what was it? I had it in my mind when I started out this morning." His hands began to tremble. “Poor old chap, he's on his last pins”, thought the boss. And, feeling kindly, he said jokingly: "I tell you what. I've got a little drop of something here that'll do you good before you go out into the cold again." He unlocked a cupboard and drew forth a dark bottle.
3. Old Woodifield's mouth fell open at the sight of it. " It's whisky, ain't it?" Whisky it was. “They won't let me touch it at home…" “Drink it down.” the boss said. “It'll do you good.” True, it warmed mr. Woodifield like it always had—he remembered. Then the old man brightened wonderfully and relaxed. “I guess it’s ok to forget things sometimes”, he said. The boss saw the old fellow out when he finished his whiskey. Woodifield was gone.
4. For a long moment the boss kept staring at the door through which Woodifield left afterwards, while his office messenger was watching him. “I'll see nobody for half an hour, Macey, nobody at all." said the boss."" Very good, sir." His fat body plumped down in his chair. He wanted, he intended, he had arranged, to weep...
5. Although over six years had passed, he never had gotten over it. “My son! " groaned the boss. But no tears came. They never did. Six years ago Macey had handed him the telegram that brought the whole place crashing about his head. " Deeply regret to inform you ..." Six years ago, six years ... How quickly time passed! It might have happened yesterday. The boss was puzzled. Something seemed to be wrong with him. He wasn't feeling as he wanted to feel.
6. At that moment the boss noticed that a fly had fallen into his inkpot, and was trying desperately to climb out again. Help! help! said those struggling legs. But the sides of the inkpot were wet and slippery; it fell back again and began to swim. The boss took up a pen, picked the fly out of the ink, and shook it on to a piece of paper. For a fraction of a second it lay still. Then the front legs waved, took hold, and, pulling its small body up, it began cleaning the ink from its wings.
7. Then there was a pause, while the fly, seeming to stand on the tips of its toes, started to clean itself rigorously. After a short while, it tried to expand first one wing and then the other. It succeeded! I The horrible danger was over; it had escaped; it was soon ready for life again. But just then the boss had an idea. He plunged his pen back into the ink, and dropped a large amount of ink back on the poor fly.
8. The little fellow seemed absolutely cowed, afraid to move because of what would happen next. But then it dragged itself forward. The front legs waved and, more slowly this time, the task of cleaning himself began from the beginning. “He's a plucky little devil”, thought the boss, and he felt a real admiration for the fly's courage. That was the way to tackle things; that was the right spirit. Never say die; it was only a question of ... But the fly had again finished its laborious task, and the boss was just in time to drop more ink on the new-cleaned body.
9. What about it this time? A painful moment of suspense followed. But behold, the front legs were again waving; the boss felt a rush of relief. He leaned over the fly and said to it tenderly, " You artful little creature…!” The boss decided that this time should be the last. It was. He dropped the last blot of ink fell on the fly. It did not even make an effort anymore to clean itself. “Come on,” said the boss “Look sharp!”. Nothing happened. The fly was dead. The boss threw the corpse into the rubbish bin.
10. Suddenly such a grinding feeling of wretchedness seized him that he felt frightened, but in the good way. He pressed the bell for Macey." Bring me some fresh blotting-paper," he said, sternly." And while he sunk in thought, he started wondering what it was he had been thinking about before he saw the fly. What was it? For the life of him he could not remember.