At first he thought he dreamt them; it had been so long since he had heard anything but the sound of his own voice. 起初还以为是自己作梦，因为除了自言自语，他已经太久没听见别的声音。

　　Ned was feverish by then, his leg a dull agony, his lips parched and cracked. 他发着高烧，嘴唇干裂，腿伤隐隐作痛。

　　When the heavy wooden door creaked open, the sudden light was painful to his eyes. 沉重的木门“咿呀”一声打开时，突如其来的光线刺痛了他的眼睛。

　　A gaoler thrust a jug at him. 一名狱卒丢了个罐子给他。

　　The clay was cool and beaded with moisture. 陶罐很凉，表面密布水珠。

　　Ned grasped it with both hands and gulped eagerly. 奈德双手紧紧捧住，饥渴地大口吞咽。

　　Water ran from his mouth and dripped down through his beard. 水从嘴角流下，滴进胡子里。

　　He drank until he thought he would be sick. 他一直喝到不适方才停下。

　　"How long... ?" he asked weakly when he could drink no more. “过了多久……？”他虚弱地问。

　　The gaoler was a scarecrow of a man with a rat's face and frayed beard, clad in a mail shirt and a leather half cape. 狱卒瘦得像个稻草人，生着一张老鼠脸，胡子割得长短不齐。他穿了一件甲衣，外罩半身皮革斗篷。

　　"No talking," he said as he wrenched the jug from Ned's hands. “不准说话。”说着他把水罐从奈德手里夺走。

　　Please, Ned said, "my daughters... " The door crashed shut. “求求你，”奈德说，“我的女儿……”大门轰地关上，光线倏然消失。

　　He blinked as the light vanished, lowered his head to his chest, and curled up on the straw. 他眨眨眼，低下头，蜷缩在稻草上。

　　It no longer stank of urine and shit. It no longer smelled at all. 稻草闻起来不再有尿水和粪便的味道，闻起来一点味道都没有了。

　　He could no longer tell the difference between waking and sleeping. 他再也分不出睡着与醒来的差别。

　　The memory came creeping upon him in the darkness, as vivid as a dream. 黑暗中，回忆悄然袭上心头，栩栩如生宛如幻境。