Instead of bookshelves, this wall was crowded with framed pictures of all sizes, some in vibrant colors, others dull monochromes. 这面墙上没有书架，却挂满了各种尺寸的镶着相框的照片。有些是模糊生硬的彩色照片，另一些则是黯淡的黑白照片。

I searched for some logic, some binding motif the collection had in common, but I found nothing in my hasty examination. 我试图找出某种逻辑，某个这些收藏品所共有的主题，但在我匆忙的审视中，我没有任何发现。

Edward pulled me toward the far left side, standing me in front of a small square oil painting in a plain wooden frame. 爱德华把我拉到了最左边，让我站到了一张装裱在一个简朴的木框里的小小的方形油画前。

This one did not stand out among the bigger and brighter pieces; 这幅油画在众多尺寸更大，颜色更鲜亮的油画里并不显眼，

painted in varying tones of sepia, it depicted a miniature city full of steeply slanted roofs, with thin spires atop a few scattered towers. 它是用各种色调的深褐色画成的。它描绘了一个微缩的城市，那里到处是陡峭的斜屋顶，散落在各处的几座高塔露出窄窄的塔尖。

A wide river filled the foreground, crossed by a bridge covered with structures that looked like tiny cathedrals. 一条宽广的河流填满了远景，河上横跨着一座桥梁，桥上布满了看上去像是小巧的教堂的建筑。

"London in the sixteen-fifties," Edward said. “十七世纪五十年代的伦敦。”爱德华说道。

"The London of my youth," Carlisle added, from a few feet behind us. “我年少时的伦敦。”卡莱尔补充道，他站在离我们只有几英尺远的地方。

I flinched; I hadn't heard him approach. Edward squeezed my hand. 我畏缩了一下，我根本没听到他走近的声音。爱德华紧握住我的手。

"Will you tell the story?" Edward asked. “你愿意讲这个故事吗？”爱德华问道。

I twisted a little to see Carlisle's reaction. 我稍微转过头，想看看卡莱尔的反应。

He met my glance and smiled. 他对上了我的目光，笑了起来。

"I would," he replied. “我很乐意。”他回答道。

"But I'm actually running a bit late. “但我确实有点赶时间。

The hospital called this morning—Dr. Snow is taking a sick day. 医院今天早上给我打了电话——斯诺医生请了一天病假。

Besides, you know the stories as well as I do," he added, grinning at Edward now. 另外，你对这个故事的熟悉程度不亚于我。”他补充道，瞥了一眼爱德华。

It was a strange combination to absorb— 这实在是个奇怪的难于理解的混合体——

the everyday concerns of the town doctor stuck in the middle of a discussion of his early days in seventeenth-century London. 那位每天关心着镇上事务的医生正陷于关于他早年在十七世纪的伦敦的经历的讨论之中。