弗萝拉边洗碗碟边吹着口哨。她听见通往小路尽头的栏栅门响了一下,便擦擦双手,朝走廊中的镜子望了一眼,边走边想:是谁不按门铃就这样径直闯进来?一个男孩?在本该上学的一天的下午2点钟,不太可能,是她丈夫回来取忘带的文件,在几千份保险单中翻找?是邮递员来了?有电报?也可能是她的邻居,那个总是随时准备坐公共汽车去巴黎看橱窗的玛蒂纳太太?当弗萝拉开门时,这种种猜测在她的头脑中打转。一个五十岁左右,年龄跟他父亲相仿的男人,已走进院子,正猫着腰在太阳下拔黄杨树篱间小径上的一棵草,他手中拿着顶软帽,脑门由于用力而发亮。他站起身来,刚想自我介绍,一列货车驶上了 Flor lashes whistle while washing dishes. She heard the gate to the end of the path ring and she wiped her hands and glanced at the mirror in the hallway, thinking as she walked in and out of the doorbell, and a boy, At 2 o’clock in the afternoon on school day, it is unlikely that her husband would come back to forget the paperwork and turn around in the thousands of insurance policies. Is the postman coming in? There is a telegram? It may be her neighbor, Is Mrs. Martina, ready to take a bus to Paris to see the windows? The speculation twirled in her mind as Flores opened the door. A man about the age of 50, whose age was similar to his father, had entered the courtyard and was catching a grass under the sun in the path of boxwood hedgerow. He had a soft hat in his hand and his forehead was forced bright. He got up, just wanted to introduce himself, a truck onto the line