A deep, settled, fanatic delirium was in his eyes.
在他那深陷的眼睛里,显出一股呆滞的精神错乱似的神色。
There was endless cooking and lifting and turning and fanning, endless hours of washing and rerolling bandages and picking lint, and endless warm nights made sleepless by the babbling delirium of men in the next room.
家里一住了伤兵,事情就多了,断的做饭,扶着他们坐立和翻身,打扇,停地洗涤和卷绷带,而且晚上炎热睡着时,伤兵在隔壁房间里的呻吟会闹得你通宵安。
He woke once more to external reality, looked round him, knew what he saw–knew it, with a sinking sense of horror and disgust, for the recurrent delirium of his days and nights, the nightmare of swarming indistinguishable sameness.
他再次回到了外在的现实。他向四面看了看,明白了他眼前些什么——他带着一种坠落的恐怖和厌恶明白过来的。他厌恶那日日夜夜反复出现的热病,那些拥来拥去千篇一律的面孔所造成的梦魔。