词汇：although

conj. 虽然，尽管

相关场景

“Yes, for sixteen years,” Clara said. “Although I never liked his drinking.” “I wish he’d get well,” Sally said. She had been her father’s favorite and grieved over him the most.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
It was one of those who had brought July the news about his wife, although of course the soldier didn’t know it was July’s wife when he talked about finding the corpses of the woman and the buffalo hunter. Clara had been washing clothes and hadn’t heard the story, but when she went down to the lots a little later she knew something was wrong. July stood by the fence, white as a sheet.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
He was riding along wishing he had another ten dollars when something spooked their horses—they never knew what, although Pete Spettle thought he might have glimpsed a panther. At any rate, Newt and Ben were thrown before they knew what was happening, and Pete and Jimmy were carried off into the darkness by their frightened mounts.
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“I thought you, went to her,” she said. “I didn’t believe you went to town.” “Ain’t the moon beautiful?” he said. “These plains seem like fine country under a full moon.” Lorena didn’t look up. She wasn’t interested in the moon. She only wanted it to be settled about the woman. If Gus was going to leave, she wanted to know it, although she couldn’t imagine a life if that happened.
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“Come with me,” he added. “They’ve probably got a store or two. We could buy you some clothes.” Lorena considered it. She had been wearing men’s clothes since Gus rescued her. There hadn’t been any place to buy any others. She would need a dress if she went with Gus to see the woman. But she didn’t know if she really wanted to go see her—although she had built up a good deal of curiosity about her. Lots of curiosity, but more fear. It was a strange life, just staying in the tent and talking to no one but Gus, but she was used to it. The thought of town frightened her almost as much as the thought of the woman.
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“I’m not interested in Ogallala,” Weaver said. “I’m interested in Red Cloud.” “We don’t know this Red Cloud,” Augustus said. “But if he’s much of a war chief you better hope you don’t catch him. I doubt an Indian would even consent to eat them ponies you’re riding. I never saw a worse-mounted bunch of men.” “Well, we’ve been out ten days, and it’s none of your concern,” Weaver said, trembling with indignation. Although Augustus was doing most of the talking, it was Call whom he looked at with hatred.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Diseases apparently sometimes resulted, although no one was very specific about them.
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“Come on, July,” she said. “These girls mean to see that we keep up our standards.” He put the rifle back in the saddle scabbard and followed her into the house.AS THE HERD wound across the brown prairies toward the Platte, whoring became the only thing the men could talk about. Of course, they always liked to talk about it, but there had been sections of the drive when they occasionally mentioned other things—the weather, cards, the personalities of horses, trials and tribulations of the past. After Jake’s death they had talked a good deal about the vagaries of justice, and what might cause a pleasant man to go bad. Once in a while they might talk about their families, although that usually ended with everyone getting homesick. Though a popular subject, it was tricky to handle.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Dee just stared at her and at the large man holding her in his arms. Ellie realized he might have the wrong idea about Zwey, although he had never been particularly the jealous type.
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“Wake up, Boot,” he said. “You got visitors.” The sleeping man immediately sprang up with a wild look. Ellie saw that it was him, although he hardly looked like the dapper man she remembered. He glanced at the window fearfully, then just stood and stared.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Bad men would have a better team,” Clara said. “Find any colts?” Cholo shook his head. His hair was white—Clara had never been able to get his age out of him, but she imagined he was seventy-five at least, perhaps eighty. At night by the fire, with the work done, Cholo wove horsehair lariats. Clara loved to watch the way his fingers worked. When a horse died or had to be killed, Cholo always saved its mane and tail for his ropes. He could weave them of rawhide too, and once had made one for her of buckskin, although she didn’t rope. Bob had been puzzled by the gift—“Clara couldn’t rope a post,” he said—but Clara was not puzzled at all. She had been very pleased. It was a beautiful gift; Cholo had the finest manners. She knew he appreciated her as she appreciated him. That was the year she bought him the coat. Sometimes, reading her magazines, she would look up and see Cholo weaving a rope and imagine that if she ever did try to write a story she would write it about him. It would be very different from any of the stories she read in the English magazines.
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The winter before she had bought Cholo a buffalo coat, an action which shocked Bob. He had never heard of a married woman buying a Mexican cowboy an expensive coat. Then there was the piano. She had ordered that too, although it cost two hundred dollars and another forty to transport. And yet he had to admit he loved to see his girls sitting at the piano, trying to learn their fingering. And the buffalo coat had saved Cholo’s life when he was trapped in an April blizzard up on the Dismal River, Clara got her way, and her way often turned out to make sense—and yet Bob more and more felt that her way skipped him, somehow. She didn’t neglect him in any way that he could put his finger on, and the girls loved him, but there were many times when he felt left out of the life of his own family. He would never have said that to Clara—he was not good with words, and seldom spoke unless he was spoken to, unless it was about business. Watching his wife, he often felt lonely. Clara seemed to sense it and would usually come and try to be especially nice to him, or to get him laughing at something the girls had done—and yet he still felt lonely, even in their bed.
前一个冬天，她给乔洛买了一件水牛外套，这一举动震惊了鲍勃。他从未听说过一个已婚女人给墨西哥牛仔买昂贵的外套。然后是钢琴。她也订购了，尽管运输费用为200美元和40美元。然而，他不得不承认，他喜欢看到他的女儿们坐在钢琴前，试图学习她们的指法。当乔洛被困在迪马尔河上的四月暴风雪中时，水牛外套救了他的命，克拉拉如愿以偿，她的方式往往被证明是有道理的——然而鲍勃越来越觉得她的方式不知怎么地跳过了他。她没有以任何他能理解的方式忽视他，女孩们也爱他，但很多时候，他觉得自己被排除在自己家庭的生活之外。他永远不会对克拉拉这么说——他不善言辞，除非有人跟他说话，除非是关于生意，否则很少说话。看着妻子，他经常感到孤独。克拉拉似乎感觉到了，通常会来试着对他特别好，或者让他嘲笑女孩们做的事情——但他仍然感到孤独，即使在他们的床上。
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
They had few quarrels, most of them about money. Clara was a good wife and worked hard; she never did anything untoward or unrespectable, and yet the fact that she had that Texas money made Bob uneasy. She wouldn’t give it up or let him use it, no matter how poor they were. Not that she spent it on herself—Clara spent nothing on herself, except for the books she ordered or the magazines she took. She kept the money for her children, she said—but Bob could never be sure she wasn’t keeping it so she could leave if she took a notion. He knew it was foolish—Clara would leave, money or no money, if she decided to go—but he couldn’t get the idea out of his mind. She wouldn’t even use the money on the house, although she had wanted the house, and they had had to haul the timber two hundred miles. Of course, he had prospered in the horse business, mainly because of the Army trade; he could afford to build her a house. But he still resented her money. She told him it was only for the girls’ education—and yet she did things with it that he didn’t expect.
他们很少吵架，大多是为了钱。克拉拉是个好妻子，工作很努力；她从来没有做过任何不愉快或不可原谅的事，然而，她拥有得克萨斯州的钱这一事实让鲍勃感到不安。不管他们有多穷，她都不会放弃或让他使用它。这并不是说她把钱花在了自己身上——克拉拉除了订的书或买的杂志外，什么也没花在自己身上。她说，她把钱留给了孩子们，但鲍勃永远无法确定她没有留下，所以如果她有想法，她可以离开。他知道这很愚蠢——如果克拉拉决定去，不管有没有钱，她都会离开——但他无法打消这个念头。她甚至不会把钱花在房子上，尽管她想要房子，他们不得不把木材拖两百英里。当然，他在马生意上很成功，主要是因为军队贸易；他能给她盖房子。但他仍然讨厌她的钱。她告诉他，这只是为了女孩的教育，但她却做了一些他没想到的事情。
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“I’d rather live in a tepee, like an Indian,” she told Bob many times. “I’d be cleaner. When it got dirty we could burn it.” The idea had shocked Bob, a conventional man if there ever was one. He could not believe he had married a woman who wanted to live like an Indian. He worked hard to give her a respectable life, and yet she said things like that—and meant them. And she stubbornly kept her own money, year after year—for the children’s education, she said, although one by one the three boys died long before they were old enough to be sent anywhere. The last two lived long enough for Clara to teach them to read. She had read them Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe when Jeff and Johnny were six and seven, respectively.
“我宁愿像印度人一样住在帐篷里，”她多次告诉鲍勃。“我会更干净。当它变脏时，我们可以烧掉它。”这个想法震惊了鲍勃，他是一个传统的人。他简直不敢相信自己娶了一个想像印度人一样生活的女人。他努力工作，让她过上体面的生活，然而她却说出了这样的话——而且是认真的。她说，她年复一年地固执地保留着自己的钱，用于孩子们的教育，尽管三个男孩一个接一个地在他们长大到可以被送到任何地方之前就去世了。最后两个孩子活得足够长，克拉拉教他们读书。杰夫和约翰尼分别六岁和七岁时，她读过沃尔特·斯科特的《艾芬豪》。
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“Just go and bathe his face, please. I don’t know what he can hear,” she said. She felt as if a flood of tears might come at any moment, and she didn’t want the girls to see them. The piano, over which she and Bob had argued for two years, had come the week before his accident—it had been her victory, but a sad one. She had ordered it all the way from St. Louis, and it had been woefully out of tune when it finally came, but there was a Frenchman who played the piano in a saloon in town who tuned it for her for five dollars. And although she assumed it was a whorehouse he played the piano in, she hired him at the big fee of two dollars a week to ride out and give her daughters lessons.
“请去给他洗脸。我不知道他能听到什么，”她说。她觉得眼泪随时都可能流出来，她不想让女孩们看到。她和鲍勃争论了两年的钢琴，在他出事的前一周来了——这是她的胜利，但很悲伤。她从圣路易斯一路订购的，当它终于来的时候，它已经严重失调了，但有一个法国人在城里的一家酒馆里弹钢琴，他花了五美元为她调音。尽管她以为他在妓院弹钢琴，但她还是以每周两美元的高价雇了他出去给女儿上课。
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Jake tried to get his mind to work, but it wouldn’t snap to. He had the feeling that there ought to be something he could say that would move Call or Gus on his behalf. It made him proud that the two of them had caught Dan Suggs so easily,although it had brought him to a hard fix. Still, it cut Dan Suggs down to size. Jake tried to think back over his years of rangering—to try and think of a debt he could call in, or a memory that might move the boys—but his brain seemed to be asleep. He could think of nothing. The only one who seemed to care was the boy Newt—Maggie’s boy, Jake remembered.
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Jake was lying on his saddle blanket feeling drunk and depressed. Dan Suggs had shot the old man driving the wagon at a hundred yards’ distance, without even speaking to him. Dan had been hiding in the trees along the creek, so the old man died without even suspecting that he was in danger. He only had about thirty dollars on him, but he had four jugs of whiskey, and they were divided equally, although Dan claimed he ought to have two for doing the shooting. Jake had been drinking steadily, hoping he would get so drunk the Suggses would just go off and leave him. But he knew they wouldn’t. For one thing, he had eight hundred dollars on him, won in poker games in Fort Worth, and if Dan Suggs didn’t know it, he certainly suspected it. They wouldn’t leave him without robbing him, or rob him without killing him, so for the time being his hope was to ride along and not rile Dan.
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Lorena saw that he was embarrassed, although she had only had the top button to go on her shirt. It was just a second of awkwardness, but it brought back memories of her old life and reminded her how it had once pleased her to embarrass men. They might pay her, but they could never really get their money’s worth, for being embarrassed. She had only to look them in the eye for it to happen—it was her revenge. It didn’t work on Gus, but there were precious few like Gus.
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“Give it to Newt,” Augustus said. “I got a rifle.” Newt took the gun. He had always wanted a rifle, but at the moment he couldn’t feel excited. It was such a strain, people always dying. He had a headache, and wanted to cry or be sick or go to sleep—he didn’t know which. It was such a strain that he almost wished he had been left with the wagon, although being selected to go had been his greatest pride only a few hours before.
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“Well, they didn’t have much but a watch,” Dan said, holding up a fine-looking silver pocket watch. “I guess I’ll take the watch.” His brothers found nothing of comparable value, although they searched the tent thoroughly. While they were looking, Dan started a fire with some coal oil he had found and made some coffee.
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When the first shot came, he didn’t know who fired it, though he saw a flash from a rifle barrel. It seemed so far away that he almost felt it must be another battle. Then gunfire flared just in front of him, too much to be produced by three men, it seemed. So much shooting panicked him for a second and he fired twice into the darkness, with no idea of whathe might be shooting at. He heard gunfire behind him—it was Frog Lip shooting. He began to sense running figures, although it was not clear to him who they were. Then there were five or six shots close together, like sudden thunder, and the sound of a running horse. Jake could see almost nothing—once in a while he would think he saw a man, but he couldn’t be sure.
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“Well, it was your idea,” Dan said. “You wanted the practice, and you got it.” “He’s mad because he didn’t get to shoot nobody,” Roy said. “He thinks he’s a shooter.” “Well, this is a gun outfit, ain’t it?” little Eddie said. “We ain’t cowboys, so what are we then?” “Travelers,” Dan said. “Right now we’re traveling to Kansas, looking for what we can find.” Frog Lip rejoined them as silently as he had left. Despite himself Jake could not conquer his fear of the man. Frog Lip hadnever said anything hostile to him, or even looked his way on the whole trip, and yet Jake felt a sort of apprehension whenever he even rode close to the man. In all his travels in the west he had met few men who gave off such a sense of danger. Even Indians didn’t—although of course there had been few occasions when he had ridden close to an Indian.
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“Them punkin’ rollers,” Dan Suggs said contemptuously. “If they was to follow we’d thin them out in a hurry.” Jake fell into a gloom—it seemed he could do nothing right. He hardly asked for more in life than a clean saloon to gamble in and a pretty whore to sleep with, that and a little whiskey to drink. He had no desire to be shooting people—evenduring his years in the Rangers he seldom actually drew aim at anyone, although he cheerfully threw off shots in the direction of the enemy. He certainly didn’t consider himself a killer: in battle, Call and Gus were capable of killing ten to his one.
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“Ask the Captain,” Soupy said. “I expect he’ll want to assign you the chore.” Dish thought otherwise. Already the Captain was looking at him as if he expected him to rush back to the point, although the cattle were moving along fine.
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Indeed, that proved the case, although they were rather smelly and a little too familiar to suit Newt. They smelled like the lard Bolivar had used on his hair. They crowded right around him, several of them talking to him in words he couldn’t understand. All of them were armed with old rifles. The rifles looked in bad repair, but they would have sufficed to kill him if that had been what the Indians wanted to do. Newt was sure they would want the cattle, for they were as skinny as the first bunch of Indians.
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