He sat in an attitude which to anyone else would have been one of extreme discomfort, askew in his upright armchair, with his book held high and obliquely to the light. Now and then he took a gold pencil-case from his watchchain and made an entry in the margin. The windows were open to the summer night; the ticking of the clocks, the distant murmur of traffic on the Bayswater Road, and my-father’s regular turning of the pages were the only sounds. 他用一種極其令人不適的方式，歪歪斜斜地坐在他端正擺放的扶手椅上。他把書(shū)斜對(duì)著光線(xiàn)舉得高高的。他時(shí)不時(shí)從他的表鏈里拿出一個(gè)金色的鉛筆盒，并把手伸進(jìn)盒子的邊緣。窗戶(hù)大開(kāi)，窗外是夏季的夜晚——時(shí)鐘的滴答聲，遠(yuǎn)處Bayswater路上傳來(lái)的模糊的車(chē)流聲，以及家父有規(guī)律的翻頁(yè)的聲音等是僅有的聲響。