他知道这个夜晚会如此结束，因为每次都是如此。
He knew the night was going to end that way, because that was the way they always did.
约翰·马龙举起酒杯让人再倒满，一口气喝光，提醒自己明天早上是新的一年的开始，他要重新开始生活。
John J. Malone held out his glass to be refilled, emptied it with one breath, and reminded himself that tomorrow morning was the beginning of a new year, and he was going to start life all over again.
他听到门开了又关上。他听到门开了又关上。他抬起头，看到乔天使的脸白了一下，然后怪异地僵住，露出惊恐的表情。
He heard the door open and close. He looked up and saw Joe the Angel’s face whiten a shade and then freeze grotesquely into an expression of horror.
“马龙！”
“Malone!”
喊出这个名字的声音紧张、沙哑、可怕，是一种怪异的声音。马龙在酒吧凳子上转过身。
The voice that screamed it was strained, hoarse, terrible, a travesty of a voice. Malone wheeled around on the bar stool.
一个男人走进门来，站在那里，一只手紧紧地抓着门把手，手指关节发白。对约翰?马龙来说，他是个陌生人。他没戴帽子，光滑的黑发上闪烁着点点雪花。他是个高个子，瘦而棱角分明，穿着一套芥末色的花呢套装，一件破旧但昂贵的骆驼毛大衣搭在肩上。他那骨骼粗大、布满深深皱纹的脸上有很深的晒黑痕迹。但现在，他的脸色是一种可怕的、毫无血色的灰色。
A man had e in the door and stood there clinging to the knob with one white-knuckled hand. He was a stranger to John J. Malone. He was hatless, and tiny bits of snow glistened on his smooth, black hair. He was a tall man, lean and angular, dressed in a mustard tweed suit, with a badly worn but expensive camel’s hair topcoat thrown back on his shoulders. There was a deep tan on his big-boned, deeply lined face, but the color now was a hideous, bloodless gray.
他走进房间两步。
He took two steps into the room.
“马龙……”
“Malone—”
声音里有一种可怕的、冒泡的声音。
There was a ghastly, bubbling sound in the voice.
乔天使酒吧里的人们像死了一样寂静。这个男人又走了一步，伸出了手。几乎是下意识地、不假思索地，约翰?马龙伸出了自己的手去握住它。但那只手只是握了他的手一下，然后就松开了，马龙感觉像是有个又硬又冷的东西滑进了他的掌心。
The crowd in Joe the Angel’s bar was still as death. The man took one more step, and held out his hand Almost automatically, without thinking, John J. Malone reached out his own hand to grasp it. The hand clasped his and loosened again. He felt something hard and cold slip into his palm.
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