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T en minutes later, with face blanched by terror, and eyes wild with grief, Lord Arthur Savile rushed from Bentinck House, crushing his way through the crowd of fur-coated footmen that stood round the large striped awning, and seeming not to see or hear anything. The night was bitter cold, and the gas-lamps round the square flared and flickered in the keen wind; but his hands were hot with fever, and his forehead burned like fire. On and on he went, almost with the gait of a drunken man. A policeman looked curiously at him as he passed, and a beggar, who slouched from an archway to ask for alms, grew frightened, seeing misery greater than his own. Once he stopped under a lamp, and looked at his hands. He thought he could detect the stain of blood already upon them, and a faint cry broke from his trembling lips.
Murder! That is what the chiromantist had seen there. Murder! The very night seemed to know it, and the desolate wind to howl it in his ear. The dark corners of the streets were full of it. It grinned at him from the roofs of the houses.
十分钟以后，让恐惧和悲痛弄得面白如纸、目光狂乱的亚瑟· 萨维尔勋爵冲出了本廷克宅邸。巨大的条纹遮雨篷周围站着一群身着皮衣的男仆，他从这些人当中挤了过去，似乎目无所见，耳无所闻。晚上很冷，广场四周的煤气灯在刺骨的寒风中摇曳闪烁，可他的手却烧得滚热，额头更像是着了火。他走个不停，步态跟个醉汉差不多。一名警察满腹狐疑地看着他走了过去；拱门里一个乞丐无精打采地问他要施舍，却看到他的痛苦比自己还要深重，被他吓了一跳。其间他在一盏灯下面停了下来，看了看自己的双手。恍惚之中，他看到自己的手已经沾上了血污，一声微弱的叫喊从他颤抖的唇间迸了出来。
谋杀！这就是手相师在他手上看到的东西。谋杀！这个夜晚似乎也知晓这桩罪行，怒号的凄风将这个字眼灌进了他的耳中。这罪行满布在街道的黑暗角落，还站在各处的房顶上对他狞笑。
First he came to the park (14) whose sombre woodland seemed to fascinate him. He leaned wearily up against the railings, cooling his brow against the wet metal, and listening to the tremulous silence of the trees. 'Murder! murder!' he kept repeating, as though iteration could dim the horror of the word. The sound of his own voice made him shudder, yet he almost hoped that Echo (15) might hear him, and wake the slumbering city from its dreams. He felt a mad desire to stop the casual passer-by, and tell him everything.
Then he wandered across Oxford Street into narrow, shameful alleys. Two women with painted faces mocked at him as he went by. From a dark courtyard came a sound of oaths and blows, followed by shrill screams, and, huddled upon a damp doorstep, he saw the crook-backed forms of poverty and eld. A strange pity came over him. Were these children of sin and misery predestined to their end, as he to his? Were they, like him, merely the puppets of a monstrous show?
And yet it was not the mystery, but the comedy of suffering that struck him; its absolute uselessness, its grotesque want of meaning. How incoherent everything seemed! How lacking in all harmony! He was amazed at the discord between the shallow optimism of the day, and the real facts of existence. He was still very young.
After a time he found himself in front of Marylebone Church. The silent roadway looked like a long riband of polished silver, flecked here and there by the dark arabesques of waving shadows. Far into the distance curved the line of flickering gas-lamps, and outside a little walled-in house stood a solitary hansom, the driver asleep inside. He walked hastily in the direction of Portland Place, now and then looking round, as though he feared that he was being followed. At the corner of Rich Street stood two men, reading a small bill upon a hoarding. An odd feeling of curiosity stirred him, and he crossed over. As he came near, the word MURDER, printed in black letters, met his eye. He started, and a deep flush came into his cheek. It was an advertisement offering a reward for any information leading to the arrest of a man of medium height, between thirty and forty years of age, wearing a billycock hat, a black coat and check trousers, and with a scar upon his right cheek. He read it over and over again, and wondered if the wretched man would be caught, and how he had been scarred. Perhaps, someday, his own name might be placarded on the walls of London. Someday, perhaps, a price would be set on his head also.
他先去了海德公园，那里的阴沉林地似乎在吸引着他。他疲惫地倚在栏杆上，一边借着湿漉漉的金属给自己的额头降温，一边聆听着林中那片震颤不安的寂静。“谋杀！谋杀！”他念了一遍又一遍，就跟这样的重复能让这字眼不那么恐怖似的。他被自己的声音吓得战栗起来，心里却又模模糊糊地希望回声女神能听到自己的声音，将沉睡的城市从梦中唤醒。他有一个疯狂的念头，想随便找个过路人，将一切和盘托出。
然后，他漫无目的地穿过牛津街，走进了那些狭窄的陋巷。两个化了浓妆的女人冲他挤眉弄眼，一个黑暗的庭院里传来了咒骂和殴打的声音，跟着是几声尖叫。几个弓腰驼背、贫穷衰老的人影瑟缩在一处潮湿的门阶上，这情景让他产生了一种莫名的怜悯。难道这些罪恶与苦难的孩子也和他一样，结局早已注定吗？难道他们和他一样，都不过是一场大戏里的木偶吗？
不过，令他震撼的却不是这苦难的神秘莫测，而是它的荒唐可笑，是它的全无用处以及令人发指的意义缺失。一切都显得多么的没有逻辑、多么的不和谐啊！生活的肤浅乐观与生存的严酷真相之间的巨大反差让他惊诧不已。毕竟他还非常年轻。
过了一会儿，他发现自己来到了圣玛丽勒博教堂前。寂静的路面仿佛是一条长长的亮银带子，带子上到处点缀着摇动的黑色树影，好似阿拉伯风格的蔓藤图案。一排摇曳的煤气灯蜿蜒着伸到远处，一幢有围墙的小房子外停着一辆孤独的双轮小马车，车夫就睡在里面。他快步走向波特兰区，边走边不时地东张西望，就像担心有人跟踪似的。里奇街的拐角处站着两个男人，正在读招贴板上的一张小告示。他突然感到一阵莫名的好奇，于是走了过去。走到近处，黑字印刷的“谋杀”二字跃入了他的眼帘。他一惊，脸一下子变得通红。那是张通缉罪犯的告示，向提供线索的人开出了奖赏，罪犯是一个中等个头的男人，年纪在三十岁到四十岁之间，戴着一顶小礼帽，穿着黑外套和方格裤子，右颊上有个伤疤。他读了一遍又一遍，心里想着那个倒霉的家伙会不会被抓住，想着他脸上的疤是怎么来的。没准儿哪一天，他自己的名字也会张贴在伦敦各处的墙垣上。没准儿有哪一天，人们也会为他的脑袋定下一个赏格。
The thought made him sick with horror. He turned on his heel, and hurried on into the night.
Where he went he hardly knew. He had a dim memory of wandering through a labyrinth of sordid houses, of being lost in a giant web of sombre streets, and it was bright dawn when he found himself at last in Piccadilly Circus (16) As he strolled home towards Belgrave Square (17) he met the great waggons on their way to Covent Garden (18) The white-smocked carters, with their pleasant sunburnt faces and coarse curly hair, strode sturdily on, cracking their whips, and calling out now and then to each other; on the back of a huge grey horse, the leader of a jangling team, sat a chubby boy, with a bunch of primroses in his battered hat, keeping tight hold of the mane with his little hands, and laughing; and the great piles of vegetables looked like masses of jade against the morning sky, like masses of green jade against the pink petals of some marvellous rose. Lord Arthur felt curiously affected, he could not tell why. There was something in the dawn's delicate loveliness that seemed to him inexpressibly pathetic, and he thought of all the days that break in beauty, and that set in storm. These rustics, too, with their rough, good-humoured voices, and their nonchalant ways, what a strange London they saw! A London free from the sin of night and the smoke of day, a pallid, ghost-like city, a desolate town of tombs! He wondered what they thought of it, and whether they knew anything of its splendour and its shame, of its fierce, fiery-coloured joys, and its horrible hunger, of all it makes and mars from morn to eve. Probably it was to them merely a mart where they brought their fruits to sell, and where they tarried for a few hours at most, leaving the streets still silent, the houses still asleep. It gave him pleasure to watch them as they went by. Rude as they were, with their heavy, hobnailed shoes and their awkward gait, they brought a little of Arcady with them. He felt that they had lived with nature, and that she had taught them peace. He envied them all that they did not know.
这样的想法让他害怕得直犯恶心。他赶紧转过身，急匆匆地走进了黑夜之中。
他不知道自己去了哪里，只是模糊地记得自己曾在一片破败杂乱的房屋之间乱走，还在一张昏暗街道织成的大网中迷了路。等他最终意识到自己身处皮卡迪利广场的时候，天已经很亮了。他朝着贝尔格雷夫广场的方向往家里走，路上碰到了前往柯文特花园的运货大马车。穿着白色工作服的车夫们有着生气勃勃的黝黑脸庞和凌乱的卷曲头发，车赶得又快又稳，把鞭子甩得啪啪响，还不时地互相打着招呼。一队吵吵嚷嚷的马儿中有一匹领头的大灰马，马背上坐着个胖乎乎的男孩，破破烂烂的帽子上插着一束报春花。男孩用小小的双手紧紧抓着马鬃，笑逐颜开。在清晨天空的映衬之下，大堆大堆的蔬菜仿如大块大块的玉石——绿色的玉石，背衬着某种美不胜收的玫瑰花那粉色的花瓣。亚瑟勋爵心里涌起了一种奇异的感动，但却说不出什么理由。不知道为什么，晨间这种精致脆弱的美让他觉得说不出的伤感，让他想起了所有那些开端美丽、结局凄惨的日子。还有这些乡下人，这些声音粗砺愉快、做派漫不经心的乡下人，他们眼中的伦敦该有多么的不同啊！一个没有夜之罪恶与昼之烟尘的伦敦、一座苍白如幽灵的城市、一座坟茔累累的鬼城！他想知道他们对这座城市的看法，想知道他们是否了解它的辉煌与耻辱、它如火光般耀眼的炽烈欢乐、它那可怕的吞噬欲望，以及它在晨昏之间造就和毁灭的一切。也许，他们眼中的伦敦不过是一个市场，他们到这里来售卖自己的劳动果实，在这里逗留最多几个小时，然后便在街道依然空寂、屋宇依然沉睡的时候离开。看着他们从自己身边经过，他觉得心情愉快。他们举止粗鲁，穿着钉了平头钉的沉重鞋子，走路的姿势也很难看，身上却依然带着一点世外桃源的韵味。他意识到，他们与自然母亲共同生活，从她那里学来了平和的心境。他羡慕他们的无知。
他快步走向波特兰区，边走边不时地东张西望，就像担心有人跟踪似的。
By the time he had reached Belgrave Square the sky was a faint blue, and the birds were beginning to twitter in the gardens.
等他走到贝尔格雷夫广场的时候，天空已经呈现出些许蓝色，园子里的鸟儿也已经开始鸣叫了。