" The marriage is no misfortune in itself, " she retorted with some little petulance.
“婚姻本身不是什么不幸,”她有点不快地反驳道。
And then she would pout like a disappointed child; a pensive cloud would soften her radiant vivacity; she would withdraw her hand hastily from his, and turn in transient petulance from his aspect, at once so heroic and so martyr-like.
然后她会像个失望孩子一样噘嘴;一朵沉思
云会柔化她容光焕发
活力;她会匆忙抽回他
手,转过身去转过身来,一时暴躁,既英勇又像烈士。