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`I know,' he said,after a pause, `that all this will be absolutely incredible to you. To me theone incredible thing is that I am here to-night in this old familiar roomlooking into your friendly faces and telling you these strange adventures.'  He looked at the Medical Man. “我知道，”他停顿片刻后说，“我讲的这一切对你们来说绝对是难以置信的，但对我来说，唯一难以置信的就是我今晚能坐在这熟悉的老房子里，望着你们友好的面孔对你们讲述这些奇遇。”他看着医生。`No. I cannot expect you to believe it.Take it as a lie--or a prophecy. Say I dreamed it in the workshop. Consider Ihave been speculating upon the destinies of our race until I have hatched thisfiction. Treat my assertion of its truth as a mere stroke of art to enhance itsinterest. And taking it as a story, what do you think of it?'  “不，我没法指望你们相信我的话。就把它当作谎话，或者预言，说这是我在车间里做的梦吧，就认为我一直在思索我们人类的命运，最终捏造了这个事情吧，把我对事情真实性的维护当作仅仅是使它引人入胜的一种艺术手法吧，把它当作一个故事，你们以为如何？”He took up his pipe, and began, in his oldaccustomed manner, to tap with it nervously upon the bars of the grate. Therewas a momentary stillness. Then chairs began to creak and shoes to scrape uponthe carpet. I took my eyes off the Time Traveller's face, and looked round athis audience. They were in the dark, and little spots of colour swam beforethem. The Medical Man seemed absorbed in the contemplation of our host. TheEditor was looking hard at the end of his cigar--the sixth. 他拿起烟斗，以习惯的动作紧张地在炉栅的横杆上敲敲。顷刻间房间里鸦雀无声。接着椅子开始吱吱嘎嘎，鞋子也在地毯上沙沙地擦动起来。我把目光从时间游客的脸上移开，朝四周的听众看看。他们坐在黑暗里，细小的光点在他们前面晃动。医生好像专心致志地在琢磨我们的主人。编辑目不转睛地注视着他的雪茄烟头，这是第六支了。The Journalist fumbled for his watch. Theothers, as far as I remember, were motionless. The Editor stood up with a sigh. `What a pity it is you're not a writerof stories!' he said, putting his hand on the Time Traveller's shoulder.  `You don't believe it?'  `Well----' `I thought not.'记者在摸他的手表。其余的人我记得都坐在那里没有动。编辑叹着气站起身来。“可借你不是写故事的人！”他说着把手搭到时间游客的肩膀上。 “你不相信？”“恩——” “我认为你不相信。” The Time Traveller turned to us. `Where are thematches?' he said. He lit one and spoke over his pipe, puffing. 时间游客转向我们。“火柴在哪里？”他说。他点亮一根火柴，边抽烟斗边讲话。`To tell you the truth . . . I hardlybelieve it myself. . . . And yet . . .' “老实告诉你们……我自己都几乎不相信……然而……” His eye fell with a mute inquiry upon thewithered white flowers upon the little table. Then he turned over the handholding his pipe, and I saw he was looking at some half-healed scars on hisknuckles.  The Medical Man rose, came tothe lamp, and examined the flowers. 他的目光带着默默的疑问落到小桌上面凋谢的白花上。接着，他把拿着烟斗的那只手翻了过来，我看见他望着指关节上还没愈合的伤疤。医生起身来到灯前，细细打量桌上的白花。“雌蕊群很奇怪。”他说。心理学家俯身想看看清楚，同时伸手准备拿一朵。