The Passage to Lusfield - 洛斯菲尔德之行(11)

We both sat down. He was sitting high on a working table, on top of the steps, while I was kneeling on a piece of upholstery. The cushion was damp and grows an unpleasant odor. The bishop was wearing a fancy suit with a red rose in the pocket in front of his chest, and with buttons open down to the center of his breast, abreast his hard nipples urging compulsorily to escape from the shirt's Le Bastille. Few nuns in unconventional costumes, by that I mean blouses worn by normal residents of the city and short skirts that give a good peek of their lingerie, were standing in a role behind the folding screen back of the bishop's chair, which was about 14 feet behind him. The bishop was particularly sorry about the special occurrence, out of his religious authority and his befriending of mine. He explained that those nuns are preparing a party for tonight and asked me to ignore them. I stared at their faces for a moment but discovered fears and panic and desperation squeezing out of these poor girls' eyelids.