A dirigible was ready for his leaving.

一飞船正在等候他。

The first read, THE QUIBBLER. EDITOR, X. LOVEGOOD, the second, PICK YOUR OWN MISTLETOE, the third, KEEP OFF THE DIRIGIBLE PLUMS.

一个上面写着，唱唱反调，编辑，谢·洛夫古德，个写着，挑选你自己的榭寄生，三个写着，不要试着驾驶洋李。

For three hours, the dirigible circled the landing field at Lakehurst New Jersey, dumping more water ballasts than ever before in vain efforts to level off.

这飞船在新泽西州莱克赫斯特的机场上空盘旋了三个小时，倾下了比何时候都多的压舱水，但却无法平衡船体。

A thousand pages of hobbits hasn't been enough for three generations of post-World War II fantasy fans; even when you add in that clumsy, galumphing dirigible of an epilogue, The Silmarillion, it hasn't been enough.

一千页关于霍比特人的故事，战之后的三代魔幻小说爱好者还嫌不够；即便算上那本笨拙突兀的续篇《精灵宝钻》，人们尤嫌不足。