JULIA CHILD: Under this golden dome lies an uncooked, unrisen, unbaked souffle, waiting patiently for the oven.

个金色圆屋顶下，躺一个没煮过、没膨胀、没烤过蛋奶酥，正耐心地等烤炉。

The light of the unrisen moon before him spread out along the dark placard hills like scrimlights in a theatre.

他面前未升起月光沿标牌山丘散开， 就像剧院里 scrilights 一样。