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

在这金色圆屋顶下，躺煮过、膨胀、过蛋奶酥，正耐心地等。

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黑暗标牌山丘散开， 就像剧院里 scrilights 样。