“Y-yes,” I replied. “I didn’t know—

“Y-yes,” I replied. “I didn’t know—I mean… who are you? What do you want?”
“Sorry if I frightened you,” he said in that scratchy voice. “I’m a reporter. For the Star-Journal.”
“Huh? A reporter?”
I suddenly felt very foolish.
A newspaper reporter? But why had he been chasing me? And why had he been spying on our house?
He’s lying, I thought. Why did I open the door without looking first? Why did I let him in the house? Why was I so stupid?
He glimpsed himself in the hall mirror and pushed back his wavy black hair with one hand. “I’m thinking of doing a story about your house,” he said.
I studied him, trying to figure out if this was some kind of joke. “Are you selling something?” I asked. “Insurance or something? Because if that’s what
you’re trying to do—”
He raised his right hand. “No. I’m a reporter. Really.” He fumbled in his back pocket and pulled out a worn brown wallet. He flipped it open to show
me a card that had his photo on it and said PRESS at the top.
“I found some old articles at the newspaper office. A big stack of yellowed papers hidden away in a corner cabinet. In the old articles, they call this
house Forget-Me House.” His eyes burned into mine.
I stared hard at him. “Huh? Why?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure. According to the papers I found, the house makes people forget.”
My heart started to pound. “Forget what?”

結果 (中文) 1:

"Y-是的"我回答说。"我不知道 — — 我的意思是你是谁?做你想要什么?""抱歉如果我吓到你，"他说: 在那沙哑的声音。"我是一名记者。为星-杂志"。"是吗?一名记者?"我突然觉得很愚蠢。本报记者吗?但是为什么他一直在追踪我?和为什么他一直在监视我们的房子吗?他在撒谎，我以为。我为什么做不首先看看开门?我让他在房子里?为什么我是如此愚蠢的?他瞥见自己在大厅的镜子和推回他用一只手的黑色卷发。"我想做一个关于你的房子的故事，"他说。我研究他，试图找出如果这是一种笑话。""你卖的东西吗?我问。"保险或东西吗?因为如果那是什么你想要做 — —"他举起右手。《 第三号我是一名记者。那回事。他在裤子后面的口袋里摸索，掏出一个破旧的棕色钱包。他翻转它打开状态以显示我一张卡片，在上面有他的照片，并表示新闻顶部。"我发现了一些旧的文章，在报社。一大堆的泛黄的文件被隐藏在一个角柜。在以往的文章中，他们把这叫做房子忘了-我的房子."他的眼睛烧成矿。我紧盯着他。"是吗?为什么?他耸了耸肩。"我不确定。据报上说我发现了，房子使人忘记。我的心开始 1 英镑。"忘记什么?"

結果 (中文) 3:

“是的，”我回答说。“我不知道我的意思……你是谁？你想要什么？“
“抱歉如果我吓到你了，”他在那刺耳的声音说。“我是个记者。为《星际杂志》。”记者？“我突然觉得很傻。”但他为什么一直在追我呢？他为什么一直在监视我们的房子？他在说谎，我想。为什么我先打开门而不先看？我为什么让他在家里？我为什么这么笨？
他瞥见自己在大厅里的镜子和推出来的黑色卷发用一只手。他说：“我想做一个关于你的房子的故事，”他说，“我研究过他，想弄明白这是什么玩笑。“你在卖什么吗？“我问。“保险还是什么？因为如果这是你想做的，他举起了他的右手。“不，我是个记者。真的。”他从口袋里掏出一个破旧的棕色钱包。他把它打开，给我看了一张照片，上面有他的照片，说：“我在报纸上发现了一些旧文章。一大叠泛黄的纸张藏在角柜。在老文章中，他们称这个房子忘了我的房子，“他的眼睛烧成了我的眼睛。”。“哈？为什么？他耸了耸肩。“我不肯定。据我发现，房子让人们忘记了，“我的心开始庞德。“忘了什么？“”