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.

第一个上面着，唱唱反调，编辑，谢·洛夫古德，第二个着，挑选你自己的榭寄生，第三个着，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的机场上空盘旋了三个小时，倾下了比以往任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.

一千页关于霍比人的故事，二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。