Not a breath came from the dead air. Not a ripple1 stirred on the motionless water. Nothing changed but the softly-growing light; nothing moved but the lazy mist, curling up to meet the sun, its master, on the eastward2 sea. By fine gradations, the airy veil of morning thinned in substance as it rose — thinned, till there dawned through it in the first rays of sunlight the tall white sails of a Schooner3 Yacht.
From stem to stern silence possessed4 the vessel5 — as silence possessed the sea.
But one living creature was on deck — the man at the helm, dozing6 peaceably with his arm over the useless tiller. Minute by minute the light grew, and the heat grew with it; and still the helmsman slumbered7, the heavy sails hung noiseless, the quiet water lay sleeping against the vessel’s sides. The whole orb8 of the sun was visible above the water-line, when the first sound pierced its way through the morning silence. From far off over the shining white ocean, the cry of a sea-bird reached the yacht on a sudden out of the last airy circles of the waning9 mist.
The sleeper10 at the helm woke; looked up at the idle sails, and yawned in sympathy with them; looked out at the sea on either side of him, and shook his head obstinately11 at the superior obstinacy12 of the calm.
“Blow, my little breeze!” said the man, whistling the sailor’s invocation to the wind softly between his teeth. “Blow, my little breeze!”
“How’s her head?” cried a bold and brassy voice, hailing the deck from the cabin staircase.
“Anywhere you like, master; all round the compass.”
The voice was followed by the man. The owner of the yacht appeared on deck.
Behold14 Richard Turlington, Esq., of the great Levant firm of Pizzituti, Turlington & Branca! Aged15 eight-and-thirty; standing16 stiffly and sturdily at a height of not more than five feet six — Mr. Turlington presented to the view of his fellow-creatures a face of the perpendicular17 order of human architecture. His forehead was a straight line, his upper lip was another, his chin was the straightest and the longest line of all. As he turned his swarthy countenance18 eastward, and shaded his light gray eyes from the sun, his knotty19 hand plainly revealed that it had got him his living by its own labor20 at one time or another in his life. Taken on the whole, this was a man whom it might be easy to respect, but whom it would be hard to love. Better company at the official desk than at the social table. Morally and physically21 — if the expression may be permitted — a man without a bend in him.
“A calm yesterday,” grumbled22 Richard Turlington, looking with stubborn deliberation all round him. “And a calm to-day. Ha! next season I’ll have the vessel fitted with engines. I hate this!”
“Think of the filthy23 coals, and the infernal vibration24, and leave your beautiful schooner as she is. We are out for a holiday. Let the wind and the sea take a holiday too.”
Pronouncing those words of remonstrance25, a slim, nimble, curly-headed young gentleman joined Richard Turlington on deck, with his clothes under his arm, his towels in his hand, and nothing on him but the night-gown in which he had stepped out of his bed.
“Launcelot Linzie, you have been received on board my vessel in the capacity of medical attendant on Miss Natalie Graybrooke, at her father’s request. Keep your place, if you please. When I want your advice, I’ll ask you for it.” Answering in those terms, the elder man fixed26 his colorless gray eyes on the younger with an expression which added plainly, “There won’t be room enough in this schooner much longer for me and for you.”
Launcelot Linzie had his reasons (apparently27) for declining to let his host offend him on any terms whatever.
“Thank you!” he rejoined, in a tone of satirical good humor. “It isn’t easy to keep my place on board your vessel. I can’t help presuming to enjoy myself as if I was the owner. The life is such a new one — to me! It’s so delightfully28 easy, for instance, to wash yourself here. On shore it’s a complicated question of jugs30 and basins and tubs; one is always in danger of breaking something, or spoiling something. Here you have only to jump out of bed, to run up on deck, and to do this!”
He turned, and scampered31 to the bows of the vessel. In one instant he was out of his night-gown, in another he was on the bulwark32, in a third he was gamboling luxuriously33 in sixty fathoms34 of salt-water.
Turlington’s eyes followed him with a reluctant, uneasy attention as he swam round the vessel, the only moving object in view. Turlington’s mind, steady and slow in all its operations, set him a problem to be solved, on given conditions, as follows:
“Launcelot Linzie is fifteen years younger than I am. Add to that, Launcelot Linzie is Natalie Graybrooke’s cousin. Given those two advantages — Query35: Has he taken Natalie’s fancy?”
Turning that question slowly over and over in his mind, Richard Turlington seated himself in a corner at the stern of the vessel. He was still at work on the problem, when the young surgeon returned to his cabin to put the finishing touches to his toilet. He had not reached the solution when the steward36 appeared an hour later and said, “Breakfast is ready, sir!”
They were a party of five round the cabin table.
First, Sir Joseph Graybrooke. Inheritor of a handsome fortune made by his father and his grandfather in trade. Mayor, twice elected, of a thriving provincial37 town. Officially privileged, while holding that dignity, to hand a silver trowel to a royal personage condescending38 to lay a first stone of a charitable edifice39. Knighted, accordingly, in honor of the occasion. Worthy40 of the honor and worthy of the occasion. A type of his eminently41 respectable class. Possessed of an amiable42, rosy43 face, and soft, silky white hair. Sound in his principles; tidy in his dress; blessed with moderate politics and a good digestion44 — a harmless, healthy, spruce, speckless45, weak-minded old man.
Secondly46, Miss Lavinia Graybrooke, Sir Joseph’s maiden47 sister. Personally, Sir Joseph in petticoats. If you knew one you knew the other.
Thirdly, Miss Natalie Graybrooke — Sir Joseph’s only child.
She had inherited the personal appearance and the temperament48 of her mother — dead many years since. There had been a mixture of Negro blood and French blood in the late Lady Graybrooke’s family, settled originally in Martinique. Natalie had her mother’s warm dusky color, her mother’s superb black hair, and her mother’s melting, lazy, lovely brown eyes. At fifteen years of age (dating from her last birthday) she possessed the development of the bosom49 and limbs which in England is rarely attained50 before twenty. Everything about the girl — except her little rosy ears — was on a grand Amazonian scale. Her shapely hand was long and large; her supple51 waist was the waist of a woman. The indolent grace of all her movements had its motive52 power in an almost masculine firmness of action and profusion53 of physical resource. This remarkable54 bodily development was far from being accompanied by any corresponding development of character. Natalie’s manner was the gentle, innocent manner of a young girl. She had her father’s sweet temper ingrafted on her mother’s variable Southern nature. She moved like a goddess, and she laughed like a child. Signs of maturing too rapidly — of outgrowing55 her strength, as the phrase went — had made their appearance in Sir Joseph’s daughter during the spring. The family doctor had suggested a sea-voyage, as a wise manner of employing the fine summer months. Richard Turlington’s yacht was placed at her disposal, with Richard Turlington himself included as one of the fixtures56 of the vessel. With her father and her aunt to keep up round her the atmosphere of home — with Cousin Launcelot (more commonly known as “Launce”) to carry out, if necessary, the medical treatment prescribed by superior authority on shore — the lovely invalid57 embarked58 on her summer cruise, and sprang up into a new existence in the life-giving breezes of the sea. After two happy months of lazy coasting round the shores of England, all that remained of Natalie’s illness was represented by a delicious languor59 in her eyes, and an utter inability to devote herself to anything which took the shape of a serious occupation. As she sat at the cabin breakfast-table that morning, in her quaintly-made sailing dress of old-fashioned nankeen — her inbred childishness of manner contrasting delightfully with the blooming maturity60 of her form — the man must have been trebly armed indeed in the modern philosophy who could have denied that the first of a woman’s rights is the right of being beautiful; and the foremost of a woman’s merits, the merit of being young!
The other two persons present at the table were the two gentlemen who have already appeared on the deck of the yacht.
“Not a breath of wind stirring!” said Richard Turlington. “The weather has got a grudge61 against us. We have drifted about four or five miles in the last eight-and-forty hours. You will never take another cruise with me — you must be longing62 to get on shore.”
He addressed himself to Natalie; plainly eager to make himself agreeable to the young lady — and plainly unsuccessful in producing any impression on her. She made a civil answer; and looked at her tea-cup, instead of looking at Richard Turlington.
“You might fancy yourself on shore at this moment,” said Launce. “The vessel is as steady as a house, and the swing-table we are eating our breakfast on is as even as your dining-room table at home.”
He too addressed himself to Natalie, but without betraying the anxiety to please her which had been shown by the other. For all that, he diverted the girl’s attention from her tea-cup; and his idea instantly awakened63 a responsive idea in Natalie’s mind.
“It will be so strange on shore,” she said, “to find myself in a room that never turns on one side, and to sit at a table that never tilts64 down to my knees at one time, or rises up to my chin at another. How I shall miss the wash of the water at my ear, and the ring of the bell on deck when I am awake at night on land! No interest there in how the wind blows, or how the sails are set. No asking your way of the sun, when you are lost, with a little brass13 instrument and a morsel65 of pencil and paper. No delightful29 wandering wherever the wind takes you, without the worry of planning beforehand where you are to go. Oh how I shall miss the dear, changeable, inconstant sea! And how sorry I am I’m not a man and a sailor!”
This to the guest admitted on board on sufferance, and not one word of it addressed, even by chance, to the owner of the yacht!
Richard Turlington’s heavy eyebrows66 contracted with an unmistakable expression of pain.
“If this calm weather holds,” he went on, addressing himself to Sir Joseph, “I am afraid, Graybrooke, I shall not be able to bring you back to the port we sailed from by the end of the week.”
“Whenever you like, Richard,” answered the old gentleman, resignedly. “Any time will do for me.”
“Any time within reasonable limits, Joseph,” said Miss Lavinia, evidently feeling that her brother was conceding too much. She spoke67 with Sir Joseph’s amiable smile and Sir Joseph’s softly-pitched voice. Two twin babies could hardly have been more like one another.
While these few words were being exchanged among the elders, a private communication was in course of progress between the two young people under the cabin table. Natalie’s smartly-slippered foot felt its way cautiously inch by inch over the carpet till it touched Launce’s boot. Launce, devouring68 his breakfast, instantly looked up from his plate, and then, at a second touch from Natalie, looked down again in a violent hurry. After pausing to make sure that she was not noticed, Natalie took up her knife. Under a perfectly69-acted pretense70 of toying with it absently, in the character of a young lady absorbed in thought, she began dividing a morsel of ham left on the edge of her plate, into six tiny pieces. Launce’s eye looked in sidelong expectation at the divided and subdivided71 ham. He was evidently waiting to see the collection of morsels72 put to some telegraphic use, previously73 determined74 on between his neighbor and himself.
In the meanwhile the talk proceeded among the other persons at the breakfast-table. Miss Lavinia addressed herself to Launce.
“Do you know, you careless boy, you gave me a fright this morning? I was sleeping with my cabin window open, and I was awoke by an awful splash in the water. I called for the stewardess75. I declare I thought somebody had fallen overboard!”
Sir Joseph looked up briskly; his sister had accidentally touched on an old association.
“Talk of falling overboard,” he began, “reminds me of an extraordinary adventure —”
There Launce broke in, making his apologies.
“It shan’t occur again, Miss Lavinia,” he said. “To-morrow morning I’ll oil myself all over, and slip into the water as silently as a seal.”
“Of an extraordinary adventure,” persisted Sir Joseph, “which happened to me many years ago, when I was a young man. Lavinia?”
He stopped, and looked interrogatively at his sister. Miss Graybrooke nodded her head responsively, and settled herself in her chair, as if summoning her attention in anticipation76 of a coming demand on it. To persons well acquainted with the brother and sister these proceedings77 were ominous78 of an impending79 narrative80, protracted81 to a formidable length. The two always told a story in couples, and always differed with each other about the facts, the sister politely contradicting the brother when it was Sir Joseph’s story, and the brother politely contradicting the sister when it was Miss Lavinia’s story. Separated one from the other, and thus relieved of their own habitual82 interchange of contradiction, neither of them had ever been known to attempt the relation of the simplest series of events without breaking down.
“It was five years before I knew you, Richard,” proceeded Sir Joseph.
“Six years,” said Miss Graybrooke.
“Excuse me, Lavinia.”
“No, Joseph, I have it down in my diary.”
“Let us waive83 the point.” (Sir Joseph invariably used this formula as a means of at once conciliating his sister, and getting a fresh start for his story.) “I was cruising off the Mersey in a Liverpool pilot-boat. I had hired the boat in company with a friend of mine, formerly84 notorious in London society, under the nickname (derived from the peculiar85 brown color of his whiskers) of ‘Mahogany Dobbs.’”
“The color of his liveries, Joseph, not the color of his whiskers.”
“My dear Lavinia, you are thinking of ‘Sea-green Shaw,’ so called from the extraordinary liveries he adopted for his servants in the year when he was sheriff.”
“I think not, Joseph.”
“I beg your pardon, Lavinia.”
Richard Turlington’s knotty fingers drummed impatiently on the table. He looked toward Natalie. She was idly arranging her little morsels of ham in a pattern on her plate. Launcelot Linzie, still more idly, was looking at the pattern. Seeing what he saw now, Richard solved the problem which had puzzled him on deck. It was simply impossible that Natalie’s fancy could be really taken by such an empty-headed fool as that!
Sir Joseph went on with his story:
“We were some ten or a dozen miles off the mouth of the Mersey —”
“Nautical86 miles, Joseph.”
“It doesn’t matter, Lavinia.”
“Excuse me, brother, the late great and good Doctor Johnson said accuracy ought always to be studied even in the most trifling87 things.”
“They were common miles, Lavinia.”
“They were nautical miles, Joseph.”
“Let us waive the point. Mahogany Dobbs and I happened to be below in the cabin, occupied —”
Here Sir Joseph paused (with his amiable smile) to consult his memory. Miss Lavinia waited (with her amiable smile) for the coming opportunity of setting her brother right. At the same moment Natalie laid down her knife and softly touched Launce under the table. When she thus claimed his attention the six pieces of ham were arranged as follows in her plate: Two pieces were placed opposite each other, and four pieces were ranged perpendicularly89 under them. Launce looked, and twice touched Natalie under the table. Interpreted by the Code agreed on between the two, the signal in the plate meant, “I must see you in private.” And Launce’s double touch answered, “After breakfast.”
Sir Joseph proceeded with his story. Natalie took up her knife again. Another signal coming!
“We were both down in the cabin, occupied in finishing our dinner —”
“Just sitting down to lunch, Joseph.”
“My dear! I ought to know.”
“I only repeat what I heard, brother. The last time you told the story, you and your friend were sitting down to lunch.”
“We won’t particularize, Lavinia. Suppose we say occupied over a meal?”
“If it is of no more importance than that, Joseph, it would be surely better to leave it out altogether.”
“Let us waive the point. Well, we were suddenly alarmed by a shout on deck, ‘Man over-board!’ We both rushed up the cabin stairs, naturally under the impression that one of our crew had fallen into the sea: an impression shared, I ought to add, by the man at the helm, who had given the alarm.”
Sir Joseph paused again. He was approaching one of the great dramatic points in his story, and was naturally anxious to present it as impressively as possible. He considered with himself, with his head a little on one side. Miss Lavinia considered with herself, with her head a little on one side. Natalie laid down her knife again, and again touched Launce under the table. This time there were five pieces of ham ranged longitudinally on the plate, with one piece immediately under them at the center of the line. Interpreted by the Code, this signal indicated two ominous words, “Bad news.” Launce looked significantly at the owner of the yacht (meaning of the look, “Is he at the bottom of it?”). Natalie frowned in reply (meaning of the frown, “Yes, he is”). Launce looked down again into the plate. Natalie instantly pushed all the pieces of ham together in a little heap (meaning of the heap, “No more to say”).
“Well?” said Richard Turlington, turning sharply on Sir Joseph. “Get on with your story. What next?”
Thus far he had not troubled himself to show even a decent pretense of interest in his old friend’s perpetually-interrupted narrative. It was only when Sir Joseph had reached his last sentence — intimating that the man overboard might turn out in course of time not to be a man of the pilot-boat’s crew — it was only then that Turlington sat up in his chair, and showed signs of suddenly feeling a strong interest in the progress of the story.
Sir Joseph went on:
“As soon as we got on deck, we saw the man in the water, astern. Our vessel was hove up in the wind, and the boat was lowered. The master and one of the men took the oars90. All told, our crew were seven in number. Two away in the boat, a third at the helm, and, to my amazement91, when I looked round, the other four behind me making our number complete. At the same moment Mahogany Dobbs, who was looking through a telescope, called out, ‘Who the devil can he be? The man is floating on a hen-coop, and we have got nothing of the sort on board this pilot-boat.’”
The one person present who happened to notice Richard Turlington’s face when those words were pronounced was Launcelot Linzie. He — and he alone — saw the Levant trader’s swarthy complexion92 fade slowly to a livid ashen93 gray; his eyes the while fixing themselves on Sir Joseph Graybrooke with a furtive94 glare in them like the glare in the eyes of a wild beast. Apparently conscious that Launce was looking at him — though he never turned his head Launce’s way — he laid his elbow on the table, lifted his arm, and so rested his face on his hand, while the story went on, as to screen it effectually from the young surgeon’s view.
“The man was brought on board,” proceeded Sir Joseph, “sure enough, with a hen-coop — on which he had been found floating. The poor wretch95 was blue with terror and exposure in the water; he fainted when we lifted him on deck. When he came to himself he told us a horrible story. He was a sick and destitute96 foreign seaman97, and he had hidden himself in the hold of an English vessel (bound to a port in his native country) which had sailed from Liverpool that morning. He had been discovered, and brought before the captain. The captain, a monster in human form, if ever there was one yet —”
Before the next word of the sentence could pass Sir Joseph’s lips, Turlington startled the little party in the cabin by springing suddenly to his feet.
“The breeze!” he cried; “the breeze at last!”
As he spoke, he wheeled round to the cabin door so as to turn his back on his guests, and hailed the deck.
“Which way is the wind?”
“There is not a breath of wind, sir.”
Not the slightest movement in the vessel had been perceptible in the cabin; not a sound had been audible indicating the rising of the breeze. The owner of the yacht — accustomed to the sea, capable, if necessary, of sailing his own vessel — had surely committed a strange mistake! He turned again to his friends, and made his apologies with an excess of polite regret far from characteristic of him at other times and under other circumstances.
“Go on,” he said to Sir Joseph, when he had got to the end of his excuses; “I never heard such an interesting story in my life. Pray go on!”
The request was not an easy one to comply with. Sir Joseph’s ideas had been thrown into confusion. Miss Lavinia’s contradictions (held in reserve) had been scattered98 beyond recall. Both brother and sister were, moreover, additionally hindered in recovering the control of their own resources by the look and manner of their host. He alarmed, instead of encouraging the two harmless old people, by fronting them almost fiercely, with his elbows squared on the table, and his face expressive99 of a dogged resolution to sit there and listen, if need be, for the rest of his life. Launce was the person who set Sir Joseph going again. After first looking attentively100 at Richard, he took his uncle straight back to the story by means of a question, thus:
“You don’t mean to say that the captain of the ship threw the man overboard?”
“That is just what he did, Launce. The poor wretch was too ill to work his passage. The captain declared he would have no idle foreign vagabond in his ship to eat up the provisions of Englishmen who worked. With his own hands he cast the hen-coop into the water, and (assisted by one of his sailors) he threw the man after it, and told him to float back to Liverpool with the evening tide.”
“A lie!” cried Turlington, addressing himself, not to Sir Joseph, but to Launce.
“Are you acquainted with the circumstances?” asked Launce, quietly.
“I know nothing about the circumstances. I say, from my own experience, that foreign sailors are even greater blackguards than English sailors. The man had met with an accident, no doubt. The rest of his story was a lie, and the object of it was to open Sir Joseph’s purse.”
Sir Joseph mildly shook his head.
“No lie, Richard. Witnesses proved that the man had spoken the truth.”
“Witnesses? Pooh! More liars101, you mean.”
“I went to the owners of the vessel,” pursued Sir Joseph. “I got from them the names of the officers and the crew, and I waited, leaving the case in the hands of the Liverpool police. The ship was wrecked102 at the mouth of the Amazon, but the crew and the cargo103 were saved. The men belonging to Liverpool came back. They were a bad set, I grant you. But they were examined separately about the treatment of the foreign sailor, and they all told the same story. They could give no account of their captain, nor of the sailor who had been his accomplice104 in the crime, except that they had not embarked in the ship which brought the rest of the crew to England. Whatever may have become of the captain since, he certainly never returned to Liverpool.”
“Did you find out his name?”
The question was asked by Turlington. Even Sir Joseph, the least observant of men, noticed that it was put with a perfectly unaccountable irritability105 of manner.
“Don’t be angry, Richard.” said the old gentleman. “What is there to be angry about?”
“I don’t know what you mean. I’m not angry — I’m only curious. Did you find out who he was?”
“I did. His name was Goward. He was well known at Liverpool as a very clever and a very dangerous man. Quite young at the time I am speaking of, and a first-rate sailor; famous for taking command of unseaworthy ships and vagabond crews. Report described him to me as having made considerable sums of money in that way, for a man in his position; serving firms, you know, with a bad name, and running all sorts of desperate risks. A sad ruffian, Richard! More than once in trouble, on both sides of the Atlantic, for acts of violence and cruelty. Dead, I dare say, long since.”
“Or possibly,” said Launce, “alive, under another name, and thriving in a new way of life, with more desperate risks in it, of some other sort.”
“Are you acquainted with the circumstances?” asked Turlington, retorting Launce’s question on him, with a harsh ring of defiance106 in his brassy voice.
“What became of the poor foreign sailor, papa?” said Natalie, purposely interrupting Launce before he could meet the question angrily asked of him, by an angry reply.
“We made a subscription107, and spoke to his consul88, my dear. He went back to his country, poor fellow, comfortably enough.”
“And there is an end of Sir Joseph’s story,” said Turlington, rising noisily from his chair. “It’s a pity we haven’t got a literary man on board — he would make a novel of it.” He looked up at the skylight as he got on his feet. “Here is the breeze, this time,” he exclaimed, “and no mistake!”
It was true. At last the breeze had come. The sails flapped, the main boom swung over with a thump108, and the stagnant109 water, stirred at last, bubbled merrily past the vessel’s sides.
“Come on deck, Natalie, and get some fresh air,” said Miss Lavinia, leading the way to the cabin door.
Natalie held up the skirt of her nankeen dress, and exhibited the purple trimming torn away over an extent of some yards.
“Give me half an hour first, aunt, in my cabin,” she said, “to mend this.”
Miss Lavinia elevated her venerable eyebrows in amazement.
“You have done nothing but tear your dresses, my dear, since you have been in Mr. Turlington’s yacht. Most extraordinary! I have torn none of mine during the whole cruise.”
Natalie’s dark color deepened a shade. She laughed, a little uneasily. “I am so awkward on board ship,” she replied, and turned away and shut herself up in her cabin.
Richard Turlington produced his case of cigars.
“Now is the time,” he said to Sir Joseph, “for the best cigar of the day — the cigar after breakfast. Come on deck.”
“You will join us, Launce?” said Sir Joseph.
“Give me half an hour first over my books,” Launce replied. “I mustn’t let my medical knowledge get musty at sea, and I might not feel inclined to study later in the day.”
“Quite right, my dear boy, quite right.”
Sir Joseph patted his nephew approvingly on the shoulder. Launce turned away on his side, and shut himself up in his cabin.
The other three ascended110 together to the deck.
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1
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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2
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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3
schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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4
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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6
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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7
slumbered
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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8
orb
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| n.太阳；星球；v.弄圆；成球形 | |
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9
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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10
sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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11
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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12
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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13
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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14
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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15
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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16
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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17
perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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18
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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19
knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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20
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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21
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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22
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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23
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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24
vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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25
remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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26
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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27
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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28
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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29
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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30
jugs
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| （有柄及小口的）水壶( jug的名词复数 ) | |
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31
scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
bulwark
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| n.堡垒，保障，防御 | |
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33
luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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34
fathoms
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| 英寻( fathom的名词复数 ) | |
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35
query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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36
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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37
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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38
condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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39
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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40
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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41
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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42
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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43
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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44
digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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45
speckless
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| adj.无斑点的，无瑕疵的 | |
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46
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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47
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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48
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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49
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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51
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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52
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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54
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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outgrowing
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| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的现在分词 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
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fixtures
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| （房屋等的）固定装置( fixture的名词复数 )； 如（浴盆、抽水马桶）； 固定在某位置的人或物； （定期定点举行的）体育活动 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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61
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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63
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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tilts
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| （意欲赢得某物或战胜某人的）企图，尝试( tilt的名词复数 ) | |
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65
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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66
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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71
subdivided
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| 再分，细分( subdivide的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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73
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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75
stewardess
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| n.空中小姐，女乘务员 | |
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76
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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77
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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80
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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81
protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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82
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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83
waive
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| vt.放弃，不坚持(规定、要求、权力等) | |
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84
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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85
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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86
nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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87
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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88
consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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89
perpendicularly
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| adv. 垂直地, 笔直地, 纵向地 | |
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90
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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92
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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94
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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95
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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96
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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97
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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98
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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99
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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100
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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101
liars
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| 说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
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102
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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103
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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104
accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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105
irritability
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| n.易怒 | |
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106
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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107
subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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108
thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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109
stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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110
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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