These two men, turned away from the casual ward1 of Whitechapel Workhouse, were bound with me for Poplar Workhouse. Not much of a show, they thought, but to chance it was all that remained to us. It was Poplar, or the streets and night. Both men were anxious for a bed, for they were “about gone,” as they phrased it. The Carter, fifty-eight years of age, had spent the last three nights without shelter or sleep, while the Carpenter, sixty-five years of age, had been out five nights.
But, O dear, soft people, full of meat and blood, with white beds and airy rooms waiting you each night, how can I make you know what it is to suffer as you would suffer if you spent a weary night on London’s streets! Believe me, you would think a thousand centuries had come and gone before the east paled into dawn; you would shiver till you were ready to cry aloud with the pain of each aching muscle; and you would marvel2 that you could endure so much and live. Should you rest upon a bench, and your tired eyes close, depend upon it the policeman would rouse you and gruffly order you to “move on.” You may rest upon the bench, and benches are few and far between; but if rest means sleep, on you must go, dragging your tired body through the endless streets. Should you, in desperate slyness, seek some forlorn alley3 or dark passageway and lie down, the omnipresent policeman will rout4 you out just the same. It is his business to rout you out. It is a law of the powers that be that you shall be routed out.
But when the dawn came, the nightmare over, you would hale you home to refresh yourself, and until you died you would tell the story of your adventure to groups of admiring friends. It would grow into a mighty5 story. Your little eight-hour night would become an Odyssey6 and you a Homer.
Not so with these homeless ones who walked to Poplar Workhouse with me. And there are thirty-five thousand of them, men and women, in London Town this night. Please don’t remember it as you go to bed; if you are as soft as you ought to be you may not rest so well as usual. But for old men of sixty, seventy, and eighty, ill-fed, with neither meat nor blood, to greet the dawn unrefreshed, and to stagger through the day in mad search for crusts, with relentless7 night rushing down upon them again, and to do this five nights and days — O dear, soft people, full of meat and blood, how can you ever understand?
I walked up Mile End Road between the Carter and the Carpenter. Mile End Road is a wide thoroughfare, cutting the heart of East London, and there were tens of thousands of people abroad on it. I tell you this so that you may fully8 appreciate what I shall describe in the next paragraph. As I say, we walked along, and when they grew bitter and cursed the land, I cursed with them, cursed as an American waif would curse, stranded9 in a strange and terrible land. And, as I tried to lead them to believe, and succeeded in making them believe, they took me for a “seafaring man,” who had spent his money in riotous10 living, lost his clothes (no unusual occurrence with seafaring men ashore), and was temporarily broke while looking for a ship. This accounted for my ignorance of English ways in general and casual wards11 in particular, and my curiosity concerning the same.
The Carter was hard put to keep the pace at which we walked (he told me that he had eaten nothing that day), but the Carpenter, lean and hungry, his grey and ragged12 overcoat flapping mournfully in the breeze, swung on in a long and tireless stride which reminded me strongly of the plains wolf or coyote. Both kept their eyes upon the pavement as they walked and talked, and every now and then one or the other would stoop and pick something up, never missing the stride the while. I thought it was cigar and cigarette stumps13 they were collecting, and for some time took no notice. Then I did notice.
From the slimy, spittle-drenched, sidewalk, they were picking up bits of orange peel, apple skin, and grape stems, and, they were eating them. The pits of greengage plums they cracked between their teeth for the kernels14 inside. They picked up stray bits of bread the size of peas, apple cores so black and dirty one would not take them to be apple cores, and these things these two men took into their mouths, and chewed them, and swallowed them; and this, between six and seven o’clock in the evening of August 20, year of our Lord 1902, in the heart of the greatest, wealthiest, and most powerful empire the world has ever seen.
These two men talked. They were not fools, they were merely old. And, naturally, their guts15 a-reek with pavement offal, they talked of bloody16 revolution. They talked as anarchists17, fanatics18, and madmen would talk. And who shall blame them? In spite of my three good meals that day, and the snug19 bed I could occupy if I wished, and my social philosophy, and my evolutionary20 belief in the slow development and metamorphosis of things — in spite of all this, I say, I felt impelled21 to talk rot with them or hold my tongue. Poor fools! Not of their sort are revolutions bred. And when they are dead and dust, which will be shortly, other fools will talk bloody revolution as they gather offal from the spittle-drenched sidewalk along Mile End Road to Poplar Workhouse.
Being a foreigner, and a young man, the Carter and the Carpenter explained things to me and advised me. Their advice, by the way, was brief, and to the point; it was to get out of the country. “As fast as God’ll let me,” I assured them; “I’ll hit only the high places, till you won’t be able to see my trail for smoke.” They felt the force of my figures, rather than understood them, and they nodded their heads approvingly.
“Actually make a man a criminal against ’is will,” said the Carpenter. “’Ere I am, old, younger men takin’ my place, my clothes gettin’ shabbier an’ shabbier, an’ makin’ it ’arder every day to get a job. I go to the casual ward for a bed. Must be there by two or three in the afternoon or I won’t get in. You saw what happened to-day. What chance does that give me to look for work? S’pose I do get into the casual ward? Keep me in all day to-morrow, let me out mornin’ o’ next day. What then? The law sez I can’t get in another casual ward that night less’n ten miles distant. Have to hurry an’ walk to be there in time that day. What chance does that give me to look for a job? S’pose I don’t walk. S’pose I look for a job? In no time there’s night come, an’ no bed. No sleep all night, nothin’ to eat, what shape am I in the mornin’ to look for work? Got to make up my sleep in the park somehow” (the vision of Christ’s Church, Spitalfield, was strong on me) “an’ get something to eat. An’ there I am! Old, down, an’ no chance to get up.”
“Used to be a toll22-gate ’ere,” said the Carter. “Many’s the time I’ve paid my toll ’ere in my cartin’ days.”
“I’ve ’ad three ’a’penny rolls in two days,” the Carpenter announced, after a long pause in the conversation. “Two of them I ate yesterday, an’ the third to-day,” he concluded, after another long pause.
“I ain’t ’ad anything to-day,” said the Carter. “An’ I’m fagged out. My legs is hurtin’ me something fearful.”
“The roll you get in the ‘spike’ is that ’ard you can’t eat it nicely with less’n a pint23 of water,” said the Carpenter, for my benefit. And, on asking him what the “spike” was, he answered, “The casual ward. It’s a cant24 word, you know.”
But what surprised me was that he should have the word “cant” in his vocabulary, a vocabulary that I found was no mean one before we parted.
I asked them what I might expect in the way of treatment, if we succeeded in getting into the Poplar Workhouse, and between them I was supplied with much information. Having taken a cold bath on entering, I would be given for supper six ounces of bread and “three parts of skilly.” “Three parts” means three-quarters of a pint, and “skilly” is a fluid concoction25 of three quarts of oatmeal stirred into three buckets and a half of hot water.
“Milk and sugar, I suppose, and a silver spoon?” I queried26.
“No fear. Salt’s what you’ll get, an’ I’ve seen some places where you’d not get any spoon. ’Old ’er up an’ let ’er run down, that’s ’ow they do it.”
“You do get good skilly at ’Ackney,” said the Carter.
“Oh, wonderful skilly, that,” praised the Carpenter, and each looked eloquently27 at the other.
“Flour an’ water at St. George’s in the East,” said the Carter.
The Carpenter nodded. He had tried them all.
“Then what?” I demanded
And I was informed that I was sent directly to bed. “Call you at half after five in the mornin’, an’ you get up an’ take a ‘sluice’— if there’s any soap. Then breakfast, same as supper, three parts o’ skilly an’ a six-ounce loaf.”
“’Tisn’t always six ounces,” corrected the Carter.
“’Tisn’t, no; an’ often that sour you can ’ardly eat it. When first I started I couldn’t eat the skilly nor the bread, but now I can eat my own an’ another man’s portion.”
“I could eat three other men’s portions,” said the Carter. “I ’aven’t ’ad a bit this blessed day.”
“Then what?”
“Then you’ve got to do your task, pick four pounds of oakum, or clean an’ scrub, or break ten to eleven hundredweight o’ stones. I don’t ’ave to break stones; I’m past sixty, you see. They’ll make you do it, though. You’re young an’ strong.”
“What I don’t like,” grumbled28 the Carter, “is to be locked up in a cell to pick oakum. It’s too much like prison.”
“But suppose, after you’ve had your night’s sleep, you refuse to pick oakum, or break stones, or do any work at all?” I asked.
“No fear you’ll refuse the second time; they’ll run you in,” answered the Carpenter. “Wouldn’t advise you to try it on, my lad.”
“Then comes dinner,” he went on. “Eight ounces of bread, one and a arf ounces of cheese, an’ cold water. Then you finish your task an’ ’ave supper, same as before, three parts o’ skilly any six ounces o’ bread. Then to bed, six o’clock, an’ next mornin’ you’re turned loose, provided you’ve finished your task.”
We had long since left Mile End Road, and after traversing a gloomy maze29 of narrow, winding30 streets, we came to Poplar Workhouse. On a low stone wall we spread our handkerchiefs, and each in his handkerchief put all his worldly possessions, with the exception of the “bit o’ baccy” down his sock. And then, as the last light was fading from the drab-coloured sky, the wind blowing cheerless and cold, we stood, with our pitiful little bundles in our hands, a forlorn group at the workhouse door.
Three working girls came along, and one looked pityingly at me; as she passed I followed her with my eyes, and she still looked pityingly back at me. The old men she did not notice. Dear Christ, she pitied me, young and vigorous and strong, but she had no pity for the two old men who stood by my side! She was a young woman, and I was a young man, and what vague sex promptings impelled her to pity me put her sentiment on the lowest plane. Pity for old men is an altruistic31 feeling, and besides, the workhouse door is the accustomed place for old men. So she showed no pity for them, only for me, who deserved it least or not at all. Not in honour do grey hairs go down to the grave in London Town.
On one side the door was a bell handle, on the other side a press button.
“Ring the bell,” said the Carter to me.
And just as I ordinarily would at anybody’s door, I pulled out the handle and rang a peal32.
“Oh! Oh!” they cried in one terrified voice. “Not so ’ard!”
I let go, and they looked reproachfully at me, as though I had imperilled their chance for a bed and three parts of skilly. Nobody came. Luckily it was the wrong bell, and I felt better.
“Press the button,” I said to the Carpenter.
“No, no, wait a bit,” the Carter hurriedly interposed.
From all of which I drew the conclusion that a poorhouse porter, who commonly draws a yearly salary of from seven to nine pounds, is a very finicky and important personage, and cannot be treated too fastidiously by — paupers33.
So we waited, ten times a decent interval35, when the Carter stealthily advanced a timid forefinger36 to the button, and gave it the faintest, shortest possible push. I have looked at waiting men where life or death was in the issue; but anxious suspense37 showed less plainly on their faces than it showed on the faces of these two men as they waited on the coming of the porter.
He came. He barely looked at us. “Full up,” he said and shut the door.
“Another night of it,” groaned38 the Carpenter. In the dim light the Carter looked wan39 and grey.
Indiscriminate charity is vicious, say the professional philanthropists. Well, I resolved to be vicious.
“Come on; get your knife out and come here,” I said to the Carter, drawing him into a dark alley.
He glared at me in a frightened manner, and tried to draw back. Possibly he took me for a latter-day Jack-the-Ripper, with a penchant40 for elderly male paupers. Or he may have thought I was inveigling41 him into the commission of some desperate crime. Anyway, he was frightened.
It will be remembered, at the outset, that I sewed a pound inside my stoker’s singlet under the armpit. This was my emergency fund, and I was now called upon to use it for the first time.
Not until I had gone through the acts of a contortionist, and shown the round coin sewed in, did I succeed in getting the Carter’s help. Even then his hand was trembling so that I was afraid he would cut me instead of the stitches, and I was forced to take the knife away and do it myself. Out rolled the gold piece, a fortune in their hungry eyes; and away we stampeded for the nearest coffee-house.
Of course I had to explain to them that I was merely an investigator42, a social student, seeking to find out how the other half lived. And at once they shut up like clams43. I was not of their kind; my speech had changed, the tones of my voice were different, in short, I was a superior, and they were superbly class conscious.
“What will you have?” I asked, as the waiter came for the order.
“Two slices an’ a cup of tea,” meekly44 said the Carter.
“Two slices an’ a cup of tea,” meekly said the Carpenter.
Stop a moment, and consider the situation. Here were two men, invited by me into the coffee-house. They had seen my gold piece, and they could understand that I was no pauper34. One had eaten a ha’penny roll that day, the other had eaten nothing. And they called for “two slices an’ a cup of tea!” Each man had given a tu’penny order. “Two slices,” by the way, means two slices of bread and butter.
This was the same degraded humility45 that had characterised their attitude toward the poorhouse porter. But I wouldn’t have it. Step by step I increased their order — eggs, rashers of bacon, more eggs, more bacon, more tea, more slices and so forth46 — they denying wistfully all the while that they cared for anything more, and devouring47 it ravenously48 as fast as it arrived.
“First cup o’ tea I’ve ’ad in a fortnight,” said the Carter.
“Wonderful tea, that,” said the Carpenter.
They each drank two pints49 of it, and I assure you that it was slops. It resembled tea less than lager beer resembles champagne50. Nay51, it was “water-bewitched,” and did not resemble tea at all.
It was curious, after the first shock, to notice the effect the food had on them. At first they were melancholy52, and talked of the divers53 times they had contemplated54 suicide. The Carter, not a week before, had stood on the bridge and looked at the water, and pondered the question. Water, the Carpenter insisted with heat, was a bad route. He, for one, he knew, would struggle. A bullet was “’andier,” but how under the sun was he to get hold of a revolver? That was the rub.
They grew more cheerful as the hot “tea” soaked in, and talked more about themselves. The Carter had buried his wife and children, with the exception of one son, who grew to manhood and helped him in his little business. Then the thing happened. The son, a man of thirty-one, died of the smallpox55. No sooner was this over than the father came down with fever and went to the hospital for three months. Then he was done for. He came out weak, debilitated56, no strong young son to stand by him, his little business gone glimmering57, and not a farthing. The thing had happened, and the game was up. No chance for an old man to start again. Friends all poor and unable to help. He had tried for work when they were putting up the stands for the first Coronation parade. “An’ I got fair sick of the answer: ‘No! no! no!’ It rang in my ears at night when I tried to sleep, always the same, ‘No! no! no!’” Only the past week he had answered an advertisement in Hackney, and on giving his age was told, “Oh, too old, too old by far.”
The Carpenter had been born in the army, where his father had served twenty-two years. Likewise, his two brothers had gone into the army; one, troop sergeant-major of the Seventh Hussars, dying in India after the Mutiny; the other, after nine years under Roberts in the East, had been lost in Egypt. The Carpenter had not gone into the army, so here he was, still on the planet.
“But ’ere, give me your ’and,” he said, ripping open his ragged shirt. “I’m fit for the anatomist, that’s all. I’m wastin’ away, sir, actually wastin’ away for want of food. Feel my ribs58 an’ you’ll see.”
I put my hand under his shirt and felt. The skin was stretched like parchment over the bones, and the sensation produced was for all the world like running one’s hand over a washboard.
“Seven years o’ bliss59 I ’ad,” he said. “A good missus and three bonnie lassies. But they all died. Scarlet60 fever took the girls inside a fortnight.”
“After this, sir,” said the Carter, indicating the spread, and desiring to turn the conversation into more cheerful channels; “after this, I wouldn’t be able to eat a workhouse breakfast in the morning.”
“Nor I,” agreed the Carpenter, and they fell to discussing belly61 delights and the fine dishes their respective wives had cooked in the old days.
“I’ve gone three days and never broke my fast,” said the Carter.
“And I, five,” his companion added, turning gloomy with the memory of it. “Five days once, with nothing on my stomach but a bit of orange peel, an’ outraged62 nature wouldn’t stand it, sir, an’ I near died. Sometimes, walkin’ the streets at night, I’ve ben that desperate I’ve made up my mind to win the horse or lose the saddle. You know what I mean, sir — to commit some big robbery. But when mornin’ come, there was I, too weak from ’unger an’ cold to ’arm a mouse.”
As their poor vitals warmed to the food, they began to expand and wax boastful, and to talk politics. I can only say that they talked politics as well as the average middle-class man, and a great deal better than some of the middle-class men I have heard. What surprised me was the hold they had on the world, its geography and peoples, and on recent and contemporaneous history. As I say, they were not fools, these two men. They were merely old, and their children had undutifully failed to grow up and give them a place by the fire.
One last incident, as I bade them good-bye on the corner, happy with a couple of shillings in their pockets and the certain prospect63 of a bed for the night. Lighting64 a cigarette, I was about to throw away the burning match when the Carter reached for it. I proffered65 him the box, but he said, “Never mind, won’t waste it, sir.” And while he lighted the cigarette I had given him, the Carpenter hurried with the filling of his pipe in order to have a go at the same match.
“It’s wrong to waste,” said he.
“Yes,” I said, but I was thinking of the wash-board ribs over which I had run my hand.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
ward
|
|
| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
marvel
|
|
| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
alley
|
|
| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
rout
|
|
| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
odyssey
|
|
| n.长途冒险旅行；一连串的冒险 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
relentless
|
|
| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
stranded
|
|
| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
riotous
|
|
| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
wards
|
|
| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
stumps
|
|
| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
kernels
|
|
| 谷粒( kernel的名词复数 )； 仁； 核； 要点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
guts
|
|
| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
bloody
|
|
| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
anarchists
|
|
| 无政府主义者( anarchist的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
fanatics
|
|
| 狂热者，入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
snug
|
|
| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
evolutionary
|
|
| adj.进化的；演化的，演变的；[生]进化论的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
impelled
|
|
| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
toll
|
|
| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
pint
|
|
| n.品脱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
cant
|
|
| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
concoction
|
|
| n.调配(物)；谎言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
queried
|
|
| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
eloquently
|
|
| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
grumbled
|
|
| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
maze
|
|
| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
winding
|
|
| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
altruistic
|
|
| adj.无私的，为他人着想的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
peal
|
|
| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
paupers
|
|
| n.穷人( pauper的名词复数 )；贫民；贫穷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
pauper
|
|
| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
interval
|
|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
forefinger
|
|
| n.食指 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
groaned
|
|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
wan
|
|
| (wide area network)广域网 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
penchant
|
|
| n.爱好，嗜好；（强烈的）倾向 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
inveigling
|
|
| v.诱骗，引诱( inveigle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
investigator
|
|
| n.研究者，调查者，审查者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
clams
|
|
| n.蛤；蚌，蛤( clam的名词复数 )v.（在沙滩上）挖蛤( clam的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
meekly
|
|
| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
humility
|
|
| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
devouring
|
|
| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
ravenously
|
|
| adv.大嚼地，饥饿地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
pints
|
|
| n.品脱( pint的名词复数 )；一品脱啤酒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
champagne
|
|
| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
divers
|
|
| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
contemplated
|
|
| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
smallpox
|
|
| n.天花 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
debilitated
|
|
| adj.疲惫不堪的，操劳过度的v.使（人或人的身体）非常虚弱( debilitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
glimmering
|
|
| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
ribs
|
|
| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
bliss
|
|
| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
belly
|
|
| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
outraged
|
|
| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
lighting
|
|
| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
proffered
|
|
| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |