After my two unsuccessful attempts to penetrate4 the Whitechapel casual ward5, I started early, and joined the desolate6 line before three o’clock in the afternoon. They did not “let in” till six, but at that early hour I was number twenty, while the news had gone forth7 that only twenty-two were to be admitted. By four o’clock there were thirty-four in line, the last ten hanging on in the slender hope of getting in by some kind of a miracle. Many more came, looked at the line, and went away, wise to the bitter fact that the spike would be “full up.”
Conversation was slack at first, standing8 there, till the man on one side of me and the man on the other side of me discovered that they had been in the smallpox9 hospital at the same time, though a full house of sixteen hundred patients had prevented their becoming acquainted. But they made up for it, discussing and comparing the more loathsome10 features of their disease in the most cold-blooded, matter-of-fact way. I learned that the average mortality was one in six, that one of them had been in three months and the other three months and a half, and that they had been “rotten wi’ it.” Whereat my flesh began to creep and crawl, and I asked them how long they had been out. One had been out two weeks, and the other three weeks. Their faces were badly pitted (though each assured the other that this was not so), and further, they showed me in their hands and under the nails the smallpox “seeds” still working out. Nay11, one of them worked a seed out for my edification, and pop it went, right out of his flesh into the air. I tried to shrink up smaller inside my clothes, and I registered a fervent12 though silent hope that it had not popped on me.
In both instances, I found that the smallpox was the cause of their being “on the doss,” which means on the tramp. Both had been working when smitten13 by the disease, and both had emerged from the hospital “broke,” with the gloomy task before them of hunting for work. So far, they had not found any, and they had come to the spike for a “rest up” after three days and nights on the street.
It seems that not only the man who becomes old is punished for his involuntary misfortune, but likewise the man who is struck by disease or accident. Later on, I talked with another man —“Ginger14” we called him — who stood at the head of the line — a sure indication that he had been waiting since one o’clock. A year before, one day, while in the employ of a fish dealer15, he was carrying a heavy box of fish which was too much for him. Result: “something broke,” and there was the box on the ground, and he on the ground beside it.
At the first hospital, whither he was immediately carried, they said it was a rupture16, reduced the swelling17, gave him some vaseline to rub on it, kept him four hours, and told him to get along. But he was not on the streets more than two or three hours when he was down on his back again. This time he went to another hospital and was patched up. But the point is, the employer did nothing, positively18 nothing, for the man injured in his employment, and even refused him “a light job now and again,” when he came out. As far as Ginger is concerned, he is a broken man. His only chance to earn a living was by heavy work. He is now incapable19 of performing heavy work, and from now until he dies, the spike, the peg20, and the streets are all he can look forward to in the way of food and shelter. The thing happened — that is all. He put his back under too great a load of fish, and his chance for happiness in life was crossed off the books.
Several men in the line had been to the United States, and they were wishing that they had remained there, and were cursing themselves for their folly21 in ever having left. England had become a prison to them, a prison from which there was no hope of escape. It was impossible for them to get away. They could neither scrape together the passage money, nor get a chance to work their passage. The country was too overrun by poor devils on that “lay.”
I was on the seafaring-man-who-had-lost-his-clothes-and-money tack22, and they all condoled23 with me and gave me much sound advice. To sum it up, the advice was something like this: To keep out of all places like the spike. There was nothing good in it for me. To head for the coast and bend every effort to get away on a ship. To go to work, if possible, and scrape together a pound or so, with which I might bribe24 some steward25 or underling to give me chance to work my passage. They envied me my youth and strength, which would sooner or later get me out of the country. These they no longer possessed26. Age and English hardship had broken them, and for them the game was played and up.
There was one, however, who was still young, and who, I am sure, will in the end make it out. He had gone to the United States as a young fellow, and in fourteen years’ residence the longest period he had been out of work was twelve hours. He had saved his money, grown too prosperous, and returned to the mother-country. Now he was standing in line at the spike.
For the past two years, he told me, he had been working as a cook. His hours had been from 7 a.m. to 10.30 p.m., and on Saturday to 12.30 p.m. — ninety-five hours per week, for which he had received twenty shillings, or five dollars.
“But the work and the long hours was killing27 me,” he said, “and I had to chuck the job. I had a little money saved, but I spent it living and looking for another place.”
This was his first night in the spike, and he had come in only to get rested. As soon as he emerged, he intended to start for Bristol, a one-hundred-and-ten-mile walk, where he thought he would eventually get a ship for the States.
But the men in the line were not all of this calibre. Some were poor, wretched beasts, inarticulate and callous29, but for all of that, in many ways very human. I remember a carter, evidently returning home after the day’s work, stopping his cart before us so that his young hopeful, who had run to meet him, could climb in. But the cart was big, the young hopeful little, and he failed in his several attempts to swarm30 up. Whereupon one of the most degraded-looking men stepped out of the line and hoisted31 him in. Now the virtue32 and the joy of this act lies in that it was service of love, not hire. The carter was poor, and the man knew it; and the man was standing in the spike line, and the carter knew it; and the man had done the little act, and the carter had thanked him, even as you and I would have done and thanked.
Another beautiful touch was that displayed by the “Hopper” and his “ole woman.” He had been in line about half-an-hour when the “ole woman” (his mate) came up to him. She was fairly clad, for her class, with a weather-worn bonnet33 on her grey head and a sacking-covered bundle in her arms. As she talked to him, he reached forward, caught the one stray wisp of the white hair that was flying wild, deftly34 twirled it between his fingers, and tucked it back properly behind her ear. From all of which one may conclude many things. He certainly liked her well enough to wish her to be neat and tidy. He was proud of her, standing there in the spike line, and it was his desire that she should look well in the eyes of the other unfortunates who stood in the spike line. But last and best, and underlying35 all these motives36, it was a sturdy affection he bore her; for man is not prone37 to bother his head over neatness and tidiness in a woman for whom he does not care, nor is he likely to be proud of such a woman.
And I found myself questioning why this man and his mate, hard workers I knew from their talk, should have to seek a pauper38 lodging39. He had pride, pride in his old woman and pride in himself. When I asked him what he thought I, a greenhorn, might expect to earn at “hopping,” he sized me up, and said that it all depended. Plenty of people were too slow to pick hops40 and made a failure of it. A man, to succeed, must use his head and be quick with his fingers, must be exceeding quick with his fingers. Now he and his old woman could do very well at it, working the one bin41 between them and not going to sleep over it; but then, they had been at it for years.
“I ’ad a mate as went down last year,” spoke42 up a man. “It was ’is fust time, but ’e come back wi’ two poun’ ten in ’is pockit, an’ ’e was only gone a month.”
“There you are,” said the Hopper, a wealth of admiration44 in his voice. “’E was quick. ’E was jest nat’rally born to it, ’e was.”
Two pound ten — twelve dollars and a half — for a month’s work when one is “jest nat’rally born to it!” And in addition, sleeping out without blankets and living the Lord knows how. There are moments when I am thankful that I was not “jest nat’rally born” a genius for anything, not even hop-picking,
In the matter of getting an outfit45 for “the hops,” the Hopper gave me some sterling46 advice, to which same give heed47, you soft and tender people, in case you should ever be stranded48 in London Town.
“If you ain’t got tins an’ cookin’ things, all as you can get’ll be bread and cheese. No bloomin’ good that! You must ’ave ’ot tea, an’ wegetables, an’ a bit o’ meat, now an’ again, if you’re goin’ to do work as is work. Cawn’t do it on cold wittles. Tell you wot you do, lad. Run around in the mornin’ an’ look in the dust pans. You’ll find plenty o’ tins to cook in. Fine tins, wonderful good some o’ them. Me an’ the ole woman got ours that way.” (He pointed49 at the bundle she held, while she nodded proudly, beaming on me with good-nature and consciousness of success and prosperity.) “This overcoat is as good as a blanket,” he went on, advancing the skirt of it that I might feel its thickness. “An’ ’oo knows, I may find a blanket before long.”
Again the old woman nodded and beamed, this time with the dead certainty that he would find a blanket before long.
“I call it a ’oliday, ’oppin’,” he concluded rapturously. “A tidy way o’ gettin’ two or three pounds together an’ fixin’ up for winter. The only thing I don’t like”— and here was the rift50 within the lute51 —“is paddin’ the ’oof down there.”
It was plain the years were telling on this energetic pair, and while they enjoyed the quick work with the fingers, “paddin’ the ’oof,” which is walking, was beginning to bear heavily upon them. And I looked at their grey hairs, and ahead into the future ten years, and wondered how it would be with them.
I noticed another man and his old woman join the line, both of them past fifty. The woman, because she was a woman, was admitted into the spike; but he was too late, and, separated from his mate, was turned away to tramp the streets all night.
The street on which we stood, from wall to wall, was barely twenty feet wide. The sidewalks were three feet wide. It was a residence street. At least workmen and their families existed in some sort of fashion in the houses across from us. And each day and every day, from one in the afternoon till six, our ragged2 spike line is the principal feature of the view commanded by their front doors and windows. One workman sat in his door directly opposite us, taking his rest and a breath of air after the toil52 of the day. His wife came to chat with him. The doorway53 was too small for two, so she stood up. Their babes sprawled54 before them. And here was the spike line, less than a score of feet away — neither privacy for the workman, nor privacy for the pauper. About our feet played the children of the neighbourhood. To them our presence was nothing unusual. We were not an intrusion. We were as natural and ordinary as the brick walls and stone curbs55 of their environment. They had been born to the sight of the spike line, and all their brief days they had seen it.
At six o’clock the line moved up, and we were admitted in groups of three. Name, age, occupation, place of birth, condition of destitution56, and the previous night’s “doss,” were taken with lightning-like rapidity by the superintendent57; and as I turned I was startled by a man’s thrusting into my hand something that felt like a brick, and shouting into my ear, “any knives, matches, or tobacco?” “No, sir,” I lied, as lied every man who entered. As I passed downstairs to the cellar, I looked at the brick in my hand, and saw that by doing violence to the language it might be called “bread.” By its weight and hardness it certainly must have been unleavened.
The light was very dim down in the cellar, and before I knew it some other man had thrust a pannikin into my other hand. Then I stumbled on to a still darker room, where were benches and tables and men. The place smelled vilely58, and the sombre gloom, and the mumble59 of voices from out of the obscurity, made it seem more like some anteroom to the infernal regions.
Most of the men were suffering from tired feet, and they prefaced the meal by removing their shoes and unbinding the filthy60 rags with which their feet were wrapped. This added to the general noisomeness61, while it took away from my appetite.
In fact, I found that I had made a mistake. I had eaten a hearty62 dinner five hours before, and to have done justice to the fare before me I should have fasted for a couple of days. The pannikin contained skilly, three-quarters of a pint63, a mixture of Indian corn and hot water. The men were dipping their bread into heaps of salt scattered64 over the dirty tables. I attempted the same, but the bread seemed to stick in my mouth, and I remembered the words of the Carpenter, “You need a pint of water to eat the bread nicely.”
I went over into a dark corner where I had observed other men going and found the water. Then I returned and attacked the skilly. It was coarse of texture65, unseasoned, gross, and bitter. This bitterness which lingered persistently66 in the mouth after the skilly had passed on, I found especially repulsive67. I struggled manfully, but was mastered by my qualms68, and half-a-dozen mouthfuls of skilly and bread was the measure of my success. The man beside me ate his own share, and mine to boot, scraped the pannikins, and looked hungrily for more.
“I met a ‘towny,’ and he stood me too good a dinner,” I explained.
“An’ I ’aven’t ’ad a bite since yesterday mornin’,” he replied.
“How about tobacco?” I asked. “Will the bloke bother with a fellow now?”
“Oh no,” he answered me. “No bloomin’ fear. This is the easiest spike goin’. Y’oughto see some of them. Search you to the skin.”
The pannikins scraped clean, conversation began to spring up. “This super’tendent ’ere is always writin’ to the papers ’bout us mugs,” said the man on the other side of me.
“What does he say?” I asked.
“Oh, ’e sez we’re no good, a lot o’ blackguards an’ scoundrels as won’t work. Tells all the ole tricks I’ve bin ’earin’ for twenty years an’ w’ich I never seen a mug ever do. Las’ thing of ’is I see, ’e was tellin’ ’ow a mug gets out o’ the spike, wi’ a crust in ’is pockit. An’ w’en ’e sees a nice ole gentleman comin’ along the street ’e chucks the crust into the drain, an’ borrows the old gent’s stick to poke43 it out. An’ then the ole gent gi’es ’im a tanner.”
A roar of applause greeted the time-honoured yarn69, and from somewhere over in the deeper darkness came another voice, orating angrily:
“Talk o’ the country bein’ good for tommy [food]; I’d like to see it. I jest came up from Dover, an’ blessed little tommy I got. They won’t gi’ ye a drink o’ water, they won’t, much less tommy.”
“There’s mugs never go out of Kent,” spoke a second voice, “they live bloomin’ fat all along.”
“I come through Kent,” went on the first voice, still more angrily, “an’ Gawd blimey if I see any tommy. An’ I always notices as the blokes as talks about ’ow much they can get, w’en they’re in the spike can eat my share o’ skilly as well as their bleedin’ own.”
“There’s chaps in London,” said a man across the table from me, “that get all the tommy they want, an’ they never think o’ goin’ to the country. Stay in London the year ’round. Nor do they think of lookin’ for a kip [place to sleep], till nine or ten o’clock at night.”
A general chorus verified this statement
“But they’re bloomin’ clever, them chaps,” said an admiring voice.
“Course they are,” said another voice. “But it’s not the likes of me an’ you can do it. You got to be born to it, I say. Them chaps ’ave ben openin’ cabs an’ sellin’ papers since the day they was born, an’ their fathers an’ mothers before ’em. It’s all in the trainin’, I say, an’ the likes of me an’ you ’ud starve at it.”
This also was verified by the general chorus, and likewise the statement that there were “mugs as lives the twelvemonth ’round in the spike an’ never get a blessed bit o’ tommy other than spike skilly an’ bread.”
“I once got arf a crown in the Stratford spike,” said a new voice. Silence fell on the instant, and all listened to the wonderful tale. “There was three of us breakin’ stones. Winter-time, an’ the cold was cruel. T’other two said they’d be blessed if they do it, an’ they didn’t; but I kept wearin’ into mine to warm up, you know. An’ then the guardians70 come, an’ t’other chaps got run in for fourteen days, an’ the guardians, w’en they see wot I’d been doin’, gives me a tanner each, five o’ them, an’ turns me up.”
The majority of these men, nay, all of them, I found, do not like the spike, and only come to it when driven in. After the “rest up” they are good for two or three days and nights on the streets, when they are driven in again for another rest. Of course, this continuous hardship quickly breaks their constitutions, and they realise it, though only in a vague way; while it is so much the common run of things that they do not worry about it.
“On the doss,” they call vagabondage here, which corresponds to “on the road” in the United States. The agreement is that kipping, or dossing, or sleeping, is the hardest problem they have to face, harder even than that of food. The inclement71 weather and the harsh laws are mainly responsible for this, while the men themselves ascribe their homelessness to foreign immigration, especially of Polish and Russian Jews, who take their places at lower wages and establish the sweating system.
By seven o’clock we were called away to bathe and go to bed. We stripped our clothes, wrapping them up in our coats and buckling72 our belts about them, and deposited them in a heaped rack and on the floor — a beautiful scheme for the spread of vermin. Then, two by two, we entered the bathroom. There were two ordinary tubs, and this I know: the two men preceding had washed in that water, we washed in the same water, and it was not changed for the two men that followed us. This I know; but I am also certain that the twenty-two of us washed in the same water.
I did no more than make a show of splashing some of this dubious73 liquid at myself, while I hastily brushed it off with a towel wet from the bodies of other men. My equanimity74 was not restored by seeing the back of one poor wretch28 a mass of blood from attacks of vermin and retaliatory75 scratching.
A shirt was handed me — which I could not help but wonder how many other men had worn; and with a couple of blankets under my arm I trudged76 off to the sleeping apartment. This was a long, narrow room, traversed by two low iron rails. Between these rails were stretched, not hammocks, but pieces of canvas, six feet long and less than two feet wide. These were the beds, and they were six inches apart and about eight inches above the floor. The chief difficulty was that the head was somewhat higher than the feet, which caused the body constantly to slip down. Being slung77 to the same rails, when one man moved, no matter how slightly, the rest were set rocking; and whenever I dozed78 somebody was sure to struggle back to the position from which he had slipped, and arouse me again.
Many hours passed before I won to sleep. It was only seven in the evening, and the voices of children, in shrill79 outcry, playing in the street, continued till nearly midnight. The smell was frightful80 and sickening, while my imagination broke loose, and my skin crept and crawled till I was nearly frantic81. Grunting82, groaning83, and snoring arose like the sounds emitted by some sea monster, and several times, afflicted84 by nightmare, one or another, by his shrieks85 and yells, aroused the lot of us. Toward morning I was awakened86 by a rat or some similar animal on my breast. In the quick transition from sleep to waking, before I was completely myself, I raised a shout to wake the dead. At any rate, I woke the living, and they cursed me roundly for my lack of manners.
But morning came, with a six o’clock breakfast of bread and skilly, which I gave away, and we were told off to our various tasks. Some were set to scrubbing and cleaning, others to picking oakum, and eight of us were convoyed across the street to the Whitechapel Infirmary where we were set at scavenger87 work. This was the method by which we paid for our skilly and canvas, and I, for one, know that I paid in full many times over.
Though we had most revolting tasks to perform, our allotment was considered the best and the other men deemed themselves lucky in being chosen to perform it.
“Don’t touch it, mate, the nurse sez it’s deadly,” warned my working partner, as I held open a sack into which he was emptying a garbage can.
It came from the sick wards88, and I told him that I purposed neither to touch it, nor to allow it to touch me. Nevertheless, I had to carry the sack, and other sacks, down five flights of stairs and empty them in a receptacle where the corruption89 was speedily sprinkled with strong disinfectant.
Perhaps there is a wise mercy in all this. These men of the spike, the peg, and the street, are encumbrances90. They are of no good or use to any one, nor to themselves. They clutter91 the earth with their presence, and are better out of the way. Broken by hardship, ill fed, and worse nourished, they are always the first to be struck down by disease, as they are likewise the quickest to die.
They feel, themselves, that the forces of society tend to hurl92 them out of existence. We were sprinkling disinfectant by the mortuary, when the dead waggon93 drove up and five bodies were packed into it. The conversation turned to the “white potion” and “black jack,” and I found they were all agreed that the poor person, man or woman, who in the Infirmary gave too much trouble or was in a bad way, was “polished off.” That is to say, the incurables94 and the obstreperous95 were given a dose of “black jack” or the “white potion,” and sent over the divide. It does not matter in the least whether this be actually so or not. The point is, they have the feeling that it is so, and they have created the language with which to express that feeling —“black jack” “white potion,” “polishing off.”
At eight o’clock we went down into a cellar under the infirmary, where tea was brought to us, and the hospital scraps96. These were heaped high on a huge platter in an indescribable mess — pieces of bread, chunks97 of grease and fat pork, the burnt skin from the outside of roasted joints98, bones, in short, all the leavings from the fingers and mouths of the sick ones suffering from all manner of diseases. Into this mess the men plunged99 their hands, digging, pawing, turning over, examining, rejecting, and scrambling100 for. It wasn’t pretty. Pigs couldn’t have done worse. But the poor devils were hungry, and they ate ravenously101 of the swill102, and when they could eat no more they bundled what was left into their handkerchiefs and thrust it inside their shirts.
“Once, w’en I was ’ere before, wot did I find out there but a ’ole lot of pork-ribs,” said Ginger to me. By “out there” he meant the place where the corruption was dumped and sprinkled with strong disinfectant. “They was a prime lot, no end o’ meat on ’em, an’ I ’ad ’em into my arms an’ was out the gate an’ down the street, a-lookin’ for some ’un to gi’ ’em to. Couldn’t see a soul, an’ I was runnin’ ’round clean crazy, the bloke runnin’ after me an’ thinkin’ I was ’slingin’ my ’ook’ [running away]. But jest before ’e got me, I got a ole woman an’ poked104 ’em into ’er apron105.”
O Charity, O Philanthropy, descend106 to the spike and take a lesson from Ginger. At the bottom of the Abyss he performed as purely107 an altruistic108 act as was ever performed outside the Abyss. It was fine of Ginger, and if the old woman caught some contagion109 from the “no end o’ meat” on the pork-ribs, it was still fine, though not so fine. But the most salient thing in this incident, it seems to me, is poor Ginger, “clean crazy” at sight of so much food going to waste.
It is the rule of the casual ward that a man who enters must stay two nights and a day; but I had seen sufficient for my purpose, had paid for my skilly and canvas, and was preparing to run for it.
“Come on, let’s sling103 it,” I said to one of my mates, pointing toward the open gate through which the dead waggon had come.
“An’ get fourteen days?”
“No; get away.”
“Aw, I come ’ere for a rest,” he said complacently110. “An’ another night’s kip won’t ’urt me none.”
They were all of this opinion, so I was forced to “sling it” alone.
“You cawn’t ever come back ’ere again for a doss,” they warned me.
“No fear,” said I, with an enthusiasm they could not comprehend; and, dodging111 out the gate, I sped down the street.
Straight to my room I hurried, changed my clothes, and less than an hour from my escape, in a Turkish bath, I was sweating out whatever germs and other things had penetrated112 my epidermis113, and wishing that I could stand a temperature of three hundred and twenty rather than two hundred and twenty.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
vileness
|
|
| n.讨厌，卑劣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
spike
|
|
| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
penetrate
|
|
| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
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： |
|
|
|
|
6
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
smallpox
|
|
| n.天花 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
loathsome
|
|
| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
fervent
|
|
| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
smitten
|
|
| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
ginger
|
|
| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
dealer
|
|
| n.商人，贩子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
rupture
|
|
| n.破裂；(关系的)决裂；v.(使)破裂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
swelling
|
|
| n.肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
incapable
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
peg
|
|
| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
tack
|
|
| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
condoled
|
|
| v.表示同情，吊唁( condole的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
bribe
|
|
| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
steward
|
|
| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
killing
|
|
| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
wretch
|
|
| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
callous
|
|
| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
swarm
|
|
| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
hoisted
|
|
| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
bonnet
|
|
| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
deftly
|
|
| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
underlying
|
|
| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
motives
|
|
| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
prone
|
|
| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
pauper
|
|
| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
lodging
|
|
| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
hops
|
|
| 跳上[下]( hop的第三人称单数 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
bin
|
|
| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
poke
|
|
| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
outfit
|
|
| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
sterling
|
|
| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
heed
|
|
| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
stranded
|
|
| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
rift
|
|
| n.裂口，隙缝，切口；v.裂开，割开，渗入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
lute
|
|
| n.琵琶，鲁特琴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
toil
|
|
| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
sprawled
|
|
| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
curbs
|
|
| v.限制，克制，抑制( curb的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
destitution
|
|
| n.穷困，缺乏，贫穷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
superintendent
|
|
| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
vilely
|
|
| adv.讨厌地，卑劣地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
59
mumble
|
|
| n./v.喃喃而语，咕哝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
filthy
|
|
| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
noisomeness
|
|
| n.noisome（恶臭的）的变形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
62
hearty
|
|
| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
pint
|
|
| n.品脱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
texture
|
|
| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
persistently
|
|
| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
repulsive
|
|
| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
qualms
|
|
| n.不安；内疚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
yarn
|
|
| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
guardians
|
|
| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
inclement
|
|
| adj.严酷的，严厉的，恶劣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
buckling
|
|
| 扣住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
dubious
|
|
| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
equanimity
|
|
| n.沉着，镇定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
retaliatory
|
|
| adj.报复的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
trudged
|
|
| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
slung
|
|
| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
dozed
|
|
| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
shrill
|
|
| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
frightful
|
|
| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
frantic
|
|
| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
grunting
|
|
| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
groaning
|
|
| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
afflicted
|
|
| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
shrieks
|
|
| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
scavenger
|
|
| n.以腐尸为食的动物，清扫工 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
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： |
|
|
|
|
89
corruption
|
|
| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
encumbrances
|
|
| n.负担( encumbrance的名词复数 )；累赘；妨碍；阻碍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
clutter
|
|
| n.零乱，杂乱；vt.弄乱，把…弄得杂乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
hurl
|
|
| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
waggon
|
|
| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
incurables
|
|
| 无法治愈，不可救药( incurable的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
95
obstreperous
|
|
| adj.喧闹的，不守秩序的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
scraps
|
|
| 油渣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
chunks
|
|
| 厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 )； （某物）相当大的数量或部分 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
joints
|
|
| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
scrambling
|
|
| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
ravenously
|
|
| adv.大嚼地，饥饿地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
swill
|
|
| v.冲洗；痛饮；n.泔脚饲料；猪食；（谈话或写作中的）无意义的话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
sling
|
|
| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
poked
|
|
| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
apron
|
|
| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
descend
|
|
| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
purely
|
|
| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
altruistic
|
|
| adj.无私的，为他人着想的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
contagion
|
|
| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
complacently
|
|
| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
dodging
|
|
| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
penetrated
|
|
| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
epidermis
|
|
| n.表皮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |