In a state of self-suppression, he went through into the garden. His jacket, however, did not look dejected. It was new, and had a smart and self-confident air, sitting upon a confident body. He contemplated4 the Tree of Heaven that flourished by the lawn, then sauntered on to the next plant. There was more promise in a crooked5 apple tree covered with brown-red fruit. Glancing round, he broke off an apple and, with his back to the house, took a clean, sharp bite. To his surprise the fruit was sweet. He took another. Then again he turned to survey the bedroom windows overlooking the garden. He started, seeing a woman’s figure; but it was only his wife. She was gazing across to the sea, apparently6 ignorant of him.
For a moment or two he looked at her, watching her. She was a good-looking woman, who seemed older than he, rather pale, but healthy, her face yearning7. Her rich auburn hair was heaped in folds on her forehead. She looked apart from him and his world, gazing away to the sea. It irked her husband that she should continue abstracted and in ignorance of him; he pulled poppy fruits and threw them at the window. She started, glanced at him with a wild smile, and looked away again. Then almost immediately she left the window. He went indoors to meet her. She had a fine carriage, very proud, and wore a dress of soft white muslin.
“I’ve been waiting long enough,” he said.
“For me or for breakfast?” she said lightly. “You know we said nine o’clock. I should have thought you could have slept after the journey.”
“You know I’m always up at five, and I couldn’t stop in bed after six. You might as well be in pit as in bed, on a morning like this.”
“I shouldn’t have thought the pit would occur to you, here.”
She moved about examining the room, looking at the ornaments9 under glass covers. He, planted on the hearthrug, watched her rather uneasily, and grudgingly10 indulgent. She shrugged11 her shoulders at the apartment.
“Come,” she said, taking his arm, “let us go into the garden till Mrs Coates brings the tray.”
“I hope she’ll be quick,” he said, pulling his moustache. She gave a short laugh, and leaned on his arm as they went. He had lighted a pipe.
Mrs Coates entered the room as they went down the steps. The delightful12, erect13 old lady hastened to the window for a good view of her visitors. Her china-blue eyes were bright as she watched the young couple go down the path, he walking in an easy, confident fashion, with his wife, on his arm. The landlady14 began talking to herself in a soft, Yorkshire accent.
“Just of a height they are. She wouldn’t ha’ married a man less than herself in stature15, I think, though he’s not her equal otherwise.” Here her granddaughter came in, setting a tray on the table. The girl went to the old woman’s side.
“He’s been eating the apples, gran’,” she said.
“Has he, my pet? Well, if he’s happy, why not?”
Outside, the young, well-favoured man listened with impatience16 to the chink of the teacups. At last, with a sigh of relief, the couple came in to breakfast. After he had eaten for some time, he rested a moment and said:
“Do you think it’s any better place than Bridlington?”
“I do,” she said, “infinitely! Besides, I am at home here — it’s not like a strange sea-side place to me.”
“How long were you here?”
“Two years.”
He ate reflectively.
“I should ha’ thought you’d rather go to a fresh place,” he said at length.
She sat very silent, and then, delicately, put out a feeler.
“Why?” she said. “Do you think I shan’t enjoy myself?”
He laughed comfortably, putting the marmalade thick on his bread.
“I hope so,” he said.
She again took no notice of him.
“But don’t say anything about it in the village, Frank,” she said casually17. “Don’t say who I am, or that I used to live here. There’s nobody I want to meet, particularly, and we should never feel free if they knew me again.”
“Why did you come, then?”
“‘Why?’ Can’t you understand why?”
“Not if you don’t want to know anybody.”
“I came to see the place, not the people.”
He did not say any more.
“Women,” she said, “are different from men. I don’t know why I wanted to come — but I did.”
She helped him to another cup of coffee, solicitously18.
“Only,” she resumed, “don’t talk about me in the village.” She laughed shakily. “I don’t want my past brought up against me, you know.” And she moved the crumbs19 on the cloth with her finger-tip.
He looked at her as he drank his coffee; he sucked his moustache, and putting down his cup, said phlegmatically20:
“I’ll bet you’ve had a lot of past.”
She looked with a little guiltiness, that flattered him, down at the tablecloth21.
“Well,” she said, caressive, “you won’t give me away, who I am, will you?”
“No,” he said, comforting, laughing, “I won’t give you away.”
He was pleased.
She remained silent. After a moment or two she lifted her head, saying:
“I’ve got to arrange with Mrs Coates, and do various things. So you’d better go out by yourself this morning — and we’ll be in to dinner at one.”
“But you can’t be arranging with Mrs Coates all morning,” he said.
“Oh, well — then I’ve some letters to write, and I must get that mark out of my skirt. I’ve got plenty of little things to do this morning. You’d better go out by yourself.”
He perceived that she wanted to be rid of him, so that when she went upstairs, he took his hat and lounged out on to the cliffs, suppressedly angry.
Presently she too came out. She wore a hat with roses, and a long lace scarf hung over her white dress. Rather nervously22, she put up her sunshade, and her face was half-hidden in its coloured shadow. She went along the narrow track of flag-stones that were worn hollow by the feet of the fishermen. She seemed to be avoiding her surroundings, as if she remained safe in the little obscurity of her parasol.
She passed the church, and went down the lane till she came to a high wall by the wayside. Under this she went slowly, stopping at length by an open doorway23, which shone like a picture of light in the dark wall. There in the magic beyond the doorway, patterns of shadow lay on the sunny court, on the blue and white sea-pebbles of its paving, while a green lawn glowed beyond, where a bay tree glittered at the edges. She tiptoed nervously into the courtyard, glancing at the house that stood in shadow. The uncurtained windows looked black and soulless, the kitchen door stood open. Irresolutely24 she took a step forward, and again forward, leaning, yearning, towards the garden beyond.
She had almost gained the corner of the house when a heavy step came crunching25 through the trees. A gardener appeared before her. He held a wicker tray on which were rolling great, dark red gooseberries, overripe. He moved slowly.
“The garden isn’t open today,” he said quietly to the attractive woman, who was poised26 for retreat.
For a moment she was silent with surprise. How should it be public at all?
“When is it open?” she asked, quick-witted.
“The rector lets visitors in on Fridays and Tuesdays.”
She stood still, reflecting. How strange to think of the rector opening his garden to the public!
“But everybody will be at church,” she said coaxingly27 to the man. “There’ll be nobody here, will there?”
He moved, and the big gooseberries rolled.
“The rector lives at the new rectory,” he said.
The two stood still. He did not like to ask her to go. At last she turned to him with a winning smile.
“Might I have ONE peep at the roses?” she coaxed28, with pretty wilfulness29.
“I don’t suppose it would matter,” he said, moving aside: “you won’t stop long —”
She went forward, forgetting the gardener in a moment. Her face became strained, her movements eager. Glancing round, she saw all the windows giving on to the lawn were curtainless and dark. The house had a sterile30 appearance, as if it were still used, but not inhabited. A shadow seemed to go over her. She went across the lawn towards the garden, through an arch of crimson31 ramblers, a gate of colour. There beyond lay the soft blue sea with the bay, misty32 with morning, and the farthest headland of black rock jutting33 dimly out between blue and blue of the sky and water. Her face began to shine, transfigured with pain and joy. At her feet the garden fell steeply, all a confusion of flowers, and away below was the darkness of tree-tops covering the beck.
She turned to the garden that shone with sunny flowers around her. She knew the little corner where was the seat beneath the yew34 tree. Then there was the terrace where a great host of flowers shone, and from this, two paths went down, one at each side of the garden. She closed her sunshade and walked slowly among the many flowers. All round were rose bushes, big banks of roses, then roses hanging and tumbling from pillars, or roses balanced on the standard bushes. By the open earth were many other flowers. If she lifted her head, the sea was upraised beyond, and the Cape35.
Slowly she went down one path, lingering, like one who has gone back into the past. Suddenly she was touching36 some heavy crimson roses that were soft as velvet37, touching them thoughtfully, without knowing, as a mother sometimes fondles the hand of her child. She leaned slightly forward to catch the scent39. Then she wandered on in abstraction. Sometimes a flame-coloured, scentless40 rose would hold her arrested. She stood gazing at it as if she could not understand it. Again the same softness of intimacy41 came over her, as she stood before a tumbling heap of pink petals42. Then she wondered over the white rose, that was greenish, like ice, in the centre. So, slowly, like a white, pathetic butterfly, she drifted down the path, coming at last to a tiny terrace all full of roses. They seemed to fill the place, a sunny, gay throng43. She was shy of them, they were so many and so bright. They seemed to be conversing44 and laughing. She felt herself in a strange crowd. It exhilarated her, carried her out of herself. She flushed with excitement. The air was pure scent.
Hastily, she went to a little seat among the white roses, and sat down. Her scarlet45 sunshade made a hard blot46 of colour. She sat quite still, feeling her own existence lapse47. She was no more than a rose, a rose that could not quite come into blossom, but remained tense. A little fly dropped on her knee, on her white dress. She watched it, as if it had fallen on a rose. She was not herself.
Then she started cruelly as a shadow crossed her and a figure moved into her sight. It was a man who had come in slippers48, unheard. He wore a linen49 coat. The morning was shattered, the spell vanished away. She was only afraid of being questioned. He came forward. She rose. Then, seeing him, the strength went from her and she sank on the seat again.
He was a young man, military in appearance, growing slightly stout50. His black hair was brushed smooth and bright, his moustache was waxed. But there was something rambling51 in his gait. She looked up, blanched52 to the lips, and saw his eyes. They were black, and stared without seeing. They were not a man’s eyes. He was coming towards her.
He stared at her fixedly53, made unconscious salute55, and sat down beside her on the seat. He moved on the bench, shifted his feet, saying, in a gentlemanly, military voice:
“I don’t disturb you — do I?”
She was mute and helpless. He was scrupulously56 dressed in dark clothes and a linen coat. She could not move. Seeing his hands, with the ring she knew so well upon the little finger, she felt as if she were going dazed. The whole world was deranged57. She sat unavailing. For his hands, her symbols of passionate58 love, filled her with horror as they rested now on his strong thighs59.
“May I smoke?” he asked intimately, almost secretly, his hand going to his pocket.
She could not answer, but it did not matter, he was in another world. She wondered, craving60, if he recognized her — if he could recognize her. She sat pale with anguish61. But she had to go through it.
“I haven’t got any tobacco,” he said thoughtfully.
But she paid no heed62 to his words, only she attended to him. Could he recognize her, or was it all gone? She sat still in a frozen kind of suspense63.
“I smoke John Cotton,” he said, “and I must economize64 with it, it is expensive. You know, I’m not very well off while these lawsuits65 are going on.”
“No,” she said, and her heart was cold, her soul kept rigid66.
He moved, made a loose salute, rose, and went away. She sat motionless. She could see his shape, the shape she had loved, with all her passion: his compact, soldier’s head, his fine figure now slackened. And it was not he. It only filled her with horror too difficult to know.
Suddenly he came again, his hand in his jacket pocket.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” he said. “Perhaps I shall be able to see things more clearly.”
He sat down beside her again, filling a pipe. She watched his hands with the fine strong fingers. They had always inclined to tremble slightly. It had surprised her, long ago, in such a healthy man. Now they moved inaccurately67, and the tobacco hung raggedly68 out of the pipe.
“I have legal business to attend to. Legal affairs are always so uncertain. I tell my solicitor69 exactly, precisely70 what I want, but I can never get it done.”
She sat and heard him talking. But it was not he. Yet those were the hands she had kissed, there were the glistening71, strange black eyes that she had loved. Yet it was not he. She sat motionless with horror and silence. He dropped his tobacco pouch72, and groped for it on the ground. Yet she must wait if he would recognize her. Why could she not go! In a moment he rose.
“I must go at once,” he said. “The owl1 is coming.” Then he added confidentially73: “His name isn’t really the owl, but I call him that. I must go and see if he has come.”
She rose too. He stood before her, uncertain. He was a handsome, soldierly fellow, and a lunatic. Her eyes searched him, and searched him, to see if he would recognize her, if she could discover him.
“You don’t know me?” she asked, from the terror of her soul, standing74 alone.
He looked back at her quizzically. She had to bear his eyes. They gleamed on her, but with no intelligence. He was drawing nearer to her.
“Yes, I do know you,” he said, fixed54, intent, but mad, drawing his face nearer hers. Her horror was too great. The powerful lunatic was coming too near to her.
A man approached, hastening.
“The garden isn’t open this morning,” he said.
The deranged man stopped and looked at him. The keeper went to the seat and picked up the tobacco pouch left lying there.
“Don’t leave your tobacco, sir,” he said, taking it to the gentleman in the linen coat.
“I was just asking this lady to stay to lunch,” the latter said politely. “She is a friend of mine.”
The woman turned and walked swiftly, blindly, between the sunny roses, out of the garden, past the house with the blank, dark windows, through the sea-pebbled courtyard to the street. Hastening and blind, she went forward without hesitating, not knowing whither. Directly she came to the house she went upstairs, took off her hat, and sat down on the bed. It was as if some membrane75 had been torn in two in her, so that she was not an entity76 that could think and feel. She sat staring across at the window, where an ivy77 spray waved slowly up and down in the sea wind. There was some of the uncanny luminousness78 of the sunlit sea in the air. She sat perfectly79 still, without any being. She only felt she might be sick, and it might be blood that was loose in her torn entrails. She sat perfectly still and passive.
After a time she heard the hard tread of her husband on the floor below, and, without herself changing, she registered his movement. She heard his rather disconsolate80 footsteps go out again, then his voice speaking, answering, growing cheery, and his solid tread drawing near.
He entered, ruddy, rather pleased, an air of complacency about his alert figure. She moved stiffly. He faltered81 in his approach.
“What’s the matter?” he asked a tinge82 of impatience in his voice. “Aren’t you feeling well?”
This was torture to her.
“Quite,” she replied.
His brown eyes became puzzled and angry.
“What is the matter?” he said.
“Nothing.”
He took a few strides, and stood obstinately83, looking out of the window.
“Have you run up against anybody?” he asked.
“Nobody who knows me,” she said.
His hands began to twitch84. It exasperated85 him, that she was no more sensible of him than if he did not exist. Turning on her at length, driven, he asked:
“Something has upset you hasn’t it?”
“No, why?” she said neutral. He did not exist for her, except as an irritant.
His anger rose, filling the veins86 in his throat.
“It seems like it,” he said, making an effort not to show his anger, because there seemed no reason for it. He went away downstairs. She sat still on the bed, and with the residue87 of feeling left to her, she disliked him because he tormented89 her. The time went by. She could smell the dinner being served, the smoke of her husband’s pipe from the garden. But she could not move. She had no being. There was a tinkle90 of the bell. She heard him come indoors. And then he mounted the stairs again. At every step her heart grew tight in her. He opened the door.
“Dinner is on the table,” he said.
It was difficult for her to endure his presence, for he would interfere91 with her. She could not recover her life. She rose stiffly and went down. She could neither eat nor talk during the meal. She sat absent, torn, without any being of her own. He tried to go on as if nothing were the matter. But at last he became silent with fury. As soon as it was possible, she went upstairs again, and locked the bedroom door. She must be alone. He went with his pipe into the garden. All his suppressed anger against her who held herself superior to him filled and blackened his heart. Though he had not know it, yet he had never really won her, she had never loved him. She had taken him on sufference. This had foiled him. He was only a labouring electrician in the mine, she was superior to him. He had always given way to her. But all the while, the injury and ignominy had been working in his soul because she did not hold him seriously. And now all his rage came up against her.
He turned and went indoors. The third time, she heard him mounting the stairs. Her heart stood still. He turned the catch and pushed the door — it was locked. He tried it again, harder. Her heart was standing still.
“Have you fastened the door?” he asked quietly, because of the landlady.
“Yes. Wait a minute.”
She rose and turned the lock, afraid he would burst it. She felt hatred92 towards him, because he did not leave her free. He entered, his pipe between his teeth, and she returned to her old position on the bed. He closed the door and stood with his back to it.
“What’s the matter?” he asked determinedly93.
She was sick with him. She could not look at him.
“Can’t you leave me alone?” she replied, averting94 her face from him.
He looked at her quickly, fully38, wincing95 with ignominy. Then he seemed to consider for a moment.
“There’s something up with you, isn’t there?” he asked definitely.
“Yes,” she said, “but that’s no reason why you should torment88 me.”
“I don’t torment you. What’s the matter?”
“Why should you know?” she cried, in hate and desperation.
Something snapped. He started and caught his pipe as it fell from his mouth. Then he pushed forward the bitten-off mouth-piece with his tongue, took it from off his lips, and looked at it. Then he put out his pipe, and brushed the ash from his waistcoat. After which he raised his head.
“I want to know,” he said. His face was greyish pale, and set uglily.
Neither looked at the other. She knew he was fired now. His heart was pounding heavily. She hated him, but she could not withstand him. Suddenly she lifted her head and turned on him.
“What right have you to know?” she asked.
He looked at her. She felt a pang96 of surprise for his tortured eyes and his fixed face. But her heart hardened swiftly. She had never loved him. She did not love him now.
But suddenly she lifted her head again swiftly, like a thing that tries to get free. She wanted to be free of it. It was not him so much, but it, something she had put on herself, that bound her so horribly. And having put the bond on herself, it was hardest to take it off. But now she hated everything and felt destructive. He stood with his back to the door, fixed, as if he would oppose her eternally, till she was extinguished. She looked at him. Her eyes were cold and hostile. His workman’s hands spread on the panels of the door behind him.
“You know I used to live here?” she began, in a hard voice, as if wilfully97 to wound him. He braced98 himself against her, and nodded.
“Well, I was companion to Miss Birch of Torril Hall — she and the rector were friends, and Archie was the rector’s son.” There was a pause. He listened without knowing what was happening. He stared at his wife. She was squatted99 in her white dress on the bed, carefully folding and re-folding the hem8 of her skirt. Her voice was full of hostility100.
“He was an officer — a sub-lieutenant — then he quarrelled with his colonel and came out of the army. At any rate”— she plucked at her skirt hem, her husband stood motionless, watching her movements which filled his veins with madness —“he was awfully101 fond of me, and I was of him — awfully.”
“How old was he?” asked the husband.
“When — when I first knew him? Or when he went away? —”
“When you first knew him.”
“When I first knew him, he was twenty-six — now — he’s thirty-one — nearly thirty-two — because I’m twenty-nine, and he is nearly three years older —”
She lifted her head and looked at the opposite wall.
“And what then?” said her husband.
She hardened herself, and said callously102:
“We were as good as engaged for nearly a year, though nobody knew — at least — they talked — but — it wasn’t open. Then he went away —”
“He chucked you?” said the husband brutally103, wanting to hurt her into contact with himself. Her heart rose wildly with rage. Then “Yes”, she said, to anger him. He shifted from one foot to the other, giving a “Ph!” of rage. There was silence for a time.
“Then,” she resumed, her pain giving a mocking note to her words, “he suddenly went out to fight in Africa, and almost the very day I first met you, I heard from Miss Birch he’d got sunstroke — and two months after, that he was dead —”
“That was before you took on with me?” said the husband.
There was no answer. Neither spoke104 for a time. He had not understood. His eyes were contracted uglily.
“So you’ve been looking at your old courting places!” he said. “That was what you wanted to go out by yourself for this morning.”
Still she did not answer him anything. He went away from the door to the window. He stood with his hands behind him, his back to her. She looked at him. His hands seemed gross to her, the back of his head paltry105.
At length, almost against his will, he turned round, asking:
“How long were you carrying on with him?”
“What do you mean?” she replied coldly.
“I mean how long were you carrying on with him?”
She lifted her head, averting her face from him. She refused to answer. Then she said:
“I don’t know what you mean, by carrying on. I loved him from the first days I met him — two months after I went to stay with Miss Birch.”
“And do you reckon he loved you?” he jeered106.
“I know he did.”
“How do you know, if he’d have no more to do with you?”
There was a long silence of hate and suffering.
“And how far did it go between you?” he asked at length, in a frightened, stiff voice.
“I hate your not-straightforward questions,” she cried, beside herself with his baiting. “We loved each other, and we WERE lovers — we were. I don’t care what YOU think: what have you got to do with it? We were lovers before ever I knew you —”
“Lovers — lovers,” he said, white with fury. “You mean you had your fling with an army man, and then came to me to marry you when you’d done —”
She sat swallowing her bitterness. There was a long pause.
“Do you mean to say you used to go — the whole hogger107?” he asked, still incredulous.
“Why, what else do you think I mean?” she cried brutally.
He shrank, and became white, impersonal108. There was a long, paralysed silence. He seemed to have gone small.
“You never thought to tell me all this before I married you,” he said, with bitter irony109, at last.
“You never asked me,” she replied.
“I never thought there was any need.”
“Well, then, you SHOULD think.”
He stood with expressionless, almost childlike set face, revolving110 many thoughts, whilst his heart was mad with anguish.
Suddenly she added:
“And I saw him today,” she said. “He is not dead, he’s mad.”
Her husband looked at her, startled.
“Mad!’ he said involuntarily.
“A lunatic,” she said. It almost cost her her reason to utter the word. There was a pause.
“Did he know you?” asked the husband in a small voice.
“No,” she said.
He stood and looked at her. At last he had learned the width of the breach111 between them. She still squatted on the bed. He could not go near her. It would be violation112 to each of them to be brought into contact with the other. The thing must work itself out. They were both shocked so much, they were impersonal, and no longer hated each other. After some minutes he left her and went out.
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收听单词发音
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1
owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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grudgingly
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11
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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solicitously
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| adv.热心地，热切地 | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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phlegmatically
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tablecloth
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| n.桌布，台布 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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irresolutely
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crunching
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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26
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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27
coaxingly
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| adv. 以巧言诱哄，以甘言哄骗 | |
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coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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29
wilfulness
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| 任性；倔强 | |
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30
sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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32
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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33
jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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34
yew
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| n.紫杉属树木 | |
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35
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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36
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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37
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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39
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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40
scentless
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| adj.无气味的，遗臭已消失的 | |
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41
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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42
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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43
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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44
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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45
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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46
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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47
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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48
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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49
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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51
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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52
blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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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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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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deranged
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| adj.疯狂的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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economize
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| v.节约，节省 | |
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lawsuits
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| n.诉讼( lawsuit的名词复数 ) | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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inaccurately
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| 不精密地，不准确地 | |
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raggedly
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| 破烂地，粗糙地 | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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74
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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membrane
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| n.薄膜，膜皮，羊皮纸 | |
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entity
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| n.实体，独立存在体，实际存在物 | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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78
luminousness
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| 透光率 | |
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79
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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80
disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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81
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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82
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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83
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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84
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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85
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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86
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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87
residue
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| n.残余，剩余，残渣 | |
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88
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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89
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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90
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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91
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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92
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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93
determinedly
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| adv.决意地；坚决地，坚定地 | |
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94
averting
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| 防止，避免( avert的现在分词 )； 转移 | |
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wincing
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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96
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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97
wilfully
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| adv.任性固执地；蓄意地 | |
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98
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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99
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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100
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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101
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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102
callously
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103
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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104
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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105
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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106
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
hogger
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| n.木材切碎机，火车司机；钻工 | |
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108
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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109
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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110
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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111
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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112
violation
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| n.违反(行为)，违背(行为)，侵犯 | |
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