Francesca’s conviction that things had gone wrong between Comus and Elaine de Frey grew in strength as the day wore on. She lunched at a friend’s house, but it was not a quarter where special social information of any importance was likely to come early to hand. Instead of the news she was hankering for, she had to listen to trivial gossip and speculation6 on the flirtations and “cases” and “affairs” of a string of acquaintances whose matrimonial projects interested her about as much as the nesting arrangements of the wildfowl in St. James’s Park.
“Of course,” said her hostess, with the duly impressive emphasis of a privileged chronicler, “we’ve always regarded Claire as the marrying one of the family, so when Emily came to us and said, ‘I’ve got some news for you,’ we all said, ‘Claire’s engaged!’ ‘Oh, no,’ said Emily, ‘it’s not Claire this time, it’s me.’ So then we had to guess who the lucky man was. ‘It can’t be Captain Parminter,’ we all said, ‘because he’s always been sweet on Joan.’ And then Emily said —”
The recording8 voice reeled off the catalogue of inane9 remarks with a comfortable purring complacency that held out no hope of an early abandoning of the topic. Francesca sat and wondered why the innocent acceptance of a cutlet and a glass of indifferent claret should lay one open to such unsparing punishment.
A stroll homeward through the Park after lunch brought no further enlightenment on the subject that was uppermost in her mind; what was worse, it brought her, without possibility of escape, within hailing distance of Merla Blathington, who fastened on to her with the enthusiasm of a lonely tsetse fly encountering an outpost of civilisation10.
“Just think,” she buzzed inconsequently, “my sister in Cambridgeshire has hatched out thirty-three White Orpington chickens in her incubator!”
“What eggs did she put in it?” asked Francesca.
“Oh, some very special strain of White Orpington.”
“Then I don’t see anything remarkable11 in the result. If she had put in crocodile’s eggs and hatched out White Orpingtons, there might have been something to write to Country Life about.”
“What funny fascinating things these little green park-chairs are,” said Merla, starting off on a fresh topic; “they always look so quaint7 and knowing when they’re stuck away in pairs by themselves under the trees, as if they were having a heart-to-heart talk or discussing a piece of very private scandal. If they could only speak, what tragedies and comedies they could tell us of, what flirtations and proposals.”
“Let us be devoutly13 thankful that they can’t,” said Francesca, with a shuddering14 recollection of the luncheon-table conversation.
“Of course, it would make one very careful what one said before them — or above them rather,” Merla rattled16 on, and then, to Francesca’s infinite relief, she espied17 another acquaintance sitting in unprotected solitude18, who promised to supply a more durable19 audience than her present rapidly moving companion. Francesca was free to return to her drawing-room in Blue Street to await with such patience as she could command the coming of some visitor who might be able to throw light on the subject that was puzzling and disquieting20 her. The arrival of George St. Michael boded21 bad news, but at any rate news, and she gave him an almost cordial welcome.
“Well, you see I wasn’t far wrong about Miss de Frey and Courtenay Youghal, was I?” he chirruped, almost before he had seated himself. Francesca was to be spared any further spinning-out of her period of uncertainty22. “Yes, it’s officially given out,” he went on, “and it’s to appear in the Morning Post tomorrow. I heard it from Colonel Deel this morning, and he had it direct from Youghal himself. Yes, please, one lump; I’m not fashionable, you see.” He had made the same remark about the sugar in his tea with unfailing regularity23 for at least thirty years. Fashions in sugar are apparently24 stationary25. “They say,” he continued, hurriedly, “that he proposed to her on the Terrace of the House, and a division bell rang, and he had to hurry off before she had time to give her answer, and when he got back she simply said, ‘the Ayes have it.’” St. Michael paused in his narrative26 to give an appreciative27 giggle28.
“Just the sort of inanity29 that would go the rounds,” remarked Francesca, with the satisfaction of knowing that she was making the criticism direct to the author and begetter30 of the inanity in question. Now that the blow had fallen and she knew the full extent of its weight, her feeling towards the bringer of bad news, who sat complacently31 nibbling32 at her tea-cakes and scattering33 crumbs34 of tiresome35 small-talk at her feet, was one of wholehearted dislike. She could sympathise with, or at any rate understand, the tendency of oriental despots to inflict36 death or ignominious37 chastisement38 on messengers bearing tidings of misfortune and defeat, and St. Michael, she perfectly39 well knew, was thoroughly40 aware of the fact that her hopes and wishes had been centred on the possibility of having Elaine for a daughter-inlaw; every purring remark that his mean little soul prompted him to contribute to the conversation had an easily recognizable undercurrent of malice41. Fortunately for her powers of polite endurance, which had been put to such searching and repeated tests that day, St. Michael had planned out for himself a busy little time-table of afternoon visits, at each of which his self-appointed task of forestalling42 and embellishing43 the newspaper announcements of the Youghal-de Frey engagement would be hurriedly but thoroughly performed.
“They’ll be quite one of the best-looking and most interesting couples of the Season, won’t they?” he cried, by way of farewell. The door closed and Francesca Bassington sat alone in her drawing-room.
Before she could give way to the bitter luxury of reflection on the downfall of her hopes, it was prudent44 to take precautionary measures against unwelcome intrusion. Summoning the maid who had just speeded the departing St. Michael, she gave the order: “I am not at home this afternoon to Lady Caroline Benaresq.” On second thoughts she extended the taboo45 to all possible callers, and sent a telephone message to catch Comus at his club, asking him to come and see her as soon as he could manage before it was time to dress for dinner. Then she sat down to think, and her thinking was beyond the relief of tears.
She had built herself a castle of hopes, and it had not been a castle in Spain, but a structure well on the probable side of the Pyrenees. There had been a solid foundation on which to build. Miss de Frey’s fortune was an assured and unhampered one, her liking46 for Comus had been an obvious fact; his courtship of her a serious reality. The young people had been much together in public, and their names had naturally been coupled in the match-making gossip of the day. The only serious shadow cast over the scene had been the persistent47 presence, in foreground or background, of Courtenay Youghal. And now the shadow suddenly stood forth48 as the reality, and the castle of hopes was a ruin, a hideous49 mortification50 of dust and debris51, with the skeleton outlines of its chambers53 still standing54 to make mockery of its discomfited55 architect. The daily anxiety about Comus and his extravagant56 ways and intractable disposition57 had been gradually lulled58 by the prospect59 of his making an advantageous60 marriage, which would have transformed him from a ne’er-do-well and adventurer into a wealthy idler. He might even have been moulded, by the resourceful influence of an ambitious wife, into a man with some definite purpose in life. The prospect had vanished with cruel suddenness, and the anxieties were crowding back again, more insistent61 than ever. The boy had had his one good chance in the matrimonial market and missed it; if he were to transfer his attentions to some other well-dowered girl he would be marked down at once as a fortune-hunter, and that would constitute a heavy handicap to the most plausible62 of wooers. His liking for Elaine had evidently been genuine in its way, though perhaps it would have been rash to read any deeper sentiment into it, but even with the spur of his own inclination63 to assist him he had failed to win the prize that had seemed so temptingly within his reach. And in the dashing of his prospects64, Francesca saw the threatening of her own. The old anxiety as to her precarious65 tenure66 of her present quarters put on again all its familiar terrors. One day, she foresaw, in the horribly near future, George St. Michael would come pattering up her stairs with the breathless intelligence that Emmeline Chetrof was going to marry somebody or other in the Guards or the Record Office as the case might be, and then there would be an uprooting67 of her life from its home and haven68 in Blue Street and a wandering forth to some cheap unhappy far-off dwelling69, where the stately Van der Meulen and its companion host of beautiful and desirable things would be stuffed and stowed away in soulless surroundings, like courtly emigres fallen on evil days. It was unthinkable, but the trouble was that it had to be thought about. And if Comus had played his cards well and transformed himself from an encumbrance70 into a son with wealth at his command, the tragedy which she saw looming71 in front of her might have been avoided or at the worst whittled72 down to easily bearable proportions. With money behind one, the problem of where to live approaches more nearly to the simple question of where do you wish to live, and a rich daughter-inlaw would have surely seen to it that she did not have to leave her square mile of Mecca and go out into the wilderness73 of bricks and mortar74. If the house in Blue Street could not have been compounded for there were other desirable residences which would have been capable of consoling Francesca for her lost Eden. And now the detested75 Courtenay Youghal, with his mocking eyes and air of youthful cynicism, had stepped in and overthrown76 those golden hopes and plans whose non-fulfilment would make such a world of change in her future. Assuredly she had reason to feel bitter against that young man, and she was not disposed to take a very lenient77 view of Comus’s own mismanagement of the affair; her greeting when he at last arrived, was not couched in a sympathetic strain.
“So you have lost your chance with the heiress,” she remarked abruptly78.
“Yes,” said Comus, coolly; “Courtenay Youghal has added her to his other successes.”
“And you have added her to your other failures,” pursued Francesca, relentlessly79; her temper had been tried that day beyond ordinary limits.
“I thought you seemed getting along so well with her,” she continued, as Comus remained uncommunicative.
“We hit it off rather well together,” said Comus, and added with deliberate bluntness, “I suppose she got rather sick at my borrowing money from her. She thought it was all I was after.”
“You borrowed money from her!” said Francesca; “you were fool enough to borrow money from a girl who was favourably80 disposed towards you, and with Courtenay Youghal in the background waiting to step in and oust81 you!”
Francesca’s voice trembled with misery82 and rage. This great stroke of good luck that had seemed about to fall into their laps had been thrust aside by an act or series of acts of wanton paltry83 folly84. The good ship had been lost for the sake of the traditional ha’porth of tar12. Comus had paid some pressing tailor’s or tobacconist’s bill with a loan unwillingly85 put at his disposal by the girl he was courting, and had flung away his chances of securing a wealthy and in every way desirable bride. Elaine de Frey and her fortune might have been the making of Comus, but he had hurried in as usual to effect his own undoing86. Calmness did not in this case come with reflection; the more Francesca thought about the matter, the more exasperated87 she grew. Comus threw himself down in a low chair and watched her without a trace of embarrassment88 or concern at her mortification. He had come to her feeling rather sorry for himself, and bitterly conscious of his defeat, and she had met him with a taunt89 and without the least hint of sympathy; he determined90 that she should be tantalised with the knowledge of how small and stupid a thing had stood between the realisation and ruin of her hopes for him.
“And to think she should be captured by Courtenay Youghal,” said Francesca, bitterly; “I’ve always deplored91 your intimacy92 with that young man.”
“It’s hardly my intimacy with him that’s made Elaine accept him,” said Comus.
Francesca realised the futility93 of further upbraiding94. Through the tears of vexation that stood in her eyes, she looked across at the handsome boy who sat opposite her, mocking at his own misfortune, perversely95 indifferent to his folly, seemingly almost indifferent to its consequences.
“Comus,” she said quietly and wearily, “you are an exact reversal of the legend of Pandora’s Box. You have all the charm and advantages that a boy could want to help him on in the world, and behind it all there is the fatal damning gift of utter hopelessness.”
“I think,” said Comus, “that is the best description that anyone has ever given of me.”
For the moment there was a flush of sympathy and something like outspoken96 affection between mother and son. They seemed very much alone in the world just now, and in the general overturn of hopes and plans, there flickered97 a chance that each might stretch out a hand to the other, and summon back to their lives an old dead love that was the best and strongest feeling either of them had known. But the sting of disappointment was too keen, and the flood of resentment99 mounted too high on either side to allow the chance more than a moment in which to flicker98 away into nothingness. The old fatal topic of estrangement100 came to the fore15, the question of immediate101 ways and means, and mother and son faced themselves again as antagonists102 on a well-disputed field.
“What is done is done,” said Francesca, with a movement of tragic103 impatience104 that belied105 the philosophy of her words; “there is nothing to be gained by crying over spilt milk. There is the present and the future to be thought about, though. One can’t go on indefinitely as a tenant-for-life in a fools’ paradise.” Then she pulled herself together and proceeded to deliver an ultimatum106 which the force of circumstances no longer permitted her to hold in reserve.
“It’s not much use talking to you about money, as I know from long experience, but I can only tell you this, that in the middle of the Season I’m already obliged to be thinking of leaving Town. And you, I’m afraid, will have to be thinking of leaving England at equally short notice. Henry told me the other day that he can get you something out in West Africa. You’ve had your chance of doing something better for yourself from the financial point of view, and you’ve thrown it away for the sake of borrowing a little ready money for your luxuries, so now you must take what you can get. The pay won’t be very good at first, but living is not dear out there.”
“West Africa,” said Comus, reflectively; “it’s a sort of modern substitute for the old-fashioned oubliette, a convenient depository for tiresome people. Dear Uncle Henry may talk lugubriously107 about the burden of Empire, but he evidently recognises its uses as a refuse consumer.”
“My dear Comus, you are talking of the West Africa of yesterday. While you have been wasting your time at school, and worse than wasting your time in the West End, other people have been grappling with the study of tropical diseases, and the West African coast country is being rapidly transformed from a lethal108 chamber52 into a sanatorium.”
Comus laughed mockingly.
“What a beautiful bit of persuasive109 prose; it reminds one of the Psalms110 and even more of a company prospectus111. If you were honest you’d confess that you lifted it straight out of a rubber or railway promotion112 scheme. Seriously, mother, if I must grub about for a living, why can’t I do it in England? I could go into a brewery113 for instance.”
Francesca shook her head decisively; she could foresee the sort of steady work Comus was likely to accomplish, with the lodestone of Town and the minor114 attractions of race-meetings and similar festivities always beckoning115 to him from a conveniently attainable116 distance, but apart from that aspect of the case there was a financial obstacle in the way of his obtaining any employment at home.
“Breweries and all those sort of things necessitate117 money to start with; one has to pay premiums118 or invest capital in the undertaking119, and so forth. And as we have no money available, and can scarcely pay our debts as it is, it’s no use thinking about it.”
“Can’t we sell something?” asked Comus.
He made no actual suggestion as to what should be sacrificed, but he was looking straight at the Van der Meulen.
For a moment Francesca felt a stifling120 sensation of weakness, as though her heart was going to stop beating. Then she sat forward in her chair and spoke with energy, almost fierceness.
“When I am dead my things can be sold and dispersed121. As long as I am alive I prefer to keep them by me.”
In her holy place, with all her treasured possessions around her, this dreadful suggestion had been made. Some of her cherished household gods, souvenirs and keepsakes from past days, would, perhaps, not have fetched a very considerable sum in the auction-room, others had a distinct value of their own, but to her they were all precious. And the Van der Meulen, at which Comus had looked with impious appraising122 eyes, was the most sacred of them all. When Francesca had been away from her Town residence or had been confined to her bedroom through illness, the great picture with its stately solemn representation of a long-ago battle-scene, painted to flatter the flattery-loving soul of a warrior-king who was dignified123 even in his campaigns — this was the first thing she visited on her return to Town or convalescence124. If an alarm of fire had been raised it would have been the first thing for whose safety she would have troubled. And Comus had almost suggested that it should be parted with, as one sold railway shares and other soulless things.
Scolding, she had long ago realised, was a useless waste of time and energy where Comus was concerned, but this evening she unloosed her tongue for the mere3 relief that it gave to her surcharged feelings. He sat listening without comment, though she purposely let fall remarks that she hoped might sting him into self-defence or protest. It was an unsparing indictment125, the more damaging in that it was so irrefutably true, the more tragic in that it came from perhaps the one person in the world whose opinion he had ever cared for. And he sat through it as silent and seemingly unmoved as though she had been rehearsing a speech for some drawing-room comedy. When she had had her say his method of retort was not the soft answer that turneth away wrath126 but the inconsequent one that shelves it.
“Let’s go and dress for dinner.”
The meal, like so many that Francesca and Comus had eaten in each other’s company of late, was a silent one. Now that the full bearings of the disaster had been discussed in all its aspects there was nothing more to be said. Any attempt at ignoring the situation, and passing on to less controversial topics would have been a mockery and pretence127 which neither of them would have troubled to sustain. So the meal went forward with its dragged-out dreary128 intimacy of two people who were separated by a gulf129 of bitterness, and whose hearts were hard with resentment against one another.
Francesca felt a sense of relief when she was able to give the maid the order to serve her coffee upstairs. Comus had a sullen130 scowl131 on his face, but he looked up as she rose to leave the room, and gave his half-mocking little laugh.
“You needn’t look so tragic,” he said, “You’re going to have your own way. I’ll go out to that West African hole.”
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1
complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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inane
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| adj.空虚的，愚蠢的，空洞的 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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14
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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espied
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| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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durable
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| adj.持久的，耐久的 | |
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disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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boded
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| v.预示，预告，预言( bode的过去式和过去分词 )；等待，停留( bide的过去分词 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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inanity
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| n.无意义，无聊 | |
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begetter
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| n.生产者，父 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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nibbling
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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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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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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ignominious
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| adj.可鄙的，不光彩的，耻辱的 | |
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chastisement
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| n.惩罚 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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42
forestalling
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| v.先发制人，预先阻止( forestall的现在分词 ) | |
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embellishing
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| v.美化( embellish的现在分词 )；装饰；修饰；润色 | |
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44
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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taboo
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| n.禁忌，禁止接近，禁止使用；adj.禁忌的；v.禁忌，禁制，禁止 | |
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46
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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47
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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50
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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51
debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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52
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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54
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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55
discomfited
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| v.使为难( discomfit的过去式和过去分词)；使狼狈；使挫折；挫败 | |
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56
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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57
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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58
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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59
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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60
advantageous
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| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
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61
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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62
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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63
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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64
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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65
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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66
tenure
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| n.终身职位；任期；(土地)保有权，保有期 | |
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67
uprooting
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| n.倒根，挖除伐根v.把（某物）连根拔起( uproot的现在分词 )；根除；赶走；把…赶出家园 | |
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68
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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69
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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encumbrance
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| n.妨碍物，累赘 | |
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71
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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72
whittled
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| v.切，削（木头），使逐渐变小( whittle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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74
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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75
detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
overthrown
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| adj. 打翻的，推倒的，倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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lenient
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| adj.宽大的，仁慈的 | |
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78
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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81
oust
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| vt.剥夺，取代，驱逐 | |
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82
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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83
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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84
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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86
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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87
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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90
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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93
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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94
upbraiding
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| adj.& n.谴责（的）v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的现在分词 ) | |
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95
perversely
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| adv. 倔强地 | |
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96
outspoken
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| adj.直言无讳的，坦率的，坦白无隐的 | |
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97
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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99
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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100
estrangement
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| n.疏远，失和，不和 | |
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101
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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102
antagonists
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| 对立[对抗] 者，对手，敌手( antagonist的名词复数 )； 对抗肌； 对抗药 | |
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103
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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104
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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105
belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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106
ultimatum
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| n.最后通牒 | |
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107
lugubriously
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108
lethal
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| adj.致死的；毁灭性的 | |
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109
persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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110
psalms
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| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
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111
prospectus
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| n.计划书；说明书；慕股书 | |
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112
promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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113
brewery
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| n.啤酒厂 | |
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114
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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115
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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116
attainable
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| a.可达到的，可获得的 | |
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117
necessitate
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| v.使成为必要，需要 | |
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118
premiums
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| n.费用( premium的名词复数 )；保险费；额外费用；（商品定价、贷款利息等以外的）加价 | |
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119
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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120
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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121
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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122
appraising
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| v.估价( appraise的现在分词 )；估计；估量；评价 | |
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123
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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124
convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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125
indictment
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| n.起诉；诉状 | |
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126
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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127
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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128
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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129
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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130
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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131
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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