In 1829, however, both sides of the road were clear, and the master of the post route, a tall, stout5 man about sixty years of age, sitting one fine autumn morning at the highest part of the bridge, could take in at a glance the whole of what is called in his business a “ruban de queue.” The month of September was displaying its treasures; the atmosphere glowed above the grass and the pebbles6; no cloud dimmed the blue of the sky, the purity of which in all parts, even close to the horizon, showed the extreme rarefaction of the air. So Minoret–Levrault (for that was the post master’s name) was obliged to shade his eyes with one hand to keep them from being dazzled. With the air of a man who was tired of waiting, he looked first to the charming meadows which lay to the right of the road where the aftermath was springing up, then to the hill-slopes covered with copses which extend, on the left, from Nemours to Bouron. He could hear in the valley of the Loing, where the sounds on the road were echoed back from the hills, the trot7 of his own horses and the crack of his postilion’s whip.
None but a post master could feel impatient within sight of such meadows, filled with cattle worthy8 of Paul Potter and glowing beneath a Raffaelle sky, and beside a canal shaded with trees after Hobbema. Whoever knows Nemours knows that nature is there as beautiful as art, whose mission is to spiritualize it; there, the landscape has ideas and creates thought. But, on catching9 sight of Minoret–Levrault an artist would very likely have left the view to sketch10 the man, so original was his in his native commonness. Unite in a human being all the conditions of the brute11 and you have a Caliban, who is certainly a great thing. Wherever form rules, sentiment disappears. The post master, a living proof of that axiom, presented a physiognomy in which an observer could with difficulty trace, beneath the vivid carnation12 of its coarsely developed flesh, the semblance13 of a soul. His cap of blue cloth, with a small peak, and sides fluted14 like a melon, outlined a head of vast dimensions, showing that Gall’s science has not yet produced its chapter of exceptions. The gray and rather shiny hair which appeared below the cap showed that other causes than mental toil15 or grief had whitened it. Large ears stood out from the head, their edges scarred with the eruptions16 of his over-abundant blood, which seemed ready to gush17 at the least exertion18. His skin was crimson19 under an outside layer of brown, due to the habit of standing21 in the sun. The roving gray eyes, deep-sunken, and hidden by bushy black brows, were like those of the Kalmucks who entered France in 1815; if they ever sparkled it was only under the influence of a covetous22 thought. His broad pug nose was flattened23 at the base. Thick lips, in keeping with a repulsive24 double chin, the beard of which, rarely cleaned more than once a week, was encircled with a dirty silk handkerchief twisted to a cord; a short neck, rolling in fat, and heavy cheeks completed the characteristics of brute force which sculptors25 give to their caryatids. Minoret–Levrault was like those statues, with this difference, that whereas they supported an edifice26, he had more than he could well do to support himself. You will meet many such Atlases27 in the world. The man’s torso was a block; it was like that of a bull standing on his hind-legs. His vigorous arms ended in a pair of thick, hard hands, broad and strong and well able to handle whip, reins28, and pitchfork; hands which his postilions never attempted to trifle with. The enormous stomach of this giant rested on thighs29 which were as large as the body of an ordinary adult, and feet like those of an elephant. Anger was a rare thing with him, but it was terrible, apoplectic30, when it did burst forth31. Though violent and quite incapable32 of reflection, the man had never done anything that justified33 the sinister34 suggestions of his bodily presence. To all those who felt afraid of him his postilions would reply, “Oh! he’s not bad.”
The master of Nemours, to use the common abbreviation of the country, wore a velveteen shooting-jacket of bottle-green, trousers of green linen35 with great stripes, and an ample yellow waistcoat of goat’s skin, in the pocket of which might be discerned the round outline of a monstrous36 snuff-box. A snuff-box to a pug nose is a law without exception.
A son of the Revolution and a spectator of the Empire, Minoret–Levrault did not meddle37 with politics; as to his religious opinions, he had never set foot in a church except to be married; as to his private principles, he kept them within the civil code; all that the law did not forbid or could not prevent he considered right. He never read anything but the journal of the department of the Seine-et-Oise, and a few printed instructions relating to his business. He was considered a clever agriculturist; but his knowledge was only practical. In him the moral being did not belie38 the physical. He seldom spoke39, and before speaking he always took a pinch of snuff to give himself time, not to find ideas, but words. If he had been a talker you would have felt that he was out of keeping with himself. Reflecting that this elephant minus a trumpet40 and without a mind was called Minoret–Levrault, we are compelled to agree with Sterne as to the occult power of names, which sometimes ridicule41 and sometimes foretell42 characters.
In spite of his visible incapacity he had acquired during the last thirty-six years (the Revolution helping43 him) an income of thirty thousand francs, derived44 from farm lands, woods and meadows. If Minoret, being master of the coach-lines of Nemours and those of the Gatinais to Paris, still worked at his business, it was less from habit than for the sake of an only son, to whom he was anxious to give a fine career. This son, who was now (to use an expression of the peasantry) a “monsieur,” had just completed his legal studies and was about to take his degree as licentiate, preparatory to being called to the Bar. Monsieur and Madame Minoret–Levrault — for behind our colossus every one will perceive a woman without whom this signal good-fortune would have been impossible — left their son free to choose his own career; he might be a notary45 in Paris, king’s-attorney in some district, collector of customs no matter where, broker46, or post master, as he pleased. What fancy of his could they ever refuse him? to what position of life might he not aspire47 as the son of a man about whom the whole countryside, from Montargis to Essonne, was in the habit of saying, “Pere Minoret doesn’t even know how rich he is”?
This saying had obtained fresh force about four years before this history begins, when Minoret, after selling his inn, built stables and a splendid dwelling48, and removed the post-house from the Grand’Rue to the wharf49. The new establishment cost two hundred thousand francs, which the gossip of thirty miles in circumference50 more than doubled. The Nemours mail-coach service requires a large number of horses. It goes to Fontainebleau on the road to Paris, and from there diverges51 to Montargis and also to Montereau. The relays are long, and the sandy soil of the Montargis road calls for the mythical52 third horse, always paid for but never seen. A man of Minoret’s build, and Minoret’s wealth, at the head of such an establishment might well be called, without contradiction, the master of Nemours. Though he never thought of God or devil, being a practical materialist53, just as he was a practical agriculturist, a practical egoist, and a practical miser54, Minoret had enjoyed up to this time a life of unmixed happiness — if we can call pure materialism55 happiness. A physiologist56, observing the rolls of flesh which covered the last vertebrae and pressed upon the giant’s cerebellum, and, above all, hearing the shrill57, sharp voice which contrasted so absurdly with his huge body, would have understood why this ponderous58, coarse being adored his only son, and why he had so long expected him — a fact proved by the name, Desire, which was given to the child.
The mother, whom the boy fortunately resembled, rivaled the father in spoiling him. No child could long have resisted the effects of such idolatry. As soon as Desire knew the extent of his power he milked his mother’s coffer and dipped into his father’s purse, making each author of his being believe that he, or she, alone was petitioned. Desire, who played a part in Nemours far beyond that of a prince royal in his father’s capital, chose to gratify his fancies in Paris just as he had gratified them in his native town; he had therefore spent a yearly sum of not less than twelve thousand francs during the time of his legal studies. But for that money he had certainly acquired ideas that would never had come to him in Nemours; he had stripped off the provincial59 skin, learned the power of money and seen in the magistracy a means of advancement60 which he fancied. During the last year he had spent an extra sum of ten thousand francs in the company of artists, journalists, and their mistresses. A confidential61 and rather disquieting62 letter from his son, asking for his consent to a marriage, explains the watch which the post master was now keeping on the bridge; for Madame Minoret–Levrault, busy in preparing a sumptuous63 breakfast to celebrate the triumphal return of the licentiate, had sent her husband to the mail road, advising him to take a horse and ride out if he saw nothing of the diligence. The coach which was conveying the precious son usually arrived at five in the morning and it was now nine! What could be the meaning of such delay? Was the coach overturned? Could Desire be dead? Or was it nothing worse than a broken leg?
Three distinct volleys of cracking whips rent the air like a discharge of musketry; the red waistcoats of the postilions dawned in sight, ten horses neighed. The master pulled off his cap and waved it; he was seen. The best mounted postilion, who was returning with two gray carriage-horses, set spurs to his beast and came on in advance of the five diligence horses and the three other carriage-horses, and soon reached his master.
“Have you seen the ‘Ducler’?”
On the great mail routes names, often fantastic, are given to the different coaches; such, for instance, as the “Caillard,” the “Ducler” (the coach between Nemours and Paris), the “Grand Bureau.” Every new enterprise is called the “Competition.” In the days of the Lecompte company their coaches were called the “Countess.”—”‘Caillard’ could not overtake the ‘Countess’; but ‘Grand Bureau’ caught up with her finely,” you will hear the men say. If you see a postilion pressing his horses and refusing a glass of wine, question the conductor and he will tell you, snuffing the air while his eye gazes far into space, “The ‘Competition’ is ahead.”—“We can’t get in sight of her,” cries the postilion; “the vixen! she wouldn’t stop to let her passengers dine.”—“The question is, has she got any?” responds the conductor. “Give it to Polignac!” All lazy and bad horses are called Polignac. Such are the jokes and the basis of conversation between postilions and conductors on the roofs of the coaches. Each profession, each calling in France has its slang.
“Have you seen the ‘Ducler’?” asked Minoret.
“Monsieur Desire?” said the postilion, interrupting his master. “Hey! you must have heard us, didn’t our whips tell you? we felt you were somewhere along the road.”
Just then a woman dressed in her Sunday clothes — for the bells were pealing65 from the clock tower and calling the inhabitants to mass — a woman about thirty-six years of age came up to the post master.
“Well, cousin,” she said, “you wouldn’t believe me — Uncle is with Ursula in the Grand’Rue, and they are going to mass.”
In spite of the modern poetic66 canons as to local color, it is quite impossible to push realism so far as to repeat the horrible blasphemy67 mingled68 with oaths which this news, apparently69 so unexciting, brought from the huge mouth of Minoret–Levrault; his shrill voice grew sibilant, and his face took on the appearance of what people oddly enough call a sunstroke.
“Is that true?” he asked, after the first explosion of his wrath70 was over.
The postilions bowed to their master as they and their horses passed him, but he seemed to neither see nor hear them. Instead of waiting for his son, Minoret–Levrault hurried up to the Grand’Rue with his cousin.
“Didn’t I always tell you so?” she resumed. “When Doctor Minoret goes out of his head that demure71 little hypocrite will drag him into religion; whoever lays hold of the mind gets hold of the purse, and she’ll have our inheritance.”
“But, Madame Massin —” said the post master, dumbfounded.
“There now!” exclaimed Madame Massin, interrupting her cousin. “You are going to say, just as Massin does, that a little girl of fifteen can’t invent such plans and carry them out, or make an old man of eighty-three, who has never set foot in a church except to be married, change his opinions — now don’t tell me he has such a horror of priests that he wouldn’t even go with the girl to the parish church when she made her first communion. I’d like to know why, if Doctor Minoret hates priests, he has spent nearly every evening for the last fifteen years of his life with the Abbe Chaperon. The old hypocrite never fails to give Ursula twenty francs for wax tapers72 every time she takes the sacrament. Have you forgotten the gift Ursula made to the church in gratitude73 to the cure for preparing her for her first communion? She spent all her money on it, and her godfather returned it to her doubled. You men! you don’t pay attention to things. When I heard that, I said to myself, ‘Farewell baskets, the vintage is done!’ A rich uncle doesn’t behave that way to a little brat64 picked up in the streets without some good reason.”
“Pooh, cousin; I dare say the good man is only taking her to the door of the church,” replied the post master. “It is a fine day, and he is out for a walk.”
“I tell you he is holding a prayer-book, and looks sanctimonious74 — you’ll see him.”
“They hide their game pretty well,” said Minoret, “La Bougival told me there was never any talk of religion between the doctor and the abbe. Besides, the abbe is one of the most honest men on the face of the globe; he’d give the shirt off his back to a poor man; he is incapable of a base action, and to cheat a family out of their inheritance is —”
“Theft,” said Madame Massin.
“Worse!” cried Minoret–Levrault, exasperated75 by the tongue of his gossiping neighbour.
“Of course I know,” said Madame Massin, “that the Abbe Chaperon is an honest man; but he is capable of anything for the sake of his poor. He must have mined and undermined uncle, and the old man has just tumbled into piety76. We did nothing, and here he is perverted77! A man who never believed in anything, and had principles of his own! Well! we’re done for. My husband is absolutely beside himself.”
Madame Massin, whose sentences were so many arrows stinging her fat cousin, made him walk as fast as herself, in spite of his obesity78 and to the great astonishment79 of the church-goers, who were on their way to mass. She was determined80 to overtake this uncle and show him to the post master.
Nemours is commanded on the Gatinais side by a hill, at the foot of which runs the road to Montargis and the Loing. The church, on the stones of which time has cast a rich discolored mantle81 (it was rebuilt in the fourteenth century by the Guises82, for whom Nemours was raised to a peerage-duchy), stands at the end of the little town close to a great arch which frames it. For buildings, as for men, position does everything. Shaded by a few trees, and thrown into relief by a neatly83 kept square, this solitary84 church produces a really grandiose85 effect. As the post master of Nemours entered the open space, he beheld86 his uncle with the young girl called Ursula on his arm, both carrying prayer-books and just entering the church. The old man took off his hat in the porch, and his head, which was white as a hill-top covered with snow, shone among the shadows of the portal.
“Well, Minoret, what do you say to the conversion87 of your uncle?” cried the tax-collector of Nemours, named Cremiere.
“What do you expect me to say?” replied the post master, offering him a pinch of snuff.
“Well answered, Pere Levrault. You can’t say what you think, if it is true, as an illustrious author says it is, that a man must think his words before he speaks his thoughts,” cried a young man, standing near, who played the part of Mephistopheles in the little town.
This ill-conditioned youth, named Goupil, was head clerk to Monsieur Cremiere–Dionis, the Nemours notary. Notwithstanding a past conduct that was almost debauched, Dionis had taken Goupil into his office when a career in Paris — where the clerk had wasted all the money he inherited from his father, a well-to-do farmer, who educated him for a notary — was brought to a close by his absolute pauperism88. The mere89 sight of Goupil told an observer that he had made haste to enjoy life, and had paid dear for his enjoyments90. Though very short, his chest and shoulders were developed at twenty-seven years of age like those of a man of forty. Legs small and weak, and a broad face, with a cloudy complexion91 like the sky before a storm, surmounted92 by a bald forehead, brought out still further the oddity of his conformation. His face seemed as though it belonged to a hunchback whose hunch93 was inside of him. One singularity of that pale and sour visage confirmed the impression of an invisible gobbosity; the nose, crooked94 and out of shape like those of many deformed95 persons, turned from right to left of the face instead of dividing it down the middle. The mouth, contracted at the corners, like that of a Sardinian, was always on the qui vive of irony96. His hair, thin and reddish, fell straight, and showed the skull97 in many places. His hands, coarse and ill-joined at the wrists to arms that were far too long, were quick-fingered and seldom clean. Goupil wore boots only fit for the dust-heap, and raw silk stockings now of a russet black; his coat and trousers, all black, and threadbare and greasy98 with dirt, his pitiful waistcoat with half the button-moulds gone, an old silk handkerchief which served as a cravat99 — in short, all his clothing revealed the cynical100 poverty to which his passions had reduced him. This combination of disreputable signs was guarded by a pair of eyes with yellow circles round the pupils, like those of a goat, both lascivious101 and cowardly. No one in Nemours was more feared nor, in a way, more deferred102 to than Goupil. Strong in the claims made for him by his very ugliness, he had the odious103 style of wit peculiar104 to men who allow themselves all license105, and he used it to gratify the bitterness of his life-long envy. He wrote the satirical couplets sung during the carnival106, organized charivaris, and was himself a “little journal” of the gossip of the town. Dionis, who was clever and insincere, and for that reason timid, kept Goupil as much through fear as for his keen mind and thorough knowledge of all the interests of the town. But the master so distrusted his clerk that he himself kept the accounts, refused to let him live in his house, held him at arm’s length, and never confided107 any secret or delicate affair to his keeping. In return the clerk fawned108 upon the notary, hiding his resentment109 at this conduct, and watching Madame Dionis in the hope that he might get his revenge there. Gifted with a ready mind and quick comprehension he found work easy.
“You!” exclaimed the post master to the clerk, who stood rubbing his hands, “making game of our misfortunes already?”
As Goupil was known to have pandered110 to Dionis’ passions for the last five years, the post master treated him cavalierly, without suspecting the hoard111 of ill-feeling he was piling up in Goupil’s heart with every fresh insult. The clerk, convinced that money was more necessary to him than it was to others, and knowing himself superior in mind to the whole bourgeoisie of Nemours, was now counting on his intimacy112 with Minoret’s son Desire to obtain the means of buying one or the other of three town offices — that of clerk of the court, or the legal practice of one of the sheriffs, or that of Dionis himself. For this reason he put up with the affronts113 of the post master and the contempt of Madame Minoret–Levrault, and played a contemptible114 part towards Desire, consoling the fair victims whom that youth left behind him after each vacation — devouring115 the crumbs116 of the loaves he had kneaded.
“If I were the nephew of a rich old fellow, he never would have given God to ME for a co-heir,” retorted Goupil, with a hideous117 grin which exhibited his teeth — few, black, and menacing.
Just then Massin–Levrault, junior, the clerk of the court, joined his wife, bringing with him Madame Cremiere, the wife of the tax-collector of Nemours. This man, one of the hardest natures of the little town, had the physical characteristics of a Tartar: eyes small and round as sloes beneath a retreating brow, crimped hair, an oily skin, huge ears without any rim20, a mouth almost without lips, and a scanty118 beard. He spoke like a man who was losing his voice. To exhibit him thoroughly119 it is enough to say that he employed his wife and eldest120 daughter to serve his legal notices.
Madame Cremiere was a stout woman, with a fair complexion injured by red blotches121, always too tightly laced, intimate with Madame Dionis, and supposed to be educated because she read novels. Full of pretensions122 to wit and elegance123, she was awaiting her uncle’s money to “take a certain stand,” decorate her salon124, and receive the bourgeoisie. At present her husband denied her Carcel lamps, lithographs125, and all the other trifles the notary’s wife possessed126. She was excessively afraid of Goupil, who caught up and retailed127 her “slapsus-linquies” as she called them. One day Madame Dionis chanced to ask what “Eau” she thought best for the teeth.
“Try opium,” she replied.
Nearly all the collateral128 heirs of old Doctor Minoret were now assembled in the square; the importance of the event which brought them was so generally felt that even groups of peasants, armed with their scarlet129 umbrellas and dressed in those brilliant colors which make them so picturesque on Sundays and fete-days, stood by, with their eyes fixed130 on the frightened heirs. In all little towns which are midway between large villages and cities those who do not go to mass stand about in the square or market-place. Business is talked over. In Nemours the hour of church service was a weekly exchange, to which the owners of property scattered131 over a radius132 of some miles resorted.
“Well, how would you have prevented it?” said the post master to Goupil in reply to his remark.
“I should have made myself as important to him as the air he breathes. But from the very first you failed to get hold of him. The inheritance of a rich uncle should be watched as carefully as a pretty woman — for want of proper care they’ll both escape you. If Madame Dionis were here she could tell you how true that comparison is.”
“But Monsieur Bongrand has just told me there is nothing to worry about,” said Massin.
“Oh! there are plenty of ways of saying that!” cried Goupil, laughing. “I would like to have heard your sly justice of the peace say it. If there is nothing to be done, if he, being intimate with your uncle, knows that all is lost, the proper thing for him to say to you is, ‘Don’t be worried.’”
As Goupil spoke, a satirical smile overspread his face, and gave such meaning to his words that the other heirs began to feel that Massin had let Bongrand deceive him. The tax-collector, a fat little man, as insignificant133 as a tax-collector should be, and as much of a cipher134 as a clever woman could wish, hereupon annihilated135 his co-heir, Massin, with the words:—“Didn’t I tell you so?”
Tricky136 people always attribute trickiness137 to others. Massin therefore looked askance at Monsieur Bongrand, the justice of the peace, who was at that moment talking near the door of the church with the Marquis du Rouvre, a former client.
“If I were sure of it!” he said.
“You could neutralize138 the protection he is now giving to the Marquis du Rouvre, who is threatened with arrest. Don’t you see how Bongrand is sprinkling him with advice?” said Goupil, slipping an idea of retaliation139 into Massin’s mind. “But you had better go easy with your chief; he’s a clever old fellow; he might use his influence with your uncle and persuade him not to leave everything to the church.”
“Pooh! we sha’n’t die of it,” said Minoret–Levrault, opening his enormous snuff-box.
“You won’t live of it, either,” said Goupil, making the two women tremble. More quick-witted than their husbands, they saw the privations this loss of inheritance (so long counted on for many comforts) would be to them. “However,” added Goupil, “we’ll drown this little grief in floods of champagne140 in honor of Desire! — sha’n’t we, old fellow?” he cried, tapping the stomach of the giant, and inviting141 himself to the feast for fear he should be left out.
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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promenades
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| n.人行道( promenade的名词复数 )；散步场所；闲逛v.兜风( promenade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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carnation
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| n.康乃馨（一种花） | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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fluted
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| a.有凹槽的 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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eruptions
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| n.喷发，爆发( eruption的名词复数 ) | |
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gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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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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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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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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covetous
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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sculptors
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| 雕刻家，雕塑家( sculptor的名词复数 )； [天]玉夫座 | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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atlases
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| 地图集( atlas的名词复数 ) | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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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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apoplectic
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| adj.中风的；愤怒的；n.中风患者 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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34
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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35
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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36
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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37
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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38
belie
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| v.掩饰，证明为假 | |
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39
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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40
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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41
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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42
foretell
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| v.预言，预告，预示 | |
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43
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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44
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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45
notary
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| n.公证人，公证员 | |
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46
broker
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| n.中间人，经纪人；v.作为中间人来安排 | |
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47
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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48
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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49
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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50
circumference
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| n.圆周，周长，圆周线 | |
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51
diverges
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| 分开( diverge的第三人称单数 )； 偏离； 分歧； 分道扬镳 | |
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52
mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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53
materialist
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| n. 唯物主义者 | |
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54
miser
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| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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55
materialism
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| n.［哲］唯物主义，唯物论；物质至上 | |
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56
physiologist
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| n.生理学家 | |
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57
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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58
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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59
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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60
advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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61
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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62
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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63
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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64
brat
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| n.孩子；顽童 | |
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65
pealing
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的现在分词 ) | |
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66
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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67
blasphemy
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| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
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68
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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69
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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70
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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71
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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72
tapers
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| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
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73
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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74
sanctimonious
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| adj.假装神圣的，假装虔诚的，假装诚实的 | |
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75
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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76
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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77
perverted
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| adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 )；腐蚀；败坏；使堕落 | |
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78
obesity
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| n.肥胖，肥大 | |
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79
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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80
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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81
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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82
guises
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| n.外观，伪装( guise的名词复数 )v.外观，伪装( guise的第三人称单数 ) | |
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83
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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84
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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85
grandiose
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| adj.宏伟的，宏大的，堂皇的，铺张的 | |
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86
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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87
conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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88
pauperism
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| n.有被救济的资格，贫困 | |
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89
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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90
enjoyments
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| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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91
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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92
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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93
hunch
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| n.预感，直觉 | |
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94
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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95
deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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96
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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97
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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98
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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99
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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100
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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101
lascivious
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| adj.淫荡的，好色的 | |
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102
deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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103
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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104
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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105
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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106
carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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107
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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108
fawned
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| v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的过去式和过去分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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109
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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110
pandered
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| v.迎合（他人的低级趣味或淫欲）( pander的过去式和过去分词 )；纵容某人；迁就某事物 | |
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111
hoard
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| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
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112
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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113
affronts
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| n.（当众）侮辱，（故意）冒犯( affront的名词复数 )v.勇敢地面对( affront的第三人称单数 )；相遇 | |
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114
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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115
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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116
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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117
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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118
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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119
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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120
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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121
blotches
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| n.（皮肤上的）红斑，疹块( blotch的名词复数 )；大滴 [大片]（墨水或颜色的）污渍 | |
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122
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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123
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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124
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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125
lithographs
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| n.平版印刷品( lithograph的名词复数 ) | |
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126
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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127
retailed
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| vt.零售（retail的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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128
collateral
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| adj.平行的；旁系的；n.担保品 | |
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129
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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130
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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131
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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132
radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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133
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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134
cipher
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| n.零；无影响力的人；密码 | |
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135
annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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136
tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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137
trickiness
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| n.欺骗；狡猾；棘手；微妙 | |
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138
neutralize
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| v.使失效、抵消，使中和 | |
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139
retaliation
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| n.报复，反击 | |
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140
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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141
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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