“Stuff of that kind, Mr. Dillet! It’s a museum piece, that is.”
“Well, I suppose there are museums that’ll take anything.”
“I’ve seen one, not as good as that, years back,” said Mr. Chittenden thoughtfully. “But that’s not likely to come into the market: and I’m told they ’ave some fine ones of the period over the water. No: I’m only telling you the truth, Mr. Dillet, when I was to say that if you was to place an unlimited5 order with me for the very best that could be got – and you know I ’ave facilities for getting to know of such things, and a reputation to maintain – well, all I can say is, I should lead you straight up to that one and say, ‘I can’t do no better for you than that, sir.’”
“Hear, hear!” said Mr. Dillet, applauding ironically with the end of his stick on the floor of the shop. “How much are you sticking the innocent American buyer for it, eh?”
“Oh, I shan’t be over hard on the buyer, American or otherwise. You see, it stands this way, Mr. Dillet – if I knew just a bit more about the pedigree —”
“Or just a bit less,” Mr. Dillet put in.
“Ha, ha! you will have your joke, sir. No, but as I was saying, if I knew just a little more than what I do about the piece – though anyone can see for themselves it’s a genuine thing, every last corner of it, and there’s not been one of my men allowed to so much as touch it since it came into the shop – there’d be another figure in the price I’m asking.”
“And what’s that: five and twenty?”
“Multiply that by three and you’ve got it, sir. Seventy-five’s my price.”
“And fifty’s mine,” said Mr. Dillet. The point of agreement was, of course, somewhere between the two, it does not matter exactly where – I think sixty guineas. But half an hour later the object was being packed, and within an hour Mr. Dillet had called for it in his car and driven away. Mr. Chittenden, holding the cheque in his hand, saw him off from the door with smiles, and returned, still smiling, into the parlour where his wife was making the tea. He stopped at the door.
“It’s gone,” he said. “Thank God for that!” said Mrs. Chittenden, putting down the teapot. “Mr. Dillet, was it?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Well, I’d sooner it was him than another.” “Oh, I don’t know; he ain’t a bad feller, my dear.”
“Maybe not, but in my opinion he’d be none the worse for a bit of a shake up.”
“Well, if that’s your opinion, it’s my opinion he’s put himself into the way of getting one. Anyhow, we shan’t have no more of it, and that’s something to be thankful for.” And so Mr. and Mrs. Chittenden sat down to tea.
And what of Mr. Dillet and his new acquisition? What it was, the title of this story will have told you. What it was like, I shall have to indicate as well as I can.
There was only just enough room for it in the car, and Mr. Dillet had to sit with the driver: he had also to go slow, for though the rooms of the Dolls’ House had all been stuffed carefully with soft cottonwool, jolting6 was to be avoided, in view of the immense number of small objects which thronged7 them; and the ten-mile drive was an anxious time for him, in spite of all the precautions he insisted upon. At last his front door was reached, and Collins, the butler, came out.
“Look here, Collins, you must help me with this thing – it’s a delicate job. We must get it out upright, see? It’s full of little things that mustn’t be displaced more than we can help. Let’s see, where shall we have it? (After a pause for consideration.) Really, I think I shall have to put it in my own room, to begin with at any rate. On the big table – that’s it.”
It was conveyed – with much talking – to Mr. Dillet’s spacious8 room on the first floor, looking out on the drive. The sheeting was unwound from it, and the front thrown open, and for the next hour or two Mr.. Dillet was fully4 occupied in extracting the padding and setting in order the contents of the rooms.
When this thoroughly9 congenial task was finished, I must say that it would have been difficult to find a more perfect and attractive specimen of a Dolls’ House in Strawberry Hill Gothic than that which now stood on Mr. Dillet’s large kneehole table, lighted up by the evening sun which came slanting10 through three tall slash-windows.
It was quite six feet long, including the Chapel11 or Oratory12 which flanked the front on the left as you faced it, and the stable on the right. The main block of the house was, as I have said, in the Gothic manner: that is to say, the windows had pointed arches and were surmounted13 by what are called ogival hoods14, with crockets and finials such as we see on the canopies15 of tombs built into church walls. At the angles were absurd turrets17 covered with arched panels. The Chapel had pinnacles18 and buttresses19, and a bell in the turret16 and coloured glass in the windows. When the front of the house was open you saw four large rooms, bedroom, dining-room, drawing-room and kitchen, each with its appropriate furniture in a very complete state.
The stable on the right was in two storeys, with its proper complement20 of horses, coaches and grooms21, and with its clock and Gothic cupola for the clock bell.
Pages, of course, might be written on the outfit22 of the mansion23 – how many frying-pans, how many gilt24 chairs, what pictures, carpets, chandeliers, four-posters, table linen25, glass, crockery and plate it possessed26; but all this must be left to the imagination. I will only say that the base or plinth on which the house stood (for it was fitted with one of some depth which allowed of a flight of steps to the front door and a terrace, partly balustraded) contained a shallow drawer or drawers in which were neatly27 stored sets of embroidered28 curtains, changes of raiment for the inmates29, and, in short, all the materials for an infinite series of variations and refittings of the most absorbing and delightful31 kind.
“Quintessence of Horace Walpole, that’s what it is: he must have had something to do with the making of it.” Such was Mr. Dillet’s murmured reflection as he knelt before it in a reverent32 ecstasy33. “Simply wonderful! this is my day and no mistake. Five hundred pounds coming in this morning for that cabinet which I never cared about, and now this tumbling into my hands for a tenth, at the very most, of what it would fetch in town. Well, well! It almost makes one afraid something’ll happen to counter it. Let’s have a look at the population, anyhow.”
Accordingly, he set them before him in a row. Again, here is an opportunity, which some would snatch at, of making an inventory34 of costume: I am incapable35 of it.
There were a gentleman and lady, in blue satin and brocade respectively. There were two children, a boy and a girl. There was a cook, a nurse, a footman, and there were the stable servants, two postilions, a coachman, two grooms.
“Anyone else? Yes, possibly.”
The curtains of the four-poster in the bedroom were closely drawn36 round all four sides of it, and he put his finger in between them and felt in the bed. He drew the finger back hastily, for it almost seemed to him as if something had – not stirred, perhaps, but yielded – in an odd live way as he pressed it. Then he put back the curtains, which ran on rods in the proper manner, and extracted from the bed a white-haired old gentleman in a long linen night-dress and cap, and laid him down by the rest. The tale was complete.
Dinner-time was now near, so Mr. Dillet spent but five minutes in putting the lady and children into the drawing-room, the gentleman into the dining-room, the servants into the kitchen and stables, and the old man back into his bed. He retired37 into his dressing38-room next door, and we see and hear no more of him until something like eleven o’clock at night.
His whim39 was to sleep surrounded by some of the gems40 of his collection.. The big room in which we have seen him contained his bed: bath, wardrobe, and all the appliances of dressing were in a commodious41 room adjoining: but his four-poster, which itself was a valued treasure, stood in the large room where he sometimes wrote, and often sat, and even received visitors. To-night he repaired to it in a highly complacent42 frame of mind.
There was no striking clock within earshot – none on the staircase, none in the stable, none in the distant church tower. Yet it is indubitable that Mr. Dillet was started out of a very pleasant slumber43 by a bell tolling45 One.
He was so much startled that he did not merely lie breathless with wide-open eyes, but actually sat up in his bed.
He never asked himself, till the morning hours, how it was that, though there was no light at all in the room, the Dolls’ House on the kneehole table stood out with complete clearness. But it was so. The effect was that of a bright harvest moon shining full on the front of a big white stone mansion – a quarter of a mile away it might be, and yet every detail was photographically sharp. There were trees about it, too – trees rising behind the chapel and the house. He seemed to be conscious of the scent46 of a cool still September night. He thought he could hear an occasional stamp and clink from the stables, as of horses stirring. And with another shock he realized that, above the house, he was looking, not at the wall of his room with its pictures, but into the profound blue of a night sky.
There were lights, more than one, in the windows, and he quickly saw that this was no four-roomed house with a movable front, but one of many rooms and staircases – a real house, but seen as if through the wrong end of a telescope.
“You mean to show me something,” he muttered to himself, and he gazed earnestly on the lighted windows. They would in real life have been shuttered or curtained, no doubt, he thought; but, as it was, there was nothing to intercept47 his view of what was being transacted48 inside the rooms.
Two rooms were lighted – one on the ground floor to the right of the door, one upstairs, on the left – the first brightly enough, the other rather dimly. The lower room was the dining-room: a table was laid, but the meal was over, and only wine and glasses were left on the table. The man of the blue satin and the woman of the brocade were alone in the room, and they were talking very earnestly, seated close together at the table, their elbows on it: every now and again stopping to listen, as it seemed.. Once he rose, came to the window and opened it and put his head out and his hand to his ear. There was a lighted taper49 in a silver candlestick on a sideboard.. When the man left the window he seemed to leave the room also; and the lady, taper in hand, remained standing50 and listening. The expression on her face was that of one striving her utmost to keep down a fear that threatened to master her – and succeeding. It was a hateful face, too; broad, flat and sly. Now the man came back and she took some small thing from him and hurried out of the room. He, too, disappeared, but only for a moment or two. The front door slowly opened and he stepped out and stood on the top of the perron, looking this way and that; then turned towards the upper window that was lighted, and shook his fist.
It was time to look at that upper window. Through it was seen a four-post bed: a nurse or other servant in an arm-chair, evidently sound asleep; in the bed an old man lying: awake, and, one would say, anxious, from the way in which he shifted about and moved his fingers, beating tunes51 on the coverlet. Beyond the bed a door opened. Light was seen on the ceiling, and the lady came in: she set down her candle on a table, came to the fireside and roused the nurse. In her hand she had an old-fashioned wine bottle, ready uncorked. The nurse took it, poured some of the contents into a little silver saucepan, added some spice and sugar from casters on the table, and set it to warm on the fire. Meanwhile the old man in the bed beckoned52 feebly to the lady, who came to him, smiling, took his wrist as if to feel his pulse, and bit her lip as if in consternation53. He looked at her anxiously, and then pointed to the window, and spoke54. She nodded, and did as the man below had done; opened the casement55 and listened – perhaps rather ostentatiously: then drew in her head and shook it, looking at the old man, who seemed to sigh.
By this time the posset on the fire was steaming, and the nurse poured it into a small two-handled silver bowl and brought it to the bedside. The old man seemed disinclined for it and was waving it away, but the lady and the nurse together bent56 over him and evidently pressed it upon him. He must have yielded, for they supported him into a sitting position, and put it to his lips. He drank most of it, in several draughts57, and they laid him down. The lady left the room, smiling good night to him, and took the bowl, the bottle and the silver saucepan with her. The nurse returned to the chair, and there was an interval58 of complete quiet.
Suddenly the old man started up in his bed – and he must have uttered some cry, for the nurse started out of her chair and made but one step of it to the bedside. He was a sad and terrible sight – flushed in the face, almost to blackness, the eyes glaring whitely, both hands clutching at his heart, foam59 at his lips. For a moment the nurse left him, ran to the door, flung it wide open, and, one supposes, screamed aloud for help, then darted60 back to the bed and seemed to try feverishly61 to soothe62 him – to lay him down – anything. But as the lady, her husband, and several servants, rushed into the room with horrified63 faces, the old man collapsed64 under the nurse’s hands and lay back, and his features, contorted with agony and rage, relaxed slowly into calm.
A few moments later, lights showed out to the left of the house, and a coach with flambeaux drove up to the door. A white-wigged man in black got nimbly out and ran up the steps, carrying a small leather trunk-shaped box. He was met in the doorway65 by the man and his wife, she with her handkerchief clutched between her hands, he with a tragic66 face, but retaining his self-control. They led the new-comer into the dining-room, where he set his box of papers on the table, and, turning to them, listened with a face of consternation at what they had to tell. He nodded his head again and again, threw out his hands slightly, declined, it seemed, offers of refreshment67 and lodging68 for the night, and within a few minutes came slowly down the steps, entering the coach and driving off the way he had come. As the man in blue watched him from the top of the steps, a smile not pleasant to see stole slowly over his fat white face. Darkness fell over the whole scene as the lights of the coach disappeared.
But Mr. Dillet remained sitting up in the bed: he had rightly guessed that there would be a sequel. The house front glimmered69 out again before long. But now there was a difference. The lights were in other windows, one at the top of the house, the other illuminating70 the range of coloured windows of the chapel. How he saw through these is not quite obvious, but he did. The interior was as carefully furnished as the rest of the establishment, with its minute red cushions on the desks, its Gothic stall-canopies, and its western gallery and pinnacled71 organ with gold pipes. On the centre of the black and white pavement was a bier: four tall candles burned at the corners. On the bier was a coffin72 covered with a pall73 of black velvet74.
As he looked the folds of the pall stirred. It seemed to rise at one end: it slid downwards75: it fell away, exposing the black coffin with its silver handles and name-plate. One of the tall candlesticks swayed and toppled over. Ask no more, but turn, as Mr. Dillet hastily did, and look in at the lighted window at the top of the house, where a boy and girl lay in two truckle-beds, and a four-poster for the nurse rose above them. The nurse was not visible for the moment; but the father and mother were there, dressed now in mourning, but with very little sign of mourning in their demeanour. Indeed, they were laughing and talking with a good deal of animation76, sometimes to each other, and sometimes throwing a remark to one or other of the children, and again laughing at the answers. Then the father was seen to go on tiptoe out of the room, taking with him as he went a white garment that hung on a peg77 near the door. He shut the door after him. A minute or two later it was slowly opened again, and a muffled78 head poked79 round it. A bent form of sinister80 shape stepped across to the truckle-beds, and suddenly stopped, threw up its arms and revealed, of course, the father, laughing. The children were in agonies of terror, the boy with the bedclothes over his head, the girl throwing herself out of bed into her mother’s arms. Attempts at consolation81 followed – the parents took the children on their laps, patted them, picked up the white gown and showed there was no harm in it, and so forth82; and at last putting the children back into bed, left the room with encouraging waves of the hand. As they left it, the nurse came in, and soon the light died down.
Still Mr. Dillet watched immovable.
A new sort of light – not of lamp or candle – a pale ugly light, began to dawn around the door-case at the back of the room. The door was opening again. The seer does not like to dwell upon what he saw entering the room: he says it might be described as a frog – the size of a man – but it had scanty83 white hair about its head. It was busy about the truckle-beds, but not for long. The sound of cries – faint, as if coming out of a vast distance – but, even so, infinitely84 appalling85, reached the ear.
There were signs of a hideous86 commotion87 all over the house: lights moved along and up, and doors opened and shut, and running figures passed within the windows. The clock in the stable turret tolled88 one, and darkness fell again.
It was only dispelled89 once more, to show the house front. At the bottom of the steps dark figures were drawn up in two lines, holding flaming torches. More dark figures came down the steps, bearing, first one, then another small coffin. And the lines of torch-bearers with the coffins90 between them moved silently onward91 to the left.
The hours of night passed on – never so slowly, Mr. Dillet thought. Gradually he sank down from sitting to lying in his bed – but he did not close an eye: and early next morning he sent for the doctor.
The doctor found him in a disquieting92 state of nerves, and recommended sea-air. To a quiet place on the East Coast he accordingly repaired by easy stages in his car.
One of the first people he met on the sea front was Mr. Chittenden, who, it appeared, had likewise been advised to take his wife away for a bit of a change.
Mr. Chittenden looked somewhat askance upon him when they met: and not without cause.
“Well, I don’t wonder at you being a bit upset, Mr. Dillet. What? yes, well, I might say ’orrible upset, to be sure, seeing what me and my poor wife went through ourselves. But I put it to you, Mr. Dillet, one of two things: was I going to scrap93 a lovely piece like that on the one ’and, or was I going to tell customers: ‘I’m selling you a regular picture-palace-dramar in reel life of the olden time, billed to perform regular at one o’clock a..m.’? Why, what would you ‘ave said yourself? And next thing you know, two Justices of the Peace in the back parlour, and pore Mr. and Mrs. Chittenden off in a spring cart to the County Asylum94 and everyone in the street saying, ‘Ah, I thought it ’ud come to that. Look at the way the man drank!’ – and me next door, or next door but one, to a total abstainer95, as you know. Well, there was my position. What? Me ’ave it back in the shop? Well, what do you think? No, but I’ll tell you what I will do. You shall have your money back, bar the ten pound I paid for it, and you make what you can.”
Later in the day, in what is offensively called the “smoke-room” of the hotel, a murmured conversation between the two went on for some time.
“How much do you really know about that thing, and where it came from?”
“Honest, Mr. Dillet, I don’t know the ’ouse. Of course, it came out of the lumber44 room of a country ’ouse – that anyone could guess. But I’ll go as far as say this, that I believe it’s not a hundred miles from this place. Which direction and how far I’ve no notion. I’m only judging by guess-work. The man as I actually paid the cheque to ain’t one of my regular men, and I’ve lost sight of him; but I ’ave the idea that this part of the country was his beat, and that’s every word I can tell you. But now, Mr. Dillet, there’s one thing that rather physicks me. That old chap, — I suppose you saw him drive up to the door – I thought so: now, would he have been the medical man, do you take it? My wife would have it so, but I stuck to it that was the lawyer, because he had papers with him, and one he took out was folded up.”
“I agree,” said Mr. Dillet. “Thinking it over, I came to the conclusion that was the old man’s will, ready to be signed.”
“Just what I thought,” said Mr. Chittenden, “and I took it that will would have cut out the young people, eh? Well, well! It’s been a lesson to me, I know that. I shan’t buy no more dolls’ houses, nor waste no more money on the pictures – and as to this business of poisonin’ grandpa, well, if I know myself, I never ’ad much of a turn for that. Live and let live: that’s bin30 my motto throughout life, and I ain’t found it a bad one.”
Filled with these elevated sentiments, Mr. Chittenden retired to his lodgings96. Mr. Dillet next day repaired to the local Institute, where he hoped to find some clue to the riddle97 that absorbed him. He gazed in despair at a long file of the Canterbury and York Society’s publications of the Parish Registers of the District. No print resembling the house of his nightmare was among those that hung on the staircase and in the passages. Disconsolate98, he found himself at last in a derelict room, staring at a dusty model of a church in a dusty glass case: Model of St. Stephen’s Church, Coxham. Presented by J. Merewether, Esq., of Ilbridge House, 1877. The work of his ancestor James Merewether, d.. 1786. There was something in the fashion of it that reminded him dimly of his horror. He retraced99 his steps to a wall map he had noticed, and made out that Ilbridge House was in Coxham Parish. Coxham was, as it happened, one of the parishes of which he had retained the name when he glanced over the file of printed registers, and it was not long before he found in them the record of the burial of Roger Milford, aged100 76, on the 11th of September, 1757, and of Roger and Elizabeth Merewether, aged 9 and 7, on the 19th of the same month. It seemed worth while to follow up this clue, frail101 as it was; and in the afternoon he drove out to Coxham. The east end of the north aisle102 of the church is a Milford chapel, and on its north wall are tablets to the same persons; Roger, the elder, it seems, was distinguished103 by all the qualities which adorn104 “the Father, the Magistrate105 and the Man”: the memorial was erected106 by his attached daughter Elizabeth, “who did not long survive the loss of a parent ever solicitous107 for her welfare, and of two amiable108 children.” The last sentence was plainly an addition to the original inscription109.
A yet later slab110 told of James Merewether, husband of Elizabeth, “who in the dawn of life practised, not without success, those arts which, had he continued their exercise, might in the opinion of the most competent judges have earned for him the name of the British Vitruvius: but who, overwhelmed by the visitation which deprived him of an affectionate partner and a blooming offspring, passed his Prime and Age in a secluded111 yet elegant Retirement112: his grateful Nephew and Heir indulges a pious113 sorrow by this too brief recital114 of his excellences115.”
The children were more simply commemorated116. Both died on the night of the 12th of September.
Mr. Dillet felt sure that in Ilbridge House he had found the scene of his drama. In some old sketchbook, possibly in some old print, he may yet find convincing evidence that he is right. But the Ilbridge House of today is not that which he sought; it is an Elizabethan erection of the forties, in red brick with stone quoins and dressings117. A quarter of a mile from it, in a low part of the park, backed by ancient, staghorned, ivy118-strangled trees and thick undergrowth, are marks of a terraced platform overgrown with rough grass. A few stone balusters lie here and there, and a heap or two, covered with nettles119 and ivy, of wrought120 stones with badly-carved crockets. This, someone told Mr. Dillet, was the site of an older house.
As he drove out of the village, the hall clock struck four, and Mr. Dillet started up and clapped his hands to his ears. It was not the first time he had heard that bell.
Awaiting an offer from the other side of the Atlantic, the dolls’ house still reposes121, carefully sheeted, in a loft122 over Mr. Dillet’s stables, whither Collins conveyed it on the day when Mr. Dillet started for the sea coast.
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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palaver
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| adj.壮丽堂皇的；n.废话，空话 | |
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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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unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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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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hoods
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| n.兜帽( hood的名词复数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩v.兜帽( hood的第三人称单数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩 | |
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canopies
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| （宝座或床等上面的）华盖( canopy的名词复数 )； （飞行器上的）座舱罩； 任何悬于上空的覆盖物； 森林中天棚似的树荫 | |
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turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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turrets
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| （六角）转台( turret的名词复数 )； （战舰和坦克等上的）转动炮塔； （摄影机等上的）镜头转台； （旧时攻城用的）塔车 | |
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pinnacles
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| 顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 )； 顶点； 尖顶； 小尖塔 | |
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buttresses
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| n.扶壁，扶垛( buttress的名词复数 )v.用扶壁支撑，加固( buttress的第三人称单数 ) | |
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complement
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| n.补足物，船上的定员；补语；vt.补充，补足 | |
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grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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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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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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28
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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29
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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30
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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31
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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32
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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33
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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34
inventory
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| n.详细目录，存货清单 | |
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35
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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36
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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37
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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38
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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39
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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40
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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41
commodious
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| adj.宽敞的；使用方便的 | |
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42
complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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43
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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44
lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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45
tolling
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| [财]来料加工 | |
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46
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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47
intercept
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| vt.拦截，截住，截击 | |
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48
transacted
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的过去式和过去分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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49
taper
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| n.小蜡烛，尖细，渐弱；adj.尖细的；v.逐渐变小 | |
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50
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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51
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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52
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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54
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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55
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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56
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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57
draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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58
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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59
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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60
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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61
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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62
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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63
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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64
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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65
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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66
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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67
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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68
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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69
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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71
pinnacled
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| 小尖塔般耸立的，顶处的 | |
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72
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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73
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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74
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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75
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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76
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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77
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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78
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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79
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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80
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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81
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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82
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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83
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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84
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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85
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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86
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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87
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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88
tolled
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| 鸣钟（toll的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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89
dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
coffins
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| n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 )；使某人早亡[死，完蛋，垮台等]之物 | |
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91
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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92
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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93
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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94
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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95
abstainer
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| 节制者，戒酒者，弃权者 | |
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96
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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97
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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98
disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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99
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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100
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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101
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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102
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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103
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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104
adorn
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| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
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105
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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106
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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107
solicitous
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| adj.热切的，挂念的 | |
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108
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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109
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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110
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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111
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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112
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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113
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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114
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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115
excellences
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| n.卓越( excellence的名词复数 )；（只用于所修饰的名词后）杰出的；卓越的；出类拔萃的 | |
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116
commemorated
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| v.纪念，庆祝( commemorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
dressings
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| n.敷料剂；穿衣( dressing的名词复数 )；穿戴；（拌制色拉的）调料；（保护伤口的）敷料 | |
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118
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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119
nettles
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| n.荨麻( nettle的名词复数 ) | |
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120
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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121
reposes
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的第三人称单数 ) | |
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122
loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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