An island, if it is big enough, is no better than a continent. It has to be really quite small, before it FEELS LIKE an island; and this story will show how tiny it has to be, before you can presume to fill it with your own personality.
Now circumstances so worked out, that this lover of islands, by the time he was thirty-five, actually acquired an island of his own. He didn’t own it as freehold property, but he had a ninety-nine years’ lease of it, which, as far as a man and an island are concerned, is as good as everlasting1. Since, if you are like Abraham, and want your offspring to be numberless as the sands of the sea-shore, you don’t choose an island to start breeding on. Too soon there would be overpopulation, overcrowding, and slum conditions. Which is a horrid2 thought, for one who loves an island for its insulation3. No, an island is a nest which holds one egg, and one only. This egg is the islander himself.
The island acquired by our potential islander was not in the remote oceans. It was quite near at home, no palm-trees nor boom of surf on the reef, nor any of that kind of thing; but a good solid dwelling-house, rather gloomy, above the landing-place, and beyond, a small farmhouse4 with sheds, and a few outlying fields. Down on the little landing bay were three cottages in a row, like coastguards’ cottages, all neat and white-washed.
What could be more cozy5 and home-like? It was four miles if you walked all round your island, through the gorse and the blackthorn bushes, above the steep rocks of the sea and down in the little glades6 where the primroses8 grew. If you walked straight over the two humps of hills, the length of it, through the rocky fields where the cows lay chewing, and through the rather sparse9 oats, on into the gorse again, and so to the low cliffs’ edge, it took you only twenty minutes. And when you came to the edge, you could see another, bigger island lying beyond. But the sea was between you and it. And as you returned over the turf where the short, downland cowslips nodded you saw to the east still another island, a tiny one this time, like the calf10 of the cow. This tiny island also belonged to the islander.
Thus it seems that even islands like to keep each other company.
Our islander loved his island very much. In early spring, the little ways and glades were a snow of blackthorn, a vivid white among the celtic stillness of close green and grey rock, blackbirds calling out in the whiteness their first long, triumphant11 calls. After the blackthorn and the nestling primroses came the blue apparition12 of hyacinths, like elfin lakes and slipping sheets of blue, among the bushes and under the glade7 of trees. And many birds with nests you could peep into, on the island all your own. Wonderful what a great world it was!
Followed summer, and the cowslips gone, the wild roses faintly fragrant13 through the haze14. There was a field of hay, the foxgloves stood looking down. In a little cove15, the sun was on the pale granite16 where you bathed, and the shadow was in the rocks. Before the mist came stealing, and you went home through the ripening17 oats, the glare of the sea fading from the high air as the foghorn18 started to moo on the other island. And then the sea-fog went, it was autumn, and oat-sheaves lying prone19; the great moon, another island, rose golden out of the sea, and, rising higher, the world of the sea was white.
So autumn ended with rain, and winter came, dark skies and dampness and rain, but rarely frost. The island, your island, cowered20 dark, holding away from you. You could feel, down in the wet, sombre hollows, the resentful spirit coiled upon itself, like a wet dog coiled in gloom, or a snake that is neither asleep nor awake. Then in the night, when the wind left off blowing in great gusts21 and volleys, as at sea, you felt that your island was a universe, infinite and old as the darkness; not an island at all, but an infinite dark world where all the souls from all the other bygone nights lived on, and the infinite distance was near.
Strangely, from your little island in space, you were gone forth22 into the dark, great realms of time, where all the souls that never die veer23 and swoop24 on their vast, strange errands. The little earthly island has dwindled25, like a jumping-off place, into nothingness, for you have jumped off, you know not how, into the dark wide mystery of time, where the past is vastly alive, and the future is not separated off.
This is the danger of becoming an islander. When, in the city, you wear your white spats26 and dodge27 the traffic with the fear of death down your spine28, then you are quite safe from the terrors of infinite time. The moment is your little islet in time, it is the spatial30 universe that careers round you.
But once isolate31 yourself on a little island in the sea of space, and the moment begins to heave and expand in great circles, the solid earth is gone, and your slippery, naked dark soul finds herself out in the timeless world, where the chariots of the so-called dead dash down the old streets of centuries, and souls crowd on the footways that we, in the moment, call bygone years. The souls of all the dead are alive again, and pulsating32 actively33 around you. You are out in the other infinity34.
Something of this happened to our islander. Mysterious “feelings” came upon him, that he wasn’t used to; strange awarenesses of old, far-gone men, and other influences; men of Gaul, with big moustaches, who had been on his island, and had vanished from the face of it, but not out of the air of night. They were there still, hurtling their big, violent, unseen bodies through the night. And there were priests, with golden knives and mistletoe; then other priests with a crucifix; then pirates with murder on the sea.
Our islander was uneasy. He didn’t believe, in the daytime, in any of this nonsense. But at night it just was so. He had reduced himself to a single point in space, and, a point being that which has neither length nor breadth, he had to step off it into somewhere else. Just as you must step into the sea, if the waters wash your foothold away, so he had, at night, to step off into the otherworld of undying time.
He was uncannily aware, as he lay in the dark, that the blackthorn grove36 that seemed a bit uncanny even in the realm of space and day, at night was crying with old men of an invisible race, around the altar stone. What was a ruin under the hornbeam trees by day, was a moaning of bloodstained priests with crucifixes, on the ineffable37 night. What was a cave and hidden beach between coarse rocks, became in the invisible dark the purple-lipped imprecation of pirates.
To escape any more of this sort of awareness35, our islander daily concentrated upon his material island. Why should it not be the Happy Isle29 at last? Why not the last small isle of the Hesperides, the perfect place, all filled with his own gracious, blossom-like spirit? A minute world of pure perfection, made by man, himself.
He began, as we begin all our attempts to regain38 Paradise, by spending money. The old, semi-feudal dwelling-house he restored, let in more light, put clear lovely carpets on the floor, clear, flower-petal curtains at the sullen39 windows, and wines in the cellars of rock. He brought over a buxom40 housekeeper41 from the world, and a soft-spoken, much-experienced butler. These too were to be islanders.
In the farm-house he put a bailiff, with two farm-hands. There were Jersey43 cows, tinkling44 a slow bell, among the gorse. There was a call to meals at midday, and the peaceful smoking of chimneys at evening, when rest descended45.
A jaunty46 sailing-boat with a motor accessory rode in the shelter in the bay, just below the row of three white cottages. There was also a little yawl, and two row-boats drawn47 up on the sand. A fishing net was drying on its supports, a boat-load of new white planks48 stood crisscross, a woman was going to the well with a bucket.
In the end cottage lived the skipper of the yacht, and his wife and son. He was a man from the other, large island, at home on this sea. Every fine day he went out fishing, with his son, every fine day there was fresh fish on the island.
In the middle cottage lived an old man and wife, a very faithful couple. The old man was a carpenter, and man of many jobs. He was always working, always the sound of his plane or his saw: lost in his work, he was another kind of islander.
In the third cottage was the mason, a widower49 with a son and two daughters. With the help of his boy, this man dug ditches and built fences, raised buttresses50 and erected51 a new outbuilding, and hewed52 stone from the little quarry53. His daughters worked at the big house.
It was a quiet, busy little world. When the islander brought you over as his guest, you met first the dark-bearded, thin, smiling skipper, Arnold, then his boy Charles. At the house, the smooth-lipped butler who had lived all over the world valeted you, and created that curious creamy-smooth, disarming54 sense of luxury around you which only a perfect and rather untrustworthy servant can create. He disarmed55 you and had you at his mercy. The buxom housekeeper smiled and treated you with the subtly respectful familiarity, that is only dealt out to the true gentry56. And the rosy57 maid threw a glance at you, as if you were very wonderful, coming from the great outer world. Then you met the smiling but watchful58 bailiff, who came from Cornwall, and the shy farm-hand from Berkshire, with his clean wife and two little children, then the rather sulky farm-hand from Suffolk. The mason, a Kent man, would talk to you by the yard, if you let him. Only the old carpenter was gruff and elsewhere absorbed.
Well then, it was a little world to itself, and everybody feeling very safe, and being very nice to you, as if you were really something special. But it was the islander’s world, not yours. He was the Master. The special smile, the special attention was to the Master. They all knew how well off they were. So the islander was no longer Mr So-and-So. To everyone on the island, even to you yourself, he was “the Master”.
Well, it was ideal. The Master was no tyrant59. Ah no! He was a delicate, sensitive, handsome Master, who wanted everything perfect and everybody happy. Himself, of course, to be the fount of this happiness and perfection.
But in his way, he was a poet. He treated his guests royally, his servants liberally. Yet he was shrewd, and very wise. He never came the boss over his people. Yet he kept his eye on everything, like a shrewd; blue-eyed young Hermes. And it was amazing what a lot of knowledge he had at hand. Amazing what he knew about Jersey cows, and cheese-making, ditching and fencing, flowers and gardening, ships and the sailing of ships. He was a fount of knowledge about everything, and this knowledge he imparted to his people in an odd, half-ironical, half-portentous fashion, as if he really belonged to the quaint61, half-real world of the gods.
They listened to him with their hats in their hands. He loved white clothes; or creamy white; and cloaks, and broad hats. So, in fine weather, the bailiff would see the elegant tall figure in creamy-white serge coming like some bird over the fallow, to look at the weeding of the turnips62. Then there would be a doffing63 of hats, and a few minutes of whimsical, shrewd, wise talk, to which the bailiff answered admiringly, and the farm-hands listened in silent wonder, leaning on their hoes. The bailiff was almost tender, to the Master.
Or, on a windy morning, he would stand with his cloak blowing in the sticky sea-wind, on the edge of the ditch that was being dug to drain a little swamp, talking in the teeth of the wind to the man below; who looked up at him with steady and inscrutable eyes.
Or at evening in the rain he would be seen hurrying across the yard, the broad hat turned against the rain. And the farm-wife would hurriedly exclaim: “The Master! Get up, John, and clear him a place on the sofa.” And then the door opened, and it was a cry of: “Why of all things, if it isn’t the Master! Why, have ye turned out then of a night like this, to come across to the like of we?” And the bailiff took his cloak, and the farm-wife his hat, the two farm-hands drew their chairs to the back, he sat on the sofa and took a child up near him. He was wonderful with children, talked to them simply wonderful, made you think of Our Saviour64 Himself, said the woman.
Always he was greeted with smiles, and the same peculiar65 deference66, as if he were a higher, but also frailer67 being. They handled him almost tenderly, and almost with adulation. But when he left, or when they spoke42 of him, they had often a subtle, mocking smile on their faces. There was no need to be afraid of “the Master”. Just let him have his own way. Only the old carpenter was sometimes sincerely rude to him; so he didn’t care for the old man.
It is doubtful whether any of them really liked him, man to man, or even woman to man. But then it is doubtful if he really liked any of them, as man to man, or man to woman. He wanted them to be happy, and the little world to be perfect. But any one who wants the world to be perfect must be careful not to have real likes and dislikes. A general good-will is all you can afford.
The sad fact is, alas68, that general good-will is always felt as something of an insult, by the mere69 object of it; and so it breeds a quite special brand of malice70. Surely general good-will is a form of egoism, that it should have such a result!
Our islander, however, had his own resources. He spent long hours in his library, for he was compiling a book of reference to all the flowers mentioned in the Greek and Latin authors. He was not a great classical scholar: the usual public-school equipment. But there are such excellent translations nowadays. And it was so lovely, tracing flower after flower as it blossomed in the ancient world.
So the first year on the island passed by. A great deal had been done. Now the bills flooded in, and the Master, conscientious71 in all things, began to study them. The study left him pale and breathless. He was not a rich man. He knew he had been making a hole in his capital, to get the island into running order. When he came to look, however, there was hardly anything left but hole. Thousands and thousands of pounds had the island swallowed into nothingness.
But surely the bulk of the spending was over! Surely the island would now begin to be self-supporting, even if it made no profit! Surely he was safe. He paid a good many of the bills, and took a little heart. But he had had a shock, and the next year, the coming year, there must be economy, frugality72. He told his people so, in simple and touching73 language. And they said: “Why surely! Surely!”
So, while the wind blew and the rain lashed74 outside, he would sit in his library with the bailiff over a pipe and a pot of beer, discussing farm projects. He lifted his narrow handsome face, and his blue eye became dreamy. “WHAT a wind!” It blew like cannon75 shots. He thought of his island, lashed with foam76, and inaccessible77, and he exulted78 . . . No, he must not lose it. He turned back to the farm projects with the zest79 of genius, and his hands flicked80 white emphasis, while the bailiff intoned: “Yes, Sir! Yes, Sir! You’re right, Master!”
But the man was hardly listening. He was looking at the Master’s blue lawn shirt and curious pink tie with the fiery81 red stone, at the enamel82 sleeve-links, and at the ring with the peculiar scarab. The brown searching eyes of the man of the soil glanced repeatedly over the fine, immaculate figure of the Master, with a sort of slow, calculating wonder. But if he happened to catch the Master’s bright, exalted83 glance, his own eye lit up with a careful cordiality and deference, as he bowed his head slightly.
Thus between them they decided84 what crops should be sown, what fertilizers should be used in different places, which breed of pigs should be imported, and which line of turkeys. That is to say, the bailiff, by continually cautiously agreeing with the Master, kept out of it, and let the young man have his own way.
The Master knew what he was talking about. He was brilliant at grasping the gist85 of a book, and knowing how to apply his knowledge. On the whole, his ideas were sound. The bailiff even knew it. But in the man of the soil there was no answering enthusiasm. The brown eyes smiled their cordial deference, but the thin lips never changed. The Master pursed his own flexible mouth in a boyish versatility86, as he cleverly sketched87 in his ideas to the other man, and the bailiff made eyes of admiration88, but in his heart he was not attending, he was only watching the Master as he would have watched a queer, alien animal, quite without sympathy, not implicated89.
So, it was settled, and the Master rang for Elvery, the butler, to bring a sandwich. He, the Master, was pleased. The butler saw it, and came back with anchovy90 and ham sandwiches, and a newly opened bottle of vermouth. There was always a newly opened bottle of something.
It was the same with the mason. The Master and he discussed the drainage of a bit of land, and more pipes were ordered, more special bricks, more this, more that.
Fine weather came at last, there was a little lull91 in the hard work on the island. The Master went for a short cruise in his yacht. It was not really a yacht, just a neat little bit of a yawl. They sailed along the coast of the mainland, and put in at the ports. At every port some friend turned up, the butler made elegant little meals in the cabin. Then the Master was invited to villas92 and hotels, his people disembarked him as if he were a prince.
And oh, how expensive it turned out! He had to telegraph to the bank for money. And he went home again, to economize93.
The marsh-marigolds were blazing in the little swamp where the ditches were being dug for drainage. He almost regretted, now, the work in hand. The yellow beauties would not blaze again.
Harvest came, and a bumper94 crop. There must be a harvest-home supper. The long barn was now completely restored and added to. The carpenter had made long tables. Lanterns hung from the beams of the high-pitched roof. All the people of the island were assembled. The bailiff presided. It was a gay scene.
Towards the end of the supper the Master, in a velvet95 jacket, appeared with his guests. Then the bailiff rose and proposed: “The Master! Long life and health to the Master!” All the people drank the health with great enthusiasm and cheering. The Master replied with a little speech: They were on an island in a little world of their own. It depended on them all to make this world a world of true happiness and content. Each must do his part. He hoped he himself did what he could, for his heart was in his island, and with the people of his island.
The butler responded: As long as the island had such a Master, it could not but be a little heaven for all the people on it. — This was seconded with virile96 warmth by the bailiff and the mason, the skipper was beside himself. Then there was dancing, the old carpenter was fiddler.
But under all this, things were not well. The very next morning came the farm-boy to say that a cow had fallen over the cliff. The Master went to look. He peered over the not very high declivity97, and saw her lying dead, on a green ledge60 under a bit of late-flowering broom. A beautiful, expensive creature, already looking swollen98. But what a fool, to fall so unnecessarily!
It was a question of getting several men to haul her up the bank: and then of skinning and burying her. No one would eat the meat. How repulsive99 it all was!
This was symbolic100 of the island. As sure as the spirits rose in the human breast, with a movement of joy, an invisible hand struck malevolently102 out of the silence. There must not be any joy, nor even any quiet peace. A man broke a leg, another was crippled with rheumatic fever. The pigs had some strange disease. A storm drove the yacht on a rock. The mason hated the butler, and refused to let his daughter serve at the house.
Out of the very air came a stony103, heavy malevolence104. The island itself seemed malicious105. It would go on being hurtful and evil for weeks at a time. Then suddenly again one morning it would be fair, lovely as a morning in Paradise, everything beautiful and flowing. And everybody would begin to feel a great relief, and a hope for happiness.
Then as soon as the Master was opened out in spirit like an open flower, some ugly blow would fall. Somebody would send him an anonymous106 note, accusing some other person on the island. Somebody else would come hinting things against one of his servants.
“Some folks thinks they’ve got an easy job out here, with all the pickings they make!” the mason’s daughter screamed at the suave107 butler, in the Master’s hearing. He pretended not to hear.
“My man says this island is surely one of the lean kine of Egypt, it would swallow a sight of money, and you’d never get anything back out of it,” confided108 the farm-hand’s wife to one of the Master’s visitors.
The people were not contented109. They were not islanders. “We feel we’re not doing right by the children,” said those who had children. “We feel we’re not doing right by ourselves,” said those who had no children. And the various families fairly came to hate one another.
Yet the island was so lovely. When there was a scent110 of honey-suckle, and the moon brightly flickering111 down on the sea, then even the grumblers felt a strange nostalgia112 for it. It set you yearning113, with a wild yearning; perhaps for the past, to be far back in the mysterious past of the island, when the blood had a different throb114. Strange floods of passion came over you, strange violent lusts116 and imaginations of cruelty. The blood and the passion and the lust115 which the island had known. Uncanny dreams, half-dreams, half-evocated yearnings.
The Master himself began to be a little afraid of his island. He felt here strange violent feelings he had never felt before, and lustful117 desires that he had been quite free from. He knew quite well now that his people didn’t love him at all. He knew that their spirits were secretly against him, malicious, jeering118, envious119, and lurking120 to down him. He became just as wary121 and secretive with regard to them.
But it was too much. At the end of the second year, several departures took place. The housekeeper went. The Master always blamed self-important women most. The mason said he wasn’t going to be monkeyed about any more, so he took his departure, with his family. The rheumatic farm-hand left.
And then the year’s bills came in, the Master made up his accounts. In spite of good crops, the assets were ridiculous, against the spending. The island had again lost, not hundreds but thousands of pounds. It was incredible. But you simply couldn’t believe it! Where had it all gone?
The Master spent gloomy nights and days, going through accounts in the library. He was thorough. It became evident, now the housekeeper had gone, that she had swindled him. Probably everybody was swindling him. But he hated to think it, so he put the thought away.
He emerged, however, pale and hollow-eyed from his balancing of unbalanceable accounts, looking as if something had kicked him in the stomach. It was pitiable. But the money had gone, and there was an end of it. Another great hole in his capital. How could people be so heartless?
It couldn’t go on, that was evident. He would soon be bankrupt. He had to give regretful notice to his butler. He was afraid to find out how much his butler had swindled him. Because the man was such a wonderful butler, after all. And the farm-bailiff had to go. The Master had no regrets in that quarter. The losses on the farm had almost embittered122 him.
The third year was spent in rigid123 cutting down of expenses. The island was still mysterious and fascinating. But it was also treacherous124 and cruel, secretly, fathomlessly malevolent101. In spite of all its fair show of white blossom and bluebells125, and the lovely dignity of foxgloves bending their rose-red bells, it was your implacable enemy.
With reduced staff, reduced wages, reduced splendour, the third year went by. But it was fighting against hope. The farm still lost a good deal. And once more, there was a hole in that remnant of capital. Another hole, in that which was already a mere remnant round the old holes. The island was mysterious in this also: it seemed to pick the very money out of your pocket, as if it were an octopus126 with invisible arms stealing from you in every direction.
Yet the Master still loved it. But with a touch of rancour now.
He spent, however, the second half of the fourth year intensely working on the mainland, to be rid of it. And it was amazing how difficult he found it to dispose of an island. He had thought that everybody was pining for such an island as his; but not at all. Nobody would pay any price for it. And he wanted now to get rid of it, as a man who wants a divorce at any cost.
It was not till the middle of the fifth year that he transferred it, at a considerable loss to himself, to an hotel company who were willing to speculate in it. They were to turn it into a handy honeymoon-and-golf island!
Then, take that island which didn’t know when it was well off! Now be a honeymoon-and-golf island!
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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insulation
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| n.隔离；绝缘；隔热 | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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cozy
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| adj.亲如手足的，密切的，暖和舒服的 | |
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glades
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| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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primroses
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| n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 )；淡黄色；追求享乐（招至恶果） | |
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sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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ripening
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foghorn
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| n..雾号（浓雾信号） | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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cowered
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gusts
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forth
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veer
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| vt.转向，顺时针转，改变；n.转向 | |
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swoop
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dwindled
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spats
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| n.口角( spat的名词复数 )；小争吵；鞋罩；鞋套v.spit的过去式和过去分词( spat的第三人称单数 )；口角；小争吵；鞋罩 | |
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dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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isle
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spatial
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| adj.空间的，占据空间的 | |
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31
isolate
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| vt.使孤立，隔离 | |
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32
pulsating
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| adj.搏动的，脉冲的v.有节奏地舒张及收缩( pulsate的现在分词 )；跳动；脉动；受（激情）震动 | |
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33
actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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34
infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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35
awareness
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| n.意识，觉悟，懂事，明智 | |
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36
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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37
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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38
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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39
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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40
buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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41
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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42
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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43
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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44
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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45
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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46
jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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47
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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48
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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49
widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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50
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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51
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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52
hewed
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| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的过去式和过去分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
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53
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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54
disarming
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| adj.消除敌意的，使人消气的v.裁军( disarm的现在分词 )；使息怒 | |
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55
disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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56
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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57
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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58
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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59
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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60
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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61
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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62
turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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63
doffing
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| n.下筒，落纱v.脱去，（尤指）脱帽( doff的现在分词 ) | |
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64
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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65
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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66
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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67
frailer
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| 脆弱的( frail的比较级 )； 易损的； 易碎的 | |
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68
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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69
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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70
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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71
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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72
frugality
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| n.节约，节俭 | |
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73
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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74
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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75
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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76
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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77
inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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78
exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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80
flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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81
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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82
enamel
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| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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83
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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84
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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85
gist
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| n.要旨；梗概 | |
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86
versatility
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| n.多才多艺，多样性，多功能 | |
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87
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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88
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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89
implicated
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| adj.密切关联的；牵涉其中的 | |
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90
anchovy
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| n.凤尾鱼 | |
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91
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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92
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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93
economize
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| v.节约，节省 | |
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94
bumper
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| n.(汽车上的)保险杠；adj.特大的，丰盛的 | |
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95
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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96
virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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97
declivity
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| n.下坡，倾斜面 | |
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98
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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99
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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100
symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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101
malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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102
malevolently
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103
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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104
malevolence
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| n.恶意，狠毒 | |
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105
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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106
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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107
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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108
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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109
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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110
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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111
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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112
nostalgia
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| n.怀乡病，留恋过去，怀旧 | |
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113
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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114
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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115
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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116
lusts
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| 贪求（lust的第三人称单数形式） | |
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117
lustful
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| a.贪婪的；渴望的 | |
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118
jeering
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| adj.嘲弄的，揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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119
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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120
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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121
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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122
embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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124
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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125
bluebells
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| n.圆叶风铃草( bluebell的名词复数 ) | |
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126
octopus
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| n.章鱼 | |
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