But the young man was not considering either the geographical8 contours of the country at large or the refreshed and renovated9 potato field, with its serried10 ranks of low-growing plants, as he tramped heavily crosslots toward the house. At noon, when he came in to dinner, in response to the wideflung summons of the tin horn which hung by the back door, he had found the two women of his household in a pleasurable state of excitement.
“We've got our share, Jim!” proclaimed Mrs. Dodge, a bright red spot glowing on either thin cheek. “See! here's the check; it came in the mail this morning.”
And she spread a crackling bit of paper under her son's eyes.
“I was some surprised to get it so soon,” she added. “Folks ain't generally in any great hurry to part with their money. But they do say Miss Orr paid right down for the place—never even asked 'em for any sort of terms; and th' land knows they'd have been glad to given them to her, or to anybody that had bought the place these dozen years back. Likely she didn't know that.”
Jim scowled12 at the check.
“How much did she pay for the place?” he demanded. “It must have been a lot more than it was worth, judging from this.”
“I don't know,” Mrs. Dodge replied. “And I dunno as I care particularly, as long's we've got our share of it.”
She was swaying back and forth13 in a squeaky old rocking-chair, the check clasped in both thin hands.
“Shall we bank it, children; or draw it all out in cash? Fanny needs new clothes; so do you, Jim. And I've got to have a new carpet, or something, for the parlor14. Those skins of wild animals you brought in are all right, Jim, if one can't get anything better. I suppose we'd ought to be prudent15 and saving; but I declare we haven't had any money to speak of, for so long—”
Mrs. Dodge's faded eyes were glowing with joy; she spread the check upon her lap and gazed at it smilingly.
“I declare it's the biggest surprise I've had in all my life!”
“Let's spend every cent of it,” proposed Fanny recklessly. “We didn't know we were going to have it. We can scrub along afterward16 the same as we always have. Let's divide it into four parts: one for the house—to fix it up—and one for each of us, to spend any way we like. What do you say, Jim?”
“I shouldn't wonder if Mrs. Deacon Whittle17 would furnish up her best parlor something elegant,” surmised18 Mrs. Dodge. “She's always said she was goin' to have gilt19 paper and marble tops and electric blue plush upholstered furniture. I guess that'll be the last fair we'll ever have in that house. She wouldn't have everybody trampin' over her flowered Body-Brussels. I suppose we might buy some plush furniture; but I don't know as I'd care for electric blue. What do you think, son?”
Jim Dodge sat sprawled20 out in his chair before the half-set table. At this picture of magnificence, about to be realized in the abode21 of Deacon Amos Whittle, he gave vent22 to an inarticulate growl23.
“What's the matter with you, Jim?” shrilled24 his mother, whose perpetually jangled nerves were capable of strange dissonances. “Anybody'd suppose you wasn't pleased at having the old Bolton place sold at last, and a little bit of all that's been owing to us since before your poor father died, paid off. My! If we was to have all that was coming to us by rights, with the interest money—”
“I'm hungry and tired, mother, and I want my dinner,” said Jim brusquely. “That check won't hoe the potatoes; so I guess I'll have to do it, same as usual.”
“For pity sake, Fanny!” cried his mother, “did you put the vegetables over to boil? I ain't thought of anything since this check came.”
It appeared that Fanny had been less forgetful.
After his belated dinner, Jim had gone back to his potatoes, leaving his mother and sister deep in discussion over the comparative virtues25 of Nottingham lace and plain muslin, made up with ruffles26, for parlor curtains.
“I really believe I'd rather spend more on the house than on clo'es at my age,” he heard his mother saying, happily, as he strode away.
All during the afternoon, to the clink of myriad27 small stones against the busy blade of his hoe, Jim thought about Lydia Orr. He could not help seeing that it was to Lydia he owed the prospect28 of a much needed suit of clothes. It would be Lydia who hung curtains, of whatever sort, in their shabby best room. And no other than Lydia was to furnish Mrs. Whittle's empty parlor. She had already given the minister a new long-tailed coat, as Jim chose to characterize the ministerial black. His cheeks burned under the slanting29 rays of the afternoon sun with something deeper than an added coat of tan. Why should Lydia Orr—that slip of a girl, with the eyes of a baby, or a saint—do all this? Jim found himself unable to believe that she really wanted the Bolton place. Why, the house was an uninhabitable ruin! It would cost thousands of dollars to rebuild it.
He set his jaw30 savagely31 as he recalled his late conversation with Deacon Whittle. “The cheating old skinflint,” as he mentally termed that worthy32 pillar of the church, had, he was sure, bamboozled33 the girl into buying a well-nigh worthless property, at a scandalous price. It was a shame! He, Jim Dodge, even now burned with the shame of it. He pondered briefly34 the possibilities of taking from his mother the check, which represented the pro11 rata share of the Dodge estate, and returning it to Lydia Orr. Reluctantly he abandoned this quixotic scheme. The swindle—for as such he chose to view it—had already been accomplished35. Other people would not return their checks. On the contrary, there would be new and fertile schemes set on foot to part the unworldly stranger and her money.
He flung down his hoe in disgust and straightened his aching shoulders. The whole sordid36 transaction put him in mind of the greedy onslaught of a horde37 of hungry ants on a beautiful, defenseless flower, its torn corolla exuding38 sweetness.... And there must be some sort of reason behind it. Why had Lydia Orr come to Brookville?
And here, unwittingly, Jim's blind conjectures39 followed those of Wesley Elliot. He had told Lydia Orr he meant to call upon her. That he had not yet accomplished his purpose had been due to the watchfulness40 of Mrs. Solomon Black. On the two occasions when he had rung Mrs. Black's front door-bell, that lady herself had appeared in response to its summons. On both occasions she had informed Mr. Dodge tartly41 that Miss Orr wasn't at home.
On the occasion of his second disappointment he had offered to await the young lady's home-coming.
“There ain't no use of that, Jim,” Mrs. Black had assured him. “Miss Orr's gone t' Boston to stay two days.”
Then she had unlatched her close-shut lips to add: “She goes there frequent, on business.”
Her eyes appeared to inform him further that Miss Orr's business, of whatever nature, was none of his business and never would be.
“That old girl is down on me for some reason or other,” he told himself ruefully, as he walked away for the second time. But he was none the less resolved to pursue his hopefully nascent42 friendship with Lydia Orr.
He was thinking of her vaguely43 as he walked toward the house which had been his father's, and where he and Fanny had been born. It was little and low and old, as he viewed it indifferently in the fading light of the sunset sky. Its walls had needed painting so long, that for years nobody had even mentioned the subject. Its picturesquely44 mossy roof leaked. But a leaky roof was a commonplace in Brookville. It was customary to set rusty45 tin pans, their holes stopped with rags, under such spots as actually let in water; the emptying of the pans being a regular household “chore.” Somehow, he found himself disliking to enter; his mother and Fanny would still be talking about the disposition46 of Lydia Orr's money. To his relief he found his sister alone in the kitchen, which served as a general living room. The small square table neatly47 spread for two stood against the wall; Fanny was standing48 by the window, her face close to the pane49, and apparently50 intent upon the prospect without, which comprised a grassy51 stretch of yard flanked by a dull rampart of over-grown lilac bushes.
“Where's mother?” inquired Jim, as he hung his hat on the accustomed nail.
“She went down to the village,” said Fanny, turning her back on the window with suspicious haste. “There was a meeting of the sewing society at Mrs. Daggett's.”
“Good Lord!” exclaimed Jim. “What an opportunity!”
“Opportunity?” echoed Fanny vaguely.
“Yes; for talking it over. Can't you imagine the clack of tongues; the ‘I says to her,’ and ‘she told me,’ and ‘what do you think!’”
“Don't be sarcastic52 and disagreeable, Jim,” advised Fanny, with some heat. “When you think of it, it is a wonder—that girl coming here the way she did; buying out the fair, just as everybody was discouraged over it. And now—”
“How do you explain it, Fan?” asked her brother.
“Explain it? I can't explain it. Nobody seems to know anything about her, except that she's from Boston and seems to have heaps of money.”
Jim was wiping his hands on the roller-towel behind the door.
“I had a chance to annex53 a little more of Miss Orr's money today,” he observed grimly. “But I haven't made up my mind yet whether to do it, or not.”
Fanny laughed and shrugged54 her shoulders.
“If you don't, somebody else will,” she replied. “It was Deacon Whittle, wasn't it? He stopped at the house this afternoon and wanted to know where to find you.”
“They're going right to work on the old place, and there's plenty to do for everybody, including yours truly, at four dollars a day.”
“What sort of work?” inquired Fanny.
“All sorts: pulling down and building up; clearing away and replanting. The place is a jungle, you know. But four dollars a day! It's like taking candy from a baby.”
“It sounds like a great deal,” said the girl. “But why shouldn't you do it?”
Jim laughed.
“Why, indeed? I might earn enough to put a shingle55 or two on our own roof. It looks like honest money; but—”
Fanny was busy putting the finishing touches to the supper table.
“Mother's going to stop for tea at Mrs. Daggett's, and go to prayer meeting afterward,” she said. “We may as well eat.”
The two sat down, facing each other.
“What did you mean, Jim?” asked Fanny, as she passed the bread plate to her brother. “You said, ‘It looks like honest money; but—’”
“I guess I'm a fool,” he grumbled56; “but there's something about the whole business I don't like.... Have some of this apple sauce, Fan?”
The girl passed her plate for a spoonful of the thick compound, and in return shoved the home-dried beef toward her brother.
“I don't see anything queer about it,” she replied dully. “I suppose a person with money might come to Brookville and want to buy a house. The old Bolton place used to be beautiful, mother says. I suppose it can be again. And if she chooses to spend her money that way—”
“That's just the point I can't see: why on earth should she want to saddle herself with a proposition like that?”
Fanny's mute lips trembled. She was thinking she knew very well why Lydia Orr had chosen to come to Brookville: in some way unknown to Fanny, Miss Orr had chanced to meet the incomparable Wesley Elliot, and had straightway set her affections upon him. Fanny had been thinking it over, ever since the night of the social at Mrs. Solomon Black's. Up to the moment when Wesley—she couldn't help calling him Wesley still—had left her, on pretense57 of fetching a chair, she had instantly divined that it was a pretense, and of course he had not returned. Her cheeks tingled58 hotly as she recalled the way in which Joyce Fulsom had remarked the plate of melting ice cream on the top shelf of Mrs. Black's what-not:
“I guess Mr. Elliot forgot his cream,” the girl had said, with a spark of malice59. “I saw him out in the yard awhile ago talking to that Miss Orr.”
Fanny had humiliated60 herself still further by pretending she didn't know it was the minister who had left his ice cream to dissolve in a pink and brown puddle61 of sweetness. Whereat Joyce Fulsom had giggled62 disagreeably.
“Better keep your eye on him, Fan,” she had advised.
Of course she couldn't speak of this to Jim; but it was all plain enough to her.
“I'm going down to the village for awhile, Fan,” her brother said, as he arose from the table. But he did not, as was his custom, invite her to accompany him.
After Jim had gone, Fanny washed the dishes with mechanical swiftness. Her mother had asked her if she would come to prayer meeting, and walk home with her afterwards. Not that Mrs. Dodge was timid; the neighborhood of Brookville had never been haunted after nightfall by anything more dangerous than whippoorwills and frogs. A plaintive63 chorus of night sounds greeted the girl, as she stepped out into the darkness. How sweet the honeysuckle and late roses smelled under the dew! Fanny walked slowly across the yard to the old summer-house, where the minister had asked her to call him Wesley, and sat down. It was very dark under the thick-growing vines, and after awhile tranquillity64 of a sort stole over the girl's spirit. She gazed out into the dim spaces beyond the summer-house and thought, with a curious detachment, of all that had happened. It was as if she had grown old and was looking back calmly to a girlhood long since past. She could almost smile at the recollection of herself stifling65 her sobs66 in her pillow, lest Jim should hear.
“Why should I care for him?” she asked herself wonderingly; and could not tell.
Then all at once she found herself weeping softly, her head on the rickety table.
Jim Dodge, too intently absorbed in his own confused thoughts to pay much attention to Fanny, had walked resolutely67 in the direction of Mrs. Solomon Black's house; from which, he reflected, the minister would be obliged to absent himself for at least an hour. He hoped Mrs. Black had not induced Lydia to go to the prayer meeting with her. Why any one should voluntarily go to a prayer meeting passed his comprehension. Jim had once attended what was known as a “protracted meeting,” for the sole purpose of pleasing his mother, who all at once had appeared tearfully anxious about his “soul.” He had not enjoyed the experience.
“Are you saved, my dear young brother?” Deacon Whittle had inquired of him, in his snuffling, whining68, peculiarly objectionable tone.
“From what, Deacon?” Jim had blandly69 inquired. “You in for it, too?”
Whereat the Deacon had piously70 shaken his head and referred him to the “mourner's pew,” with the hope that he might even yet be plucked as a brand from the burning.
Lydia had not gone to the prayer meeting. She was sitting on the piazza71, quite alone. She arose when her determined72 visitor boldly walked up the steps.
“Oh, it is you!” said she.
An unreasonable73 feeling of elation74 arose in the young man's breast.
“Did you think I wasn't coming?” he inquired, with all the egotism of which he had been justly accused.
He did not wait for her reply; but proceeded with considerable humor to describe his previous unsuccessful attempts to see her.
“I suppose,” he added, “Mrs. Solomon Black has kindly75 warned you against me?”
She could not deny it; so smiled instead.
“Well,” said the young man, “I give you my word I'm not a villain76: I neither drink, steal, nor gamble. But I'm not a saint, after the prescribed Brookville pattern.”
He appeared rather proud of the fact, she thought. Aloud she said, with pardonable curiosity:
“What is the Brookville pattern? I ought to know, since I am to live here.”
At this he dropped his bantering77 tone.
“I wanted to talk to you about that,” he said gravely.
“You mean—?”
“About your buying the old Bolton place and paying such a preposterous78 price for it, and all the rest, including the minister's back-pay.”
She remained silent, playing with the ribbon of her sash.
“I have a sort of inward conviction that you're not doing it because you think Brookville is such a pleasant place to live in,” he went on, keenly observant of the sudden color fluttering in her cheeks, revealed by the light of Mrs. Solomon Black's parlor lamp which stood on a stand just inside the carefully screened window. “It looks,” he finished, “as if you—well; it may be a queer thing for me to say; but I'll tell you frankly79 that when mother showed me the check she got today I felt that it was—charity.”
She shook her head.
“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “You are quite, quite in the wrong.”
“But you can't make me believe that with all your money—pardon me for mentioning what everybody in the village is talking about— You'll have to convince me that the old Bolton place has oil under it, or coal or diamonds, before I—”
“Why should you need to be convinced of anything so unlikely?” she asked, with gentle coldness.
He reddened angrily.
“Of course it's none of my business,” he conceded.
“I didn't mean that. But, naturally, I could have no idea of coal or oil—”
“Well; I won't work for you at any four dollars a day,” he said loudly. “I thought I'd like to tell you.”
“I don't want you to,” she said. “Didn't Deacon Whittle give you my message?”
He got hurriedly to his feet with a muttered exclamation80.
“Please sit down, Mr. Dodge,” she bade him tranquilly81. “I've been wanting to see you all day. But there are so few telephones in Brookville it is difficult to get word to people.”
He eyed her with stubborn resentment82.
“What I meant to say was that four dollars a day is too much! Don't you know anything about the value of money, Miss Orr? Somebody ought to have common honesty enough to inform you that there are plenty of men in Brookville who would be thankful to work for two dollars a day. I would, for one; and I won't take a cent more.”
She was frowning a little over these statements. The stalwart young man in shabby clothes who sat facing her under the light of Mrs. Solomon Black's well-trimmed lamp appeared to puzzle her.
“But why shouldn't you want to earn all you can?” she propounded83 at last. “Isn't there anything you need to use money for?”
“Oh, just a few things,” he admitted grudgingly84. “I suppose you've noticed that I'm not exactly the glass of fashion and the mold of form.”
He was instantly ashamed of himself for the crude personality.
“You must think I'm a fool!” burst from him, under the sting of his self-inflicted lash85.
She smiled and shook her head.
“I'm not at all the sort of person you appear to think me,” she said. Her grave blue eyes looked straight into his. “But don't let's waste time trying to be clever: I want to ask you if you are willing, for a fair salary, to take charge of the outdoor improvements at Bolton House.”
She colored swiftly at sight of the quizzical lift of his brows.
“I've decided86 to call my place ‘Bolton House’ for several reasons,” she went on rapidly: “for one thing, everybody has always called it the Bolton place, so it will be easier for the workmen and everybody to know what place is meant. Besides, I—”
“Yes; but the name of Bolton has an ill-omened sound in Brookville ears,” he objected. “You've no idea how people here hate that man.”
“It all happened so long ago, I should think they might forgive him by now,” she offered, after a pause.
“I wouldn't call my house after a thief,” he said strongly. “There are hundreds of prettier names. Why not—Pine Court, for example?”
“You haven't told me yet if you will accept the position I spoke87 of.”
He passed his hand over his clean-shaven chin, a trick he had inherited from his father, and surveyed her steadily88 from under meditative89 brows.
“In the first place, I'm not a landscape gardener, Miss Orr,” he stated. “That's the sort of man you want. You can get one in Boston, who'll group your evergreens90, open vistas91, build pergolas and all that sort of thing.”
“You appear to know exactly what I want,” she laughed.
“Perhaps I do,” he defied her.
“But, seriously, I don't want and won't have a landscape-gardener from Boston—with due deference92 to your well-formed opinions, Mr. Dodge. I intend to mess around myself, and change my mind every other day about all sorts of things. I want to work things out, not on paper in cold black and white; but in terms of growing things—wild things out of the woods. You understand, I'm sure.”
The dawning light in his eyes told her that he did.
“But I've had no experience,” he hesitated. “Besides, I've considerable farm-work of my own to do. I've been hoeing potatoes all day. Tomorrow I shall have to go into the cornfield, or lose my crop. Time, tide and weeds wait for no man.”
“I supposed you were a hunter,” she said. “I thought—”
He laughed unpleasantly.
“Oh, I see,” he interrupted rudely: “you supposed, in other words, that I was an idle chap, addicted93 to wandering about the woods, a gun on my shoulder, a cur—quite as much of a ne'er-do-well as myself—at my heels. Of course Deacon Whittle and Mrs. Solomon Black have told you all about it. And since you've set about reforming Brookville, you thought you'd begin with me. Well, I'm obliged to you; but—”
The girl arose trembling to her feet.
“You are not kind!” she cried. “You are not kind!”
They stood for an instant, gazing into each other's eyes during one of those flashes of time which sometimes count for years.
“Forgive me,” he muttered huskily. “I'm a brute94 at best; but I had no business to speak to you as I did.”
“But why did you say—what made you ever think I'd set about reforming—that is what you said—reforming—Brookville? I never thought of such a thing! How could I?”
He hung his head, abashed95 by the lightning in her mild eyes.
She clasped her small, fair hands and bent96 toward him.
“And you said you wanted to be—friends. I hoped—”
“I do,” he said gruffly. “I've told you I'm ashamed of myself.”
She drew back, sighing deeply.
“I don't want you to feel—ashamed,” she said, in a sweet, tired voice. “But I wish—”
“Tell me!” he urged, when she did not finish her sentence.
“Do you think everybody is going to misunderstand me, as you have?” she asked, somewhat piteously. “Is it so strange and unheard of a thing for a woman to want a home and—and friends? Isn't it allowable for a person who has money to want to pay fair wages? Why should I scrimp and haggle97 and screw, when I want most of all to be generous?”
“Because,” he told her seriously, “scrimping, haggling98 and screwing have been the fashion for so long, the other thing rouses mean suspicions by its very novelty. It's too good to be true; that's all.”
“You mean people will suspect—they'll think there's something—”
She stood before him, her hands fallen at her sides, her eyes downcast.
“I confess I couldn't believe that there wasn't an ulterior motive99,” he said honestly. “That's where I was less noble than you.”
She flashed a sudden strange look at him.
“There is,” she breathed. “I'm going to be honest—with you. I have—an ulterior motive.”
“Will you tell me what it is?”
Her lips formed the single word of denial.
He gazed at her in silence for a moment.
“I'm going to accept the post you just offered me, Miss Orr; at any salary you think I'm worth,” he said gravely.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Steps and the sound of voices floated across the picket100 fence. The gate rasped on its rusted101 hinges; then slammed shut.
“If I was you, Mr. Elliot,” came the penetrating102 accents of Mrs. Solomon Black's voice, “I should hire a reg'lar reviv'list along in th' fall, after preservin' an' house-cleanin' time. We need an outpourin' of grace, right here in Brookville; and we can't get it no other way.”
And the minister's cultured voice in reply:
“I shall give your suggestion the most careful consideration, Mrs. Black, between now and the autumn season.”
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Jim Dodge; “this is no place for me! Good night, Miss Orr!”
She laid her hand in his.
“You can trust me,” he said briefly, and became on the instant a flitting shadow among the lilac bushes, lightly vaulting103 over the fence and mingling104 with the darker shadows beyond.
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收听单词发音
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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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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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brawling
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| n.争吵，喧嚷 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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8
geographical
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| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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renovated
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| 翻新，修复，整修( renovate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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serried
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| adj.拥挤的；密集的 | |
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pro
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| n.赞成，赞成的意见，赞成者 | |
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scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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whittle
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| v.削（木头），削减；n.屠刀 | |
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surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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shrilled
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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ruffles
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| 褶裥花边( ruffle的名词复数 ) | |
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myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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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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bamboozled
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| v.欺骗，使迷惑( bamboozle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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exuding
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| v.缓慢流出，渗出，分泌出( exude的现在分词 )；流露出对（某物）的神态或感情 | |
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conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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watchfulness
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| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
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tartly
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| adv.辛辣地，刻薄地 | |
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nascent
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| adj.初生的，发生中的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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picturesquely
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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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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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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pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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53
annex
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| vt.兼并，吞并；n.附属建筑物 | |
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54
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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tingled
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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piously
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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78
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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81
tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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82
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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83
propounded
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| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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grudgingly
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85
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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87
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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88
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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90
evergreens
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| n.常青树，常绿植物，万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
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vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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93
addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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95
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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97
haggle
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| vi.讨价还价，争论不休 | |
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98
haggling
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| v.讨价还价( haggle的现在分词 ) | |
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99
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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100
picket
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| n.纠察队；警戒哨；v.设置纠察线；布置警卫 | |
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101
rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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103
vaulting
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| n.（天花板或屋顶的）拱形结构 | |
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104
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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