It was in 1917 that I returned to it, after an absence of some years. In that year I received an invitation that is rightly accepted as a compliment: I was asked by Alvin Langdon Coburn to meet him at his studio, and let him make from[Pg 41] my face one of those ecstatic muddles6 of grey and brown that have won for him the world's acknowledgment as the first artist of the camera. Our meeting discovered a mutual7 enthusiasm for Limehouse, and we arranged an excursion. There, we said to ourselves, we shall find yet a taste of the pleasant things that the world has forgotten: soft movement, solitude8, little courtesies, as well as wonderful things to buy. There we shall find sharp-flavoured things to eat and drink, and josses and chaste9 carvings10, and sharp knives. Oh, and the tea, too—the little two-ounce packets of suey-sen at sevenpence, that clothe the hour of five o'clock with delicate scents11 and dreams.
But the suey-sen was gone, done to death by the tea-rationing order. Gone, too, was the bland12 iniquity13 of the place. Our saunter through Pennyfields and the Causeway was a succession of disillusions14. The spirit of the commercial and controlled West breathed on us from every side. All the dusky delicacies15 were suppressed. Dora had stepped in and khyboshed the little haunts that once invited to curious amusement. Opium16, li-un, and other essences of the white poppy, secretly hoarded17, were fetching ￡30 per pound.[Pg 42] The hop-hoads had got it in the neck, and the odour of gin-seng floated seldom upon the air. The old tong feuds18 had been suppressed by stern policing, and Thames Police Court had become almost as suave19 and seemly as Rumpelmayer's. Even that joyous20 festival, the Feast of the Lanterns, kept at the Chinese New Year, had fallen out of the calendar. The Asiatic seamen21 had been made good by an Order in Council. All for the best, no doubt; yet how one missed the bizarre flame and salt of the old Quarter.
We found Pennyfields and the Causeway uncomfortably crowded, for the outward mail sailings were reduced, and the men who landed in the early days had been unable to get away. So the streets and lodging22-houses were thronged23 with Arabs, Malays, Hindoos, South Sea Islanders, and East Africans; and the Asiatics' Home for Destitute24 Orientals was having the time of its life. Every cubicle25 in the hotel was engaged, and many wanderers were sleeping where they could. Those with money paid for their accommodation; for the others, a small grant from the India Office secured them board and bed until such time as proper arrangements could be made. The kitchens were working overtime27, for each[Pg 43] race or creed28 has its own inexorable laws in the matter of food. Some eat this and some eat that, and others will eat anything—save pork—provided that prayers are spoken over it by an appointed priest.
At half-past nine an occasional tipsy Malay might be seen about the streets, but the old riots and mêlées were things of the past. In the little public-house at the corner of Pennyfields we found the usual crowd of Chinks and white girls, and the electric piano was gurgling its old sorry melodies, and beer and whisky were flowing; but the whole thing was very decorous and war-timish.
We did, however, find one splash of colour. A new and very gaudy29 restaurant had lately been opened in a narrow by-street, and here we took a meal of noodle, chow-chow and awabi, and some tea that was a mocking echo of the old suey-sen. The room was crowded with yellow boys and a few white girls. Suddenly, from a corner table, occupied by two of the ladies, came a sharp stir. A few heated words rattled30 on the air, and then one rose, caught the other a resounding31 biff in the neck, and screamed at her:—
"You dare say I'm not respectable! I am respectable. I come from Manchester."
[Pg 44]
This evidence the assaulted one refused to regard as final. She rose, reached over the table, and clawed madly at her opponent's face and clothes. Then they broke from the table, and fought, and fell, and screamed, and delivered the hideous32 animal noises made by those who see red. At once the place boiled. I've never been in a Chinese rebellion, but if the clamour and the antics of the twenty or so yellow boys in that café be taken as a faint record of such an affair, it is a good thing for the sensitive to be out of. To the corner dashed waiters and some customers, and there they rolled one another to the floor in their efforts to separate the girls, while others stood about and screamed advice in the various dialects of the Celestial33 Empire. At last the girls were torn apart, and struggled insanely in half a dozen grips as they hurled34 inspired thoughts at one another, or returned to the old chorus of "Dirty prostitute." "I ain't a prostitute. I come from Manchester. Lemme gettater."
And with a final wrench35 the respectable one did get at her. She broke away, turned to a table, and with three swift gestures flung cup, saucer and sauce-boat into the face of her [Pg 45]traducer. That finished it. The proprietor36 had stood aloof37 while the girls tore each other's faces and bit at uncovered breasts. But the sight of his broken crockery acted as a remover of gravity. He dashed down the steps, pushed aside assistants and advisers38, grabbed the nearest girl—the respectable one—round the waist, wrestled39 her to the top of the marble stairs that lead from the door to the upper restaurant, and then, with a sharp knee-kick, sent her headlong to the bottom, where she lay quiet.
Whereupon her opponent crashed across a table in hysterics, kicking, moaning, laughing and sobbing40: "You've killed 'er—yeh beast. You've killed 'er. She's my pal41. Oo. Oo. Oooooowh!"
This lasted about a minute. Then, suddenly, she arose, pulled herself together, ran madly down the stairs, picked up her pal, and staggered with her to the street. At once, without a word of comment, the company returned placidly42 to its eating and drinking; and this affair—an event in the otherwise dull life of Limehouse—was over.
Years ago, such affairs were of daily occurrence, and the West India Dock Road became a legend to frighten children with at night. But[Pg 46] the times change. Chinatown is a back number, and there now remains43 no corner to which one may take the curious visitor thirsting for exotic excitement—unless it be the wilds of Tottenham.
The Chinatown of New York, too, has become respectable. The founder44 of that colony, Old Nick, died recently, in miserable45 circumstances, after having acquired thousands of dollars by his enterprise. From the high estate of Founder of the Chinatown he dropped to the position of panhandler, swinging on the ears of his compatriots. About forty years ago, when Mott Street, Pell Street, and Doyers Street were the territory of the Whyos, the Bowery boys and the Dead Rabbits, Old Nick crept stealthily into a small corner. He started a cigar-store in Mott Street, making his own cigars. He was honest, thrifty46, and possessed47 a lust48 for work. The cigar-store prospered49, and soon, feeling lonely, as the only Chink among so many white boys, he passed the word to his countrymen about the big spenders of the district. On his advice, they closed their laundries and came to live alongside, to get their pickings from the dollars that were flying about. Chinatown was started, and rapidly developed, and its atmosphere was sedulously50 "arranged"[Pg 47] for the benefit of conducted tourists from uptown, and the tables rattled with the dice51 and fluttered with the cards. This success was the beginning of Old Nick's failure. At the tables he lost all: his capital, his store, his home, and his proud position. For a time he managed to survive in fair circumstances; but soon the hatchet52 men became too numerous, and their tong feuds too deadly, and their gambling53 tricks too notorious. Police raids and the firm hand of the higher Chinese merchants put a stop to the prosperity of Chinatown, and soon it fell away to nothing, and Old Nick passed his last days on the sporadic54 charity of a white woman whom he had in happier days befriended.
And to-day Pell Street and Mott Street are as quiet and virtuous55 as Pennyfields and the Causeway. Coburn and I left the old waterside streets with feelings of dismay, tasting ashes in the mouth. We tried to draw from an old storekeeper, a topside good-fella chap, some expression of his own attitude to present conditions, but with his usual impassivity he passed it over. How could this utterly56 debased and miserable one who dares to stand before noble and refined ones from Office of Printed Leaves, who have honoured his[Pg 48] totally inadequate57 establishment with symmetrical presences, presume to offer to exalted58 intelligences utterly insignificant59 thoughts that find lodging in despicable breast?
Clearly he was handing us the lemon, so we took it, and departed for the more reckless joys of Hammersmith, where Coburn has his home. On the journey back I remembered the drabness we had just left, and then I remembered Limehouse as it was—a pool of Eastern filth60 and metropolitan61 squalor; a place where unhappy Lascars, discharged from ships they were only too glad to leave, were at once the prey62 of rascally63 lodging-house keepers, mostly English, who fleeced them over the fan-tan tables and then slung64 them to the dark alleys65 of the docks. A wicked place; yes, but colourful.
Listen to the following: two extracts from an East End paper of thirty years back:—
Thames Police Court.
John Lyons, who keeps a common lodging-house, which he has neglected to register, appeared before Mr. Ingram in answer to a summons taken out by Inspector66 Price. J. Kirby, 53A, inspector of common lodging-houses, stated that on Saturday night last he visited defendant's house, which was in a most filthy67 and dilapidated condition. In the first floor he found a Chinaman sleeping in a cupboard or small closet, filled with cobwebs. The wretched creature was without a shirt, and[Pg 49] was covered with a few rags. The Chinaman was apparently68 in a dying state, and has since expired. An inquest was held on his remains, and it was proved he died of fever, and had been most grossly neglected. The room in which the Chinaman lay was without bedding or furniture. In the second room he found Aby Callighan, an Irishwoman, who said she paid 1s. 6d. a week rent. In the third room was Abdallah, a Lascar, who said he paid 3s. per week, and a Chinaman squatting69 on a chair smoking. In the fourth room was Dong Yoke70, a Chinaman, who said he paid 2s. 6d. per week for the privilege of sleeping on the bare boards; two Lascars on bedsteads smoking opium, and the dead body of a Lascar lying on the floor, and covered with an old rug. In the fifth room was an Asiatic seaman71, named Peru, who said he paid 3s. per week, and eleven other Lascars, six of whom were sleeping on bedsteads, three on the floor, and two on chairs. If the house were registered, only four persons would be allowed in the room. The effluvium, caused by smoking opium and the over-crowded state of the room, was most nauseous and intolerable. In the kitchen, which was very damp, he found Sedgoo, who said he had to pay 2s. a week, and eight Chinamen huddled72 together. The stench here was very bad. If the house were registered, no one would have been allowed to inhabit the kitchen at all. He should say the house was quite unfit for a human habitation. The floors of the rooms, the stairs and passages were in a filthy and dilapidated condition, covered with slime, dirt, and all kinds of odious73 substances.
The men had been hung up with weights tied to their feet; flogged with a rope; pork, the horror of the Mohammedan, served out to them to eat, and the insult carried further by violently ramming74 the tail of a pig into their mouths and twisting the entrails of the pig round their necks; they were forced up aloft at the point of the bayonet, and a shirt all gory75 with Lascar blood was exhibited on the trial, and all this proved in evidence. One man leaped overboard to escape his tormentor76; a boat was about to be lowered to save the drowning man, but it was prohibited, and he was left to perish. The captain escaped out of the country, forfeiting77 his bail78 and[Pg 50] abandoning his ship, leaving his chief officer to be brought to trial and to undergo punishment for his share of this cruel transaction.
In those days you might stand in West India Dock Road, on a June evening, in a dusk of blue and silver, the air heavy with the reek79 of betel nut, chandu and fried fish; the cottages stewing80 themselves in their viscid heat. Against the skyline rose Limehouse Church, one of the architectural beauties of London. Yellow men and brown ambled81 about you, and a melancholy82 guitar tinkled83 a melody of lost years. Then, were colour and movement; the whisper of slippered84 feet; the adventurous85 uncertainty86 of shadow; heavy mist, which never lifts from Poplar and Limehouse; strange voices creeping from nowhere; and occasionally the rasp of a gramophone delivering records of interminable Chinese dramas. The soul of the Orient wove its spell about you, until, into this evanescent atmosphere, came a Salvation87 Army chorus bawling88 a lot of emphatic89 stuff about glory and blood, or an organ with "It ain't all lavender!" and at once the clamour and reek of the place caught you.
Thirty years ago—that was its time of roses. Then, indeed, things did happen: things so strong that the perfume of them lingers to this day, and[Pg 51] one can, remembering them, sometimes sympathize with those who say "Limehouse" in tones of terror. One of my earliest memories is of the West India Dock Road on a wet November afternoon. A fight was on between a Chink and a Malay. The Chink used a knife in an upward direction, forcefully. The Malay got the Chink down, and jumped with heavy boots on the bleeding yellow face.
Some time ago, when my ways were cast in that district, the boys would loaf at a kind of semi-private music-hall, attached to a public-house, where one of the Westernized Chinks, a San Sam Phung, led the band, and freely admitted all friends who bought him drinks. Every night he climbed to his chair, and his yellow face rose like a November sun over the orchestra-rail. When the conductor's tap turned on the flow of the dozen instruments, which blared rag-tag music, we shifted to the babbling90 bar and tried to be amused by the show. It was the dustiest thing in entertainment that you can imagine. To this day the hall stinks91 of snarling92 song. Dusty jokes we had, dusty music, dusty dresses, dusty girls to wear them, or take them off; and only the flogging of cheap whisky to carry us through the evening.[Pg 52] Solemn smokes of cut plug and indifferent cigar swirled93 in a haze94 of lilac, and over the opiate air San's fiddle95 would wail96, surging up to the balcony's rim97 and the cloud of corpse98 faces that swam above it. More and more mephitic the air would grow, and noisier would become voice and foot and glass; until, with a burst of lights, and the roar of the chord-off from the band, the end would come, and we would tumble out into the great road where were the winking99 river, and keen air and sanity100.
Later, the boys would shuffle101 along with San Sam Phung to his lodging over a waterside wine-shop, crossing the crazy bridge into the Isle102 of Dogs. Often, passing at midnight, you might have heard his heart-song trickling103 from an open window. He cared only for the modern, Italianate stuff, and would play it for hours at a time. Seated in the orchestra, in his second-hand104 dress-suit and well-oiled hair, he looked about as picturesque105 as a Bayswater boarding-house. But you should have seen him afterwards, during the day, in his one-room establishment, radiant in spangled dressing-gown and tempestuous106 hair, a cigarette at his lips, his fiddle at his chin. It was worth sitting up late for. Then his face would shine,[Pg 53] if ever a Chink's can, and his bow would tear the soul from the fiddle in a fury of lyricism.
Half his room was filled with a stove, which thrust a long neck of piping ten feet in the wrong direction, and then swerved107 impulsively108 to the window. In the corner was a joss. The rest of the room was littered with fiddles109 and music. Over the stove hung a gaudy view of Amoy. He never tired of talking of Amoy, his home. He longed to get back to it—to flowers, blue waters, white towns. He lived only for the moment when he might tuck his fiddle-case under his arm and return to Amoy, home and beauty. Once started on the tawdry ribaldry which he had to play at the hall, his arm and fingers following mechanically the sheet before him, he would set his fancies free, and, like a flock of rose-winged birds, they took flight to Amoy. Music, for him, was just melody—the graceful110 surface of things; in a word Amoy. Often he confessed to a terrible fear that he would grow old and die among our swart streets ere he could save enough to return. And he did. Full of the poppy one dark night, he stepped over the edge of a wharf111 at Millwall. Then, at the inquiry112, it was discovered that his nostalgia113 for Amoy was pure fake. He had never been there.[Pg 54] He was born on a boat that crawled up-river one foggy morning, and had never for a day gone out of London.
There were many other delightful114 creatures of Limehouse whose names lie persistently115 on the memory. There was Afong, a chimpanzee who ran a pen-yen joint116. There was Chinese Emma, in whose establishment one could go "sleigh-riding." There was Shaik Boxhoo, a gentleman who did unpleasant things, and finally got religion and other advantages over his less wily brothers, who got only the jug117. Faults they had in plenty, these throwbacks, but their faults were original. Every one of them was a bit of sharp-flavoured character, individual and distinct.
In those days there was a waste patch of wan26 grass, called The Gardens, near the Quarter, and something like a band performed there once a week. O Carnival118, Carnival! There the local crowd would go, and there, to the music of dear Verdi, light feet would clatter119 about the asphalt walk, and there would happen what happens every Sunday night in those parts of London where are parks, promenades120, bandstands and monkeys' parades. In the hot spangled dusk, the groups of girls, brave with best frocks and daring ribbons,[Pg 55] would fling their love and their laughter to all who would have them. Through the plaintive121 music—poor Verdi! how like a wheezy music-box his crinoline melodies sounded, even then!—would swim little ripples122 of laughter when the girls were caressing123 or being caressed124; and always the lisp of feet and the whisk of darling frocks kissing little black shoes.
Near by was the old "Royal Sovereign," which had a skittle-alley. There would gather the lousy Lascars, and there they would roll, bowl or pitch. Then they would swill125. Later, they would roll, bowl or pitch, with a skinful of gin, through the reeling streets to whichever boat might claim them.
The black Lascars, unlike their yellow mates, are mostly disagreeable people. There was, in those days, but one of them who even approached affability. He was something of a Limehouse Wonder, for, in a sudden fight over spilt beer, he showed amazing aptitude126 not only with his fists, but also in ringcraft. Chuck Lightfoot, a local sport, happened to see him, and took him in hand, and for some years he stayed in Shadwell, putting one after another of the local lads to sleep. He finished his ring career in a dockside saloon by knocking out an offending white man who had[Pg 56] chipped him about his colour. It was a foul127 blow, and the man died. Pennyfields Polly got twelve months, and when he came out he started on the poppy and the snow, for he was not allowed to fight again, and life held nothing else for him. His friends tried to dissuade128 him, on the ground that he was ruining his health—a sensible argument to put to a man who had no interest in life; they might as well have told an Arctic explorer, who had lost the trail, that his tie was creeping up the back of his neck.
It is curious how the boys cling to you after a brief interchange of hospitalities. You drop into a beer-shack one evening, and you are sure to find a friend. One makes so easily in these parts a connection, salutations, fugitive129 intimacy130. You are suddenly saluted131, it may be by that good old friend, Mr. Lo, the poor Indian, or John Sam Ling Lee. Vaguely132 you recall the name. Yes; you stood him a drink, some ten years ago. Where has he been? Oh, he found a boat ... went round the Horn ... stranded133 at Lima ... been in Cuba some time ... got to Swatow later ... might stay in London ... might get a boat on Saturday.
But these casual encounters are now hardly[Pg 57] to be had. So many boys, so many places have disappeared. Blue Gate Fields, scene of many an Asiatic demonism, is gone. The "Royal Sovereign"—the old "Royal Sovereign"—is gone, and the Home for Asiatics reigns134 in its stead. The hop-shacks about the Poplar arches and the closed courtyards and their one-story cottages are no more. To-day—as I have said three times already; stop me if I say it again—the glamorous135 shame of Chinatown has departed. Nothing remains save tradition, which now and then is fanned into life by such a case as that of the drugged actress. Yet you may still find people who journey fearfully to Limehouse, and spend money in its shops and restaurants, and suffer their self-manufactured excitements while sojourning in its somnolent136 streets among the respectable sons of Canton. The boys will not thank me for robbing them of the soft marks who pay twenty shillings for a jade137 bangle, of the kind sold in a sixpenny-halfpenny bazaar138; so, anticipating their celestial disapproval139, this miserable prostrates140 himself and remains bowed for their gracious pardon, and begs to be permitted to say that the entirely141 inadequate benedictions142 of this one will be upon them until the waning143 of the last moon.
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macabre
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| adj.骇人的，可怖的 | |
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missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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muddles
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| v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的第三人称单数 )；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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carvings
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| n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 )；雕刻术；雕刻品；雕刻物 | |
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scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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disillusions
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| 使不再抱幻想，使理想破灭( disillusion的第三人称单数 ) | |
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delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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hoarded
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| v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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feuds
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suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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seamen
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lodging
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thronged
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destitute
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cubicle
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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overtime
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creed
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gaudy
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rattled
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resounding
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hideous
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celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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hurled
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wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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advisers
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| 顾问，劝告者( adviser的名词复数 )； （指导大学新生学科问题等的）指导教授 | |
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wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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46
thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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47
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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48
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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49
prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
sedulously
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| ad.孜孜不倦地 | |
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51
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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52
hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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53
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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54
sporadic
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| adj.偶尔发生的 [反]regular；分散的 | |
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55
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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56
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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57
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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58
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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59
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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60
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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61
metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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62
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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63
rascally
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| adj. 无赖的，恶棍的 adv. 无赖地，卑鄙地 | |
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64
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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65
alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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66
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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67
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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68
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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69
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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70
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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71
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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72
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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73
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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74
ramming
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| n.打结炉底v.夯实（土等）( ram的现在分词 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
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75
gory
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| adj.流血的；残酷的 | |
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76
tormentor
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| n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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77
forfeiting
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的现在分词 ) | |
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78
bail
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| v.舀（水），保释；n.保证金，保释，保释人 | |
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79
reek
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| v.发出臭气；n.恶臭 | |
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80
stewing
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| 炖 | |
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81
ambled
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的过去式和过去分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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82
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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83
tinkled
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| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
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84
slippered
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| 穿拖鞋的 | |
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85
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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86
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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87
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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88
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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89
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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90
babbling
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| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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91
stinks
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| v.散发出恶臭( stink的第三人称单数 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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92
snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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93
swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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95
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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96
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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97
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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98
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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99
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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100
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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101
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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102
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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103
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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104
second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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105
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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106
tempestuous
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| adj.狂暴的 | |
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107
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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109
fiddles
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| n.小提琴( fiddle的名词复数 )；欺诈；（需要运用手指功夫的）细巧活动；当第二把手v.伪造( fiddle的第三人称单数 )；篡改；骗取；修理或稍作改动 | |
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110
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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111
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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112
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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113
nostalgia
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| n.怀乡病，留恋过去，怀旧 | |
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114
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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115
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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116
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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117
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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118
carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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119
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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120
promenades
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| n.人行道( promenade的名词复数 )；散步场所；闲逛v.兜风( promenade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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121
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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122
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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123
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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124
caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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125
swill
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| v.冲洗；痛饮；n.泔脚饲料；猪食；（谈话或写作中的）无意义的话 | |
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126
aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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127
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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128
dissuade
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| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
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129
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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130
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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131
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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132
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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133
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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134
reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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135
glamorous
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| adj.富有魅力的；美丽动人的；令人向往的 | |
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136
somnolent
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| adj.想睡的，催眠的；adv.瞌睡地；昏昏欲睡地；使人瞌睡地 | |
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137
jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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138
bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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139
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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140
prostrates
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的第三人称单数 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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141
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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142
benedictions
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| n.祝福( benediction的名词复数 )；（礼拜结束时的）赐福祈祷；恩赐；（大写）（罗马天主教）祈求上帝赐福的仪式 | |
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143
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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