Joyous1 syllables2, in early times expressive3 of the delights of the chase, and even to-day carrying an echo of nights of festivity, though an echo only. How many thousand of provincials4, seeing London, have been drawn5 to those odourous byways that thrust themselves so briskly through the staid pleasure-land of the West End—Greek Street, Frith Street, Dean Street, Old Compton Street: a series of interjections breaking a dull paragraph—where they might catch the true Latin temper and bear away to the smoking-rooms of country Conservative clubs fulsome6 tales that have made Soho already a legend. Indeed, I know one cautious lad from Yorkshire, whose creed7 is that You Never Know and You Can't Be Too Careful, who always furnishes himself with a loaded revolver when dining with a town friend in Soho. I am not one to look sourly upon the simple pleasures of the poor; I do not begrudge9 him his concocted10 dish of thrills. I only mention[Pg 59] this trick of his because it proves again the strange resurrective powers of an oft-buried lie. You may sweep, you may garnish11 Soho if you will; but the scent12 of adventure will hang round it still.
But to-day the scent is very faint. The streets that once rang with laughter and prodigal13 talk are in A.D. 1917 charged with gloom; their gentle noise is pitched in the minor14 key. These morsels15 of the South, shovelled16 into the swart melancholies of central London, have lost their happy summer tone. Charing17 Cross Road was always a streak18 of misery19, but, on the most leaden day, its side streets gave an impression of light. Lord knows whence came the light. Not from the skies. Perhaps from the indolently vivacious20 loungers; perhaps from the flower-boxes on the window-sills, or the variegated21 shops bowered22 with pendant polonies, in rainbow wrappings of tinfoil23, and flasks24 of Chianti. One always walked down Old Compton Street with a lilt, as to some carnival25 tune26. Nothing mattered. There were macaroni and spaghetti to eat, and Chianti to drink; dishes of ravioli; cigars at a halfpenny a time and cigarettes at six a penny; copies of frivolous27 comic-papers; and delicate glasses of lire, a liqueur that carried you at the first sip28 to the[Pg 60] green-hued Mediterranean29. The very smell of the place was the smell of those lovable little towns of the Midi.
But all is now changed. Gone are the shilling tables-d'h?te and their ravishing dishes. Gone is the pint30 of vin ordinaire at tenpence. Will they ever come again, those gigantic, lamp-lit evenings, those Homeric bob's-worths of hors-d'?uvre, soup, omelette, chicken, cheese and coffee? Shall we ever again cross Oxford31 Street to the old German Quarter and drink their excellent Pilsener and Munchner, in heartening steins, and eat their leber-wurst sandwiches, and smoke their long, thin cigars? Or seat ourselves in the Schweitzerhof, where four wonderful dishes were placed before you at a cost of tenpence by some dastard33 spy, in the pay of that invisible-cloak artist, the English Bolo?—who doubtless reported to Berlin our conversation about Phyllis Monkman's hair and Billy Merson's technique. Nay34, I think not. The blight35 of civilization is upon Soho. Many once cosy36 and memorable37 cafés are closed. Other places have altered their note and become uncomfortably English; while those that retain their atmosphere and their customers have considerably38 changed their menu and cuisine39. One-and-ninepence is the [Pg 61]lowest charge for a table-d'h?te—and pretty poor hunting at that. The old elaborate half-crown dinners are now less elaborate and cost four shillings. And the wine-lists—well, wouldn't they knock poor Omar off his perch40? I don't know who bought Omar's drinks, or whether he paid for his own, but if he lived in Soho to-day he'd have a pretty thin time either way—unless the factory price for tents had increased in proportion with other things.
Gone, too, is the delicious atmosphere of laisser-faire that made Soho a refreshment41 of the soul for the visitors from Streatham and Ealing. Soho's patrons to-day have a furtive42, guilty look about them. You see, they are trying to be happy in war-time. No more do you see in the cafés the cold-eyed anarchists43 and the petty bourgeois44 and artisans from the foreign warehouses45 of the locality. In their place are heavy-eyed women, placid46 and monosyllabic, and much khaki and horizon blue. Many of the British soldiers, officers and privates, are men who have not yet been out, and are experimenting with their French among the French girls who have taken the places of the swift-footed, gestic Luigi, Fran?ois or Alphonse; others have come from France, where they have[Pg 62] discovered the piquancy47 of French cooking, and desire no more the solidities of the "old English" chop-house.
Over all is an atmosphere of restraint. Gone are the furious argument and the preposterous48 accord. Gone are the colour and the loud lights and the evening noise. Soho is marking time, until the good days return—if ever. Not in 1917 do you see Old Compton Street as a line of warm and fragrant49 café-windows; instead, you stumble drunkenly through a dim, murky50 lane, and take your chance by pushing the first black door that exudes51 a smell of food. Gone, too, are those exotic foods that brought such zest52 to the jaded53 palate. The macaroni and spaghetti now being manufactured in London are poor substitutes for the real thing, being served in long, flat strips instead of in the graceful54 pipe form of other days. Camembert, Brie, Roquefort, Gruyère, Port Salut, Strachini and other enchanting55 cheeses are unobtainable; and you may cry in vain for edible56 snails57 and the savoury stew58 of frogs' legs. True, the Chinese café in Regent Street can furnish for the adventurous59 stomach such trifles as black eggs (guaranteed thirty years old), sharks' fins60 at seven shillings a portion, stewed61 seaweed, bamboo[Pg 63] shoots, and sweet birds'-nests; but Regent Street is beyond the bounds of Soho.
Nevertheless, if you attend carefully, and if you are lucky, you may still catch in Old Compton Street a faint echo of its graces and picturesque62 melancholy63. You may still see and hear the sombre Yid, the furious Italian, the yodelling Swiss, and the deprecating French, hanging about the dozen or so coffee-bars that have appeared since 1914. A few of these places existed in certain corners of London long before that date, but it is only lately that the Londoner has discovered them and called for more. The Londoner—I offer this fact to all students of national traits—must always lean when taking his refreshment. Certain gay and festive64 gentlemen, who constitute an instrument of order called the Central Control Board, forbid him to lean in those places where, of old, he was accustomed to lean; at any rate, he is only allowed to lean during certain defined hours. You might think that he would have gladly availed himself of this opportunity for resting awhile by sitting at a marble-topped table and drinking coffee or tea, or—horrid thought!—cocoa. But no; he isn't happy unless he leans over his refreshment; and the café-bar has [Pg 64]supplied his demands. There is something in leaning against a bar which entirely65 changes one's outlook. You may sit at a table and drink whisky-and-soda, and yet not achieve a tithe66 of the expansiveness that is yours when you are leaning against a bar and drinking dispiriting stuff like coffee or sirop. Maybe the physical attitude reacts on the mind, and tightens67 up certain cords or sinews, or eases the blood-pressure; anyway, fears, doubts, and cautions seem to vanish in these little corners of France, and momentarily the old animation68 of Soho returns.
In these places you may perchance yet capture for a fleeting69 space the will-o'-the-wisperie of other days: movement and festal colour; laughter and quick tears; the warm jest and the darkling mystery that epitomize the city of all cities; and the wanton, rose-winged graces that flutter about the fair head of M'selle Lolotte, as she hands you your café nature and an April smile for sweetening, carry to you a breath of the glitter and spaciousness70 of old time. You do not know Lolotte, perhaps! Thousand commiserations, M'sieu! What damage! Is Lolotte lovely and delicate? But of a loveliness of the most ravishing! The shining hair and the eyes of the most disturbing![Pg 65] Lolotte is in direct descent from Mimi Pinson, half angel and half puss.
Soldiers of all the Allied72 armies gather about her crescent-shaped bar after half-past nine of an evening. The floor is sawdusted. The counter is sloppy73 with overflows74 of coffee. Lips and nose receive from the air that bitter tang derived75 only from the smoke of Maryland tobacco. The varied76 uniforms of the patrons make a harmony of debonair77 gaiety with the many-coloured bottles of cordials and sirops.
"Pardon, m'sieu!" cries the poilu, as he accidentally jogs the arm by which Sergeant78 Michael Cassidy is raising his coffee-cup.
"Oh, sarner fairy hang, mossoo! Moselle, donnay mwaw urn8 Granny Dean."
"M'sieu parle fran?ais, alors?"
"Ah, oui. Jer parle urn purr."
And another supporting column is added to the structure of the Entente79.
Over in the corner stands a little fat fellow. That corner belongs to him by right of three years' occupation. He is 'Ockington from a nearby printing works. Ask 'Ockington what he thinks about these 'ere coffee-bars.
"Ah," he'll say, "I like these Frenchified [Pg 66]caffies. Grand idea, if you ask me. Makes yeh feel as though you was abroad-like. Gives yeh that Lazy-Fare feelin'. I bin71 abroad, y'know. Dessay you 'ave, too, shouldn't wonder. I don't blame yeh. See what yeh can while yeh can, 'ats what I say. My young Sid went over to Paris one Bang Koliday, 'fore32 the war, an' he come back as different again. Yerce, I'm all fer the French caffies, I am. Nicely got up, I think. Good meoggerny counter; and this floor and the walls—all done in that what-d'ye call it—mosey-ac. What I alwis say is this: the French is a gay nation. Gay. And you feel it 'ere, doncher? Sort of cheers you up, like, if yer know what I mean, to drop in 'ere for a minute or two.... Year or two ago, now, after a rush job at the Works, I used to stop at a coffee-stall on me way 'ome late at night, an' 'ave a penny cup o' swipes—yerce, an' glad of it. But the difference in the stuff they give yer 'ere—don't it drink lovely and smooth?"
Then his monologue80 is interrupted by the electric piano, which some one has fed with pennies; and your ear is charmed or tortured by the latest revue music or old favourites from Paris and Naples—"Marguerite," "Sous les ponts de[Pg 67] Paris," "Monaco," the Tripoli March. If you appear interested in the piano, whose voice Lolotte loves, she will offer to toss you for the next penn'orth. Never does she lose. She wins by the simple trick of snatching your penny away the moment you lift your hand from it, and gurgling delightedly at your discomfiture81.
No wonder the coffee-bar has become such a feature of London life in this time of war. Leaning, in Lolotte's bar, is a real and not a forced pleasure. In the old days one could lean and absorb the drink of one's choice; but amid what company and with what service! Who could possibly desire to exchange fatigued82 inanities84 with the vacuous85 vulgarities who administer the ordinary London bar; who seem, like telephone girls, to have taken lessons from some insane teacher of elocution, with their "Nooh riarly?" expressive of incredulity; and their "Is yewers a Scartch, Mr. Iggulden?" But in Lolotte's bar, talk is bright, sometimes distinctly clever, and one lingers over one's coffee, chaffering with her for—well, ask 'Ockington how long he stays.
But Lolotte is not always gay. Sometimes she will tell you stories of Paris. There is a terrible story which she tells when she is feeling triste.[Pg 68] It is the story of a girl friend of hers with whom she worked in Paris. The girl grew ill; lost her work; and earned her living by the only possible means, until she grew too ill for that. One night Lolotte met her wearily walking the streets. She had been without food for two days, and had that morning been turned from her lodging86. Suddenly, as they passed a florist's, she darted87 through its doors and inquired the price of some opulent blooms at the further end of the shop. The shop-man turned towards them, and, as he turned, she dexterously88 snatched a bunch of white violets from a vase on the counter. The price of the orchids89, she decided90, was too high, and she came out.
Lolotte, who had seen the trick from the doorway91, inquired the reason for the theft. And the answer was:
"Eh, bien; il faut avoir quelquechose quand on va rencontrer le bon Dieu."
Two days later her body, with a bunch of white violets fastened at the neck, was recovered from the Seine.
OUT OF TOWN
It was an empty day, in the early part of the year, and I was its very idle singer; so idle that I was beginning to wonder whether there would be any Sunday dinner for me. I took stock of my possessions in coin, and found one-and-ten-pence-halfpenny. Was I downhearted? Yes. But I didn't worry, for when things are at their worst, my habit is always to fold my hands and trust. Something always happens.
Something happened on this occasion: a double knock at the door and a telegram. It was from the most enlightened London publisher, whose firm has done so much in the way of encouraging young writers, and it asked me to call at once. I did so.
"Like to go to Monte Carlo?" he asked.
When I had recovered from the swoon, I begged him to ask another.
"Here's an American millionaire," he said,[Pg 70] "writing from Monte Carlo. He wants to write a book, and he wants some assistance. How would it suit you?"
I said it would suit me like a Savile Row outfit92 of clothes.
"When can you go?"
"Any old time."
"Right. You'd better wire him, and tell him I told you to. Don't let yourself go cheap. Good-bye."
I didn't fall on his neck in an outburst of gratitude93: he wouldn't have liked it. But I yodelled and chirruped all the way to the nearest post-office, having touched a friend for ten shillings on the strength of the stunt94. All that day and the next, telegrams passed between Monte Carlo and Balham. I asked a noble salary and expenses, and a wire came back: "Start at once." I replied: "No money." Ten pounds were delivered at my doorstep next morning, with the repeated message "Start at once."
But starting at once, in war-time, was not so easily done. There was a passport to get. That meant three days' lounging in a little wooden hut in the yard of the Foreign Office. Having got the passport, I spent four hours in a queue[Pg 71] outside the French Consulate96 before I could get it visé. Six days after the first telegram, I stood shivering on Victoria Station at seven o'clock of a cadaverous January morning. Having been well and truly searched in another little hut, and having kissed the book, and sworn full-flavoured oaths about correspondence, and thought of a number, and added four to it, I was allowed to board the train.
Half the British Army was on that train, and Mr. Jerome K. Jerome and myself were the only civilians97 in our carriage. You will rightly guess that it was a lively journey. I had always wondered, in peace-time, why the jew's-harp was invented. I understand now. In the histories of this war, the jew's-harp will take as romantic a place as the pipes of Lucknow or the drums of Oude in the histories of other wars.
At Folkestone there were more searchings, more stamping of passports, more papers and "permissions" to bulk one's pocket and perplex one's mind. On the boat, standing-room only, and when a gestic stewardess98 sought seats for a fond mother and five little ones in the ladies' saloon, she found all places occupied by khaki figures stretched at full length.
[Pg 72]
"Seulement les dames99!" she cried, pointing to a notice over the door.
"Aha, madame!" said a stalwart Australian, "mais c'est la guerre!" In other words "Aubrey Llewellyn Coventry Fell to you!"
Yes, it was war; and it was tactfully suggested to us by the crew, for, when we were clear of Folkestone harbour, all boats were slung100 out, and lifeboats were placed in tragic101 heaps on either side. It was a cold, angry sea, and stewards102 and stewardesses103 became aggressively prophetic about the fine crossing that we were to have. Germany had a few days before declared her first blockade of the English coast, and every speck104 on the sea became dreadfully portentous105. At mid-Channel a destroyer stood in to us and ran up a stream of signals.
"This is it," chortled a Cockney, between violent trips to the side; "this is it! Now we're for it!"
Next moment I got a push in the back, and I thought it had come. But it was the elbow of one of the crew who had rushed forward, and was sorting bits of bunting from an impossibly tangled106 heap at my side. In about two seconds, he found what he wanted and hauled at a rope. Up[Pg 73] went what looked like a patchwork107 counterpane, until the breeze caught it, when it became a string of shapes and colours, straining deliriously108 against its fastenings. Then down it came; then up again; then down; then up; then down; and that was the end of that conversation. I don't know what it signified, but half an hour later we were in Boulogne harbour.
More comic business with papers; then to the train. Yes, it was war. The bridge over the Oise had not then been repaired; so we crawled to Paris by an absurdly crab-like route. We left Boulogne just after twelve. We reached Paris at ten o'clock at night. There was no food on the train, and from six o'clock that morning, when I had had a swift cup of tea, until nearly midnight I got nothing in the way of refreshment. But who cared? I was going South to meet an American millionaire, and I had money in my pocket.
I arrived at Paris too late to connect with that night's P.L.M. express, so I had twenty-four hours to kill. I strolled idly about, and found Paris very little changed. There was an air about the people of irritation109, of questioning, of petulant110 suffering; they had a manner expressive[Pg 74] of "A quoi bon?" Somebody in high quarters had brought this thing upon them. Somebody in high quarters might rescue them from its evils—or might not. They moved like stricken animals, their habitual111 melancholy, which is often unnoticed because it is overlaid with vivacity112, now permanently113 in possession.
I caught the night express to Monte Carlo. Our carriage contained eight sombre people, and the corridors were strewn with sleep-stupid soldiers. I was one sardine114 among many, and, with a twenty-seven-hour journey before me in this overheated, hermetically sealed sardine-tin, I began to think what a fool I had been to make this absurd journey to a place that was strange to me; to meet a millionaire about whom I knew nothing, and who might have changed his mind, millionaire-fashion, and left Monte Carlo by the time I got there; and to undertake a job which I might find, on examination, was beyond me.
Then, with a French girl's head on one shoulder, and my other twisted at an impossible angle into the window-frame, I went to sleep and awoke at Lyons, with a horrible headache and an unbearable115 mouth, the result of the boiling and over-spiced soup I had swallowed the night before. I[Pg 75] think we all hated each other. It was impossible to wash or arrange oneself decently, and again there was no food on the train. But, as only the Latin mind can, we made the best of it and pretended that it was funny. Girls and men, complete strangers, drooped116 in abandonment against one another, or reclined on unknown necks. A young married couple behaved in a way that at other times would have meant a divorce. The husband rested his sagging117 head on the bosom118 of a stout119 matron, and a poilu stretched a rug across his knees and made a comfortable pillow for the little wife. N'importe. C'était la guerre.
On the platform at Lyons were groups of French Red Cross girls with wagons120 of coffee. This coffee was for the soldiers, but they handed it round impartially121 to civilians and soldiers alike, and those who cared could drop a few sous into the collecting basin. That coffee was the sweetest draught122 I had ever swallowed.
At Marseilles it was bright morning, and I was lucky enough to get a pannier, at a trifling123 cost of seven francs. These panniers are no meal for a hungry man. They contain a bone of chicken, a scrap124 of ham, a corner of Gruyère, a stick of bread (that surely was made by the firm[Pg 76] that put the sand in sandwich), a half-bottle of sour white wine, a bottle of the eternal Vichy, Old Uncle Tom Cobleigh and all.
I had just finished it when we rolled into Toulon, and there I got my first glimpse of the true, warm South. I suffered a curious sense of "coming home." I had not known it, but all my childish dreams must have had for their background this coloured South, for, the moment it spread itself before me, bits of Verdi melodies ran through my heart and brain and I danced a double-shuffle. Since I was old enough to handle a fiddle125, all music has interpreted itself to me in a visualization126 of blue seas, white coasts, green palms with lemon and nectarine dancing through them, and noisy, sun-bright towns, and swart faces and languorous127 and joyfully128 dirty people. The keenest sense of being at home came later, when, at Monte Carlo, I met Giacomo Puccini, the hero of my young days, whose music had illumined so many dark moments of my City slavery; who is in the direct line of succession from Verdi.
This first visit to Monte Carlo showed me Monte Carlo as she never was before. Half the hotels were closed or turned into hospitals, since[Pg 77] all the German hotel-staffs had been packed home. In other times it would have been "the season," but now there was everywhere a sense of emptiness. Wounded British and French officers paraded the Terrace; disabled blacks from Algeria were on every hotel verandah or wandering aimlessly about the hilly streets with a sad air of being lost. The Casino was open, but it closed at eleven, and all the cafés closed with it; the former happy night-life had been nipped off short. At midnight the place was dead.
I was accommodated at an Italian pension in Beausoleil, which, in peace-times, was patronized by music-hall artists working the Beausoleil casino. The Casino had been turned into a barracks, but one or two Italian danseuses from the cabarets of San Remo were taking a brief rest, so that the days were less tiresome129 than they might have been. My millionaire was a charming man, who used my services but a few hours each day. Then I could dally130 with the sunshine and the Chianti and the breaking seas about the Condamine.
When I next want a cheap holiday I shan't go to Brighton, or Eastbourne, or Cromer; I shall go to Monte Carlo. The dear Italian Mama who kept the pension treated me like a prince for[Pg 78] thirty-five francs a week. I had a large bedroom, with four windows looking to the Alpes Maritimes, and a huge, downy French bed; I had coffee and roll in the morning; a four-course lunch of Italian dishes, with a bottle of Chianti or Barolo; and a five-course dinner, again with a bottle. Those meals were the most delightful131 I have ever taken. The windows of the dining-room were flung wide to the Mediterranean, and between courses we could bask132 on the verandah while one of the girls would touch the guitar, the mandolin, or the accordion133 (sometimes we had all three going at once), in effervescent Neapolitan melody. My contribution to these meal-time entertainments was an English song of which they never tired: "The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carr-rr-lo!" Sometimes it was demanded five or six times in an evening. Immediately I arrived I was properly embraced and kissed by Mama and the three girls, and these rapturous kisses seemed to be part of the etiquette134 of the establishment, for they happened every morning and after all meals. M'selle Lola was allotted135 to me; a blonde Italian, afire with mischief136 and loving-kindness and little delicacies137 of affection.
On the third day of my visit I met a kindred[Pg 79] soul, the wireless138 operator from the Prince of Monaco's yacht, L'Hirondelle, which was lying in the harbour on loan to the French Government. He was a bright youth; had been many times on long cruises with the yacht, and spoke139 English which was as good as my French was bad. We had some delightful "noces" together, and it was in his company that I met and had talks with Caruso at the Café de Paris. An opera season was running at the Casino, and on opera nights the café remained open until a little past midnight. After the evening's work Caruso would drop into the café and talk with everybody. His na?ve gratification when I told him how I had saved money for weeks, and had waited hours at the gallery door of Covent Garden to hear him sing, was delightful to witness. Prince George of Serbia was also there, recuperating140; but though the Terrace at mid-day was crowded and pleasantly bright, I was told that against the Terrace in the old seasons it was miserably141 dull.
On ordinary nights, when we felt still fresh at eleven o'clock, we would take a car to Mentone, cross the frontier into Italy (which was not then at war), and spend a few cheery hours at Bordighera or San Remo, which were nightless. Then[Pg 80] back to Monte Carlo at about five, to bed, and up again at nine, with no feeling of fatigue83. It was curious to note how, under that sharp sunshine and keen night sky, all moral values were changed, or wholly obliterated142. The first breath of the youthful company at the pension blew all London cobwebs away. It was all so abandoned, yet so sweet and wholesome143; and, by contrast, the English seaside resort, where the girls play at "letting themselves go," was a crude and shameful144 farce145. Whatever happened at Monaco seemed to be right; nothing was wrong except frigidity146 and unkindness.
My dear Italian Mama said to me one evening at dinner, when I had (in the English sense) disgraced myself by a remark straight from the heart:—
"M'sieu Thomas, on m'a dit que les anglais ont froid. C'est pas vrai!"
No, dear Mamina; but it was true before I stayed at the Pension Poggio at Beausoleil.
My work with the millionaire spread itself over two months; then, with a fat wad, I was free to return. It was not until I went to the Consulate to get my passport visé that I discovered how many war-time laws of France I had broken.[Pg 81] I had not registered myself on arrival; I had not reported myself periodically; and I had not obtained a permis de séjour. The Consul95 informed me cheerfully that heaps of trouble would be waiting for me when I went to the Mairie to get my laissez-passer, without which I could not buy a railway ticket. However, after being stood in a corner for two hours until all other travellers had received attention, a laissez-passer was thrown at me on my undertaking147 to leave Monte Carlo that night. A gendarme148 accompanied me to the station to see that I did so.
At Paris, a few hours spent with the police, the military, H?tel-de-Ville, and the British Consulate resulted in permission to kick my heels there for a day or so.
A few mornings later arrived the millionaire's precious MS., which I had left behind so that he might revise it, with a message to hustle149. I hustled150. I reached London the same night. Next morning I negotiated with a publisher. In two days it was in the printer's hands and in a fortnight it was in the bookshops; and I was again out of a job.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
joyous
|
|
| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
syllables
|
|
| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
expressive
|
|
| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
provincials
|
|
| n.首都以外的人，地区居民( provincial的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
fulsome
|
|
| adj.可恶的，虚伪的，过分恭维的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
creed
|
|
| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
urn
|
|
| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
begrudge
|
|
| vt.吝啬，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
concocted
|
|
| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的过去式和过去分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
garnish
|
|
| n.装饰，添饰，配菜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
scent
|
|
| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
prodigal
|
|
| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
minor
|
|
| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
morsels
|
|
| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
shovelled
|
|
| v.铲子( shovel的过去式和过去分词 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
charing
|
|
| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
streak
|
|
| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
vivacious
|
|
| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
variegated
|
|
| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
bowered
|
|
| adj.凉亭的，有树荫的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
23
tinfoil
|
|
| n.锡纸，锡箔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
flasks
|
|
| n.瓶，长颈瓶， 烧瓶( flask的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
carnival
|
|
| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
tune
|
|
| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
frivolous
|
|
| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
sip
|
|
| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
Mediterranean
|
|
| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
pint
|
|
| n.品脱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
Oxford
|
|
| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
fore
|
|
| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
dastard
|
|
| n.卑怯之人，懦夫；adj.怯懦的，畏缩的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
blight
|
|
| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
cosy
|
|
| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
memorable
|
|
| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
considerably
|
|
| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
cuisine
|
|
| n.烹调，烹饪法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
perch
|
|
| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
refreshment
|
|
| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
furtive
|
|
| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
anarchists
|
|
| 无政府主义者( anarchist的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
bourgeois
|
|
| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
warehouses
|
|
| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
placid
|
|
| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
piquancy
|
|
| n.辛辣，辣味，痛快 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
preposterous
|
|
| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
fragrant
|
|
| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
murky
|
|
| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
exudes
|
|
| v.缓慢流出，渗出，分泌出( exude的第三人称单数 )；流露出对（某物）的神态或感情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
zest
|
|
| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
jaded
|
|
| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
enchanting
|
|
| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
edible
|
|
| n.食品，食物；adj.可食用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
snails
|
|
| n.蜗牛；迟钝的人；蜗牛( snail的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
stew
|
|
| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
adventurous
|
|
| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
fins
|
|
| [医]散热片；鱼鳍；飞边；鸭掌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
stewed
|
|
| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
picturesque
|
|
| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
festive
|
|
| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
tithe
|
|
| n.十分之一税；v.课什一税，缴什一税 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
tightens
|
|
| 收紧( tighten的第三人称单数 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
animation
|
|
| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
fleeting
|
|
| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
spaciousness
|
|
| n.宽敞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
bin
|
|
| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
allied
|
|
| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
sloppy
|
|
| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
overflows
|
|
| v.溢出，淹没( overflow的第三人称单数 )；充满；挤满了人；扩展出界，过度延伸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
derived
|
|
| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
varied
|
|
| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
debonair
|
|
| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
sergeant
|
|
| n.警官，中士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
entente
|
|
| n.协定；有协定关系的各国 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
monologue
|
|
| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
discomfiture
|
|
| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
fatigued
|
|
| adj. 疲乏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
fatigue
|
|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
inanities
|
|
| n.空洞( inanity的名词复数 )；浅薄；愚蠢；空洞的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
85
vacuous
|
|
| adj.空的，漫散的，无聊的，愚蠢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
lodging
|
|
| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
darted
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
dexterously
|
|
| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
orchids
|
|
| n.兰花( orchid的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
outfit
|
|
| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
stunt
|
|
| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
consul
|
|
| n.领事；执政官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
consulate
|
|
| n.领事馆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
civilians
|
|
| 平民，百姓( civilian的名词复数 )； 老百姓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
stewardess
|
|
| n.空中小姐，女乘务员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
dames
|
|
| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
slung
|
|
| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
tragic
|
|
| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
stewards
|
|
| （轮船、飞机等的）乘务员( steward的名词复数 )； （俱乐部、旅馆、工会等的）管理员； （大型活动的）组织者； （私人家中的）管家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
stewardesses
|
|
| （飞机上的）女服务员，空中小姐( stewardess的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
speck
|
|
| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
portentous
|
|
| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
tangled
|
|
| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
patchwork
|
|
| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
deliriously
|
|
| adv.谵妄（性）；发狂；极度兴奋/亢奋；说胡话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
irritation
|
|
| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
petulant
|
|
| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
habitual
|
|
| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
vivacity
|
|
| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
permanently
|
|
| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
sardine
|
|
| n.[C]沙丁鱼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
unbearable
|
|
| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
drooped
|
|
| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
sagging
|
|
| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
wagons
|
|
| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
impartially
|
|
| adv.公平地，无私地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
draught
|
|
| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
trifling
|
|
| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
scrap
|
|
| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
fiddle
|
|
| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
visualization
|
|
| n.想像，设想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
languorous
|
|
| adj.怠惰的，没精打采的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
joyfully
|
|
| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
tiresome
|
|
| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
dally
|
|
| v.荒废(时日)，调情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
bask
|
|
| vt.取暖，晒太阳，沐浴于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
accordion
|
|
| n.手风琴；adj.可折叠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
etiquette
|
|
| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
allotted
|
|
| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
mischief
|
|
| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
delicacies
|
|
| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
wireless
|
|
| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
recuperating
|
|
| v.恢复（健康、体力等），复原( recuperate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
miserably
|
|
| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
obliterated
|
|
| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
wholesome
|
|
| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
shameful
|
|
| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
farce
|
|
| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
frigidity
|
|
| n.寒冷；冷淡；索然无味；（尤指妇女的）性感缺失 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
undertaking
|
|
| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
gendarme
|
|
| n.宪兵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
hustle
|
|
| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
hustled
|
|
| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |