In the year 1813, at the age of sixty-nine or thereabouts, "Father Goriot" had sold his business and retired1--to Mme. Vauquer's boarding house. When he first came there he had taken the rooms now occupied by Mme. Couture; he had paid twelve hundred francs a year like a man to whom five louis more or less was a mere2 trifle. For him Mme. Vauquer had made various improvements in the three rooms destined3 for his use, in consideration of a certain sum paid in advance, so it was said, for the miserable4 furniture, that is to say, for some yellow cotton curtains, a few chairs of stained wood covered with Utrecht velvet5, several wretched colored prints in frames, and wall papers that a little suburban7 tavern8 would have disdained9. Possibly it was the careless generosity10 with which Father Goriot allowed himself to be overreached at this period of his life (they called him Monsieur Goriot very respectfully then) that gave Mme. Vauquer the meanest opinion of his business abilities; she looked on him as an imbecile where money was concerned.
Goriot had brought with him a considerable wardrobe, the gorgeous outfit11 of a retired tradesman who denies himself nothing. Mme. Vauquer's astonished eyes beheld12 no less than eighteen cambricfronted shirts, the splendor13 of their fineness being enhanced by a pair of pins each bearing a large diamond, and connected by a short chain, an ornament14 which adorned15 the vermicelli-maker16's shirt front. He usually wore a coat of corn-flower blue; his rotund and portly person was still further set off by a clean white waistcoat, and a gold chain and seals which dangled17 over that broad expanse. When his hostess accused him of being "a bit of a beau," he smiled with the vanity of a citizen whose foible is gratified. His cupboards (ormoires, as he called them in the popular dialect) were filled with a quantity of plate that he brought with him. The widow's eyes gleamed as she obligingly helped him to unpack18 the soup ladles, table-spoons, forks, cruetstands, tureens, dishes, and breakfast services--all of silver, which were duly arranged upon shelves, besides a few more or less handsome pieces of plate, all weighing no inconsiderable number of ounces; he could not bring himself to part with these gifts that reminded him of past domestic festivals.
"This was my wife's present to me on the first anniversary of our wedding day," he said to Mme. Vauquer, as he put away a little silver posset dish, with two turtle-doves billing on the cover. "Poor dear! she spent on it all the money she had saved before we were married. Do you know, I would sooner scratch the earth with my nails for a living, madame, than part with that. But I shall be able to take my coffee out of it every morning for the rest of my days, thank the Lord! I am not to be pitied. There's not much fear of my starving for some time to come."
Finally, Mme. Vauquer's magpie's eye had discovered and read certain entries in the list of shareholders20 in the funds, and, after a rough calculation, was disposed to credit Goriot (worthy21 man) with something like ten thousand francs a year. From that day forward Mme. Vauquer (nee de Conflans), who, as a matter of fact, had seen forty-eight summers, though she would only own to thirty-nine of them--Mme. Vauquer had her own ideas. Though Goriot's eyes seemed to have shrunk in their sockets22, though they were weak and watery23, owing to some glandular24 affection which compelled him to wipe them continually, she considered him to be a very gentlemanly and pleasant-looking man. Moreover, the widow saw favorable indications of character in the well-developed calves26 of his legs and in his square-shaped nose, indications still further borne out by the worthy man's full-moon countenance27 and look of stupid good-nature. This, in all probability, was a strongly-build animal, whose brains mostly consisted in a capacity for affection. His hair, worn in ailes de pigeon, and duly powdered every morning by the barber from the Ecole Polytechnique, described five points on his low forehead, and made an elegant setting to his face. Though his manners were somewhat boorish28, he was always as neat as a new pin and he took his snuff in a lordly way, like a man who knows that his snuffbox is always likely to be filled with maccaboy, so that when Mme. Vauquer lay down to rest on the day of M. Goriot's installation, her heart, like a larded partridge, sweltered before the fire of a burning desire to shake off the shroud29 of Vauquer and rise again as Goriot. She would marry again, sell her boarding-house, give her hand to this fine flower of citizenship30, become a lady of consequence in the quarter, and ask for subscriptions31 for charitable purposes; she would make little Sunday excursions to Choisy, Soissy, Gentilly; she would have a box at the theatre when she liked, instead of waiting for the author's tickets that one of her boarders sometim
es gave her, in July; the whole Eldorado of a little Parisian household rose up before Mme. Vauquer in her dreams. Nobody knew that she herself possessed32 forty thousand francs, accumulated sou by sou, that was her secret; surely as far as money was concerned she was a very tolerable match. "And in other respects, I am quite his equal," she said to herself, turning as if to assure herself of the charms of a form that the portly Sylvie found moulded in down feathers every morning.
For three months from that day Mme. Veuve Vauquer availed herself of the services of M. Goriot's coiffeur, and went to some expense over her toilette, expense justifiable33 on the ground that she owed it to herself and her establishment to pay some attention to appearances when such highly-respectable persons honored her house with their presence. She expended34 no small amount of ingenuity35 in a sort of weeding process of her lodgers36, announcing her intention of receiving henceforward none but people who were in every way select. If a stranger presented himself, she let him know that M. Goriot, one of the best known and most highlyrespected merchants in Paris, had singled out her boarding-house for a residence. She drew up a prospectus38 headed MAISON VAUQUER, in which it was asserted that hers was "one of the oldest and most highly recommended boarding-houses in the Latin Quarter." "From the windows of the house," thus ran the prospectus, "there is a charming view of the Vallee des Gobelins (so there is--from the third floor), and a BEAUTIFUL garden, EXTENDING down to AN AVENUE OF LINDENS at the further end." Mention was made of the bracing39 air of the place and its quiet situation.
It was this prospectus that attracted Mme. la Comtesse de l'Ambermesnil, a widow of six and thirty, who was awaiting the final settlement of her husband's affairs, and of another matter regarding a pension due to her as the wife of a general who had died "on the field of battle." On this Mme. Vauquer saw to her table, lighted a fire daily in the sitting-room40 for nearly six months, and kept the promise of her prospectus, even going to some expense to do so. And the Countess, on her side, addressed Mme. Vauquer as "my dear," and promised her two more boarders, the Baronne de Vaumerland and the widow of a colonel, the late Comte de Picquoisie, who were about to leave a boarding-house in the Marais, where the terms were higher than at the Maison Vauquer. Both these ladies, moreover, would be very well to do when the people at the War Office had come to an end of their formalities. "But Government departments are always so dilatory," the lady added.
After dinner the two widows went together up to Mme. Vauquer's room, and had a snug41 little chat over some cordial and various delicacies42 reserved for the mistress of the house. Mme. Vauquer's ideas as to Goriot were cordially approved by Mme. de l'Ambermesnil; it was a capital notion, which for that matter she had guessed from the very first; in her opinion the vermicelli maker was an excellent man.
"Ah! my dear lady, such a well-preserved man of his age, as sound as my eyesight--a man who might make a woman happy!" said the widow.
The good-natured Countess turned to the subject of Mme. Vauquer's dress, which was not in harmony with her projects. "You must put yourself on a war footing," said she.
After much serious consideration the two widows went shopping together--they purchased a hat adorned with ostrich43 feathers and a cap at the Palais Royal, and the Countess took her friend to the Magasin de la Petite Jeannette, where they chose a dress and a scarf. Thus equipped for the campaign, the widow looked exactly like the prize animal hung out for a sign above an a la mode beef shop; but she herself was so much pleased with the improvement, as she considered it, in her appearance, that she felt that she lay under some obligation to the Countess; and, though by no means open-handed, she begged that lady to accept a hat that cost twenty francs. The fact was that she needed the Countess' services on the delicate mission of sounding Goriot; the countess must sing her praises in his ears. Mme. de l'Ambermesnil lent herself very good-naturedly to this manoeuvre44, began her operations, and succeeded in obtaining a private interview; but the overtures45 that she made, with a view to securing him for herself, were received with embarrassment46, not to say a repulse47. She left him, revolted by his coarseness.
"My angel," said she to her dear friend, "you will make nothing of that man yonder. He is absurdly suspicious, and he is a mean curmudgeon48, an idiot, a fool; you would never be happy with him."
After what had passed between M. Goriot and Mme. de l'Ambermesnil, the Countess would no longer live under the same roof. She left the next day, forgot to pay for six months' board, and left behind her wardrobe, cast-off clothing to the value of five francs. Eagerly and persistently49 as Mme. Vauquer sought her quondam lodger37, the Comtesse de l'Ambermesnil was never heard of again in Paris. The widow often talked of this deplorable business, and regretted her own too confiding50 disposition51. As a matter of fact, she was as suspicious as a cat; but she was like many other people, who cannot trust their own kin25 and put themselves at the mercy of the next chance comer--an odd but common phenomenon, whose causes may readily be traced to the depths of the human heart.
Perhaps there are people who know that they have nothing more to look for from those with whom they live; they have shown the emptiness of their hearts to their housemates, and in their secret selves they are conscious that they are severely52 judged, and that they deserve to be judged severely; but still they feel an unconquerable craving53 for praises that they do not hear, or they are consumed by a desire to appear to possess, in the eyes of a new audience, the qualities which they have not, hoping to win the admiration54 or affection of strangers at the risk of forfeiting55 it again some day. Or, once more, there are other mercenary natures who never do a kindness to a friend or a relation simply because these have a claim upon them, while a service done to a stranger brings its reward to self-love. Such natures feel but little affection for those who are nearest to them; they keep their kindness for remoter circles of acquaintance, and show most to those who dwell on its utmost limits. Mme. Vauquer belonged to both these essentially56 mean, false, and execrable classes.
"If I had been there at the time," Vautrin would say at the end of the story, I would have shown her up, and that misfortune would not have befallen you. I know that kind of phiz!"
Like all narrow natures, Mme. Vauquer was wont57 to confine her attention to events, and did not go very deeply into the causes that brought them about; she likewise preferred to throw the `lame of her own mistakes on other people, so she chose to consider that the honest vermicelli maker was responsible for her misfortune. It had opened her eyes, so she said, with regard to him. As soon as she saw that her blandishments were in vain, and that her outlay59 on her toilette was money thrown away, she was not slow to discover the reason of his indifference60. It became plain to her at once that there was SOME OTHER ATTRACTION, to use her own expression. In short, it was evident that the hope she had so fondly cherished was a baseless delusion61, and that she would "never make anything out of that man yonder," in the Countess' forcible phrase. The Countess seemed to have been a judge of character. Mme. Vauquer's aversion was naturally more energetic than her friendship, for her hatred62 was not in proportion to her love, but to her disappointed expectations. The human heart may find here and there a resting-place short of the highest height of affection, but we seldom stop in the steep, downward slope of hatred. Still, M. Goriot was a lodger, and the widow's wounded self-love could not vent58 itself in an explosion of wrath63; like a monk64 harassed65 by the prior of his convent, she was forced to stifle66 her sighs of disappointment, and to gulp67 down her craving for revenge. Little minds find gratification for their feelings, benevolent68 or otherwise, by a constant exercise of petty ingenuity. The widow employed her woman's malice69 to devise a system of covert70 persecution71. She began by a course of retrenchment--various luxuries which had found their way to the table appeared there no more.
"No more gherkins, no more anchovies72; they have made a fool of me!" she said to Sylvie one morning, and they returned to the old bill of fare.
The thrifty73 frugality74 necessary to those who mean to make their way in the world had become an inveterate75 habit of life with M. Goriot. Soup, boiled beef, and a dish of vegetables had been, and always would be, the dinner he liked best, so Mme. Vauquer found it very difficult to annoy a boarder whose tastes were so simple. He was proof against her malice, and in desperation she spoke76 to him and of him slightingly before the other lodgers, who began to amuse themselves at his expense, and so gratified her desire for revenge.
Towards the end of the first year the widow's suspicions had reached such a pitch that she began to wonder how it was that a retired merchant with a secure income of seven or eight thousand livres, the owner of such magnificent plate and jewelry77 handsome enough for a kept mistress, should be living in her house. Why should he devote so small a proportion of his money to his expenses? Until the first year was nearly at an end, Goriot had dined out once or twice every week, but these occasions came less frequently, and at last he was scarcely absent from the dinnertable twice a month. It was hardly expected that Mme. Vauquer should regard the increased regularity78 of her boarder's habits with complacency, when those little excursions of his had been so much to her interest. She attributed the change not so much to a gradual diminution79 of fortune as to a spiteful wish to annoy his hostess. It is one of the most detestable habits of a Liliputian mind to credit other people with its own malignant80 pettiness.
Unluckily, towards the end of the second year, M. Goriot's conduct gave some color to the idle talk about him. He asked Mme. Vauquer to give him a room on the second floor, and to make a corresponding reduction in her charges. Apparently81, such strict economy was called for, that he did without a fire all through the winter. Mme. Vauquer asked to be paid in advance, an arrangement to which M. Goriot consented, and thenceforward she spoke of him as "Father Goriot."
What had brought about this decline and fall? Conjecture82 was keen, but investigation83 was difficult. Father Goriot was not communicative; in the sham84 countess' phrase he was "a curmudgeon." Empty-headed people who babble85 about their own affairs because they have nothing else to occupy them, naturally conclude that if people say nothing of their doings it is because their doings will not bear being talked about; so the highly respectable merchant became a scoundrel, and the late beau was an old rogue86. Opinion fluctuated. Sometimes, according to Vautrin, who came about this time to live in the Maison Vauquer, Father Goriot was a man who went on 'Change and DABBLED87 (to use the sufficiently88 expressive89 language of the Stock Exchange) in stocks and shares after he had ruined himself by heavy speculation90. Sometimes it was held that he was one of those petty gamblers who nightly play for small stakes until they win a few francs. A theory that he was a detective in the employ of the Home Office found favor at one time, but Vautrin urged that "Goriot was not sharp enough for one of that sort." There were yet other solutions; ather Goriot was a skinflint, a shark of a moneylender, a man who lived by selling lottery91 tickets. He was by turns all the most mysterious brood of vice19 and shame and misery92; yet, however vile93 his life might be, the feeling of repulsion which he aroused in others was not so strong that he must be banished94 from their society--he paid his way. Besides, Goriot had his uses, every one vented95 his spleen or sharpened his wit on him; he was pelted96 with jokes and belabored97 with hard words. The general consensus98 of opinion was in favor of a theory which seemed the most likely; this was Mme. Vauquer's view. According to her, the man so well preserved at his time of life, as sound as her eyesight, with whom a woman might be very happy, was a libertine99 who had strange tastes. These are the facts upon which Mme. Vauquer's slanders100 were based.
Early one morning, some few months after the departure of the unlucky Countess who had managed to live for six months at the widow's expense, Mme. Vauquer (not yet dressed) heard the rustle101 of a silk dress and a young woman's light footstep on the stair; some one was going to Goriot's room. He seemed to expect the visit, for his door stood ajar. The portly Sylvie presently came up to tell her mistress that a girl too pretty to be honest, "dressed like a goddess," and not a speck102 of mud on her laced cashmere boots, had glided103 in from the street like a snake, had found the kitchen, and asked for M. Goriot's room. Mme. Vauquer and the cook, listening, overheard several words affectionately spoken during the visit, which lasted for some time. When M. Goriot went downstairs with the lady, the stout104 Sylvie forthwith took her basket and followed the lover-like couple, under pretext105 of going to do her marketing106.
"M. Goriot must be awfully107 rich, all the same, madame," she reported on her return, "to keep her in such style. Just imagine it! There was a splendid carriage waiting at the corner of the Place de l'Estrapade, and SHE got into it."
While they were at dinner that evening, Mme. Vauquer went to the window and drew the curtain, as the sun was shining into Goriot's eyes.
"You are beloved of fair ladies, M. Goriot--the sun seeks you out," she said, alluding108 to his visitor. "Peste! you have good taste; she was very pretty."
"That was my daughter," he said, with a kind of pride in his voice, and the rest chose to consider this as the fatuity109 of an old man who wishes to save appearances.
A month after this visit M. Goriot received another. The same daughter who had come to see him that morning came again after dinner, this time in evening dress. The boarders, in deep discussion in the dining-room, caught a glimpse of a lovely, fair-haired woman, slender, graceful110, and much too distinguishedlooking to be a daughter of Father Goriot's.
"Two of them!" cried the portly Sylvie, who did not recognize the lady of the first visit.
A few days later, and another young lady--a tall, well-moulded brunette, with dark hair and bright eyes--came to ask for M. Goriot.
"Three of them!" said Sylvie.
Then the second daughter, who had first come in the morning to see her father, came shortly afterwards in the evening. She wore a ball dress, and came in a carriage.
"Four of them!" commented Mme. Vauquer and her plump handmaid. Sylvie saw not a trace of resemblance between this great lady and the girl in her simple morning dress who had entered her kitchen on the occasion of her first visit.
At that time Goriot was paying twelve hundred francs a year to his landlady111, and Mme. Vauquer saw nothing out of the common in the fact that a rich man had four or five mistresses; nay112, she thought it very knowing of him to pass them off as his daughters. She was not at all inclined to draw a hard-and-fast line, or to take umbrage113 at his sending for them to the Maison Vauquer; yet, inasmuch as these visits explained her boarder's indifference to her, she went so far (at the end of the second year) as to speak of him as an "ugly old wretch6." When at length her boarder declined to nine hundred francs a year, she asked him very insolently114 what he took her house to be, after meeting one of these ladies on he stairs. Father Goriot answered that the lady was his eldest115 daughter.
"So you have two or three dozen daughters, have you?" said Mme. Vauquer sharply.
"I have only two," her boarder answered meekly116, like a ruined man who is broken in to all the cruel usage of misfortune.
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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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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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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disdained
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| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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unpack
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| vt.打开包裹（或行李），卸货 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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shareholders
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| n.股东( shareholder的名词复数 ) | |
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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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sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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glandular
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kin
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calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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boorish
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| adj.粗野的，乡巴佬的 | |
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shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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citizenship
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| n.市民权，公民权，国民的义务(身份) | |
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subscriptions
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| n.（报刊等的）订阅费( subscription的名词复数 )；捐款；（俱乐部的）会员费；捐助 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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justifiable
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| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
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expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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lodgers
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| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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prospectus
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| n.计划书；说明书；慕股书 | |
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bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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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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ostrich
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| n.鸵鸟 | |
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manoeuvre
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| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
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overtures
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| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
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46
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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47
repulse
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| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
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48
curmudgeon
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| n. 脾气暴躁之人，守财奴，吝啬鬼 | |
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49
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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50
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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51
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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52
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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53
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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54
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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55
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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56
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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57
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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58
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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59
outlay
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| n.费用，经费，支出；v.花费 | |
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60
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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61
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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62
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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63
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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64
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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65
harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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66
stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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67
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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68
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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71
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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72
anchovies
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| n. 鯷鱼，凤尾鱼 | |
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73
thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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74
frugality
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| n.节约，节俭 | |
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inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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76
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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77
jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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diminution
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| n.减少；变小 | |
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80
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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82
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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83
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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84
sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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85
babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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87
dabbled
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| v.涉猎( dabble的过去式和过去分词 )；涉足；浅尝；少量投资 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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90
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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91
lottery
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| n.抽彩；碰运气的事，难于算计的事 | |
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92
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
vented
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| 表达，发泄（感情，尤指愤怒）( vent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pelted
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| （连续地）投掷( pelt的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续抨击； 攻击； 剥去…的皮 | |
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97
belabored
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| v.毒打一顿( belabor的过去式和过去分词 )；责骂；就…作过度的说明；向…唠叨 | |
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98
consensus
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| n.(意见等的)一致，一致同意，共识 | |
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99
libertine
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| n.淫荡者；adj.放荡的，自由思想的 | |
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100
slanders
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| 诽谤，诋毁( slander的名词复数 ) | |
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101
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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102
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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103
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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105
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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106
marketing
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| n.行销，在市场的买卖，买东西 | |
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107
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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108
alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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109
fatuity
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| n.愚蠢，愚昧 | |
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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
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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112
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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113
umbrage
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| n.不快；树荫 | |
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114
insolently
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| adv.自豪地，自傲地 | |
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115
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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116
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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