99Ordinarily the activities of Bos, Equus and Co. did not have their daily awakening9 until at least an hour of sunshine had striven with the dew-laden meadow. Gabriel’s duties were light, and rheumatic warnings urged him against braving early damps. Amanda, most energetic of housewives, refrained from disturbing her pots and pans out of regard for the Poet and his sister, who dearly loved that last hour of slumber10 made more sweet by the chirpings of early birds under their windows.
On this particular morning the dozing11 Poet was conscious that the voices of the birds were eclipsed by ominous12 rumblings which, instead of arousing him to complete consciousness, plunged13 him into the midst of a perilous14 adventure. He was on the deck of an ocean liner enveloped15 in the dense16 fogs of that awesome17 region off the Banks of Newfoundland. His body and soul were shaken by the vibrations18 of 100the siren, whose long-drawn warning was being echoed from out of the mists. No, it was not an echo—it was another siren. Its menace was growing louder! A ghastly gray shape hove near. The officer on the bridge seemed frozen with terror. The relentless19 ocean, scoffing20 at sirens and rudders, was hurling21 two ships into a fatal embrace. The Poet jumped for a life-preserver, striking his head violently upon—upon an old-fashioned walnut23 bedpost.
Then he realized that it was the melancholy24 voice of Mrs. Cowslip, interrupted by lamenting25 bellows26 from Gustavius, that had so nearly brought him to a watery27 grave. He ran to the open window, and heard Amanda complaining:
“Gabe, what on earth is the matter with the critters? For the land sakes do git up!”
From his window the Poet could see Mrs. Cowslip and the bull-calf side by side, with their necks stretched out over the barnyard 101gate, sending forth28 their lamentations toward the bottom of the pasture, where the brook30 ran under the stone-wall into a thicket31 of old willow32 trees heavily encumbered33 with wild grapevines. He could hear Cleopatra and Clarence clattering34 about uneasily on the floor of their stalls, while Reginald squealed35 for his breakfast with more than his usual insistence36, and their neighbors in the hennery cackled inquiringly.
Gabriel was kicking on his boots outside the kitchen door when the Poet and Galatea hurried down, eager to know how they could calm the feelings of their four-legged partners.
“Oh, pshaw!” said Gabriel, seizing a tin milk-pail, “critters are like folks; they have their ornery spells without knowin’ what’s the matter with ’em.”
“I never saw Mrs. Cowslip paw the dust up over her head before,” said Galatea. “See! Now Gustavius is doing it.”
102“She’s giving her offspring lessons in some mysterious rites37 of her species,” said the Poet oracularly. “I shall investigate and make a note of it.”
“No, it’s instinct,” said Gabriel, as the Poet and his sister accompanied him to the barnyard. “You can edicate critters till you’re blue in the face. You can teach ’em to act like human folks almost, and then some day, all of a sudden, they’ll forgit everything and do the same fool things their great-grandmothers did.”
Gabriel entered the barnyard with a three-legged stool, butted38 his head into the flank of Mrs. Cowslip, and proceeded to play a pleasant tune40 on the bottom of the tin pail. Gustavius was not distracted by this familiar operation. Suddenly he redoubled his bellowings over the barnyard gate. Mrs. Cowslip wavered between surges of emotion and her respect for Gabriel.
“So, boss,” commanded the man with the 103half-filled pail between his knees. And then, as Mrs. Cowslip switched her tail in his face: “Stand still, darn ye!”
Such language at such a time was not wise. Mrs. Cowslip, ignoring intervening obstacles, rushed to join Gustavius in a duet of lamentation29, leaving Gabriel on his back with the milk-pail overturned into his protesting bosom42. He rose, gasping43, with arms hanging limp like a man trying to get as far away from his clothes as possible. At that moment Amanda emerged wildly from the hennery, screaming:—
“Gabe! Gabe! They’s only four eggs under the speckled hen!”
“What’s that?” asked Gabriel, startled out of his fury at Mrs. Cowslip, although he could feel streams of warm milk trickling44 down into his boots. “Only four, Amanda? The hull45 dozen was there, yesterday. I took the hen off an’ counted ’em.”
104They looked at each other as though stunned46 by a calamity47 too dreadful for words. Amanda was first to recover her speech. Her eye traveled down Gabriel’s soaking garments to the tin pail bottom up on the ground, and, with the genuine feminine logic48 which men find so charming in such moments, she said:—
“Gabe, I do believe you’ve spilled all the morning’s milk!”
“No,” drawled the Poet soothingly49, “he has it all in his pockets.”
“Hush, George,” said Galatea. And then to Amanda:—
“Were the eggs valuable ones?”
“Valuable!” exclaimed Gabriel. “They was only one settin’ of ’em in th’ hull county. Amanda was crazy for ’em, and so was Si Blodgett, darn the old hypocrite! He and Amanda bid against each other till I had to pay fifty cents apiece for them eggs!”
105“Oh dear!” said Galatea. “Then they weren’t hen’s eggs at all?”
“Hen eggs? I should say not. They were Golden Guinea eggs, and no more to be had for love or money.”
Mrs. Cowslip and Gustavius lowed dismally50, casting dust upon their heads.
“There’s sympathy for you,” observed the Poet. “Never tell me again that a cow lacks intelligence, or a bull-calf perspicacity51. Any one can see that they’re bemoaning52 disaster to those eggs.”
“For the land sakes, Gabe, turn the critters out,” said Amanda.
“No,” said the Poet solemnly, disregarding Galatea’s warnings not to trifle with disaster, “they must be held as witnesses; a crime has been committed.”
Just then Napoleon crawled under the fence, lifted one front paw, cocked one ear, and looked 106inquiringly in the face of the dripping Gabriel. Amanda seemed startled by a sudden suspicion.
“Gabe,” she said, “do you suppose the dog—”
“I’ll settle that in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” said Gabriel, who had already divined Amanda’s suspicion.
He took the whimpering terrier by the collar and dragged him toward the gate.
“Wait a bit; not so fast,” said the Poet. “Where’s your evidence against Napoleon?”
Gabriel pointed53 to certain yellow stains about the terrier’s muzzle54.
“That’s egg—Golden Guinea egg at fifty cents apiece. Open the gate, Mandy.”
“What are you going to do?” demanded the Poet. “You can’t condemn5 and execute a member of the firm of Bos, Equus and Co. on one little bit of circumstantial evidence.”
107“No, indeed not,” said Galatea.
“But I can give him the third degree, darn him, an’ make him confess,” declared Gabriel, who, as constable55 of the township, had taken pains to post himself on the latest police methods.
The suspected criminal, his accusers, and his two champions, proceeded to the hennery and to the nest of the incubating speckled hen, amid a chorus of cackling inquiries56. Straight up to the ravished nest Napoleon was led. The speckled hen pecked him sharply on the nose. Napoleon yelped57.
“There!” exclaimed Galatea. “It’s perfectly58 plain that the hen could defend herself against a small dog like Napoleon.”
“Lift her off the nest,” said Gabriel.
The speckled hen squawked, but Amanda was firm. Galatea lifted up the terrier and rubbed his nose in the nest.
“What did I tell ye?” said Gabriel in triumph. 108“D’ye see the guilty look in his face?”
“It isn’t guilt59,” declared Galatea hotly; “it’s reproach—reproach for your unjust suspicions.”
“It’s righteous indignation,” said the Poet.
“It’s guilt,” said Amanda, restoring the hen to her four eggs. “When a dog has been stealin’ eggs, an’ you rub his nose in the nest, he always looks that way.”
“Besides, there’s the yaller on his nose,” said Gabriel. “Napoleon, you’re goin’ to git th’ lickin’ of your lifetime.”
“Wait,” said Galatea. “That’s yellow paint on Napoleon’s nose. I repainted some croquet balls yesterday, and he’s been playing with them.”
“Ah,” said the Poet, “think of all the innocent men who have been hanged on circumstantial evidence.”
109“It’s egg,” said Gabriel stubbornly.
“It’s paint,” said Galatea. “Gabriel, don’t you dare punish Napoleon.”
“At least it’s a case for the experts,” observed the Poet. “We must have a chemical analysis of Napoleon’s nose before he can be convicted.”
“Gosh!” said Gabriel, “what a lot of fuss all on account of a dog.”
“You forget,” said Galatea. “Napoleon is a member of our family; we’re all on terms of equality here.”
During this argument for and against the guilt of Napoleon, Clarence, with his head through a small window in the wall which separated his stall from the hennery, had been an interested spectator. As though to indicate his approval of Galatea’s last remark, he bared his teeth and nipped Gabriel sharply in the region of his hip22 pocket.
110“Ouch!” said Gabriel.
“One more witness for the defense,” said the Poet. “Hello, what’s this?”
A ragged-edged square of dark woolen60 cloth, with a blue stripe, hung from a rusty61 nail in the ledge62 of the window through which Clarence had withdrawn63 his head in dodging64 a slap from Gabriel.
“Behold!” said the Poet, displaying the bit of cloth, which was about the size of a man’s hand. “Behold proof of Napoleon’s innocence65!”
“How d’ye make that out?” demanded Gabriel.
“By the process known as inductive reasoning; the same kind of reasoning which enabled Edgar Allan Poe to solve the Nassau Street murder mystery after the police had given it up. It is perfectly plain that the thief who stole those eight expensive eggs wore trousers of the same pattern as this bit of cloth. In 111taking the eggs from the nest he stood where you were standing66, Gabriel, when Clarence nipped you. The speckled hen was not to be ravished of her eggs without a struggle. She pecked and she squawked. Clarence heard her and flew to the rescue. He put his head through the window, as he did just now, and he nipped the thief just as he nipped you, Gabriel—that is, in the region of the hip pocket. Only in this case Clarence knew that he was dealing67 with a violator of the law, and he nipped deep. His teeth tore away and hung upon that waiting nail the clue which will one day convict the criminal. Look for the man whose dark, blue-striped trousers have a patch over or near the hip pocket. How strange are the ways of justice!”
“Well, I swan to man!” said Gabriel.
Amanda was twisting the corners of her apron68 nervously69. Gabriel gave her a stern glance.
112“Mandy, have you been losin’ any more keys of the henhouse?”
“I missed one yesterday,” said Amanda meekly70. “Maybe I left it in the lock, havin’ my hands full of fresh eggs.”
Gabriel snorted. He released Napoleon, who ran to Galatea for consolation71, and got it; and then the court adjourned72 to the barnyard, where Mrs. Cowslip and Gustavius were still lamenting.
“I suggest,” said the Poet, “that, as the case is tolerably clear against the man with the blue-striped trousers, we excuse these somewhat doubtful witnesses, who seem to have troubles of their own.”
Thereupon all the four-legged members of Bos, Equus and Co. were turned loose, and the two-legged members repaired to the house in search of their belated breakfast.
During the next hour the agony of mind 113displayed by Mrs. Cowslip and Gustavius was somewhat eased by the fresh flavor of the dew-washed grass with which they set about restoring the rotundity of their sleek73 bodies. But they grazed always in the direction of the stone fence where the brook ran under it, and ever and anon they lifted up their half-filled mouths and mourned as eloquently74 as could be expected of a cow and a bull-calf in such circumstances.
William, he of the big horns and whiskers, who was similarly employed,—there being no succulent sheets or pillow-slips left out to bleach75 at so early an hour,—regarded his melancholy companions with a coldly critical eye. Reginald could be heard grunting76 thankfully among the artichokes. It was Cleopatra and Clarence who, alone, had sufficient good breeding to accompany their morning repast with amiable77 conversation.
“Mother,” the colt was saying, “what do 114you make of the extraordinary conduct of Mrs. Cowslip and her offspring? Is it colic, or is the weather going to change?”
“My son,” replied Cleopatra between nibbles78, “when you have lived as long as I have, you will cease all attempts to discover the motives79 which actuate the cow kind. Beings of that species have no intelligence. They have only a sort of blind instinct and an emotional capacity which stamps them as primitive80 in the extreme, and therefore unworthy to associate on equal terms with our highly intellectual race.”
Clarence turned this chunk81 of wisdom over in his mind several times, and, being unable to assimilate it, observed:—
“I overheard Mrs. Cowslip saying something to Gustavius about smelling death in the air this morning. I at once counted noses, and none of the family was missing.”
115“That reminds me, my son, that the cow kind have a strange custom which probably dates back to some prehistoric82 ancestor as superstitious83 and unphilosophic as themselves. I refer to their custom of holding unseemly ceremonies over their dead. I remember once—”
“But, mother,” interrupted Clarence,—for the colt was young and Cleopatra was an indulgent parent,—“there are none of the cow kind in our family except Mrs. Cowslip and Gustavius. You can see for yourself that they are both alive.”
“Haven’t I told you, my son, that out in the great world beyond the stone fence—which you may visit some day when you are older—there are many families like ours, including the cow kind?”
“Now I understand, mother; perhaps some Gustavius of the great world beyond the stone fence has met with a violent death, and our Gustavius 116and his mother feel some intimation of it in the breeze which comes from that direction.”
“My son,” said Cleopatra, with a proud glance at her offspring, “I see daily evidences that the development of your intelligence does credit to my teaching. Doubtless you have hit upon the right solution of this mystery. Observe: Mrs. Cowslip and her son, as they graze, proceed steadily84 in the direction of the stone fence. It would not surprise me if you should soon see with your own eyes some such ceremony as I have mentioned.”
Cleopatra and Clarence continued their nibbling85 in silence, while each kept one speculative86 eye upon the comrades whom they considered so far beneath them. William evidently had pleasurable anticipations87, also, for he postponed88 his usual morning observation of the surrounding country from the woodshed roof. 117Presently he was observed to rear his horns aloft and stamp one foot menacingly.
“Look at that fool goat, mother,” said Clarence. “He’s forever looking for trouble.”
Cleopatra raised her head and looked off down the road. Then she went on quietly nibbling.
“Can you see anything, mother?” asked Clarence, who was thrilling with curiosity.
“Nothing, my son—nothing but that strange young man in the buggy that runs without my assistance.”
“Gracious!” exclaimed the colt, kicking up his heels gleefully. “Now we’ll have fun.”
“No, my son, the uncanny thing is beneath our notice.”
Clarence looked at his mother in astonishment89.
“The other time that evil-smelling red thing came swooping90 into our front yard,” he said, 118“you kicked two ribs91 out of it because you said it was a menace to our means of livelihood92.”
“Hush, my son. Were they not compelled, after all, to rely on my services to get the thing off the premises93? With a slight injury it had no more life in it than an ordinary buggy. I thought of this while I was dragging the clumsy affair to the blacksmith shop. No, my son, that sputtering94 red thing with the shocking bad breath is a false alarm. Our occupation is safe.”
Indeed, the Artist, as he gracefully95 turned his Red Ripper into the driveway and stopped near the veranda96, was relieved to notice that its late enemies gave it only an indifferent glance. He was attired97 from top to toe in the most irreproachable98 new automobile99 togs, and in his buttonhole was an orchid100 of price—purple, shading delicately into pink. The Artist’s spirits appeared to be as high as his boutonnière was 119high-priced. It was as though some invisible herald101 had announced: “Lo, the bridegroom cometh.” The truth is, it was the Artist’s first visit since the day of Galatea’s impulsive102 act of penitence103 in the wood-road, and he still thrilled with the memory of the swift kiss she had left upon his cheek the instant before she sped away. All this was well enough; but it was impossible for the Artist not to blunder. His present blunder was in being over-confident in the memory of that kiss.
The moment the Poet’s mahogany-haired sister, in a trig costume of glossy104 white linen105, including the prettiest of high-heeled little slippers106, came out upon the veranda and cast her eye over the immaculate, exultant107 visitor, you would have been sorry for him—sorry that God had not gifted him with a modicum108 of subtlety109 in matters feminine.
“Good-morning, Arthur.”
120Galatea’s voice was as cool as one of Amanda’s unplucked cucumbers.
Arthur sprang lightly up the steps, and, screened by the honeysuckle vine, seized her hand and kissed it ardently110.
“Why, Arthur! Are you ill? Has the sun affected111 your head?”
“Don’t play with me, Galatea, I’m too happy—so happy that I’m serious. The time has come for us to understand each other.”
Galatea looked curiously112 at the much-kissed hand.
“Arthur, you’ll forgive me if I confess to doubts about ever being able to understand you.”
“Dear—don’t, don’t say that, after that moment in the wood-road.”
“The wood-road?” She put her finger pensively113 to her lip. “Oh, yes, now I remember. I brushed a mosquito off your cheek.”
121The Artist would not be warned—it was not his fault, he was built that way. He took her hand again.
“Galatea! Galatea! For the first time you let me tell you how much I love you. You confessed that you had not treated me with consideration, and you asked me to come often and note the progress of your reformation.”
Here the Artist paused and kissed Galatea’s hand a great many more times. He did not see the mischief114 in her eyes as she drew her hand away and asked:—
“Arthur, tell me, why do you do that?”
“Why do I kiss your hand?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps it is because I have not courage to kiss your—Galatea, why did you kiss my cheek in the wood-road?”
A series of throaty bellows were wafted115 to their ears from the direction of the stone fence 122at the bottom of the meadow. Galatea drew the Artist toward the end of the veranda where there was a clear view.
“Oh, Arthur! Look at Mrs. Cowslip! She’ll kill poor Gustavius!”
The bull-calf’s situation was indeed precarious116. He was neatly117 balanced on his stomach on top of the stone fence, while his mother, with frantic118 bellows, after the manner of her kind was endeavoring to boost him over with her horns. Gabriel was hastening to the scene, with a pitchfork in his hand, and Napoleon, forgetful of late humiliations, barking at his heels. Cleopatra and Clarence were snorting their alarm from a little distance. It remained for William to relieve the general tension by planting a terrific butt39 with such precision that Gustavius, launched headlong from the fence, made his first actual acquaintance with the great world beyond. Before Gabriel with his pitchfork 123could head off Mrs. Cowslip, she, with a mighty119 leap and scramble120, joined her offspring, and together, bellowing41, they rushed into the tangle121 of willows122 and wild grapevines. Gabriel followed with Napoleon.
Galatea, having alarmed the Poet, hurried with her brother and the Artist down the meadow. Before they reached the fence, Gabriel’s head appeared over it. He waved the pitchfork, addressing Galatea.
“Git back! Git back! A cow funeral ain’t no place for wimmen folks!”
“Oh, Mrs. Cowslip must be dead,” sobbed123 Galatea, restraining the Artist as the Poet hurried on and shot his long legs over the stone fence. “Poor, dear, good Mrs. Cowslip! Promise me, Arthur, that you’ll save Gustavius.”
She was clinging to his arm beseechingly124. Arthur experienced one of his rare moments 124of real intelligence. He drew a long breath, and thrust out his chest.
“And if I succeed, Galatea?”
“Oh, if you succeed, Arthur,—dear Arthur,—I shall try and remember, some day, to tell you how much I—how much I really love you.”
The Artist had the most excellent good sense to kiss her fervently125, on the lips, and the superlative intelligence thereon to leave her and rush to the rescue of Gustavius. Galatea returned to the house, went into the library, and for quite half an hour kept her eyes fixed126 on one page of a book that was upside down.
The spectacle that met the Poet’s gaze as he burst through the grapevine thicket caused him to exclaim:—
“The obsequies of Bos Nemo, as I’m a sinner!”
The truth of this remark was obvious. On 125the margin127 of the brook, whither his instinct had prompted him to crawl when fatally stricken with what Gabriel explained was “the black leg,” lay the lifeless body of a strange steer128, nameless so far as any one present knew; and near by, with their noses to the ground while they pawed dust over their shoulders, Mrs. Cowslip and Gustavius, according to the custom of their kind, were bellowing and mooing the last rites for the dead. In vain Gabriel prodded129 them with his pitchfork; the obsequies continued with an increasing display of emotion.
“This is news to me,” said the Artist, when Gabriel had explained that horned cattle never neglect to hold funeral ceremonies over the dead of their kind. “It’s like a wake—barring the pipes and bottles.”
“Darn the critters’ skins,” said Gabriel; “when that cow an’ bull-calf come out of their 126tantrum they’re goin’ to be locked in the barn to think it over the rest of the day.”
“No,” said the Poet, “that’s not according to the rules and regulations that govern the firm of Bos, Equus and Co. Equal rights and privileges to all, irrespective of the individual equipment as to legs—that’s our constitution, Gabriel. Mrs. Cowslip has just as much right to her funeral as I have to mine. Besides, can’t you see, she’s teaching Gustavius the orthodox bovine130 ceremony.”
Leaving the Poet and Gabriel in charge of the mourners, being assured that their grief would presently wear itself out, the Artist hastened back to Galatea. He found her in the library, and his thrilling tale of how he saved the life of Gustavius merited all the reward it inspired.
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1
veneer
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| n.(墙上的)饰面，虚饰 | |
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provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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awesome
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| adj.令人惊叹的，难得吓人的，很好的 | |
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vibrations
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| n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 )；震动；感受；（偏离平衡位置的）一次性往复振动 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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scoffing
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| n. 嘲笑, 笑柄, 愚弄 v. 嘲笑, 嘲弄, 愚弄, 狼吞虎咽 | |
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hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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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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lamenting
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| adj.悲伤的，悲哀的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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bellows
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| n.风箱；发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的名词复数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的第三人称单数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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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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forth
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lamentation
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| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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willow
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encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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35
squealed
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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37
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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38
butted
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| 对接的 | |
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39
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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40
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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41
bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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42
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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43
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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44
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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45
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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46
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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47
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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48
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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49
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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50
dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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51
perspicacity
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| n. 敏锐, 聪明, 洞察力 | |
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52
bemoaning
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| v.为（某人或某事）抱怨( bemoan的现在分词 )；悲悼；为…恸哭；哀叹 | |
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53
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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54
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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55
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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56
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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57
yelped
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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59
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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60
woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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61
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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62
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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63
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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64
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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65
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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66
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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67
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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68
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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69
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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70
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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71
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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72
adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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74
eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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75
bleach
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| vt.使漂白；vi.变白；n.漂白剂 | |
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76
grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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77
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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78
nibbles
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| vt.& vi.啃，一点一点地咬（nibble的第三人称单数形式） | |
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79
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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80
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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81
chunk
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| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
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82
prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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83
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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84
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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85
nibbling
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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86
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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87
anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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88
postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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89
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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90
swooping
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
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91
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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92
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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93
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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94
sputtering
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| n.反应溅射法；飞溅；阴极真空喷镀；喷射v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的现在分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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95
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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96
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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97
attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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99
automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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100
orchid
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| n.兰花，淡紫色 | |
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101
herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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102
impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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103
penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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104
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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105
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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106
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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107
exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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108
modicum
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| n.少量，一小份 | |
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109
subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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110
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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111
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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112
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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113
pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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114
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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115
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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117
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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118
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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119
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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120
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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121
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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122
willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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123
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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124
beseechingly
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| adv. 恳求地 | |
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125
fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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126
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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127
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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128
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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129
prodded
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| v.刺，戳( prod的过去式和过去分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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130
bovine
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| adj.牛的；n.牛 | |
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