Having got into Lome the question was how to get out of it. I wanted to go to Keta, twenty-seven miles away in British territory, and my idea was to go by sea as I could do it in three hours at the very most, and Elder Dempster, having very kindly2 franked me on their steamers, it would cost me nothing save the tips to the surf boats that landed me; but there was one great thing against that—my hosts told me that very often the surf was so bad it was impossible to land at Keta. The head of Swanzy's had a man under him at Keta, and when he went to inspect he invariably went overland. That decided3 me. I too must go overland.
But carriers were by no means cheap. I had got hammock-boys to carry me the thirty miles from Ho to Palime for two shillings, and here for twenty-seven miles along the shore I paid my hammock-boys six shillings and sixpence and my carriers five shillings and sixpence, so that my pots were adding to their original price considerably4.
So on a fine, hot morning in May I was, with my train of carriers, on the road once more. First the going was down between groves5 of palms by the Governor's palace, which is a palace indeed, and must have cost a small fortune. A very brief walk brought us to the Border, and then the contrast was once more marked. The English villages were untidy and filthy6, with a filth7 that was emphasised now that I had seen what could be done by a little method and orderliness; those Coast villages remain in my mind as a mixture of pigs, and children, and stagnant8 water, and all manner of litter and untidiness. One saving grace they had was that they were set among the nice clean sand of the seashore that absorbed as much as possible all the dirt and moisture, and we passed along through groves of cocoa-nut palms that lent a certain charm and picturesqueness9 to the scene. I am never lonely beside the sea; the murmur10 of its waves is company, and I cannot explain it, but I am never afraid. I do not know why, but I could not walk in a forest by myself, yet I could walk for miles along the seashore and never fear, though I suppose many deeds of violence have been done along these shores; but they have been done on the sand, and the waters have swept over them, and washed all memory of them away.
Soon it was evident that we were travelling along almost as narrow a way as that which led along the shore to Half Assinie. There was a lagoon11 on the right hand, and the sea on the left, and the numerous villages drew their sustenance12 from the sea and from the cocoa-nut palms in which they were embowered.
All the hot long day we travelled, and at last, towards evening, on either side of the road, we came upon fine shade-trees of an order of ficus, planted, it is hardly needful to say, by the Danes who owned this place over thirty years ago. It makes such a wonderful difference, this tree-planting, that I have preached it wherever I went. I met one young D.C. who agreed with me heartily13, but explained to me the difficulties of the job in English territory.
I had suggested they might get trees from the agricultural stations that Government is beginning to dot over the country, and he said it was quite possible. In fact they had planted three hundred the year before. The place I was in was rather barren-looking, so I asked where they were. He shrugged14 his shoulders and pointed15 to the native sheep and goats; they are only to be distinguished16 by their tails, and a certain perkiness about the goats.
“But,” said I, surprised, “if you plant trees, you should certainly protect them.”
“How?” said he.
“Barbed wire,” was my idea.
“And where are we to get the money for barbed wire? We put cactus17 all round those three hundred trees we planted, and then the medical officer got on to us because the cactus held water and became a breeding place for mosquitoes, and so we had to take it away, and I don't believe six of those trees are alive now. You see it is too disheartening.”
Another thing that is very disheartening is the fact that tours, as they call a term of service among the English, last twelve months, and that a man at the end of a tour goes away for five months, and very often never again returns to the same place, so that he has no permanent interest in its welfare.
“Give peace in my time, oh Lord,” they declare is the prayer of the West-African D.C., and can we wonder? A man is not likely to stir up strife19 in a place if he is not going to remain long enough to show that he has stirred it up in a good cause. Fancy a German D.C. explaining his failure to have proper shade-trees by the fact that the native sheep and goats had eaten them!
The English have decided that Keta shall be called Quittah, which means nothing at all, but the native name is, and I imagine will be for a long time to come, Keta, which means “On the sand,” and on the sand the town literally20 is. It is simply built on a narrow sand-bank between the ocean and a great lagoon which stretches some days' journey into the interior, and at Keta, at its widest, is never more than a quarter of a mile in extent.
I appealed to the D.C. for quarters, and he very kindly placed me with the Bremen Mission Sisters, and asked me to dinner every night. I feel I must have been an awful nuisance to that D.C., and I am most grateful for his kindness, and still more grateful for his introduction to those kindly mission Sisters.
“Deaconesses” they called themselves; and they had apparently21 vowed22 themselves to the service of the heathen as absolutely as any nun23, and wore simple little cotton dresses with white net caps. Sister Minna, who had been out for ten long years, going home I think in that time twice, spoke24 the vernacular25 like a native, and Sister Connie was learning it. They kept a girls' school where some three hundred girls, ranging from three to thirteen, learned to read, and write, and sew, and sum, and I was introduced to quite a new phase of African life, for never before had I been able to come so closely in touch with the native.
Again I have to put it on record that I have absolutely no sympathy with missionaries26. I cannot see the necessity for missions to the heathen; as yet there should be no crumbs27 to fall from the children's table while the children of Europe are in such a shameful28 state as many of them are, far worse than any heathen I have ever seen in Africa. But that did not prevent me admiring very much these Sisters, especially Sister Minna. It was a pity her services were lost to Germany, and given to these heathen, who, I am bound to say, loved and respected her deeply.
But Keta was hot. Never in my life have I lived in such a hot place, and the first night they put me to sleep in their best bedroom, in which was erected30 a magnificent mosquito-proof room, also the window that looked on the back verandah was covered carefully with coloured cretonne to ensure privacy. In spite of all their kindness I spent a terrible night; the want of air nearly killed me, and I arose in the morning weary to death, and begging that I might be allowed to sleep in the garden. There there was a little more air, but the ants, tiny ones that could get through the meshes31 of my mosquito curtains, walked over me and made life unbearable32. Then I put up a prayer that I might be allowed to sleep on the verandah. The good Sisters demurred33. It was, in their opinion, rather public; but what was I to do? Sleep I felt I must get, and so every night Grant came over and put up my camp-bed on the verandah, or rather balcony, and every night I slept the comfortable, refreshing34 sleep of the fresh-air lover, and if a storm of rain came up, as it did not infrequently, this being the beginning of the rainy season, I simply arose and dragged my bed inside, and waited till it was over. I admit this had its drawbacks, but it was better than sleeping inside. The Sisters were perpetually making remarks on my healthy colour, and contrasting it with their own pale faces, and their not infrequent attacks of fever with my apparent immunity35, and they came to the same conclusion that I did, that it was insured by my love of fresh air. Why they did not do likewise I do not know, but I suspect they thought it was not quite proper; not the first time in this world that women have suffered from their notions of propriety36.
Under the guidance of Sister Minna I began a series of calls, visiting first one of the head chiefs, who had about sixty wives. Some dwelt in little houses off his compound, some were scattered37 over the town, and some were away in the country. It was the first time I had really been introduced into a polygamous household with understanding eyes, and I went with interest. It is approaching the vital points of life from an entirely39 different angle.
The Chief received us most graciously. He was a big man, old, with a bald head on which was a horrid40 red scar, got, he explained, in a big fight. He said he was very pleased to see me, spoke for a moment to one of his attendants, and then presented me with a couple of florins, and wished me well. After all, that was certainly a most substantial sign of goodwill41. Then I called upon his wives, young, old, and middle-aged42, and I don't even now understand how he managed to have so many without interfering43 seriously with the natural distribution of men and women. Of course his descendants are many, and many are the complications, for I have seen a married woman, the grand-daughter of the Chief, nursing on her knee her little great-aunt, his daughter, and well spanking44 her too if she did not come to school quick enough.
One of his old wives had broken her leg, and we visited her; she had a room in his house, and was lying on her bed on the floor, while beside her sat another wife who had come to see how she was getting on.
“If I were a wife,” said I, from the outlook of a monogamous country, “I should not call upon another wife a man chose to take, even if she were sick.”
“I don't know,” said kind-hearted Sister Minna. “I have lived so long in a country like this that I think I should. It is only kind.”
And we went from one household to another, and were received most graciously, and generally Sister Minna was given some small sum of money to entertain me. Sometimes it was sixpence, sometimes it was a shilling, sometimes it even rose as high as two shillings, and she was instructed to buy chickens and bananas that I might be well fed. Also they can never tell a white person's age, and many a time she was asked, because I was short, whether I was not a child.
Altogether I was most agreeably struck with these Awuna people, and found there was even something to be said for the polygamous system. I have always, from my youth upwards45, admired the woman who worked and made a place for herself in the world, and here were certainly some of my ideals carried out, for every woman in this community was selfsupporting for the greater part of her life, and not only did she support herself, but her children as well. It was in fact not much of a catch to marry a chief; of course, being a rich man, he probably gave her a little more capital to work upon in the beginning, but she had to pay him back, and work all the same.
We visited another household, the home of a clerk in the Bremen Mission Factory, a gentleman who wore a tweed suit and a high collar, and who once had been a pillar of the mission church. He had four wives, and he lived inside a compound with small houses round it, and his house, the big house, on one side. Each wife had her own little home, consisting of two rooms and a kitchen place; the wife without children was the farthest away from him, and the last wife, just married, had a room next his. His sitting-room46 was quite gorgeous, furnished European fashion with cane47 chairs, and settee, coloured cushions, an ordinary lamp with a green shade, and a rack, such as one sees on old-fashioned ships, hung with red and green wineglasses. I don't know why I should have felt that antimacassars and tablecloths48 were out of place with polygamy, but I did, especially as the wives' houses were bare, native houses, where the women squatted49 on the floor, their bedrooms were dark and dismal50 hot places, with any amount of girdle beads51 hanging against the walls. For clothes are but a new fashion in Keta, and the time is not far off when a woman went clothed solely53 in girdle beads, and so still it is the fashion to have many different girdle beads, though now that they wear cloths over them they are not to be seen except upon the little girls who still very wisely are allowed to go stark54. Each woman's children, not only in this house, but in the Chief's house, ran in and out of the other wives' houses in very friendly fashion, and they most of them bore English names—Grace, Rosina, and Elizabeth. And the names, when they are not English, are very curious and well worth remembering. A couple had been married for many years, and at last the longed-for child came. “Laughing at last,” they called it. “Come only” is another name. “A cry in my house”—where so long there had been silence. “Every man and his,” meaning with pride, “this is mine, I want nothing more.” But they are not always pleased. “God gives bad things”—a girl has been born and they have been waiting for a boy. “A word is near my heart,” sounds rather tender, but “I forgive you” must have another meaning, and the child would surely not be as well loved as the one its mother called “Sweet thing.” Then again girls do not always marry the man they love or would choose, and they will perhaps call their child “Not love made you,” but on the whole I think pleasant names predominate, and many a child is called “So is God,” “God gives good things,” or merely “Thanks.” Often too a child is called after the day of the week upon which it is born.
“What day were you born?” asked the Chief of me.
“Wednesday,” I said.
“Then your name is Aquwo,” said he.
Marriage in a country like this has a somewhat different status from what it does, say in England. What a woman wants most of all is children; motherhood is the ideal, and the unmarried woman with a child is a far more enviable person than the married woman without, and even in this land, where motherhood is everything, there was in every household that I visited an unhappy woman without children, because vice18 has been rampant56 along the Coast for hundreds of years. You may know her at once by her sad face, for not only is she deeply grieved, but everyone despises her, as they do not despise the woman who has had a child without being married. Of course parents prefer their daughters to be chaste57, and if a man marries what the Sister described as a “good” girl, he will probably give her a pair of handsome bracelets58 to mark his appreciation59 of the fact, but if on the other hand a daughter, without being married, suddenly presents the household with an addition, they are not more vexed60 than if the daughter in civilised lands failed to pass her examination, outran her allowance, or perhaps got herself too much talked about with the best-looking ineligible61 in the neighbourhood. It is a natural thing for a girl to do, and at any rate a child is always an asset.
0409
There is one binding62 form of marriage that is absolutely indissoluble. If the man and woman, in the presence of witnesses, drink a drop or two of each other's blood, nothing can part them; they are bound for ever, a binding which tells more heavily upon the woman than the man, because he is always free to marry as many wives as he likes, while she is bound only to him, and whatever he does, no one, after such a ceremony, would give her shelter should she wish to leave him. All other marriages are quite easily dissolved, and very often the partings occasion but little heart-burnings on either side. The great desire of everyone is children, and once that is attained64, the object of the union is accomplished65, wherefore I fancy it is very seldom couples, or rather women, take the trouble to bind63 themselves so indissolubly. The most respectable form of marriage is for a man to take a girl and seclude66 her with an old woman to look after her for from five to nine months after marriage. She does no work, but gives herself up to the luxury and enjoyment67 of the petted, spoiled wife. Her brothers and sisters and her friends come and see her, but she does not pass outside the threshold, and being thus kept from the strong sunlight, she becomes appreciably68 lighter69 in colour, and is of course so much the more beautiful. He may take several women after this fashion, and all the marriages are equally binding, but of course this means that he must have a little money. Another kind of marriage is when the man simply gives the woman presents of cloths, and provides her with a house. It is equally binding but is not considered so respectful; there is something of the difference we see between the hasty arrangement in a registry office and the solemn ceremony at St George's, Hanover Square.
One thing is certain, that when an Awuna man asks a girl to marry him, she will most certainly say “No.” Formerly70 the parents were always asked, and they invariably said “No,” and then the man had to ask again and again, and to reason away their objections to him as a suitor. Now, as women are getting freer under English rule, the girl herself is asked, and she makes a practice of saying “No” at least two or three times, in order to be able to tell him afterwards she did not want him. Even after they are Christians71, says Sister Minna, the women find it very hard to give up this fiction that they do not want to marry, and the girl finds it very difficult to say “Yes” in church.
She likes to pretend that she does not want the man. As a rule this is, I believe, true enough. There is no trust or love between the sexes; you never see men and women together. A woman only wants a man in order that she may have children, and one would do quite as well as another.
After marriage the woman has a free time for a little. She does not have to begin cooking her husband's meals at once, and this also holds good after the first baby is born. A man is considered by public opinion a great churl73 if he does not get somebody to wait on his wife and fetch her water from the well at this time. After the second baby they are not so particular, and a woman must just make her own arrangements and manage as best she may. It is a woman's pride to bear children, and to the man they are a source of wealth, for the boys must work for the father for a time at least, and the girls are always sold in marriage, for a wife costs at least five or six pounds.
With all due deference74 to these kindly missionaries, I cannot think that Christianity has made much progress, for these Awuna people have the reputation of being great poisoners. One of the Chief's wives offered me beer, stuff that looked and tasted like thin treacle75, and she tasted it first to show me, said the Sister, that it was quite safe; but also she explained they insert a potent76 poison under the thumb nail, drink first to show that the draft is innocuous, and then offer the gourd77 to the intended victim, having just allowed the tip of the thumb nail to dip beneath the liquid.
The early morning is the correct time to do the most important things. Thus if a man wants a girl in marriage he appears at her parents' house at the uncomfortable hour of four o'clock in the morning, and asks her hand. The morning after the Chief had given me a dash, I sent Grant round early, not at four o'clock I fear, when in the Tropics it is quite dark, with a box of biscuits and two boxes of chocolates and the next morning early he sent me his ring as a sign that he had received my dash and was pleased. If by any chance they cannot come and thank you in the morning, they say, “To-morrow morning, when the cock crows, I shall thank you again.” They use rather an amusing proverb for thanking; where we should say, “I have not words to thank you,” they say, “The hen does not thank the dunghill,” because here in these villages, where they do not provide food for the fowls78, the dunghill provides everything. Sister Minna once received a very large present of ducks and yams from a man, so she used this proverb in thanking him, as one he would thoroughly79 understand. Quick came the response, “Oh please do not say so. I am the hen, and you are the dunghill,” which does not sound very complimentary80 translated into English.
It was delightful81 staying here at the Mission House, and seeing quite a new side of African life, seeing it as it were from the inside. Every day at seven o'clock in the morning the little girls came to school, and I could hear the monotonous82 chant of their learning, as I sat working on the verandah. Somewhere about nine school was out and it was time for the second breakfast. The second breakfast was provided by the little markets that were held in the school grounds, where about a dozen women or young girls came with food-stuffs to sell at a farthing, or a copper83, for they use either English or German money, a portion. They were rather appetising I thought, and quite a decent little breakfast could be bought for a penny. There were maize84-meal balls fried in palm oil, a sort of pancake also made of maize meal and eaten with a piece of cocoa-nut, bananas, split sections of pine-apple, mangoes, little balls of boiled rice served on a plantain leaf, and pieces of the eternal stink-fish. Every woman appears to be a born trader, and I have seen a little girl coming to school with a platter on her head, on which were arranged neatly85 cut sections of pine-apple, She had managed to acquire a copper or two, and began her career as a trader by selling to the children for their school breakfast. She will continue that career into her married life, and till she is an old old woman past all work, when her children will look after her, for they are most dutiful children, and Christian72 or heathen never neglect their parents, especially their mother.
Old maids of course you never see, and it is considered much more natural, as I suppose it is, that a woman should have a child by a man whom she has met just casually86, than that she should live an old maid. There was a good missionary87 woman who took a little girl into her household and guarded her most carefully. The only time that girl was out of her sight was once or twice a week for half an hour when she went to fetch water from the well. Presently that girl was the mother to a fine, lusty boy, and the missionary's wife was told and believed that she did not know the father. He was a man she had met casually going to the well.
When they asked me, as they often did, how my husband was, I always explained that he was very well, and had gone on a journey; it saved a lot of trouble, but it amused me to find that Sister Minna, when she was among strangers, always did the same. She explained that once on her way to Lome she stopped her hammock and spoke to a woman. This woman brought up a man, who asked her how her husband was, and in her innocence88 she explained she had none. The man promptly89 asked her to marry him, and as she demurred, the ten or twelve standing38 round asked her to choose among them which man she would have for a husband. The situation was difficult. Finally she got out of it by explaining that she was here to care for their children, and if she had to cook her husband's dinner it would take up too much of her time. Of course in Keta they now know her, and appreciate her, and respect her eccentricities90 if they do not understand them, but if she goes to a strange place she is careful to hide the fact that she has not a husband somewhere in the background. It is embarrassing to be single.
She is a firm believer in the good that the missions are doing; I am only a firm believer in the good that a woman like Sister Minna could not help doing in any land.
Keta is the place whence come all the cloths of the Guinea Coast, and again and again in a compound, in a little, sheltered dark corner, you may come across a man working his little loom91, always a man, it is not women's work, and often by his side another winding92 the yarn93 he will use, and the product of their looms94 goes away, away to far Palime and Kpando, and all along the Coast, and up the railway line to Kumasi, and into the heart of the rubber country beyond.
But here, being an enterprising people, they are beginning to do their own weaving, and have imported, I am told, men from Keta to show them the best way.
0417
I shall not soon forget Keta. If I shut my eyes I can see it now. The bare hot sand with the burning hot sun pouring pitilessly down upon it; the graceful95 cocoa-nut palms; the great ficus trees that stand in rows outside the little Danish fort that is so white that it makes your eyes blink in the glare; the flamboyant96 tree, all red blossom, that grows beside it. Some Goth of a D.C. took the guns from the walls, and stood them upside down in the earth in a row leading down to the beach, and subsequent Commissioners97, making the best of a bad job, have painted them carefully with tar55 to keep them from rusting98. At the wells the little naked girls with beads round their middles draw the water, and in the streets, making the best of every little patch of shade, though they have not initiate99 enough to plant for themselves, are the women sitting always with some trifle to sell, early-morning porridge, or maize-meal balls, or portions of pine-apple, or native sweets made from imported sugar. Once I went into a chiefs house and wanted to photograph the people at work under the shade of the central tree in the courtyard. He sent word to say he would like to be photographed too, and as there was nothing particularly striking or objectionable about his shirt and trousers, I agreed. He kept me waiting till the light was almost gone, and then he appeared in a tourist cap, a light-grey coat, a red tie, a pink shirt, khaki breeches, violent green socks pulled up over the ends of his breeches, and a pair of red-and-yellow carpet slippers100. I sent the plate home, but have been unable to discover that photograph anywhere, and I think in all probability the plate could not stand him. So I did not get the people at work. The market is held on a bare piece of ground close to the lagoon, and whenever there is a high tide it is half under water, and the Chief calls upon the people to bring sand from the seashore to raise the ground, and after about six hundred calabashes have been spilled, it looks as if someone had scattered a handful of sand there. Indeed, though Keta has existed for many years, it looks as if at any moment an extra high tide might break away into the lagoon behind, and the whole teeming101 population, for whose being there I can see no possible reason, might be swept into the sea.
It was hotter in Keta than any other place I visited along the Coast, as there are no cool sea breezes for all they are so close to the sea. The sand-bank on which it is built runs almost north and south, and the prevailing102 wind, being from the south, blows always over hot-baked sand instead of over the cool sea. But yet I enjoyed life in that Mission House very much. It was a new piece of the world to me, and kind Sister Minna told me many things about the native mind. When first she came she had tried to do without beating the children, tried to explain to them that it was a shame that a girl should be beaten, but they would have none of her ways. All they thought was that she was afraid of them, the children despised her, and the school was pandemonium103. Now she has thoroughly grasped their limitations, and when a girl does wrong she beats her, and they respect and love her, and send their children to her to be corrected.
“I have beaten thirty to-day,” she would say with a sigh, as we sat down to dinner, or if we were going to the Commissioner's there was generally one in prison who had to be released before we could go. Sometimes, if she were specially29 bad, a girl was kept in prison all day and all night, in addition to her beating. Once in the compound opposite I saw a little stark-naked girl about thirteen stand screaming apparently without any cause. The Sisters stood it for about half an hour, then I saw them stealing across the road; they entered the compound, and promptly captured the small sinner. Her aunt, who was the owner of the compound, had apparently given her up as hopeless, and she looked on with interest. I had thought the captive's lungs must have given out long before, but as they crossed the road she put on a fresh spurt104, and she yelled still more heartrendingly when she was beaten. But the next day she came trippingly along the verandah, confident, and happy, and apparently all the better for the correction she had received the day before. I do not know what her sin was. Probably she had not obeyed her aunt when she told her to rub the beads. Beads are bought in strings105 in Germany or England, and then every bead52 has to be rubbed smooth with water on a stone. It must be a dull job, but the women and children are largely occupied in doing it; the stones you see in every compound are worn hollow, and the palms of the woman's hands are worn quite hard. But it is part of a woman's education and she must do it just as a man must do the weaving.
The day came at last when I had to go, and I sat on the beach, surrounded by my goods and chattels106, waiting for the surf boat that was to take me to the ship. Grant was bidding regretful farewells to the many friends he had made, and I was bidding my kind Sisters good-bye. Then I was hustled107 into a boat in a man's arms, hastily we dashed through the surf, and presently I was on board the Bathurst bound for Addah at the mouth of the Volta River.
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staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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picturesqueness
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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lagoon
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| n.泻湖，咸水湖 | |
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sustenance
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| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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cactus
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| n.仙人掌 | |
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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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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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21
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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22
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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23
nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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24
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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25
vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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26
missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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27
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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28
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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29
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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30
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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31
meshes
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| 网孔( mesh的名词复数 )； 网状物； 陷阱； 困境 | |
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32
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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33
demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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35
immunity
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| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
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36
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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37
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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38
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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39
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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40
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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41
goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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42
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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43
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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44
spanking
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| adj.强烈的，疾行的；n.打屁股 | |
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45
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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46
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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47
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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48
tablecloths
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| n.桌布，台布( tablecloth的名词复数 ) | |
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49
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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50
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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51
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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52
bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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53
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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54
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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58
bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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59
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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61
ineligible
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| adj.无资格的，不适当的 | |
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62
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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63
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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65
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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66
seclude
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| vi.使隔离，使孤立，使隐退 | |
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67
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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68
appreciably
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| adv.相当大地 | |
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69
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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70
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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71
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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72
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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73
churl
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| n.吝啬之人；粗鄙之人 | |
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74
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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75
treacle
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| n.糖蜜 | |
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76
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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77
gourd
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| n.葫芦 | |
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78
fowls
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| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
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79
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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80
complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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81
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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82
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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83
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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84
maize
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| n.玉米 | |
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85
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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86
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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87
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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88
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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89
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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90
eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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91
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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92
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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93
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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94
looms
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| n.织布机( loom的名词复数 )v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的第三人称单数 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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95
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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96
flamboyant
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| adj.火焰般的，华丽的，炫耀的 | |
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97
commissioners
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| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
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98
rusting
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| n.生锈v.（使）生锈( rust的现在分词 ) | |
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99
initiate
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| vt.开始，创始，发动；启蒙，使入门；引入 | |
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100
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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101
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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102
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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103
pandemonium
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| n.喧嚣，大混乱 | |
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104
spurt
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| v.喷出；突然进发；突然兴隆 | |
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105
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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106
chattels
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| n.动产，奴隶( chattel的名词复数 ) | |
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107
hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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