He was seated alone with this sister, in a small, low, rather dismally-appointed room, half-heartedly lighted by two flickering1 gasjets. They sat somewhat apart, confronting a fireplace, where only the laid materials for a fire disclosed themselves in the cold grate. Above the mantel hung an enlarged photograph of a scowling2 old man. Thorpe's gaze recurred3 automatically at brief intervals4 to this portrait—which somehow produced the effect upon him of responsibility for the cheerlessness of the room. There were other pictures on the walls of which he was dimly conscious—small, faded, old prints about Dido and AEneas and Agamemnon, which seemed to be coming back to him out of the mists of his childhood.
Vagrant5 impressions and associations of this childhood strayed with quaint6 inconsequence across the field of his preoccupied7 mind. The peculiar8 odour of the ancient book-shop on the floor below remained like snuff in his nostrils9. Somewhere underneath10, or in the wainscoting at the side, he could hear the assiduous gnawing11 of a rat. Was it the same rat, he wondered with a mental grin, that used to keep him awake nights, in one of the rooms next to this, with that same foolish noise, when he was a boy?
“I know you always say that,” replied Louisa, impassively.
She was years older than her brother, but, without a trace of artifice12 or intention, contrived13 to look the younger of the two. Her thick hair, drawn14 simply from her temples into a knot behind, was of that palest brown which assimilates grey. Her face, long, plain, masculine in contour and spirit, conveyed no message as to years. Long and spare of figure, she sat upright in her straight-backed chair, with her large, capable hands on her knees.
“I believed in you as much as you'd let me,” she went on, indifferently, almost wearily. “But I don't see that it mattered to you whether I did or didn't. You went your own way: you did what you wanted to do. What had I to do with it? I don't suppose I even knew what part of the world you were in more than once in two or three years. How should I know whether you were going to succeed, when I didn't even know what it was you were at? Certainly you hadn't succeeded here in London—but elsewhere you might or you might not—how could I tell? And moreover, I don't feel that I know you very well; you've grown into something very different from the boy Joel that left the shop—it must be twenty years ago. I can only know about you and your affairs what you tell me.”
“But my point is,” pursued Thorpe, watching her face with a curiously15 intent glance, “you never said to yourself: 'I KNOW he's going to succeed. I KNOW he'll be a rich man before he dies.'”
She shook her head dispassionately. Her manner expressed fatigued16 failure to comprehend why he was making so much of this purposeless point.
“No—I don't remember ever having said that to myself,” she admitted, listlessly. Then a comment upon his words occurred to her, and she spoke17 with more animation18: “You don't seem to understand, Joel, that what was very important to you, didn't occupy me at all. You were always talking about getting rich; you kept the idea before you of sometime, at a stroke, finding yourself a millionaire. That's been the idea of your life. But what do I know about all that? My work has been to keep a roof over my head—to keep the little business from disappearing altogether. It's been hard enough, I can tell you, these last few years, with the big jobbers19 cutting the hearts out of the small traders. I had the invalid20 husband to support for between three and four years—a dead weight on me every week—and then the children to look after, to clothe and educate.”
At the last word she hesitated suddenly, and looked at him. “Don't think I'm ungrateful”—she went on, with a troubled effort at a smile—“but I almost wish you'd never sent me that four hundred pounds at all. What it means is that they've had two years at schools where now I shan't be able to keep them any longer. They'll be spoiled for my kind of life—and they won't have a fair chance for any other. I don't know what will become of them.”
The profound apprehension21 in the mother's voice did not dull the gleam in Thorpe's eyes. He even began a smile in the shadows of his unkempt moustache.
“But when I sent that money, for example, two years ago, and over,” he persisted, doggedly—“and I told you there'd be more where that came from, and that I stood to pull off the great event—even then, now, you didn't believe in your innermost heart that I knew what I was talking about, did you?”
She frowned with impatience22 as she turned toward him. “For heaven's sake, Joel,” she said, sharply—“you become a bore with that stupid nonsense. I want to be patient with you—I do indeed sympathize with you in your misfortunes—you know that well enough—but you're very tiresome23 with that eternal harping24 on what I believed and what I didn't believe. Now, are you going to stop to supper or not?—because if you are I must send the maid out. And there's another thing—would it be of any help to you to bring your things here from the hotel? You can have Alfred's room as well as not—till Christmas, at least.”
“Supposing I couldn't get my luggage out of the hotel till I'd settled my bill,” suggested Thorpe tentatively, in a muffled25 voice.
The practical woman reflected for an instant. “I was thinking,” she confessed then, “that it might be cheaper to leave your things there, and buy what little you want—I don't imagine, from what I've seen, that your wardrobe is so very valuable—but no, I suppose the bill ought to be paid. Perhaps it can be managed; how much will it be?”
Thorpe musingly26 rose to his feet, and strolled over to her chair. With his thick hands on his sister's shoulders he stooped and kissed her on the forehead.
“You believe in me now, anyway, eh, Lou?” he said, as he straightened himself behind her.
The unaccustomed caress—so different in character from the perfunctory salute27 with which he had greeted her on his arrival from foreign parts, six months before—brought a flush of pleased surprise to her plain face. Then a kind of bewilderment crept into the abstracted gaze she was bending upon the fireless grate. Something extraordinary, unaccountable, was in the manner of her brother. She recalled that, in truth, he was more than half a stranger to her. How could she tell what wild, uncanny second nature had not grown up in him under those outlandish tropical skies? He had just told her that his ruin was absolute—overwhelming—yet there had been a covert28 smile in the recesses30 of his glance. Even now, she half felt, half heard, a chuckle31 from him, there as he stood behind her!
The swift thought that disaster had shaken his brain loomed32 up and possessed33 her. She flung herself out of the chair, and, wheeling, seized its back and drew it between them as she faced him. It was with a stare of frank dismay that she beheld34 him grinning at her.
“What”—she began, stammering—“What is the matter, Joel?”
He permitted himself the luxury of smiling blankly at her for a further moment. Then he tossed his head, and laughed abruptly35.
“Sit down, old girl,” he adjured36 her. “Try and hold yourself together, now—to hear some different kind of news. I've been playing it rather low down on you, for a fact. Instead of my being smashed, it's the other way about.”
She continued to confront him, with a nervous clasp upon the chair-back. Her breathing troubled her as she regarded him, and tried to take in the meaning of his words.
“Do you mean—you've been lying to me about—about your Company?” she asked, confusedly.
“No—no—not at all,” he replied, now all genial37 heartiness38. “No—what I told you was gospel truth—but I was taking a rise out of you all the same.” He seemed so unaffectedly pleased by his achievement in kindly39 duplicity that she forced an awkward smile to her lips.
“I don't understand in the least,” she said, striving to remember what he had told her. “What you said was that the public had entirely40 failed to come in—that there weren't enough applications for shares to pay flotation expenses—those were your own words. Of course, I don't pretend to understand these City matters—but it IS the case, isn't it, that if people don't subscribe41 for the shares of a new company, then the company is a failure?”
“Yes, that may be said to be the case—as a general rule,” he nodded at her, still beaming.
“Well, then—of course—I don't understand,” she owned.
“I don't know as you'll understand it much more when I've explained it to you,” he said, seating himself, and motioning her to the other chair. “But yes, of course you will. You're a business woman. You know what figures mean. And really the whole thing is as simple as A B C. You remember that I told you——”
“But are you going to stop to supper? I must send Annie out before the shops close.”
“Supper? No—I couldn't eat anything. I'm too worked up for that. I'll get something at the hotel before I go to bed, if I feel like it. But say!”—the thought suddenly struck him—“if you want to come out with me, I'll blow you off to the swaggerest dinner in London. What d'ye say?”
She shook her head. “I shall have some bread and cheese and beer at nine. That's my rule, you know. I don't like to break it. I'm always queer next day if I do. But now make haste and tell me—you're really not broken then? You have really come out well?”
For answer he rose, and drew himself to his full height, and spread his bulky shoulders backward. His grey-blue eyes looked down upon her with a triumphant42 glow.
“Broken?” he echoed her word, with emphasis. “My dear Louisa, I'm not the sort that gets broken. I break other people. Oh, God, how I shall break them!”
He began pacing up and down on the narrow rug before the fender, excitedly telling his story to her. Sometimes he threw the words over his shoulder; again he held her absorbed gaze with his. He took his hands often from his pockets, to illustrate43 or enforce by gestures the meaning of his speech—and then she found it peculiarly difficult to realize that he was her brother.
Much of the narrative45, rambling46 and disconnected, with which he prefaced this story of the day, was vaguely47 familiar to her. He sketched48 now for her in summary, and with the sonorous49 voice of one deeply impressed with the dramatic values of his declamation50, the chronicle of his wanderings in strange lands—and these he had frequently told her about before. Soon she perceived, however, that he was stringing them together on a new thread. One after another, these experiences of his, as he related them, turned upon the obstacles and fatal pitfalls52 which treachery and malice53 had put in his path. He seemed, by his account, to have been a hundred times almost within touch of the goal. In China, in the Dutch Indies, in those remoter parts of Australia which were a waterless waste when he knew them and might have owned them, and now were yielding fabulous54 millions to fellows who had tricked and swindled him—everywhere he had missed by just a hair's breadth the golden consummation. In the Western hemisphere the tale repeated itself. There had been times in the Argentine, in Brazil just before the Empire fell, in Colorado when the Silver boom was on, in British Columbia when the first rumours55 of rich ore were whispered about—many times when fortune seemed veritably within his grasp. But someone had always played him false. There was never a friendship for him which could withstand the temptation of profitable treason.
But he had hung dauntlessly on. He had seen one concession56 slipping through his fingers, only to strain and tighten57 them for a clutch at another. It did not surprise his hearer—nor indeed did it particularly attract her attention—that there was nowhere in this rapid and comprehensive narrative any allusion58 to industry of the wage-earning sort. Apparently59, he had done no work at all, in the bread-winner's sense of the word. This was so like Joel that it was taken for granted in his sister's mind. All his voyages and adventures and painful enterprises had been informed by the desire of the buccaneer—the passion to reap where others had sown, or, at the worst, to get something for nothing.
The discursive60 story began to narrow and concentrate itself when at last it reached Mexico. The sister changed her position in her chair, and crossed her knees when Tehuantepec was mentioned. It was from that place that Joel had sent her the amazing remittance61 over two years ago. Curiously enough, though, it was at this point in his narrative that he now became vague as to details. There were concessions62 of rubber forests mentioned, and the barter63 of these for other concessions with money to boot, and varying phases of a chronic51 trouble about where the true boundary of Guatemala ran—but she failed clearly to understand much about it all. His other schemes and mishaps64 she had followed readily enough. Somehow when they came to Mexico, however, she saw everything jumbled65 and distorted, as through a haze66. Once or twice she interrupted him to ask questions, but he seemed to attach such slight importance to her comprehending these details that she forbore. Only one fact was it necessary to grasp about the Mexican episode, apparently. When he quitted Tehuantepec, to make his way straight to London, at the beginning of the year, he left behind him a rubber plantation67 which he desired to sell, and brought with him between six and seven thousand pounds, with which to pay the expenses of selling it. How he had obtained either the plantation or the money did not seem to have made itself understood. No doubt, as his manner indicated when she ventured her enquiries, it was quite irrelevant68 to the narrative.
In Mexico, his experience had been unique, apparently, in that no villain69 had appeared on the scene to frustrate70 his plans. He at least mentioned no one who had wronged him there. When he came to London, however, there were villains71 and to spare. He moved to the mantel, when he arrived at this stage of the story, and made clear a space for his elbow to rest among the little trinkets and photographs with which it was burdened. He stood still thereafter, looking down at her; his voice took on a harsher note.
Much of this story, also, she knew by heart. This strange, bearded, greyish-haired brother of hers had come very often during the past half-year to the little book-shop, and the widow's home above it, his misshapen handbag full of papers, his heart full of rage, hope, grief, ambition, disgust, confidence—everything but despair. It was true, it had never been quite real to her. He was right in his suggestion that she had never wholly believed in him. She had not been able to take altogether seriously this clumsy, careworn72, shabbily-dressed man who talked about millions. It was true that he had sent her four hundred pounds for the education of her son and daughter; it was equally true that he had brought with him to London a sum which any of his ancestors, so far as she knew about them, would have deemed a fortune, and which he treated as merely so much oil, with which to lubricate the machinery73 of his great enterprise. She had heard, at various times, the embittered74 details of the disappearance75 of this money, little by little. Nearly a quarter of it, all told, had been appropriated by a sleek76 old braggart77 of a company-promoter, who had cozened Joel into the belief that London could be best approached through him. When at last this wretch78 was kicked downstairs, the effect had been only to make room for a fresh lot of bloodsuckers. There were so-called advertising79 agents, so-called journalists, so-called “men of influence in the City,”—a swarm80 of relentless81 and voracious82 harpies, who dragged from him in blackmail83 nearly the half of what he had left, before he summoned the courage and decision to shut them out.
Worse still, in some ways, were the men into whose hands he stumbled next—a group of City men concerned in the South African market, who impressed him very favourably84 at the outset. He got to know them by accident, and at the time when he began to comprehend the necessity of securing influential85 support for his scheme. Everything that he heard and could learn about them testified to the strength of their position in the City. Because they displayed a certain amiability86 of manner toward him and his project, he allowed himself to make sure of their support. It grew to be a certainty in his mind that they would see him through. He spent a good deal of money in dinners and suppers in their honour, after they had let him understand that this form of propitiation was not unpleasant to them. They chaffed him about some newspaper paragraphs, in which he was described as the “Rubber King,” with an affable assumption of amusement, under which he believed that he detected a genuine respect for his abilities.
Finally, when he had danced attendance upon them for the better part of two months, he laid before them, at the coffee-and-cigars stage of a dinner in a private room of the Savoy, the details of his proposition. They were to form a Syndicate to take over his property, and place it upon the market; in consideration of their finding the ready money for this exploitation, they were to have for themselves two-fifths of the shares in the Company ultimately to be floated. They listened to these details, and to his enthusiastic remarks about the project itself, with rather perfunctory patience, but committed themselves that evening to nothing definite. It took him nearly a week thereafter to get an answer from any of them. Then he learned that, if they took the matter up at all, it would be upon the basis of the Syndicate receiving nine-tenths of the shares.
He conceived the idea, after he had mastered his original amazement87, that they named these preposterous88 terms merely because they expected to be beaten down, and he summoned all his good nature and tact89 for the task of haggling90 with them. He misunderstood their first show of impatience at this, and persevered91 in the face of their tacit rebuffs. Then, one day, a couple of them treated him with overt29 rudeness, and he, astonished out of his caution, replied to them in kind. Suddenly, he could hardly tell why or how, they were all enemies of his. They closed their office doors to him; even their clerks treated him with contemptuous incivility.
This blow to his pride enraged92 and humiliated93 him, curiously enough, as no other misadventure of his life had done.
Louisa remembered vividly94 the description he had given to her, at the time, of this affair. She had hardly understood why it should disturb him so profoundly: to her mind, these men had done nothing so monstrous95 after all. But to him, their offense96 swallowed up all the other indignities97 suffered during the years of his Ishmaelitish wanderings. A sombre lust44 for vengeance98 upon them took root in his very soul. He hated nobody else as he hated them. How often she had heard him swear, in solemn vibrating tones, that to the day of his death his most sacred ambition should be their punishment, their abasement99 in the dust and mire100!
And now, all at once, as she looked up at him, where he leant against the mantel, these vagabond memories of hers took point and shape. It was about these very men that he was talking.
“And think of it!” he was saying, impressively. “It's magnificent enough for me to make this great hit—but I don't count it as anything at all by comparison with the fact that I make it at their expense. You remember the fellows I told you about?” he asked abruptly, deferring101 to the confused look on her face.
“Yes—you make it out of them,” she repeated, in an uncertain voice. It occurred to her that she must have been almost asleep. “But did I miss anything? Have you been telling what it is that you have made?”
“No—that you shall have in good time. You don't seem to realize it, Louisa. I can hardly realize it myself. I am actually a very rich man. I can't tell how much I've got—in fact, it can be almost as much as I like—half a million pounds, I suppose, at the start, if I want to make it that much. Yes—it takes the breath away, doesn't it? But best of all—a thousand times best of all—practically every dollar of it comes out of those Kaffir swine—the very men that tried to rob me, and that have been trying to ruin me ever since. I tell you what I wish, Louise—I wish to God there could only be time enough, and I'd take it all in half-sovereigns—two millions of them, or three millions—and just untwist every coin, one by one, out from among their heart-strings. Oh—but it'll be all right as it is. It's enough to make a man feel religious—to think how those thieves are going to suffer.”
“Well” she said, slowly after reflection, “it all rather frightens me.”
As if the chill in the air of the cheerless room had suddenly accentuated102 itself, she arose, took a match-box from the mantel, and, stooping, lit the fire.
He looked down at the tall, black-clad figure, bent103 in stiff awkwardness over the smoking grate, and his eyes softened104. Then he took fresh note of the room—the faded, threadbare carpet, the sparse105 old furniture that had seemed ugly to even his uninformed boyish taste, the dingy106 walls and begrimed low ceiling—all pathetic symbols of the bleak107 life to which she had been condemned108.
“Frightens you?” he queried109, with a kind of jovial110 tenderness, as she got to her feet; “frightens you, eh? Why, within a month's time, old lady, you'll be riding in the Park in your own carriage, with niggers folding their arms up behind, and you'll be taking it all as easy and as natural as if you'd been born in a barouche.”
He added, in response to the enquiry of her lifted brows: “Barouche? That's what we'd call in England a landau.”
She stood with a foot upon the fender, her tired, passive face inclined meditatively111, her rusty112 old black gown drawn back by one hand from the snapping sparks. “No,” she said, slowly, joyless resignation mingling113 with pride in her voice. “I was born here over the shop.”
“Well, good God! so was I,” he commented, lustily. “But that's no reason why I shouldn't wind up in Park Lane—or you either.”
She had nothing to say to this, apparently. After a little, she seated herself again, drawing her chair closer to the hearth114. “It's years since I've lit this fire before the first of November,” she remarked, with the air of defending the action to herself.
“Oh, we're celebrating,” he said, rubbing his hands over the reluctant blaze. “Everything goes, tonight!”
Her face, as she looked up at him, betrayed the bewilderment of her mind. “You set out to tell me what it was all about,” she reminded him. “You see I'm completely in the dark. I only hear you say that you've made a great fortune. That's all I know. Or perhaps you've told me as much as you care to.”
“Why, not at all,” he reassured115 her, pulling his own chair toward him with his foot, and sprawling116 into it with a grunt117 of relief. “If you'll draw me a glass of that beer of yours, I'll tell you all about it. It's not a thing for everybody to know, not to be breathed to a human being, for that matter—but you'll enjoy it, and it'll be safe enough with you.”
As she rose, and moved toward a door, he called merrily after her: “No more beer when that keg runs dry, you know. Nothing but champagne118!”
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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underneath
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gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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artifice
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| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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curiously
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fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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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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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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jobbers
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| n.做零活的人( jobber的名词复数 )；营私舞弊者；股票经纪人；证券交易商 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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apprehension
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impatience
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tiresome
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harping
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| n.反复述说 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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covert
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overt
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| adj.公开的，明显的，公然的 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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possessed
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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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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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36
adjured
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| v.（以起誓或诅咒等形式）命令要求( adjure的过去式和过去分词 )；祈求；恳求 | |
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37
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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38
heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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39
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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40
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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41
subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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42
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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43
illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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44
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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45
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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46
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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47
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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48
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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49
sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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50
declamation
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| n. 雄辩，高调 | |
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51
chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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52
pitfalls
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| （捕猎野兽用的）陷阱( pitfall的名词复数 )； 意想不到的困难，易犯的错误 | |
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53
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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54
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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56
concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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57
tighten
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| v.(使)变紧；(使)绷紧 | |
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58
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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59
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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60
discursive
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| adj.离题的，无层次的 | |
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61
remittance
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| n.汇款，寄款，汇兑 | |
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62
concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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63
barter
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| n.物物交换，以货易货，实物交易 | |
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64
mishaps
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| n.轻微的事故，小的意外( mishap的名词复数 ) | |
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jumbled
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| adj.混乱的；杂乱的 | |
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66
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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69
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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frustrate
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| v.使失望；使沮丧；使厌烦 | |
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71
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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72
careworn
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| adj.疲倦的，饱经忧患的 | |
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73
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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74
embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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braggart
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| n.吹牛者；adj.吹牛的，自夸的 | |
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78
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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79
advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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81
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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82
voracious
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| adj.狼吞虎咽的，贪婪的 | |
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83
blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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84
favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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85
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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86
amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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87
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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88
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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89
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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90
haggling
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| v.讨价还价( haggle的现在分词 ) | |
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91
persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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93
humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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94
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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95
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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96
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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97
indignities
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| n.侮辱，轻蔑( indignity的名词复数 ) | |
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98
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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99
abasement
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| n.滥用 | |
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100
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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101
deferring
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| v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的现在分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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102
accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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103
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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104
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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105
sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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106
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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107
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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108
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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109
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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110
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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111
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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112
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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113
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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114
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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115
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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116
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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117
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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118
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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