So far as the payment of an exorbitant4 rent in advance, and the receipt of innumerable letters from a restless and fussy5 steward6 whom he had not yet seen, went as evidence, he knew himself to be the tenant7 in possession of a great shooting in Morayshire. He had several photographs of what was called the lodge8, but looked like something between a mansion9 and a baronial castle, on the mantel of the Board Room. The reflection that this sumptuous10 residence had been his for a month, and that it daily stood waiting for him, furnished and swept and provisioned for his coming, did nothing to help the passing of time in the hot, fagged City. More than once he had said resolutely12 that, on the morrow, or at the worst the next day, he would go—but in the event he had not gone. In the last week of August he had proceeded to the length of sending his niece and nephew Northward13, and shutting up the house in Ovington Square, and betaking himself to the Savoy Hotel. This had appeared at the time to be almost equivalent to his getting away himself,—to be at least a first stage in the progress of his own journey. But at the hotel he had stuck fast,—and now, on the tenth of September, was no nearer the moors14 and the deer-forest than he had been a month before.
A novel sense of loneliness,—of the fatuity15 of present existence,—weighed grievously upon him. The ladies of Grafton Street had left town upon a comprehensive itinerary16 of visits which included the Malvern country, and a ducal castle in Shropshire, and a place in Westmoreland. There was nothing very definite about the date of their coming to him in Scotland. The lady who had consented to marry him had, somehow, omitted to promise that she would write to him. An arrangement existed, instead, by which she and his niece Julia were to correspond, and to fix between themselves the details of the visit to Morayshire.
Thorpe hardly went to the point of annoyance17 with this arrangement. He was conscious of no deep impulse to write love-letters himself, and there was nothing in the situation which made his failure to receive love-letters seem unnatural18. The absence of moonshine, at least during this preliminary season, had been quite taken for granted between them, and he did not complain even to himself. There was even a kind of proud satisfaction for him in the thought that, though he had all but completed the purchase of the noble Pellesley estate for Edith Cressage, he had never yet kissed her. The reserve he imposed upon himself gave him a certain aristocratic fineness in his own eyes. It was the means by which he could feel himself to be most nearly her equal. But he remained very lonely in London, none the less.
It is true that a great deal of society was continually offered to him, and even thrust upon him. In the popular phrase, London was empty, but there seemed to be more people than ever who desired Mr. Stormont Thorpe' s presence at their dinner-tables, or their little theatre or card or river parties. He clung sullenly19 to his rule of going nowhere, but it was not so simple a matter to evade20 the civilities and importunities of those who were stopping at the hotel, or who came there to waylay21 him at the entrance, or to encounter him in the restaurant. He could not always refuse to sit down at tables when attractively-dressed and vivacious22 women made room for him, or to linger over cigars and wine with their husbands and escorts later on.
An incessant23 and spirited court was paid to him by many different groups of interested people who were rarely at the pains to dissemble their aims. He formed a manner for the reception of these advances, compounded of joviality24, cynicism, and frank brutality25, which nobody, to his face at least, resented. If women winced26 under his mocking rudenesses of speech and smile, if men longed to kill him for the cold insolence27 of his refusal to let them inside his guard, they sedulously28 kept it from him. The consciousness that everybody was afraid of him,—that everybody would kneel to him, and meekly29 take insult and ignominy from him, if only hope remained to them of getting something out of him,—hardened like a crust upon his mind.
It was impossible to get a sense of companionship from people who cringed to him, and swallowed his affronts30 and cackled at his jokes with equal docility31. Sometimes he had a passing amusement in the rough pleasantries and cruelties which they drew from him. There were two or three bright Jewish women, more gayly clever and impudent33, perhaps, than beautiful, with whom he found it genuine fun to talk, and concerning whom he was perpetually conceiving projects which could not have been discussed with their husbands, and as perpetually doing nothing to test their feasibility. But these diversions were in their essence unsubstantial. There was not even the semblance34 of a real friendship among them,—and loneliness became an increasing burden.
His sister at the old book-shop exasperated35 him nowadays to a degree which often provoked within him the resolution to have done with her. He had a score of projects for her betterment, each capable of as many variations and eager adaptations to suit her fancy, but to them all and sundry36 she opposed a barrier of stupidly passive negation37. There was nothing she wanted done for her. She would not exchange the work she had been brought up in for a life of idleness. She did not want, and would not know what to do with, a bigger shop than she had. An augmentation of her capital would be of no use, because there was no room in the crowded little shop for a larger stock than it contained. She was entirely38 satisfied with the dingy39 home overhead, and declined to think even of moving elsewhere. Over and over again she met his propositions with a saying which he could recall having particularly hated on their father's lips,—“It's ill teaching an old dog new tricks.”
“You ought to have them taught you with a stick,” he had told her roundly, on the last occasion.
She had merely shrugged41 her gaunt shoulders at him. “You think you can bully42 everybody and make them crawl to you,—but there's no good your trying it on with me,” she had told him, and he had pushed his way out of the shop almost stamping his feet. It was clear to him at that moment that he would never darken her door again.
Yet now, on this afternoon of the tenth, as he lounged with a cigar and a City paper in his apartment at the hotel after luncheon43, wondering whether it were too hot to issue forth44 for a walk to the Park, the irrelevant45 idea of going round to see his sister kept coming into his mind. He seated himself and fastened his attention upon the paper,—but off it slipped again to the old book-shop, and to that curious, cross-grained figure, its mistress. He abandoned himself to thinking about her—and discovered that a certain unique quality in her challenged his admiration46. She was the only absolutely disinterested47 person he knew—the only creature in the world, apparently48, who did not desire to make something out of him. She was not at all well-off,—was indeed rather poor than otherwise,—and here was her only brother a millionaire, and in her dumb way she had a sisterly affection for him, and yet she could not be argued or cajoled into touching49 a penny of his money. Surely there could be no other woman like her.
Thorpe realized that it was a distinction to have such a sister,—and behind this thought rose obscurely the suggestion that there must be wonderful blood in a race which had produced such a daughter. And for that matter, such a son too! He lifted his head, and looked abstractedly before him, as if he were gazing at some apotheosis50 of himself in a mirror.
He beheld51 all at once something concrete and personal, obtruded52 into the heart of his reverie, the sight of which dimly astounded53 him. For the moment, with opened lips he stared at it,—then slowly brought himself to comprehend what had happened. An old man had by some oversight54 of the hotel servants been allowed to enter the room unannounced. He had wandered in noiselessly, and had moved in a purblind55 fashion to the centre of the apartment. The vagueness of the expression on his face and of his movements hinted at a vacant mind or too much drink,—but Thorpe gave no thought to either hypothesis. The face itself—no—yes—it was the face of old Tavender.
“In the name of God! What are you doing here?” Thorpe gasped56 at this extraordinary apparition57. Still staring, he began to push back his chair and put his weight upon his feet.
“Well—Thorpe”—the other began, thrusting forward his head to look through his spectacles—“so it is you, after all. I didn't know whether I was going to find you or not. This place has got so many turns and twists to it——”
“But good heavens!” interposed the bewildered Thorpe. He had risen to his feet. He mechanically took the hand which the other had extended to him. “What in hell”—he began, and broke off again. The aroma58 of alcohol on the air caught his sense, and his mind stopped at the perception that Tavender was more or less drunk. He strove to spur it forward, to compel it to encompass59 the meanings of this new crisis, but almost in vain.
“Thought I'd look you up,” said the old man, buoyantly. “Nobody in London I'd rather see than you. How are you, anyway?”
“What did you come over for? When did you get here?” Thorpe put the questions automatically. His self-control was returning to him; his capable brain pushed forward now under something like disciplined direction.
“Why I guess I owe it all to you,” replied Tavender. Traces of the old Quaker effect which had been so characteristic of him still hung about his garb60 and mien61, but there shone a new assurance on his benignant, rubicund62 face. Prosperity had visibly liberalized and enheartened him. He shook Thorpe's hand again. “Yes, sir—it must have been all through you!” he repeated. “I got my cable three weeks ago—'Hasten to London, urgent business, expenses and liberal fee guaranteed, Rubber Consols'—that's what the cable said, that is, the first one and of course you're the man that introduced me to those rubber people. And so don't you see I owe it all to you?”
His insistence63 upon his obligation was suddenly almost tearful. Thorpe thought hard as he replied: “Oh—that's all right. I'm very glad indeed to have helped you along. And so you came over for the Rubber Consols people, eh? Well—that's good. Seen 'em yet? You haven't told me when you landed.”
“Came up from Southampton this morning. My brother-in-law was down there to meet me. We came up to London together.” “Your brother-in-law,” observed Thorpe, meditatively64. Some shadowy, remote impression of having forgotten something troubled his mind for an instant. “Is your brother-in-law in the rubber business?”
“Extraor'nary thing,” explained Tavender, beamingly, “he don't know no more about the whole affair than the man 'n the moon. I asked him today—but he couldn't tell me anything about the business—what it was I'd been sent for, or anything.”
“But he—he knew you'd been sent for,” Thorpe commented upon brief reflection.
“Why, he sent the second cable himself——”
“What second cable?”
“Why it was the next day,—or maybe it was sent that same night, and not delivered till morning,—I got another cable, this time from my brother-in-law, telling me to cable him what ship I sailed on and when. So of course he knew all about it—but now he says he don't. He's a curious sort of fellow, anyway.”
“But how is he mixed up in it?” demanded Thorpe, impatiently.
“Well, as nearly as I can figure it out, he works for one of the men that's at the head of this rubber company. It appears that he happened to show this man—he's a man of title, by the way—a letter I wrote to him last spring, when I got back to Mexico—and so in that way this man, when he wanted me to come over, just told Gafferson to cable to me.”
“Gafferson,” Thorpe repeated, very slowly, and with almost an effect of listlessness. He was conscious of no surprise; it was as if he had divined all along the sinister65 shadows of Lord Plowden and Lord Plowden's gardener, lurking66 in the obscurity behind this egregious67 old ass11 of a Tavender.
“He's a tremendous horticultural sharp,” said the other. “Probably you've heard tell of him. He's taken medals for new flowers and things till you can't rest. He's over at—what do you call it?—the Royal Aquarium68, now, to see the Dahlia Show. I went over there with him, but it didn't seem to be my kind of a show, and so I left him there, and I'm to look in again for him at 5:30. I'm going down to his place in the country with him tonight, to meet his boss—the nobleman I spoke69 of.”
“That's nice,” Thorpe commented, slowly. “I envy anybody who can get into the country these days. But how did you know I was here?” “The woman in the book-store told me—I went there the first thing. You might be sure I'd look you up. Nobody was ever a better friend than you've been to me, Thorpe. And do you know what I want you to do? I want you to come right bang out, now, and have a drink with me.”
“I was thinking of something of the sort myself,” the big man replied. “I'll get my hat, and be with you in a minute.”
In the next room he relinquished70 his countenance71 to a frown of fierce perplexity. More than a minute passed in this scowling72 preoccupation. Then his face lightened with the relief of an idea, and he stepped confidently back into the parlour.
“Come along,” he said, jovially73. “We'll have a drink downstairs, and then we'll drive up to Hanover Square and see if we can't find a friend of mine at his club.”
In the office below he stopped long enough to secure a considerable roll of bank-notes in exchange for a cheque. A little later, a hansom deposited the couple at the door of the Asian Club, and Thorpe, in the outer hallway of this institution, clicked his teeth in satisfaction at the news that General Kervick was on the premises74.
The General, having been found by a boy and brought down, extended to his guests a hospitality which was none the less urbane75 for the evidences of surprise with which it was seasoned. He concealed76 so indifferently his inability to account for Tavender, that the anxious Thorpe grew annoyed with him, but happily Tavender's perceptions were less subtle. He gazed about him in his dim-eyed way with childlike interest, and babbled77 cheerfully over his liquor. He had not been inside a London club before, and his glimpse of the reading-room, where, isolated78, purple-faced, retired79 old Empire-makers sat snorting in the silence, their gouty feet propped80 up on foot-rests, their white brows scowling over the pages of French novels, particularly impressed him. It was a new and halcyon81 vision of the way to spend one's declining years. And the big smoking-room—where the leather cushions were so low and so soft, and the connection between the bells and the waiters was so efficient—that was even better.
Thorpe presently made an excuse for taking Kervick apart. “I brought this old jackass here for a purpose,” he said in low, gravely mandatory82 tones. “He thinks he's got an appointment at 5:30 this afternoon—but he's wrong. He hasn't. He's not going to have any appointment at all—for a long time yet. I want you to get him drunk, there where he sits, and then take him away with you, and get him drunker still, and then take a train with him somewhere—any station but Charing83 Cross or that line—and I don't care where you land with him—Scotland or Ireland or France—whatever you like. Here's some money for you—and you can write to me for more. I don't care what you say to him—make up any yarn84 you like—only keep him pacified85, and keep him away from London, and don't let a living soul talk to him—till I give you the word. You'll let me know where you are. I'll get away now—and mind, General, a good deal depends on the way you please me in this thing.”
The soldier's richly-florid face and intent, bulging86 blue eyes expressed vivid comprehension. He nodded with eloquence87 as he slipped the notes into his trousers pocket. “Absolutely,” he murmured with martial88 brevity, from under his white, tight moustache.
With only a vague word or two of meaningless explanation to Tavender, Thorpe took his departure, and walked back to the hotel. From what he had learned and surmised89, it was not difficult to put the pieces of the puzzle together. This ridiculous old fool, he remembered now, had reproached himself, when he was in England before, for his uncivil neglect of his brother-in-law. By some absurd chance, this damned brother-in-law happened to be Gafferson. It was clear enough that, when he returned to Mexico, Tavender had written to Gafferson, explaining the unexpected pressure of business which had taken up all his time in England. Probably he had been idiot enough to relate what he of course regarded as the most wonderful piece of good news—how the worthless concession90 he had been deluded91 into buying had been bought back from him. As likely as not he had even identified the concession, and given Thorpe's name as that of the man who had first impoverished92 and then mysteriously enriched him. At all events, he had clearly mentioned that he had a commission to report upon the Rubber Consols property, and had said enough else to create the impression that there were criminal secrets connected with its sale to the London Company. The rest was easy. Gafferson, knowing Lord Plowden's relation to the Company, had shown him Tavender's letter. Lord Plowden, meditating93 upon it, had seen a way to be nasty—and had vindictively94 plunged95 into it. He had brought Tavender from Mexico to London, to use him as a weapon. All this was as obvious as the nose on one's face.
But a weapon for what? Thorpe, as this question put itself in his mind, halted before a shop-window full of soft-hued silk fabrics96, to muse32 upon an answer. The delicate tints97 and surfaces of what was before his eyes seemed somehow to connect themselves with the subject. Plowden himself was delicately-tinted and refined of texture98. Vindictiveness99 was too plain and coarse an emotion to sway such a complicated and polished organism. He reasoned it out, as he stood with lack-lustre gaze before the plate-glass front, aloof100 among a throng101 of eager and talkative women who pressed around him—that Plowden would not have spent his money on a mere40 impulse of mischief-making. He would be counting upon something more tangible102 than revenge—something that could be counted and weighed and converted into a bank-balance. He smiled when he reached this conclusion—greatly surprising and confusing a matronly lady into whose correct face he chanced to be looking at the instant—and turning slowly, continued his walk.
At the office of the hotel, he much regretted not having driven instead, for he learned that Semple had twice telephoned from the City for him. It was late in the afternoon—he noted103 with satisfaction that the clock showed it to be already past the hour of the Tavender-Gafferson appointment,—but he had Semple's office called up, upon the chance that someone might be there. The clerk had not consumed more than ten minutes in the preliminaries of finding out that no one was there—Thorpe meanwhile passing savage104 comments to the other clerks about the British official conception of the telephone as an instrument of discipline and humiliation—when Semple himself appeared in the doorway105.
The Broker106 gave an exclamation107 of relief at seeing Thorpe, and then, apparently indifferent to the display of excitement he was exhibiting, drew him aside.
“Come somewhere where we can talk,” he whispered nervously108.
Thorpe had never seen the little Scotchman in such a flurry. “We'll go up to my rooms,” he said, and led the way to the lift.
Upstairs, Semple bolted the door of the sitting-room109 behind them, and satisfied himself that there was no one in the adjoining bedroom. Then, unburdening himself with another sigh, he tossed aside his hat, and looked keenly up at the big man. “There's the devil to pay,” he said briefly110.
Thorpe had a fleeting111 pride in the lethargic112, composed front he was able to present. “All right,” he said with forced placidity113. “If he's got to be paid, we'll pay him.” He continued to smile a little.
“It's nah joke,” the other hastened to warn him. “I have it from two different quarters. An application has been made to the Stock Exchange Committee, this afternoon, to intervene and stop our business, on the ground of fraud. It comes verra straight to me.”
Thorpe regarded his Broker contemplatively. The news fitted with precision into what he had previously114 known; it was rendered altogether harmless by the precautions he had already taken. “Well, keep your hair on,” he said, quietly. “If there were fifty applications, they wouldn't matter the worth of that soda-water cork115. Won't you have a drink?”
Semple, upon reflection, said he would. The unmoved equipoise of the big man visibly reassured116 him. He sipped117 at his bubbling tumbler and smacked118 his thin lips. “Man, I've had an awful fright,” he said at last, in the tone of one whose ease of mind is returning.
“I gave you credit for more nerve,” observed the other, eyeing him in not unkindly fashion over his glass. “You've been so plumb119 full of sand all the while—I didn't think you'd weaken now. Why, we're within two days of home, now—and for you to get rattled120 at this late hour—you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
The Scotchman looked into the bottom of his glass, as he turned it thoughtfully round. “I'm relieved to see the way you take it,” he said, after a pause. With increased hesitation121 he went dryly on: “I've never enquired122 minutely into the circumstances of the flotation. It has not seemed to be my business to do so, and upon advice I may say that the Committee would not hold that such was my business. My position is quite clear, upon that point.”
“Oh, perfectly,” Thorpe assented123. “It couldn't possibly be any of your business—either then, or now.” He gave a significant touch of emphasis to these last two words.
“Precisely,” said Semple, with a glance of swift comprehension. “You must not think I am asking any intrusive124 questions. If you tell me that—that there is no ground for uneasiness—I am verra pleased indeed to accept the assurance. That is ample information for my purposes.”
“You can take it from me,” Thorpe told him. He picked up a red book from a side table, and turned over its pages with his thick thumb. “This is what Rule 59 says,” he went on: “'NO APPLICATION WHICH HAS FOR ITS OBJECT TO ANNUL125 ANY BARGAIN IN THE STOCK EXCHANGE SHALL BE ENTERTAINED BY THE COMMITTEE, UNLESS UPON A SPECIFIC ALLEGATION OF FRAUD OR WILFUL126 MISREPRESENTATION.' Shall be entertained, d'ye see? They can't even consider anything of the sort, because it says 'specific,' and I tell you plainly that anything 'specific' is entirely out of the question.”
The Broker lifted his sandy brows in momentary127 apprehension128. “If it turns upon the precise definition of a word,” he remarked, doubtingly.
“Ah, yes,—but it doesn't,” Thorpe reassured him. “See here—I'll tell you something. You're not asking any questions. That's as it should be. And I'm not forcing information upon you which you don't need in your business. That's as it should be, too. But in between these two, there's a certain margin129 of facts that there's no harm in your knowing. A scheme to blackmail130 me is on foot. It's rather a fool-scheme, if you ask me, but it might have been a nuisance if it had been sprung on us unawares. It happened, however, that I twigged131 this scheme about two hours ago. It was the damnedest bit of luck you ever heard of——”
“You don't have luck,” put in Semple, appreciatively. “Other men have luck. You have something else—I don't give it a name.”
Thorpe smiled upon him, and went on. “I twigged it, anyway. I went out, and I drove the biggest kind of spike132 through that fool-scheme—plumb through its heart. Tomorrow a certain man will come to me—oh, I could almost tell you the kind of neck-tie he'll wear—and he'll put up his bluff133 to me, and I'll hear him out—and then—then I'll let the floor drop out from under him.”
“Aye!” said Semple, with relish134.
“Stay and dine with me tonight,” Thorpe impulsively135 suggested, “and we'll go to some Music Hall afterward136. There's a knock-about pantomime outfit137 at the Canterbury—Martinetti I think the name is—that's damned good. You get plenty of laugh, and no tiresome138 blab to listen to. The older I get, the more I think of people that keep their mouths shut.”
“Aye,” observed Semple again.
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parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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tedium
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| n.单调；烦闷 | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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exorbitant
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| adj.过分的；过度的 | |
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fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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resolutely
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northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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fatuity
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| n.愚蠢，愚昧 | |
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itinerary
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| n.行程表，旅行路线；旅行计划 | |
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annoyance
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unnatural
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sullenly
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evade
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waylay
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vivacious
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incessant
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joviality
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brutality
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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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insolence
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sedulously
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meekly
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affronts
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docility
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| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
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muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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impudent
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semblance
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exasperated
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sundry
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negation
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38
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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39
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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40
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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41
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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42
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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43
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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44
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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45
irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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46
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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47
disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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48
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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49
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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50
apotheosis
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| n.神圣之理想；美化；颂扬 | |
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51
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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52
obtruded
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| v.强行向前，强行，强迫( obtrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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54
oversight
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| n.勘漏，失察，疏忽 | |
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55
purblind
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| adj.半盲的；愚笨的 | |
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56
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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57
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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58
aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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59
encompass
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| vt.围绕，包围；包含，包括；完成 | |
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60
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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61
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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62
rubicund
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| adj.(脸色)红润的 | |
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63
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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64
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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65
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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66
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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67
egregious
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| adj.非常的，过分的 | |
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68
aquarium
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| n.水族馆，养鱼池，玻璃缸 | |
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69
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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70
relinquished
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 )； 放弃 | |
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71
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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72
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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73
jovially
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| adv.愉快地，高兴地 | |
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74
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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75
urbane
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| adj.温文尔雅的，懂礼的 | |
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76
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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77
babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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78
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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79
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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80
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
halcyon
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| n.平静的，愉快的 | |
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82
mandatory
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| adj.命令的；强制的；义务的；n.受托者 | |
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83
charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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84
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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85
pacified
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| 使（某人）安静( pacify的过去式和过去分词 )； 息怒； 抚慰； 在（有战争的地区、国家等）实现和平 | |
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86
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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87
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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88
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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89
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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90
concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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91
deluded
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| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
impoverished
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| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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93
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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94
vindictively
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| adv.恶毒地；报复地 | |
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95
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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96
fabrics
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| 织物( fabric的名词复数 )； 布； 构造； （建筑物的）结构（如墙、地面、屋顶）：质地 | |
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97
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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98
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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99
vindictiveness
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| 恶毒；怀恨在心 | |
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100
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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101
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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102
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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103
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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104
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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105
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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106
broker
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| n.中间人，经纪人；v.作为中间人来安排 | |
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107
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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108
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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109
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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110
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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111
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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112
lethargic
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| adj.昏睡的，懒洋洋的 | |
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113
placidity
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| n.平静，安静，温和 | |
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114
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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115
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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116
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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117
sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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120
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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121
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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122
enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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123
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
intrusive
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| adj.打搅的；侵扰的 | |
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125
annul
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| v.宣告…无效，取消，废止 | |
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126
wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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127
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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128
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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129
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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130
blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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131
twigged
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| 有细枝的，有嫩枝的 | |
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132
spike
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| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
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133
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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134
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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135
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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136
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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137
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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138
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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