For long weeks, Mr. Stormont Thorpe had given much thought to this approaching climax2 of his great adventure—looking forward to it both as the crowning event of his life, and as the dawn of a new existence in some novel, enchanted3 world. It was to bring his triumph, and even more, his release. It was at once to crown him as a hero and chieftain among City men, and transfigure him into a being for whom all City things were an abomination. In his waking hours, the conflict between these aims did not specially5 force itself upon his attention: he mused6 upon, and spun7 fancies about, either one indifferently, and they seemed not at all irreconcilable8. But his dreams were full of warfare,—wearily saturated9 with strife10, and endless endeavour to do things which could not be done, and panic-stricken terrors before the shadow of shapeless calamities11,—until he dreaded12 to go to sleep. Then he discovered that an extra two glasses of whiskey-and-water would solve that particular difficulty, and send him into prompt, leaden slumber—but the early mornings remained as torturing as ever. In the twilight13 he awoke oppressed and sick at heart with gloom—and then dozed14 at intervals15 through fantastic new ordeals16 of anguish17 and shame and fear, till it was decently possible to get up.
Then, indeed, the big cold sponge on his head and spine18 scattered19 these foolish troubles like chaff20, and restored to him his citizenship21 among the realities. He dressed with returning equanimity22, and was almost cheerful by the time he thrust his razor into the hot water. Yet increasingly he was conscious of the wear and strain of it all, and increasingly the date, September twelfth, loomed23 before him with a portentous24 individuality of its own.
This day grew to mean so much more to him than had all the other days of the dead years together that he woke in the darkness of its opening hours, and did not get satisfactorily to sleep again. His vigil, however, was for the once free from grief. He drowsily25 awaited the morning in vague mental comfort; he had recurring26 haphazard27 indolent glimpses of a protecting fact standing28 guard just outside the portals of consciousness—the fact that the great day was here. He rose early, breakfasted well, and walked by the Embankment to the City, where at ten he had a few words with Semple, and afterward29 caused himself to be denied to ordinary callers. He paced up and down the Board Room for the better part of the ensuing two hours, luxuriating in the general sense of satisfaction in the proximity30 of the climax, rather than pretending to himself that he was thinking out its details. He had provided in his plans of the day for a visit from Messrs. Rostocker and Aronson, which should constitute the dramatic finale of the “corner,” and he looked forward to this meeting with a certain eagerness of expectation. Yet even here he thought broadly of the scene as a whole, and asked himself no questions about words and phrases. It seemed to be taken for granted in his mind that the scene itself would be theatrically31 impressive, even spectacular.
In the event, this long-awaited culmination32 proved to be disappointingly flat and commonplace. It was over before Thorpe had said any considerable proportion of the things he saw afterward that he had intended to say. The two men came as he had expected they would—and they bought their way out of the tragic33 “corner” at precisely34 the price he had nominated in his mind. But hardly anything else went as he had dimly prefigured it.
Mr. Rostocker was a yellow-haired man, and Mr. Aronson was as dark as a Moor35, and no physical resemblance of features or form suggested itself to the comparing eye, yet Thorpe even now, when they stood brusquely silent before him, with their carefully-brushed hats pulled down over their eyes, stuck to it in his own mind that it was hard to tell them apart. To the end, there was something impersonal36 in his feeling toward them. They, for their part, coldly abstained37 from exhibiting a sign of feeling about him, good, bad, or indifferent.
It was the man with the fair hair and little curly flaxen beard who spoke38: “How do you do! I understand that we can buy eight thousand five hundred Rubber Consols from you at 'twenty-three.'”
“No—twenty-five,” replied Thorpe.
The dark man spoke: “The jobbers39' price is twenty-three.”
“To carry over—yes,” Thorpe answered. “But to buy it is twenty-five.”
The two sons of the race which invented mental arithmetic exchanged an alert glance, and looked at the floor for an engrossed40 instant.
“I don't mind telling you,” Thorpe interposed upon their silence, “I put on that extra two pounds because you got up that story about applying to the Stock Exchange Committee on a charge of fraud.”
“We didn't get up any story,” said Rostocker, curtly41.
“You tried to plant it on us,” Aronson declared.
“One of your own Directors put it about. I thought it was a fake at the time.”
This view of the episode took Thorpe by surprise. As it seemed, in passing, to involve a compliment to his own strategic powers, he accepted it without comment. “Well—it is twenty-five, anyway,” he told them, with firmness.
“Twenty-four,” suggested Aronson, after another momentary42 pause.
“Not a shilling less than twenty-five,” Thorpe insisted, with quiet doggedness.
“We can always pay our creditors43 and let you whistle,” Rostocker reminded him, laconically44.
“You can do anything you like,” was the reply, “except buy Rubber Consols under twenty-five. It doesn't matter a fig4 to me whether you go bankrupt or not. It would suit me as well to have you two 'hammered' as to take your money.” Upon the spur of a sudden thought he drew out his watch. “In just two minutes' time to a tick, the price will be thirty.”
“Let's be 'hammered' then!” said Aronson to his companion, with simulated impulsiveness46.
Rostocker was the older and stronger man, and when at last he spoke it was with the decision of one in authority. “It is your game,” he said, with grave imperturbability47. “Eight thousand five hundred at twenty-five. Will you deliver at the Credit Lyonnais in half an hour?”
Thorpe nodded, impassively. Then a roving idea of genial48 impertinence brought a gleam to his eye. “If you should happen to want more Rubber Consols at any time,” he said, with a tentative chuckle49, “I could probably let you have them at a reduced price.”
The two received the pleasantry without a smile, but to Thorpe's astonishment50 one of them seemed to discern something in it beside banter51. It was Rostocker who said: “Perhaps we may make a deal with you,” and apparently52 meant it.
They went out at this, ignoring ceremony upon their exit as stolidly53 as they had done upon their entrance, and a moment later Thorpe called in the Secretary, and despatched a messenger to bring Semple from Capel Court. The formalities of this final transfer of shares had been dictated54 to the former, and he had gone off on the business, before the Broker55 arrived.
Thorpe stood waiting near the door, and held out his hand with a dramatically significant gesture when the little Scotchman entered. “Put her there!” he exclaimed heartily56, with an exuberant57 reversion to the slang of remote transatlantic bonhomie.
“Yeh've done it, then!” said Semple, his sharp face softening58 with pleasure at the news. “Yeh've pulled it off at twenty-three!”
The other's big countenance59 yielded itself to a boyish grin. “Twenty-FIVE!” he said, and laughed aloud. “After you left this morning, it kind o' occurred to me that I'd raise it a couple of pounds. I found I was madder about those pieces in the newspapers than I thought I was, and so I took an extra seventeen thousand pounds on that account.”
“God above!” Semple ejaculated, with a satisfaction through which signs of an earlier fright were visible. “It was touch-and-go if you didn't lose it all by doing that! You risked everything, man!”
Thorpe ponderously60 shrugged61 his shoulders. “Well—I did it, anyhow, and it came off,” was his comment. Then, straightening himself, he drew a long, long breath, and beamed down at the little man. “Think of it! God! It's actually all over! And NOW perhaps we won't have a drink! Hell! Let's send out for some champagne62!” His finger was hovering63 over the bell, when the Broker's dissuading64 voice arrested it. “No, no!” Semple urged. “I wouldn't touch it. It's no fit drink for the daytime—and it's a scandal in an office. Your clerks will aye blab it about hither and yon, and nothing harms a man's reputation more in the City.”
“Oh, to hell with the City!” cried Thorpe, joyously65. “I'm never going to set foot in it again. Think of that! I mean it!”
None the less, he abandoned the idea of sending out for wine, and contented66 himself with the resources of the cabinet instead. After some friendly pressure, Semple consented to join him in a brandy-and-soda, though he continued to protest between sips67 that at such an hour it was an indecent practice.
“It's the ruin of many a strong man,” he moralized, looking rather pointedly68 at Thorpe over his glass. “It's the principal danger that besets69 the verra successful man. He's too busily occupied to take exercise, and he's too anxious and worried to get his proper sleep—but he can always drink! In one sense, I'm not sorry to think that you're leaving the City.”
“Oh, it never hurts me,” Thorpe said, indifferently accepting the direction of the homily. “I'm as strong as an ox. But all the same, I shall be better in every way for getting out of this hole. Thank God, I can get off to Scotland tomorrow. But I say, Semple, what's the matter with your visiting me at my place there? I'll give you the greatest shooting and fishing you ever heard of.”
The Broker was thinking of something else. “What is to be the precise position of the Company, in the immediate70 future?” he asked.
“Company? What Company?”
Semple smiled grimly. “Have you already forgotten that there is such a thing?” he queried71, with irony72. “Why, man, this Company that paid for this verra fine Board-table,” he explained, with his knuckles73 on its red baize centre.
Thorpe laughed amusedly. “I paid for that out of my own pocket,” he said. “For that matter everything about the Company has come out of my pocket——”
“Or gone into it,” suggested the other, and they chuckled74 together.
“But no—you're right,” Thorpe declared. “Some thing ought to be settled about the Company, I suppose. Of course I wash my hands of it—but would anybody else want to go on with it? You see its annual working expenses, merely for the office and the Board, foot up nearly 3,000 pounds. I've paid these for this year, but naturally I won't do it again. And would it be worth anybody else's while to do it? Yours, for example?”
“Have you had any explanations with the other Directors?” the Broker asked, thoughtfully.
“Explanations—no,” Thorpe told him. “But that's all right. The Marquis has been taken care of, and so has Plowden. They're game to agree to anything. And let's see—Kervick is entirely75 my man. That leaves Watkin and Davidson—and they don't matter. They're mere45 guinea-pigs. A few hundreds apiece would shut them up, if you thought it was worth while to give them anything at all.”
“And about the property,—the rubber plantation76,—that the Company was formed to acquire and develop. I suppose there really is such a plantation?”
“Oh, yes, it's all there right enough,” Thorpe said, briefly77.
“It's no good, though, is it?” the Broker asked, with affable directness.
“Between ourselves, it isn't worth a damn,” the other blithely78 assured him.
The Scotchman mused with bent79 brows. “There ought still to be money in it,” he said, with an air of conviction.
“By the way,” it occurred to Thorpe to mention, “here's something I didn't understand. I told Rostocker here, just as a cheeky kind of joke, that after he and Aronson had got their eight thousand five hundred, if they thought they'd like still more shares, I'd let 'em have 'em at a bargain—and he seemed to take it seriously. He did for a fact. Said perhaps he could make a deal with me.”
“Hm-m!” said Semple, reflectively. “I'll see if he says anything to me. Very likely he's spotted80 some way of taking the thing over, and reorganizing it, and giving it another run over the course. I'll think it out. And now I must be off. Aren't you lunching?”
“No—I'll have the boy bring in some sandwiches,” Thorpe decided81. “I want my next meal west of Temple Bar when I get round to it. I've soured on the City for keeps.”
“I wouldn't say that it had been so bad to you, either,” Semple smilingly suggested, as he turned to the door.
Thorpe grinned in satisfied comment. “Hurry back as soon as you've finally settled with Rostocker and the other fellow,” he called after him, and began pacing the floor again.
It was nearly four o'clock when these two men, again together in the Board Room, and having finished the inspection82 of some papers on the desk, sat upright and looked at each other in tacit recognition that final words were to be spoken.
“Well, Semple,” Thorpe began, after that significant little pause, “I want to say that I'm damned glad you've done so well for yourself in this affair. You've been as straight as a die to me,—I owe it as much to you as I do to myself,—and if you don't think you've got enough even now, I want you to say so.”
He had spoken in tones of sincere liking83, and the other answered him in kind. “I have more than I ever dreamed of making in a lifetime when I came to London,” he declared. “If my father were alive, and heard me tell him that in one year, out of a single transaction, I had cleared over sixty-five thousand pounds, he'd be fit to doubt the existence of a Supreme84 Being. I'm obliged to you for your good words, Thorpe. It's not only been profitable to work with you, but it has been a great education and a great pleasure as well.”
Thorpe nodded his appreciation85. “I'm going to ask a favour of you,” he said. “I want to leave the general run of my investments and interests here in your hands, to keep track of I don't want to speculate at all, in the ordinary meaning of the word. Even after I bury a pot of money in non-productive real estate, I shall have an income of 50,000 pounds at the very least, and perhaps twice as much. There's no fun in gambling86 when you've got such a bank as that behind you. But if there are good, wise changes to be made in investments, or if things turn up in the way of chances that I ought to know about, I want to feel that you're on the spot watching things and doing things in my interest. And as it won't be regular broker's work, I shall want to pay you a stated sum—whatever you think is right.”
“That will arrange itself easily enough,” said Semple. “I shall have the greatest pleasure in caring for whatever you put in my hands. And I think I can promise that it will be none the worse for the keeping.”
“I don't need any assurance on that score,” Thorpe declared, cordially. “You're the one sterling87, honest man I've known in the City.”
It was the Broker's turn to make a little acknowledging bow. His eyes gleamed frank satisfaction at being so well understood. “I think I see the way that more money can be made out of the Company,” he said, abruptly88 changing the subject. “I've had but a few words with Rostocker about it—but it's clear to me that he has a plan. He will be coming to you with a proposition.”
“Well, he won't find me, then,” interposed Thorpe, with a comfortable smile. “I leave all that to you.”
“I suspect that his plan,” continued Semple, “is to make a sub-rosa offer of a few shillings for the majority of the shares, and reconstitute the Board, and then form another Company to buy the property and good-will of the old one at a handsome price. Now if that would be a good thing for him to do, it would be a good thing for me to do. I shall go over it all carefully, in detail, this evening. And I suppose, if I see my way clear before me, than I may rely upon your good feeling in the matter. I would do all the work and assume all the risk, and, let us say, divide any profits equally—you in turn giving me a free hand with all your shares, and your influence with the Directors.”
“I'll do better still,” Thorpe told him, upon brief reflection. “Reconstitute the Board and make Lord Plowden Chairman,—I don't imagine the Marquis would have the nerve to go on with it,—and I'll make a free gift of my shares to you two—half and half. You'll find him all right to work with,—if you can only get him up in the morning,—and I've kind o' promised him something of the sort. Does that suit you?” Semple's countenance was thoughtful rather than enthusiastic. “I'm more skeptical89 about Lords than you are,” he observed, “but if he's amenable90, and understands that his part is to do what I tell him to do, I've no doubt we shall hit it off together.”
“Oh, absolutely!” said Thorpe, with confidence. “I'll see to it that he behaves like a lamb. You're to have an absolutely free hand. You're to do what you like,—wind the Company up, or sell it out, or rig it up under a new name and catch a new set of gudgeons with it,—whatever you damned please. When I trust a man, I trust him.”
The two friends, their faces brightened and their voices mellowed91 by this serene92 consciousness of their mutual93 trust in each other's loyalty94 and integrity, dwelt no further upon these halcyon95 beginnings of a fresh plan for plundering96 the public. They spoke instead on personal topics—of the possibility of Semple's coming to Scotland during the autumn, and of the chance of Thorpe's wintering abroad. All at once Thorpe found himself disclosing the fact of his forthcoming marriage, though he did not mention the name of the lady's father, and under the gracious stress of this announcement they drank again, and clinked glasses fervently97. When Semple at last took his leave, they shook hands with the deep-eyed earnestness of comrades who have been through battle and faced death together.
It was not until Thorpe stood alone that the full realizing sense of what the day meant seemed to come to him. Fruition was finally complete: the last winnowing98 of the great harvest had been added to the pile. Positively99 nothing remained for him but to enter and enjoy!
He found it curiously100 difficult to grasp the thought in its entirety. He stood the master of unlimited101 leisure for the rest of his life, and of power to enrich that life with everything that money could buy,—but there was an odd inability to feel about it as he knew he ought to feel.
Somehow, for some unaccountable reason, an absurd depression hovered102 about over his mind, darkening it with formless shadows. It was as if he were sorry that the work was all finished—that there was nothing more for him to do. But that was too foolish, and he tried to thrust it from him. He said with angry decision to himself that he had never liked the work; that it had all been unpleasant and grinding drudgery103, tolerable only as a means to an end; that now this end had been reached, he wanted never to lay eyes on the City again.
Let him dwell instead upon the things he did want to lay eyes upon. Some travel no doubt he would like, but not too much; certainly no more than his wife would cheerfully accept as a minimum. He desired rather to rest among his own possessions. To be lord of the manor104 at Pellesley Court, with his own retinue105 of servants and dependents and tenants106, his own thousands of rich acres, his own splendid old timber, his own fat stock and fleet horses and abundant covers and prize kennels—THAT was what most truly appealed to him. It was not at all certain that he would hunt; break-neck adventure in the saddle scarcely attracted him. But there was no reason in the world why he should not breed racing107 horses, and create for himself a distinguished108 and even lofty position on the Turf. He had never cared much about races or racing folk himself, but when the Prince and Lord Rosebery and people like that went in for winning the Derby, there clearly must be something fascinating in it.
Then Parliament, of course; he did not waver at all from his old if vague conception of a seat in Parliament as a natural part of the outfit109 of a powerful country magnate. And in a hundred other ways men should think of him as powerful, and look up to him. He would go to church every Sunday, and sit in the big Squire's pew. He would be a magistrate110 as a matter of course, and he would make himself felt on the County Council. He would astonish the county by his charities, and in bad years by the munificence111 of his reductions in rents. Perhaps if there were a particularly bad harvest, he would decline all over his estate to exact any rent whatever. Fancy what a noble sensation that would make! A Duke could do no more.
It was very clear to him now that he desired to have children of his own,—say two at least, a son and a daughter, or perhaps a son and two daughters: two little girls would be company for each other. As he prefigured these new beings, the son was to exist chiefly for purposes of distinction and the dignity of heirship112, and the paternal113 relations with him would be always somewhat formal, and, though affectionate, unexpansive. But the little girls—they would put their arms round their father's neck, and walk out with him to see the pigs and the dogs, and be the darlings of his heart. He would be an old man by the time they grew up.
A beatific114 vision of himself took form in his mind—of himself growing grey and pleasurably tired, surrounded by opulence115 and the demonstrative respect of everybody, smiling with virtuous116 content as he strolled along between his two daughters, miracles of beauty and tenderness, holding each by a hand.
The entrance of a clerk broke abruptly upon this daydream117. He had a telegram in his hand, and Thorpe, rousing himself with an effort, took the liver-coloured envelope, and looked blankly at it. Some weird118 apprehension119 seized upon him, as if he belonged to the peasant class which instinctively120 yokes121 telegrams and calamities together. He deferred122 to this feeling enough to nod dismissal to the clerk, and then, when he was again alone, slowly opened the message, and read it:
“Newcastle-on-Tyne, September 12. Our friend died at Edinboro this morning. See you at hotel this evening.—Kervick.”
What Thorpe felt at first was that his two daughters had shrunk from him with swift, terrible aversion: they vanished, along with every phase of the bright vision, under a pall123 of unearthly blackness. He stood in the centre of a chill solitude124, staring stupidly at the coarse, soft paper.
The premonition, then, had justified125 itself! Something had told him that the telegram was an evil thing. A vaguely126 superstitious127 consciousness of being in the presence of Fate laid hold upon him. His great day of triumph had its blood-stain. A victim had been needful—and to that end poor simple, silly old Tavender was a dead man. Thorpe could see him,—an embarrassing cadaver128 eyed by strangers who did not know what to do with it,—fatuous even in death.
A sudden rage at Kervick flamed up. He clearly had played the fool—clumsily over-plying the simpleton with drink till he had killed him. The shadow of murder indubitably hung over the thing. And then—the crass129 witlessness of telegraphing! Already, doubtless, the police of Edinborough were talking over the wires with Scotland Yard. A reference to a death in Edinborough, in a telegram from Newcastle—it was incredible that this should escape the eye of the authorities. Any minute might bring a detective through that door there—following into the Board Room with his implacable scent130 the clue of blood. Thorpe's fancy pictured this detective as a momentarily actual presence—tall, lean, cold-eyed, mysteriously calm and fatally wise, the omniscient131 terror of the magazine short-stories.
He turned faint and sick under a spasm132 of fright. The menace of enquiry became something more than a threat: he felt it, like the grip of a constable133 upon his arm. Everything would be mercilessly unravelled134. The telegram of the idiot Kervick would bring the police down upon him like a pack of beagles. The beliefs and surmises135 of the idiot Gafferson would furnish them with the key to everything. He would have his letter from Tavender to show to the detectives—and the Government's smart lawyers would ferret out the rest. The death of Tavender—they could hardly make him responsible for that; but it was the dramatic feature of this death which would inspire them all to dig up everything about the fraud. It was this same sensational136 added element of the death, too, which would count with a jury. They were always gross, sentimental137 fools, these juries. They would mix up the death and the deal in Rubber Consols, and in their fat-headed confusion would say “Penal Servitude—fourteen years.” Or no, it was the Judge who fixed138 that. But the Judges were fools, too; they were too conceited139, too puffed140 up with vanity, to take the trouble to understand. He groaned141 aloud in a nightmare of helplessness.
The sound of his own voice, moaning in his ears, had a magical effect upon him. He lifted his head, gazed about him, and then flushed deeply. His nerveless cowardice142 had all at once become unbelievable to himself. With a shamed frown he straightened himself, and stood thus for a long minute, engrossed in the definite task of chasing these phantoms143 from his mind. Once a manly144 front was displayed to them, they slunk away with miraculous145 facility. He poured out some brandy, and sipped146 it neat, and laughed scornfully, defiantly147, aloud.
He had over half a million—with power and force and courage enough to do with it what he liked. He had fought luck undauntedly, unwearyingly, during all those years when his hands were empty. Was he to tremble and turn tail now, when his hands were full, when he was armoured and weaponed at every point? He was amazed and hurt, and still more enraged148, at that fit of girlish weakness which had possessed149 him. He could have beaten himself with stripes for it. But it could never happen again—never, never!
He told himself that with proud, resolute150 reiteration151, as he got his hat and stick, and put in his pockets one or two papers from the desk, and then glanced about the Board Room for what was, most likely, the last time. Here he had won his great victory over Fate, here he had put his enemies under his feet, and if innocent simpletons had wandered into the company of these foes152, it mattered not a whit153 to him that they also had been crushed. Figuratively, he turned his back upon them now; he left them, slain154 and trampled155, in the Board Room behind him. They no longer concerned him.
Figuratively, too, as he walked with firmness to the door, he stepped over the body of old Tavender, upon the threshold, and bestowed156 upon it a downward mental glance, and passed on. By the time he reached the street, the memory of Tavender had become the merest shred157 of a myth. As he strode on, it seemed to him that his daughters came again, and took his hands, and moved lovingly beside him—lovingly and still more admiringly than before.
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enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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fig
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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irreconcilable
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saturated
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strife
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calamities
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| n.灾祸，灾难( calamity的名词复数 )；不幸之事 | |
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dreaded
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twilight
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dozed
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intervals
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ordeals
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| n.严峻的考验，苦难的经历( ordeal的名词复数 ) | |
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anguish
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spine
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scattered
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chaff
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citizenship
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equanimity
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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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24
portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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25
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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26
recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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27
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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28
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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29
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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30
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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31
theatrically
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| adv.戏剧化地 | |
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32
culmination
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| n.顶点；最高潮 | |
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33
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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34
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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35
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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36
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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37
abstained
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| v.戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的过去式和过去分词 )；弃权（不投票） | |
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38
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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39
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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40
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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41
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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42
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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43
creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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44
laconically
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| adv.简短地，简洁地 | |
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45
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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46
impulsiveness
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| n.冲动 | |
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47
imperturbability
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| n.冷静；沉着 | |
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48
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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49
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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50
astonishment
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|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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51
banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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52
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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53
stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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54
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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55
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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56
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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57
exuberant
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| adj.充满活力的；（植物）繁茂的 | |
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58
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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59
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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60
ponderously
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61
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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62
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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63
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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64
dissuading
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| 劝（某人）勿做某事，劝阻( dissuade的现在分词 ) | |
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65
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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66
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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67
sips
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| n.小口喝，一小口的量( sip的名词复数 )v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的第三人称单数 ) | |
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68
pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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69
besets
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| v.困扰( beset的第三人称单数 )；不断围攻；镶；嵌 | |
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70
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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71
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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72
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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73
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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74
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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76
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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77
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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78
blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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79
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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80
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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81
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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82
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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83
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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84
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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85
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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86
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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87
sterling
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|
| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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88
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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89
skeptical
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| adj.怀疑的，多疑的 | |
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90
amenable
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| adj.经得起检验的；顺从的；对负有义务的 | |
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91
mellowed
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| （使）成熟( mellow的过去式和过去分词 )； 使色彩更加柔和，使酒更加醇香 | |
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92
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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93
mutual
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|
| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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94
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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95
halcyon
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| n.平静的，愉快的 | |
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96
plundering
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的现在分词 ) | |
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97
fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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98
winnowing
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| v.扬( winnow的现在分词 )；辨别；选择；除去 | |
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99
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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100
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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101
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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102
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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103
drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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104
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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105
retinue
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| n.侍从；随员 | |
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106
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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107
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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108
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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109
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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110
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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111
munificence
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| n.宽宏大量，慷慨给与 | |
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112
heirship
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| n.继承权 | |
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113
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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114
beatific
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| adj.快乐的，有福的 | |
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115
opulence
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| n.财富，富裕 | |
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116
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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117
daydream
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| v.做白日梦，幻想 | |
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118
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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119
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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120
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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121
yokes
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| 轭( yoke的名词复数 )； 奴役； 轭形扁担； 上衣抵肩 | |
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122
deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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123
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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124
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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125
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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126
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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127
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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128
cadaver
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| n.尸体 | |
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129
crass
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| adj.愚钝的，粗糙的；彻底的 | |
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130
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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131
omniscient
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| adj.无所不知的；博识的 | |
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132
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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133
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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134
unravelled
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| 解开，拆散，散开( unravel的过去式和过去分词 )； 阐明； 澄清； 弄清楚 | |
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135
surmises
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的第三人称单数 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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136
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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137
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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138
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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139
conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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140
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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141
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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142
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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143
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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144
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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145
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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146
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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147
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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148
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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149
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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150
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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151
reiteration
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| n. 重覆, 反覆, 重说 | |
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152
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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153
whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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154
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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155
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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156
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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157
shred
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| v.撕成碎片，变成碎片；n.碎布条，细片，些少 | |
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