??Lands never till’d, where thou hast wandering been,
??And all the marvels2 thou hast heard and seen:
Do tell me something of the miseries3 felt
In climes where travellers freeze, and where they melt.
Crabbe, “Tales of the Hall.”
I
The coach from railhead to Chipstone was an hour and a half late, and not all the flourish of its horn as it thundered into the courtyard of “The Black Sheep” could disguise the fact. Not that it was the fault of the coach: it had waited for the mail train, and this, for those parts, parvenu5 monster had found an obstruction6 on the line, and was helpless to go round it, as the driver and the guard complacently7 pointed9 out. Their glory and their tips were shrunk like their circuit—unchanged along the short route, they could no longer prod10 the slumbering11 traveller with insinuatory farewells: they knew themselves, these Chipstone worthies12, a last lingering out-of-the-way survival of the old order, doomed13 like the broad coaching road and the old hostelries to decay; already they had seen the horned guard decline in places to the omnibus cad, even as the ancient “shooter” of highwaymen had sunk to the key-bugler; yet they preserved the grand manner before the revolution that was deposing14 them—the Tom Pratt and Dick Burrage of a generation of travellers—and while dispensing15 their conversation like decorations and drinking your health as a concession16, they retailed17 with gloomy satisfaction every railway collision and holocaust19, as though coaches never overturned, and declared the English breed of horses would be ruined. And when certain lines set up third-class carriages they denounced the cruelty of packing the poor in roofless, seatless trucks, as though they themselves had never brought into port frost-bitten peers or dames20 sodden21 through their oilskin umbrellas.
But to-day “Powerful warrum” was the grumble22 of the passengers, even of those on the roof, the majority being—thus early in May—still smothered23 in box-coats; as for the unfortunates compressed inside, who had likewise not yet cast a clout24, and had similarly mistrusted the sunshiny spell with which that pouring April had ended, they mopped their brows and cursed the fickle25 British climate. But though the sun had suddenly become hot enough to sour milk, it could not sour the temper of the bronzed young man—his face nigh as ruddy as his hair—who sat on the box-seat and conversed26 with Tom Pratt almost as an equal. Even the long delay on the line had left him unruffled, thanks largely to the blue-eyed girl in the train who before his clean-shaven cosmopolitan27 air had shown signs of tenderness, and whose address his purse now held—more precious than a fiver. Verily a pleasant change after the Eveless back-blocks of Canada.
And the idea of calling this “warrum”! He smiled to think of the hells he had known—Montreal with mosquitoes, New York in a damp heat. Why, this couldn’t even melt a man’s collar. And how refreshing28 was the trimness of the Essex countryside—the comfortable air of immemorial cultivation—after the giant untidiness of the New World. How soothing29 these long, green, white-sprinkled hedgerows with their ancient elms, this old, historic highway with thatch30 and tile, steeple and tower, after the corduroy roads of round logs or the muddy, dusty, sandy tracks. How adorable these creeper-covered cottages after log-cabins in backwoods; rotting floors on rotten sleepers31 and the mud paste fallen out of the walls. He forgot that it was precisely32 this that he had fled from nearly a decade ago—this dead, walled-in life, so petty and pietistic—and he congratulated himself afresh on the wisdom of that abrupt33 resolution to sell his clearing to a second-hand34 pioneer and to farm at home with the profits.
His clothes alone would have kept him in good humour. Not only were the heavier in what he had learned to call his trunk, but those on his back were the first he had ever had made to measure. And they were made too—like the neckcloth and shawl and fal-lals he was bringing to his parents “from America”—by the world-famous firm of “Moses & Son” (opposite Aldgate Church), whose imposingness was enhanced in his eyes by finding it—on the Saturday he first hied thither—haughtily aloof36: a blank wilderness37 of shutters38 in a roaring world, with no gleam through their chinks from the seven hundred gas-burners. But he had finally stormed the “Private Hall,” toiling—as invited by rhyme—up “the stairs of solid oak,” and had gained the heights “where orders were bespoke,” and there—in that rich-carpeted “showroom with the giant chandelier,” in a setting of Corinthian columns, sculptured panels, and arabesque39 ceilings—dark enchanters with tape-measures like serpents over their shoulders had made obeisance40 to him and enfolded him with their coils. Even his billycock hat verified the bardic41 boast:
There’s not another Hat-mart in the town
Which casts such lustre42 on the human crown.
Left to himself he would have liked a wideawake, but that arbiter43 elegantiarum, the small boy, he was warned, had not quite acquiesced44 in that. If it was not a coat of many buttons that he now sported, it was scrimp enough to show off the fine lines of his figure; for the movement towards ample waistcoats and wide trousers was not yet encouraged by his Aldgate mentors46, and pockets on the hips4 had been conceded him with reluctance47. In his large American trunk reposed48 a still grander suit of Sunday sable50, though he had shied at a frock coat, and was glad to learn from these hierophants of the mode that morning jackets were no longer confined to the stable-yard or the barrack-room, but were permissible51 even in the country house—and there was no question but Frog Farm was that. He had already worn his blacks once, on his visit to the Great Exhibition, and they made, he found, a distinct difference to the policemen in top-hats whose guidance he sought in the labyrinths52 of the metropolis53.
The delay in this visit to the Exhibition—the goal of his journey to London—had turned out an advantage, he felt, giving him time for these measured elegancies. If he had been unable to be in at the opening, as he had grandly designed in Canada when ignorant that this involved guineas and season-tickets, he had managed to squeeze for a glimpse of the Queen outside if not inside the Park, and the first five-shilling day—after all, only the fourth—was grandeur54 enough for a whilom ploughboy and cabin-boy. Although nine ten-pound notes made a warm waistcoat-lining, he was not under the illusion that he had returned with more than a competence55.
One would have thought London itself a Greater Exhibition to a young man who had never seen it before: especially London at carnival56 with its colossal57 crowds swollen58 by visitors from all countries in all complexions59 and costumes: London with its numberless gay ’buses (plying60 mostly to Hyde Park), its swifter gliding61 cabriolets of the new pattern invented by Mr. Hansom, and the more stolid63 procession of four-wheeled clarences, not to mention the fashionable and civic64 carriages with the scarlet-and-gold pomp of flunkeys and outriders: London with its countless65 curious street-criers, costermongers, ballad-mongers, watercress sellers, muffin and hot-pie men, birdcage dealers66, tract-peddling Lascars in white robes, and vendors67 of everything from corn-salves to speeches on the scaffold; blowsy, rowdy London that turned into a dream-city when those strange figures with rods glided68 through the twilight69, flecking the long, grey streets with points of fire.
But though Will Flynt was not insensitive to these fascinating phenomena70, and even rode about recklessly in the cabriolets at eightpence a mile, yet London had not the spell to hold him. Only the Great Exhibition had drawn71 him across the Atlantic. While awaiting impatiently for the five-shilling day, he duly did the Tower and the Zoo (sixpence extra for Mr. Gould’s humming-birds in the twenty-five glass cases), paid twopence to go into St. Paul’s, and a shilling to see the Great Globe in Leicester Square, patronized Phelps at Sadler’s Wells, and the horses at Astley’s, had a peep at Vauxhall, enjoyed “Rush, the Norwich Murderer,” at Madame Tussaud’s, and submitted the boots these operations begrimed to the red-coated shoeblacks of the Ragged72 Schools—London’s new word in philanthropy. But though he liked the quarter in which his quaint73 galleried hotel, “The Flower Pot,” was situated75, with the Spitalfields Market and the tall old houses of the silk-weavers, whose vast casements76 with their little panes78 rose story on story, he was no sooner through with the visit to the Exhibition than without a day’s delay—as promised in that letter to Martha—he took train and coach to Little Bradmarsh.
Beholding79 him thus on the County Flyer hurrying towards Frog Farm, after only a single visit to the stupendous spectacle, one may suspect that he did not know his own heart as well as he imagined. But he himself had no doubt of the magnet he obeyed, and he had found on his boat not a few rich Canadians—and the Dominion80 already boasted four thousand carriage-folk—who confessed to have yielded to the same irresistible82 attraction. There was indeed little else talked of on the voyage: even the wonders of the boat itself—a new Yankee iron and screw steamer of nearly two thousand tons and quite five hundred horse-power that brought them to Liverpool in eleven days from Halifax, and had spittoons and wedding-berths like the Yankee river-steamers, and to see which the Liverpudlians had flocked with their sixpences—paling before the world-marvel1 awaiting them in London.
And London itself was talking of it no less: for once London was staggered. And if London was thus shaken, how much more the provinces and the world at large? Did not indeed the flags of all nations wave over the great glass building, whose mere83 material would have been enough to set the globe agog84, even if it had not contained contributions from every corner of civilization except Germany, which in that antediluvian86 age figured in the catalogue only as “The States of the Zollverein.” What wonder if with all the excursions and alarums and millennial87 visions that attended its birth, the Press reeking88 with paragraphs, poems, discussions, wrangles89, skits90, prophecies, and forebodings, crowds equal to the population of provincial91 towns gathered at the Park to watch it rise, and to stare at the endlessly inrolling vans and the sappers and miners at work in their uniforms. One M.P.—military and moustachio’d—won the immortality92 of the comic prints by fulminating against the invasion of Freethinking foreigners who would pillage93 London and ruin the honour of British womanhood: more sober minds feared the Chartist mobs and the Red Republicans: even the Catholics, already flaunting95 their cardinals96 and ringing their unhallowed church bells, would profit by the Continental97 wave. The House of Lords resounded98 with protests and petitions against the profanation99 of the Park, and apprehensions100 as to the fate of the building erected101 therein were equally rife102: the great glass roof would be splintered by hailstones, the walls would be overturned by the wind, the galleries would collapse103 under the swarming105 multitudes, and Anarchism would seize its opportunity amid the dismantled106 treasures of the globe. But one unfailing factor was on the Exhibition’s side: the scheme was attacked by the Times. And so Paxton’s building rose steadily107 till the great day when through an avenue of three-quarters of a million spectators the Queen and “that Queen’s indefatigable108 husband”—as a panegyrist of the period put it—drove to declare it open to the elect thirty thousand who had already found it so, while through glittering nave109 and transept, with their fountains, trees, flowers, and statues, the “Hallelujah Chorus” thundered from a thousand voices, two hundred orchestral instruments, and a dozen giant organs; and the millennial hope welled up in a grand climax110 of universal emotion. And hoary111 grandsires should hereafter tell—proclaimed the poet of the Great Catalogue—what in this famous century befell: grey Time should chronicle the victories gained, since Mercy o’er the world and Justice reigned112:
What time the Crystal Hall sent forth113 her dove
And signed the League of Universal Love.
But although our Canadian pioneer had thus ample excuse for the unrest that forbade him to miss this Messianic spectacle, it was not—even he would have admitted—the Great Exhibition which had first unsettled his stolid labours. That oscillation had been communicated some two years earlier, and by a shock that had set the New World rattling114 even more noisily than the Old was shaken by the Great Exhibition. The discovery of gold in California was a seismic115 vibration116 that depopulated Eastern towns, shot sober lawyers into wagons117, sent clergymen flying along mule119-trails, swept timid tradesmen across the foodless and robber-haunted Rocky Mountains, whirled schoolmasters fifteen thousand miles round Cape120 Horn, and dumped them all waist-high in auriferous mud and shimmering121 water, to be fed by Indian squaws. It was under the lure122 of the Californian legend that Will had originally looked about for a purchaser of his cleared acres. But by the time the farm was off his hands, the glamour123 of easy gold had faded, and with a sum in his pockets sufficient for a little respite124, life seemed suddenly larger than lucre125, and he found himself possessed126 by a strange craving127 not to be away from the old country in that year of years—the year of the Great Exhibition.
II
Chipstone had seemed strangely shrivelled as the County Flyer tore through it; the High Street unexpectedly narrow and the great, gorgeous shops, against whose panes he had flattened128 his youthful nose, curiously129 small and drab, with diminutive130 sun-blinds; yet the quaint, blistered131 bulge132 of the old timbered houses was fascinatingly as he remembered it, and when the spirited quartet of tinkling133 steeds slackened under the archway crowned by the ironwork sign of “The Black Sheep,” he saw through a warm dimness that the ancient inn still gave on the stable-yard with this same Tudor bulge, and that the courtyard itself was little less rambling134 than the picture he carried in his memory. There was the same mass-meeting of cocks crowing on the same golden dunghill, the same litter of barrels, boxes, baskets, and parcels of laundry-work, while the gardens of the whitewashed135 old cottages backing the black-tarred stables and cartsheds seemed caught up as incongruously as ever in the horsey medley136. Why, there was the very shed which had sheltered the farm-wagon118 the Sunday he was to drive it to Harwich. And there—yes, actually there on the same doorstep, under the same hanging ironwork lamp, was Ostler Joe, the shambling, bottle-nosed hunchback, whose figure—in its reassurance138 of stability—struck him as positively139 beautiful, and whose head seemed aureoled by the mist. But where was that more expected face, where was the hair-swathed visage of Caleb Flynt? Brushing the mist from his eyes, he looked anxiously round the seething140, sun-drenched courtyard. “Hullo, Joey,” he said at last. “Wouldn’t my dad wait?” It was a pleasant voice with something of a twang: but the twang was no longer local.
“Oi dunno your feyther from Adam,” said Joe cheerfully, mopping his face with his shirt-sleeve.
“Yes, you do—old Mr. Flynt—Frog Farm.”
Joe shook his head—it seemed no longer a saint’s. “Oi never heerd nobody mention Frog Farm nowadays. It’s a dead place.” He shambled off on his many tasks with an aliveness that tightened142 the contraction143 Will felt at his heart. His father dead?
“But look here, Joe!” He pursued the factotum144. “You remember me—little Will Flynt?”
“Can’t say as Oi does—moind that box now.”
“It’s my box—and I wrote to dad to meet me with a trap. Guess he got tired of fooling around.”
“There’s warious traps.” The hunchback waved a busy hand.
“No—he’s not here. And how am I to get my trunk home?”
“Bradmarsh carrier goos at three—you’re in luck.”
He heaved a parcel now into a driverless tilt145-cart, where a little white dog boisterously146 mounted guard. “That’s ’er!” he said. “Take you too if you’re smart.”
“Daniel Quarles!” A fresh wave of reassurance radiated from that old household word on the familiar tilt. So the venerable carrier was still plying, how then could the comparatively juvenile148 Caleb be extinct? The May Day ribbons not removed from Daniel’s horse, and making it a snow-white steed from fairyland, dispelled149 the last funereal150 images. Surely had Caleb Flynt really died, old Quarles would never have left so lively a topic untapped with Joey.
But here Will’s meditations151 were agreeably cut short by another vision from auld152 lang syne—the laced mob-cap and blonde kiss-curls of Mother Gander, to whom Dick Burrage was gloating over the train’s misadventure. There were pouches154 under the blue eyes, and no gold chain now heaved with her blue silk bosom155: otherwise she was her old comely156 self. But fresh from his grand hotel in Spital Square, Will no longer regarded her as an awful and aristocratic personage, able to eat meat at every meal. An easy accost157 and inquiry158 about the old Flynts of Frog Farm brought him soothing information. Lord bless his soul, people living a healthy life like that never died—unless they took medicine. She couldn’t say they had been to chapel159 lately—indeed she had gathered from the postman that the old wife had taken up with some New Jerusalem crankiness. “But you’ll find the Bradmarsh carrier in the parcel-shed—that black one. You ask her!” And with a wave towards the arch she turned again to the beaming Dick Burrage.
Will thought the “her” referred to a chambermaid who was just passing, but he saw no need of such guidance—the parcel-shed was obvious enough. His mind was occupied with the odd fact that Mother Gander had apparently161 become a sister in the spirit to his own father, while his mother had moved on to another eccentric doctrine162. Ah well, changes were bound to come. Not everybody could be of the same immutable163 granite164 as himself.
He found the parcel-shed deserted165 save for a young girl who, busily heaping up parcels into the willing arms of Joey, did not even look up. Somewhat depressed166 by the chapel-memories the landlady167 had conjured168 up, he stood a moment, absently watching the operation, and wondering why the agreeably pretty creature should be dispatching so many parcels—wedding-cake came into his mind, though the oddly varying shape of the parcels was not consistent with the hypothesis. He would willingly have loitered—the chapel-cloud was dissipating—but the carrier was clearly not here, and, as the church clock opposite was booming three, he was afraid old Daniel might be starting off without him, so he hurried back to the pranked and pawing steed, only to find himself derided169 and defied by the little dog, which he now observed was also adorned170 with a May Day bow.
And then he remembered he was hungry. The block on the line had robbed him of his dinner, and he wondered whether to go off with that grim Gaffer Quarles would be so enjoyable as walking—after a square meal. No, why should he be thus whisked off? Why not a leisurely171 spread at “The Black Sheep” preceded by another glimpse of the girl in the shed, and then a long stroll home by the dear old field-paths, through Plashy Walk and Swash End, dry enough doubtless under this sun? Besides, his slow old parent might be on the way after all—there was no certainty the carrier with his compulsory173 windings174 and detours175 would not miss him. Yes, it would be kinder to his father to give him another hour or so. “The May Queen” he murmured to the air, brooding over Methusalem’s belated ribbons. Yes, they would surely have made her that; though perhaps the old custom was no longer kept up. True, she hadn’t the blue eyes or the plumpness of the girl in the train, and was not stately enough for a queen—though of course you couldn’t really tell how Victoria looked outside her royal carriage. But then you couldn’t imagine the blue-eyed minx in a royal carriage at all: you placed her smiling behind bars, manipulating beer-handles.
“It’s all right,” Joey startled him by announcing, toppling his tower of parcels into the cart. “Oi’ve made inquirations. The old Flynt chap be aloive and kickin’.”
“Oh, thank you.” Will’s last shade of uneasiness vanished. He slipped a sixpence into Joey’s palm. “Put my box in—I’m not going myself—say it’s for Frog Farm.” And he jostled back to the parcel-shed, through the bustle178 of boxes and jangling of bells, barging into other carriers from other circuits, stumbling over dogs that yelped179, tangling180 himself in the whip of a postboy who was frantically181 buttoning his waistcoat, and nearly run over by the great coach just wheeling round. He was more disappointed than surprised when he at last reached the shed to find it empty, though far fuller than before of mere people. Still, there was always dinner.
III
But dinner was not always.
“No, I’m afraid it’s all gone,” said Mother Gander. She was blocking the way at the foot of the stairs, where a painted hand under pendent stag-horns directed you upwards182 to the “Parlour”—“The Black Sheep” would have none of your new-fangled “Coffee Rooms”—and Will Flynt, sniffing183 up the odours of beer, sand, tobacco, gin, snuff, and tallow like an ambrosial184 air, felt a further elation185 in the thought of its being now a beckoning186 not a monitory hand: to ascend187 to those unexplored heights, mysteriously grand to the boy, seemed symbolic188 of his rise in life.
“But haven’t you got anything?” His face fell.
“Nothing fit to offer,” said the landlady.
“But I’m hungry—and I’ve got to wait here.”
“You’re not staying for the night?” she queried189.
“I may,” he said, to encourage her to produce some food.
“Oh, but we haven’t a room empty.”
He reddened. Was it possible she recognized the hobnailed lad of yore, refused to serve him or to allow him up her aristocratic stairs?
“You haven’t a room empty?” he repeated incredulously.
“There’s a poky garret,” she said, “and another man would have to go through it to his bedroom, and he goes to bed very late and gets up very early. But even our best rooms are stuffy190 and our corridors are that dingy191 people are always tumbling against the brooms the maids leave about; when they’re not tumbling down the stairs. Look how steep they are! The whole house is badly built—it was never meant for an hotel—and the service is disgraceful.”
Will, overwhelmed, stammered192 out deprecation of her abuse. The inn was most picturesque193, he urged, and it was not the fault of the house if the coach was late; as for himself a crust of bread and cheese would suffice to stay his pangs194.
“Well, go up and see what you can get,” she rejoined sceptically, moving aside. Relieved to find the barrier raised, he ascended195 the dog-legged staircase; his boyish awe196 resurging. Alas197! even the landlady’s disparagement198 had not prepared him for this dishevelled scene—dirty plates and greasy199 knives and forks and tobacco-stoppers and sloppy200 pewter pots that had stamped bleary rims201 on the fly-haunted table-cloth, and a waiter in his shirt-sleeves dining, like a gentleman, off the ruins.
“Wegetables and pastry202 is hoff!” murmured this disturbed gentleman.
Will was retreating—bread and cheese at the bar amid the glinting bottles and shining beer-handles seemed more appetizing—but the waiter had sprung up, his mouth still masticating203 but his coat conjured on, and had him fixed204 instanter on a Windsor chair at a clean little sun-splashed table by a side window that was refreshingly205 open and gave on the cheery courtyard.
A cut of the devastated206 joint207, strong mustard pickles208, a hunch137 of good bread, a pint209 of porter and the freedom of the cheese to follow, soon dispelled the dismalness210 of the room; an effect to which the attendant magician contributed more literally211 by his great trick of vanishing crumbs212 and disappearing plates, including his own half-eaten meal. How good it was, this cold roast beef of old England, how equally redolent of the dear old country those hunting pictures on the low wainscoted walls, with all their gay bravado213. There were four of them: The Meet, Breaking Cover, Full Cry, The Death; all populous214 with spirited pink gentlemen and violently animated215 dogs and horses, culminating in the leading dog tearing the fox, and the leading gentleman waving his tall hat in rapture216. He quaffed217 voluptuously218 at his frothing pewter pot. To the Queen of the May—ay, why not drink to her?
“How’s Mr. Gander?” he asked irrelevantly219, with a sudden image of the bull-necked landlord and his massive gold scarfpin.
The waiter—on the point of disappearing—materialized himself again, and stared at the questioner.
“He ain’t anyhow,” he gasped221 at last. “At least that’s a secret ’twixt him and his Maker222.”
“Dead?” It was Will’s turn to gasp220. Could so much gross vitality223 be extinct, or even rarefied?
“Dead and married over. She’s Mrs. Mott now, though the old customers will keep on with the Mother Gander, just as I have to bite my tongue not to call her husband Charley.” He lowered his voice. “He was the potboy once.”
Will whistled. “What women are!” was in that knowing note. How pleasant it was thus to discuss—with beer and pickles!—life and death and the sex.
“Yes, sir—the potboy, and busting224 with pride if I let him hand up the plates at the Bowling225 Club dinner.” A sigh accented the cruel change. “You’ve been away, sir, I presoom.”
“Half round the world,” said Will with airy inaccuracy. “But why didn’t you go in for her?”
“Me! With my old woman! Besides I wasn’t going to turn Peculiar226—no, not for ten ‘Black Sheep.’ You’ve heard o’ Peculiars, sir?”
“Ye-es.” A cayenne pod in the pickles made him cough.
“Thick as blackberries about these parts—and as full of texts as the bush of prickles.” The waiter’s voice sank again. “She made poor Charley into one of ’em. He’s got to go to chapel three times every Sunday and once on Wednesday.”
“Poor chap!” There was sympathy as well as mockery in Will’s tone. “But can you tell me”—he had a sudden remembrance—“why she runs down this place so? Is it her Peculiar conscience?”
“Ah! I’ve heard others arx that too. My opinion ain’t worth a woman’s tip, but I can’t help fancying it’s more defiance227 than conscience. Time was, you see, sir, folks kept away, and it sort o’ soured her. I don’t want your rotten custom, she as good as says to all and sundry228. Take it to landladies229 who’ve arxed your permission to marry. And so they come all the more, sir, yes, and cringing230 to have rooms, and pays her whatever she asks. There was lots o’ grumbling231 in the old days: now you never hear a complaint, except from herself. My stars, the money she’s making! But I can’t say I envy Charley—not even when he bullies233 me. Although in marriage if it’s not one cross it’s another, ain’t it, sir? Or perhaps you’re one o’ the lucky ones.”
“I’m not married at all.”
“That’s what I mean.” And the waiter sighed again. “Got all you want, sir?”
“Everything, thank you—not wanting a wife.”
His laugh, gurgling away into his pewter pot, evoked234 only a deeper sigh, on which the waiter seemed wafted235 without.
IV
Simultaneously236—through the opening or closing door—something was wafted within. Our complacent8 young man at his place in the sun, with the glow of freedom at his heart and of porter at his throat, was startled by something leaping on his knees, which, automatically fended237 and thrust away, was felt as clinging claws scraping down his new trousers. Coughing and spluttering, and with the beery glow changing to a choke, he perceived that it was the carrier’s little white dog, the very same that had warned him off its master’s goods; unmistakable by its pink bow. So the doddering patriarch had not yet started, he thought lazily, though he must now be back in his cart or his canine238 sentry239 would not have gone off for a farewell prowl. He helped himself to another cut of beef, and his thoughts wandered from Mother Gander to a builder’s widow he had known in a Montreal boarding-house, a widow to whom he could certainly have played the Charley had he cared to go so far. He seemed to hear her foolish whimpering the day he left for the backwoods, but he became aware that it was only the carrier’s dog whining240.
It was begging so prettily241 on its hind176 legs, looking so appealing in its pink bow, that he was soon feeding it rather than himself, and morsel242 after morsel fell to it, each gulped243 down with such celerity that from the creature’s instantly renewed and unchangingly pathetic posture244 of supplication245, an absent-minded man would have doubted if he had fed the brute246 at all. But finally the young man pushed away his cheese-plate, and dropping with plenary satisfaction upon a horsehair and mahogany arm-chair that stood by the empty grate, he lit his cherrywood pipe with a brimstone match and followed his springtide fancies in clouds of his own making. Thus the second pounce247 of the dog on to his knees found him acquiescent248, even caressing250, and with a beatific251 grunt252 the animal curled itself up as to an ?on of repose49.
Then a horn sounded, and with a convulsive start the creature was off his lap and scratching and yapping at the closed door. Will, too, had a moment of wild wishing he had engaged a seat in the cart—the thought of walking in this heat was no longer alluring253—but it was equally unimaginable to get up now and rush like the animal. Besides, he hadn’t paid his bill, he remembered not discontentedly. Meanwhile the distracted little dog had darted254 back to the window and leapt on the sill, but it was obviously cowering255 before the depth of the jump. He was feeling he really must get up and do its will, when to the satisfaction of the slothful man and the bliss256 of the active beast, the door opened, and like a streak257 of lightning the white figure had forked across the room and vanished. He turned his head lazily to the window to see if it would catch its cart, but was only in time to see the tail-board with his own box disappearing through the archway, pursued by Joe with a belated bundle. Then the new-comers claimed his languorous258 attention.
V
Strictly259 speaking, there was only one new-comer and he was hanging back at the sight of the London-tailored guest, being himself in moleskins and bent260 and fusty, though Mother Gander was clearly beckoning him forward. “The gentleman’s just going,” she said sweetly. Will knew not whether to be drowsily261 pleased at the status he had achieved in his own neighbourhood, or sluggishly262 wrathful at this renewed attempt to be rid of him.
“Plenty left,” he observed encouragingly, puffing264 immovably.
“Oi reckon, sister, Oi’ll feed in the taproom.” The voice sent strange vibrations265 of resentment266 through Will’s being, and particularly through his nostrils267, where a mysterious smell of aniseed was called up, whether from memory or the actual moleskins he could not make out.
“You’ll do no such thing,” said Mother Gander sharply. “It’s less trouble here. Remember what James says.”
Who was James—was her husband not Charley?—Will was wondering dreamily.
“Chapter two, warse two—Oi take your p’int,” answered this odd figure, whose wizened268 face with the straggling whiskers seemed loathsomely269 familiar. But though the beady eyes under the moleskin cap were turned for a moment full on his, remembrance stirred but feebly through his after-dinner lethargy, and it was not till the intruder had sinuously270 and softly skirted the great dining-table and begun solemnly turning the faces of the hunting pictures to the wall, like naughty schoolchildren, that he was dully conscious of the secret of his abhorrence271. There—on the very first day of his return—was Joshua Mawhood, the button-snipping villain272 of his story!
Mother Gander stood by silent, as one properly censured273. Neither did she protest when, slashing274 a giant gobbet off the beef, he carried it on the point of the carving-knife to Will’s mustard-strewn meat-plate, and bearing the same with its dirty knife and fork to the remotest corner of the table, fell to with audible enjoyment275.
“I’ll send you your milk, Deacon,” she said, turning to leave the room.
“Don’t copy Jael too far,” he answered, with a grimace276.
“Copy who?” asked Mother Gander, mystified.
“Jael, the wife of Heber the Kenite—her as killed Sisera. Like me he asked for water, and, like you, she gave him milk. But she meant to nail him like a stoat.”
“Me murder you!” said Mother Gander with a scandalized air. But she was clearly impressed by his erudition.
“?’Tis onny my fun. But you look up Judges, chapter fower. They’re beacons277 to us—they old Hebrews and Hebrewesses—beacons.”
“Would you rather not have the milk?” Mother Gander was still a little puzzled.
“?’Tain’t for me to refuse a sister’s kindness. And the best way to repay her is to take it with rum. Bein’ as there’s a wisitor, the leetlest drop o’ rum in it, to show Oi don’t howd with your rebukers in that regard. Send the bottle separate, to be plain to all beholders.”
“And send me another pint of porter, please,” added Will. He felt he must justify279 his stay even as the Deacon must justify his drink. The ecclesiastical preferment that had come to Elder Mawhood amused him—his boyish resentment faded suddenly, and the respectable rat-catcher—after all, the motor-impulse of his fortunes—now loomed281 through a cloud of kindly282 indulgence; even touched with the glamour of early memories, with the magic of those far-off winters whose approach had brought the expert to Frog Farm, as surely as it brought in from the hedges the creatures against whom he waged cunning battle in the war-zone of the barns and outbuildings. How thrilled the boy had been by the great traps and the pack of ferrets—nay, had not the strange old man seemed himself a larger ferret, with his tight-fitting moleskins, sidling motions, and curiously small shining eyes? What a joy his annual visit—with what fearful interest the bunch of children had listened to the annual contract, made for gross sums, or for particular buildings, sometimes calculated per tail of rats! The Elder had always made a point of the cost of the shoe-leather involved in the isolation283 of Frog Farm. Aniseed, Will suddenly remembered, had played a considerable part in beguiling284 the victims, and the scent249 of it, coming up again,—dream-whiff or reality—was now incongruously mingled285 with a flavour of youth and innocence286, touching287 our rustic288 Ulysses almost to tears. He wheeled his arm-chair window-wards to hide his emotion, and puffed289 into the courtyard.
“Oi don’t object to your smokin’,” mumbled290 the Deacon.
“Thank you,” said Will. “You don’t remember me, I’m afraid, Mr. Mawhood.” “Deacon” he could not bring his tongue to. “I’m Will Flynt, the looker’s boy you were always so kind to. You let me set your traps and dose the bait.”
The Deacon shot a beady look at him, but shook his head.
“Why, you let me smell your ferret once, don’t you remember, when it came out of the hole by the Brad, and you said that though I hadn’t heard a squeak291 or a scamper292, your nose could tell there had been rats in the run.”
“There was swarms293 of boys at Frog Farm, all bad ’uns. Oi never knew ’em by tail—but Oi dessay Oi do remember ye in the rough.”
Will was strangely disappointed. “Don’t you remember I lent you my slate294 to hide the trap from that cute old rascal295?”
“Ay, warmints allus runs to cover,” said the Deacon vaguely296.
“And when caught he wouldn’t eat the bait, surely you remember?”
“They never does. Rats has more sperrit than lions,” said the Deacon with enthusiasm.
The abortive297 attempt to recall himself to the rat-catcher was ended by the return of the waiter, whose delicate balance of rum-bottle, milk-glass, and pewter pot on the tiniest of trays, was almost upset by the sight of the blank backs of the hunting pictures. He seemed as startled as though he was not in the conjuring298 line himself. Depositing the drinks, with his usual sleight299 of hand, at both ends of the room simultaneously, he made as if to reverse the pictures. But the Deacon emitted a sibilance so terrifying that he did the vanishing trick instead. The old man then produced from either pocket a pale-yellow, pink-eyed creature, and emptied the milk-glass into a saucer. “How thirsty they gets this weather,” he observed, as they lapped greedily at the milk. “Pore things—their need is greater than mine.”
VI
Will was sipping300 his porter piano, and the Deacon his rum strepitoso—the ferrets back in his pockets—when the door opened afresh, and a new figure protruded301 through it, likewise drawing back when the room which should have been empty at that hour was seen to be in occupation. This was, however, a very different figure from the Deacon’s: a figure jovial303 and ponderous304, sporting a floral dressing-gown and carpet slippers305, and with all the air of having just left an adjacent bedroom.
“Come in—don’t mind me,” called Will cheerfully.
The smoker’s invitation not being negatived by the muncher306 and bibber, the massive visitor padded forwards, revealing more clearly his heavy-jowled hairless rubicund308 face and the motley multitude of stains on his gay dressing-gown, and waving a roll of clammy-smelling posters. “Just come by the coach—and in the nick o’ time,” he observed genially309. And espying310 in the reversed pictures a favourable311 background for his operations, he circumvented312 the table (not without surprise and disgust at the corner where the moleskinned man grunted313, guzzled314, and guttled), and hung up two of the bills on the nails without any observable astonishment315 at the state of the pictures or any apparent attention to anything but his own interests; stepping backwards316 to survey the effect with such absorption of mind that through the girdle of his dressing-gown his spine317 collided with the table.
“No, my boy!” he addressed Will. “They can’t print like that in Chipstone.”
From his arm-chair Will could easily read the more glaring headlines:
TO-NIGHT AT SEVEN—LIFE-SIZE
DUKE’S MARIONETTES
Hamlet And The Ghost
Margaret Catchpole
Pantomime-Ballet
THE MISTLETOE BOUGH318
The Beggar of Bethnal Green
Edmund, Orphan319 of the Castle
The High Road to Marriage
As Performed Before all the Crowned Heads
Of Europe, America, and Australia
N.B.—Miss Arabella Flippance at the Piano
“Sounds bully,” he observed politely.
“Bully’s the word, my young American friend,” said the Showman. “What a pity the mail-coach was late—we might have had ’em stuck up for the ordinary and caught some shilling patrons. You’re staying here for the night, I hope.”
“No—I’ve got to go on.”
“What a pity! I was about to offer you a front seat.”
“Me? Why?”
“Must fill up somehow,” said the Showman frankly321. “People never go to a play unless they think they can’t get in. And as we only open to-night, there’s not been time to advertise our bumper322 houses. You see, sonny, we lay up here for the winter, and if we’d started before this heat-wave we’d have caught more colds than coppers323.”
“Is it open-air then?”
“No, but the next thing to it—a tent! By squinting324 out of that window you’ll see the whole caboodle rising on the meadows like a giant mushroom. Why not stop here and pick up a young lady? I’ll give you two seats.”
“Don’t want more than one seat when I’ve got a girl,” laughed Will. Then the face of the girl in the parcel-shed came up, at once alluring and rebuking325, and he repeated that seriously he must be off.
“Never mind—better luck next act,” said the Showman, and tugged326 furiously at the bell-pull, and the waiter appeared with a glass of brandy and water, as though he added thought-reading to his conjuring accomplishments327.
“Well, here’s to our better——!” began the Showman. His eye, raised towards Will at the window, caught suddenly something in the courtyard, and setting down his untasted glass and snatching up his posters he disappeared almost as frantically as the dog.
“He’s forgot he ain’t dressed,” chuckled328 the waiter.
“Seems to be a merry gent,” said Will.
“Lives here all the while the show is on,” said the waiter, not without pride. “Pays me a shilling every time I go in.”
“I hope on the same principle Mother Gander will pay me,” said Will, laughing, and ordered his bill: which he found as unreasonable329 as the food was excellent. He did not, however, mulct the waiter of the handsome tip, designed to show him not a woman but a man and a gentleman at that, and the waiter finally disappeared with congees330 instead of with conjurings.
“I know you will excuse me, old fellow,” said the Showman, re-entering, “but business before pleasure. Fact is, I got up too late to catch the carriers, but now I’ve got the postman to leave my bills at all the public-houses on his next round. Good fellow, Bundock, though why he should boast so over killing332 two frogs with one stone, I don’t understand. It seems an operation as cruel as it is simple.” Here he swigged at his neglected glass. “He made a point, too, of my not employing the Bellman.”
“You’d have done better with the Bellman here in Chipstone and over at Latchem,” volunteered Will. “Where Bundock mostly goes, you’ll never get ’em to come.”
“That’s what Bundock said. But don’t you believe it, sonny.” He held up a huge hairy forefinger333, half gilded334 with a great ring. “They’re only a canting lot o’ sons of slow-coaches. They’ve never had the chance of knowing what they like. Temptation’s the thing.”
The diaconal sibilance that greeted this sinister335 sentiment fell unheeded on the Showman’s ear, or rather he did not distinguish it from the worthy336 Mawhood’s general medley of guttural and nasal noises.
“There’s no greater temptation,” added the Showman, “than Shakespeare and the Ballet.”
Will shook his head. “They don’t know one from t’other. Did—I mean, if they did”—he had slipped into the old idiom—“they’d be scandalized. Why, I went to see a piece of Shakespeare at Sadler’s Wells myself last week, and I’m bound to say ’twas a bit thick—though splendidly acted, mind you.”
“You needn’t tell me that. Phelps!” He smacked337 his fleshy lips voluptuously. “Lord! What a job that man had to clear out the beer-sellers, babies, and filthy-mouthed roughs, and now it’s the quietest show in London. What was the piece?”
“Can’t remember the name—about a nigger.”
“Othello?”
“That’s it—sounded a rather Irish name for a nigger I thought.”
“Irish? Ah, yes—ha, ha, ha! You had me there! By Jove, that’s a new wheeze338!” And he roared genially, while the innocent, and it is to be feared sadly illiterate339, Will tried to look like a successful humorist. “Anyhow,” he said, “you won’t get ’em from Little Bradmarsh, no, nor Long Bradmarsh either. They think all actors are wicked.”
“And so they be!” burst forth the Deacon at last. “Hobs and jills ought to be kept apart!” He stuck his knife towards the poster. “The High Road to Marriage, indeed! High road to Hell!”
“Hear, hear,” agreed the Showman surprisingly, rattling his glass. “Well put, old cock. But these ain’t actors; only puppets. You can’t be wicked in wood.”
“I’m afraid I must be off,” said Will, rising.
“Then here’s luck to you.” He finished his glass. “And may you die before you’re buried!”
“Thanks, I hope I shan’t do either, Mr. Duke.” He took his hat and stick.
“Not Duke, old man. Flippance, Anthony Flippance, universally docked to Tony Flip320. Duke only goes with the Marionettes. I bought ’em lock, stock, and barrel—-the oldest circuit in East Anglia, and the name going well with the crowned heads.”
“But there are no crowned heads in America,” said Will, smiling.
“Pardon me, sonny,” contradicted Mr. Flippance.
“But I’ve just come from there,” said Will crushingly.
“And how about the Emperor of Brazil?”
“Oh!” said Will blankly. He seemed really to have heard of this personage. Then recovering, he said: “But have you played before him?”
“That’s not my affair,” said Mr. Flippance. “It ain’t my responsibility what Duke’s done or left undone—if Duke was his name, which I take leave to question. ’Twixt you and I, I doubt if it would pay to work Brazil. But, as I said, I bought it as a going concern, lock, stock——”
“And lies,” snapped the Deacon.
Mr. Flippance turned his large red face benevolently340 towards the moleskins.
“Lies is a harsh word. Legends, old cock, legends.”
“Oi bain’t a bird,” rasped the Deacon. “Stick to the truth.”
“Lord love us, a Quaker!” Mr. Flippance winked341 at Will, who smiled—man of the world to man of the world. “As if anybody would take a thing that size and smell for a rooster!”
The Deacon reached for the rum-bottle in deadly silence. Will, with a fear—soon proved superfluous—that he meant it for a missile, hastened to remark that anyhow there were no crowned heads in Australia.
“Where were you educated, sonny?” retorted Mr. Flippance. And he began whistling the then favourite air: “The King of the Cannibal Islands.” He broke off to point out that kings and queens were as thick in the man-eating islands round Australia as old cocks in Essex, though they didn’t wear moleskins, or indeed anything but their own skins. Besides, he added as an afterthought, wasn’t Queen Victoria monarch342 of Australia too?
Will, taken aback again, had to admit it. “But you haven’t played before Victoria?” he murmured.
Mr. Flippance winked more widely as he explained that a study of the posters would show that the Marionettes themselves never claimed to have performed before crowned heads. It was the plays that had been performed. He turned suddenly upon the rum-soothed343 Deacon. “You’re not denying, my Quaker friend, that Queen Victoria’s seen Hamlet?”
“You leave me and the Queen out of it,” growled345 the Deacon.
“Ha! Then you admit she’s seen Hamlet?”
“Oi don’t know nawthen about it. Why should she see Hamlet?”
“Because he was the Prince of Denmark,” said Tony, winking346 again at his now bosom friend. “But you Methody Quaker dead-alive go-to-meeting sons of Sundayfied slugs crawl about thinking yourselves holier than Victoria, God bless her, even when it’s wood, never having seen society or ever had a drink outside Chipstone.”
The Deacon was roused at last. “Never had a drink outside Chipstone!” His breast heaved with a sinister movement—was it a wheeze of wrath263 or of laughter? “Oi’ll goo bail347 my round is bigger nor yourn. There ain’t scarce a barn in East Anglia what don’t know me.”
Tony’s great jaw348 fell. “A barnstormer! You! Rats! What do you play?”
“It ain’t play—it’s work.”
“Yes, I know—but what’s your repertory?”
“My what?”
“Your pieces.”
“Oi bain’t onny a piece-worker.”
“In what?”
“In what you said. It ain’t always per tail.”
“Retail, do you mean?” said the puzzled Tony.
Will, who had listened to the conversation with an ever-expanding grin, here burst into a guffaw349. Tony turned on him.
“Is he kidding me?” he asked half angrily, half amicably350.
The answer—like Will’s departure from this enthralling351 parlour—was staved off by the advent153 of yet another head popped into the doorway352. This time it was a heavily greased head with scrupulously353 parted hair, and was attached to a spruce young man with a spring posy in his buttonhole. But his bear’s-grease out smelt354 his primroses355.
“Hullo, Tony!” cried the aromatic356 apparition357. “Up already!”
“I’ve got to work for my living,” Mr. Flippance retorted. “The dormouse season is over. You coming in, Charley, to see the show to-night?”
“Me! I’ve got better things to do, old boy.” The young landlord turned to the Deacon. “Can you let me have five or six live ’uns?”
The Deacon shook his head. “Oi don’t want to disoblige brother. Oi do my duty according to Peter—‘nat’ral brute beasts made to be taken and destroyed’—but they bain’t meant by the Almoighty to be taken for sport, and Oi don’t howd with fox-hunting neither.”
“So I see.” Mr. Charles Mott glanced glumly358 at the backs of the pictures.
“Ef you want to be riddy o’ warmints, shoot ’em, says Oi, or nip their brushes in traps.”
“Oh, oh!” came involuntarily from Will at this blasphemy359. The Deacon transfixed him with his glittering eye, but went on without pausing: “And ef you want to be riddy o’ rats, come to me. Don’t set a-worshippin’ your prize-terriers, like Ephraim jined to his idols360.”
“I did come to you to be rid o’ the warmints, and now I want half-a-dozen spunky ’uns. Make your own price, but if you won’t supply ’em I’ll get ’em from Bill Nutbone.”
“That’s doubly sinful—to goo to the heathen.” He turned to Will. “Ef you’re so fond o’ ferrets, young man, Oi could spare you this pair—cheaper than you’ll get ’em from Nutbone.” He let their pink eyes protrude302 from his pockets.
Will eagerly closed with the offer. If Frog Farm proved as dull as he was now beginning to fear—after this contrast of Anthony Flippance and Joshua Mawhood—ratting or rabbiting might be a providential diversion.
“But I can’t carry them in my pockets,” he said impressively. “Just made by Moses & Son, London. And I’ve got a long walk. Besides, I’d like them in cages.”
“Oi’ll send ’em by the carrier on Friday,” promised the ratcatcher. “Frog Farm, you said. Good day to you, Brother Mott.”
“Good day, Deacon. Sorry we can’t do business. Queer old cuss,” he said, winking at Will as the door closed. “Belongs to the Peculiars.”
“I—I’ve heard of them.” Will coloured a bit.
Tony, who had listened to the dialogue with enlightenment, here stalked out in half-genuine horror: “Holy Moses & Son! The publican and sinner prefers rats to Shakespeare!”
“Stow it, Tony!” called the landlord after him. “One preacher’s enough.” And, smiling, he changed the blanks into hunting pictures almost as deftly361 as his waiter would have done it.
He had scarcely effected the transformation362, however, before the Deacon popped his head in again. Mr. Mott looked like a caught schoolboy, but though the beady eyes looked straight at the flamboyant363 hunters, Mr. Mawhood only said: “Oi forgot to lend a law-book.”
“What sort of a law-book d’ye want?”
“Miss Gentry364’s got a counter-claim. Ef Oi won’t pay for my wife’s silk dress as Oi never ordered, she says my ferrets killed her chickens.”
“That’s not a counter-claim, Mr. Mawhood,” advised Will.
“It’s a lyin’ claim, anyways. What killed her chickens was her own black devil, Squibs. Her and her angels!”
“You go down to the bar and see if the missus can find you a book—but wouldn’t a lawyer be better?”
“The good Lord forbid! Oi’d sooner goo to a doctor. Well, thank you kindly, brother—one good turn desarves another. Foive, Oi think you said.”
“Or six. First thing in the morning. Spunky ’uns, remember.”
The Deacon sighed and disappeared again.
“Poor old chap!” Sure of his rats, Mr. Mott was now touched to sympathy. “His missus is a Tartar, no mistake. Still with them rounds of his, he dodges365 her a good deal.” And he sighed like the Deacon and followed him—bear’s-grease after aniseed—and Will, alone at last, followed too, though without a sigh, being still—as the waiter said—“one of the lucky ones.”
In the corridor he turned the wrong way, finding bedroom doors instead of the staircase. He paused a moment to gaze at a stuffed specimen366 of the sacred animal that stood with brush rampant367 against a scenic368 background under a glass case, and a stuffed trout369 that swam movelessly through a mimic370 stream. Then he became aware to his surprise that Tony Flip, still in his dressing-gown and still hugging the balance of his posters, was pacing the corridor restlessly, like a caged lion, though it turned out to be really like a tame creature denied his cage.
“They won’t let me in,” he said miserably371. And he indicated an open bedroom door opposite the fox, with a view of housemaids at work, angry at the hour. One was making his bed, thumping372 it viciously; another raised swirls373 of dust with a broom. Slops stood blatantly374 around.
“They won’t even take free seats,” he groaned375.
VII
“What did I tell you?” said Will.
“Oh, it ain’t because they think it wicked, the hussies. They turn up their noses at it, just because it’s under their noses. If they had to go to Greenwich Fair to see it, they’d fight to get in. Candidly376, cocky, have you ever seen a better bill?”
“It seems only too much,” ventured Will.
“It don’t say all at the same performance. In practice it all comes down to The Mistletoe Bough, the silliest of the lot, a bride who shuts herself in a chest for fun, you know, and moulders378 into a spirit. But think of Richardson’s—what they cram379 into twenty-five minutes! You saw that at Greenwich, I suppose, Easter time.”
“No, I only got to London in time for the Great Exhibition.”
“You’ve been to that?” The Showman’s eyes sparkled.
“What I came back for.”
“That’s a Show!!” And a note of immeasurable envy mixed with the rapture of the rival impresario380. “But what a chance missed!”
“How so?”
“No drinks.”
“I got lemonade.”
“That’s not a drink—that’s a gas. Lord, I thought, looking at that bumper house, with a proper Christian381 bar, they could pay off the National Debt.”
“You’ve seen it then?”
“Was there at the opening. Stood so near the Royal Party I patted the head of little Wales, and the Goldstick and Chamberlain walking backwards from the Presence nearly shoved me into the Chinese Ambassador just as he was salaaming383 on his stomach. Didn’t little Albert Edward look sweet in his Highland384 costume?”
“I wasn’t inside then,” confessed Will, “and I only had eyes for the Queen and her cream-coloured horses. You’ve got a season ticket, I suppose.”
“With the Prince Consort’s compliments. The fact is, I supplied the elephant for the Queen’s howdah.”
“Did you?”
“Yes, didn’t you see it in the Indian compartment385? They wanted to show off the magnificent trappings she got from the Rajah, and they thought of getting a real live elephant, which would have been no end of trouble amid all those precious vases. But I happened to know of a stuffed elephant at a show down here in Essex, so I entered into correspondence with Buckingham Palace and loaned the beast for the season—buying him up first, of course—and sent him up in my caravan386 that had to be roused from its winter sleep and completely unpacked387. Yes, trouble enough! But talk of the Koh-i-noor, that elephant’ll be worth his weight in gold when he comes back—Queen Victoria’s elephant as visited by the nobility and gentry of the world. I annex388 the Great Exhibition. See!”
“I wish I’d noticed him,” said Will wistfully. “I only saw her statue in zinc389, seven yards high. But there’s so much to see—machinery and jewels and Mexican figures, it makes your head ache, and I couldn’t even get a look at that Koh-i-noor, such a crush round it. But did you see the Preserved Pig?”
The Showman’s eyes twinkled. “Mr. Woods, d’ye mean?”
“Mr. Woods?”
“The Chancellor390 of the Exchequer391. Haven’t you noticed how they’ve left off abusing the income tax now they’ve got the show to talk about? By Jove,” he chuckled, “what a haul for the Exchequer if they bring the Crystal Palace under the window tax!”
“No, no! Best Berkshire breed. The real marvel of the Exhibition! None o’ your stuffed creatures, but a natural pig cured whole. Weighs three and a half hundredweight; five foot and a half from tail to snout. ’Twas done by a provision merchant in Dublin—Smith—I took note of the name.”
“That name will be immortal,” said Mr. Flippance gravely.
“Yes, and there was a monster pigeon-pie!” said Will with the same unsuspicious enthusiasm.
The church clock, striking four at this point, made the Showman bound frantically to his doorway. “Not done yet, you snails392 and sluts! When am I to get these bills to the tent? Do you realize we open to-night? You’ll ruin the show.”
“I’ll take them,” volunteered Will. “My road lays by the field.”
“A friend in need is a friend indeed.” Tony thrust the heavy roll effusively393 into Will’s hands. “Ask for my daughter—she’ll help you to stick ’em up on the bill-boards.”
“Your daughter?” murmured Will. He would have resented his sudden reduction to a bill-poster but for the romantic vision of the Bohemian petticoat.
“I can’t pull the strings394 on both sides of the stage at once, can I? Not to mention the women’s and boys’ voices, and the piping Gaffers. Lord, she’s got a head on her, has Polly. And pops in and out to play the piano too.”
With pleasant flutterings of the springtide fancy, the young man lightly strode with his roll under his arm to the field where a long chocolate-coloured caravan—apparently the vehicle that had transported the elephant—stood horseless at an aperture395 in the mammoth396 mushroom described by Tony Flip. Labourers in shirt-sleeves were carrying in ropes and rough benches. Small boys and large dogs stood around, and there was a litter of straw, cardboard, shivered packing-cases, and dirty paper. Two trucks covered with tarpaulin397, and a vast box with a high-pitched roof marked “Duke’s Marionettes,” completed the confusion. Will, peeping in, saw a stage already set, at the border of which a girl on her knees was tacking398 a row of tin footlight-holders. The rear was already roped off, and the benches seemed to rise like a gallery. Evidently the thing was done in style—crowned heads or no crowned heads. Not without a thrill he walked in, and across the grassy399 floor, but romance fled when the girl, raising her head, presented a face almost as massive as her father’s, and ravaged400 by smallpox401 to boot. Polly had indeed “a head on her,” he thought, though long pendent ear-rings preserved its femininity.
Politely concealing402 his chill, he murmured “Miss Flippance,” and explained he had been instructed to deliver the bills to her.
She received them and him with an indifference403 that would have been galling404 had she been prettier, and was not gratifying even from a massive brain.
“Silly nonsense!” she grumbled405, unrolling them. “To open before you’ve done your posting and circularizing. There won’t be a soul!”
“Oh, surely—this weather!” he murmured.
Miss Flippance threw him an annihilating406 glance. “If dad once gets an idea into his head, you can’t get it out with a forceps.” Will stared at this vigorous young lady, who, with a poster unfurled in her hand, proceeded to yell directions and rebukes407 at the bench-arranging clodhoppers. It was an insult to his sex, he felt resentfully. No woman, however ugly, had the right to order men about, men who were not even married to her.
“Nincompoops! They’ll never be ready for to-night,” said Miss Flippance, acknowledging his existence again. “Would to heaven dad had gone up to London to see the Exhibition—and not hustled408 us like this.”
“But he was there at the opening.”
Miss Flippance stared at him. “Were you with him?”
“No such luck. I didn’t even see the stuffed elephant.”
“Has he stuffed you with that?” Miss Flippance emitted a mirthless laugh, and Will looked at once angry and sheepish. “Not that way, you hulking brutes409! Turn ’em round. . . . And besides, it’s ridiculous to give Hamlet. High art don’t take south of Scarborough.”
“Well, I saw Othello in London last week,” he contradicted sharply—she should see he was no mere gull410: “And the pit was packed.”
“Yes—in April. But try it in the dog-days.”
“Too warm, eh?” he sniggered. She turned away as from an idiot. That hurt him more than having swallowed her father’s royal rodomontade. Did she then think the plot of Othello glacial? Or had she no sense of humour? Yes, that was it—the sex had been denied the sense of humour. True, it shrieked411 with laughter if you tickled412 it, but the tickling413 must be physical. Ah, she was at it again, bustling414 and bullying415 the superior sex. Well, he wasn’t going to paste bills under her. Let that lazy liar147 of a Showman do his own dirty work.
“Good afternoon,” he called out huffily, and walked out of the great tent in a far less romantic mood than when he had entered it. And then, as he came through the opening in the canvas, his eyes nearly started out of their sockets416: Daniel Quarles’s cart stood outside the tent, and there, perched on the driving-board, holding the reins418, and calmly instructing the shirt-sleeved yokels419 to deliver the big drum to Miss Flippance, was the girl of the parcel-shed!
VIII
Before his eyes could return normally to their orbits or his breath to his windpipe, the incredible vision had vanished. Jinny had, in fact, had an overdose of commissions in the other purlieus of Chipstone, and having fetched the drum from its winter quarters as directed by Miss Polly Flippance that noon—it had, in fact, been pawned420, and the piano was still irredeemable—she was hastening on her homeward circuit as fast as Methusalem could be induced to go.
“Who was that?” Will gasped.
The rustic who had received the drum looked at him with unconcealed contempt. A man who did not know that!
“That war Jinny!” he said.
It was as if he had given his drum a terrific bang. Jinny?—Jinny Quarles then! Who else? In the boom of that name reverberated421 a clamour of memories and of emotions, old and new. Images of a solemn-eyed mite422, of a merry little maid, of a sedate423 Sunday scholar, and of the amazing creature of to-day, went all interflashing with one another. Yes, the little Jinny who had shared the wagon and his secret with him that fateful Sunday, and who if ever by a rare chance she had flitted across his thoughts, figured always as this same little girl in her grand pink Sunday pelisse, trimmed with pink velvet424 and fringes, was now grown up; bonneted425, bewitching, incredible.
“But where—where was her grandfather?” he stammered. “Asleep inside?”
“Asleep?” The rustic grinned. “A long sleep, Oi should reckon. Whoy, we ain’t seen the Gaffer for years.”
“Don’t stand there gossiping.” It was the female martinet427 at her sternest.
“It’s not his fault,” said Will. “I was asking about old Daniel Quarles. Is he really dead?”
“Dead? Not to my knowledge. At least I have never noticed Jinny in black.”
“Then where is he? Why isn’t he looking after Jinny?”
“Eh? But he must be a hundred!”
“You don’t mean to say he lets Jinny go out and do his job?”
“The most natural person I should think,” said Miss Flippance. “Really I haven’t time to discuss village carriers, if the show is to open to-night. . . . Do be careful of that drum. No, not inside, blockhead. Come back!”
As the tambour-laden slave did not seem to hear, his affrighted fellow-serfs yelled to him to bring the drum outside again, and when he was come, the despot’s skirts rustled428 majestically429 back into the tent—they were long and hunched430 out quite fashionably, which accentuated431 the humiliation432 of the male element. But Will remained at the tent door, like Abraham after an angel’s visit, thunderstruck and dumbfounded, but with consternation433, not reverence434. It was, he thought, the grossest carelessness that had ever occurred in the history of the globe. A respectable girl like that—why, what was the world coming to? Sent gadding435 about the country like a trollop, perched up horsily behind a carter’s whip—this was what little Jinny had been allowed to grow up into! And that girl at “The Black Sheep”—she who had looked so innocent, whom he had mentally seen as a May Queen, crowned with garlands, dancing girlishly round a Maypole—this was what lay under her poetic436 semblance437. And at the same time—pleasing and perturbing438 thought—both the unsexed Carrier and the maidenly439 May Queen were in reality little Jinny: no stand-offish stranger, needing deferential440 approach, but—in a way—his very own: the meek441 poppet whose cheek he had always pinched patronizingly, in whose eyes he had always seen himself as a grown-up god.
Miss Flippance, sweeping442 out again, and finding him still hanging about, immovable, had a new thought. “Pardon me—has my father engaged you?”
He coloured up in anger. “I brought his bills in passing—that’s all.”
“Oh, I thought you might be looking for a job. There’s this drum, you know.”
He could have knocked her down. But she was evidently quite in earnest, this outrageous443, humourless female, only second in self-sufficiency to Jinny the Carrier. The world seemed suddenly emasculated.
“I’m no musician,” he said surlily.
“But you look a strong young man and it’s muscle we want, not music. You’d only have to stand here about half an hour a day. This afternoon, of course, you might join the Bellman round the town—I’ve ordered him for five.”
“Miss Flippance,” said Will, mastering himself and speaking with crushing dignity, “have you observed my clothes?”
“They don’t matter,” she assured him. “We provide the uniform.”
“Do I look,” he snorted, “like a drummer at a dime444 show?”
“If you’ve come as a walking gentleman,” replied Miss Flippance simply, “you’ve come to the wrong shop. We’re only wires.”
“Oh, I know all about that.” And he slashed445 savagely446 with his stick at the insulting tambour, which uttered a bass382 roar of agony.
“Splendid! But you might have smashed it!” cried Miss Flippance. “Where’s the drumstick?”
“Am I the drumstick’s keeper?” he answered, with an odd Biblical reminiscence.
“Nincompoops! Thickheads! Zanies! Where’s the drumstick?”
But nobody had seen the drumstick. Jinny hadn’t brought it, the slaves assured her. She assured them, still more emphatically, that they had dropped it off the drum in taking it out. And no inch of it being visible where the cart had stood, she drew the deduction447 that it was now speeding towards Long Bradmarsh.
She turned to Will. “Do run after her—the men are so busy—she can’t be far, and she has to stop every now and again.”
He glared at her. Then something inside him whispered that that was the obvious thing to do—impishly to pretend to obey her, and then to keep her waiting for the drumstick—eternally. Yes, he would be revenged on behalf of his sex.
“Yoicks! Tally-ho!” he cried with an advent of glee that he felt justifiably448 malicious449. And, waving his own stick wildly, he bounded with mock frenzy450 towards the field gate by which the cart had gone off.
“You won’t catch her like that,” bawled451 Miss Flippance after him. “Across the fields! Head her off!” But he would not take orders from any woman, he told himself, so feigning452 deafness he ran doggedly453 into the Long Bradmarsh road, and turning a sharp elbow, felt his heart leap up to see the now familiar cart at a standstill before a wayside cottage. But even as he gazed it started afresh.
He tore on madly. The back of the tilt vanished round another bend. “Following a drumstick” passed grotesquely454 across his mind. What an odd home-coming! What a queer renewal455 of acquaintance with Jinny—after that solemn oath-taking in the wagon!
Presently he heard a wild scampering456 through the bushes on his right, and his canine friend of the inn was leaping and frisking and joyously457 barking beside him. They ran together—owing to the dog’s leisurely tangents and curvatures he could just keep up with it. But with the sweat now pouring from his forehead, the inner imp35 began asking what he was running for, since he had already deceived and chastised459 Miss Flippance, left her eternally expectant. Why not now drop into the pleasant saunter home he had planned?
But the poor dog was panting in this heat—he answered the imp—it must have run miles since its meal in the parlour. Apoplexy threatened perhaps, hydrophobia even. Look at its lolling tongue! He snatched it up: it must be restored to its inconsiderate mistress, to whom, at the same time, a still more important rebuke278 could be administered, if indeed any vestiges460 of decency461 yet remained in the minx. But the little terrier struggled spasmodically in his arms—the ungrateful brute! He must save it from itself, then, just as he must save its mistress from herself. Clamping it to his breast with iron muscles, he toiled462 frenziedly forwards. Then the far, faint sound of a horn came like elfin mocking laughter on the sultry air, and with a sudden convulsion the animal wrested463 itself free, and Will was left hopelessly pursuing, not the cart, but the dog. He had indeed the pleasure of seeing the former slacken to receive the latter, but the vehicle was wafted away again so smoothly464 that to the poor perspiring465 pedestrian Methusalem appeared in his original Mazeppa r?le.
The chase ran along wide horizons—great ploughed lands or meadows with grazing cattle—the level broken only by ricks, roofs, and trees, mainly witch-elms, with a few poplars. Sometimes these elms clustered in groves466, sometimes a few helped to make the hedge-line; as often they rose solitary467 in arrogant468 individualism. To the right was a delicious sense of the saltings and of mewing sea-birds; and mysteriously, as in the heart of the fields, red-brown barge469 sails or the tall, bare poles of vessels470 could be seen upstanding. And once where the road mounted, Will caught a glimpse of the Blackwater, and ships floating, and the dim, blue shore beyond.
But at the top of this hill he was too breathed to continue. He sat down, wiped his forehead, and surveyed the view; far from soothed, however, by its simple restfulness. If only his father had come to meet him, as his letter had requested, he thought savagely, all this wouldn’t have happened!
IX
Anyhow there was no need to follow the glaring high road any longer. On the left he could see the clump471 of Steeples Wood, and he knew that once he had cut through that, he could find the swift field-path through Hoppits that would save miles of the high road and not bring him out on it till the Silverlane Pump. He strolled with a sense of relief towards the wood, but hardly had its green groves closed refreshingly upon him when, reminding himself he was a trespasser472, he quickened his pace again, and hurried through the oak plantations473 and over the wonderful carpet of bluebells474 with but a slight eye to the sylvan475 beauty.
Even when he reached the field-path bounded by the ditch and the dog-rose hedge, he did not relax his speed, having bethought himself that the poor horse would surely be given drink at the trough of the Silverlane Pump, and that there would probably be a delay at “The Silverlane Arms,” even if he should not have succeeded in heading the Carrier off altogether. And from that point she would surely need his protection, so lonely was the road till you sighted Long Bradmarsh with the drainage windmills and the bridge. And the no less necessary sermon could be combined with the protection.
He found the wheel of the village pump chained up. Evidently the water was running scarce. It looked not unlike a gibbet, this tall pump, and he could imagine a criminal dangling476 from the spout477. There was little water in the trough, and the water-butt of the inn was almost equally dry; a wayside mudhole haunted by geese represented a pool. He remembered these arid478 villages in such strange juxtaposition479 with his own oozy480 birthplace—was it here or at Kelcott that he had made a boyish fortune, bringing water at a halfpenny a pint? His mother, he recalled with a faint smile, had been against the business because Jesus had said to the woman of Samaria “Give me to drink,” though he had trumped481 her text with the injunction to the Israelites: “Ye shall also buy water of them for money.” It all made him super-conscious of thirst, and he went into the inn, and ordering a pint of ale, inquired if the Carrier had passed by.
“Which way be you a-gooin’?” said the tapster. It irritated him to be questioned, and he replied tartly482 that he was going home. He gulped down his liquor and put his question to a group of children playing around the pump. They scratched their heads and gaped483 at him, and the youngest put shy, chubby484 hands to its smeary485 face. “The white horse and the girl!” he explained, and the shy child started screaming, and a woman burst from a cottage door and dragged it within, glaring suspiciously at the “furriner.”
A labourer riding a plough-horse barebacked, and leading another, came from the Bradmarsh direction. “Has the Carrier passed you?” he asked.
“D’ye want a lift?” was the reply.
He lost his temper. “Haven’t you got enough business o’ your own?”
“Not much,” said the labourer na?vely. “Ground be as ’ard as the road. Curous, baint it, arter all that soakin’.”
He replied more civilly, glad his rudeness was misunderstood. “Yes, it’s always either too little or too much.”
“And ye can’t sow unless ’tis none-or-both,” added the philosophic486 ploughman, plodding487 on. “Gimme a followin’ toime!”
The rustic meant a season in which rain and sunshine came in rapid alternation, but Will ruefully reflected that the “followin’ toime,” in the sense he was having it, was far from satisfactory.
But at that moment there was a cheerful bark, and that inconsistent dog was curveting around him, its tall thumping wildly against his trousers in an ecstasy488 of recognition. So he was too late, he thought with a strange heart-sinking; knowing its rearguard habit. He pushed it away with his foot. If the beast thought he was going to carry it again, it was jolly well mistaken. No more cart-chasing for him. His “following time” was over. And as the creature persisted in gambolling489 round his legs, he made a swish in the air with his stick to drive it on its way, and it uttered a fearsome yell; it being part of Nip’s slyness to cry before he was hurt. But for once Nip was not a laggard490, but an advance courier, and Fate brought Methusalem round the corner at the exact instant of his yell.
“How dare you strike my dog?” It was an inauspicious reunion. Jinny had checked Methusalem, and her grey eyes were blazing down from their dark lashes491; her face framed in its bonnet426 glowed like a dark flower, and he was confusedly aware that that lonely hamlet’s high-street was suddenly pullulating with people—the tapster and gapers at the inn door, the ploughman looking backwards, excited at last, the little children mysteriously out again with their mother, and other mothers and infants (in arms or at skirt) surging agitatedly492 from nowhere, whether at Nip’s cry or Jinny’s. Even the pump seemed to have spouted493 an old man, while an old lady arose, like an ancient Venus, from the pond. And every eye, he felt, was stabbing at the maltreator of Jinny’s animal; the cackle seemed a sinister clamour as of vengeance494 mounting from that swarm104 of sympathizers.
“I didn’t strike him,” he answered sulkily. Clearly she had not recognized him—a position not without its advantages. Doubtless the raw youth of her childish memories was effectually buried beneath this manly495 form, set off by the elegant London suit, this well-barbered head, and the face that had exchanged freckles496 for the stamp of experience. “As a matter of fact,” he added, “I fed the brute at the inn.”
“Which brute?” retorted Jinny sharply. But at this moment Nip, who had been calmly lapping the dregs of the pool, intervened by leaping up to lick Will’s hand.
“I beg your pardon,” she murmured, coming to a standstill.
“Granted,” he said, not to be outdone in graciousness, and beginning to enjoy the advantage her ignorance of his identity gave him. “But that’s no proof I haven’t beaten him. You remember the saying:
A woman, a dog, and a walnut-tree,
The more you beat them, the better they be.”
“That’s all nonsense,” said Jinny, bridling497 up again.
He changed the subject quickly. “Have you got a drumstick?”
“Gracious! Do you want to try?”
He laughed. “It’s for the drum at the show. Miss Flippance thinks you didn’t deliver it.”
“Why, it was tied on the drum. The fool of a man must have dropped it—if he hasn’t poked498 it inside the drum. Did you look under the benches?”
“No. That’s it! I remember now seeing the man take the drum inside by mistake. He must have dropped it on the way back.”
“Don’t you think it would have been more sensible to look before you leaped—especially such a long leap! And what a pace you must have come in this heat!”
He flushed faintly. “I’m a good walker. I know the cuts.”
“Well, if you get back as quick as you came, there won’t be much time lost.” She clucked up Methusalem. “Good afternoon—hope you’ll find your stick, and that you’ll drum-in a good house.”
What! She too thought him capable of being a drum-banger, a minion81 of marionettes. Had women then no eye—no perception of clothes—as well as no humour? The mob was melting away under their amiable499 parley500, but he now rallied it afresh: “Stop!” he called desperately501 after Jinny. “Stop!”
But Nip’s joyous458 bark at the resumption of the journey drowned all lesser502 remarks, and again the cart receded172 on the horizon—an horizon he knew houseless and arid, no region for a lonely, good-looking girl. Let poor pockmarked Polly Flippance brave the wild, if female carriers there must be: not his Jinny. No, he must reveal himself at the next stop, he must remonstrate503, protest.
But the trouble was that the thing would not stop, and that there would be no stop now—he knew—for several miles. Perspiring, panting, hallooing and waving his stick and utterly504 oblivious505 of the scandalized street, he pursued at his swiftest, and Methusalem being no serious competitor in the long run, Jinny heard him at last, and looking back through the tilt over the dwindled506 packages, saw the pitiful, gesturing figure, and to his infinite relief the cart drew up.
“What have you lost now?” she called. “Your sandwich-boards?”
“I’m not going back to Miss Flippance,” he panted, “I’m going Bradmarsh way.”
“Then why ever didn’t you say so?” she replied calmly. “Jump up!”
Jump up? She asked a strange young man to jump up? Then what else could she have done if he had said who he was—a fact of which he had indeed been just about to make royal proclamation.
“You take passengers?” he gasped. He remembered now that Joey had told him the cart would take him, but then he had had no idea that “her” was not the vehicle.
She was equally surprised: “Why else did you run after me?”
Run after her? He did not like the phrase. Girls ran after men—girls of a sort—to some extent girls of every sort: that was the doctrine in his set. And yet he had run after her—it called for explanation. “I wasn’t running after you,” he said slowly, “it was only that—that I couldn’t believe my eyes to see you like that.”
“Like what?” She was frankly puzzled.
“Driving about alone in this God-forsaken part. It’s—” scandalous, he was about to say, but before the glimmering507 fire in her eyes he altered the word—“it’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous!” Her little laugh rippled508 out. “I thought you said you knew these parts.”
“So I do—I’m an Essex man, even though I mayn’t look it, having been half round the world.”
“Have you now? Well, it’s the big cities that are dangerous, Gran’fer says.”
“Maybe he’s right,” he admitted, wincing509 a little before the candid377 grey eyes. “But don’t you understand that a woman carrier is—” again he toned down his word—“outlandish.”
Her amusement danced in her eyes. “Inlandish, I suppose you mean.”
“Don’t laugh,” he said, forgetting that the unrevealed Will had no right to that tone. “You know it’s an unwomanly occupation.”
“Laughing?”
“You know what I mean. For one thing a woman can’t know much about horses—and she oughtn’t to have to do with ’em anyhow—it’s not natural.”
“May she have to do with donkeys?” Jinny inquired sweetly.
He frowned. “Chaff’s no good.”
“But I never give my horse any—do I, Methusalem dear?”
Such word-mockery was bewildering to his simpler brain. He opened his mouth, but nothing came, and his vexation only increased for finding no vent62.
“May she have to do with pigs?” queried Jinny again.
“Pigs are at home,” he conceded.
“Not always,” she said demurely510. “I meet lots on this very road.”
“And you might meet worse than pigs on a lonely road like this—you might meet men——”
“Like I’ve met one now.”
“Yes, but it happens to be me!” he said, again all but forgetting her ignorance of his identity. “Usually it would be dangerous.”
“Well, but wouldn’t it be just as dangerous for a male carrier?”
“Not at all. He can fight.”
“And if he met a woman?” she said slyly.
“There’s no danger in a woman.”
“Then why are you running away from Miss Flippance?”
“Miss Flippance!” he cried in angry astonishment. “Who says I’m running away from Miss Flippance?”
“Well, you’ve run from her to me. And if you say you weren’t running after me, you must have been running away from her.”
“Don’t you try to bamboozle511 me. I tell you I’ve been half round the world, and nowhere have I seen a woman carrier.”
“If you’d ha’ stayed at home you would have,” said Jinny.
“So it seems. And in America there are those Bloomerites—come over here, too, I hear, nowadays, the hussies. Want to wear the breeches.”
“Do they?” inquired Jinny with genuine interest. “I’ve often thought it would be more convenient for me jumping up and down, and there would be yards of stuff less. Some of those Chipstone ladies quite scavenge the streets with their long skirts, padded out by all those petticoats, don’t you think?”
He grew almost as auburn as his hair: such secrets of the toilette, babbled513 by a young girl he still thought good at heart, outraged514 his sense of decorum.
“No, I don’t think!” he answered angrily.
“Well, try,” she suggested sweetly. “Put yourself into our place.”
“It’s you putting yourselves into our place that’s the trouble,” he retorted. “What will women be up to next, I wonder.”
Here it was Jinny’s turn to flare515 up. She had never—it has been already remarked—thought of herself as up to anything, rarely even thought of herself as a woman, least of all as a representative of her sex. But challenged now to her face for the first time, she felt she must hold the pass for all womanhood.
“We women will be up to whatever we please.”
“Not if you want to please the men.”
Jinny’s young face flashed fire and roses. “And who wants to please the men?”
He laughed complacently. “I never met a woman who didn’t.”
The girl’s fire died into cold contempt. “I don’t think you know much about women.”
“Me? Why, I’ve knocked about since you were in pinafores—and pelisses!”
“I shouldn’t be surprised, Mr. Drummer,” said Jinny with judicial516 frigidity517, “if you knew less about women than I know about horses.”
“I’ve seen half the world, I tell you.”
She flicked518 up Methusalem. “But not the better half.”
He winced519 again. “Fiddlesticks!” was all he could find to answer.
“Drumsticks!” rejoined Jinny gaily520, and with a mocking flourish of her horn, she receded afresh.
Something stronger than his will now shot him forward crying: “I say, Jinny!” He meant by crying that old familiar name to disclose himself, and then to have it out with her, side by side on the driving-board.
She turned her head. “Do you want to jump on or don’t you?” she called.
It was the last straw. Jinny—he had forgotten—-was not a name privileged for the friend of her pelisse and pinafore days: any male might use it, just as any wayside rough might abuse its owner. “I don’t,” he shouted savagely. “I’ll never patronize a woman carrier.”
“A dashing young lad from Buckingham!” She had started singing, whether to herself or at him, he could not tell, and he strode behind the cart almost as rapidly as Methusalem before it, to find out whether she was still answering back.
But apparently she had forgotten him—that was the most pungent521 repartee522 of all—and the gaiety of the chorus only added salt to the smart:
“Still he’d sing fol de rol iddle ol,
?Still he’d sing fol de rol lay——”
The thin silver treble reminded him incongruously of her Sunday-school singing, and the revival523 of that long-faded picture of himself driving her home only emphasized the jarring present. He turned furiously down Plashy Walk, where the rollick of the chorus soon ceased to penetrate524 and the white fragrance525 of the wonderful hawthorn526 avenue made a soothing passage-way. His tongue felt acrid527 with anger, ale, and running, and Frog Farm, with the faces of his parents, now began to loom18 more emotionally before him, because of the tea as well as the tenderness awaiting him. For neither of these luxuries was likely to be absent, even if his letter—or his father—had gone astray. Let her protect herself, this minx of a carrier, Time’s odd changeling for his sober little Jinny. Serve her right if some horrid528 instrument of fate should take down her pride!
By the time he had come through the mile of hawthorn, and defied the Plashy Hall dog with his stick, she had passed out of his thoughts, and his indignation against her had changed to indignation against the impudent529 attempt—obvious from the notice-boards—to deny him and the public this old-established right-of-way. Things would not have got even thus far had he remained in Little Bradmarsh, he was thinking, and he was already brooding over a plan of campaign as he was climbing over the stile back into the high road. And then his vaulting530 leg remained suspended an instant in air in sheer astonishment. Jinny was facing him from her perch417 of vantage, smiling sweetly from her witching bonnet, her cart athwart the road, in fact he could hardly step off the stile without treading on Methusalem’s toes. Relaxing his motion, he sat down on the stile, staring at her.
X
“Why, Will!” exclaimed Jinny, and there was now a strange softness in her face and voice. “How stupid of me not to recognize you when I’ve got your box all the time!”
His mind, still perturbed531 about the right-of-way, and bent now upon home, could not adjust itself so suddenly to the new situation. Again his mouth opened without issue. Her smile faded.
“I’m Daniel Quarles’s granddaughter,” she said with a little quaver. “Little Jinny of Blackwater Hall.”
“So you’ve remembered me at last!” His voice came out harsh, though inwardly he was melted by this new sweetness.
“Then did you know me all the time?”
“Of course—the moment I clapped eyes on you.” He was not consciously romanticizing.
“That’s what I’ve been thinking as I waited here for you. I’m so glad. Because that shows you were only teasing me, saying all those horrid things.” Then a new thought struck her to self-mockery. “Of course—I’m getting silly—it wasn’t so wonderful of you recognizing me, with the name of Daniel Quarles on the cart.” And she laughed merrily. “Do you know why I didn’t recognize you? It wasn’t only Miss Flippance put me off, and that I couldn’t connect you with drums and marionettes—it was you yourself that blocked the way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The old you, I mean—I was thinking about him all the time we were talking, and that funny new you wasn’t like him one bit.”
“Thinking of me!” He was touched. . . . “Whatever made you think of me?”
“Didn’t I just tell you I’ve got your box? And of course I knew you were coming back. We’ve been expecting you for days.”
“Oh, then mother did get my letter!” His latent ill-humour flowed into the new channel.
“Of course.”
“Then why didn’t dad come to meet me?”
Her mouth twitched532 humorously at the corners with the suspicion the letter was still unread, but she replied: “I suppose because he’s old and hasn’t got a trap any more, and he knew that Tuesday was my day. Jump up, I’m ever so late!”
He shook his head. “I can’t jump up.”
“Why, what’s the matter, Will?” Her voice was anxious and tender. “Have you hurt your ankle, running?”
“No, no!” he said petulantly533. “Didn’t you hear me say I’d never patronize a woman carrier?”
She smiled in relief. “Yes—I heard you say it. But that was the silly you.”
His face hardened. “Silly or sensible, I stick to my word.”
“Drumsticks!” she mocked again. “Jump up and tell me all about your affair with Miss Flippance.”
“Don’t be saucy534, Jinny. It don’t become you:”
For the life of him he could not accept her as grown up, much less as an equal, though she sat on high, dominating the situation, whip in hand and horn at girdle, spick and span and cool; while he, astride the stile, was a forlorn figure, with dusty shoes and hot, lowering look.
“It becomes me as much as silliness does you,” said Jinny.
“I don’t see the silliness.”
“Why, you can’t live a week at Frog Farm without patronizing me. Who else is there? There isn’t hardly a trap to be had even miles around. Why there was a young man I drove out to Frog Farm last week, and a fine to-do he had getting home!”
It was not calculated to soothe344 him. “And what need had you to drive a young man?”
“It was for Maria—your mother’s pig. She was ill; her whole litter might have been lost.”
He frowned more darkly. Pigs, he had but just admitted, might reasonably come into the feminine ambit: still, if girls did get to know coarse facts, they might at least have the decency not to talk about them. “And did he call you Jinny?” he grunted.
“He didn’t call me Maria.”
“Well, traps or no traps,” he said sullenly535, “you’ll get no orders from me. I’ve fended for myself in the Canadian backwoods, where there wasn’t even a woman to sew on buttons, and I certainly don’t need one now.”
But she was still smiling. “Do you know the song of the dashing young lad from Buckingham?”
“I know you do. But what’s that to do with it?”
She re-started the merry tune280, but markedly altered the words:
“A dashing young lad from—Canada,
???Once a great wager536 did lay
?That he’d never use Jinny the Carrier,
???But—he gave her an order straightway!”
“No, he won’t.”
“Don’t interrupt. You’ve already given it.
But still he’d sing fol de rol iddle ol——”
“What order have I given you?”
“To carry your box, of course—
Still he’d sing fol de-rol lay——”
“But that was before I had the ghost of an idea——”
“Do join in the chorus:
Still he’d sing fol de rol iddle ol——”
“I’ll have my trunk at once!” he cried furiously, and sprang off the stile.
“Fol de rol arilol lay!” she wound up with easy enjoyment.
“Give me my trunk,” he commanded again.
“What—on this lonely road—in this weather!”
“That’s my business!”
“No, it isn’t—it’s mine.” She touched up Methusalem and turned his eager nose homewards.
Will ran round with the turning animal.
“Give me my trunk!” He was white with determination.
“And don’t you call that an order?” She cracked her great whip.
He sprang to the tail-board, hanging on by one arm, and clutched at the trunk with the other, dragging it out. But he had forgotten to reckon with the faithful guardian537. Nip, excited as at a rabbit, sprang from the basket in which he had been resting his four weary limbs and growled ominously538, and as the burglarious arm did not draw back, the terrier—O almost human ingratitude539!—sprang at it and made his beautiful white teeth meet in its fleshy middle.
“You little beast!” Alarmed more for his finery than his flesh, he snatched back the elegant London sleeve and dropped off the cart, which soon disappeared down a grim and lonely lane.
XI
He examined the wound in his coat, and finding to his relief that it could be neatly540 patched up, he stripped off the garment and surveyed his abraded541 skin, tooth-marked and red-flecked; Nip’s signature in blood. Then the horrible thought of hydrophobia—he had witnessed a dreadful case in Montreal—popped again into his mind: after all, it was as hot as July, and no sane542 dog would have behaved so disgracefully! And then, pricked543 up by the sound of the horn, which came vaunting and taunting544 from the lane, he started running after the cart yet once more: he must find out if the dog would drink. But even the rumbling232 of the vehicle could no longer be heard, and he was slackening hopelessly when he became aware how involuted was this lane, and that by trespassing545 across a ploughed field he could gain several furlongs. Bounding over the ditch with his coat slung546 over his arm, and nearly tearing it afresh in breaking through the blackberry hedge, he ran as recklessly as a fox-hunter across the furrows547, breaking out again like a footpad when he heard Methusalem’s leisurely trot548, and catching549 that unreluctant animal by the beribboned headstall. Jinny manifested no surprise.
“I thought you’d get over your silliness,” she said, smiling. “Jump up then!”
“I’m not jumping up!” He was angrier and hotter than ever. “I’ve come to give your dog a drink.”
“Eh? But we’ve passed ‘The Silverlane Arms.’?”
“This is no joking matter. He must have water.”
“He doesn’t need any. Surely I can look after my own dog—that’s not a man’s place, too, is it?”
“It’s not a question of that—but if he doesn’t drink, it may be fatal.”
“Nonsense. A kind cottager offered him water only a mile back—he didn’t want it. . . . What’s the matter? You’re looking so strange. . . . Have you had a sunstroke?” The alarm in her voice reflected the alarm in his face, and his alarm was in turn augmented550 by hers. He had a weird551 vision of that man in Montreal, thrown into convulsions by the sound of a splash and trying to bite his attendants, and a ghastly memory came to him of a Bradmarsh woman who had frizzled for her foaming552 child the liver of the dog that had bitten it. “Suppose your dog should be mad?” he asked, with white lips that already felt frothy.
“Nip? Nonsense.”
“He bit me.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Where? Let me see.”
“I won’t.”
“But Nip never bites.”
“All the more suspicious. Try him with some water, please.”
“Where can I get water? Nip finds his own.”
“You mean to say you don’t carry water?”
“I’m not a water-carrier.”
“How can you laugh? It’s a question of life and death. Surely there must be a pond somewhere.”
“You know there’s nothing hereabouts. Why, you used to come to Kelcott to sell water at a halfpenny a pint. Don’t you remember? You bought me a monkey-on-a-stick out of the profits.”
“How you babble512! Then I must go in suspense553?”
“Drumsticks! Here, Nip!” The dog was in her lap in a twinkling. She pulled off her driving-glove and thrust her fingers into its mouth. “Bite, Nip, bite.”
Will felt his first conscious flash of romance in all that fagging chase. It was like dying together.
But Nip’s teeth refused to close on his mistress’s fingers—instead he growled ominously at Will.
“Bite, you naughty dog!” And she pressed his reluctant teeth together.
“There!” She held down towards Will two fingers faintly ridged in red and white. But instead of feeling a reassuring554 sanity555, an impulse he felt really mad streamed through his veins556 to seize the little fingers in his strong hands and to pull her down from the seat of the mighty557, down towards the inner breast pocket that held his bank-notes. But his stick and his coat and Methusalem’s bridle558, all of which he was holding simultaneously, cluttered559 up his hands sufficiently560 to clog561 the impulse.
“That proves nothing,” he said sulkily.
“And wasn’t he lapping at the pool after you struck him?”
“Ah, that’s true.” His face lit up.
“Then you did strike him?”
“Don’t tease. Yes, I’d forgotten, he lapped then, or rather I scarcely noticed it.”
“I suppose you shut your eyes when going for him, just like a bull does.”
“I didn’t go for him, I tell you. I just swished my stick.”
“Well, if you’d kept your eyes open, you’d have seen him drinking and saved your fright.”
He was disappointed as well as irritated. “Then when you let him bite you, you knew there was no danger.”
“There’s never any danger on these roads—didn’t I tell you so? Why, there was more danger in that monkey you gave me, for I sucked the paint off.”
“I don’t remember giving you any monkey.”
“I didn’t want a monkey, but you made me take it—like that oath in the wagon. Perhaps you’ve forgotten that too.”
“I can remember giving you a kiss,” he jerked defiantly562.
“That I can’t remember,” said Jinny quietly.
“Suppose you’ve had so many since.”
“Lots!” said Jinny. “Good-bye again, if you’re so silly. Gee331 up, Methusalem!”
But he clung to the bridle and was dragged along, to Nip’s shrilled563 agitation564.
“Let go,” said Jinny. “Don’t be silly.”
“Not till I have my trunk.”
“That’s sillier still.”
“Give me my trunk.”
“I think you have gone mad, Will.”
“That’s not your affair, Miss Quarles, I want my trunk.”
“I was ordered to deliver it at Frog Farm.”
“And I order you to deliver it to me.”
“Let go.” She cracked her whip in his direction.
“You little spitfire! If you touch me with that whip I’ll have an action against you—as well as against your dog.”
“Let go my horse then.”
“I’m within my legal rights, as any male carrier would know. I demand my trunk.”
“And I demand my horse. Let go!”
“I won’t.” He was running along with it now, keeping pace with the mystified Methusalem.
“Oh, Will!” she cried. “And you said that on a lonely road I might meet a man.”
“Well—you have now!” he said viciously.
“Yes—the first in all my life to give me trouble.”
That hurt worse than any whip. He loosed the festive565 bridle, staggering a little, and the cart rolled past him. Only what was that little object in the road?
Ah, in the altercation566 she had forgotten to put on her glove again after that dramatic offer of her fingers to the dog—it had tumbled down. ’Twould pay her out to lose it, he thought savagely. However, he thrust it into the inner waistcoat pocket where his paper fortune reposed so comfortingly. But as again he saw the tail-board with his now protruding567 box vanishing round a corner, a blind rage began to possess him. Surely he was not thus entirely568 to be thwarted569 and overridden570. Surely, at least, he would not endure her actual delivery of his box at Frog Farm. No, he must head her off again, if only outside his own gate. Across his border a woman carrier must in no circumstances be countenanced571. And once more the unfortunate Will Flynt ploughed through the hedges and meadows, not always remembering the prickly places; and finally chased by a bull on which he had to turn several times with his coat and his stick, just like a toreador; though, remembering what Jinny had just said about the bull shutting its eyes, he dodged573 it at the charging crises, and thus saved both coat and skin. But he was forced to scramble574 ignominiously575 over a fence into the high road, still a good mile from Bradmarsh Bridge, at the very moment the cart came clattering576 up.
But if Jinny had observed the Spanish bull-fight she gave no sign. What she said, as she reined577 in Methusalem, was much more surprising.
“I’ve been thinking you were within your legal right, Will. I’m sorry. A carrier must deliver goods as ordered. So if you’re still silly——!”
If she had stopped before the final clause, he might have been touched by the unexpected surrender. As it was, he only said icily, “How much do I owe you?”
“Sixpence,” she said as frigidly578, “unless you’d like a reduction for my not taking it all the way.”
“No, thank you.” He passed the coin, grazing her warm fingers.
“By the way, you didn’t happen to see my glove?” she said.
“Your glove?” he repeated. Why, indeed, should he fetch and carry for her? Let her be punished for her negligence579. He moved towards his box.
“Oh, well—I suppose it’ll be there on Friday,” she said. “I’m the only person who ever goes that cut.”
“Drumsticks aren’t the only things that are dropped,” he observed maliciously580.
“No,” she agreed simply. She did not even seem to remember how she had trounced “that fool of a man.” No sense of humour in the sex, he reflected again.
“Do hold the brute!” he cried, for Nip was again showing his teeth in defence of the box.
“If you kept off a bull, you don’t need protection against a terrier,” she replied, and to his further amazement581 there was a note of admiration582 in her voice.
“The weaker the thing the harder it is to fight,” he rejoined significantly. He had his back now to the cart, and he hoisted583 his trunk upon it.
“You’re not going to carry it?” There was incredulity in her voice, for it was a box that looked nearly as long as himself.
“Who else?” He shifted the box to his right shoulder, which he had padded with his coat.
“I thought you’d go home and get a truck or something.”
“And leave it on the road?”
“It’s just as safe as my glove.”
“There’s no safety for either,” he said oracularly, “if a man like me comes along.” And he swaggered forwards with his huge load.
“Why, you’re as strong as the bull!” said Jinny.
“I am.” He was flattered.
“And as obstinate584 as a mule!”
He increased his pace.
“Good-bye, Will!”
He did not answer.
Methusalem caught him up. “Since you are going to Frog Farm,” said the Carrier, “why not take your folks’ groceries too? I don’t usually get ’em till Friday, but when I got your order to go there to-day——!”
“Why should I do your jobs?”
“Just what I told you. You can’t live a week at Frog Farm without me.”
“Give me the parcel.” His forehead was already beaded with perspiration585, but his left hand heroically held out his stick: “Slide the string on this.”
She shook her head. “Still he’d sing fol de rol lay,” she trilled, and in a minute he was hopelessly left behind. The road had already begun the ascent586 towards Long Bradmarsh, but he heard her goading587 Methusalem to greater efforts, as though in fear lest he should repent588 under the burden of his obstinacy589.
XII
As soon as she was safely out of sight, Will, breathing heavily, slackened his showy pace, and very soon lowered his load altogether and sat down upon it, while he wiped his streaming countenance572. The physical relief was great. A lark590 was singing overhead and his eyes followed it restfully till he couldn’t tell whether the throb591 was singing or the song throbbing592. He must smoke his pipe by this wayside grass after all that scurrying593 and squabbling. Fumbling594 for his matches, he felt the bulge of the glove and softened595 still more. Anyhow he had been victorious596 over the vixen, and he was resting on his laurels597, so to speak. Now that she realized he would never recognize her as a carrier, he could afford to give her one of the Canadian fal-lals he had bought at Moses & Son’s for his mother, and which now reposed in the box arching beneath him. That would make her think he had not forgotten her even in Canada, and anyhow it would show her he bore no malice598 for the bite or even for her bark. Surveying the landscape, he recognized that by going on a little he would strike the turning to the bridge and “The King of Prussia,” where he might possibly find a trap. The hussy need never know he had broken down. But as he sat there lazily smoking and evoking599 his boyhood and her part therein, the best part of an hour sped glamorously600, and suddenly he saw red. Caleb Flynt, equally coatless, was hastening from the Bradmarsh direction as fast as his aged45 limbs could carry him.
“Hullo, dad!” he cried, startled. “Same old shirt!”
Caleb grinned. “Keeps her colour, don’t she?”
“But why didn’t you come to meet me?” said Will, recalling his grievance601.
“Oi did—soon as Jinny come and told us she’d passed you carrying your chest and you might want a hand. Is that the hutch? Dash my buttons, you must ha’ growed up like Samson! Fancy carryin’ that all the way from Chipstone in the strong sun!”
Will did not deny the feat—the explanation would really have been too complicated. In his embarrassment602, he overlooked that his father had not really answered his question. “And how’s mother?” he said.
“Mother’s in a great old state. ’Nation mad with Jinny.”
“Why, what’s Jinny done?”
“Sow neglectful. ‘Bein’ as you passed him by,’ says mother to she, ‘why dedn’t you stop and pick up the chest?’?”
He looked uncomfortable. “And what did Jinny say?”
“She said she dedn’t reckonize the old you when she dreft by, and besides she was singing-like.”
He winced at the reminder603 of the song, but was grateful to her for telling so truthful604 a lie: instinctively605 he felt that his folks having accepted a woman carrier with such brainless acquiescence606 would fail to enter into the fine shades of his feeling.
“Mother hadn’t a right to make a noise with Jinny,” he said.
“She only kitched of a fire for a moment. ’Twas more over you than over Jinny, Oi should reckon. Bust177 into tears, she did, and when Oi said maybe as Jinny was mistook she nearly bit my head off. ‘Too lazy-boned to goo and give a hand to your own buoy-oy,’ says she. ‘Ain’t he shifted for hisself nigh ten years?’ says Oi. ‘Can’t you wait ten minutes more? Oi count he’ll be here before the New Jerusalem,’ says Oi. That dedn’t pacify607 her much, bein’ a female. Cowld-blooded—she called me. ‘There’s feythers,’ says she, ‘as ’ud be trimmed out with colours like Jinny’s hoss—not leave it to a gal74 as is no relation to decorate even her dog in his honour.’ ‘That’s for May Day,’ says Oi. ‘All wery fine,’ says she. ‘But May Day’s over and gone six days’—she’s a rare un for figgers is mother—‘time enough,’ says she, ‘for God to create the world in.’ ‘Maybe you’d like flags flourishin’ and flutterin’, says Oi, jocoshus like, ‘but Oi ain’t got no flags save my old muckinger.’ And with that, bein’ more shook than I let on, Oi blowed my nose into it, wery trumpet-like, and that seemed to quieten her, for her tantarums be over now, and the onny noise she’s makin’ is the fryin’ o’ them little old weal sausages for you.”
“Good!” cried the Prodigal608 Son, his face transfigured. “She remembered my passion for veal307 sausages!”
“?‘And there’s pickled walnuts609 too! Put them out likewise,’ says Oi, ‘for ’tis a poor heart that never rejoices.’?”
“But that’s your passion, not mine.”
“That’s what mother said. ‘But baint Oi to get no compensation?’ says Oi. And why dedn’t you write to her all these years, Willie?”
His face darkened again. “I’m no great shakes with a quill610. And there wasn’t anything to say. I did write once to tell you I was safe across the Atlantic and was gone to make my fortune.”
“We dedn’t never get no letter.”
“No—it came back months after. I forgot to put England on it, thinking maybe Essex was enough. But it seems there’s a Mount Essex in the States, down Wyoming way, and the Yanks always think everything is for them. So I thought I’d best let things be, being on the go in those days.”
Caleb fully141 sympathized with the plea. “And have ye made your fortune, Will?” he inquired meekly611.
“That depends on your idea of a fortune,” Will parried. But he had a complacent consciousness of those bank-notes behind the glove.
“My idea of a fortune be faith in God,” said Caleb.
“Yes, yes, I know.” The young man got off the box impatiently.
Caleb tugged at one of its handles.
“Lord, that’s lugsome!” he said, letting the long heavy chest subside612. “Ef you ain’t come back rich, you’ve come back middlin’ powerful. All the way from Chipstone!” He clucked his tongue admiringly.
Having once left the miracle undenied, and feeling the situation now altogether beyond explanation to the bucolic613 intellect, Will again silently acquiesced in the Herculean imputation614 and took the other handle. “But why didn’t you bring a cart or a truck?” he asked as they began walking cumbrously towards the bridge.
“Ain’t got nowt but a wheelbarrow,” Caleb explained. “Times is changed—-Oi ain’t looker no more, and there’s two housen now. Old Peartree got to have a separate door, but ’twas a good bargain Oi put my cross to with the son o’ the Cornish furriner what Oi warked for these thirty-nine year. Mother will have it she’d ha’ made a cuter deal, she bein’ a dapster in figgers and reckonin’ out to a day when the New Jerusalem will be droppin’ down, but Oi don’t howd with women doin’ men’s business, bein’ as your rib85 can’t be your head.”
“I quite agree,” said Will, surprised to find such enlightened sentiments in his queer old parent. “But tell me about Ben and Isaac and the others.”
“They don’t write neither. We was lookin’ to you to tell us about the others as went furrin. Ben should be a barber in America, and they say as Christopher’s got a woife, colour o’ coffee.”
“Nonsense, dad!”
“Well, maybe ’twas Isaac.”
“No Flynt would marry a nigger woman,” said Will decisively.
“Oi’m right glad to hear it,” said Caleb. “For Oi count the young ’uns ’ud come out streaky and spotty like pigeons or cattle, and though they likely turn white when they die, and their souls be white all the time, Oi could never be comfortable along o’ finch-backed gran’childer.”
With such discourse615 they beguiled616 the heavy way, trudging617 behind their tall shadows, till at the gate of the drive of Frog Farm they saw Martha peering eagerly along the avenue of witch-elms. In another instant Will, letting go his box-handle, was choked in her hug and wetted by her tears.
“I can smell those sausages right here, mother,” he said, with a smile and a half sob94. “How do ye howd?” And he emphasized the homely618 old idiom by patting her wrinkled cheek. She caught his hand in hers, and he was touched by the thin worn wedding-ring on the gnarled and freckled619 hand. His eyes roved round. “But surely this ain’t the house I was born in. Why, that was a giant’s castle.”
Caleb looked a bit uneasy: “You’re sure this be Will?” he asked Martha in one of his thundrous whispers.
“Why, I’d know him in a hundred.”
“Well, there’s onny nine or ten.” And he laughed gleefully.
“Do be easy, Caleb. You’re getting as unrestful as Bundock.”
“I’m Will right enough,” Will intervened. “Only everything seems to have got so small. Come along, dad.” He took up his side of the box:
“Gracious goodness!” cried Martha, perceiving it at last. “My poor Will! Lugging620 that from Chipstone! Why didn’t you call to Jinny to stop and take it?”
“How was I to know that that was Jinny’s cart dashing by?” he said, moving forward quickly. “I suppose you didn’t ask her to stay for the sausages?” he added lightly.
“I couldn’t ask her, dearie,” said Martha. “She was terrible late, she said, and I know how crotched her wicked old grandfather gets at feeding-time.”
“How big she’s grown!” he observed carelessly.
“Big!” They both repeated the word, but from a different surprise.
“You said you didn’t see her,” said Martha sharply.
“I saw a big young woman flying by in the cart—I didn’t know then it was Jinny.”
“But you just said everything’s growed so little,” chuckled Caleb.
“So it has—all except Jinny.”
“And she isn’t so very big,” said Martha, “rather undersized, some folks would say.”
“Well, I’m not so oversized myself,” said Will.
“Will’s seen her toplofty over Methusalem,” explained Caleb. “Wait till he sees her on her pegs621.”
“But I did see her on her pegs,” said Will, “at ‘The Black Sheep’!”
“Then why did you goo and carry that little old box?” inquired Caleb.
“She wasn’t in the cart then—how was I to guess she was the Carrier?” he answered crossly.
“But you could ha’ ast for the Bradmarsh carrier.”
“The coach was late,” he snapped.
“But Jinny hadn’t started yet,” persisted Caleb. “Bein’ as you seen her there.”
“Legends, my boy, legends.” Tony Flip’s euphemism622 for lies rang in Will’s brain. But legends, he was finding, are not easy to sustain. One lie breeds many, and he was sorry now he had allowed himself to be made a champion weight-lifter. “I thought being so late ’twas no use asking for the Carrier—’twas you I expected,” he said, turning the war back into the enemy’s country.
But they had now lumbered623 up with the box to the twin doors, and the task of dumping down the subject of discussion in a convenient place stayed the cross-examination.
The feast for the Prodigal Son had been laid in the parlour, and the scent of the fried sausages came appetizingly on the evening air, more poetic than any of Nature’s competing odours.
“Why, there’s my letter!” cried Will at the parlour door, beholding it on the mantelpiece. “You might have let me know you couldn’t meet me.”
He went in and took it down. “Not opened?” he cried crossly, the muggy624 atmosphere of the sealed chamber160 adding to his irritation625. “And I told you exactly the day and hour I was coming!”
“We haven’t had time to get it read yet, dearie,” said Martha mildly. “I was going to take it to the dressmaker, but Saturdays I’m so busy and Sunday was Sunday, and yesterday I felt as if my ribs626 were grating together, and to-day was too hot.”
“Well, I shan’t write again in a hurry,” he said peevishly627, and was about to tear the letter in twain. But Martha snatched it from him with a cry and slipped it into her bosom.
“Sit down, Will,” she pleaded. “Your sausages are spoiling.”
But the Prodigal Son would not batten at once upon the fatted calf628. He felt too dusty, he said, and then, imperiously pushing at the diamond-paned casement77 and realizing with disgust it would not open, vanished in search of soap.
“He can’t be well,” whimpered Martha.
“Don’t worrit, dear heart,” Caleb consoled her. “Oi count even Samson wanted a wash arter he’d lugged629 that little old gate up the hill from Gazy.”
点击收听单词发音
1 marvel | |
vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异;n.令人惊异的事 | |
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2 marvels | |
n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 );令人惊奇的事物(或事例);不平凡的成果;成就v.惊奇,对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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3 miseries | |
n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 );痛苦的事;穷困;常发牢骚的人 | |
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4 hips | |
abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯,耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 );[建筑学]屋脊;臀围(尺寸);臀部…的 | |
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5 parvenu | |
n.暴发户,新贵 | |
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6 obstruction | |
n.阻塞,堵塞;障碍物 | |
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7 complacently | |
adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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8 complacent | |
adj.自满的;自鸣得意的 | |
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9 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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10 prod | |
vt.戳,刺;刺激,激励 | |
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11 slumbering | |
微睡,睡眠(slumber的现在分词形式) | |
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12 worthies | |
应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 ); 值得做某事; 可尊敬的; 有(某人或事物)的典型特征 | |
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13 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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14 deposing | |
v.罢免( depose的现在分词 );(在法庭上)宣誓作证 | |
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15 dispensing | |
v.分配( dispense的现在分词 );施与;配(药) | |
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16 concession | |
n.让步,妥协;特许(权) | |
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17 retailed | |
vt.零售(retail的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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18 loom | |
n.织布机,织机;v.隐现,(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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19 holocaust | |
n.大破坏;大屠杀 | |
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20 dames | |
n.(在英国)夫人(一种封号),夫人(爵士妻子的称号)( dame的名词复数 );女人 | |
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21 sodden | |
adj.浑身湿透的;v.使浸透;使呆头呆脑 | |
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22 grumble | |
vi.抱怨;咕哝;n.抱怨,牢骚;咕哝,隆隆声 | |
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23 smothered | |
(使)窒息, (使)透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 ); 覆盖; 忍住; 抑制 | |
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24 clout | |
n.用手猛击;权力,影响力 | |
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25 fickle | |
adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的,不坚定的 | |
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26 conversed | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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27 cosmopolitan | |
adj.世界性的,全世界的,四海为家的,全球的 | |
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28 refreshing | |
adj.使精神振作的,使人清爽的,使人喜欢的 | |
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29 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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30 thatch | |
vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部;n.茅草(屋) | |
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31 sleepers | |
n.卧铺(通常以复数形式出现);卧车( sleeper的名词复数 );轨枕;睡觉(呈某种状态)的人;小耳环 | |
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32 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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33 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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34 second-hand | |
adj.用过的,旧的,二手的 | |
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35 imp | |
n.顽童 | |
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36 aloof | |
adj.远离的;冷淡的,漠不关心的 | |
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37 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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38 shutters | |
百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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39 arabesque | |
n.阿拉伯式花饰;adj.阿拉伯式图案的 | |
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40 obeisance | |
n.鞠躬,敬礼 | |
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41 bardic | |
adj.吟游诗人的 | |
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42 lustre | |
n.光亮,光泽;荣誉 | |
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43 arbiter | |
n.仲裁人,公断人 | |
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44 acquiesced | |
v.默认,默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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46 mentors | |
n.(无经验之人的)有经验可信赖的顾问( mentor的名词复数 )v.(无经验之人的)有经验可信赖的顾问( mentor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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47 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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48 reposed | |
v.将(手臂等)靠在某人(某物)上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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50 sable | |
n.黑貂;adj.黑色的 | |
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51 permissible | |
adj.可允许的,许可的 | |
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52 labyrinths | |
迷宫( labyrinth的名词复数 ); (文字,建筑)错综复杂的 | |
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53 metropolis | |
n.首府;大城市 | |
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54 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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55 competence | |
n.能力,胜任,称职 | |
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56 carnival | |
n.嘉年华会,狂欢,狂欢节,巡回表演 | |
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57 colossal | |
adj.异常的,庞大的 | |
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58 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
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59 complexions | |
肤色( complexion的名词复数 ); 面色; 局面; 性质 | |
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60 plying | |
v.使用(工具)( ply的现在分词 );经常供应(食物、饮料);固定往来;经营生意 | |
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61 gliding | |
v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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62 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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63 stolid | |
adj.无动于衷的,感情麻木的 | |
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64 civic | |
adj.城市的,都市的,市民的,公民的 | |
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65 countless | |
adj.无数的,多得不计其数的 | |
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66 dealers | |
n.商人( dealer的名词复数 );贩毒者;毒品贩子;发牌者 | |
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67 vendors | |
n.摊贩( vendor的名词复数 );小贩;(房屋等的)卖主;卖方 | |
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68 glided | |
v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
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69 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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70 phenomena | |
n.现象 | |
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71 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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72 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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73 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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74 gal | |
n.姑娘,少女 | |
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75 situated | |
adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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76 casements | |
n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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77 casement | |
n.竖铰链窗;窗扉 | |
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78 panes | |
窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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79 beholding | |
v.看,注视( behold的现在分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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80 dominion | |
n.统治,管辖,支配权;领土,版图 | |
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81 minion | |
n.宠仆;宠爱之人 | |
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82 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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83 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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84 agog | |
adj.兴奋的,有强烈兴趣的; adv.渴望地 | |
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85 rib | |
n.肋骨,肋状物 | |
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86 antediluvian | |
adj.史前的,陈旧的 | |
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87 millennial | |
一千年的,千福年的 | |
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88 reeking | |
v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 );散发臭气;发出难闻的气味 (of sth);明显带有(令人不快或生疑的跡象) | |
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89 wrangles | |
n.(尤指长时间的)激烈争吵,口角,吵嘴( wrangle的名词复数 )v.争吵,争论,口角( wrangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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90 skits | |
n.讽刺文( skit的名词复数 );小喜剧;若干;一群 | |
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91 provincial | |
adj.省的,地方的;n.外省人,乡下人 | |
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92 immortality | |
n.不死,不朽 | |
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93 pillage | |
v.抢劫;掠夺;n.抢劫,掠夺;掠夺物 | |
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94 sob | |
n.空间轨道的轰炸机;呜咽,哭泣 | |
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95 flaunting | |
adj.招摇的,扬扬得意的,夸耀的v.炫耀,夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 );有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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96 cardinals | |
红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 ); 红衣凤头鸟(见于北美,雄鸟为鲜红色); 基数 | |
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97 continental | |
adj.大陆的,大陆性的,欧洲大陆的 | |
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98 resounded | |
v.(指声音等)回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 );产生回响;(指某处)回荡着声音 | |
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99 profanation | |
n.亵渎 | |
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100 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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101 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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102 rife | |
adj.(指坏事情)充斥的,流行的,普遍的 | |
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103 collapse | |
vi.累倒;昏倒;倒塌;塌陷 | |
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104 swarm | |
n.(昆虫)等一大群;vi.成群飞舞;蜂拥而入 | |
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105 swarming | |
密集( swarm的现在分词 ); 云集; 成群地移动; 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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106 dismantled | |
拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 ); 拆卸; 废除; 取消 | |
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107 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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108 indefatigable | |
adj.不知疲倦的,不屈不挠的 | |
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109 nave | |
n.教堂的中部;本堂 | |
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110 climax | |
n.顶点;高潮;v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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111 hoary | |
adj.古老的;鬓发斑白的 | |
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112 reigned | |
vi.当政,统治(reign的过去式形式) | |
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113 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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114 rattling | |
adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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115 seismic | |
a.地震的,地震强度的 | |
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116 vibration | |
n.颤动,振动;摆动 | |
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117 wagons | |
n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 );铁路货车;小手推车 | |
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118 wagon | |
n.四轮马车,手推车,面包车;无盖运货列车 | |
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119 mule | |
n.骡子,杂种,执拗的人 | |
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120 cape | |
n.海角,岬;披肩,短披风 | |
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121 shimmering | |
v.闪闪发光,发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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122 lure | |
n.吸引人的东西,诱惑物;vt.引诱,吸引 | |
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123 glamour | |
n.魔力,魅力;vt.迷住 | |
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124 respite | |
n.休息,中止,暂缓 | |
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125 lucre | |
n.金钱,财富 | |
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126 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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127 craving | |
n.渴望,热望 | |
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128 flattened | |
[医](水)平扁的,弄平的 | |
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129 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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130 diminutive | |
adj.小巧可爱的,小的 | |
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131 blistered | |
adj.水疮状的,泡状的v.(使)起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 );(使表皮等)涨破,爆裂 | |
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132 bulge | |
n.突出,膨胀,激增;vt.突出,膨胀 | |
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133 tinkling | |
n.丁当作响声 | |
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134 rambling | |
adj.[建]凌乱的,杂乱的 | |
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135 whitewashed | |
粉饰,美化,掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136 medley | |
n.混合 | |
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137 hunch | |
n.预感,直觉 | |
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138 reassurance | |
n.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
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139 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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140 seething | |
沸腾的,火热的 | |
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141 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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142 tightened | |
收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)变紧; (使)绷紧; 加紧 | |
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143 contraction | |
n.缩略词,缩写式,害病 | |
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144 factotum | |
n.杂役;听差 | |
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145 tilt | |
v.(使)倾侧;(使)倾斜;n.倾侧;倾斜 | |
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146 boisterously | |
adv.喧闹地,吵闹地 | |
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147 liar | |
n.说谎的人 | |
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148 juvenile | |
n.青少年,少年读物;adj.青少年的,幼稚的 | |
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149 dispelled | |
v.驱散,赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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150 funereal | |
adj.悲哀的;送葬的 | |
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151 meditations | |
默想( meditation的名词复数 ); 默念; 沉思; 冥想 | |
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152 auld | |
adj.老的,旧的 | |
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153 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
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154 pouches | |
n.(放在衣袋里或连在腰带上的)小袋( pouch的名词复数 );(袋鼠等的)育儿袋;邮袋;(某些动物贮存食物的)颊袋 | |
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155 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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156 comely | |
adj.漂亮的,合宜的 | |
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157 accost | |
v.向人搭话,打招呼 | |
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158 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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159 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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160 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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161 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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162 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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163 immutable | |
adj.不可改变的,永恒的 | |
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164 granite | |
adj.花岗岩,花岗石 | |
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165 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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166 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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167 landlady | |
n.女房东,女地主 | |
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168 conjured | |
用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 ); 祈求,恳求; 变戏法; (变魔术般地) 使…出现 | |
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169 derided | |
v.取笑,嘲笑( deride的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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170 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
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171 leisurely | |
adj.悠闲的;从容的,慢慢的 | |
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172 receded | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
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173 compulsory | |
n.强制的,必修的;规定的,义务的 | |
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174 windings | |
(道路、河流等)蜿蜒的,弯曲的( winding的名词复数 ); 缠绕( wind的现在分词 ); 卷绕; 转动(把手) | |
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175 detours | |
绕行的路( detour的名词复数 ); 绕道,兜圈子 | |
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176 hind | |
adj.后面的,后部的 | |
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177 bust | |
vt.打破;vi.爆裂;n.半身像;胸部 | |
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178 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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179 yelped | |
v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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180 tangling | |
(使)缠结, (使)乱作一团( tangle的现在分词 ) | |
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181 frantically | |
ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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182 upwards | |
adv.向上,在更高处...以上 | |
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183 sniffing | |
n.探查法v.以鼻吸气,嗅,闻( sniff的现在分词 );抽鼻子(尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气);抱怨,不以为然地说 | |
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184 ambrosial | |
adj.美味的 | |
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185 elation | |
n.兴高采烈,洋洋得意 | |
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186 beckoning | |
adj.引诱人的,令人心动的v.(用头或手的动作)示意,召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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187 ascend | |
vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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188 symbolic | |
adj.象征性的,符号的,象征主义的 | |
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189 queried | |
v.质疑,对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 );询问 | |
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190 stuffy | |
adj.不透气的,闷热的 | |
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191 dingy | |
adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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192 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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193 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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194 pangs | |
突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 ); 悲痛 | |
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195 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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196 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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197 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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198 disparagement | |
n.轻视,轻蔑 | |
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199 greasy | |
adj. 多脂的,油脂的 | |
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200 sloppy | |
adj.邋遢的,不整洁的 | |
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201 rims | |
n.(圆形物体的)边( rim的名词复数 );缘;轮辋;轮圈 | |
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202 pastry | |
n.油酥面团,酥皮糕点 | |
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203 masticating | |
v.咀嚼( masticate的现在分词 );粉碎,磨烂 | |
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204 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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205 refreshingly | |
adv.清爽地,有精神地 | |
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206 devastated | |
v.彻底破坏( devastate的过去式和过去分词);摧毁;毁灭;在感情上(精神上、财务上等)压垮adj.毁坏的;极为震惊的 | |
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207 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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208 pickles | |
n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 );处于困境;遇到麻烦;菜酱 | |
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209 pint | |
n.品脱 | |
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210 dismalness | |
阴沉的 | |
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211 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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212 crumbs | |
int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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213 bravado | |
n.虚张声势,故作勇敢,逞能 | |
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214 populous | |
adj.人口稠密的,人口众多的 | |
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215 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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216 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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217 quaffed | |
v.痛饮( quaff的过去式和过去分词 );畅饮;大口大口将…喝干;一饮而尽 | |
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218 voluptuously | |
adv.风骚地,体态丰满地 | |
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219 irrelevantly | |
adv.不恰当地,不合适地;不相关地 | |
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220 gasp | |
n.喘息,气喘;v.喘息;气吁吁他说 | |
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221 gasped | |
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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222 maker | |
n.制造者,制造商 | |
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223 vitality | |
n.活力,生命力,效力 | |
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224 busting | |
打破,打碎( bust的现在分词 ); 突击搜查(或搜捕); (使)降级,降低军阶 | |
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225 bowling | |
n.保龄球运动 | |
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226 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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227 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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228 sundry | |
adj.各式各样的,种种的 | |
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229 landladies | |
n.女房东,女店主,女地主( landlady的名词复数 ) | |
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230 cringing | |
adj.谄媚,奉承 | |
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231 grumbling | |
adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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232 rumbling | |
n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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233 bullies | |
n.欺凌弱小者, 开球 vt.恐吓, 威胁, 欺负 | |
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234 evoked | |
[医]诱发的 | |
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235 wafted | |
v.吹送,飘送,(使)浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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236 simultaneously | |
adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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237 fended | |
v.独立生活,照料自己( fend的过去式和过去分词 );挡开,避开 | |
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238 canine | |
adj.犬的,犬科的 | |
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239 sentry | |
n.哨兵,警卫 | |
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240 whining | |
n. 抱怨,牢骚 v. 哭诉,发牢骚 | |
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241 prettily | |
adv.优美地;可爱地 | |
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242 morsel | |
n.一口,一点点 | |
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243 gulped | |
v.狼吞虎咽地吃,吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 );大口地吸(气);哽住 | |
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244 posture | |
n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
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245 supplication | |
n.恳求,祈愿,哀求 | |
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246 brute | |
n.野兽,兽性 | |
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247 pounce | |
n.猛扑;v.猛扑,突然袭击,欣然同意 | |
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248 acquiescent | |
adj.默许的,默认的 | |
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249 scent | |
n.气味,香味,香水,线索,嗅觉;v.嗅,发觉 | |
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250 caressing | |
爱抚的,表现爱情的,亲切的 | |
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251 beatific | |
adj.快乐的,有福的 | |
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252 grunt | |
v.嘟哝;作呼噜声;n.呼噜声,嘟哝 | |
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253 alluring | |
adj.吸引人的,迷人的 | |
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254 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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255 cowering | |
v.畏缩,抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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256 bliss | |
n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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257 streak | |
n.条理,斑纹,倾向,少许,痕迹;v.加条纹,变成条纹,奔驰,快速移动 | |
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258 languorous | |
adj.怠惰的,没精打采的 | |
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259 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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260 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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261 drowsily | |
adv.睡地,懒洋洋地,昏昏欲睡地 | |
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262 sluggishly | |
adv.懒惰地;缓慢地 | |
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263 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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264 puffing | |
v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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265 vibrations | |
n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 );震动;感受;(偏离平衡位置的)一次性往复振动 | |
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266 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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267 nostrils | |
鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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268 wizened | |
adj.凋谢的;枯槁的 | |
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269 loathsomely | |
adv.令人讨厌地,可厌地 | |
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270 sinuously | |
弯曲的,蜿蜒的 | |
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271 abhorrence | |
n.憎恶;可憎恶的事 | |
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272 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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273 censured | |
v.指责,非难,谴责( censure的过去式 ) | |
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274 slashing | |
adj.尖锐的;苛刻的;鲜明的;乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 );鞭打;割破;削减 | |
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275 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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276 grimace | |
v.做鬼脸,面部歪扭 | |
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277 beacons | |
灯塔( beacon的名词复数 ); 烽火; 指路明灯; 无线电台或发射台 | |
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278 rebuke | |
v.指责,非难,斥责 [反]praise | |
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279 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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280 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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281 loomed | |
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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282 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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283 isolation | |
n.隔离,孤立,分解,分离 | |
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284 beguiling | |
adj.欺骗的,诱人的v.欺骗( beguile的现在分词 );使陶醉;使高兴;消磨(时间等) | |
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285 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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286 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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287 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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288 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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289 puffed | |
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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290 mumbled | |
含糊地说某事,叽咕,咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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291 squeak | |
n.吱吱声,逃脱;v.(发出)吱吱叫,侥幸通过;(俚)告密 | |
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292 scamper | |
v.奔跑,快跑 | |
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293 swarms | |
蜂群,一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
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294 slate | |
n.板岩,石板,石片,石板色,候选人名单;adj.暗蓝灰色的,含板岩的;vt.用石板覆盖,痛打,提名,预订 | |
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295 rascal | |
n.流氓;不诚实的人 | |
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296 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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297 abortive | |
adj.不成功的,发育不全的 | |
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298 conjuring | |
n.魔术 | |
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299 sleight | |
n.技巧,花招 | |
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300 sipping | |
v.小口喝,呷,抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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301 protruded | |
v.(使某物)伸出,(使某物)突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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302 protrude | |
v.使突出,伸出,突出 | |
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303 jovial | |
adj.快乐的,好交际的 | |
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304 ponderous | |
adj.沉重的,笨重的,(文章)冗长的 | |
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305 slippers | |
n. 拖鞋 | |
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306 muncher | |
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307 veal | |
n.小牛肉 | |
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308 rubicund | |
adj.(脸色)红润的 | |
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309 genially | |
adv.亲切地,和蔼地;快活地 | |
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310 espying | |
v.看到( espy的现在分词 ) | |
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311 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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312 circumvented | |
v.设法克服或避免(某事物),回避( circumvent的过去式和过去分词 );绕过,绕行,绕道旅行 | |
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313 grunted | |
(猪等)作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 ); (指人)发出类似的哼声; 咕哝着说 | |
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314 guzzled | |
v.狂吃暴饮,大吃大喝( guzzle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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315 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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316 backwards | |
adv.往回地,向原处,倒,相反,前后倒置地 | |
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317 spine | |
n.脊柱,脊椎;(动植物的)刺;书脊 | |
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318 bough | |
n.大树枝,主枝 | |
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319 orphan | |
n.孤儿;adj.无父母的 | |
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320 flip | |
vt.快速翻动;轻抛;轻拍;n.轻抛;adj.轻浮的 | |
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321 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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322 bumper | |
n.(汽车上的)保险杠;adj.特大的,丰盛的 | |
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323 coppers | |
铜( copper的名词复数 ); 铜币 | |
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324 squinting | |
斜视( squint的现在分词 ); 眯着眼睛; 瞟; 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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325 rebuking | |
责难或指责( rebuke的现在分词 ) | |
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326 tugged | |
v.用力拉,使劲拉,猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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327 accomplishments | |
n.造诣;完成( accomplishment的名词复数 );技能;成绩;成就 | |
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328 chuckled | |
轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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329 unreasonable | |
adj.不讲道理的,不合情理的,过度的 | |
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330 congees | |
v.告别,鞠躬( congee的第三人称单数 ) | |
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331 gee | |
n.马;int.向右!前进!,惊讶时所发声音;v.向右转 | |
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332 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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333 forefinger | |
n.食指 | |
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334 gilded | |
a.镀金的,富有的 | |
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335 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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336 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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337 smacked | |
拍,打,掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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338 wheeze | |
n.喘息声,气喘声;v.喘息着说 | |
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339 illiterate | |
adj.文盲的;无知的;n.文盲 | |
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340 benevolently | |
adv.仁慈地,行善地 | |
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341 winked | |
v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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342 monarch | |
n.帝王,君主,最高统治者 | |
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343 soothed | |
v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 );抚慰;使舒服;减轻痛苦 | |
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344 soothe | |
v.安慰;使平静;使减轻;缓和;奉承 | |
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345 growled | |
v.(动物)发狺狺声, (雷)作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 );低声咆哮着说 | |
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346 winking | |
n.瞬眼,目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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347 bail | |
v.舀(水),保释;n.保证金,保释,保释人 | |
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348 jaw | |
n.颚,颌,说教,流言蜚语;v.喋喋不休,教训 | |
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349 guffaw | |
n.哄笑;突然的大笑 | |
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350 amicably | |
adv.友善地 | |
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351 enthralling | |
迷人的 | |
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352 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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353 scrupulously | |
adv.一丝不苟地;小心翼翼地,多顾虑地 | |
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354 smelt | |
v.熔解,熔炼;n.银白鱼,胡瓜鱼 | |
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355 primroses | |
n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 );淡黄色;追求享乐(招至恶果) | |
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356 aromatic | |
adj.芳香的,有香味的 | |
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357 apparition | |
n.幽灵,神奇的现象 | |
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358 glumly | |
adv.忧郁地,闷闷不乐地;阴郁地 | |
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359 blasphemy | |
n.亵渎,渎神 | |
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360 idols | |
偶像( idol的名词复数 ); 受崇拜的人或物; 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物; 神像 | |
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361 deftly | |
adv.灵巧地,熟练地,敏捷地 | |
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362 transformation | |
n.变化;改造;转变 | |
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363 flamboyant | |
adj.火焰般的,华丽的,炫耀的 | |
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364 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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365 dodges | |
n.闪躲( dodge的名词复数 );躲避;伎俩;妙计v.闪躲( dodge的第三人称单数 );回避 | |
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366 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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367 rampant | |
adj.(植物)蔓生的;狂暴的,无约束的 | |
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368 scenic | |
adj.自然景色的,景色优美的 | |
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369 trout | |
n.鳟鱼;鲑鱼(属) | |
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370 mimic | |
v.模仿,戏弄;n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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371 miserably | |
adv.痛苦地;悲惨地;糟糕地;极度地 | |
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372 thumping | |
adj.重大的,巨大的;重击的;尺码大的;极好的adv.极端地;非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词);狠打;怦怦地跳;全力支持 | |
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373 swirls | |
n.旋转( swirl的名词复数 );卷状物;漩涡;尘旋v.旋转,打旋( swirl的第三人称单数 ) | |
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374 blatantly | |
ad.公开地 | |
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375 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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376 candidly | |
adv.坦率地,直率而诚恳地 | |
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377 candid | |
adj.公正的,正直的;坦率的 | |
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378 moulders | |
v.腐朽( moulder的第三人称单数 );腐烂,崩塌 | |
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379 cram | |
v.填塞,塞满,临时抱佛脚,为考试而学习 | |
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380 impresario | |
n.歌剧团的经理人;乐团指挥 | |
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381 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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382 bass | |
n.男低音(歌手);低音乐器;低音大提琴 | |
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383 salaaming | |
行额手礼( salaam的现在分词 ) | |
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384 highland | |
n.(pl.)高地,山地 | |
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385 compartment | |
n.卧车包房,隔间;分隔的空间 | |
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386 caravan | |
n.大蓬车;活动房屋 | |
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387 unpacked | |
v.从(包裹等)中取出(所装的东西),打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 );拆包;解除…的负担;吐露(心事等) | |
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388 annex | |
vt.兼并,吞并;n.附属建筑物 | |
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389 zinc | |
n.锌;vt.在...上镀锌 | |
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390 chancellor | |
n.(英)大臣;法官;(德、奥)总理;大学校长 | |
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391 exchequer | |
n.财政部;国库 | |
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392 snails | |
n.蜗牛;迟钝的人;蜗牛( snail的名词复数 ) | |
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393 effusively | |
adv.变溢地,热情洋溢地 | |
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394 strings | |
n.弦 | |
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395 aperture | |
n.孔,隙,窄的缺口 | |
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396 mammoth | |
n.长毛象;adj.长毛象似的,巨大的 | |
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397 tarpaulin | |
n.涂油防水布,防水衣,防水帽 | |
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398 tacking | |
(帆船)抢风行驶,定位焊[铆]紧钉 | |
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399 grassy | |
adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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400 ravaged | |
毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 ); 蹂躏; 劫掠; 抢劫 | |
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401 smallpox | |
n.天花 | |
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402 concealing | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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403 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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404 galling | |
adj.难堪的,使烦恼的,使焦躁的 | |
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405 grumbled | |
抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 发牢骚; 咕哝; 发哼声 | |
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406 annihilating | |
v.(彻底)消灭( annihilate的现在分词 );使无效;废止;彻底击溃 | |
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407 rebukes | |
责难或指责( rebuke的第三人称单数 ) | |
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408 hustled | |
催促(hustle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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409 brutes | |
兽( brute的名词复数 ); 畜生; 残酷无情的人; 兽性 | |
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410 gull | |
n.鸥;受骗的人;v.欺诈 | |
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411 shrieked | |
v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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412 tickled | |
(使)发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)愉快,逗乐 | |
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413 tickling | |
反馈,回授,自旋挠痒法 | |
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414 bustling | |
adj.喧闹的 | |
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415 bullying | |
v.恐吓,威逼( bully的现在分词 );豪;跋扈 | |
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416 sockets | |
n.套接字,使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 );孔( socket的名词复数 );(电器上的)插口;托座;凹穴 | |
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417 perch | |
n.栖木,高位,杆;v.栖息,就位,位于 | |
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418 reins | |
感情,激情; 缰( rein的名词复数 ); 控制手段; 掌管; (成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的)保护带 | |
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419 yokels | |
n.乡下佬,土包子( yokel的名词复数 ) | |
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420 pawned | |
v.典当,抵押( pawn的过去式和过去分词 );以(某事物)担保 | |
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421 reverberated | |
回响,回荡( reverberate的过去式和过去分词 ); 使反响,使回荡,使反射 | |
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422 mite | |
n.极小的东西;小铜币 | |
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423 sedate | |
adj.沉着的,镇静的,安静的 | |
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424 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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425 bonneted | |
发动机前置的 | |
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426 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
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427 martinet | |
n.要求严格服从纪律的人 | |
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428 rustled | |
v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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429 majestically | |
雄伟地; 庄重地; 威严地; 崇高地 | |
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430 hunched | |
(常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦)耸肩弓身的,伏首前倾的 | |
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431 accentuated | |
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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432 humiliation | |
n.羞辱 | |
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433 consternation | |
n.大为吃惊,惊骇 | |
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434 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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435 gadding | |
n.叮搔症adj.蔓生的v.闲逛( gad的现在分词 );游荡;找乐子;用铁棒刺 | |
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436 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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437 semblance | |
n.外貌,外表 | |
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438 perturbing | |
v.使(某人)烦恼,不安( perturb的现在分词 ) | |
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439 maidenly | |
adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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440 deferential | |
adj. 敬意的,恭敬的 | |
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441 meek | |
adj.温顺的,逆来顺受的 | |
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442 sweeping | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
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443 outrageous | |
adj.无理的,令人不能容忍的 | |
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444 dime | |
n.(指美国、加拿大的钱币)一角 | |
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445 slashed | |
v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 );鞭打;割破;削减 | |
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446 savagely | |
adv. 野蛮地,残酷地 | |
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447 deduction | |
n.减除,扣除,减除额;推论,推理,演绎 | |
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448 justifiably | |
adv.无可非议地 | |
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449 malicious | |
adj.有恶意的,心怀恶意的 | |
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450 frenzy | |
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
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451 bawled | |
v.大叫,大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 );放声大哭;大声叫出;叫卖(货物) | |
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452 feigning | |
假装,伪装( feign的现在分词 ); 捏造(借口、理由等) | |
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453 doggedly | |
adv.顽强地,固执地 | |
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454 grotesquely | |
adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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455 renewal | |
adj.(契约)延期,续订,更新,复活,重来 | |
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456 scampering | |
v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑,惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
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457 joyously | |
ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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458 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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459 chastised | |
v.严惩(某人)(尤指责打)( chastise的过去式 ) | |
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460 vestiges | |
残余部分( vestige的名词复数 ); 遗迹; 痕迹; 毫不 | |
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461 decency | |
n.体面,得体,合宜,正派,庄重 | |
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462 toiled | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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463 wrested | |
(用力)拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 ); 费力取得; (从…)攫取; ( 从… ) 强行取去… | |
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464 smoothly | |
adv.平滑地,顺利地,流利地,流畅地 | |
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465 perspiring | |
v.出汗,流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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466 groves | |
树丛,小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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467 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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468 arrogant | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的 | |
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469 barge | |
n.平底载货船,驳船 | |
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470 vessels | |
n.血管( vessel的名词复数 );船;容器;(具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的)人 | |
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471 clump | |
n.树丛,草丛;vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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472 trespasser | |
n.侵犯者;违反者 | |
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473 plantations | |
n.种植园,大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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474 bluebells | |
n.圆叶风铃草( bluebell的名词复数 ) | |
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475 sylvan | |
adj.森林的 | |
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476 dangling | |
悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 ); 摆动不定; 用某事物诱惑…; 吊胃口 | |
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477 spout | |
v.喷出,涌出;滔滔不绝地讲;n.喷管;水柱 | |
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478 arid | |
adj.干旱的;(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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479 juxtaposition | |
n.毗邻,并置,并列 | |
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480 oozy | |
adj.软泥的 | |
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481 trumped | |
v.(牌戏)出王牌赢(一牌或一墩)( trump的过去分词 );吹号公告,吹号庆祝;吹喇叭;捏造 | |
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482 tartly | |
adv.辛辣地,刻薄地 | |
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483 gaped | |
v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 );张开,张大 | |
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484 chubby | |
adj.丰满的,圆胖的 | |
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485 smeary | |
弄脏的 | |
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486 philosophic | |
adj.哲学的,贤明的 | |
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487 plodding | |
a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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488 ecstasy | |
n.狂喜,心醉神怡,入迷 | |
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489 gambolling | |
v.蹦跳,跳跃,嬉戏( gambol的现在分词 ) | |
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490 laggard | |
n.落后者;adj.缓慢的,落后的 | |
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491 lashes | |
n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 );鞭子;突然猛烈的一击;急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 );煽动;紧系;怒斥 | |
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492 agitatedly | |
动摇,兴奋; 勃然 | |
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493 spouted | |
adj.装有嘴的v.(指液体)喷出( spout的过去式和过去分词 );滔滔不绝地讲;喋喋不休地说;喷水 | |
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494 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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495 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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496 freckles | |
n.雀斑,斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
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497 bridling | |
给…套龙头( bridle的现在分词 ); 控制; 昂首表示轻蔑(或怨忿等); 动怒,生气 | |
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498 poked | |
v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 );戳出;拨弄;与(某人)性交 | |
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499 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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500 parley | |
n.谈判 | |
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501 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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502 lesser | |
adj.次要的,较小的;adv.较小地,较少地 | |
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503 remonstrate | |
v.抗议,规劝 | |
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504 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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505 oblivious | |
adj.易忘的,遗忘的,忘却的,健忘的 | |
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506 dwindled | |
v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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507 glimmering | |
n.微光,隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光,发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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508 rippled | |
使泛起涟漪(ripple的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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509 wincing | |
赶紧避开,畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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510 demurely | |
adv.装成端庄地,认真地 | |
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511 bamboozle | |
v.欺骗,隐瞒 | |
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512 babble | |
v.含糊不清地说,胡言乱语地说,儿语 | |
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513 babbled | |
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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514 outraged | |
a.震惊的,义愤填膺的 | |
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515 flare | |
v.闪耀,闪烁;n.潮红;突发 | |
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516 judicial | |
adj.司法的,法庭的,审判的,明断的,公正的 | |
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517 frigidity | |
n.寒冷;冷淡;索然无味;(尤指妇女的)性感缺失 | |
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518 flicked | |
(尤指用手指或手快速地)轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 ); (用…)轻挥; (快速地)按开关; 向…笑了一下(或瞥了一眼等) | |
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519 winced | |
赶紧避开,畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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520 gaily | |
adv.欢乐地,高兴地 | |
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521 pungent | |
adj.(气味、味道)刺激性的,辛辣的;尖锐的 | |
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522 repartee | |
n.机敏的应答 | |
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523 revival | |
n.复兴,复苏,(精力、活力等的)重振 | |
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524 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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525 fragrance | |
n.芬芳,香味,香气 | |
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526 hawthorn | |
山楂 | |
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527 acrid | |
adj.辛辣的,尖刻的,刻薄的 | |
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528 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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529 impudent | |
adj.鲁莽的,卑鄙的,厚颜无耻的 | |
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530 vaulting | |
n.(天花板或屋顶的)拱形结构 | |
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531 perturbed | |
adj.烦燥不安的v.使(某人)烦恼,不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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532 twitched | |
vt.& vi.(使)抽动,(使)颤动(twitch的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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533 petulantly | |
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534 saucy | |
adj.无礼的;俊俏的;活泼的 | |
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535 sullenly | |
不高兴地,绷着脸,忧郁地 | |
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536 wager | |
n.赌注;vt.押注,打赌 | |
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537 guardian | |
n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
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538 ominously | |
adv.恶兆地,不吉利地;预示地 | |
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539 ingratitude | |
n.忘恩负义 | |
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540 neatly | |
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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541 abraded | |
adj.[医]刮擦的v.刮擦( abrade的过去式和过去分词 );(在精神方面)折磨(人);消磨(意志、精神等);使精疲力尽 | |
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542 sane | |
adj.心智健全的,神志清醒的,明智的,稳健的 | |
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543 pricked | |
刺,扎,戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 ); 刺伤; 刺痛; 使剧痛 | |
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544 taunting | |
嘲讽( taunt的现在分词 ); 嘲弄; 辱骂; 奚落 | |
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545 trespassing | |
[法]非法入侵 | |
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546 slung | |
抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 ); 吊挂; 遣送; 押往 | |
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547 furrows | |
n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 );(脸上的)皱纹v.犁田,开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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548 trot | |
n.疾走,慢跑;n.老太婆;现成译本;(复数)trots:腹泻(与the 连用);v.小跑,快步走,赶紧 | |
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549 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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550 Augmented | |
adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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551 weird | |
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
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552 foaming | |
adj.布满泡沫的;发泡 | |
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553 suspense | |
n.(对可能发生的事)紧张感,担心,挂虑 | |
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554 reassuring | |
a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的,使人放心的 | |
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555 sanity | |
n.心智健全,神智正常,判断正确 | |
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556 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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557 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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558 bridle | |
n.笼头,束缚;vt.抑制,约束;动怒 | |
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559 cluttered | |
v.杂物,零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的过去式和过去分词 );乱糟糟地堆满,把…弄得很乱;(以…) 塞满… | |
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560 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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561 clog | |
vt.塞满,阻塞;n.[常pl.]木屐 | |
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562 defiantly | |
adv.挑战地,大胆对抗地 | |
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563 shrilled | |
(声音)尖锐的,刺耳的,高频率的( shrill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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564 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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565 festive | |
adj.欢宴的,节日的 | |
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566 altercation | |
n.争吵,争论 | |
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567 protruding | |
v.(使某物)伸出,(使某物)突出( protrude的现在分词 );凸 | |
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568 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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569 thwarted | |
阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 ); 使受挫折; 挫败; 横过 | |
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570 overridden | |
越控( override的过去分词 ); (以权力)否决; 优先于; 比…更重要 | |
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571 countenanced | |
v.支持,赞同,批准( countenance的过去式 ) | |
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572 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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573 dodged | |
v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 );回避 | |
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574 scramble | |
v.爬行,攀爬,杂乱蔓延,碎片,片段,废料 | |
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575 ignominiously | |
adv.耻辱地,屈辱地,丢脸地 | |
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576 clattering | |
发出咔哒声(clatter的现在分词形式) | |
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577 reined | |
勒缰绳使(马)停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 ); 驾驭; 严格控制; 加强管理 | |
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578 frigidly | |
adv.寒冷地;冷漠地;冷淡地;呆板地 | |
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579 negligence | |
n.疏忽,玩忽,粗心大意 | |
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580 maliciously | |
adv.有敌意地 | |
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581 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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582 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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583 hoisted | |
把…吊起,升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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584 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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585 perspiration | |
n.汗水;出汗 | |
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586 ascent | |
n.(声望或地位)提高;上升,升高;登高 | |
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587 goading | |
v.刺激( goad的现在分词 );激励;(用尖棒)驱赶;驱使(或怂恿、刺激)某人 | |
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588 repent | |
v.悔悟,悔改,忏悔,后悔 | |
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589 obstinacy | |
n.顽固;(病痛等)难治 | |
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590 lark | |
n.云雀,百灵鸟;n.嬉戏,玩笑;vi.嬉戏 | |
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591 throb | |
v.震颤,颤动;(急速强烈地)跳动,搏动 | |
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592 throbbing | |
a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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593 scurrying | |
v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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594 fumbling | |
n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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595 softened | |
(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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596 victorious | |
adj.胜利的,得胜的 | |
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597 laurels | |
n.桂冠,荣誉 | |
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598 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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599 evoking | |
产生,引起,唤起( evoke的现在分词 ) | |
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600 glamorously | |
富有魅力的; 迷人的; 富于刺激的; 独特的 | |
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601 grievance | |
n.怨愤,气恼,委屈 | |
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602 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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603 reminder | |
n.提醒物,纪念品;暗示,提示 | |
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604 truthful | |
adj.真实的,说实话的,诚实的 | |
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605 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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606 acquiescence | |
n.默许;顺从 | |
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607 pacify | |
vt.使(某人)平静(或息怒);抚慰 | |
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608 prodigal | |
adj.浪费的,挥霍的,放荡的 | |
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609 walnuts | |
胡桃(树)( walnut的名词复数 ); 胡桃木 | |
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610 quill | |
n.羽毛管;v.给(织物或衣服)作皱褶 | |
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611 meekly | |
adv.温顺地,逆来顺受地 | |
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612 subside | |
vi.平静,平息;下沉,塌陷,沉降 | |
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613 bucolic | |
adj.乡村的;牧羊的 | |
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614 imputation | |
n.归罪,责难 | |
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615 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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616 beguiled | |
v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 );使陶醉;使高兴;消磨(时间等) | |
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617 trudging | |
vt.& vi.跋涉,吃力地走(trudge的现在分词形式) | |
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618 homely | |
adj.家常的,简朴的;不漂亮的 | |
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619 freckled | |
adj.雀斑;斑点;晒斑;(使)生雀斑v.雀斑,斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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620 lugging | |
超载运转能力 | |
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621 pegs | |
n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 );挂钉;系帐篷的桩;弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 );使固定在某水平 | |
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622 euphemism | |
n.婉言,委婉的说法 | |
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623 lumbered | |
砍伐(lumber的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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624 muggy | |
adj.闷热的;adv.(天气)闷热而潮湿地;n.(天气)闷热而潮湿 | |
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625 irritation | |
n.激怒,恼怒,生气 | |
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626 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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627 peevishly | |
adv.暴躁地 | |
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628 calf | |
n.小牛,犊,幼仔,小牛皮 | |
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629 lugged | |
vt.用力拖拉(lug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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