Art made a myrrhour to behold2 my plight3.
Spenser, “The Shepheards Calendar.”
I
Pitter-patter was the dominant4 note of the rest of the year. The prayer for rain had been only too successful, and the blackbirds whistled their thanksgiving over their worms. But humanity grumbled5 with its wonted ingratitude8. There were warm and windy days, and cold and sparkling days, but the roads never quite dried up. The short cuts to Frog Farm became impassable for Bundock; in the coursing season the long-grassed marshlands clove11 to the spectators’ gaiters, and when the beagles were out, Jinny had the satisfaction of seeing Farmer Gale12 and breathless bumpkins floundering over sodden13 stubble-fields or ankle-deep in mud, what time baffled whippers-in piped plaintively14, or jetted husky cries at their scattered15 pack. Glad as she was to eat of the leporine family, she detested17 sport for sport’s sake, even the fox-hunting, though her poultry18-run had just been raided and a dog-fox had snarled19 fearlessly at Nip from the ditch. Once, when the hare, crossing her cart with the dogs at his very heels, cleared the broad ditch with a magnificent leap, Jinny clapped her hands as though at a Flippance melodrama21.
Sport for life’s sake was another affair, and she looked back regretfully to the good old times described by her grandfather, when the farmer, having finished his day’s work, would go out rabbit-shooting to preserve his crop, or when the fox could be shot, snared23, or even hooked, as a dangerous animal. Now, when poor old Uncle Lilliwhyte had found Jinny’s vulpine enemy dead in one of his gins, caught by a claw, that rising vet24., Mr. Skindle, was called in to make a post-mortem examination, and it was only because he certified25 that the sacred animal had died of starvation, and not been poisoned, that the old woodman escaped the worst rigours of the unwritten law. As it was, his crime in setting the trap at all on land not his own, and his failing—through a new attack of rheumatism28—to examine it before the fox died, almost resulted in his being officially driven from his derelict hut into the Chipstone poorhouse; a fate he only escaped by passionate29 asseverations that he had always been and till death would continue “upright,” by which he meant “independent.”
That was in one sense more than Jinny could call herself, for her store of barley30 or rye for her breadmaking was dangerously low, and she had come to depend a good deal on the food brought by this queer raven32 at prices more corresponding to his gratitude9 than to market value. She still peddled33 her goats’ milk for a trifle among her neighbours, the abundant blackberries gave her fruit (though she could not afford the sugar for jam), she had gathered nuts as industriously34 as a squirrel, she ensured jelly for her grandfather by making it out of her own apples, while by exchanging the bad apples with a neighbour who kept pigs, she got Methusalem some “green fodder” in the shape of tares35. But it was an unceasing strain to keep things going in the old style, and Uncle Lilliwhyte’s spoils were more than welcome, for his activities varied36 from codling-fishing to eel-spearing, and from fowling37 on the saltings to collecting glass-wort for pickling. His rabbits and hares came with suspiciously injured legs, and Jinny seeing the bloody38-blobbed eyes could only hope they had not been long in his wire loops. As she felt the long, warm, beautiful bodies, she had to tell herself how pernicious they were to the root-crops or the young apple-trees.
More legitimate39 spoils arrived when the old man was well enough to crawl to the nearest salt-marsh with his ancient fowling-piece, for, when the ebb40 bared the mud, countless41 sea-birds came to feed, and more than once a brace42 of mallards offered Jinny a vivid image of her inferiority to the rival carrier, so gorgeously shimmering44 was the male’s head, so drab the female’s. For while the driver of the Flynt Flyer had been blossoming out in the frock-coat he had first sported for the Flippance wedding, Jinny had been refraining even from her furbished-up gown, reserving it mentally for a last resource and feeling herself lucky that it was still unpawned. But one day when the vehicles met—for despite the heaviness of the going Jinny foolishly and extravagantly47 continued to plod48 her miry rounds—she caught Will looking down so compassionately49 at her spotting shoes that she straightway resolved to buy another pair at any sacrifice. Savage50 satisfaction at her defeat she could have borne, but this pity she would not brook52. Better sell the goats, especially as Gran’fer would need a new flannel53 shirt for the winter. The animals were not very lucrative54, and one out of the three would suffice to supply milk for herself and—by its bleat—her grandfather’s sense of stability. But she had reckoned insufficiently55 with this last: he admitted he had no great stomach for her goats’ cheese, and felt a middling need for flannel, but he clung to his nannies as though without them his world would fall to pieces. That her shoes were doing so, he did not remark.
In the end—though she shrank from the three golden balls on her own behalf—there was nothing for it but to pledge her wedding-frock under pretence57 it was a customer’s. But in her dread58 lest the pawnbroker59 should recognize the dress, the sharpness which extracted the utmost from him for her distressed60 clients was replaced by a diffident acceptance of barely enough for the shoes.
This discussion about her live stock, however, gave her an idea. She carted part of her poultry to and fro in a crate62, and their clucking and fluttering gave an air of liveliness to the business and made even Will Flynt believe it had woke up again, especially as he saw the smart new shoes on the little feet, supplemented presently by a new winter bonnet63, which, despite his experience with his own mother’s bonnet, he did not divine was merely an old one, whitened and remodelled65 by Miss Gentry66.
Thus the equinoctial season found the little Carrier still upon her seat, defiant67 of competition and radiating prosperity from the crown of her bonnet to the sole of her shoe. Even the plainness of her skirt and shawl seemed only an adaptation to the weather. But she would have been better off by her log fire, making the local variety of Limerick lace with which she was on other days trying to eke68 out her infrequent sixpences. Though the rain abated69 towards the end of October, halcyon70 days and even hours alternated with hours and days of turbulent winds and hailstorms, and the sky would change in almost an instant from a keen blue, with every perspective standing71 out clear and sun-washed, to a lowering roof of clouds spitting hailstones, and a gentle wind would be succeeded by half a gale that stripped their flames from the poplars and sent the reddened beech72-leaves whirling fantastically. In November these blasts grew more biting, Nip cowered73 in his basket within the cart, and the calves74 in the fields sheltered themselves behind the blown-down trunks of elms. Shivering, Jinny reminded herself that the real object of her rounds was the bi-weekly gorge43 at Mother Gander’s.
They were indeed more generous than ever, these midday meals, so relieved was Jinny’s hostess to find she had not really been baptized into Mr. Fallow’s church. Mrs. Mott even had the Gaffer’s beer-barrel replenished76 gratis77. Not that she had any suspicion of the girl’s straits. Though parcels were no longer left at the bar for Jinny, the poor woman was too taken up with her own troubles to draw the deduction79 from that. Beneath her imposing80 blue silk bodice beat a wounded heart, and in Jinny’s society she found consolation81 for the lack of her husband’s.
For a quarrel had begun between the Motts which was destined82 to shake all Chipstone with its reverberations. Mr. Charles Mott had profanely83 refused to be “Peculiar84” any longer. The endeavour to draw him to the Wednesday services had proved the last straw. To him religion and Sunday were synonyms85, and he had been willing to concede the day to boredom86. He was a sportsman and was ready to play fair. But his wife was not playing fair, he considered, when she pretended that ratting, coursing, and dicing87 remained reprehensible88 even on weekdays. Expostulatory elders had vainly pointed89 out to him that it was only the Churchman who made so much of Sunday and so little of every other day, and Deacon Mawhood had been compelled to order several goes of rum at “The Black Sheep” to find opportunities of explaining to its landlord that his cravat-pin and plethora90 of rings were an offence. Let him note how his admirable wife had given up her gold chain. “Well, I don’t want no chain,” Charley had retorted, and his cronies still acclaimed91 the repartee92. He had, in fact, broken his chain and would not even go to the Sunday chapel93.
“You and me have both got our cross to bear,” Deacon Mawhood sighed sympathetically to the distraught lady. “There’s saints among us as won’t even keep a cat or a bird because the thought of them may come ’twixt the soul and chapel. Oi sometimes suspicion it’s a failing in roighteousness to keep a husband or a wife—partic’lar when they riots on your hard-earned savings94.”
The grievances96 which the poor hostess of “The Black Sheep”—now become a keeper of one—poured into Jinny’s ear, fully22 confirmed all the Spelling-Book had told her of the wickedness of man—its preoccupation with the male gender97 had left woman unimpugned. But it was more under Mr. Mawhood’s encouragement than Jinny’s that this female pillar of the chapel now sent the Bellman round Chipstone with his bell and his cocked hat and his old French cry, to inform all and sundry98 that she would not be responsible for her husband’s debts.
It was a procedure which scandalized Chipstone. Since the day when a neighbouring village had set up its “cage” for drunken men in the pound, with the other strayed beasts, no such blow had been dealt at the dignity of man. But Charley and his crew met it with derisory laughter. All Mrs. Mott’s property was his—or rather theirs: he could sell the lease of “The Black Sheep” over her head, if she did not behave herself. Nay100, he could sell her very self at the market cross, the bolder maintained, not without citing precedent101. By many the Bellman was blamed for compromising the dignity of his sex: by none so contemptuously as by Bundock. For the Crier, not taking his own announcement seriously, had embellished102 it with facetious103 gags that set the street roaring. “I wouldn’t say if they were funny,” complained Bundock. “Anybody can play on the word ‘Peculiar,’ and certainly peculiar it is to put your husband in the stocks, so to speak. I don’t deny Charley’s legs sometimes need that support. But what can you expect if you marry your pot-boy? You must take pot-luck. He, he, he!”
To which the bulk of Chipstone Christendom added that however prodigal104 the ex-potman, he did not waste so much money as his wife lavished105 on that ridiculous sect106 of hers. A hundred pounds for the bishop107 at his jubilee108 birthday, it was said with bated breath—“a noice fortune!” Really, Charley was only too long-suffering not to take his property, including his wife, more strictly109 in hand, and when it was learnt that lawyers’ letters were actually passing between the bedrooms of the parties there was general satisfaction. In short, public opinion was as outraged110 by Mrs. Mott’s treatment of her husband as by her original acquisition of him. The only difference was that Mr. Mott was now a martyr111.
The insult to the male sex was especially resented by the tradesmen to whom the martyr stood so profitably indebted, and under their incitement112 a new ban might have been put on “The Black Sheep” but for the reluctance113 of Will Flynt, who, though second to none in reprobation114, refused to shift the headquarters of his coach to the rival establishment. That would only be hurting Charley’s business, he pointed out, and indirectly115 themselves. The economic aspects of revenge had not occurred to these muddle-heads, and they were grateful to the coach-driver for the reminder116. They did not know that his true motive117 for sticking to “The Black Sheep” was that Jinny was to be encountered in its courtyard on Tuesdays and Fridays. Nor was Jinny herself aware how profusely118 she was repaying Mrs. Mott for her meals.
As if this scandal among the “Peculiars” was not enough, Deacon Mawhood himself came into ill odour more literally119. For in carrying out his agreement to clear the Gentry cottage of rats, he had committed the crime of which Uncle Lilliwhyte had been acquitted120: he had operated by poison, to wit, and the stench of the dead vermin in their holes nearly crazed the excellent dressmaker, already sufficiently56 distracted by the silence of her bosom121 friend, Mrs. Flippance, swallowed up in Boulogne as in a grave. Miss Gentry, like Mother Gander, now wept on Jinny’s shoulder, though it had to be done outside the garden gate, and even there the wafts122 caught one. If it had not been for the prediction that she would be drowned, did she ever set foot on a boat, she would have been in Boulogne weeks ago with her darling, but, like a ghost, she could not cross water. Indeed she would already have been a ghost but for her strong smelling-salts, her decoction of scabious against infection, and the fumigation123 of the cottage. Jinny did not shrink from bearding her spiritual superior in his bar and giving Mr. Joshua Mawhood a taste of her tongue. If that was his notion of religion, he ought to be cast out of his chapel, and she would let Mrs. Mott know of what a hoggish124 “illusion” he had been guilty—(Illusion, Sham125 or Cheat—“The Universal Spelling-Book”).
But the Deacon, standing on the letter of his bond, was impermeable126 to reproach—nay, had a sense of righteousness, as having incidentally punished a distributor of tracts127 no less offensive than his dead rats. Not even the remonstrances128 of Mr. Fallow, who had arranged the compromise over Mrs. Mawhood’s dress, could bring the Deacon to a sense of sin, still less of compensation. “Her rats were eating the pears like hollamy,” he said, “and Oi’ve cleared cottage and orchard129 of ’em.” Mr. Fallow was so interested to know what “hollamy” was, that he went away with a diminished sense of failure. But neither dictionaries nor octogenarians could throw any light on its etymology130. The most plausible131 conjecture132 he could reach was that it must be “hogmanay,” gifts made at the year’s end.
II
But if the Peculiar Faith was thus involved in scandal, Churchmanship did not fail to provide its quota133 of gossip to the months that ended a fateful year. It was not only that Miss Blanche of Foxearth Farm had collected the scalp of yet another suitor (and one who, as Bundock’s own eyes had witnessed at the Flippance wedding-feast, had been wantonly encouraged); it was that the minx, whose brother Barnaby went about in October saying Will Flynt was not good enough for her, became openly engaged in November to that obviously inferior specimen134, Mr. Elijah Skindle. And old Giles Purley, tired of vagaries135 so incongruous in a churchwarden’s family, was, said Bundock’s father, imperiously hurrying on the match.
Although it was the postman who was the reference on the liberties permitted to Will at the wedding breakfast, it was his bedridden parent who became the leading authority on the new Blanche engagement. That was because Barnaby, disappointed of the wider life of the Tony Flip20 theatre, with no winter prospect136 but that of chopping down undergrowth and laying it out in long rows for hoops137 and hurdles138, and receiving no consolation from Jinny when their vehicles passed, had discovered in the postman’s youngest sister a being even more beauteous, and, when he had to take the trap into Chipstone, never failed in devoted139 attendance on the sick-bed. It was thus that all the world knew that the Flippances had not written once from Boulogne, not even to send on the promised cheque for the wedding-breakfast.
But even Bundock’s father had not the true history of the engagement, constructing as he did from Barnaby’s chatter140 a facile version of a “better match”: how dear ’Lijah was coining money far quicker than Will with his petty fares and commissions, and fast ousting141 Jorrow, and with what elegant furniture he was fitting up the bridal bedchamber. Barnaby himself did not know that with the gradual vanishing of his sister’s theatrical142 and operatic hopes, Blanche, immeasurably more embittered143 and disillusioned144 than himself, had sought in vain to win back Will, and had thrown herself first strategically and then despairingly into the arms of Elijah, who, summoned professionally to the Farm, had found unhoped-for consolation for his lost Jinny. Tongues would have wagged still more joyously145 had it been known that Will for his part was trying to win back Jinny, who in her turn was as adamantine to him as he to Blanche. The two Carriers met not seldom on the miry, yellow-carpeted roads awhirl with flying leaves, or in the rainy courtyard of “The Black Sheep,” and for each the scene at once shifted to a sunny tangled146 fairyland where the wood-pigeon purred, and oak, elm, beech, and silver birch in ample leaf rose in a crescent, with crisp beech-nuts underfoot, and baby bracken. But not even Nip could effect any visible communication. Much more gracious was Jinny to Barnaby, as soon as she was relieved of his “passing” adoration148.
The weather improved for a space in mid-November. There was a bite in the air and the sheep-bells tinkled149 keenly from the pastures. The morning hoar-frosts held till noon. A great red ball of sun and a pale yellow crescent moon would shine together in the heavens, early sunsets seen through bare branches seemed to fill them with a golden fruitage that changed slowly to lemon, and the haystacks rose magically through enchanted150 hazes151. But the cold only made Jinny hungrier and the earth-beauty sadder. It was as if she had already forgotten the blessing153 of Methusalem’s return, and as if carrying was not after all the heart’s deepest dream—especially with nothing to carry.
It was a relief to be blocked occasionally by Master Peartree’s sheep, billowing along like a yellow Nile, and to exchange conversation with the shepherd, now at the most leisured moment of his year. Patiently she would hear how the sheep got ravenous154 in the high cold winds, why he was driving them out of yon danger-zone of rape155 and turnip156, and how the only real anxiety between now and Christmas was that one might fall on its back, or the hunt frighten the ewes: for soon somehow he would be speaking of his next-wall neighbours in Frog Farm, and somehow the family would always narrow to Will. “A grumpy, runty lad,” he described him once. “Sometimes he goos about full o’ mum: other times you can yer him through the wall grizzlin’ and growlin’ like my ould dog, time my poor missus had her fust baiby. He’d ha’ torn the child to pieces,” he went on, diverging157 into an exposition of how sheep-dogs had to be trained to prepare for babies. But she cut it as short as she dared, inquiring, “But who’d he be jealous of?” “The baiby—Oi’m explainin’ to you!” he said. “No, I mean, who’s young Mr. Flynt jealous of?” she asked, wondering how Will could know that she had been shedding such gracious smiles on Barnaby. And when the shepherd replied “?’Lijah Skindle, in course,” she winced159 perceptibly. But though the sting of the reply rankled160, she was not so sure as the rest of the world that it was true.
III
The abundance of black sloes, they said, foretold161 a hard winter, and as the winter approached, Jinny’s outlook grew darker. Even to keep a roof over their heads was not easy with the thatch162 everywhere holed by starlings. Driblets came through the old man’s bedroom ceiling and were caught in a pail. And as for the walls, Daniel Quarles cursed the builder who had put in such bad mortar163 that “big birds came and picked the grit164 out o’ the lime.” The rain drove even through the closed lattices. To keep the living-room dry, he had made Jinny purchase putty, of which he daubed no less than three pounds over the rotting woodwork of the window. A stumpy piece of log he also nailed to the bottom of the window to block up the crevices166, though he could do nothing with the top of the kitchen door through the little vine that grew over it, and which in some years yielded several pounds of small white grapes.
And if it was high time that her Hall should be patched up, Jinny often thought with commiseration167 of poor Uncle Lilliwhyte in his leaky hut throughout all these rains. Even from a selfish point of view, his health was a consideration. If he broke up, a main source of supply would disappear, and any day he might be at least temporarily paralysed by his rheumatism, and need provender168 instead of supplying it. A frail170 reed indeed to rely on, and Jinny began to wonder if she had been wise in training Nip so carefully not to hunt rabbits. With food and shelter thus alike insecure, Jinny, remembering the formula of her sect, resolved to “ask in faith.” Perhaps too conscious a resolution impaired171 the faith—at any rate Providence172, even with an accessory at court in the shape of the Angel-Mother, proved stony173, and the Angel-Mother herself appeared limited in her powers, however limitless her sympathy. She could not even make folks demand tambour lace. Jinny began to wonder if no terrestrial powers remained to be invoked174 in the old man’s behalf. What had become of all the children, whose names were recorded in the fly-leaf of his hereditary175 Bible, and only some of whom had their deaths chronicled? Cautiously she probed and pried176 into corners she had never dared approach before, instinctively177 feeling them full of cobwebs and grime. And her instinct was justified—each child had been more “obstropolus” than the others. One of the daughters was always “a slammacks” and had married beneath her, another—a beauty even fairer than Jinny’s mother—had, on the contrary, caught a London linen-draper on his holidays and looked down on her father, who would starve rather than eat a bit of her bread. One boy had “?’listed,” another been beguiled178 into the Navy by that “dirty little Dap,” a third—a lanky179 youth nicknamed “Ladders”—had gone to London to see the coronation of King William, and had disappeared, while his devil-may-care younger brother had shot a rabbit at night and been transported to “Wan Demon180’s Land,” a name that made Jinny shudder181. This last was the only son of whose present locality he was even vaguely182 aware, though, oddly enough, the sailor son had once sent him word that, landing with a boat’s crew upon an island called “Wan Couver,” he had come upon “Ladders” in the service of the Hudson Bay Company, living in a stockaded fort called after the Queen, and surrounded by naked, painted Indians. But as none of these children were ever to dare cross their father’s doorstep again, there did not seem much help to be looked for from any quarter of the globe that might contain them. And Jinny was sorry she had not left the cobwebbed corners in their original mystery, for as the stories multiplied, the old man began to loom183 as a sort of sinister184 raven that drives out its own offspring, though gradually she came to see behind all the stories the same tale of a cast-iron religion against which the young generation broke itself. Or was it only a cast-iron obstinacy185, she asked herself, after working out that the first at least of these family jars must have occurred before her grandfather’s oft-narrated encounter with John Wesley.
It was with a new astonishment186 that she learnt he had been careful to make his will, lest Blackwater Hall should fall into the hands of his youngest surviving rascal187. “And who’ve you left it to?” she inquired innocently.
“Why, who has the nat’ral right to it? Sidrach, in course, as ought to has had it ’stead o’ me, he bein’ the eldest188. He’s been cut out o’ the wote, too, what goos with the property and what’s worth pounds and pounds.”
He was so convinced of the righteousness of this will, and appeared so genuinely fond of his brother, that Jinny was afraid to suggest the strong probability of Sidrach predeceasing him. Indeed Sidrach began now to play a larger and larger part in his thoughts, his mind reverted189 to the early days of the “owler,” and gradually the prosperity of those days shone again over the patriarch in “Babylon.” Sidrach now loomed190 as a star of hope, and Daniel spoke191 constantly of paying his long-projected visit to him at Chelmsford, designing apparently192 to drive the cart himself, and to inform his brother of the magnanimous bequest193 that was coming to him—a legacy194 that would suggest to Sidrach corresponding magnanimity in the living present. Afraid the Gaffer would actually set forth195 on this dangerous and visionary quest, Jinny did her best to discredit196 the notion of Sidrach’s opulence197, and quoted “Rolling stones gather no moss,” but the Gaffer argued tenaciously198 that if his eldest brother had not been comfortably off, he would have come to seek the shelter of their roof-tree, or at least applied199 for their assistance, as he must be getting old, or at least (he modified it) too old to work. Jinny offered to write to Sidrach to inquire, but her grandfather could not find the ten-year-old letter inviting200 the visit. No, he would go over and find Sidrach instead, and Jinny was reduced to pointing out from day to day how unfavourable the weather was for the excursion. As the days grew shorter and shorter, the project, finding no opposition201 to nourish it, seemed to subside202. Jinny was almost conscience-stricken when one Sunday after church Mr. Fallow showed her a paragraph in the Chelmsford Chronicle, stating that “another link with the past” had been broken by the death “last Monday from a fall downstairs” in the Chelmsford poorhouse of a centenarian named Sidrach Quarles, who claimed to be a hundred and five, and who was certainly well over the hundred, his recollections, which were a source of entertainment to all visitors, going back to the days when England was still ruled by a “furriner,” meaning thereby203 George II.
The shock Jinny received at this was more of life than of death. It made her realize she had never quite believed in Sidrach’s existence, and this sense of his substantiality almost swamped the minor204 fact of his decease. She saw no reason why he should not remain substantial. Now that she had perhaps been guilty of baulking her grandfather’s last chance of seeing his beloved brother, she did not feel equal to robbing him of his last hope of assistance. He might even agitate205 himself over making a fresh will, and it was far better to let Providence or the lawyer folk decide on his heir. No doubt when the dread necessity arose, the youngest son would be raked up from somewhere. But that dark moment still seemed far. The longer her grandfather lived, the more she had got used to the idea of his never dying. True, Sidrach had died, though his habit of living had been even more ingrained, but they did not take proper care of you in a workhouse, and besides he had died of an accident. She would keep Daniel from that fate, even as she would keep him from the poorhouse.
As she sat at his side by the fire that Sunday night, knitting him a muffler, her thoughts were playing so pitifully over poor old Sidrach in his bleak206 pauper’s grave, that she was not at all surprised when her grandfather announced with sudden decision that he would go to see Sidrach the very next day. With a chill at her heart as though a dead hand had been placed on it, she told him gently that it was nonsense and that he must wait now till the spring.
But he shook his head obstinately207. “Don’t seem as ef Oi’ll last out till the spring.”
She laughed forcedly. “What an idea!”
“Not unless there’s an election and Oi can buy grub with my wote-money,” he explained. “And Oi ain’t heerd as Parlyment is considerin’ the likes of us.”
“You’ve always had plenty to eat!” she protested, colouring up.
“That ain’t enough in the larder208 when Oi looks, ne yet for Methusalem in the barn. Ye’ve got to have a store like the beer in my barrel. Where’s my flitch? Where’s my cheeses? Same as we’re snowbound, like the year Sidrach went away, where would Oi get my Chris’mus dinner? ’Tis a middlin’ long way to Babylon, but Oi’ll start with the daylight and be back between the lights, and ef Oi’m longer, why the moon’s arly. Oi’ll be proper pleased to see dear Sidrach again—he larnt me my letters and Oi’ll bring him back to live with us, now he’s gittin’ oldish. It ain’t good for a man to live alone, says the Book, and that’ll be good for us too, he bein’ as full o’ suvrans as a dog of fleas209.”
“Nip isn’t full of fleas,” she said with mock anger, hoping to make a diversion. “Why, you scrub him yourself!”
But he went on, unheeding. “Daniel Quarles has allus been upright, and he’d sooner die than goo to his darter or the poorhouse.”
She thought miserably210 that the poorhouse was where he would have to go to find any traces of his beloved Sidrach, and she set herself by every device of logic211 or cajolery to discourage this revived dream of the journey. He might not even find Sidrach in such a big city, she now hinted, but he laughed at that. Everybody knew Sidrach, “a bonkka, hansum chap with a mosey face and a woice like the bull of Bashan and as strong too. Wery short work he’d ha’ made of Master Will. Carry him in, indeed! Carried him out—and with one hand—that’s what Sidrach would ha’ done! Why, he’s tall enough to light the street-lamps in Che’msford!”
These street-lamps, Jinny gathered, still figured in his mind as of oil, and she was able by dexterous212 draughts214 on his reminiscences to put off the evil day of his expedition. But whenever there was visible dearth215 at table, the thought of his rich brother, flared216 up again.
Could Blackwater Hall perhaps be sold, she thought desperately217, and the money spent on his declining years. The thought was stimulated218 by a meeting of the Homage219 Court which came from railhead in the “Flynt Flyer,” and before which Miss Gentry’s landlady220 as a copyholder had to do “suit and service” in the Moot221 Hall to the Lords of the Manor222.
But Jinny ascertained223 that Beacon224 Chimneys, a ramshackle place with much land, had been bought up recently by Farmer Gale for his new bride at fifty shillings an acre, farm and buildings thrown in; a rate at which Blackwater Hall would not even yield the forty shillings supposed to be its annual value as a voting concern—whereas the Gaffer’s view, cautiously extracted, ran: “Ef you spread suvrans all over my land, each touchin’ the tother, you pick up your pieces and Oi keep my land.” Moreover, Mr. Fallow, to whom she had broached225 the idea, reminded her feelingly that old people could not be moved. He was keenly interested, however, to learn that the tenure226 was an example of Borough227 English and hunted up the local Roll of Customs (7th Edward IV) proclaiming that “Time out of the Mind of Man” the “ould auncient Custom of the Bourow” had been for the heritage to go to the “youngest Sonne of the first wife.”
At heart Jinny was glad the idea of selling the Hall was impracticable: for what would have become of Methusalem and the business of “Daniel Quarles, Carrier”? To surrender before the “Flynt Flyer” would have been a bitter pill indeed.
IV
When all but the last swallows had departed, and Christmas began to loom in the offing, the Sidrach obsession228 resurged, and there being a spell of bright, clear weather, the only way she could devise to stave off the expedition was to pretend to undertake it herself. This was the more necessary as she was not certain the scheme did not cover a crafty229 design to drive Methusalem back to the knacker’s for the five pounds. She would start very early and go, not to Chelmsford, but to “Brandy Hole Creek230.” Instead of waiting her Christmas letter to Commander Dap, she would visit him personally. He was, after all, a relative and would not like to see his brother-in-law starve—of course she would accept nothing for herself. Already she had intended to skirt the subject at Christmas, but to ask assistance openly was painful, while if one was too reticent231 one might be misunderstood. In conversation one could feel one’s way.
So on a misty232 morning of late November, when the peewits were calling over the dark fields, she set out, the old man watching her off with a lantern.
“And do ye bring back Sidrach,” he called after her, “sow we can all live happy.”
For answer she blew her horn cheerily, feeling this was less a lie than speech. She would come back with help of some sort—that was certain. Whether she would confess that the help came from Commander Dap or would attribute it to Sidrach, or whether it would be wiser to come back with the discovery of Sidrach’s death, trusting to its staleness to blunt the blow and to the news of Dap’s assistance to overcome it, or whether it would be imprudent to mention Dap at all, not merely because it would be hard to explain how she had met the Commander of the Watch Vessel233 at Chelmsford, but because her grandfather in his inveterate234 venom235 against Dap was capable of refusing his favours—on all these distracting alternatives she hoped to make up her mind during the day. Here, too, she would perhaps have to feel her way. But she now miserably realized the wisdom of the Spelling-Book’s “writing-piece”: “Lying may be thought convenient and profitable because not so soon discovered; but pray remember, the Evil of it is perpetual: For it brings persons under everlasting237 Jealousy238 and Suspicion; for they are not to be believed when they speak the Truth, nor trusted, when perhaps they mean honestly.” She meant honestly enough, God knew, but into what a tangle147 she was getting. She consoled herself with the thought that anyhow there would be no pretending that day in her business—to spare Methusalem on so long a journey the empty boxes had been left at home.
Single drops oozed239 upon her as she started, but as the mist lifted, though it revealed sodden, blackened pastures on both sides of her route, the underlying240 betterness of the weather manifested itself, and soon under an arching blue Methusalem was almost trotting241 over withering242 bracken and fallen leaves in a world of browns and yellows, while an abnormally friendly robin243 perching on the cart-shaft, and the scarlet244-berried bryony festooning the hedgerows, contributed with the gleaming holly245-berries to colour her darkling mood. There was a certain refreshment246, too, in going off by this new route, where she for her part was as unknown. It was odd how the mere64 turning her back on the Chipstone Road transformed everything. Even the path—though this was not so pleasant for Methusalem—had at first an upward tendency, and her mere passing evoked247 stares and comments. This surprised her in turn till she remembered Will’s disapprobation. She did not realize that the visible emptiness of the cart, with its implication that she was not plying169, only driving it to some male headquarters, mitigated248 the sensation, and she congratulated herself there was no old client to observe the absence of cargo249. In the first few miles she met no soul she knew except the taciturn lout250 who had once directed her to Master Peartree’s shearing-shed, and who was now preparing a feeding-ground for the flock, pulling out mangolds with a picker and hurling251 them over the hurdled252 field from a broken-pronged fork. The sheep had to go to this higher ground for fear of floods, he informed her in a burst of communicativeness, and it wasn’t half as eatable.
Passing a row of thatched, black-tarred cottages at a moment when the mothers were coming to the garden gates to speed their broods to school, she offered lifts till her space was packed with little ones. The old cart was now alive with youth and laughter, and the flocks of rooks from the elms were out-chattered. The road lay between great fields flanked by broad ditches, along which argosies of yellow leaves went sailing, and there were shooters with dogs, happy duck-ponds, old towers and steeples, black barns, gabled old houses with verge-boards over the windows, quaint253 inn-signs and mossy-tiled granges, and the ground kept humping itself and dropping more erratically254 than her home circuit, but never sufficiently to spoil the sublime255 flatness in which single figures stooping to turn over the soil showed like quadrupeds in a vast circle. She must needs go a bit out of her way to reach the school, which lay in a little town on the estuary256, and it was a thrilling moment when from her seat she had her first far-off glimpse of the very waters that had beglamoured her childhood—outwardly it was only the gleam as of a white river with hazy257 land beyond, and on the hither side a few black huts looking almost like vessels258; but over everything was wrapped a dreamy peace, which the clamour of the actual children could not penetrate259, while in her nostrils—though it was surely too far off to be wafted260 to her—there arose the strange, salty, putrid261 odour of fenland, offensive and delectable262. And as the road curved slowly towards the shore, all the charm and mystery of childhood seemed to be in those barges264 with the red-brown sails, those grassy265 knolls266 and unlovely mud-flats, in which rotting boats stuck half sunken.
Before she could deposit her charges in their classrooms some had dropped off and were looking for treasure in the flat, dyke-seamed fields. They had arrived too early for school, they explained. But she felt rewarded for carrying them to the waterside when she espied267 the long, low hull268 and great brown sail of Bidlake’s barge263. With a blast of her horn she summoned the trio of females, but only the twins mounted to the deck to wave hands at her as the broad wherry came tacking269 and gliding270 past, the shaggy Ephraim explaining in an indecorous shout that the missus was to be “laid aside” again, and this time he was looking around for a nice quiet lodging271 on shore for her and the girls. How handsome Sophy and Sally were growing, she thought, how charmingly they had smiled, just as if she had never left off bringing them presents. What a comfort they were so grown up now; they should soon be fending273 for themselves.
After the barge was wafted away, she remained on the shore a few minutes, fascinated by the lattice-work reflection of the clouds on the water, which through their scudding274 over it against the stream seemed to be going in opposite directions at once. She did not know why this phenomenon was agitating275 the recesses276 of her being; but suddenly there flashed up from the obscure turmoil277 the lines of Miss Gentry in her sibylline278 mood:
When the Brad in opposite ways shall course,
Lo! Jinny’s husband shall come on a horse,
And Jinny shall then learn Passion’s force.
Of course this was not the Brad, nor was it really going two ways at once, and in any case who wanted a husband or Passion? Clucking so suddenly to Methusalem that his movement scattered some poultry pecking around him amid golden straw, she turned up through the High Street. At a fishmonger’s shop she got down and bought a pennyworth of bloaters for her grandfather’s supper, the man sliding them off a rod where they hung like blackened corpses279 from a gibbet. She was half minded to inspect the shop of the “Practical Tailor” next door, to see if she could not pick up something cheap and serviceable for the old man’s winter wear, but there was nothing in the little house-window, not even a roll of cloth, except illustrations of men’s clothing so ultra-fashionable and dear that she was frightened to go in. “Pacha D’Orsay Chesterfields, Codringtons, Sylphides, Peltoes, Zephyr280 Wrappers, etc., etc., every description of Winter Coat”—here was assuredly what he needed. But one pound five? Who was there behind the sea-wall that could rise to such prices? Possibly it was here that Mr. Flippance had got his wedding equipment. She returned sadly to her cart, not even noticing that all these fashionable pictures were simply cut out of the catalogue of the great Moses & Son, London.
The road now led again through great grass-lands under shimmering clouds floating in a spacious281 blue, and with gentle slopes and hillocks, though little streams had replaced the broad ditches. There were rabbits taking the air that showed white scuts at the approach of Nip. Far to the right she left the saltings with their grazing cattle, but she could still see them from her driving-board, and the marshes282 stretched, humped and brown and infinitely283 interstreaked, a mud-maze with purple herbage and motley sea-birds.
Then suddenly there was a thunder and clatter284 behind her, and she pulled her horse mechanically to the left to avoid a coach, not realizing till it slowed down that this was the “Flynt Flyer’s” day for the district. Her heart beat fast, almost painfully, and she went scarlet with the thought that Will would think she had come purposely on his track. Why, oh why, had she just chosen that day? There was no turning to be seen and desperately she steered285 Methusalem’s nose towards a farm-gate, prepared to trespass286, but it proved to be only a “lift” for wagons287, opened by raising the rail from its slots, a feat51 which Methusalem’s nose could not achieve. She leaped down and tried to pull it up herself, but her fingers were trembling, and in an instant Will was at her side, hat gracefully289 in hand, the rail lifted up, and the gate held aside for her passing. Blushing still more furiously under the gaze of the coach passengers, she led Methusalem through, and as she passed she said with a sweet smile: “Thank you.”
This was all the audience heard or saw, but what was really said and substantially understood by both principals was:
Will: “Oh, my dear Jinny, how pretty and kissable you look in that becoming new bonnet, and isn’t it silly to be trying to compete with me along this road, when, though you get business from goodness knows who, you can’t even keep your old customers on your own route? You haven’t got the tiniest parcel, I see, nor any hope of one. Really you would do better to accept my offer of a partnership290, or better still to get off the roads altogether, for the winter is going to be a hard one, and perhaps if we dropped our silly sullen291 silence and began to find out each other’s good points again, who knows but what we might come to another sort of partnership? Anyhow I am delighted to open this lift for you, but what the devil you are going to do in a field just being ploughed is what I shall watch with amusement.”
Jinny: “You perfectly292 unbearable293 Mr. Flynt! How mean of you to come spying into my empty cart! If you want to know, I am not out on business to-day at all, it’s a little friendly call I am making on the farmer. I haven’t, like you, to work all the week round to scrape together enough to feed my horses. Two days a week keeps me in luxury—ay, and Gran’fer too. And don’t pretend to be so gay and happy—I know what a grumpy, runty chap you are at home, and how you’re still hankering after that Blanche Jones who has thrown you away like an old shoe. Or if it’s my refusal to be partners with you that’s rankling294, and you are even thinking after all of a closer partnership, then all I can say is, you must be the village idiot if you fancy I’ll put up with Blanche’s leavings. Don’t imagine that silly old coach with the silly wanty-hook and skewers295 painted on it is very attractive to me. Why, if you were to come to me in a coach of gold like the Lord Mayor of London, with six milk-white steeds spruced up with flowers and ribbons like Methusalem on May Day, and say: ‘I love you, Jinny, come and sit in silks and diamonds on my box-seat,’ I should up with my horn and blow a blast of scorn, for I hate and despise you, and how dare you come ogling296 me before all the coach?”
And still retaining her sweet smile, Jinny gazed at the shirt-sleeved ploughmen, who though vaguely astonished at the invasion of their field, continued their stolid297 operations. Jinny arrested her cart to watch with equal stolidity298 the white whirls and long lines of fluttering gulls299 that followed the slow-moving ploughs, with such a twittering and circling and looking so beautiful over the reddish earth and under the blue sky. There was beauty, too, she felt, in the youth who from his white basket sprinkled seeds with a graceful288 motion, and when he smiled at her, she did not hesitate to remark in her sweetest tone on the rainy autumn, spinning out the hygrometric conversation till Will felt it almost a flirtation300. Fuming302 and fumbling303 with the top rail, he took as much time as possible to readjust it in its slots. But in this game of patience he knew he must be beaten: however amusedly he might pretend to watch her pretences304, his passengers would compel him to go on, and so, in no amused state of mind, at a moment when the gulls as by a magic clearance305 disappeared to a bird, he followed their example. When the whirlwind of his passing had died in the distance, Jinny came back again through the lift, with the feeling that Methusalem must think her a fool, and wondering if he were not right.
Soon after, she fell in with a carter who was going her way with sacks of flour for his master, and as they jogged along, conversing306 pleasantly, after the failure of his attempt to chaff307 and flirt301, she was surprised to learn that he had till recently plied158 as a carrier on this very road, but had been ousted308 by the “Flynt Flyer.” It had never occurred to her that there were other victims, but as he went on to denounce Will, she found herself defending the rights of competition and pointing out the service the coach rendered to the neighbourhood, and the carter fell back upon another grievance95 about which he was even more embittered. On one of his last journeys a man he had carried from the Creek had got off without paying, and he had foolishly let him go, thinking he was “a Brandy Hole chap” and would be returning by the same vehicle. But he had vanished from his ken78. “Oi thought he was a Brandy Hole chap,” he kept repeating plaintively.
She was glad to shed him at “The Jolly Bargee,” a small inn with a sanded tap-room and no visible taps, where, amid a company she saw already gathered over frothing mugs, he would doubtless bewail the competition of the coach and the trickery of the fare he had taken for “a Brandy Hole chap.”
Noon was tolling309 from the square church-tower when Jinny espied again her treasured picture of it, rising from a harmony of golden ricks and lichen-spotted tiles, just as on that happy, enchanted day when she had journeyed to the funeral of her mother’s Aunt Susannah. How quickly one came—she thought with pleased astonishment—free of the detours310 and delays of custom, or the pretence thereof! There would be ample time to visit the grave of her father and mother before going on to the Watch Vessel, especially as it was thus on her way. But, remembering with a sad smile the dispute as to whether her grandfather could go to his sister’s funeral in his cart, she took care to draw up her shabby vehicle in a nook beyond the lych-gate. Nip had vanished—like the “Brandy Hole chap”—she found; probably he was also at “The Jolly Bargee.” Leaving Methusalem to his well-earned if not well-filled nose-bag, she returned to the gate.
The monkey-trees and weeping willows311 were unchanged, though in the path leading to the church-porch there was an avenue of young rose-bushes which she did not remember, and screened by them, to the right, a freshly dug grave which made her shudder. She hastened towards the crumbling312 tower—still more crumbled313 now—which her memory connected with the sacred spot. The blackberry-bushes still swathed it, though they were now stripped of their fruit, and in its shadow she found again, not without surprise, the familiar stone, the object of so much whimsical wrangling314. Still Roger Boldero lay “safely neaped in Christ.” She was almost certain that her grandfather had sent a couple of pounds to Commander Dap to have the stone changed, since the inscription315, it appeared, could not well be emended otherwise. Yes, surely he had ordered that “neaped” should be turned into “asleep,” for she remembered counting the letters and rejoicing to find them the same in number. But on the whole she was pleased the word had not been changed: her Angel-Mother had wanted it, she remembered, in memory of her happiness with Roger Boldero. As she stood there, musing316 on these two, feeling her mother’s soft cheek against hers and recalling that smoke-reeking, hairier, burlier, yet somehow more shadowy figure, many pictures flashed and waned317, and most vividly318 of all came the vision of her grandfather’s strong shoulder supporting the coffin319, and the kindly320 old Commander leading her off stealthily to this very spot, and she heard the death-bell tolling again with its long solemn pauses.
And then suddenly with a queer little thrill she awoke to the fact that the death-bell was tolling, that a company in black was bearing a coffin. She moved farther behind the tower, she was not in black, and felt almost an interloper. Presently there came from the rose-bushes the sonorous321 voice of a clergyman intoning the great words. She did not want to be delayed further, nor did she want to pass by the grief-stricken group, which consisted—she saw as she peeped from her hiding-place—of half a dozen men and women, all elderly and all weeping: with a small band of sailors in the background, whose left arms bore black silk handkerchiefs tied in a bow. She looked around for another way out of the churchyard, and finding a side gate escaped almost happily, jumped on her cart, and drove off towards the shore, thinking pleasantly of the genial322 little Dap and the dinner she would not be too late for; a meal which now, after this long drive, began to seem the paramount323 consideration.
The village rose russet from the trees, and she curved round exquisite324 corners of white cottages with Christmas roses in their gardens, and presently she came out by the grass-covered sea-wall. She hardly saw the sordidness325 of the shore—-the litter of pigs, poultry, boats, sheds, barrels—so great a seascape burst upon her, broken by a long narrow island, that added subtle shades and hazes to the far-spreading shimmer45 and fantasy, the water glinting and moving, dotted with red-sailed smacks326 and barges. Even the slimy posts that stuck up from it near the shore had a romantic air, being young tree-trunks that still stretched odd limbs.
But all this glory faded into nothingness when, catching327 sight of the Watch Vessel moored328 on the “hard” of gravel329, at the place where she had first patted Methusalem, she saw that the flag was at half-mast. She scarcely needed to make the inquiry330: the flag, the funeral, the nautical331 handkerchiefs, all rushed into a black unity332. Dear old Commander Dap was dead.
V
A perverse333 imp10 kept telling her that the funeral meats would be unusually abundant. But she had no heart to board the Watch Vessel, to encounter these unknown fellow-mourners. She wanted to mourn in solitude334. And her quest had failed. The last hope for her grandfather had been extinguished—Dap had followed Sidrach—and the best thing to do was to get home as quickly as poor Methusalem could manage it. He should rest, not here where she might meet the returning Daps and perhaps be recognized through Daniel Quarles’s cart, but when they got to “The Jolly Bargee,” where she must have a bit of bread and cheese brought out to her. Yet she could not tear herself away from this squalid, sublime waterside, and driving along the cart-route behind the sea-wall to a safe distance, she got out near a little wooden pier335 and walked on the rough earth of the sea-wall, which was luxuriant with pigweed and sea-beet, strewn with wisps of hay and straw from passing carts, and covered with dead little white-shelled crabs336. There was something akin31 to her mood in the pleasant pain of the acrid337 mud-smell.
At “The Jolly Bargee” she was jarred by the slow easy laughter from the tap-room—the trickery of the “Brandy Hole chap” was still under facetious debate. Before her set face, the gorged338 Nip, rejoining her at the inn-door with conscious drooping339 tail, turned on his back and grovelled340 guiltily: but she ignored his abasement341, and having gulped342 down her snack of bread and cheese—an unwelcome and unforeseen expense—drove on with the same brooding air. She was dazed by the wonder and pathos344 of the little Commander’s death, the whole genial breathing mass become as insensitive as his glass eye: would he get that back at the Resurrection, she pondered, or would there be his original eye? Thence she passed to the thought of the dead Sidrach, the large handsome man of a hundred and five, strong as a bull of Bashan, whom she was supposed to be visiting, and she wondered dully what report of him she should bring back to her grandfather. Abandoning herself as usual to Methusalem’s guidance in this deep brooding, she discovered after an hour or so that in his ignorance of these roads he had gone miles out of their way, down Smugglers’ Lane, and when after half an hour of readjustment she had got on the right homeward road, her own subconscious345 gravitation to the waterside took her back to it. And while she gave Methusalem a rest here, the white moon and the early November sunset began to brood over the mud-flats, transfiguring them with strange scintillant346 gold, and Jinny felt a divine lesson in the transfiguration, and the solemn voice of the clergyman echoed in her ears: “I am the Resurrection and the Life.” Doubtless the Commander was already in communion with the Angel-Mother.
The problem of Sidrach was still unsolved when the feeding-field she had seen preparing in the morning loomed again on her vision like a reminder of the urgency of that question. She envied Master Peartree’s sheep munching347 so imperturbably348 in their hurdles while she had been going through all these emotions and perplexities. With their black noses and feet they looked, she thought, as though they had been drinking from a pool of ink, and her thoughts wandered again from her problem, and she let Methusalem drink from a pool of water. Though it was only four o’clock, the moon had turned a pale ochre and was shining full and high in the heavens, its continents clearly showing. There was no sound save the chewing of the sheep, the gulping349 of her horse, the wistful tinkling350 of a wether’s bell, and from afar the fainter clanging of a cow-bell. Even Nip, feeling unforgiven, was subdued351. Life was beautiful after all, she felt, as she watched the great splashes of sunset below the moon, the glimmering353 rose-tint on the horizon, the glint upon the pool, the tangle of magical gold in the branches. Somehow a way would be opened for her through this network of mendacity.
But by the time she got to her door, the Common was covered again with a grey mist, just oozing354 rain, and Blackwater Hall was a place of shrouded355 terrors. No light was showing through the shutters356 or through the chinks in door or window, and she had a sudden clammy intuition that her grandfather had solved her problem for her by the simple process of dying like Sidrach and the Commander. Silent and weird357 lay thatch and whitewash358 under the moon. She hammered at the house-door and then at the shutters, her heart getting colder and colder.
She tried the door again, then hearing Nip barking mysteriously from within, she went round to the kitchen-door. To her joy and amazement359 it was wide open, and a ray of moonlight resting on a little pool of beer on the brick floor showed that the tap of the beer-barrel which was kept there was dribbling360. Even in that anxious moment her economical instinct prevailed, and as she was tightening361 the tap, there permeated362 through the living-room door a heavenly snore—no lesser363 adjective could convey the relief it brought. With a bound she was up the couple of stone steps and, unlatching the door, she sent a faint blue glimmer352 from the kitchen into the shuttered darkness, that was relieved only by the flicker364 of an expiring lamp and a last spark from a dying log. In that dim discord365 of lights she saw her grandfather’s head on the thumb-holed tray, his hair and beard a dull grey spread, dividing a darker jug366 from two beery glasses. The absence of his Bible-pillow seemed symbolic367 of his degradation368.
Who had been with him? she wondered. What boon369 companion had tempted370 him from his habitual371 moderation? She could not imagine. She shook him to awaken372 him, and lifted up his head. But it fell back in a stupor373, and under the draught213 from the kitchen-door the lamp-flicker went out. She groped about, replenishing the lamp and trying to light it with a spill from the fire, but the greying log only charred374 the paper. She fumbled375 in vain among the china shepherdesses on the mantelpiece for her flint and the iron and steel gauntlet, and going out to get her lighting-up matches from her cart, she overturned the other arm-chair that stood in a novel situation at the table—probably the guest had drawn376 it up there. But the noise left the Gaffer’s snore unweakened. Well, at any rate he had solved her problem—at least for the moment—she thought bitterly, as she groped her way back to the glimmering grate. But even the chemical matches would not light, whether by friction377 or when placed on the charred log: evidently the long damp had impaired them, and they even snapped under her fingers. How lucky it was one need not rely on such new-fangled gewgaws, she thought when—by a happy inspiration—she found the solid steel and stone with the tinder-box in the Gaffer’s pockets; and soon the lamp was lit and the fire glowing ruddily under the bellows378. Then she made herself some kettle-broth (hot water with bread soaked in it), which, sipped379 before the fire, was almost as cheering as the blazing logs, and resisting the temptation to cook one of the bloaters, she fed the still subdued Nip from the bread.
When he was cosily380 couched in his basket, and with a last summoning of her spent energies, she had rubbed down Methusalem, she tried to fold her third charge, but the old man still snored steadily381, and when she sought again to raise his head from the tray, he swore inarticulately in his sleep, and she was too worn out to persist or even to remove the tray and glasses. She wanted to sleep herself, after all these emotions and the long day in the air, and her cracked mirror showed her a drawn face that yawned and closed weary eyes against itself. But it now occurred to her that she could not get to bed with Gran’fer in the room, she must sleep in an arm-chair or on the settle, or stretched on the floor with the cushion for pillow. But the floor through her early start was unswept, the settle was too narrow, and the chair soon got so hard that after a last attempt to rouse the sleeper382, she put an old cloak over his shoulders, a stout383 log on the fire, turned out the lamp—setting her shadow leaping monstrously—and dragged herself up the dark, fusty staircase to his room, where she let herself fall dressed on his bed. She did not dare get between the sheets, for fear he might wake up in the night and come up to bed. Lying there, muttering the prayers she was too tired to kneel for, she had an underthought that Providence was giving her a hint: assuredly in the coming winter nights she must leave him in the room that was warmed all day by the fire, exchanging bedrooms, though not for the reason he had once suggested—a reason that made her last conscious thought a shame-faced memory. But her next thought was one of pleasant wonder—sunshine splashing the whitewashed384 sloping walls through the undrawn blind of a little lattice. What was this strange spacious room? How came she there in her clothes? Then memory resurged, and feeling she had slept dangerously long, she sprang up, unhooked the casement385, and drew a deep breath of fresh air, as she gazed on this unfamiliar386 morning view of the Common and the hoar-frosted fields, dazzling her eye with floating colour-specks from the sun that cut redly through the foliage387 of a fir-tree. Particularly she relished388 the silver rim27 of the Brad now descried389 on the horizon. It made her feel sickish to descend390 from that space and freshness to the dark, airless, shuttered room with its musty, beery smell and its all-pervading snore. Swiftly she threw open the shutters and the casement, and let the light and air stream in.
The chill draught and the noise she made seemed to rouse the Gaffer at last, for as she was returning from the kitchen with some kindlings for the fire in her apron391, he opened his eyes with a start and stared at her.
“Where’s Sidrach?”
She was taken aback: she had not yet prepared her story. Indeed the waking in the big attic165 and the puzzle of his condition had driven her own problem out of her head.
“Sidrach?” she murmured. Should she out with his death and be done with it?
“Ay, he got riled ’cause Oi wouldn’t let him smoke. Where’s he got to?”
It was now her turn to stare at him. “Nonsense, Gran’fer,” she said gently, “that’s a dream you’ve been having.”
“Mebbe.” He blinked in the sunlight, mystified. Suddenly his face darkened. “Why do ye tell me lies agen? There’s his tumbler!”
He pointed to one of the beery glasses she had left still standing. Commonplace as the glass looked with its lees, she was glad he had not pointed at it the evening before in the weird moonlight with her brain full of the poor dead Dap.
“Don’t tell me!” she said in a voice she tried in vain to make stern. “It wasn’t Sidrach that was drinking with you. Who was it?”
“It was Sidrach, Oi’m tellin’ ye,” he protested. “Oi put out his beer with his tumbler and his chair to be ready soon as ye brought him back, he bein’ a rare one for his liquor. But the hours passed slow as a funeral crawl, it got owl-light and you not back, ne yet a rumble6 of your cart upon the road, so at last molloncholy-like Oi lights the lamp and makes a roaring fire and drinks by myself, and then Oi locks and bolts up and stoops down to put on another log, and when Oi looks up, there he sets in his chair in his best Sunday smock, all clean and white.”
She thrilled again.
“But how could he get in, if you’d locked up?”
“That’s what Oi says to him. ‘Good Lord, Sidrach,’ Oi says, ‘how did you get here?’ ‘Come in the coach from Che’msford,’ says he. ‘The coach,’ says Oi, wexed, ‘ye didn’t want to back up the jackanips what’s come competitioning here, and Jinny gone to fetch ye, too. But how did ye get through the door?’ Oi says. ‘You draw me some beer, Danny,’ says he. ‘For Oi count ye’ve finished the jug.’ So Oi goos to the kitchen with the jug, and there sure enough stands the door wide open—happen Oi hadn’t shut it good tightly—and there passin’ along the road by the Common Oi catches sight of the coach, lookin’ all black in the dusk and glidin’ away wery quiet, same as ashamed to be in our cart-racks. ‘You pirate thief,’ Oi says, shakin’ my fist at the driver, ‘ye’ll never come into this house save on your hands and knees.’ But when Oi goos back with my jug brimmin’ over, Sidrach warn’t there. ‘Sidrach!’ Oi calls, ‘Sidrach!’ No answer. Oi goos about beat out and crazy ’twixt here and the kitchen and then the clock strikes, and that remembers me to look in the tother room, and there Oi hears him chucklin’ to hisself in one of they big empty boxes ye left at home this marnin’. ‘Out ye come,’ says Oi, laughin’ too, for he was allus up to his pranks392, was Sid. ‘And Oi’m proper glad to see you, old chap,’ Oi says. With that he comes out of his box, with a little o’ the dust on his white smock, and he hugs and coases me—wery cowld his hands and face was from the long jarney—and Oi drinks his health and he drinks mine, and we clinks they glasses together and has rare sport gammickin’ of the times when Oi was in my twenties and he taken me to see the cock-fightin’ and that old Christmas Day his dog won the silver spoon in the bear-baitin’ at ‘The Black Sheep,’ and Oi told him as Annie were free now but seein’ as he was come to stay, Oi dedn’t want nobody else and he needn’t be afeared he’d be tarned out ef Oi died, bein’ as Oi’d left the house to him by will and testament393. ‘Little Danny,’ says he, ‘you’re a forthright394 brother, but no fear o’ the poorhouse for neither on us, for Oi was born with that silver spoon in my mouth, and Oi’ve got a stockin’ chock-full o’ gold,’ and he shows me it, hunderds of spade guineas, each with the head of Gearge III, fit to warm the cockles of your heart, and we clinked glasses agen and sang three-times-three, merry as grigs, and then the devil possesses him to pull out his pipe and baccar. ‘No, ye don’t,’ says Oi, ‘not for all the gold in Babylon,’ and Oi runs to pocket the flint and steel on the mantelpiece, and to block out the fire, and he laughs and howds his pipe over the lamp and draws like a demon. Oi rushes to the lamp and tarns395 it out and then back to the fire, but aldoe that give a goodish light, Sidrach, he warn’t there no more.” He was almost blubbering.
“But how did he look?” said Jinny, whose kindlings had long since slid from her apron.
“A hansum bonkka man, Oi keep tellin’ ye. Ain’t ye seen him nowhere? Where’s he got to? Just there he sat singin’ with his great old woice:
‘Two bony Frenchmen and one Portugee,
One jolly Englishman can lick all three.’?”
The quavering melody ended with a big sneeze, and Jinny, fearing the brothers would indeed be reunited, rushed to close the window and light the fire. Though she felt confusedly that her grandfather, waiting for Sidrach, and drinking too freely in his melancholy396, had probably dreamed it all, she was not sure that he had not really seen Sidrach’s ghost. How else would the flint and steel have got into his pocket? In any case she was reminded that her secret was not safe. In concealing397 a death one forgot to reckon with the ghost, and Sidrach’s might at any time divulge398 it suddenly to his brother, even if the present visitation was only a dream. Dap’s ghost, too, was another possibility that must be taken into account. “I’ll tell you where Sidrach’s got to,” she said desperately, as a yellow flame leapt up, “he’s got to heaven.”
“To heaven?” repeated the old man vaguely.
“To heaven!” she said inexorably. “He hasn’t been in Chelmsford for weeks. He was very old, you see, a hundred and five.”
The Gaffer began to tremble. “Ye don’t really mean Sidrach’s gone to heaven?”
She nodded her head sadly. “He fell down,” she explained.
“Fell down to heaven?” he asked dazedly399.
“His body fell downstairs—his soul went up to God.”
“Then he come downstairs agen last night, dear Sidrach,” he said solemnly; “he come to have a glass and a gammick with his little brother.”
Jinny was not prepared to deny it, and though the idea jarred, it was after all difficult to see snoring senectitude with the poetry attaching to Angel-Mothers. She removed the dirty glasses silently.
“And where’s his stockin’ o’ gold?” he inquired suddenly. “Why didn’t ye bring back that?”
“There wasn’t any,” she said gently. “He died poorish.”
“They’ve stole it,” he cried. “They’ve robbed me. ’Twas me he meant it for.”
“No, no—all he left was used up in the funeral.”
“Ay, they ain’t satisfied with carts nowadays,” he commented bitterly. “Like that doddy little Dap. Did you goo to the churchyard to see the grave?”
“Yes,” she replied unflinchingly, sustained by the verbal accuracy. “I’ve got you a bloater for breakfast,” she added cheerfully.
“That’s the cowld chill he caught as a cad, gatherin’ eggs on the ma’shes,” he said musingly400. “Ague they calls it—never got over it. And tramped with his pack-horses in all weathers. And rollin’ about here and there and everywheres. ‘You’ll never make old bones, Sid,’ Oi says to him.”
“A hundred and five is pretty old, Gran’fer,” Jinny reminded him. “King David only says seventy, that’s exactly one and a half lives your brother had.”
“Give me the Book,” he said brokenly.
With trembling hands she brought the great Family Bible he had inherited with the house. But his object seemed to be neither verification of the text nor prayerful reading, for he next asked for pen and ink, and then having ascertained the exact date of Sidrach’s death, he adjusted his spectacles and chronicled it with a quavering quill401 opposite Sidrach’s birth-date.
“He’s gone to heaven,” he said. “That’s more than some folks’ll do—even on their hands and knees. Do ye warm my beer for me this marnin’, dearie, for Oi fare to be cowld and lonely in my innards, and Oi’d fain smoke a pipe myself, same as Oi hadn’t promised the old man o’ God.”
VI
The year ended gloomily for Jinny. December was cold. In the mornings the fields looked almost snowy with hoar-frost, but the actual snow did not come till near Christmas. Her grandfather refused to be moved from his bedroom—one was safer from thieves up there, he now urged—so a fire upstairs every evening was added to her work. But the monotony of existence and of the struggle therefor was broken by two letters and an episode, albeit402 all interconnected.
Both letters were from Toby, the naval403 gunner, Dap’s eldest son, and the one for her grandfather was enclosed in hers, as Toby was not sure the old gentleman was still alive, one of his sisters having heard that there was a piece in the paper about his death at the age of a hundred and five. He had only found her own address after the funeral, he wrote, a packet of letters from her having come to hand in the clearing up. For although his poor father with his last breath had asked that his telescope be given to little Jinny Boldero as a token of love and remembrance, he had died without telling them where to send it. It would now be forwarded in due course. For two months he had borne much pain with Christian404 resignation, she learnt with sorrow and respect. The other letter, addressed “Mr. Daniel Quarles,” she had no option but to hand over, but did so with anxiety, for she had not yet broken the news of Dap’s death, and whether he received it with regret or with unchristian satisfaction, it would assuredly agitate him. As she watched him open it, she saw a piece of paper flutter from it, and she caught it in its fall.
“That’s mine!” he cried, snatching it from her fingers. “Pay the person naimed——” he read out dazedly. “What’s that?”
“That must be a money order,” she explained, though with no less surprise.
“A money order?” he repeated.
“You’ve seen post-office orders, surely,” she said, not realizing that they had only become common a decade ago with the introduction of penny postage, and that nobody—not even his children—had ever sent him one before. “?’Tis a way of sending money—you can send as much as two pounds for threepence. How much is yours for?”
Overlaid memories of his late eighties struggled to the surface. “Oh, ay,” he said, not answering her. “That was a blow for the carriers—that and the penny post. Folks began to write to the shops; dedn’t matter so much here, but the Che’msford carriers complained bitter as the tradesmen sent out their own carts with the goods.”
“But how much is it for?” repeated Jinny impatiently.
He studied it afresh, holding it away from her like a dog with its paw on a bone. “Three pound!” he announced with rapturous defiance405. “Ye took away my foiver. But this be for the person naimed on the enwelope, and that’s Daniel Quarles.”
“But what’s it for?” she asked.
“It’s for me,” he said conclusively406, and was going up to his room like a magpie407 with its treasure.
“Yes, but read the letter,” she urged.
He consented to sit down and study it. “Good God!” he blubbered soon. “Poor Dap’s dead.”
“Dead?” echoed Jinny mendaciously408.
“You read it for yourself, dearie. An awful pity, a man in the prime of life. ’Tis from his boy in the Navy as he ast to send me three pounds what he owed me. That was wunnerful honest of him, to remember, seein’ as Oi don’t, aldoe Oi count the Lord put it into his heart, knowin’ Oi wanted money terrible bad. But Oi allus felt he was a good chap underneath409: ’twarn’t his fault he had a glass eye. That made him look at the nose, like, and git frownin’ and quarrelsome. Three pound! That’s a good nest-egg.”
“Yes,” said Jinny, glad the death was passing off so peacefully, “and he’s sending me his telescope.”
“He don’t say that,” he said, peering at the letter again.
She turned red. “I had a line too—didn’t you notice yours had no stamp? I’ll change your order for you at the post office,” she went on hurriedly. Mentally she had worked out that two of the pounds represented the price of the new gravestone the Commander had never purchased, and the third his idea of interest for all these years. Doubtless he had been too tactful to send them back in his lifetime. Anyhow she agreed with her grandfather that it was really all the Lord’s doing, for nothing could be timelier. Even her poultry was now being steadily sacrificed, and this great sum would get her beautifully over Christmas and New Year and start that with a handsome balance in hand. But she had counted without her grandfather.
“No, you don’t!” The Gaffer’s hand closed grimly on the precious paper. “That’s a nest-egg, Oi’m tellin’ ye.”
“But what are you going to do with it?” she inquired in distress61.
“That’s for Annie.”
“Mr. Skindle’s mother! But he’s rich as rich.”
“He don’t never buy her nawthen. He come here and told me sow out of his own mouth, the hunks. Oi had to pay for her packet o’ hairpins410.”
“Well, anyhow she’ll have her Christmas dinner, and that’s more than you’re sure of,” she risked threatening.
“You’ve got the telescope, hain’t ye?” he urged uneasily.
“I can’t sell that. That’s for remembrance.”
“Ye can remember him without a telescope. And ef he had his faults, ’tain’t for you to remember ’em, seein’ as ye’d never a-bin here at all ef he’d done his duty by Emma and King Gearge. But Oi reckon he couldn’t see everythink with that glass eye, and Oi ought to ha’ carried silks and brandy myself ’stead o’ parcels and culch. Did, Oi’d a-got a stockin’ like Sidrach’s and not had to deny myself bite and sup for your sake.” And he hobbled stairwards, the post-office order clutched in his skeleton claw. “Do ye write to Dap’s buoy-oy and thank him for payin’ his dues, and say as Oi hope he won’t put no fooleries on his father’s stone, and he’d best copy what Oi had put on your father’s and mother’s.”
Jinny duly wrote, if not in these terms. But when the telescope came, she felt anything but thankful. For, welcome as it was in itself, it came by the coach. She had been too distraught to foresee this, though she recognized that it was the natural way. And apart from the sting to her own pride, it agitated411 her grandfather profoundly. He had been nodding at the hearth412, but the clamour of the coach aroused him, and ere she could get to the door he had sprung up with an oath.
“Don’t let him over my doorstep!” he cried, pursuing her. “He’s got to come in on his hands and knees.” He jostled her aside and seized the bolt, but his hand trembled so, he could not shoot it.
“How can he crawl in, if you bolt the door?” she said tactfully.
He was staggered: the possibility of the opposition obstinacy relaxing had never even occurred to him. Recovering, he urged that the enemy would try to rush over the sill.
“No fear, Gran’fer. He’ll never cross our threshold unless you carry him in!”
She spoke with unconscious admiration413 of Will’s tenacity414. Indeed the image of the young man crawling to her grandfather or even to herself would have been repellent, had it been really conceivable.
“Carry him in!” the Gaffer laughed explosively, and that burst of derision made him almost good-humoured. He let himself be pushed gently towards the inner room, while Jinny, with her pulse at gallop415, opened the door.
The tension and friction of nerves proved sheer waste. The long narrow parcel was brought to the door by the hobbledehoy guard, and the driver remained, imperturbably important, on his box, looking almost as massive as an old stager in his new, caped26 greatcoat and coloured muffler, though the face under the broad-brimmed festively416 sprigged hat was very different from the mottled malt-soused visages of the coaching breed. It seemed but an idle glance that Jinny cast at it, or at the Christmas congestion417 of the coach, overflowing418 with passengers and literal Christmas boxes, and with hares pendent even from the driver’s seat. Nevertheless, as ever when they met, long invisible messages passed between Jinny and Will, and not all her defiance could disguise her humiliation419 at this second triumph of the coach, coming as it did when the fortunes of the cart were at their blackest. For the Gaffer refused sullenly420 to part with his piece of paper—she did not even know where he had hidden it—and with Uncle Lilliwhyte too poorly to forage421 for her, she was almost tempted to apply for the Christmas doles422 that were by ancient bequest more abundant at Mr. Fallow’s church than applicants423 for them. But her instinct of “uprightness” saved her: better that the last of her poultry should be sacrificed for the sacred repletions of the season. She did indeed dally424 with the notion of keeping Christmas not with, but from, her grandfather—possibly his failing memory might for once prove an advantage—but she had a feeling that apart from the profanity of ignoring it, the festival was too ingrained in the natural order to be overlooked, for did not Christmas mark the pause in the year, when with the crops in the ground and the little wheat-blades safely tucked under the snow, and the beer brewed425 and the pigs killed and salted, the whole world rests and draws happy frosted breath? No, the old man’s instinct would surely trip her up, if she tried to run Christmas as an ordinary day.
She might, of course, as he had originally suggested, sell or at least pawn46 her telescope, but even if she could have brought herself to that, she could not have got it away from him, for he had annexed426 it from the first moment and sat peering out of it from the vantage-point of his bedroom lattice. He was at his spy-glass the moment he woke, enchanted when he could descry427 people or incidents far-off—it was as if his long seclusion428 from the outer world was over—and he would call out like a child and tell Jinny what he had seen. Sometimes it was Master Peartree and his dog, sometimes Bidlake ferrying on the Brad or a couple seeking warmth in a cold lane; now a woodman cutting holly branches with his billhook, anon Bundock bowed by his bag or Mott with his fishing-rod, and once he cried out he could see Annie coming out of Beacon Chimneys, though Jinny suspected that the tall figure with the “wunnerful fine buzzom” was really Farmer Gale’s new wife. Particularly protected did her grandfather now feel against thieves, whose stealthy advent429 he would henceforward detect from afar. Delighted as she was in her turn with the new toy that kept him happy even on a reduced diet, she had to keep his fire going all day now, and to be up and down closing the window through which he would stick the telescope. Sometimes he directed his tube heaven-ward, though not for astronomical430 purposes. “Happen Oi’ll see Sidrach coming down for a gossip,” he said.
Just before Christmas he informed her he had decided431 that the right thing to do with the nest-egg was to purchase Sidrach a gravestone with it, and he instructed her to write a letter of inquiry to Babylon. But although this seemed to her a more logical use of it than he knew, she disregarded his instruction. The nest-egg was too precious. The time might come when he would ask for bread, and was she to give him a stone?
VII
Neglected on the coast in favour of New Year, Christmas was celebrated432 in the inland valley of the Brad with the conventional accessories, and every Christmas the mummers had been wont7 to attend on the Master of Blackwater Hall; as well as the waits. Jinny with no coin to offer to either, the last of her poultry doomed433 for the Christmas dinner, and Uncle Lilliwhyte also on her hands, had this year to beg both companies to refrain, alleging434 her grandfather was too ill. The weather was seasonable, the robin hopped435 as picturesquely436 on the snow as on the Christmas card Jinny had enclosed with her thanksgiving letter to Gunner Dap. The cottage, prankt with its holly and mistletoe, had a fairylike air—everything was perfect, even to the Christmas pudding. But only Nip and Methusalem were happy. To the Gaffer the breach437 of an immemorial tradition gave a troubling sense of void.
“Where’s the waits? Where’s Father Chris’mus? Where’s St. Gearge?” he kept saying peevishly438. Jinny put him off with vague replies or none. Once he alarmed her by asking suddenly: “Where’s the Doctor?” She was reassured439 when he began spouting440:
“Oi carry a bottle of alicampane.”
He passed on to imagine himself as St. George, and seizing the poker441 for a sword declaimed vigorously, if imperfectly:
“Oi’ll fight the Russian Bear, he shall not fly,
?Oi’ll cut him down or else Oi’ll die.”
“Ain’t we a-gooin’ to see the mummers?” he inquired angrily as Christmas Day waned.
“Perhaps they are ill or it’s too cold,” she suggested feebly.
“But they’re gooin’ around to other folk!” he protested. “Oi seen ’em through my glass!”
“Well, then you have seen them,” she said still more feebly. Inwardly she wondered if he had detected herself, on her way to church, carrying off some Christmas dinner to Uncle Lilliwhyte’s hut. The telescope was a new terror added to life.
She had wanted to invite the prop99 of her larder to take his Christmas dinner with them, but her grandfather refused violently to sit down with such a “ragamuffin.” His sense of caste was acute, and as Jinny’s sense of smell was equally acute, she would not have persisted, even had renewed rheumatism not confined the ancient to his hut.
The day after Christmas that year was Friday, and after the comparative festivity of the holiday it required no small force of will to go round uselessly in the north wind, when one day a week would have more than sufficed for such odd commissions as still came her way. The snow had fallen thicker in the night, and robins442, starlings, finches, blackbirds, little blue-tits (pick-cheeses she called them), and other breakfastless birds had all been tapping at her window for crumbs443. But the remains444 of the feast made a good meal for her grandfather and he was in the best of humours, praising the acting236 of the mummers, which he did not now remember he had not seen this Christmas, and remarking upon the “wunnerful fine woice” of old Ravens’ grandson among the waits. Apparently his memories of other years had fused together into an illusion concerning the day before. As Jinny set out, she found herself wishing he would forget his quarrel with Will. Not, of course, that she could forget hers!
There were grey snow-clouds in the sky, and as she ploughed past the sheepfolds, scarring the purity of the road with her cart-tracks, she beheld445 patriarchal sheep, standing almost silent with round, snow-white beards: only a green shoot peeped here and there from the speckless446 white expanse. Methusalem’s muffled447 footsteps gave her a sense of dream, and, when the wind was not in her face, she watched her breath rising white in the air with some strange sense of exhaling448 her soul. But beneath this mystic daze343 went an undercurrent of wonder as to how she could meet the New Year.
Returned from her round—and she was glad, having shown herself and got her meal, to creep home under cover of the early darkness—she half expected to find the Gaffer as ill as she had feigned449, but though he was still peering out into the night, there was no sign he was in the grip of the cold; on the contrary he seemed to have found fresh strength and brightness, whether from the nest-egg or this renewed ocular intercourse450 with his world. “Oi seen you all along the road,” he chuckled451. In this new mood she was easily able to persuade him to exchange a goat for Methusalem’s provender. He would not part with his three pounds, but they gave him a sense of security, almost of gaiety. Indeed their existence made as wonderful a difference to herself as to him. Hidden away though the money order was, she felt the old man would be forced to produce it if ever hunger got too keen, and so the knowledge of it sustained her as the proximity452 of a boat sustains a swimmer. It was scarcely a paradox453 that without its assistance she could not have got through the first month of the New Year. For January brought the “hard winter” foretold by the sloes. Outwardly it was a bright world enough, with children skating on the ponds and ditches: indeed the frost brought out a veritable flamboyance454 of colour in the animal creation, and at one of her moments of despair when she had humbled455 herself in vain to offer lace to the new Mrs. Gale, Jinny was redeemed456 by the motley pomp of the cocks shining on the farmyard straw, and the glowing hues457 of the calves that bestrode it with them, all overbrooded by the ancient mellow458 thatch. Her heart sang again with the row of chaffinches perched on the white stone wall, and looking at the trees silhouetted459 so gracefully against the sky, she decided that winter bareness was almost more beautiful than summer opulence.
But she changed her mind when she watched—with a new sympathy born of fellow-anxiety—the struggle for food among the birds. Coots had flocked in from the coast to add to the competition of land-species, and frozen little forms or bloody half-feathered fragments, but especially dead starlings with lovely shades of green and purple, pathetically imponderable when picked up, all skin and feather—sometimes decapitated by sparrow-hawks—abounded on the hard white roads. As she began to feel the same grim menace brooding over her grandfather and herself, that social unrest which reached even Bradmarsh in faint vibrations460 began to take possession of her, and she arrived at a revolutionary notion which would have horrified461 Farmer Gale far more than her outrageous462 demand for a law that nobody should be paid less than ten shillings a week. She actually maintained that every man should be pensioned off by the parish on reaching the age of ninety! But the view found no sympathy in an age of individualism, to which the poorhouse was the supreme463 humiliation. Even Uncle Lilliwhyte, who was now on the mend again—though too weak to fend272 for anybody but himself—told her to her surprise that every man ought to put by for a rainy day. It was this slavish sluggishness464 of the poor that was the real stumbling-block to reform, she thought, though remembering Uncle Lilliwhyte’s leaky habitation, she treasured up his reply as a humorous example of the gap between precept465 and practice.
Even more unsympathetic was Mrs. Mott’s attitude. She scoffed466 at the idea that every man should be pensioned off at ninety. “Poisoned off at twenty,” was her emendation.
“Well, you do your best,” Jinny laughed.
Mrs. Mott’s blue silk bodice crackled. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you sell them liquor?”
“It’s good liquor,” said Mrs. Mott, flushing.
“I was only joking. But joking apart, it doesn’t do them much good.” And Jinny thought of how even her grandfather had fuddled himself, with or without ghostly assistance.
“If I gave up my bar,” said Mrs. Mott hotly, “who would pay the rent of our chapel?”
“Well, but the chapel got along before you joined,” Jinny reminded her mildly.
“Heaping up debt!” shrilled467 Mrs. Mott, with flashing eyes.
“Then what’s the good of poisoning off the men?” argued Jinny, smiling. “Where would your bar be without them?”
“Women could learn to drink,” said Mrs. Mott fiercely, “and smoke too.”
But the latter accomplishment468 seemed so comically impossible to Jinny—who had never seen Polly over her cigar and milk—that she burst out laughing at the image of it, and her laughter made Mrs. Mott fiercer, and that lady said for two pins she’d wear pink pantaloons like the Bloomerites. As Jinny did not offer the pins, but laughed even more merrily at the new picture presented to her imagination, relations with Mrs. Mott became strained, and when at their next meeting Jinny sensibly remarked that if the law really gave Mr. Mott his wife’s possessions, it was useless going to it, all that lady’s indomitable spirit turned against her whilom confidante. “You take his part like everybody else,” she cried bitterly. “But don’t think I haven’t seen him ogling you!”
“Do you mean I’ve ogled469 him?” said Jinny, incensed470.
“I don’t say that, but you can’t dislike his admiration—why else are you on his side?”
“I am not on his side—I detest16 him.”
Mrs. Mott flew off at a tangent. “Then you ought to be grateful to me for protecting you against him.”
Jinny was now as indignant as her hostess. “How have you protected me?”
“Haven’t I kept you always out of his way?”
“Oh, is that why you’ve had me in the kitchen?”
“Of course.”
Jinny felt at once chilled and inflamed471. “It’s not true,” she cried recklessly. “When I first came to the kitchen, Mr. Mott was still in love with you, and I only went there because you didn’t like to show yourself.”
Such reminders472 are unforgivable, and Jinny would probably never again have enjoyed Mrs. Mott’s hospitality, even had she not then and there shaken it off. It was only with an effort she could prevent herself declaring that Mrs. Mott would have to carry her into the kitchen before she entered it again. But when she got out in the cold air, she felt suddenly as foolish as Will and her grandfather had been. With starvation bearing down on Blackwater Hall like some grim iceberg473, the loss of two full meals a week was a disaster. She was not even sure that the courtyard as well as the kitchen would not be closed to her, for Mrs. Mott seemed a woman without measure, whether in her religion, her affections, her politics, or her quarrels. Possibly, however, the poor lady overlooked her use of it, for the cart continued to draw up there with its air of immemorial and invincible474 custom. But if Jinny thus still kept up appearances, it was with a heart that grew daily heavier.
In looking back on this grim period, Jinny always regarded the crawling up of the wounded hedgehog as marking the zero-point in her fortunes. It was actually crawling over her doorstep like Will in her grandfather’s imagination. What enemy had bitten off its neck-bristles475 she never knew—she could only hope it was not Nip—but catching sight of the dark, ugly gash476, she hastened to get a clean rag as well as some crumbs and goat-milk. The poor creature allowed the wound to be dressed, and seemed to nose among the crumbs, but it neither ate nor drank. She packed it in straw in a little box and placed it in a warm corner of the kitchen, instructing Nip sternly that it was tabu.
“Caught a pig?” said the Gaffer with satisfaction, stumbling into the middle of this lesson in the higher ethics477. “That’s a wunnerful piece o’ luck, a change from rabbits, too.”
“You wouldn’t eat it?” she cried in horror.
“Why, what else?” he asked in surprise.
“There’s bread and there’s jelly,” she said, misunderstanding, “and perhaps Uncle Lilliwhyte will be round with something—he’s about again.”
“There ain’t nawthen better than hedgehog,” the Gaffer said decisively. “And ’tis years since Oi tasted one. Sidrach doted on ’em roasted, used to catch ’em in the ditch-brambles.”
“But we’ve got to cure this, not kill it,” she protested.
“Ye don’t cure pigs that size,” he laughed happily.
For once Jinny failed to appreciate a joke. “It threw itself on our protection,” she insisted. “We can’t take advantage of it like that. Besides, it’s been bitten and might be unhealthy.”
But he was contumacious478, and it was only on her undertaking479 to get him a chicken for his dinner that he consented to forgo152 the dainty in hand.
To acquire this in the absence of coin involved the barter480 of the remaining goats in a large and complex transaction with Miss Gentry’s landlady, and although this set Jinny and Methusalem up for weeks, yet since it meant the exhaustion481 of her last reserves, the wounded hedgehog became to happier memory a sort of symbol of desperation. True, there were still the telescope and the money order, but one could not easily lay one’s hand on them—they bristled482 even more fiercely than the poor hedgehog.
All Jinny’s care of that confiding483 beast proved wasted. In vain she renewed the dressing484 on its neck, in vain Nip and her grandfather were kept off. The third morning it was found on its back, more helpless than Uncle Lilliwhyte, with its hind75 paws close together but its front paws held up apart, as though crying for mercy. Its nose and paws came up dark brown on the lighter485 spines486 around, the eyes were closed and almost invisible, buried like the ears amid the bristles. The rag still adorned487 its neck.
Jinny gave her poor little patient a decent burial and a few tears. “?’Tain’t no use cryin’ over spilt milk,” the Gaffer taunted488 her. “Ye’ve gone and wasted good food, and Oi count the Lord’ll think twice afore He sends ye a present agen.”
The Gaffer was mistaken. Little Bradmarsh was about to flow, if not with milk and honey, with hares and rabbits and horses and sheep and haystacks and potatoes and mangolds and even chairs, step-ladders, fences, gates, watering-pots, casks, boxes, hurdles, hen-coops, and wheelbarrows. For after January had ended in a crescendo489 of rain, wind, sleet490 and the heaviest snowfall in his memory, came a diminuendo movement of sleet, thaw491, and rain, though the wind raged unabated, and after that—the Deluge492!
点击收听单词发音
1 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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2 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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3 plight | |
n.困境,境况,誓约,艰难;vt.宣誓,保证,约定 | |
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4 dominant | |
adj.支配的,统治的;占优势的;显性的;n.主因,要素,主要的人(或物);显性基因 | |
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5 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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6 rumble | |
n.隆隆声;吵嚷;v.隆隆响;低沉地说 | |
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7 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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8 ingratitude | |
n.忘恩负义 | |
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9 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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10 imp | |
n.顽童 | |
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11 clove | |
n.丁香味 | |
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12 gale | |
n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
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13 sodden | |
adj.浑身湿透的;v.使浸透;使呆头呆脑 | |
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14 plaintively | |
adv.悲哀地,哀怨地 | |
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15 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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16 detest | |
vt.痛恨,憎恶 | |
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17 detested | |
v.憎恶,嫌恶,痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18 poultry | |
n.家禽,禽肉 | |
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19 snarled | |
v.(指狗)吠,嗥叫, (人)咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 );咆哮着说,厉声地说 | |
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20 flip | |
vt.快速翻动;轻抛;轻拍;n.轻抛;adj.轻浮的 | |
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21 melodrama | |
n.音乐剧;情节剧 | |
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22 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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23 snared | |
v.用罗网捕捉,诱陷,陷害( snare的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24 vet | |
n.兽医,退役军人;vt.检查 | |
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25 certified | |
a.经证明合格的;具有证明文件的 | |
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26 caped | |
披斗篷的 | |
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27 rim | |
n.(圆物的)边,轮缘;边界 | |
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28 rheumatism | |
n.风湿病 | |
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29 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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30 barley | |
n.大麦,大麦粒 | |
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31 akin | |
adj.同族的,类似的 | |
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32 raven | |
n.渡鸟,乌鸦;adj.乌亮的 | |
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33 peddled | |
(沿街)叫卖( peddle的过去式和过去分词 ); 兜售; 宣传; 散播 | |
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34 industriously | |
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35 tares | |
荑;稂莠;稗 | |
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36 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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37 fowling | |
捕鸟,打鸟 | |
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38 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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39 legitimate | |
adj.合法的,合理的,合乎逻辑的;v.使合法 | |
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40 ebb | |
vi.衰退,减退;n.处于低潮,处于衰退状态 | |
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41 countless | |
adj.无数的,多得不计其数的 | |
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42 brace | |
n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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43 gorge | |
n.咽喉,胃,暴食,山峡;v.塞饱,狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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44 shimmering | |
v.闪闪发光,发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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45 shimmer | |
v./n.发微光,发闪光;微光 | |
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46 pawn | |
n.典当,抵押,小人物,走卒;v.典当,抵押 | |
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47 extravagantly | |
adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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48 plod | |
v.沉重缓慢地走,孜孜地工作 | |
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49 compassionately | |
adv.表示怜悯地,有同情心地 | |
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50 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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51 feat | |
n.功绩;武艺,技艺;adj.灵巧的,漂亮的,合适的 | |
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52 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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53 flannel | |
n.法兰绒;法兰绒衣服 | |
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54 lucrative | |
adj.赚钱的,可获利的 | |
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55 insufficiently | |
adv.不够地,不能胜任地 | |
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56 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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57 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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58 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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59 pawnbroker | |
n.典当商,当铺老板 | |
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60 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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61 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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62 crate | |
vt.(up)把…装入箱中;n.板条箱,装货箱 | |
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63 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
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64 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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65 remodelled | |
v.改变…的结构[形状]( remodel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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67 defiant | |
adj.无礼的,挑战的 | |
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68 eke | |
v.勉强度日,节约使用 | |
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69 abated | |
减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
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70 halcyon | |
n.平静的,愉快的 | |
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71 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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72 beech | |
n.山毛榉;adj.山毛榉的 | |
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73 cowered | |
v.畏缩,抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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74 calves | |
n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子,腓;腿肚子( calf的名词复数 );牛犊;腓;小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 );(冰川)崩解;生(小牛等),产(犊);使(冰川)崩解 | |
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75 hind | |
adj.后面的,后部的 | |
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76 replenished | |
补充( replenish的过去式和过去分词 ); 重新装满 | |
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77 gratis | |
adj.免费的 | |
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78 ken | |
n.视野,知识领域 | |
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79 deduction | |
n.减除,扣除,减除额;推论,推理,演绎 | |
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80 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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81 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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82 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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83 profanely | |
adv.渎神地,凡俗地 | |
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84 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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85 synonyms | |
同义词( synonym的名词复数 ) | |
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86 boredom | |
n.厌烦,厌倦,乏味,无聊 | |
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87 dicing | |
n.掷骰子,(皮革上的)菱形装饰v.将…切成小方块,切成丁( dice的现在分词 ) | |
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88 reprehensible | |
adj.该受责备的 | |
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89 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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90 plethora | |
n.过量,过剩 | |
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91 acclaimed | |
adj.受人欢迎的 | |
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92 repartee | |
n.机敏的应答 | |
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93 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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94 savings | |
n.存款,储蓄 | |
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95 grievance | |
n.怨愤,气恼,委屈 | |
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96 grievances | |
n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 );苦衷;不满;牢骚 | |
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97 gender | |
n.(生理上的)性,(名词、代词等的)性 | |
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98 sundry | |
adj.各式各样的,种种的 | |
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99 prop | |
vt.支撑;n.支柱,支撑物;支持者,靠山 | |
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100 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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101 precedent | |
n.先例,前例;惯例;adj.在前的,在先的 | |
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102 embellished | |
v.美化( embellish的过去式和过去分词 );装饰;修饰;润色 | |
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103 facetious | |
adj.轻浮的,好开玩笑的 | |
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104 prodigal | |
adj.浪费的,挥霍的,放荡的 | |
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105 lavished | |
v.过分给予,滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106 sect | |
n.派别,宗教,学派,派系 | |
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107 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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108 jubilee | |
n.周年纪念;欢乐 | |
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109 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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110 outraged | |
a.震惊的,义愤填膺的 | |
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111 martyr | |
n.烈士,殉难者;vt.杀害,折磨,牺牲 | |
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112 incitement | |
激励; 刺激; 煽动; 激励物 | |
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113 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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114 reprobation | |
n.斥责 | |
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115 indirectly | |
adv.间接地,不直接了当地 | |
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116 reminder | |
n.提醒物,纪念品;暗示,提示 | |
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117 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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118 profusely | |
ad.abundantly | |
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119 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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120 acquitted | |
宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 ); 使(自己)作出某种表现 | |
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121 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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122 wafts | |
n.空中飘来的气味,一阵气味( waft的名词复数 );摇转风扇v.吹送,飘送,(使)浮动( waft的第三人称单数 ) | |
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123 fumigation | |
n.烟熏,熏蒸;忿恨 | |
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124 hoggish | |
adj.贪婪的 | |
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125 sham | |
n./adj.假冒(的),虚伪(的) | |
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126 impermeable | |
adj.不能透过的,不渗透的 | |
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127 tracts | |
大片土地( tract的名词复数 ); 地带; (体内的)道; (尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的)短文 | |
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128 remonstrances | |
n.抱怨,抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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129 orchard | |
n.果园,果园里的全部果树,(美俚)棒球场 | |
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130 etymology | |
n.语源;字源学 | |
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131 plausible | |
adj.似真实的,似乎有理的,似乎可信的 | |
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132 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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133 quota | |
n.(生产、进出口等的)配额,(移民的)限额 | |
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134 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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135 vagaries | |
n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 );异想天开;异常行为;难以预测的情况 | |
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136 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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137 hoops | |
n.箍( hoop的名词复数 );(篮球)篮圈;(旧时儿童玩的)大环子;(两端埋在地里的)小铁弓 | |
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138 hurdles | |
n.障碍( hurdle的名词复数 );跳栏;(供人或马跳跃的)栏架;跨栏赛 | |
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139 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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140 chatter | |
vi./n.喋喋不休;短促尖叫;(牙齿)打战 | |
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141 ousting | |
驱逐( oust的现在分词 ); 革职; 罢黜; 剥夺 | |
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142 theatrical | |
adj.剧场的,演戏的;做戏似的,做作的 | |
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143 embittered | |
v.使怨恨,激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144 disillusioned | |
a.不再抱幻想的,大失所望的,幻想破灭的 | |
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145 joyously | |
ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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146 tangled | |
adj. 纠缠的,紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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147 tangle | |
n.纠缠;缠结;混乱;v.(使)缠绕;变乱 | |
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148 adoration | |
n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
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149 tinkled | |
(使)发出丁当声,(使)发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 ); 叮当响着发出,铃铃响着报出 | |
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150 enchanted | |
adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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151 hazes | |
n.(烟尘等的)雾霭( haze的名词复数 );迷蒙;迷糊;(尤指热天引起的)薄雾v.(使)笼罩在薄雾中( haze的第三人称单数 );戏弄,欺凌(新生等,有时作为加入美国大学生联谊会的条件) | |
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152 forgo | |
v.放弃,抛弃 | |
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153 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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154 ravenous | |
adj.极饿的,贪婪的 | |
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155 rape | |
n.抢夺,掠夺,强奸;vt.掠夺,抢夺,强奸 | |
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156 turnip | |
n.萝卜,芜菁 | |
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157 diverging | |
分开( diverge的现在分词 ); 偏离; 分歧; 分道扬镳 | |
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158 plied | |
v.使用(工具)( ply的过去式和过去分词 );经常供应(食物、饮料);固定往来;经营生意 | |
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159 winced | |
赶紧避开,畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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160 rankled | |
v.(使)痛苦不已,(使)怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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161 foretold | |
v.预言,预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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162 thatch | |
vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部;n.茅草(屋) | |
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163 mortar | |
n.灰浆,灰泥;迫击炮;v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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164 grit | |
n.沙粒,决心,勇气;v.下定决心,咬紧牙关 | |
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165 attic | |
n.顶楼,屋顶室 | |
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166 crevices | |
n.(尤指岩石的)裂缝,缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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167 commiseration | |
n.怜悯,同情 | |
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168 provender | |
n.刍草;秣料 | |
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169 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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170 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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171 impaired | |
adj.受损的;出毛病的;有(身体或智力)缺陷的v.损害,削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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172 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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173 stony | |
adj.石头的,多石头的,冷酷的,无情的 | |
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174 invoked | |
v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 );行使(权利等);祈求救助;恳求 | |
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175 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
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176 pried | |
v.打听,刺探(他人的私事)( pry的过去式和过去分词 );撬开 | |
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177 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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178 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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179 lanky | |
adj.瘦长的 | |
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180 demon | |
n.魔鬼,恶魔 | |
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181 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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182 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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183 loom | |
n.织布机,织机;v.隐现,(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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184 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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185 obstinacy | |
n.顽固;(病痛等)难治 | |
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186 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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187 rascal | |
n.流氓;不诚实的人 | |
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188 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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189 reverted | |
恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 ); 重提; 回到…上; 归还 | |
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190 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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191 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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192 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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193 bequest | |
n.遗赠;遗产,遗物 | |
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194 legacy | |
n.遗产,遗赠;先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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195 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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196 discredit | |
vt.使不可置信;n.丧失信义;不信,怀疑 | |
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197 opulence | |
n.财富,富裕 | |
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198 tenaciously | |
坚持地 | |
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199 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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200 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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201 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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202 subside | |
vi.平静,平息;下沉,塌陷,沉降 | |
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203 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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204 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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205 agitate | |
vi.(for,against)煽动,鼓动;vt.搅动 | |
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206 bleak | |
adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
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207 obstinately | |
ad.固执地,顽固地 | |
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208 larder | |
n.食物贮藏室,食品橱 | |
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209 fleas | |
n.跳蚤( flea的名词复数 );爱财如命;没好气地(拒绝某人的要求) | |
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210 miserably | |
adv.痛苦地;悲惨地;糟糕地;极度地 | |
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211 logic | |
n.逻辑(学);逻辑性 | |
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212 dexterous | |
adj.灵敏的;灵巧的 | |
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213 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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214 draughts | |
n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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215 dearth | |
n.缺乏,粮食不足,饥谨 | |
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216 Flared | |
adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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217 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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218 stimulated | |
a.刺激的 | |
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219 homage | |
n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
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220 landlady | |
n.女房东,女地主 | |
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221 moot | |
v.提出;adj.未决议的;n.大会;辩论会 | |
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222 manor | |
n.庄园,领地 | |
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223 ascertained | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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224 beacon | |
n.烽火,(警告用的)闪火灯,灯塔 | |
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225 broached | |
v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 );打开并开始用;用凿子扩大(或修光);(在桶上)钻孔取液体 | |
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226 tenure | |
n.终身职位;任期;(土地)保有权,保有期 | |
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227 borough | |
n.享有自治权的市镇;(英)自治市镇 | |
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228 obsession | |
n.困扰,无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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229 crafty | |
adj.狡猾的,诡诈的 | |
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230 creek | |
n.小溪,小河,小湾 | |
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231 reticent | |
adj.沉默寡言的;言不如意的 | |
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232 misty | |
adj.雾蒙蒙的,有雾的 | |
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233 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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234 inveterate | |
adj.积习已深的,根深蒂固的 | |
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235 venom | |
n.毒液,恶毒,痛恨 | |
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236 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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237 everlasting | |
adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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238 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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239 oozed | |
v.(浓液等)慢慢地冒出,渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 );使(液体)缓缓流出;(浓液)渗出,慢慢流出 | |
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240 underlying | |
adj.在下面的,含蓄的,潜在的 | |
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241 trotting | |
小跑,急走( trot的现在分词 ); 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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242 withering | |
使人畏缩的,使人害羞的,使人难堪的 | |
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243 robin | |
n.知更鸟,红襟鸟 | |
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244 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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245 holly | |
n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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246 refreshment | |
n.恢复,精神爽快,提神之事物;(复数)refreshments:点心,茶点 | |
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247 evoked | |
[医]诱发的 | |
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248 mitigated | |
v.减轻,缓和( mitigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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249 cargo | |
n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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250 lout | |
n.粗鄙的人;举止粗鲁的人 | |
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251 hurling | |
n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的现在分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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252 hurdled | |
vi.克服困难(hurdle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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253 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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254 erratically | |
adv.不规律地,不定地 | |
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255 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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256 estuary | |
n.河口,江口 | |
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257 hazy | |
adj.有薄雾的,朦胧的;不肯定的,模糊的 | |
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258 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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259 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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260 wafted | |
v.吹送,飘送,(使)浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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261 putrid | |
adj.腐臭的;有毒的;已腐烂的;卑劣的 | |
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262 delectable | |
adj.使人愉快的;美味的 | |
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263 barge | |
n.平底载货船,驳船 | |
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264 barges | |
驳船( barge的名词复数 ) | |
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265 grassy | |
adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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266 knolls | |
n.小圆丘,小土墩( knoll的名词复数 ) | |
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267 espied | |
v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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268 hull | |
n.船身;(果、实等的)外壳;vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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269 tacking | |
(帆船)抢风行驶,定位焊[铆]紧钉 | |
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270 gliding | |
v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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271 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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272 fend | |
v.照料(自己),(自己)谋生,挡开,避开 | |
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273 fending | |
v.独立生活,照料自己( fend的现在分词 );挡开,避开 | |
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274 scudding | |
n.刮面v.(尤指船、舰或云彩)笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的现在分词 ) | |
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275 agitating | |
搅动( agitate的现在分词 ); 激怒; 使焦虑不安; (尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而)激烈争论 | |
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276 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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277 turmoil | |
n.骚乱,混乱,动乱 | |
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278 sibylline | |
adj.预言的;神巫的 | |
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279 corpses | |
n.死尸,尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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280 zephyr | |
n.和风,微风 | |
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281 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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282 marshes | |
n.沼泽,湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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283 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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284 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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285 steered | |
v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 );操纵;控制;引导 | |
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286 trespass | |
n./v.侵犯,闯入私人领地 | |
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287 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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288 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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289 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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290 partnership | |
n.合作关系,伙伴关系 | |
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291 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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292 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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293 unbearable | |
adj.不能容忍的;忍受不住的 | |
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294 rankling | |
v.(使)痛苦不已,(使)怨恨不已( rankle的现在分词 ) | |
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295 skewers | |
n.串肉扦( skewer的名词复数 );烤肉扦;棒v.(用串肉扦或类似物)串起,刺穿( skewer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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296 ogling | |
v.(向…)抛媚眼,送秋波( ogle的现在分词 ) | |
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297 stolid | |
adj.无动于衷的,感情麻木的 | |
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298 stolidity | |
n.迟钝,感觉麻木 | |
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299 gulls | |
n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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300 flirtation | |
n.调情,调戏,挑逗 | |
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301 flirt | |
v.调情,挑逗,调戏;n.调情者,卖俏者 | |
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302 fuming | |
愤怒( fume的现在分词 ); 大怒; 发怒; 冒烟 | |
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303 fumbling | |
n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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304 pretences | |
n.假装( pretence的名词复数 );作假;自命;自称 | |
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305 clearance | |
n.净空;许可(证);清算;清除,清理 | |
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306 conversing | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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307 chaff | |
v.取笑,嘲笑;n.谷壳 | |
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308 ousted | |
驱逐( oust的过去式和过去分词 ); 革职; 罢黜; 剥夺 | |
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309 tolling | |
[财]来料加工 | |
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310 detours | |
绕行的路( detour的名词复数 ); 绕道,兜圈子 | |
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311 willows | |
n.柳树( willow的名词复数 );柳木 | |
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312 crumbling | |
adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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313 crumbled | |
(把…)弄碎, (使)碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 衰落; 坍塌; 损坏 | |
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314 wrangling | |
v.争吵,争论,口角( wrangle的现在分词 ) | |
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315 inscription | |
n.(尤指石块上的)刻印文字,铭文,碑文 | |
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316 musing | |
n. 沉思,冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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317 waned | |
v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 );(月)亏;变小;变暗淡 | |
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318 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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319 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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320 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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321 sonorous | |
adj.响亮的,回响的;adv.圆润低沉地;感人地;n.感人,堂皇 | |
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322 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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323 paramount | |
a.最重要的,最高权力的 | |
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324 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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325 sordidness | |
n.肮脏;污秽;卑鄙;可耻 | |
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326 smacks | |
掌掴(声)( smack的名词复数 ); 海洛因; (打的)一拳; 打巴掌 | |
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327 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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328 moored | |
adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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329 gravel | |
n.砂跞;砂砾层;结石 | |
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330 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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331 nautical | |
adj.海上的,航海的,船员的 | |
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332 unity | |
n.团结,联合,统一;和睦,协调 | |
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333 perverse | |
adj.刚愎的;坚持错误的,行为反常的 | |
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334 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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335 pier | |
n.码头;桥墩,桥柱;[建]窗间壁,支柱 | |
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336 crabs | |
n.蟹( crab的名词复数 );阴虱寄生病;蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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337 acrid | |
adj.辛辣的,尖刻的,刻薄的 | |
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338 gorged | |
v.(用食物把自己)塞饱,填饱( gorge的过去式和过去分词 );作呕 | |
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339 drooping | |
adj. 下垂的,无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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340 grovelled | |
v.卑躬屈节,奴颜婢膝( grovel的过去式和过去分词 );趴 | |
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341 abasement | |
n.滥用 | |
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342 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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343 daze | |
v.(使)茫然,(使)发昏 | |
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344 pathos | |
n.哀婉,悲怆 | |
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345 subconscious | |
n./adj.潜意识(的),下意识(的) | |
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346 scintillant | |
adj.产生火花的,闪烁(耀)的 | |
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347 munching | |
v.用力咀嚼(某物),大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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348 imperturbably | |
adv.泰然地,镇静地,平静地 | |
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349 gulping | |
v.狼吞虎咽地吃,吞咽( gulp的现在分词 );大口地吸(气);哽住 | |
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350 tinkling | |
n.丁当作响声 | |
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351 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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352 glimmer | |
v.发出闪烁的微光;n.微光,微弱的闪光 | |
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353 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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354 oozing | |
v.(浓液等)慢慢地冒出,渗出( ooze的现在分词 );使(液体)缓缓流出;(浓液)渗出,慢慢流出 | |
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355 shrouded | |
v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 );保密 | |
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356 shutters | |
百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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357 weird | |
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
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358 whitewash | |
v.粉刷,掩饰;n.石灰水,粉刷,掩饰 | |
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359 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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360 dribbling | |
n.(燃料或油从系统内)漏泄v.流口水( dribble的现在分词 );(使液体)滴下或作细流;运球,带球 | |
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361 tightening | |
上紧,固定,紧密 | |
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362 permeated | |
弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 ); 遍布; 渗入; 渗透 | |
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363 lesser | |
adj.次要的,较小的;adv.较小地,较少地 | |
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364 flicker | |
vi./n.闪烁,摇曳,闪现 | |
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365 discord | |
n.不和,意见不合,争论,(音乐)不和谐 | |
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366 jug | |
n.(有柄,小口,可盛水等的)大壶,罐,盂 | |
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367 symbolic | |
adj.象征性的,符号的,象征主义的 | |
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368 degradation | |
n.降级;低落;退化;陵削;降解;衰变 | |
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369 boon | |
n.恩赐,恩物,恩惠 | |
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370 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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371 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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372 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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373 stupor | |
v.昏迷;不省人事 | |
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374 charred | |
v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式);烧焦 | |
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375 fumbled | |
(笨拙地)摸索或处理(某事物)( fumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 乱摸,笨拙地弄; 使落下 | |
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376 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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377 friction | |
n.摩擦,摩擦力 | |
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378 bellows | |
n.风箱;发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的名词复数 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫v.发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的第三人称单数 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫 | |
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379 sipped | |
v.小口喝,呷,抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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380 cosily | |
adv.舒适地,惬意地 | |
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381 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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382 sleeper | |
n.睡眠者,卧车,卧铺 | |
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384 whitewashed | |
粉饰,美化,掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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385 casement | |
n.竖铰链窗;窗扉 | |
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386 unfamiliar | |
adj.陌生的,不熟悉的 | |
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387 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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388 relished | |
v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 );从…获得乐趣;渴望 | |
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389 descried | |
adj.被注意到的,被发现的,被看到的 | |
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390 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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391 apron | |
n.围裙;工作裙 | |
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392 pranks | |
n.玩笑,恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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393 testament | |
n.遗嘱;证明 | |
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394 forthright | |
adj.直率的,直截了当的 [同]frank | |
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395 tarns | |
n.冰斗湖,山中小湖( tarn的名词复数 ) | |
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396 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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397 concealing | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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398 divulge | |
v.泄漏(秘密等);宣布,公布 | |
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399 dazedly | |
头昏眼花地,眼花缭乱地,茫然地 | |
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400 musingly | |
adv.沉思地,冥想地 | |
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401 quill | |
n.羽毛管;v.给(织物或衣服)作皱褶 | |
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402 albeit | |
conj.即使;纵使;虽然 | |
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403 naval | |
adj.海军的,军舰的,船的 | |
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404 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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405 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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406 conclusively | |
adv.令人信服地,确凿地 | |
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407 magpie | |
n.喜欢收藏物品的人,喜鹊,饶舌者 | |
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408 mendaciously | |
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409 underneath | |
adj.在...下面,在...底下;adv.在下面 | |
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410 hairpins | |
n.发夹( hairpin的名词复数 ) | |
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411 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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412 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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413 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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414 tenacity | |
n.坚韧 | |
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415 gallop | |
v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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416 festively | |
adv.节日地,适合于节日地 | |
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417 congestion | |
n.阻塞,消化不良 | |
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418 overflowing | |
n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的,充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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419 humiliation | |
n.羞辱 | |
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420 sullenly | |
不高兴地,绷着脸,忧郁地 | |
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421 forage | |
n.(牛马的)饲料,粮草;v.搜寻,翻寻 | |
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422 doles | |
救济物( dole的名词复数 ); 失业救济金 | |
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423 applicants | |
申请人,求职人( applicant的名词复数 ) | |
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424 dally | |
v.荒废(时日),调情 | |
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425 brewed | |
调制( brew的过去式和过去分词 ); 酝酿; 沏(茶); 煮(咖啡) | |
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426 annexed | |
[法] 附加的,附属的 | |
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427 descry | |
v.远远看到;发现;责备 | |
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428 seclusion | |
n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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429 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
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430 astronomical | |
adj.天文学的,(数字)极大的 | |
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431 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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432 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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433 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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434 alleging | |
断言,宣称,辩解( allege的现在分词 ) | |
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435 hopped | |
跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 ); 单足蹦跳; 齐足(或双足)跳行; 摘葎草花 | |
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436 picturesquely | |
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437 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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438 peevishly | |
adv.暴躁地 | |
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439 reassured | |
adj.使消除疑虑的;使放心的v.再保证,恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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440 spouting | |
n.水落管系统v.(指液体)喷出( spout的现在分词 );滔滔不绝地讲;喋喋不休地说;喷水 | |
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441 poker | |
n.扑克;vt.烙制 | |
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442 robins | |
n.知更鸟,鸫( robin的名词复数 );(签名者不分先后,以避免受责的)圆形签名抗议书(或请愿书) | |
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443 crumbs | |
int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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444 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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445 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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446 speckless | |
adj.无斑点的,无瑕疵的 | |
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447 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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448 exhaling | |
v.呼出,发散出( exhale的现在分词 );吐出(肺中的空气、烟等),呼气 | |
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449 feigned | |
a.假装的,不真诚的 | |
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450 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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451 chuckled | |
轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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452 proximity | |
n.接近,邻近 | |
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453 paradox | |
n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法;自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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454 flamboyance | |
n.火红;艳丽;炫耀 | |
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455 humbled | |
adj. 卑下的,谦逊的,粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下,贬低 | |
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456 redeemed | |
adj. 可赎回的,可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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457 hues | |
色彩( hue的名词复数 ); 色调; 信仰; 观点 | |
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458 mellow | |
adj.柔和的;熟透的;v.变柔和;(使)成熟 | |
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459 silhouetted | |
显出轮廓的,显示影像的 | |
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460 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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461 horrified | |
a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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462 outrageous | |
adj.无理的,令人不能容忍的 | |
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463 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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464 sluggishness | |
不振,萧条,呆滞;惰性;滞性;惯性 | |
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465 precept | |
n.戒律;格言 | |
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466 scoffed | |
嘲笑,嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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467 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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468 accomplishment | |
n.完成,成就,(pl.)造诣,技能 | |
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469 ogled | |
v.(向…)抛媚眼,送秋波( ogle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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470 incensed | |
盛怒的 | |
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471 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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472 reminders | |
n.令人回忆起…的东西( reminder的名词复数 );提醒…的东西;(告知该做某事的)通知单;提示信 | |
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473 iceberg | |
n.冰山,流冰,冷冰冰的人 | |
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474 invincible | |
adj.不可征服的,难以制服的 | |
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475 bristles | |
短而硬的毛发,刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
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476 gash | |
v.深切,划开;n.(深长的)切(伤)口;裂缝 | |
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477 ethics | |
n.伦理学;伦理观,道德标准 | |
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478 contumacious | |
adj.拒不服从的,违抗的 | |
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479 undertaking | |
n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
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480 barter | |
n.物物交换,以货易货,实物交易 | |
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481 exhaustion | |
n.耗尽枯竭,疲惫,筋疲力尽,竭尽,详尽无遗的论述 | |
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482 bristled | |
adj. 直立的,多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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483 confiding | |
adj.相信人的,易于相信的v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的现在分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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484 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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485 lighter | |
n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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486 spines | |
n.脊柱( spine的名词复数 );脊椎;(动植物的)刺;书脊 | |
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487 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
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488 taunted | |
嘲讽( taunt的过去式和过去分词 ); 嘲弄; 辱骂; 奚落 | |
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489 crescendo | |
n.(音乐)渐强,高潮 | |
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490 sleet | |
n.雨雪;v.下雨雪,下冰雹 | |
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491 thaw | |
v.(使)融化,(使)变得友善;n.融化,缓和 | |
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492 deluge | |
n./vt.洪水,暴雨,使泛滥 | |
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