??I syghe that cyty of gret renoun,
Jherusalem so newe and ryally dyght,
??As hit wacz lyght fro the heven adoun.
“Pearl” (Fourteenth century).
I
Jinny’s passage through Long Bradmarsh with her overflowing1 freight of fares and live stock was like a triumphal progress. The loungers outside “The King of Prussia” actually raised a cheer. Fresh from the excitement of the Mott inquest, they knew the adventurous3 significance of her dripping cart-wheels and dry tilt5, and were quick to see the symbolic6 significance of her carrying the disabled driver of “The Flynt Flyer,” though its destruction was still unknown to them. At the instance of Elijah, she went round by Foxearth Farm, so as to put up Maria and the poultry8 there, as well as to reassure9 Blanche of his safety. Though the interview with the latter was naturally veiled from the occupants of the cart, it was obvious to them that it was Mrs. Purley who was doing the talking. Her voice, wafted10 to them through walls which dulled the actual words, was like an endless drone, each sentence fusing breathlessly into the next in a maddening meaninglessness. Elijah returned with a dejected mien11: due not merely, it transpired13, to the cascade14 that had broken over him, but to the fact that Blanche was just washing her head (that generation did not speak of its hair) and unable to see him. “As if you hadn’t suffered enough from water,” said Jinny sympathetically.
She had her first view that day of Mr. Skindle’s bridal mansion15. Its two stories rose in new red brick on the outskirts16 of Chipstone, in a forlorn field that was just being “developed,” and its architecture, from bow-window to chimney-stack, was an imitation of the residence of Dr. Mint, the leading human doctor.
“There’s Rosemary Villa18!” said Elijah proudly, and Will smiled at the recollection of Bundock’s jape and Blanche’s merriment.
Ere Elijah, leaping down first, could mount his beautifully whitened steps, the door was opened excitedly and a gaunt grey-haired charwoman, with a smear21 on her cheek, dropped her grate-blacking brush and fell upon Elijah’s neck in a spasm22 of emotion.
“Thank God! Thank God!” she sobbed24.
“Here! Don’t do that!” said Elijah, writhing25 in her grasp. He was blushingly disconcerted by this assertion of maternity26 before company: she had so long accepted the position of drudge27 that he had forgotten that his absence during the flood might reawaken the mother. “You’re all black!” he explained, disentangling himself.
“That’s mourning for you!” Jinny called merrily from her cart, and the jest relieved the situation. She looked curiously28 at the lank29, aproned figure, fancying she caught a hint of grace in the movement of the limbs and a gleam of fire in the dark eyes. But this dim sense of the tragic32 passing of romance could not even faintly obscure her own happiness, on which the imminent33 separation from Will was the only cloud. Except for the thrilling contact achieved in helping34 him to alight, she had to part with him less cordially than with Caleb, who to her surprise and Martha’s gave her a smacking35 kiss ere he stepped down. “Thank you, dearie—ye’ve saved our lives,” he said. Jinny scoffed36 at that—the gratitude37 was due to Bidlake and Ravens38. “Well, the missus’ll have to kiss them,” he sniggered. “You do your own kissing,” said Martha sharply. “And keep your kissing for your own, too.” All this talk of kissing but aggravated39 the pang40 of the frigid41 parting with the one person who mattered.
“Good-bye; see you soon,” was all Will said.
“You bet your bottom dollar on that,” she flashed, with a relieved smile, reading into his words a promise to come over the very next day.
“Oh, I’ll pay you next time,” he smiled back, and she had a delicious sense of his meaning to pay his lost wager43 in the currency with which Caleb had just acquitted44 his debt. She promised the old people she would come round on Friday and tell them how Frog Farm stood—if it did stand! But though her eyes exchanged with Will’s secret promises for the morrow, an eternity45 of loneliness seemed to lie before her, as she drove back to the town, magnanimously blowing the “Buy a Broom Polka” to apprise47 her faithless clients.
II
So many commissions clamoured for her from folk with relations in the flooded area that she had no difficulty in redeeming48 her dress from the pawnshop that very day. But it was not on account of the many calls upon her that she arrived home in the dark. It was because she had forgotten to command her faithful ferry’s attendance, and been forced to take the amazed Methusalem miles round by the farther bridge. Her grandfather would be anxious, she feared: then it occurred to her—not wholly with satisfaction—that he might have followed her day’s movements by telescope. But she found him as happy as she had left him, and with the hearth49 blazing like a bonfire, reckless of logs. He had not observed her rescue of the Flynts, for, as she had warned him, his overtaxed right eye had become inflamed50 and throbbed51 with little darts52 of pain, and he had been compelled to fall back on the voluptuous54 venom55 of his reflections, supplemented by a text which he had hunted out with his other eye.
“It come into my mind all of an onplunge,” he chuckled56, putting a bony finger on a verse. “The horse and his rider hath He thrown into the sea,” she saw with a shudder58. “That won’t be long afore he follows his hoss,” said the Gaffer grimly as he polished his lens for the spectacle. “Oi will sing to the Lord,” he read out, “for He hath triumphed gloriously.”
“Don’t be so wicked, Gran’fer,” she cried.
“Wicked! That’s roighteous—to sing to the Lord.”
“You don’t want people drowned!”
“Dedn’t he want us to starve?”
“Looks more like his starving now. We can afford to forgive. You’re reading the wrong end of the Bible, Gran’fer. We’ve got to turn the other cheek.”
“Sow Oi would, ef anybody was bussin’ me,” he cackled.
Jinny flushed and turned both her cheeks away.
“Why, the day Oi met Annie at Che’msford Fair——” he began.
“I don’t want to hear about Annie,” she said severely60. “She wasn’t your wife.”
“That’s why I tarned from iniquity62. But she ain’t nobody’s wife now.”
“No, poor thing!” she said. “And it’s a pity she’s Mr. Skindle’s mother, for he makes her do all the chares of his big new house.”
“Well, but she’s a woman, ain’t she?” he asked with unexpected lack of sympathy. “She’d have to do her husband’s chares.”
“Not at her age!”
“At her age? Annie’s a young woman.”
“Compared with you, perhaps,” she smiled.
“Git over me, her having a lad that size. Oi count she’s worritin’ over him, cooped up in Frog Farm.”
“Not now. They’re all safely out of it.”
“What! That pirate thief’s got safe!”
“Thank God!”
“That ain’t God’s doin’—that’s some evil interferin’ sperrit what comes out o’ dead bodies, says John Wesley. Who took ’em off?” he demanded fiercely.
“They came off in Bidlake’s barge,” she said weakly. “And don’t you be so unchristian. Isn’t it enough he’s——?”
“That ain’t right, interferin’ with the texts!” he interrupted doggedly64. “Oi never could abide65 they Bidlakes. Ephraim’s grandfather come competitioning on the canals, wuss than Willie Flynt.”
“Well, Mr. Flynt can’t competition any more, can he? I expect,” she added with difficult lightness, “he’ll be coming round now to make friends.”
“Come round, will he? Just let him show his carroty head inside my doorway66—he’ll be outside like fleck67, Oi promise ye.”
“But if he wants to make it up——!”
“He’s got to goo down on his hands and knees fust.”
“Perhaps he will,” she suggested. Indeed she had little doubt of it. That wonderful moment, with its climax68 of mouth to mouth, had reduced this long foreseen obstacle to a grotesque69 bogy. In the light of mutual70 and confessed love the perspective changed, and if she had once thought that she could not have borne to see him grovel71 even for her sake, that it would actually impair72 the love grovelled73 for, she had now been uplifted into a plane of existence in which for him not to humour her grandfather seemed as childish as the nonagenarian’s own demand.
The old man now turned on her a red-rimmed probing eye. “He’d never come crawlin’ to me ef he warn’t arter summat. And he’s been tryin’ to git round you fust—don’t tell me! What’s his game?”
“Perhaps—he’d like—a partnership74.”
“Oi dessay he would!” he chuckled ironically. “He’s got brass75 enough for anythin’. Why, the chap was arter you once. Ye dedn’t know it, but there ain’t much hid from Daniel Quarles. Oi suspicioned him the fust moment he come gawmin’ to the stable. And what’ll he bring to the pardnership? Cat’s-meat and matchwood?”
His coarseness jarred every nerve, but she kept to his key of jocosity76. “Didn’t you say he had brass?”
“He, he, he!” he cackled. “But it’s the wrong kind o’ brass. Ef he wanted to be a pardner, why dedn’t he come when he had his coach and hosses?”
“He did. Don’t you remember?”
“Did he?” he said blankly. “Then why dedn’t Oi take ’em?”
“That was all my fault, Gran’fer.”
“No, it warn’t, dearie. It was ’cause he said Oi’d made muddles77. Oi remember now. He come and swabbled, and chucked a pot at me. And he’s got to goo down on his hands and knees for it!”
Jinny saw it was hopeless to unravel78 these blended memories of Will and Elijah, as grotesquely79 interwoven as one of her own nightmares, on whose formation it seemed to throw light. She was glad, though, that the sharp edges of the actuality had now faded.
“Yes, yes—he shall,” she promised soothingly80.
“And then there was that weddin’-cake what Mr. Flippance sent us,” burst up now from the labouring depths.
“Yes—wasn’t that a lovely cake?” she agreed.
“Oi offered him a shiver—shows ’twarn’t me as wanted to swabble. But he lifted his whip at me and Oi snapped it in two like my ole pipe when John Wesley stopped my smokin’. Oi don’t want no pardnerships.”
“Of course not, Gran’fer.”
“Daniel Quarles it’s been for a hundred year, and Daniel Quarles it’s a-gooin’ to remain.”
“Of course. Daniel Quarles.”
“And he’s got to goo down on his hands and knees.”
“And so have I,” she laughed, “for we’ve let our bonfire die down. Poor Mr. Flynt—he’s got a great admiration83 for you, spite that you’ve licked him.”
“Oi guessed you and him been gammickin’. You can’t hide much from Daniel Quarles. And ef that little Willie has got a proper respect for his elders and betters, that shows Oi larnt him a lesson.”
“You did, Gran’fer. He’s a changed man. There! Isn’t that a nice blaze again? He’s broken his right arm, too, poor fellow.”
But here she had blundered. The old man’s face lit up, not from the fire, but with a roaring flame of its own. “Thank the Lord,” he shouted, “as hears the prayer of the humble84. The high arm shall be broken, says the Book, and it’s come true. The arm what dreft the hosses is broken like the coach!” He ended with a fresh cackle and rubbed his skinny hands before the blaze.
“You didn’t pray for that?” said Jinny, white and rebuking85. “That was unchristian.”
“That’s what King David prayed, Jinny, and he was a man after God’s own heart. ‘Break thou the arm of the wicked’—Oi’ll show it you in the Psalm86.”
“I don’t want to see it—King David wasn’t a Christian63 yet. And we’ve got to forgive and forget, and not bear a grudge87 for ever, especially when a man’s down. Think of John Wesley.”
“Happen you’re right, Jinny,” he said, softening89. “We’ve got to forgive the evil-doer, and ef the Lord’s got him in hand Oi count we needn’t trouble—he’ll git all he desarves.”
And with that Jinny felt fairly content.
III
But though the ground was thus prepared for his advent2, Will did not come. “What are you prinkin’ yourself for?” her grandfather asked in the morning. “It ain’t your day.” It was certainly not her day. It was more like a night—a long agony of expectation with every rustle90 of wind on the dead leaves sounding like his footstep. Towards dusk she even swept the water-logged landscape with the now neglected telescope. If she did not find him, she found—what was almost as soothing81—a reason for his not coming. The broken bridge! How could he go all those miles round? Joyfully92 she called herself a fool, and awaited the letter he would send instead. The letter would fill up the Thursday and on the Friday she would go to him.
But even this milder expectation of a visit from Bundock went unfulfilled. At first she thought with some relief that Bundock was again shirking the circuit. But no! The glass revealed the slave of duty serving Beacon93 Chimneys. Throwing on her jacket, but bonnetless, she ran across the Common to meet her letter. But Bundock only gave her grumbles95 at the overstrain on his feet, and leaving him, to hide her dismay, she walked blindly up Beacon Hill till she was startled to come upon Master Peartree in the bosom96 of his new-born flock. It did not even occur to her that this was a proof he had escaped the flood, and that the occasion called for congratulation. But the sight of his lambs bounding and his ewes scooping97 out mangolds brought to mind his old account of a sheep that had broken its arm “in a roosh,” and at once a second rush of joy at her silliness and a still more paradoxical pleasure in Will’s broken arm flooded her soul. How could he write, the poor boy? It was not that she had really forgotten the state of his arm—indeed, she had thought of the sling98 as clogging99 the springiness of his walk, and making it still more impossible for him to come—only she must be going crazy again, she felt; just as in the days when she had taken home wedding-cakes and brought Elijah hairpins100. Her eyes now filled with happy tears and, joyous101 as the yeanlings whose tails vibrated with such voluptuous velocity102 as they sucked, she gave chase to a little black lamb and kissed its sable7 nose.
That brought her thoughts back to the flood by way of Mother Gander’s hostelry and its drowned landlord, and she inquired at last about Master Peartree’s losses. They had been limited to one bullock, she was glad to hear, though no such glow of Christian feeling possessed103 her as she had recommended to her grandfather, when the shepherd-cowman proceeded to estimate that what with stacks, root-crops, and winter-wheat, Farmer Gale105 was the poorer by several thousand pounds. Other shepherds had been badly hit, but he himself—thanks to the Almighty107—had got more twins and triplets than ever, and taking her round his plaza109 of straw he showed her the yellow-splashed, long-legged lambkins in the thatched pens, one set of which he would have to feed by bottle, for handsome mothers did not give the most milk, he moralized.
She ran homewards as full of the joy of life as the leaping lambs, though she was living only for the morrow. Through the frosty air she felt a first breath of spring, birds were singing, and even beginning to build, and the flood, she was sure, was falling. But when next day she reached Rosemary Villa, the gaunt drudge informed her that only the old Flynts were in! Her heart turned to lead. So he had not stayed in for her, though she, for her part, had raced to him by the shortest routes, irrespective of business, cutting through Chipstone proper by a single side-street. It was not till she had learnt that he was gone, like Elijah and all the world, to Mr. Mott’s funeral, that her heart grew light again—she seemed to batten on tragedies these days. Of course Will could not avoid this mark of respect, he who had always put up his coach in the courtyard of “The Black Sheep,” and perhaps she ought to have gone to the funeral too, and would probably have encountered it had she not skipped the High Street in her eagerness. She remembered now some lowered blinds in the street she had scuttled112 through, and a slow booming bell, whose disregarded notes now at last donged their message to her brain. But perhaps it was better so—her redeemed113 frock was too gay, her winter shawl and bonnet94 without a single touch of black. She ought to have borne the inevitable114 funeral in mind though, she told herself reproachfully. In her present guise115 she could hardly station even in the courtyard. It was fortunate “Mother Gander” no longer expected to see her within. How embarrassing it would have been for the widow to meet the confidante of her unmeasured denunciations! Probably the whole place would be closed for the day, though she supposed the Chelmsford coach with the passengers from London would have to come in as usual.
Apprised116 by the barking of Nip, the Flynt couple had descended117, looking uneasy, for they had been speaking of her not long before. Their hostess-drudge had started the ball as she closed the door upon Will, outward bound for the funeral. “You’d think he’d found a fortune, not lost one,” the melancholy118 creature had commented, warmed by that youthful sunshine. “I reckon he wasn’t happy hartin’ Jinny’s business,” Caleb had surmised119. “And to be happy is as good as a fortune.” Upon which Martha, who was equally in the passage “to see Will off,” had surprised them by a sudden sob23. “She’s thinkin’ of that poor drownded young man,” Caleb had apologized, leading her gently upstairs. “Oi do hope Will’ll keep a proper face for the funeral.”
That appropriate face, however, had continued to be Martha’s, and the explanation thereof when they were alone had surprised Caleb more than the sob.
“I knew she’d rob me of Will. I knew it from the first moment she wanted to read his letter to me.”
“Rob you of him!”
“They’re in love. Are you blind?”
“You don’t say! Lord! Little Jinny! Why, she’s a baiby!”
“A cunning woman. Came after him even when you’d have thought he was safe behind the flood! This letter will be all that’s left to me! You mark my words!”
“Don’t, dear heart. You’re wettin’ the letter—it’ll spile. But dedn’t Oi leave my mother to come to you, as the Book commands?”
“That’s different. He’s all I’ve got. I can’t trust him to Jinny—she’s too flighty—always singing.”
“Sow’s the birds, but look what noice nests they make! ’Tain’t as if ’twas that Purley gal106 as Bundock warned us of, allus lookin’ at herself like a goose in a pond. We ought to be thankful as Will’s showed sow much sense. There’s plenty o’ good farmers along the road, but there’s no weeds to Jinny even three fields back.”
“I don’t wonder you go kissing her! Pity you can’t marry her yourself!”
“Oi’d have no chance agin Will’s looks, dear heart. He takes arter his mother, ye see.”
Dulcifying as this jocose120 finale had proved, it did not diminish the awkwardness of now meeting Jinny, but Martha, who had not even the consolation121 of finding an Ecclesia flourishing in Chipstone, was anxious to hear how far the flood had subsided122 from their beloved Frog Farm. They were both experiencing all the pangs123 of exile, aggravated by the discomforts124 of a house with monotonously125 boarded floors, forbiddingly fine furniture, and light and water coming unnaturally126 out of taps, and their grievances127 and yearnings for a return to reality now monopolized130 a conversation which Jinny strove in vain to divert to Will. She was reduced to looking at her cart for indications of the depths she had splashed through unobservantly, and could extract nothing about Will except that he insisted on paying for their board and lodging131, and that this would surely take his last penny. “He’ll have to look for a job now, he’ll have no time or money to think of foolishness,” Martha told her meaningly. But this broad hint conveyed nothing to her. In her affection for the old woman it never occurred to her that she would not make a welcome daughter-in-law, now the competition was over. And knowing as a scientific fact that your ears burned if people had been talking of you—whereas hers had been tingling132 with the frost—she went away, all unsuspicious, in quest of the coveted133 young man.
The funeral was over now, she saw from the many coaches returning singly or in procession through and from the High Street. Surely the grandest funeral ever known (she thought), doubtless out of consideration for so tragic a passing, though somewhat confusing to the moral of her Spelling-Book. Elijah, whom she met changing from a coach into his trap, confirmed her impression of grandeur135, and looked forward—on grounds of special information—to the toning up of the churchyard with a monument as big as money could buy, surmounted136 by angels, “not weeping, mind you, but blowing trumpets138 like Will’s.” Elijah wore a beautiful new top-hat, flat-brimmed and funereally139 braided. “Very lucky I had just got it for my wedding,” he confided140 to her.
“You won’t forget to take off the braid?” she smiled. “And when is it to be?”
“We’re having the banns read next Sunday. Blanche won’t wait a day longer, though I’m so frightfully busy through the flood—it’s a regular gold-stream.”
“And how’s Mr. Flynt’s arm?” she asked.
“He won’t let me see it now—I never knew such an obstinate141 pig. He’s gone to Dr. Mint.”
“What, just now?”
“No, no, he’s gone home—to Rosemary Villa, I mean.”
As soon as he was out of sight, Jinny turned Methusalem’s head back to the Villa. She hung about uncomfortably for some minutes in the thought that Will might be coming along or would be looking out of a window. But after ten unpleasant minutes she descended from her seat and fumbled142 shyly with the new brass knocker, feeling far more brazen143 than it. She almost cowered144 before the upstanding figure of the septuagenarian Mrs. Skindle—it vaguely146 reminded her of Britannia with a broom—but stammering147 out that she had forgotten to ask if the Villa needed anything, she ascertained148 that Will had not returned. To pitch her cart at the door was impossible, to go to meet him might lead to missing him, so there was nothing for it but desperately149 to prolong the conversation till he should reach home. Her tactics proved fatal, for her cheerful reference to Elijah’s coming marriage loosed upon her a deluge150 of hysterical152 tears, and she found herself the confidante of sorrows as tragic as Mrs. Mott’s. Poor Mrs. Skindle, throwing herself upon this sympathetic outsider, so providential a vent4 for her surcharged emotions, vociferated that all her children had abandoned her, that she was to be put away in the poorhouse. In vain Jinny, standing145 in that bleak153 passage, her heart astrain for Will’s coming, strove to assuage154 a grief which irritated rather than touched her. She could hardly bring her mind to bear upon this creature with the broom, so inopportune and irrelevant155 did the outburst seem, so sordid156 a shadow on her own romance. With surface words she assured the poor woman that all this was only in her imagination. But Mrs. Skindle, though admitting she had only divined it, kept iterating that a nod was as good as a wink157, and that she wasn’t even a blind horse. Her son had gone to see Blanche on the Wednesday and had come back with the announcement of his marriage next month, and Blanche had made it a condition that his old mother should be put away. “She’d pison me, if she wasn’t afraid for her swan’s neck. And so I’ve got to be put out o’ sight. ’Tain’t as if I can’t earn my bread with this broom and duster, but she’s too grand to have me charin’ in Chipstone.”
“Well, then, what prevents you going somewhere else?” Jinny asked impatiently.
“I can’t go traipsin’ about to new places and new faces at my age. And I don’t want to go agin ’Lijah neither—he ought to ha’ been married long since, and wasn’t it me spurred him on to look that high? And won’t he have the loveliest wife in Chipstone? What’s your game, trying to drive me away? Why, if I leave Chipstone I’d never see my grandchicks.”
“Well, but would you see them anyhow, even supposing they’re hatched?”
“I reckon there’s days I’d be allowed out and I could see ’em as they went by in their baby-cart.”
“Well, at that rate you’d be happier in the poorhouse.”
“Yes,” with a burst of weeping, “I’d be happier there. Happen I’d better go there.”
“But I don’t believe your son will let you,” Jinny reassured158 her, and tore herself away, miserably159 conscious of a sort of Nemesis160 for her strategic lingering. She dismissed the scene from her mind. But it added to the heaviness of her heart as she drove slowly about the streets with never a glimpse of the face she sought, and the ache of his absence began to be complicated by the fear that it was wilful162, or at least not unavoidable. Surely it was not possible for three days to elapse without their meeting, had he been as keen as she. Even the funeral, she now felt grimly, was not an absolute necessity of life! He could have got out of it. No, there was something behind, more sinister163 than funerals. She went anxiously over her one brief episode of happiness. Had she done or said anything to offend him? Was it that, on reflection, he had resented the little trick she had played at the flooded farm in luring164 him outside his door? Yes, that must be it. And she had sillily rubbed it in with her last words: “You bet your bottom dollar on that!” But no, he could hardly be resenting the innocent device without which they would never have known the wonder of their first kiss. The wonder? But was it a wonder to him? Tumultuous thoughts of Blanche and more shadowy others tore at her bosom. He did not really care, did not really need her.
The sport of elemental passions, she drove vaguely around, hoping against hope to espy165 him. She was a creature of pure feeling—unsophisticated by fiction or drama—and darkling images of death came to her for the first time. And for the first time she let her work go undone166. It was no mere12 apprehension167 of meeting “Mother Gander” that finally kept her from the courtyard of the inn, no mere sense that with the sweeping168 away of competition she could afford to neglect for once even the commissions she already held; it was the absolute distraction169 of her mind. She could have borne final separation more easily than this uncertainty170.
As she jogged home, she realized miserably that Will had at last succeeded in stamping out her business, if only for a day.
IV
But on her way to church on the Sunday—thanksgiving was clearly due for her restored fortunes and the fast-falling flood—all her misery171, which his Saturday silence had only intensified172, melted away in a moment at the sound of his voice and the sight of his sling. To add to her rapture173 came the thought that, a turning later, she would have encountered Miss Gentry174! But his exclamation175: “Why, whatever became of you, Jinny? It’s been hell!” radiated so much heaven that the closing of his lips upon hers was almost a retrogression, perturbed176 as it was by her shyness in the open air. And, of course, she ought to have gone to the inn-yard where he had been waiting, she saw the moment he began explaining; that was the natural station for her cart to have come to. “Do forgive me making you suffer so,” she pleaded. “But I didn’t like to go in, with Mrs. Mott in that state!”
But Mrs. Mott had not been “in that state” he corrected almost laughingly. On the contrary, with her usual unexpectedness and extremism, she had reopened the bar immediately and served there herself in her handsomest dress, with the gold chain heaving once more on the bereaved177 bosom. Will himself had been forced to clink glasses with her. “He wouldn’t have liked to see us gloomy—like them Peculiars,” she had said. “He was always one for jollity and life.”
The anecdote180 enhanced the lovers’ own joy of life, and though Jinny steered181 for church (if by a zigzag182 path to avoid other worshippers) they never got out of the fir-grove, where a tree sapped by the flood presented a comparatively dry seat amid the sodden183 gull-haunted ways. Perhaps it was the thrushes that encouraged them—despite the dankness—to “stick to it, stick to it.” It was certainly more comfortable for kissing, Jinny shamelessly confessed, snuggling into the cloak he had bought to cover his sling. “When we stand up, you’re too proud to stoop,” she laughed blissfully. “You make me crane my neck up.”
“That’s only through the sling,” he apologized.
“Never mind—you’re not such a Goliath—nothing so tall as Elijah!”
His eyes blazed fiercely. “Why,” she laughed, “you don’t mind not being tall?”
“Of course not,” he said mendaciously185. “Only you haven’t been measuring yourself against Elijah, I hope.”
“Measuring myself—?” she began, puzzled. Then her silvery laugh rippled186 out. “Oh, you jealous goose! But his size’ll be a bit awkward for Blanche, won’t it?” Then a sudden memory flushed both their faces, and hastily drawing a copy of the Chelmsford Chronicle from his pocket, he directed her attention to the thrilling accounts of the great flood and the greater funeral, and her fitful attempts to peruse187 them constituted the only rational moments of the morning.
It was odd how the reflection of events in the mighty108 Essex organ seemed to redouble their importance, and how even Will swelled188 in Jinny’s eyes when she saw him catalogued among “leading citizens” present at “the last obsequies of the popular proprietor189 of ‘The Black Sheep.’?” And if Will failed to loom178 as large as Charley—whose death, fortunate in its journalistic opportunity, instead of being swamped by the flood, came as its climax—nevertheless he appeared in print no fewer than three times. The second occasion was the destruction of “The Flynt Flyer,” and this obituary190 was so long and complimentary191 that it almost made amends192 for his loss, even though he knew the details to be highly imaginative. In the third notice he owed his eminence193 to his father, who, Jinny learned with surprise, had been the beneficiary of a miracle. “Among the most singular of the effects produced by the Bradmarsh floods,” ran the paragraph that drew Caleb from the long obscurity of his seventy winters and which was as prolix194 and breathless as a sentence of Mrs. Purley’s, “may be cited the fact of a small cornstack some four yards long, recognized by a shepherd named Peartree as belonging to Mr. Caleb Flynt, of Frog Farm, father of Mr. William Flynt, the lamentable196 destruction of whose coach and horses under sensational197 circumstances is recorded in another column, having been lifted from its place by the waters that so suddenly burst upon this remote homestead; and, after floating about at their mercy, like a dismasted and rudderless ship, being deposited in safety in a higher field, wholly uninjured, save by the wet—in as firm and compact a condition as before the flood—and, apparently198, without a single blade of straw in its body or its roof having been disturbed from its relative position, while other stacks in the same field, belonging to his former employer, Farmer Gale, were almost totally ruined.”
“Oh, Will, I’m so glad,” said Jinny. “I don’t mean about Farmer Gale.”
“I do. Mean hunks! Think what he paid dad all those years. But is it true about our stack, I wonder. Papers aren’t always correct.”
“Aren’t they?” She nestled closer.
“Oh dear no. You should have been in America! Haven’t you noticed it says Elijah rescued us? Such a mix-up with his housing us. That’s why I didn’t tell poor old dad till I could run up and see for myself.”
She moved back. “Oh, is that what you came for?”
“Of course not, darling. But being here, I may as well have a look.”
“Well, you’ll be able to, while I’m at church. I suppose you wouldn’t come,” she added shyly.
“Church?” he laughed. “Why, it’s nearly over!” He pointed199 to a pale, struggling sun that had well passed its zenith.
V
Mr. Fallow was, in fact, just at his Fifthly and Finally, with Nip for sole representative of Blackwater Hall. That faithful congregant, discovering that Jinny had dodged200 him as usual, had set out for church forthwith, and was utterly202 disconcerted to find her pew vacant. It was noted203, however, that he remained awake during the sermon, pricking204 up his ears at the recurrent word “Methuselah,” which no doubt sounded to him like his old companion’s name. Mr. Fallow’s timely sermon on Noah’s Flood proved no less rousing to the human hearers, though it began unpromisingly with the text: “And all the days of Methuselah were nine hundred sixty and nine years; and he died.” But Miss Gentry, already ruffled205 by Jinny’s absence, wondered why so much honour should be done to Mr. Bundock “Why preach a sermon against a postman?” she asked Jinny afterwards.
The fact was, of course, that those “sceptical sophisms” which Mr. Fallow took the opportunity to traverse and confute came from “The Age of Reason,” but as Miss Gentry had heard them only from Bundock, she did not know they were inspired by Tom Paine. At any rate it was satisfactory to have them demolished206 and the veracity207 of the Bible vindicated208 by the very arithmetical tests with which the atheists juggled210. They had “set the story of Noah and his ark as on a level with the ”Arabian Nights“ and the ages of the Patriarchs as no less fabulous211 than the immortality213 of the giants of mythology214.” Well, but here was the text, Mr. Fallow thundered: “And all the days of Methuselah were nine hundred sixty and nine years: and he died.” A statement splendidly bare—bare as Truth alone could afford to be. But let them follow it, these dear brethren and sisters, into all its ramifications215, trace the scattered216 threads of chronology and exhibit their marvellous congruity217. Noah’s grandfather lived nine hundred sixty and nine years; and he died. But at the age of 187 he had begotten218 Lamech, and at the age of 182 Lamech had begotten Noah. Methuselah was then just 369 years old when the hero of the Flood was born. And the Flood came, we were told in a later chapter, in the six hundredth year of Noah’s life; 600 added to 369 made 969. “And all the days of Methuselah were nine hundred sixty and nine years; and he died.” Had the figures made 970, the Bible would have indeed ceased to be the infallible Word of God, and atheism219 could have crowed, unanswered. For Methuselah was not in the ark; and every living creature outside was destroyed from the earth!
Whether he himself perished in the Flood, or whether—as the preacher preferred to believe, the aged111 patriarch had been removed—like his father Enoch before him—from the evil to come, was a minor220 issue compared with the glorious certainty that 369 added to 600 made 969 and not 970. Had Lamech or Noah been begotten one year later, or the Flood recorded as one year earlier, what a catastrophe221 for mankind! How the sophists would have gloated over their perverse222 arithmetic! Happily such discrepancies223 were the mere dream of the impious. “And all the days of Methuselah were nine hundred sixty and nine years; and he died.”
Nip refused to sit through the prayer for sceptics that followed. With the cessation of the word “Methuselah” his interest waned224, and the dismal225 conviction overcame him that Jinny had gone back to the chapel226. Tearing off at a great rate, he soon, however, scented227 the truants228 homing across the Common.
“Why, where have you been?” said his mistress, as if he were the sinner!
But his raptures229 at seeing united at last the twain he had done so much to bring together, served to suspend a debate that had brought the first cloud on the morning’s happiness. Having to walk smartly to Blackwater Hall with no time for dalliance, they had come at last to a serious talk about their plans, and it transpired that Will’s mind was playing about the new Australian goldfields. He seemed dangerously in the grip of the “yellow fever,” which, spreading from a Mr. Hargreaves and Summer Hill Creek230, had circled the world in less than nine months. He recited to Jinny the legends of the new diggings, the quartz231 that was three-fourths gold, the aureous streams, the nuggets the size of melons. When he spoke232 of purchasing shovels234 and blankets, it was not, alas235, for their joint236 home, nor were the “cradles” of his conversation indelicately domestic. How could he talk of going away, she asked, with tears in her eyes, when they had only just got to know each other? Well, of course, he didn’t mean to-morrow, with his arm like that! She needn’t begin to cry yet, but obviously this hidebound old England was no place for a man without capital. Did she expect him to become a farmhand to Farmer Gale? Of course he could go on shearing237 sheep and doing odd jobs and sink into a Ravens, always singing, with nothing to sing about! But if they were to marry, he must find a decent livelihood238. Hard, irrefutable truths! If only—she thought—they had both been less silly while he still had his coach and horses! Impossible to suggest to a man like Will that she might manage to earn enough for him as well as for her grandfather! Of course if he had lost his arm altogether—but that was too wicked a speculation239 to gloat over! Had Methusalem been younger and stronger, the cart might perhaps have taken on extra rounds, with Will in command. But even that would probably have jarred his pride. No, he was a ruined man, and adventure—as he truly urged—was his only chance. And yet she clung tighter to his one good arm, glad of the respite240 the other had given her, and hoping that the Angel-Mother would somehow intervene to keep him in the country—if not the county—she hovered242 over. Sufficient for the day was the good thereof; here was Will, and Nip, and the Sunday pie in the oven—the first good dinner since Christmas, the preparation of which for her lip-smacking elder had served to keep her sane243 during those days of torturing suspense244. How glad she was the meal would be worthy245 of their visitor!
A faint uneasiness did indeed begin to creep under her happiness as they crossed the rutted road that divided the Common from her gate, but she was hardly conscious what it was, vaguely putting it down to Nip’s dangerous attempts to caress246 them with his muddy paws.
“Here we are!” she cried gaily247. “Lucky Gran’fer never asks about the sermon.”
He drew her to him. Hurriedly ascertaining248 that there was no eye or telescope bearing upon her, she submitted to the long ardour of his kiss. Then she drew him in turn towards the gate.
“But I’ve kissed you good-bye,” he said.
“Good-bye?” she repeated blankly. “Aren’t you coming in?”
“How can I come in?”
Even then she hardly realized the situation. Foreseen as it had long been, it had so softened249 in her own mind—especially after her comparative success in soothing down her grandfather—that she did not realize it remained in Will’s in all its original crudity250. “You’re not thinking of that nonsense!” she said, smiling. “We’ll just lift up the latch251 and walk in! Won’t Gran’fer be surprised?” But her smile was uneasy.
“You’ve forgotten, Jinny, he won’t have me over his doorstep.”
“Oh, is that the reason you didn’t come all the week?” The greyness creeping beneath her happiness began to spread out like a clammy fog.
“Well, how could I have got to you? I couldn’t stand about the Common in the wind and rain on the chance you might catch sight of me.”
“I’d have stood about for you,” she said simply.
“And didn’t I stand about at ‘The Black Sheep’?”
“Yes, that was my fault, sweetheart. But anyhow we won’t stand about here.” And she tugged252 at his arm. “Where else could you have dinner?”
“I can get some at ‘The King of Prussia.’ I’ll be just in time if I go now.”
“You desert me to get dinner!”
“You know that’s nonsense, dearest, considering I could get both if I came in.”
“Then why don’t you come in?”
“You know I can’t.”
“Because of those few high words? How absurd!”
“We won’t go into that now.”
“Yes, we will. You don’t want to eat humble pie. But it isn’t humble pie,” she laughed, with a desperate attempt at merriment, “it’s steak and kidney pie! So there!”
“But, Jinny, he forbade me to cross his sill!”
“You old goose! He never thought we’d cross it arm in arm. Like this! Come along—won’t he open his eyes and wipe his spectacles!”
He shook off her arm. “It’s no laughing matter, Jinny. An oath is an oath.”
“An oath!” she repeated dully. The violence of that grotesque collision had blurred253 her memory of its minuti?.
“You can’t have forgotten? He laid his hand on the Bible—he vowed255 to the Almighty I should never cross your threshold.”
She essayed a last jaunty256 smile. “Unless on your hands and knees. Don’t forget that part.”
“Is it likely I could forget such an insult?”
“Well then, that’s all right!” Her smile became braver. “We’ll crawl in together, two little babies. Come along, petsy.” And she stooped down comically.
“How can you be so childish, Jinny?”
“Isn’t it all childish? Down you go, Willie!”
But he stiffened258 himself physically259 as well as morally. “Give in to such a humiliation260?”
“You won’t really be giving in,” she said, with a happy thought. “With only one arm, you can only come in on your hand and knees. So you’ll outwit him after all. Come along, poor little lopsided creature, Jinny’ll help you—and Gran’fer will forget to count your limbs, my poor brave boy!”
“It’s you that are forgetting,” he said harshly. “It’s impossible.”
“What’s impossible?”
“That I should crawl to your grandfather.”
“I see! It’s your pride you love, not me.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is.” She snatched her hand from his. “Nothing can bring you to your knees.”
“It’s not true. I’d go on my hands and knees to you, as if I was in chapel, and I’d crawl on ’em across your threshold and thank God for what laid on t’other side—but you see, Jinny, what breaks me up is that I made a vow254 too.”
“You?”
“You don’t seem to remember anything.”
“I dare say I was a bit dazed at all the silliness. But if you swore too not to cross our threshold, why, I’ll go and let you in by the lattice. And perhaps Gran’fer will be that tickled261, he’ll laugh and forget about his cranky old oath. Or perhaps he’ll reckon you have scrambled262 in on your hands and knees. Oh dear, isn’t it funny? See you in a moment, Will.” She put her hand on the latch of the gate.
He shook his head. “Neither by door nor by window.”
“Didn’t I say I’d never cross your doorstep?” she urged. “And yet I came.”
“You came through the window.”
“Well, I’ll come by the door. There! That’s a fair offer. I’m not going to stick to silliness—when it’s so silly!”
“All very well,” he said coldly. “But you know you can’t get through my door.”
“Goodness gracious! Have I grown so fat?”
“Don’t pretend. You know it’s the flood. Besides, it wouldn’t be any good my going through the window. What I said when I raised my hand to heaven was that your grandfather should never see me in his house——!”
“Just what I said—I remember now,” she interrupted. “I said you’d never see me in Frog Farm. And yet you did—and lost your bet too.” Her face was gay again. “So I gave in first, you see, sweetheart, and now you’ve got to play fair.”
“You don’t listen—you cut into my words. What I swore was that your grandfather should never see me in his house unless he carried me in!”
Her gaiety grew hysterical. “Ha, ha, ha!” she laughed. “Grandfather’s given up carrying ages ago. I’m his deputy now. Oh dear!” She measured him with a rueful eye. “Well, I can but try!” And she put her arms round his hips17.
“Don’t make light of an oath, Jinny.” He pushed her off with his left hand.
“?’Twas you that made light of an oath—taking the Lord’s name over trifles.”
“I never took the Lord’s name,” he said sullenly263. “I only lifted my hand.”
“Well, you can’t lift it now—and serve you right! You surely never expected Gran’fer to lug151 a sulky lout264 over his doorstep.”
“Of course not. I never expected I’d want to cross it. Why, Jinny, though you were there in the room, I was that blind——!” And his hand sought hers again.
“Leave me alone!” she cried. “You and your miserable265 vows266!”
“I’d cut my tongue out if I could unsay the words.”
“You can unsay ’em more easily with your tongue in.”
“A man can’t go back on his sworn word. Women don’t understand.”
“So you said about horses. And nicely you managed yours! Oh, forgive me, I didn’t mean to crow. That was your misfortune. But this is your fault. It’s your pride you’re in love with; not me. Good-bye; Gran’fer will be starving.” She lifted the gate-latch angrily.
“But only good-bye for the moment,” he pleaded. “I can’t cross your threshold, but you can cross mine.”
She answered more gently, but her tone was tired and helpless. “And what would be the good, unless you and Gran’fer make it up?”
“I’m not marrying your grandfather!”
Something patronizing in the sentence jarred afresh. “You’d better go back to Blanche—it’ll be too late soon.”
“I wouldn’t touch Blanche with Bidlake’s barge-pole!”
The magnificence of the repudiation267 had its effect—it swamped in both the recollection that it was Blanche who had done the refusing.
“You don’t expect me to give up Gran’fer at his age?” she said more mildly.
“We’ll get him a minder—when I come back from Australia!”
Australia put the climax to her weariness. “Oh, yes, I don’t wonder it’s so easy for you to go.”
“It isn’t easy for me to go, even as far as Chipstone,” he protested passionately268. “But it’s your grandfather you love, not me.”
“I love you both. Only think how old he is. It’s like quarrelling with a child. And he is in his second childhood almost, though I wouldn’t say it to anybody else. There are times when he seems quite his old self, wonderfully strong and sensible, but there are moments when he quite frightens me. He can’t bear to be crossed, and he forgets almost everything that happens nowadays.”
“Then perhaps he’s forgotten our upset!”
“No, that’s the unfortunate part. But we must just make a little joke of it. Down on your marrow270-bones, Willie!” And she laid her hand on his shoulder with a last sprightly271 effort.
But even as his shoulder subsided, it swelled up again, like a pressed gutta-percha ball. “It’s all grandfather with you, your husband doesn’t count.”
“Husband, indeed!” She withdrew her hand as if stung. “You’re going quicker than your coach ever went.”
“Oh, very well—I’m off to Australia!”
“As you please. I’ll call for your box!”
“I’ll have no truck with a cart of yours.”
“There’s no other way of getting things to Chipstone,” she reminded him blandly273.
“I’ll shoulder it sooner,” he burst forth201.
“Ah, then you won’t be going just yet!”
“Damn my arm! I’ll not stay in this wretched country another fortnight! I’ll never look on your face again.”
She began humming: “A dashing young man from Canada——!”
His face grew black with anger, and he strode away even before she had passed through the gate.
VI
Righteous resentment274 saved Jinny from the collapse275 of the previous week. That dreadful gnawing277 of uncertainty was over. Whatever she had said, she was sure now that he did love her, even if she came second to his pride. That a way out of their difficulties would soon present itself to her nimble brain she did not doubt: her one fear was that he would find the way to Australia first, and it was a comfort to remember his helpless arm and his empty purse—“no money to think of foolishness,” as his dear old mother had put it. Already on the Tuesday after the unheard sermon, she found a means of communicating with him without a lowering of her own proper pride. For the fourteenth of the month was nigh upon them, and the shops—even apart from the stationer’s—-were ablaze278 with valentines, a few sentimental279, but the overwhelming majority grotesque and flamboyant280, the British version of Carnival281. After long search she discovered a caricature that not only resembled Will in having carroty locks, but carried in its motto sufficient allusiveness282 to the quarrel with her grandfather to make it clear the overture283 came from her. Not that the overture looked conciliatory to the superficial eye. Quite the contrary. For apart from the ugliness of the visage, the legend ran:
To such a man I’d never pledge my troth,
I’d sooner die, I take my Bible oath.
Not a very refined couplet or procedure perhaps, but Jinny was never a drawing-room heroine, and the valentine was dear to the great heart of the Victorian people. Besides, do not the grandest dames284 relax at Carnival?
Jinny half expected a similar insult from Will by the same post, and though St. Valentine’s Day passed without bringing her one, she still expected a retort in kind the day after. And when Bundock appeared with a voluminous letter, directed simply to “Jinny the Carrier, Little Bradmarsh, England,” her disappointment at Mr. Flippance’s flabby handwriting was acute, though otherwise she would have been excited, not only by his letter, but by the foreign stamp, the first she had ever received. “So he’s still in Boulogne,” Bundock observed casually286, lingering to pick up the contents. “I hope he’s sending you the money to pay Mrs. Purley.”
“Why should he send it through me?” she said sharply.
“Well, since he’s writing to you, it would save stamps, wouldn’t it? I do think it was rough on Mrs. Purley, though, a wedding breakfast like that, though I expect he bought his own champagne—and clinking stuff it was, nigh as good as the sherry at poor Charley’s funeral. However, she’s marrying her own daughter now—Mrs. Purley, I mean—and lucky she is too to have escaped young Flynt, who is off to Australia without a penny—looks to me almost as if they’re hurrying on the marriage so that Will may be best man before he goes, he and ’Lijah are that thick! He, he, he! Funny world, ain’t it? You’ve heard my riddle287 perhaps—Why are marriages never a success? Because the bride never marries the best man! He, he! Well, she came near doing it this time—he, he, he! Though whether she’s the best woman for either of ’em is a question.”
“That’s their own business,” Jinny managed to put in.
“So ’tis, but with ’Lijah a member of the Chipstone Temperance Friendly Society, he’ll hardly like a wife who washes her head in beer.”
“What nonsense! How can you know that?”
“Fact. It’s to make her hair wavy288. There’s nothing her brother Barnaby don’t let out to my poor old dad. She was at it the day you all came to the Farm. It wasn’t that she had her bodice off and her hair down after the douche,”—Bundock seemed to savour these details—“she didn’t want him to smell it.”
“Well, you seem to smell out everything,” she said severely.
“I do have a nose like Nip’s!” he chuckled. But although Mr. Flippance’s letter was under it, he was forced to go off without even discovering that it did contain a financial document. Very amazed indeed was Jinny to see it drop out, this IOU, which was for herself and not Mrs. Purley, and represented half a crown! Retiring to her kitchen, she studied the large-scrawled pages.
“My dear Jinny,—I have just read in Madame F.’s copy of her London Journal (which like Mrs. Micawber she will never desert, at least not till the present serial289 is finished) an extract from the Chelmsford Chronicle about the miraculous290 saving of a cornstack belonging to our mutual friend, Mr. Caleb Flynt.
“I gather that a flood must have devastated291 Little Bradmarsh, and I write at once to know if all my friends are safe, especially your charming little self. Strange to think that the parlour in which I breakfasted on bacon and mushrooms in your sweet society may have been washed away! But such is life—a shadow-pantomime!
“We are still at Boulogne, you see. For one thing—to speak frankly—it’s a providential place to be at when funds are for the moment low, and it appears that Madame F.’s fortune—all that the villain292 Duke left of it—is in Spanish bonds. I need say no more. (I think I told you she was the niece of the famous Cairo Contortionist, and doubtless it was during the star’s sensationally293 successful season at Madrid that she was thus misled.) The wily master of marionettes must have been aware of this when he got [“her off his hands” appeared quite legibly here, though scratched out with heavy strokes] back his show over her head.
“Our present plans are, before attempting London (which though almost barren of talent calls for overmuch of the ready), to launch an English season in Boulogne itself, where there is such a large English circle, that saves so much by being here immune from sheriff’s officers that it can well afford the luxury of the theatre, not to mention the many French people here who must be anxious to learn English, especially after their visit to the Great Exhibition.
“Between you and I, I fear that Madame F.’s hopes will be dashed by the fact that the French have no eyes or ears except for a Jewess called Rachel, but as they have nothing near as good in the male line, we may yet—between us—show them something!
“If this fails—and I have seen too much of the public to be surprised at any ingratitude—there are always those wonderful new goldfields, where men of our race and speech are flocking, pickaxe on shoulder. Surely after their arduous294 toil295 for the filthy296 lucre297, they must be longing195 of an evening for a glimpse of the higher life—I understand they have only drinking shanties298.
“Imagine it, Jinny—a theatre for the rugged299 miners amid the primeval mountains with a practicable moon shining over the tropical scene. Pity I sold Duke that theatre-tent, but I suppose it couldn’t be transported to Australia as easily as a convict. (Good gag, that, eh?) Admission, I suppose, by nugget. I don’t see how you can give change—unless they take it in gold-dust—and anyhow, flush as they are, they will probably hand in considerable chunks301 at the box-office, reckless of petty calculation.
“So do not be surprised if one Easter morn you receive a golden egg laid by some Australian goose (I understand it is half a mole). Which reminds me to enclose herewith the half-crown I owe you. I dare say you have forgotten my borrowing it from you in the caravan302 of my blood-sucking son-in-law. But players have long memories.
“I suppose you see nothing of him or of Polly, for Chipstone is a poor pitch, but I am afraid from a Christmas card Polly sent me in reply to mine that the rascal303 is making her happy, so I can’t hate him as much as he deserves.
“?‘I hope,’ I scribbled304 across the picture of the snowy Mistletoe Bough184 I sent her, ‘you are experiencing all that matrimony was designed for, when this institution was introduced into Eden.’ Lovely, isn’t it? And where do you suppose it came from? It was that delicious Martha’s farewell wish to me on my wedding morning! I fancy she took it out of the number of the Lightstand that I bought her.
“Poor, dear Martha! Do give her my love and tell her there is a branch of the New Jerusalemites in Boulogne—no, best make it two, while you are about it, a French branch as well as an English branch, mutually emulous in ‘Upbuilding!’
“And how is her dashing cavalier of a son who posed as an American? I expect he’s married by now to the queen of the wasp-killers, judging by the warm way things were going at my own wedding-party. If so, pray hand him back his mother’s Christadelphian wedding-wish with my kind regards.
“Oh, and don’t forget to say amiable305 things (as they put it here) to Miss What’s-a-name, the young and lovely bridesmaid! Tell her I haven’t forgotten about her becoming wardrobe mistress, though if we go to Australia, I’m afraid it’ll be too rough for her at her age, and even Madame F. may shrink from the snakes and the blacks and the convicts and the desperado diggers, in which case we shall have boys to do the female parts and revive the glories of the Shakespearean stage.
“Heavens, how I have let myself chatter306 on! My paper is nearly at an end—like youth and hope! Believe me, dear Jinny, in this world or the next (don’t be alarmed, I only mean Australia),
“Your ever devoted307,
“Tony Flippance.
“P.S.—I am so sorry but I find I can’t find (excuse my Irish) any way of sending the half-crown by post, so I am compelled to send you an IOU, but if you send it to Polly (Duke’s Marionettes, England, is sure to find her some day) I have no doubt she will honour it on my behalf. Safest address for me by the way is Poste Restante, Boulogne, as Madame F. likes trying different hotels.
“P.P.S.—There is a game here called ‘Little Horses.’ Most fascinating.”
Many and mixed were Jinny’s feelings as she ploughed through this bulky document, swollen308 by the opulent handwriting. Having no notion about investments, she vaguely imagined that Spanish robbers had impounded Cleopatra’s money, and it added to her sense of the unsettled state of the Continent. As for the IOU, she was angrily amused to think that he had already paid her the half-crown on the very morning of the bacon and mushrooms so fondly recalled, and that she had bought him his wedding present—a Bible—with it. To pay little debts twice over while defrauding310 the big creditors311 (and she had reason to think Miss Gentry as well as the Purleys had been left unpaid) seemed to her only an aggravation312 of fecklessness. But perhaps the Flippances had not meant to be dishonest: it was those Spanish freebooters that were to blame, who had captured the gold destined313 for Little Bradmarsh. The humiliation of his reference to Blanche was hard to bear—it made her want to dismiss Will altogether—but oddly enough a still keener emotion was kindled314 by Mr. Flippance’s obsession315 with Australia. Yes, Australia was in the air, it was a net into which everybody was being swept. Will was going from her—and to a place bristling316 with blacks and snakes and convicts and desperado diggers. Never had she received so perturbing317 a letter.
VII
In the menacing silence of Will, she began to study this interloping and kidnapping Australia. For it was not only his silence that menaced: through the hundred threads of her carrying career—antenn? always groping for news of him—she learned that his resolve was fixed318. Indeed, Frog Farm was almost the only place on her rounds where his departure was not talked of. At the fountain head she could collect no information, for Martha was the only person she now saw there and the old lady seemed anxious, after receiving her parcels, to rush back to the clearing up of the colossal319 mess of the receded320 flood: a work in which the scrupulously321 invisible Will was understood to be lending a hand almost as vigorous as his father’s, albeit322 a single hand. But if the other was still in its sling, it was getting dangerously better, she gathered from Bundock’s father.
That he would go without another word to her was highly probable. Was there not in Finchingfield a hot-tempered farmer who had kept silence for seven years after his wife’s death? Miss Gentry, who in her Colchester days used to make his wife’s gowns—the lady riding in behind him to be measured—said it was from remorse323 because he had once used an improper324 expression to her. And this same Essex obstinacy325 was liable to manifest itself in less noble forms, as her grandfather’s feuds326 had proved abundantly. Will would shake off the soil of old England as surlily as he had shaken it off in his boyhood. As he had run away from his parents, so he would now run away from her, though far more unreasonably327. But this time she would at least know where he was going, and her tortured soul reached out hungrily to picture his new world. The Spelling-Book was absolutely blank about Australia—how empty and worthless loomed328 that storehouse of information, with this gigantic lacuna!—but from a bound magazine volume of Miss Gentry’s, borrowed for the first time, she drew confirmation329 of her worst fears. It was a place that needed many more stations and out-stations of the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, and there were mosquitoes that could only be kept off by lighted torches, and biting spiders as big as your palm; after frying at 105 in the shade, you might shiver the next moment in the icy blast of the “Southern Buster.” And there were dust-winds to boot. If you went to the cemetery331 of Port Phillip, you would see that the majority of deaths were between the ages of thirty and forty. This premature332 mortality was due to the excessive drinking of cold water natural in so droughty a country. What a blessing333 that Will was not, like Mr. Skindle, a member of the Temperance Friendly Society! Nor was the labour market, congested as it was with ticket-of-leave men and bounty-emigrants from England, really superior to that of the old country, while house-rents were twice as high. As for the interior, another number of the magazine contained a story in which “an ill-favoured man with his arm in a sling” was pursued by a bull amid mimosa swamps in a setting of blacks with tomahawks and whites with pistols. “The Bull and the Bush,” she murmured whimsically to herself, but at heart she was cold with apprehension.
Then by a strange coincidence she found reassurance336. Calling on Mrs. Bidlake in her confinement337, she found the mother well and the new child vigorous. But it was not from their condition merely that emanated338 the novel atmosphere of happiness that radiated over the household: perhaps, indeed, the well-being339 was only a consequence of the happiness. For the Bidlakes, too, were off to Australia, though not to the goldfields. The cloud over the family had lifted at last. Not that Hezekiah had been proved innocent, but that he was become opulent. Released on ticket-of-leave, the sturdy ploughman had got a position with a cottage and garden in that “splendid suny clim” as he now called it, and then, just as he was about to send for Sophy and Sally, he had won six hundred and forty acres on the outskirts of Port Phillip in a lottery340 run by the Bank of Australasia! If he could borrow the capital from the bank, as was not improbable, he would be able to cut up his prize into ten-acre allotments and build houses on it—by that you simply doubled or trebled your outlay341 in a few years. His sister should have a house anyhow, and in the meantime her husband could help him manage or farm the vast estate. As for the “dere gels” there would be no need for them to work now, though if they wanted pocket-money they would be snapped up for service, and get as much as sixteen pounds a year each. He had already sent fifty pounds towards the passage-money, and would raise more when he knew if they would all come out, and moreover he understood that there was a Family Colonization342 Society in London to which Ephraim might apply for an advance. What a change, this going out of theirs, from that dreadful departure in the prison coach for the hulks and Botany Bay! Jinny, sharing their tears of joy, was vastly relieved on her own account at the paradise the grotesquely spelt letter conjured343 up, and she rejoiced to reflect that all that ancient barbarous harshness of magistrates344 and judges had led under Providence345 to the enrichment of Britain’s new soil with the sweat of her skilled agriculturists, and was even opening up new horizons for their innocent relatives. For assuredly this was a paradise on earth, if Hezekiah’s letter was not a shameless lure346 for his brother-in-law.
Think of tea at eighteenpence a pound—even a shilling if bought by the chest!—think of sugar at twopence-halfpenny, and neck of mutton at a penny a pound, nay347, a whole sheep for five shillings. Think of pork at twopence and the best cows’ butter at sixpence; and after one has been reduced to turnips348 and dry bread, think of a land where ox-tails can be had for the skinning and sheeps’ heads and plucks by the barrow for the fetching away. A land where, as he wound up rapturously, any man who worked could have his bellyful, and where everything was plentiful349 except women, so that his girls would be able to pick and choose among the “gumsuckers” and have “cornstalks” for husbands. They shouldn’t marry among the “prisoners,” please God, for he didn’t reckon himself in that set, having done nothing to be ashamed of, though he did see now that threshing-machines were necessary when you had a lot of land.
“If they want women so badly, I might do worse than go myself,” said Jinny laughingly.
“No, no, whatever would Little Bradmarsh do without you?” said Ephraim.
“They did without me well enough,” she said bitterly. Indeed her first fine faith in human nature could not be mended as easily as the broken bridge, nor did the depreciatory350 allusions351 of her old customers to the deceased coach, and their compliments at her return, soften88 her cynicism. And as she spoke, she felt a sudden yearning129 to be done with them all: the infection of the new world began to steal into her veins352 too, but she knew her own exodus353 was impossible while her grandfather lived, and though she played with the idea and asked if she might copy Hezekiah’s instructions for the passage, her real design was to gather information for Will’s sake. It was very worrying though to copy the recommendations in the original spelling. “Of kors i don’t now wot the shipps is like nowerdies, but the nu chums ses they dont give no solt, onni roc-solt (solt is peny a pound here, peper 2d. nounc) and you’ll want thik warm close and moor354 beding.” There was an elaborate list of provisions necessary to supplement the ship’s dietary during the four weary months—it hardly needed copying, since it embraced a little of everything edible357 that would keep—but she was glad again that Will was not a temperance man when she found a bottle of brandy recommended as an indispensable medicine for the contingencies358 of the voyage.
Neglecting even the last instalment of her debt to Miss Gentry—had not the dressmaker given her the alternative of working it out?—Jinny began to acquire the longest-lived comestibles, storing them secretly in one of the ante-room chests. And it was by this concentration on Will’s interests that she managed to live through his dreadful silence, nay, to enjoy long spells of day-dreaming in which these edibles359 were for their joint Australian larder360. The goldfields her imagination dismissed as bristling with “desperado diggers.” It was on the more idyllic361 images of her magazine article, written before the days of the discovery of gold, that her imagination fed. For though the writer denigrated362 the urban labour market, he admitted that there was plenty of room for rural labour, and then—with what seemed so uncanny a prying363 into her affairs that it flushed her cheek and made her heart beat faster—he postulated364 a young couple without capital setting up housekeeping together, and instructed them to take employment with a farmer while saving up enough to buy a small farm or herd104 of their own. The system, it appeared, was that the employer supplied rations365 as well as money-wages, and that while the husband worked on the land, the wife could do the farm cooking. (How lucky she had had so much experience, Jinny thought.) Nay, these rations, said the article (pursuing her affairs to what the blushing reader thought the point of indelicacy) would practically suffice for the children too, and when they grew up—-but her delicious daydream366 rarely went so far as this calculation of them as independent labour-assets.
The happy couple would also be permitted to keep a few cows, pigs, and fowls367. Here the thought of Methusalem would intrude368 distressfully, and the difficulty of transporting him to the Antipodes. But when he had been left at Frog Farm in the loving hands of Caleb and Martha (become almost his parents-in-law), under promise of leisurely370 grazing for the rest of his life, with perhaps a rare jaunt257 to Chipstone market for their household needs, this ideal solution only reminded her of the phantasmal nature of the whole scheme, for Frog Farm could certainly not be saddled with her grandfather. But lest she should remember too cruelly its visionary character, the day-dream would at this point dart53 off swiftly on the journey through the Bush in quest of an idyllic spot free from blacks and provided with a generous employer.
Fortunate that this journey was to be so inexpensive, there being no inns (not even “The Bull and Bush”), but every settler being compelled by a wise decree of this wonderful State to give the bona fide traveller board and lodging for nothing. What a lovely journey that would be—if only one dodged the blacks and the diggers and the swamps with the alligators371. She saw herself and Will bounding along like kangaroos (with Nip of course in attendance, she did not intend to take up with a dingo instead) through mimosa-bushes (like the scrub on the Common, only gaudier), and eating their dinner-packets under giant gum-trees, so enchantingly blue, whose tops, five hundred feet high, one might climb so as to survey the route for signs of native camps or friendly farmers. If there was no settler in sight by the time darkness fell, they would just perch272 themselves like birds in a nest of high branches out of all danger, and go to sleep under the starry372 heaven, which she saw vividly373 with the old constellations374.
Closer to the real was her picture of the tenement375 with which the ideal farmer (when found) would provide his young couple. There would just be a few poles driven into the ground to support the roof of gum-bark, with its hole to let out the smoke. But of course one need not live much indoors in that climate—despite the occasional vagaries376 of the “Southerly Buster”—and it would be all the easier not to have to spend money on furniture. Why, put in Nip’s basket, lay out Will’s razor and slippers377, set out her Spelling-Book and the Peculiar179 Hymn-Book the young rebel had thrown into the bushes, hang up his hat and her bonnet, and the place already begins to look like home. As for Will’s box—presumably conveyed to the chosen spot by the local carrier in a bullock-cart—it is so large it will crowd out everything else and furnish the place of itself. Decked with a rug it will serve as sofa, covered with a cloth it becomes a table. Lucky she has not brought a box of her own, but has squeezed her things into his—in that wonderful, incredible fusion378 of two existences!
It was hard to wake from these day-dreams to the wretched reality, and yet Uncle Lilliwhyte profited from one of these awakenings, for her Australian hut had reminded her of his English specimen379, and she hurried to see it and him. She found them both in a bad way. His wading380 overmuch in the flood in quest of salvage381 had brought back more than a touch of his rheumatism382, while the winds and rain had left his shanty383 leakier than ever. They were both breaking up, the ancient and his shell, and she now did her best to patch both up. Already in her new affluence384 she had called in young Ravens to mend her grandfather’s bedroom ceiling and redaub the gaps in the walls, and it was simple to turn this Jack-of-all-trades and fountain of melody on to the derelict hut in the woods. The poor old “Uncle” had hitherto built his fire as well as he could on the ground on the leeward385 side of his hut; Jinny now installed an old stove which she bought up cheap at the pawnbroker’s and conveyed to the verge386 of the wood. But the hole in the roof that might serve for Australia would not do for England, and after Ravens had re-thickened the walls with fresh faggots and re-thatched the hut with shavings presented by Barnaby, Jinny was amused to find that what seemed an iron chimney turned out on closer inspection387 to consist of three old top-hats. Where the ancient had picked up these treasures—whether in the flood or in his normal scavenging—he refused to say. “Happen Oi’ve got a mort o’ culch ye don’t know of,” he cackled, enjoying her admiration of his architecture. She wanted to have a floor to the hut, but this, like the exchange of his sacking for a pallet-bed, he opposed strenuously388. “Gimme the smell o’ the earth,” he said. “Ye’ve shut out the stars and that’s enough.” He accepted, however, a bolster389 for a pillow.
By such interests and devices, aided by her regular rounds, Jinny staved off too clear a consciousness of the inevitable parting, which would not even have the grace of a parting. But the inexorable moment was like a black monster bearing down upon her—and yet it was not really advancing, it was rather something retreating: it could not even be visualized390 as a shock against which one could brace356 one’s shoulders. There was the horror of the impalpable in this silent drift away from her.
But when at last the day of departure was named, and came vibrating to her across a dozen subtle threads, the negative torture turned to a positive that was still more racking. It was on the Friday—unlucky day!—that Will was to leave for London, and here was already Tuesday. Some of her threads conveyed even the rumour391 that, in order to save a little cash for his start at the Antipodes, he meant to work his passage. And here was she unable to pack his box or even to slip her provisions into it; doomed392 by all the laws of sex and proper spirit to watch—bound hand and foot as in a nightmare—the receding393 of the mate whose lips had sealed her his. By the Wednesday morning even her grandfather observed something was wrong.
“Ye ain’t eatin’ no breakfus.”
“Yes, Gran’fer, lots!”
“Do ye don’t tell me no fibs. Oi’ve noticed your appetite fallin’ lower and lower like the flood, and now there’s a’mos’ nawthen o’ neither. And ye used to be my little mavis!”
“You don’t want me to eat snails394 or worms?”
“?’Tis your singin’, Oi mean.”
“There is Hey!” she chanted obediently.
“Ye’re the most aggravatin’ gal—minds me o’ your great-gran’mother. Ye need your mouth for eatin’, not singin’.”
After a sleepless395 night, unable to bear this inactivity, she ran round to the Bidlake lodgings396 to suggest that as young Mr. Flynt seemed to be sailing for Australia, it might be a neighbourly action to show him Hezekiah’s hints to travellers. But she gathered from the happy mother that the absent Ephraim had already talked to Will about the heavier clothes and the bedding, and that Will had said how fortunate it was he had sold off his summer suits, so as in any case to get the latest make at Moses & Son’s on his passage through London. Jinny suspected he had sold them off to raise funds for the voyage. Still the bravado397 of this pretence398 of a London outfit399 did not displease400 her. She learnt too that there had been a question of Will’s convoying the ex-convict’s daughters to their impatient parent, as the Ephraim Bidlakes would not be ready for ages, but it had been thought scarcely proper in view of their age and looks—a decision Jinny thought wise. Indeed, the idea that he was not to be thus companioned almost reconciled her, by contrast, to his departure.
When she got home she found to her surprise that her grandfather was entertaining Martha Flynt, who was far from the spruceness she usually achieved for outsiders of the other sex. She looked draggled and worn after her long and windy walk. What astonished Jinny most was that the old rheumatic woman should have trudged401 so far, and she opined that her business must be pressing and must be with herself. For it could hardly lie in the Christadelphian texts with which Martha seemed to be battering402 and bemusing the nonagenarian, whose great Bible lay open between them, and who was disconcerted to find her texts really there.
Martha had never set foot in Blackwater Hall before, so far as Jinny could remember, and very strange it was to see her sitting over her cup of tea which she must have made for herself at her host’s invitation. With all his perturbation over the texts, he seemed only too brisked up by this amazing visit from a female, the first unwhiskered being, save Jinny, he had met for many moons. It was a fillip he did not need, Jinny considered: the old good food again, the sweet security, the satisfaction of revenge, had made his eyes less bleared, filled out his flacked cheeks and given him a new lease of strength and sanity—a sort of second wind—and this visit might only over-stimulate him. She did not like the undercurrent of excitement that showed itself in the twitching403 of his limbs and eyelids404, especially when Martha declared he could not be really accepting the Book as all-inspired if he believed man’s heaven lay in the skies. “Whither I go, ye cannot come,” she repeated.
“We’ll see about that,” said Daniel Quarles fiercely, and clenched405 his fists as if he meant to storm the gates of cloudland. “And ain’t ye forgittin’ ’Lijah what went up to heaven with a chariot and bosses o’ fire? That won’t happen to ’Lijah Skindle, damn him—he’ll have the chariot o’ fire, but he won’t git no higher. He, he, he!”
Martha was momentarily baffled by Elijah’s ascension, but recovering her nerve, she dealt John iii. 13, “No man hath ascended406 up to heaven.”
Partly to soothe408 the old man, partly to give Martha a chance of speaking out, Jinny here intervened with the suggestion that he himself should ascend407 up to his room and bring down the telescope to amuse his guest withal. Obviously relieved—for he felt himself in a tight textual corner—he hastened upstairs.
It was then that the old woman, bursting into tears, and clutching at Jinny’s arm, sobbed out: “Oh, Jinny, you’ve got to come back with me—you’ve got to come back at once!”
Jinny turned cold and sick. What had happened to Will?
“But what for?” she gasped409.
“To Willie!”
Her worst fears were confirmed. “Is he hurt?”
“I wish he was a little,” Martha sobbed. “But even his arm’s all right now.” What Martha went on to say Jinny never remembered, for she was suddenly sobbing410 with Martha. But hers was the hysteria of relief, and when she at last understood that what Martha was asking was that she should come back and marry Will, so that he should stay near his mother, her heart hardened again. It was not that she made any attempt to deny her love—things seemed suddenly to have got beyond that—but Martha, she felt, knew not what she asked, seeming to have divined from her boy’s demeanour a lover’s quarrel, but without any inkling of the real tangle411 and deadlock412. Even if she humiliated413 herself, as Martha half unwittingly suggested, it was all a blind-alley.
“My making it up won’t keep him in England,” she urged. “He’s got no money. And no more have I.”
She might have been more willing to make a last desperate dash of her head against the brick wall, had she understood how Martha had fought against her from the first and how pitiable was her surrender now, but no suspicion of that underground opposition414 had ever crossed her mind, nor did Martha now confess what indeed she no longer remembered clearly.
“But there’s room for you in Frog Farm, dearie. We’d love to have you. We’ve always loved you.”
“I can’t,” Jinny moaned. “It’s all no use. And I’ve got Gran’fer!” Indeed, Martha’s passionate269 plea had curiously clarified and steadied her mind, reconciling her to the inevitable. To go to Will was exactly what she had been yearning to do. But when the plea for such action came through Martha’s mouth, she could see it from outside, as it were, realize its futility415 and cleanse416 her bosom of it. She felt strangely braced355 by her own refusal.
“But I’ve got some provisions for the voyage,” she said, “that you might smuggle417 into his box—I know it’s big enough. And I do hope, Mrs. Flynt, he’s not going to work his passage.”
“I only wish he was, for he mightn’t find a ship. But you see Flynt would go and advance him the money and insist he must go steerage like a gentleman. He’s got no heart, hasn’t Flynt,” she wept, “he only wants to settle down in peace after Will and the flood, and sit under his vine and fig-tree.”
“Don’t cry—here’s Gran’fer coming down. I tell you what I will do, Mrs. Flynt, I will call for his box.”
“Oh, bless you, Jinny!” Martha fell on her neck. “If you come, he won’t go! That’s as sure as sunrise.”
“And then I can bring him his provisions,” Jinny pointed out sceptically, as she disentangled herself from Martha’s arms. Then both females were dumbed by the sight of the Gaffer returning in his best smock and with his beard combed! He tendered Martha the telescope with a debonair418 gesture. But Martha, her mission comparatively successful, departed so precipitately419 that the poor old man felt his toilette wasted, not to mention his telescope.
“She’s a flighty young woman,” was his verdict, “as full o’ warses as our thatch110 o’ warmin. Sets herself up agin John. Wesley as searched the Scriptures420 afore she was born.” And laying down his telescope, he turned over the pages of his Bible, and perpending her textual irritants and questing for antidotes421, fell quietly asleep.
He was delighted when she returned the next afternoon, and he played Genesis v. 24, with a snort of triumph, by way of greeting. Martha tremulously countered with Acts ii. 34, and denied that Enoch had gone up to heaven, but it was obvious her heart was not in the game, and Jinny was glad when Ravens’ ladder was clapped against the casement422 and his padded knees appeared in an ascension of a purely423 terrestrial character, however celestial424 the melody that accompanied it. For the Gaffer had grown fond of this bird-of-all-work, now in the r?le of thatcher425, and would hasten to hover241 about him, fussily426 directing the operations of his club, shears427, or needle, correcting the words and airs of his songs, and even joining him in duets. Ravens’ encouragement of the older bird had become almost as alarming to Jinny as his shameless delay in sending in his bill and his positive refusal to charge for Uncle Lilliwhyte’s repairs, but this afternoon his advent was welcome, though the noise and jingle428 of the duets outside made her conversation with Martha difficult.
“He mustn’t go—he mustn’t go,” Mrs. Flynt sobbed. “It’s like the New Jerusalem coming down and going up again.”
Jinny quite appreciated that. “I thought he wouldn’t let me call for his box,” she said quietly.
“No, the pig-headed mule429! He’s going to carry it himself.”
“In what? It’s not easy to get anything but me.”
“He knows that. That’s why he’s carrying it. On his shoulders, I mean.”
“With his arm just healed!”
“There won’t be much inside—he’s going to buy his things in London!”
“But the box itself—why, it’s big enough to pack himself in!”
“I know, I know, dearie. But Caleb says he carried it himself all the way from Chipstone. And chock-full, too!”
Jinny suppressed a faint smile. “I remember,” she said. “But perhaps he’ll break down before he gets it to Chipstone,” she added encouragingly.
“Oh, do you think so, dearie?” Then Martha’s face fell. “But he only means to carry it to ‘The King of Prussia.’ There’s a commercial traveller going from there in a trap to catch the same coach.”
“Then let us hope he’ll never get to ‘The King of Prussia.’?” Martha shook her head. “You see, Flynt’s offered to bear a hand.”
“Oh, well!” said Jinny. “Then it’s all settled.”
“But he won’t have his father, either. Nearly bullied430 his head off. So Flynt’s going to keep behind him all the way in case of a breakdown431.”
The picture of Caleb slinking furtively432 along the roads, behind his boy and the box, moved Jinny’s risible433 muscles, and she burst into a laugh that was not far from tears.
“Don’t, Jinny! I can’t bear it. You can’t love him, or you wouldn’t sit there and laugh. I always knew you weren’t the right girl for him!”
Jinny took this as the babbling434 of a mind distraught. “You’ll get over it,” she assured the old woman, patting the thin hand with the worn wedding-ring. “And he’s bound to come back.” The necessity of quieting Martha was fortifying435: Jinny was like a queasy436 passenger saved from sea-sickness by having to look after a still worse sailor. She was the soul of the company at tea, staving off the duel437 of texts and sending Ravens into ecstasies438 over her quips and flashes. There was one bad moment, however, when Daniel Quarles candidly439 remarked to Mrs. Flynt: “Ravens should be tellin’ me as your Willie’s gooin’ furrin. Ye’ll be well riddy o’ the rascal.”
“Willie’s an angel!” cried Martha hysterically440.
“How could there be angels ef there ain’t no heaven?” he queried441, with a crafty442 cackle. “Noa, noa, Mrs. Flynt, it ain’t no use kiverin’ up as he’s a bad egg. But one bad in a dozen or sow is fair allowance. Ye’re luckier than me, what hadn’t even one good ’un. Now ef Ravens here had been my buo-oy——!”
Jinny saw Martha a bit of the way home. She had now found a new compromise. “Tell Will that Ravens will come with my cart.”
“And what will be the good of that?”
“It will save him the strain of carrying the box. And then as to-morrow’s my day, I shall have to meet my cart at ‘The King of Prussia.’?”
“Oh, Jinny, then you will!”
“Yes—but don’t tell him. Only say Ravens will call for the box at eight o’clock—that will give him time to walk if he jibs at the cart for himself.”
It had all been arranged with the obliging bird-of-all-work, and Ravens had left Blackwater Hall that evening, carolling even more blithely443 than usual, when Jinny found—evidently pushed under the house-door—a mysterious cocked-hat addressed “Miss Boldero.” With trembling fingers she opened it, her heart thumping444. “To hell with Ravens! You can keep him!”
This utterly unexpected flash of an utterly unforeseen jealousy446, and the thought that he had been drawn447 so spatially448 near again, was all that stood between her and despair that last dreadful night.
VIII
When the fateful Friday dawned, it found Jinny fast asleep, worn out after long listening to a wind that would soon be tossing a ship about. In those harsh hours she had felt it would be impossible to get up and go on her round in the morning. But no sooner were her eyes unsealed, than there sprang up in her mind the thought that, did she fail her customers to-day, gossip would at once connect her breakdown with Will’s departure. So far, she had reason to believe, Martha’s guess at their relations had not penetrated449 outside. But eyes were sharp and tongues sharper, and she must not be exposed to pity. Under this goad450 she sprang up instanter and did her hair carefully before the cracked mirror and dressed herself in her best and smartest. She would go around with gibe451 and laughter and fantasias on the horn, and whatever was consonant452 with celebrating the final retreat of the coach.
The morning was quiet after the blustrous night, but the year, like her fate, was at its dreariest453 moment—no colour in sky or garden, no hint of the Spring—and at breakfast a reaction overcame her. But this time her grandfather did not observe her depression: he was too full of the crime of ’Lijah, who—according to Martha—was putting his mother in the Chipstone poorhouse prior to installing his bride in Rosemary Villa. So garrulous454 was he this morning that Jinny—her mind morbidly456 possessed by a story of a miner who was found dead of starvation in the Bush with a bag of gold for his pillow—ceased to listen to his diatribes457, retaining only an uneasy sense that he was twitching and jerking with the same excitement as when Martha had first come. “And Oi count ye’ll be doin’ the same with me one day,” she heard him say at last, for he was shaking her arm. “But Oi’d have ye know it’s my business, not yourn—Daniel Quarles, Carrier.”
Jinny wearily assured him that there was no danger of her ever marrying, and she felt vexed458 with Martha for coming and starting such agitated459 trains of thought in his aged brain. Possibly the foolish mother might even have broached460 to him her desire to rob him of his granddaughter.
“Ye ought to be glad Oi’ve give ye food and shelter and them fine clothes ye’ve titivated yourself with,” he went on, unsoothed, “bein’ as there ain’t enough in the business for myself. ’Tis a daily sacrifice, Jinny, and do ye don’t forgit it.”
The prompt arrival of Ravens made a break, but she had to cancel with thanks her request for his services with the cart, and then, when the old man was settled at his Bible, and her bonnet and shawl were on, she collapsed463 in the ante-room, sinking down on the chest in which she had hoarded464 Will’s provisions, and feeling her resolution oozing465 away with every tick of the Dutch clock. Impossible to whip up a pseudo-gaiety, to make the tour of all these inquisitive466 faces! And through the lassitude of her whole being pierced every now and then her grandfather’s voice, crying “Tush, you foolish woman!” She knew it was not meant for her, but for an imagined Martha whose texts he was confuting, but it sounded dismally467 apposite, and when once he declared “Wiser folks than you knowed it all afore you was born,” she bowed her head as before the human destiny.
When the clock struck nine, he came stalking in. “Why, Jinny! Ain’t to-day Friday?”
She raised a miserable face. “Yes, but I’m going to-morrow instead!”
“To-morrow be dangnationed!” he cried, upset. “Oi’ve, never missed my Friday yet.”
“But I don’t feel like going to-day.”
“That’ll never do, Jinny. Ye’ll ruin my business with your whimwhams and mulligrubs. And it don’t yarn468 enough as it is.”
“There’s no competition—it doesn’t matter now.”
“And is that your thanks to the Lord for drowndin’ Pharaoh and his chariot and hosses?”
But she put her head back in her hands. “Do let me be!” she snapped.
“Don’t ye feel well, Jinny?” he said, with a change of tone. “Have ye got shoots o’ pain in your brain-box?”
“I’m all right, but I don’t want to go to-day. I should only make muddles.”
“We don’t make muddles,” he said fiercely.
“Let me be. I can’t harness.”
“Well, then Oi’ll do it, dearie. You just set there—Oi’ll put the door a bit ajar and once you’re in the fresh air you’ll be all right.”
She heard him shuffle469 back into the living-room and thence into the kitchen as the shortest way to the stable, and then, almost immediately, she became aware of a little noise at the garden-gate. She was sitting opposite the clock, and through the slit470 at the doorway she beheld471, to her amaze, a red-headed figure outside the gate, sitting on a box and mopping its brow as it gazed sentimentally472 at the cottage. Even in the wild leaping of her pulses, the grotesqueness473 of their both sitting gloomily on boxes—so near and yet so far—tickled her sense of humour. But as she sat on, smiling and fluttering, she saw him rise, cast a cautious look round, open the gate, and steal towards the living-room. In a bound she was within and waiting by the closed casement, and as his expected peep came, the lattice flew back in his face and her hysteric mockery rang out.
“I thought you’d never look on my face again!”
It was almost a greater surprise than when she had appeared with Methusalem walking the waters, for he had counted her just as surely set out on her Friday round as the sun itself, and his sentimental journey safe from misunderstanding (or was it understanding?).
“Oh, don’t cackle!” he snarled474. “I might have guessed you’d try to catch me.”
She gulped475 down the sobs476 that were trying to strangle her speech. How glad she was that she had on her best frock! “I overslept myself!” she said gaily. “Gran’fer’s harnessing. I see you’ve brought your box! You’re just in time!”
“I haven’t brought my box!” he snapped.
“Do ye don’t tell me no fibs,” she parodied477.
“I mean, it’s going from ‘The King of Prussia.’?”
“Really? Well I’ll take it over the bridge for you.”
“Thank you! I’m taking it there myself.”
“This don’t seem the shortest cut to Long Bradmarsh,” she observed blandly.
He glowered478. “Shows how easily I can carry it. I’m having a good-bye look at all the old places.”
But below this surface conversation they were holding one of their old silent duologues. Jinny’s heart was beating fast with happiness and triumph as her eyes told him he would never get away now, and he, hypnotized by that dancing light in them, dumbly acknowledged he was self-trapped. Yet how they were going to get out of their impasse479, and how his pride was to be reconciled with their reconciliation480, neither had the ghost of an idea. “I see,” she replied, as if accepting his explanation of his visit. “But as to this old place, I’m afraid Ravens has rather changed the look of it with his new thatch.”
He snorted at the name.
“But you’ll find it unchanged inside,” she added affably, “if you come in.”
“Don’t begin that again! You know I can’t.”
“Dear me! I had forgotten that old nonsense. Well, you can come nearer and peep in.” Her face shone at the window.
His face worked wildly with the struggle not to approach hers. “I did have a peep. Good-bye, I’ve got the coach to catch.”
“Well, the cart will be ready in a moment. Gran’fer is so slow harnessing. Hark! Nip’s getting impatient.”
He raised his hat. “Thank you, but I told you I was my own carrier.”
“Good-bye, then. Pity you came so out of your way.”
He turned, and his feet dragged themselves hopelessly gateward.
She waved her hand desperately through the casement.
“Good luck, Will! Hope you’ll strike plenty of nuggets!”
“Thank you, Jinny!” He opened the gate.
“You’ll let me know how you’re getting on.”
“If you like!” The gate clicked behind him. Her mother-wit leapt to stave off the moment beyond which all her frenzied481 questing for some solution would be waste.
“Oh dear me, Will! Where is my memory going? Put your box in the porch a moment, will you?”
“What for?”
“I’ve got a few little things for the voyage—I really forgot.”
“Oh, Jinny!” He came back through the gate. “But I don’t need to bring the box to the door. I’ll take the things from you through the window.”
“But I want to pack them in properly—I can’t on the road.”
“There’s nobody passing.”
“You never can tell. We don’t want Bundock——”
“But I’ll pack them in myself.”
“I’d never trust a man—in fact I expect I’ll have to repack all the rest. Look at Mr. Flippance.”
But still he hung back. “There’s lots of room.”
“I know. Like a sensible man you’re getting your outfit in London. Bring it along. Or shall I lend you a hand?”
“No! No!” He hurriedly shouldered the huge box and Jinny heard its contents shifting like a withered482 kernel483 in a nutshell. It was the same American trunk with the overarching lid, and as he swaggered up the garden with it, it seemed to her as if time had rolled back to last Spring. But what comedies and tragedies had intervened between the two box-carryings, all sprung from the same obstinacy! And yet, she felt, she did not love him the less for his manly484 assertiveness485: how sweet would be the surrender when their sparring was over and her will could be legitimately486 embraced in his, held like herself in those masterful, muscular arms.
Her mind was really in her Australian hut as he dumped the box at her feet. No, it would hardly do for a table, she thought, with that lid-curvature. Then she braced herself for a tricky487 tussle488.
“Well, where’s the goods?” he said lightly.
“Don’t be so unbelieving—they’re in that spruce-hutch. Four months, you know, you’ve got to provide against.”
“I know,” he said glumly489, unlocking his trunk and throwing up the lid violently. He would have liked to smash the springs. But the lid, lined with cheap striped cloth, stood up stiffly, refusing to give him a pretext490 for postponing491 his journey.
Jinny from her doorway gazed at the jumble492 in the great void.
“Shove it forward a bit,” she said carelessly, moving backwards493 within.
“What for?”
“Your end of the box is not under cover.”
“Why should it be?”
“It might rain and spoil your things—I’m sure I saw a drop.” She tugged at the handle and the trunk slid along the porch and some inches over the sill. Unostentatiously he pulled it back a bit, but she jerked it in again. “Do leave it where I can see the things,” she said with simulated fretfulness. “Good gracious!” She drew out the frock-coat he had sported for the Flippance wedding. “What’s this grandeur for?”
“Oh, for funerals and things like that!”
“In the Bush? And fancy packing it next to the blanket. It’s all over hairs. I’ll brush it and sell it for you—Ravens will be wanting one for the wedding.”
“What wedding?” he demanded fiercely.
“Mr. Skindle’s, of course. Weren’t you invited?”
He winced494, and unrebuked she threw his wedding raiment over the provision-chest. “We’d best keep this on top,” she said, drawing out the blanket, “else you won’t get at it.”
“I expect you’ll be married by the time I’m back,” he remarked with aloofness495.
“Not I. I’ll never marry now. I’ve seen too much of men’s foolishness.”
“Going to be an old maid?”
“If I live long enough!” Her vaunt of youth was dazzling.
“Well, I hope you won’t!” he said fervently496.
“Won’t live? Oh, Will!”
“Won’t fade into that. You know what I mean. The sweetest rose must fade.”
“So will this muffler—fortunately. Haven’t you taken your dad’s ‘muckinger’ by mistake?”
“No, no—you leave that be.”
“What a let of Sunday collars!”
“Weekdays too I like a clean collar.”
“Ow, this onrighteous generation,” she said in Caleb’s voice, “all one to them, Sundays or no Sundays.” She pulled up his cloak.
“You leave that cloak be!” he said, laughing despite himself.
“But now your sling’s off, you don’t need it.”
“Yes, I do. Let it be, please.”
But she unrolled it mischievously497 and a packet of letters fell out—her letters about the great horn.
“Well, didn’t I say men were silly!” she cried. “Fancy taking that to Australia.” And she made as if to hurl498 them towards the living-room fire.
“Give ’em to me!” He reached for them angrily, and that gave her an idea.
“But they’re mine!” Standing at the end of the box, which made a barrier between them, she held them mockingly just beyond his reach. He came forward, then perceiving one foot was right across the forbidden sill, he jerked himself back violently. Then balancing himself well on his soles, with a sudden swoop499 he curved his body forward to the utmost. It only resulted in his nearly falling athwart the open box. He recovered his balance and the perpendicular500 with some difficulty and no dignity.
“Take care!” she cried in almost hysterical gaiety. “You nearly crossed that time.”
“You give me my property!” he cried furiously.
“They’re as much mine as yours.”
“Not by law. You’ve no legal right to detain my property.”
“And who’s detaining it? You’ve only got to come and take it!”
His anger was enhanced by the sounds of Daniel Quarles returning with the cart, a carolling, lumbering501, barking medley502. It would be intolerable to be caught as though trying to cross the threshold.
“Give it me,” he hissed503. “I don’t want to meet him.” And as she tantalizingly504 tendered the packet nearer, he lunged towards her at a desperate angle, and overreaching himself as she deftly505 withdrew it, fell prone31 into the open box, his legs asprawl in the air.
“Curl ’em in, quick,” she whispered, with an inspiration, tucking his legs in before he knew what was happening. But as the lid closed on him, he was not sorry to be spared the encounter.
“Get rid of him!” he implored506 through the keyhole.
“Business pouring in, Gran’fer!” she cried cheerily, as the Gaffer came up astare. “Bear a hand! No, no, not into the cart. It’s to wait here. There is Hey,” she began chanting.
“There is Ree,” came his antiphone, as he grasped the other handle. “Lord, that’s lugsome!” he panted, dropping it as soon as it was inside and letting himself fall upon it. “Whew!” he breathed heavily. Nip, too, all abristle leaped on the box and yapped hysterically, as though nosing for a rat. This was the last straw. Will, whose head the Gaffer was pressing through the far from inflexible507 lid, and who already felt asphyxiating508, gave a vigorous heave.
“Why, it’s aloive!” cried the Gaffer, jumping up nervously509. Then as the lid flew up, Nip was hurled510 into space and Will’s red poll popped up. “It’s a Will-in-the-box,” cried Jinny.
“Willie Flynt!” gasped the Gaffer.
“Yes, Gran’fer,” she said in laughing triumph. “And you carried him in!”
“Ha, ha, ha!” A great roar of glee came from the jubilant junior, and in the act of scrambling511 up, his knees relaxed in helpless mirth and he let himself fall forward once more in the box, in a convulsion of merriment. “Daniel Quarles, Carrier! Ha, ha, ha!”
“And see, Gran’fer!” cried Jinny in still greater triumph. “He came in on his hands and knees!”
Daniel Quarles’s bemused countenance512 changed magically.
“Ho, ho, ho!” he croaked513. “On his hands and knees! Ho, ho, ho!”
Will’s spasms514 froze as by enchantment515.
“Come along, Will,” said Jinny, hauling him out. “It’s a fair draw and you’ve got to shake hands.”
Will manfully put out his hand. “You nearly squashed me, Mr. Quarles,” he said ruefully.
“Ye wanted settin’ on,” said the Gaffer, chuckling516, and he took the fleshy young hand in his bony fingers. “Ye sot yourself to ruin us. But what says the Book?” he demanded amiably517. “He that diggeth a pit shall tumble into——”
“A box,” wound up Jinny merrily.
“Oi never knowed he was there, did, Oi’d a-tarned that key,” said her grandfather, guffawing519 afresh.
“And everybody would have thought me in Australia, and then after long years a skeleton would have been found,” said Will, with grim humour.
Jinny clapped her hands. “Just like Mr. Flippance’s play, The Mistletoe Bough!”
She had closed the house-door. A timid tapping at it, which had gone unobserved, now grew audible.
“There’s your dad!” said Jinny.
Will’s eyes widened. “My dad?” he breathed incredulously.
“Git in the box!” whispered the Gaffer, almost bursting with glee. “Git in the box!” His sinewy520 arms seized the young man round the waist.
Will struggled indignantly. “I nearly choked!” he spluttered.
“Sh!” Jinny with her warning finger and dancing eyes stilled him. “Just for fun—only for a moment!”
Her instinct divined that to let the old man have his way would be the surest method of clinching521 the reconciliation. He could then never go back on her later, never resent the trick played upon him. It would become his trick, his farce522, it would provide a fund of happy memories for the rest of his life. And as she cried “Come in!” and the latch lifted and Caleb’s white-rimmed, cherubic countenance was poked523 meekly524 through a gap, while her grandfather, stroking his beard, composed his face to an exaggerated severity, Jinny felt that life was almost too delicious for laughter.
“Hullo, young chap!” was the Gaffer’s genial525 greeting. “What brings you here?”
“Oi—Oi happened to be passin’,” explained Caleb awkwardly, while his puzzled eyes roved from the girl to his senior, and then towards Nip, who was cowering526 in a corner, too nerve-shattered to leap on the lid again. “You ain’t seen my Willie?” He moved forward questingly.
The older man tried to answer, then a guffaw518 burst from that toothless mouth, and turning his back he blew his nose thundrously into his handkerchief, while his lean sides shook like a jelly. “Why ever should we see your Willie?” cried Jinny, saving the situation. “Ain’t he gone furrin?”
Caleb rubbed his eyes. “But Oi seen him at this door—he’ll be late for the coach.”
“At this door?” the Gaffer succeeded in saying, and then his handkerchief came into play again and he sneezed and coughed and blew like a grampus.
“Oi seen him just by the sill, swingin’ forth and back like a parrot on a perch.”
At that Jinny had some pains to keep a stiff lip, and even the box-lid quivered, but not with laughter, she surmised.
“I’m afraid you must have dreamed it,” she replied.
“Lord!” quoth Caleb, and dropped dazedly527 on the box. To see the Gaffer’s face when the lid shot up under his visitor was worth more than Mr. Flippance’s finest show. The very soul of old English mirth was there. You would have thought that this crude device had never entered human brain before, was as fresh as the first laughter of Eden. And what heightened the humour of the situation was that Caleb was by no means overpleased to find Will had no intention of catching528 his coach. Nor did he begin to enter into the spirit of the thing till, admitting that Martha would “exult in gladness,” it occurred to him what a surprise for her it would be to get her boy delivered back to her inside the box. Eagerly the two old men imagined the scene, catching fire from each other, improvising529 Martha’s dialogue for her, from her amazement530 at seeing the box back, down to the colossal climax, till the mere idea had them both rolling about in helpless quiverings and explosions. Nor could Will, though he said he’d be danged if he’d stuff himself in again, and groused531 he’d got cramp532 in every limb, altogether escape the contagion533, while to witness the roisterous merriment of the two hairy ancients gave Jinny such an exquisite534 joy of life as not even her lover’s first kiss had given her. Such an assurance streamed from it of life being sound at the centre: a bubbling fount of sweetness and love and innocent laughter. It wiped out for ever the memory of that morbid455 doubt of the nature of things that had assailed535 her as she sat under the gaze of the stuffed owl161 in Mrs. Pennymole’s cottage, the day of the rape536 of Methusalem. Tears welled through her smiles as Will at last bade his father lend a hand in transporting the box to the waiting cart. It must return to Frog Farm, even if he was not inside it.
“And I don’t believe there ever were any provisions, Jinny,” he grinned, with an afterthought.
“Oh yes, there are,” said Jinny. “Look! And a bottle of brandy too!”
“You dear!” he began, but Jinny cut him short with warning signals. The sudden revelation of their relations might undo19 all the good of the spree, by reviving her grandfather’s apprehensions537 of desertion. Indeed, when the hurly-burly was over, he could scarcely fail to ask himself what this sportive intimacy538 of the young couple portended539, especially as he had even in the past suspected the answer. The truth must be broken to him cautiously, and with that reflection came the chilling remembrance that all this hubbub540 and laughter had solved nothing, that the situation, though superficially eased, was essentially541 the same as before, that the problem had only been postponed543. Putting Will in a box was not keeping him in England. He would probably have to sail just the same, and the pain of parting be borne afresh, and even if he remained, she could not abandon her grandfather. But she shook off these thoughts. Enough for the moment that Will was hers again.
“Oi’ve never laughed so much since Oi seen that Andraa at Che’msford Fair the day Oi fust met Annie!” said her grandfather, wiping his eyes, as she set off on her delayed round, with Will at her side, and Caleb and the box in the cart, and Nip bounding like mad along the muddy road.
But it was impossible to keep Caleb in mind. Will was too impatient and too famished544 a lover for that, and it is not often that you sit at your sweetheart’s side when you ought to be whirling towards the Antipodes. Caleb could not help seeing happy backs, circumplicated—in the more solitary545 roads—by arms, and the hope, first implanted by Martha, that he would be relieved of Will after all, and in so desirable a fashion, grew more and more assured, though the occasional rigidity546 of the bodies under observation unsettled him afresh.
“Aren’t you late for the coach?” he heard Bundock’s voice inquire at one of these prim300 intervals547.
“No, too early!” laughed Will.
“But you’re going the wrong way!”
“The first time I’ve gone right!” said Will, and with magnificent indiscretion he turned and kissed Jinny.
“Oh dear!” Jinny gasped, red as fire. “It’ll be all over Chipstone by to-night.”
“I wanted the banns proclaimed as soon as possible,” he said, unabashed.
Then they became aware of a curious gulping548 sound behind them which drowned even Methusalem’s tick-tacks. They turned their heads. Caleb—convinced at last—had buried his face in the famous “muckinger” mentioned between them only that morning.
“What’s up, dad?” cried Will sympathetically. “Got a toothache?”
“It’s the joy at you and Jinny,” he sobbed apologetically. “And to think that some folk are near-sighted and can’t see God, their friend.”
“Meaning me, dad?” asked Will, not untouched.
“Meanin’ mother, Willie. Lord, what a state Oi left her in—all blarin’ and lamentation549. ‘Have faith,’ Oi says to her. But Oi’m afeared she’s got too much brains and book-larnin’!”
“Oh, I say, dad!” laughed Will. “Wouldn’t Bundock like to hear that?”
“Bundock’s of the same opinion,” said Caleb, meaning the bed-ridden Bundock. “?‘Few texts and much faith,’ he says to me once. And faith cometh by hearin’, don’t one of ’em tell us? Singafies the ear can’t take hold of a clutter550 o’ texts.”
“Oh, but surely Mrs. Flynt has faith?” protested Jinny.
“She’s too taken up with other folks’ faith,” Caleb maintained stoutly551. “Wanted Mrs. Skindle to break bread with her and look for the New Jerusalem—she ain’t found much of a Jerusalem, poor lone46 widder. And wanted to baptize that Flip82 gen’leman, but he never would come to the scratch. And tried her tricks and texts on your poor old Gran’fer, she let out. But when it comes to takin’ a sorrow from the hand of God, her friend, she sets and yowls like a heathen what runs naked in the wilderness552. Oi’m done with that Christy Dolphin stuff—it don’t bring the peace of God, and Oi’ll tell her sow to her head the next time she’s at me to be a Jew!”
He mopped up the remains553 of his tears. “And same as Oi did jine the Sin agog,” he added pensively554, “how do Oi know she wouldn’t goo on gooin’ forrard?”
IX
If, in the very heart of the romp462 at Blackwater Hall, Jinny’s insight could perceive that this reconciliation of her two males (or her two mules555 as she called them to herself) had left her marriage problem unsolved, still more did afterthought bring home the sad truth. There was no way of leaving the old man, no way of adding Will to the household. The latter alternative she never even suggested. It would bring her husband into public contempt to be thus absolutely swallowed up by the female carrier, and supported as in a poorhouse. So far off seemed the possibility of marriage that the Gaffer was considerately left in ignorance of the engagement—the only man in a radius556 of leagues from whom it was hidden, though Will was constantly about the cottage, having supplanted557 poor Ravens as a house repairer. But ever since the Gaffer had clapped him in the trunk—and the old man had forgotten he was not the first to do so—his affections had passed to the victim of his humour, and he often recalled it to Will with grins and guffaws558 as they sat over their beer. “Ye thought to git over Daniel Quarles,” he would chuckle57, poking559 him in the ribs560, “but ye got to come in on your hands and knees! Ho, ho, ho!” He seemed to imagine Will called on purpose to be thus twitted with his defeat, though as a matter of fact the privation of his pipe was a great grievance128 to the young man, and supplied a new obstacle to his taking up his quarters there as son-in-law. But outwardly Will had fallen into Jinny’s way of humouring the old tyrant561, and this parade of affection rather shocked her, for she felt that Will was more interested in the veteran’s death than in his life. Once when, recalling the delectable562 memory, the Gaffer remarked, “Lucky ye ain’t as bonkka as Sidrach, Oi count they had to make him a extra-sized coffin,” she caught an almost ghoulish gleam in her lover’s eyes. He had indeed lugubriously563 drawn her attention to a paragraph in the paper saying that six thousand centenarians had been counted in Europe in the last half-century. Evidently the age of man was rising dangerously, he implied. The worst of it was that Jinny herself, though she would have fought passionately for the patriarch’s life, found shadowy speculations564 as to the length of his span floating up to her mind and needing to be sternly stamped under. For she had told Will definitely that so long as her grandfather lived, she could neither marry nor leave England. Gloomily he cited Old Parr—he seemed to have become an authority on centenarians—who had clung to existence till 152. “At that rate I shall be over eighty,” he calculated cheerlessly.
“Oh, it isn’t very likely!” she consoled him.
“Well, it’s lucky we aren’t living before the Flood, that’s all I can say,” he grumbled565. “Fancy waiting six hundred years or so!”
“I wish we were living before our flood,” she said. “Then you’d have your livelihood.”
“And what would have been the good of that without you? You’d have stuck to your grandfather just the same.”
No, there was no way out. Australia resurged, black and menacing, and finally she even wrote herself to the London agents about his ship, consoled only by the entire supervision567 of his wardrobe and the famous trunk. And the only wedding that followed on their engagement was Elijah’s. For—according to Bundock’s father—till that had become certain, Blanche had refused to marry, despite the calling of her banns. “I didn’t think that a man who once aspired568 to me could ever keep company with a common carrier,” was her final version to Miss Gentry. “It shows how right you were to spurn569 him,” said that sympathetic spinster, who had transferred her adoration570 of the Beautiful from the faithless Cleopatra to the clinging Blanche, and figured at the altar in her now habitual571 r?le of bridesmaid.
And it was on that very wedding-day—so closely does tragedy tread on the sock of comedy—that poor Uncle Lilliwhyte fell asleep in a glorious hope of resurrection. Jinny had not suspected the imminence572 of his last moments till the evening before, though she and Will had paid him several visits at his now weathertight hut. But she had become rather alarmed about him, and returning from her round one Tuesday, she set off alone, as soon as supper was over. Will had seen sufficient of her during the day, and it was understood he was to give his mother his company that evening, for Martha had fallen into a more distressful369 state than ever. “Will’s got to go just the same,” she kept moaning when Jinny came, “and Flynt vows he’ll never be baptized into the Ecclesia, and turns round and tells me I lack faith. Me, who’ve learnt him all the religion he knows!”
There was a full moon as Jinny set out with a little basket for the invalid573. Nip trotted574 behind her, and the trees and bushes cast black trunks and masses across her path, almost like solid stumbling-blocks. The bare elms and poplars rose in rigid42 beauty in the cold starry evening. Death was far from her thoughts till she reached the hut and saw the sunken cheeks in their tangle of hair illumined weirdly575 from the stove, which lay so close to the patriarch’s hand he could replenish576 it from his bed of sacks.
“Just in time, Jinny!” he said joyfully. “Oi was afeared you wouldn’t be.” His excitement set him coughing and, frightened, she knelt and put her jug209 of tea to his lips.
“There! Don’t talk nonsense!” she said, as a faint colour returned to his face.
He shook his head. “?’Tis the tarn61 of the worms at last.”
“Not for twenty years. Look at Gran’fer.”
“Oi can’t grudge ’em,” he persisted. “Oi’ve took many a fish with ’em, and Oi’ve been about the woods from a buoy-oy, master of beast and bird and snake, and Oi know’d Oi’d be catched myself one day. And that’s onny fair, ain’t it?”
“Don’t talk like that—it’s horrible.”
“Ye’re too softy-hearted, Jinny, or ye wouldn’t be here fussin’ over the poor ole man in the trap. And ef ye’d been more of a sport, ye’d ha’ understood it’s all a grand ole game. Catch-me-ef-you-can, Oi calls it.”
“It’s dreadful, I think—the hawks335 and weasels eating the little birds.”
“Then why do the little birds sing so? Tell me that! It’s all fun, Oi tell ye, and they’re havin’ it theirselves with the flies and the worms. Take your Nip now. [Nip, hearing his name, wagged his tail.] Oi’ve seen that animal, what looks so peaceful squattin’ there by the fire, stand a-roarin’ like when you shuts the flap o’ the stove time he tries to git at a rat-hole. Ten men couldn’t howd him.”
“He’s never got a rat anyhow,” said Jinny with satisfaction.
“More shame to his breed. Oi count he’s frighted away my fox all the same. There’s one what comes and looks in at me every evenin’ just like Nip there, onny wild about the eyes like. Oi reckoned he’d be squattin’ there to-night for a warm, too, friendly-like, but he’ll find both on us cowld soon, the fire and me.” And a racking spasm of coughing accented his prognostic.
“You mustn’t talk like that. You mustn’t talk at all. I’ll send Dr. Mint to-morrow.”
He raised himself convulsively on his sacking, throwing off the rags and tags that covered him, and revealing the grimy shirt and trousers that formed his bed-costume. His grey hair streamed wildly, almost reaching the bolster. “Ef ye send me a doctor,” he threatened, “Oi’ll die afore he gits here!”
“Do lie down.” She pressed him towards his bolster.
“Oi won’t take no doctors’ stuff,” he gurgled, as his head sank back.
“But why?” she said, covering him up with his fusty bedclothes. “You’re not one of us, surely!”
“A Peculiar? Noa, thank the Lord. Oi told ye Oi don’t believe nawthen of all they religions. Git over me, the whole thing.”
“But if you won’t have medicine, you must pray, like we do.”
“Ye don’t catch me doin’ the one ne yet the tother. Oi count Oi can git along without ’em as much as the other critters in the wood. They don’t have neither.”
“Yes, they do—at least Nip and Methusalem have medicine when they’re sick. I give it ’em myself.”
“Oi reckon that’s what makes ’em sick—relyin’ on Skindles and sech. Oi never seen a stoat nor a squirrel take physic, and ye don’t want nawthen livelier, and Oi never seen a animal goo down on his knees, unless ’twas a hoss what slipped. He, he, he!”
When the cough into which his gaggle passed was quieted, Jinny reminded him sternly that men were not animals, that he had an immortal212 soul, and she asked whether he would see Mr. Fallow or one of the various chapel ministers. That proved the most agitating577 question of all.
He sat up again, his face working in terror. “None o’ that, Oi tell ye. Oi ain’t afeared o’ the old black ’un. He’ll end all my pains, though Oi ain’t tired o’ life even with ’em—no, not by a hundred year. But do ye don’t come scarin’ me with your heavens and hells, for Oi don’t want to believe in ’em.”
“But I remember your saying once, we’ve got to have one or the other.”
“And Oi told ye Oi mislikes ’em both.”
“Not really? You wouldn’t really dislike heaven.”
He shuddered578. “Lord save me from it! Oi’ve thought a mort lately about that Charley Mott—Oi used to see him drunk with his mates—and ef he’s in heaven among they parsons and angels, Oi warrant he’s the most miserable soul alive.”
“Lie down! I oughtn’t to have let you talk!” she said, so shocked that she charitably supposed his wits were going. This apprehension was enhanced when, just as her hand had pressed his relaxing form back to his bolster, she felt him grow rigid again with an impulse so violent that she was jerked backwards.
“Where’s my wits?” he exclaimed in odd congruity with her thought. “Oi’ve nigh forgot the teapot!”
She hastened to offer again the half-sipped jug, which she had stood by the stove. He waved it away.
“Not that! Gimme the spade!”
“The spade?”
“Ay, it stands in the corner—Oi ain’t used it since my old lurcher died. D’ye think he’s in heaven—Rover—and all they rats we digged up together?”
“You’re not going to dig up a rat?” she said in horror.
“No fear. But Oi won’t have nobody else ferret it out.” And from his bed he tried to shovel233 away the earth near the stove. But his strength failed. She took his spade. “I’ll do it. What is it?”
“?’Tis in the earth,” he panted, “like Oi’ll be. And Oi reckon Oi’d as soon be buried here as anywheres.”
She turned faint. Did he mean her to dig his grave?
“This isn’t consecrated579 ground,” she said feebly.
“Oi count it’s got as lovely a smell as the churchyard earth,” he said. “But let ’em bury me where they will, so long as Oi don’t wake up. Ye ain’t diggin’, Jinny.”
Mystified and trembling, and wishing she had not come without Will, she stuck the spade in deeper and threw up the clods. Set her teeth as she might, she could not shake off the thought that she was digging his grave, and they began to chatter despite the warmth from the stove. The lurid580 glow streaming from it seemed sinister in the darkness of the windowless hut, and she paused to let in a streak581 of moonlight through a gap in the door. But the night outside in its vastness and under its blue glamour582 seemed even more frightening, and the cold blast that blew in made the ancient cough again. She reclosed the door, and with trembling spade resumed her strange task. Suddenly her blade struck a metallic583 object.
“That’s it!” he cried gleefully. “And ye wanted to put boards over it!”
More mystified than ever, she drew up a heavy old teapot of Britannia metal—never had she handled such a weighty pot.
“Pour it out! Pour it out!” he chuckled.
She held the spout584 over her jug, which made him laugh till he nearly died. But by thumping his shoulders she got his breath back. She understood now what moved his mirth, for though nothing had issued from the spout, the lid had burst open and a rain of gold pieces had come spinning and rolling all over the hut. It seemed like the stories the old people told of the treasures of gnomes585 and pixies. There seemed hundreds of them, glittering and twirling.
“All for you, Jinny,” he panted with his recovered breath. “All for you.”
“Why, wherever did you get all this?” she replied, dropping on her knees to gather the shimmering586 spilth.
“That’s all honest, Jinny, don’t be scat. ’Tis the pennies Oi’ve put together, man and buo-oy this sixty year and more.”
“But what for?” she gasped.
“For you. And fowrpence or fi’pence a day tots up.”
“No, I mean why did you do it?” Her brain refused to take in the idea that all this fabulous wealth was hers. “Why didn’t you live more comfortable—why didn’t you get another cottage?”
“Oi ain’t never been so happy as since Farmer tarned me out. To lay on the earth, that’s what Oi wanted all my life—onny Oi dedn’t know it.”
“Then what was the good of the money?”
A crafty look came into the hollow eyes and overspread the wan59 features. “They’d have had me, they guardians587, ef Oi dedn’t have money. Oi wasn’t a-gooin’ to die in the poorhouse like my feyther, time they sold him up. Ef ye got the brads, they can’t touch ye. Do, the Master ’ould git into trouble. They put mother and me sep’rit from feyther, and when Oi seen her cryin’ Oi swore in my liddle heart Oi’d die sooner than stay there or tarn ’prentice. Oi dropped through a window the night o’ feyther’s funeral—for the Master had thrashed me—but Oi’d promised mother Oi’d come back for her, and ’twarn’t many year afore she was livin’ with me upright in the cottage. Happen you seen her, though she never seen you.”
“Yes, I know,” said Jinny softly. “She was blind.”
“Cried her eyes out, to my thinkin’. But Oi says to her marnin’ and night, ‘Cheer up, mother,’ Oi says, ‘so long as we’ve got the dubs588, they can’t touch us, and ef they parish gents tries to lay hands on me, they’ll git such a clumsy thump445 with the teapot they’ll know better next time.’ She never seen the teapot, mother dedn’t, but she used to waggle her fingers about in it and laugh like billy-o.”
Jinny felt nearer weeping as she culled589 these spoils of a lifetime. Many of the coins were curious; mintage of an earlier reign285. She was peering in a cobwebbed corner when the barking of Nip as well as a familiar footstep in the clearing announced a welcome arrival. How glad she was Will had not been able to keep away! And then suddenly—at last—came the realization590 of her riches, of the solution of her financial problem!
“Quick! Quick!” whispered the old man hoarsely591, and signed to her to hide the teapot. To soothe him she put it swiftly in her basket.
“You’re sure there’s nobody else ought to have it?” she asked anxiously.
“Oi ain’t got no friend ’cept you and the fox. And ye don’t catch him in the poorhouse. But Oi’ll die happy, knowin’ as Oi’ve saved you from it. Don’t let ’em come in!” he gasped, as a tapping began.
“It’s only young Mr. Flynt.”
“Willie, d’ye mean?”
She blushed in the friendly obscurity. “He’s come to see me home.”
“He mustn’t come in!”
“I’ll tell him.”
She set down the basket and went out into the blue night. It was no longer terrifying. Will with his ash stick seemed a match for all the powers of darkness. But she drew back from his kiss. Death was too near. In whispers she explained the situation, forgetting even to mention the gold. “I oughtn’t to leave him—he oughtn’t to die alone.”
“Nonsense, sweetheart. You can’t stay all night with a dirty old lunatic!”
“Don’t talk so unchristianly, Will. You don’t deserve——!” But she shut her lips. She could not go now into the happiness the “dirty old lunatic” was bringing them.
“Make him up a good fire and say you’ll be back first thing in the morning. I’ll come and take you. There!”
“Couldn’t—couldn’t you stay with him, Will?”
“Me? You said he wouldn’t have me! And I haven’t got enough baccy on me.”
She went back tentatively. She found Uncle Lilliwhyte lying on his back on his sacks with closed eyes, and there was blood on the bolster. The earth had been shovelled592 in again and the soil flattened593 tidily with the back of the spade. The superfluous594 precaution—automatic effect of lifelong habit—had evidently cost him dear.
“He can come in now,” he said feebly.
“But he doesn’t want anything,” she explained. “You lie still.”
“Oi’d like him to come.” She went softly to the door and called.
“Here I am, uncle!” cried Will cheerily.
“?’Tain’t you Oi want. But happen ef your mother ’ud come and talk things over——”
“My mother?” said Will, startled. Martha, he knew, would have the same repugnance595 as he to this feckless, grimy, impossible creature: an aversion which even the wasted features could not counteract596.
“It don’t seem to git over she,” he explained, “but Oi never could hear proper, bein’ at the keyhole in a manner o’ speakin’. But ef she’d come and explain——!”
“Yes, she will,” said Jinny. “She must, Will.”
“I’ll tell her,” he murmured.
“He’ll bring her in the morning,” she promised emphatically. “You take a little more tea now and get to sleep.” She covered him up carefully and stuck a great log in the stove.
“Do ye take that fowlin’-piece, young Flynt,” he said, opening his eyes. “And be careful—it’s loaded.”
“Thanks, I’ll take it in the morning.”
“And there’s the coppers597 and silver, Jinny. That’s at the bottom o’ the sack Oi’m on. And old tradesmen’s tokens too.”
“In the morning—you go to sleep now,” she said tenderly. But she still lingered, reluctant to leave him, and was very relieved when Ravens (now become a woodman with an adze) looked in to see the old man, and, unembittered by the sight of the lovers, consented to pass the night in the hut he had mended.
X
Swinging home through the wood, through aisles598 flooded only with moonlight, the young lovers soon left the thought of death behind them. Indeed from the hut itself there had soon come following them the careless strains of the incurable599 caroller:
“’Tis my delight of a shiny night
?In the season of the year.”
“What a hefty basket!” said Will at last. “Whatever have you been carrying the old codger?”
“It’s what I’m carrying off,” she laughed. “But give it me, if it’s too much for your poor arm.”
“It’s not so heavy as my box,” he smiled.
“But it saves carrying that,” she said happily.
“How do you mean?”
“That’s your farm in there—your English farm! Australia is off.” She enjoyed his obvious fear that the scene in the hut had been too much for her brain. “Goose!” she cried. “Goose with the golden eggs. Just take a peep.”
“There’s only your jug and teapot.” He was more mystified than ever.
But her happiness waned again when the riddle was read.
“You surely don’t expect me to pocket your money,” he said, as soon as his slower brain had taken in the situation.
“Oh, Will! Surely what is mine is yours!”
“Not at all. What is mine is yours.”
“But that’s what I said.”
“Don’t turn and twist—I know you’re cleverer than me.”
Her hand sought his. “Don’t let us have a storm in a teapot!”
But he rumbled566 on. “With all my worldly goods I thee endow—it’s the man says that.”
“You’ve been reading the marriage service.”
“And how would you know it, if you hadn’t?”
That suspended the debate on a kiss. “You see I’d be almost as bad as poor Charley Mott,” he pointed out.
“I see,” she said humbly600. Indeed she felt herself so much a part of him now that she wondered how she could have failed to look at it from his point of view. Her defeat of his coach—under Providence—had humiliated him enough. To have turned suddenly into an heiress was an aggravation of her success; now to make him appear a fortune-hunter would be the last straw.
“But couldn’t I buy the farm and you rent it of me?” she ventured, with a memory of Hezekiah Bidlake.
“Everybody would think just the same——”
“Well, but somewhere else—where nobody knows us——?”
“You wouldn’t come somewhere else—not till I’m eighty!”
“Don’t be absurd! Anyhow you’ll look beautiful with a white beard.”
“Why not get him a minder with the money? Then we could go to Australia together.”
“Leave him to a stranger! He’d die. But so long as the farm was in England, it wouldn’t be so bad, even if I couldn’t come just yet.”
He did not answer, and as they walked on silently, her daydreams601 resurged, her nipped buds began bursting into wonderful flower. They parted at her door without further reference to money questions, but her face was brimming with happiness as the pot with guineas.
In that rosy602 mood—when her grandfather, nid-nodding over the hearth, roused at her return—she could not refrain from pouring out her teapot on the table, and changing his grumbles at her absence into squeaks603 of delight. She meant to pour out her story too, but he cut her short.
“That’s mine!” he cried, exultant604. “That’s the gold Sidrach brought me!”
“No, no, Gran’fer. That comes from——!”
“But there’s the wery spade guineas!” He dabbled605 his claws in the coins.
“Oh, is that what they are? But there’s heads of Victoria, too.”
“That’s what he saved in Babylon. Dedn’t Oi say as he died warrum?”
“But you must listen, Gran’fer. Uncle Lilliwhyte——” she recapitulated606 the story.
“They’re mine anyways!” He scooped607 them up in his skinny palms and let them fall into the pot with a voluptuous clang. “Ye gits quite enough out o’ my biznus.”
This seemed so exactly the reverse of Will’s attitude that she found herself smiling ruefully at the way she was caught again between her “two mules.” But she could not thus lose her marriage-portion. “Uncle Lilliwhyte gave them to me for myself,” she said firmly.
“And don’t ye owe me back all the money Oi paid when your feyther died?”
Jinny was taken aback. “How much did you pay?”
“Hunderds and hunderds. Dedn’t, he’d a-been a disgraced corpse608, and your mother too.”
Jinny was silent. The Angel-Mother seemed rustling609 overhead. The Gaffer closed shutters610 and bolted doors with rigorous precautions, and hugging the teapot to his bosom stumbled up to bed. Depressed611 by this unexpected seizure612 of her windfall, she found herself too utterly weary after her long day’s work and excitement to open the shutters again, much as she disliked an airless room; she had scarcely energy to pull out her chest of drawers. For a few minutes she watched from her bed the blue flickering613 flame of the log, then knew no more till suddenly she saw above the dead fire a monstrous614 shadow curling over the chimney-piece and along the ceiling: in another instant she traced it to something still more horrible—her grandfather’s legless trunk appearing over the hearthstone, with his nightlight in one hand and the teapot in the other. The rush-candle shook in its holed tin cylinder615 and set his grisly counterpart dancing. Jinny’s blood ran cold. Evidently some one had murdered him for the gold and this was his ghost. Then she told herself it was one of her nightmares, and she looked around for Henry Brougham, Esq., to clear up the situation. But with a soft thud the trunk dropped as through a trap-door and there was nothing left but a great glimmering616 hole where the hearthstone should have been. Instantly she realized that it was only a secret hiding-place in which her magpie617 of a grandfather was bestowing618 the treasure—yes, there was the hearthstone slewed619 round as on a pivot620. This must be that old smugglers’ storehouse he and gossip had sometimes hinted at—with perhaps the long underground passages of ancient legend, reaching to Beacon Chimneys, nay, to the parsonage itself.
She closed her eyes carefully as his shadow heralded621 his re-ascent. He came up almost as noiselessly as that giant spectre, and between her lids she saw him scrutinize622 her. Reassured to see his shanks again, she emitted one of his snores, wondering whimsically if she did snore, or if any other girl had ever heard herself snore, and a smile almost broke the impassivity of her cheeks. Satisfied with the snore, he stooped down and she saw the hearthstone veer623 back to its place. “Well, I can always get it when I want it,” she thought cheerfully, as his slow stockinged feet bore him and his more sinister shadow upstairs.
For some time she lay awake, pondering over the fate of her money, which seemed like Cleopatra’s to be “in bonds,” and wondering whether poor Uncle Lilliwhyte was still alive; then everything faded into a vision of Mr. Flippance jogging marionettes for rugged miners who poured out their teapots at the box-office, reducing it to such a swamp that its boxes floated in the tea.
At breakfast, finding her grandfather abnormally restless, she asked him a little maliciously624 if he had slept all right.
“Oi’ll sleep better to-night,” he said, and chuckled a little. He seemed indeed very happy at having his treasure so well warded625, and though his exuberance626 was alarming, she felt that the excitement of happiness was a lesser627 danger than that long depression of penuriousness628. If the defeat of the coach had seemed to give him a second lease of life, what might not his new wealth do for him? He might really become an Old Parr, and poor Will be kept waiting till the twentieth century!
It was thus with only a moderate uneasiness that she left him, stealing with her basket to the rendezvous629 at the hut. In the wood she met Ravens hurrying to find breakfast, and he sang out that Martha and Will had relieved him, and that Uncle Lilliwhyte was better. As she approached the clearing, she saw the old woman come out of the hut with a bottle in her hand and a face absolutely transfigured. The whining630, peevish631, latter-day Martha was gone: a radiance almost celestial illumined her features—it seemed to transcend632 even the bonnet and to rim20 it with a halo. This was a woman walking not on the dead dank leaves of a frost-grey wood, but through the streets of the New Jerusalem. Behind her came Will, with a little cynical633 smile playing about his mouth till he espied634 Jinny, when his face took on the same ecstatic glow as his mother’s. Jinny could not but feel enkindled in her turn by all this spiritual effulgence635, and it was three glorified636 countenances637 that met on this March morning.
“He’s broken bread with me,” breathed Martha, “and I’ve helped him put on the Saving Name.” She displayed her bottle with drops of water beaded on the mouth. She had baptized—albeit only by an unavoidable reversion to sprinkling—her first convert. The dream of years had been fulfilled at last, and the apostolic triumph had lifted her beyond humanity, fired her with a vision in which, a conquistador of faith, she was to turn all Little Bradmarsh, nay, Chipstone itself, into one vast synagogue. This were indeed the New Jerusalem. “And it was Will that led my feet,” she said, kissing him to his disconcertment. “And go where he may now, Jinny, he can’t take that away from me. And I shall always have his letter to inspire me to win other souls.” She touched the left side of her bodice, and poor Jinny, suddenly reminded that her grandfather had robbed her of her last chance of keeping Will in England, felt envious638 of Martha’s exalted639 source of consolation.
“I’ve got to go now and cook Flynt’s dinner,” said Martha. “But he won’t have much appetite for it if he’s got any right feeling left, when he hears that another man, a stranger, has been before him in the path of righteousness. Maybe you’ll write to the Lightstand, Willie, to say there’s a new brother in Little Bradmarsh.”
“I’ll tell ’em the Ecclesia has doubled its membership,” said Will, with a faint wink at Jinny, to which the girl did not respond. “Do you think, mother,” he asked with mock seriousness, “the New Jerusalem will come down in Australia same as here?”
“Of course,” said Martha.
Again Will winked640 at Jinny. But she frowned and shook her head. Her study of Australia had instructed her sufficiently641 that it was on the other side of the globe, and she knew that Will was having fun with the idea of the golden city coming down two opposite ways at once, but she felt it criminal to break Martha’s mood, and indeed was not certain she herself understood how the Australians escaped falling off into space. Discouraged by her stern face, Will murmured he’d put his mother on the road and be back. She smiled and nodded at the promise, but her heart was heavy with a sense of inevitable partings as she went in to the lingering ancient.
The death-bed conversion642 was evidently a success, for she found him almost as radiant as Martha, though with a more unearthly light, while the gleaming as of dewdrops on his dishevelled hair, and the stains of damp over his bolster seemed to convict his spiritual preceptress of a dangerous recklessness. But he was probably beyond saving in any case, Jinny reflected, and what other medicine could have given him that happy exaltation? The logs roared in the stove, and all was joy and warmth that rimy morning.
“Oi’ve tarned a Christy Dolphin!” he announced jubilantly.
“Yes, I’m so glad. Drink this before it gets cold.”
He waved it away. “Oi suspicioned all the time as that be the right religion. No hell at all, ye just goos to sleep, and when the New Jerusalem comes down for they righteous, ye don’t git up.”
“You’ll wake up—you and your mother,” she assured him, standing her jug by the stove.
“That’s what Mrs. Flynt says. ‘Ye ain’t done no harm,’ she says, ‘and when the trumpet137 blows for the saints, your bones will git their flesh agen, same as now.’?”
There was little enough on them to go through eternity in, she thought, gazing at his shrunken arms, which he had left outside the coverings in repudiating643 the tea. “Won’t that be wonderful!” she said, the tears in her eyes.
“That’ll be wunnerful wunnerful,” he agreed. “That fares to be what Oi calls a real heaven—your own body, not a sort o’ smoke-cloud ye wouldn’t know was you ef you met it, your own flesh and blood, livin’ on this lovely earth with the birds and the winds and the sun and the water, all a-singin’ and a-shinin’ for ever and ever. And no bad folks ne yet angels to worrit ye, no liddle boys to call arter ye—why it’s just ginnick! Oi reckon Oi’ll choose this same old spot.”
“Yes, it’s a lovely spot,” said Jinny, but she wondered whether he had not made his own version of Martha’s New Jerusalem, which she herself had always understood to be more jewelled than natural.
“Your mother will be able to see it too,” she added gently, as she put the tea to his lips.
A beautiful smile traversed the sunken features. But suddenly a frenzy644 of terror swamped it. He sat up with a jerk that dashed her jug to the stove, shivering it into fragments. “But ef Oi waked, Oi’d need my money agen!” he shrilled645.
What Jinny always remembered most vividly, when she recalled this tragic moment, was the red lettering on the sacks he lay on, exposed by his upright posture646.
“Gay, Bird & Co., Colchester,” her eyes read mechanically. When he fell back and hid that inscription647, his face was at peace again. That acuteness of terror—the quintessence of the morbidity648 of a lifetime—had stopped his heart.
She was terribly shaken by this sudden and grotesque end. She felt his pulse, but without hope. She had never seen human death before, but she had a vague idea that you closed the eyes and put pennies on them. She had no pennies with her. She remembered there were some in the sack he lay on, pennies and shillings, but she did not dare disturb him to get at them. She was obscurely glad she had not to wrestle649 with the problem of whether she ought to get his teapot buried with him, for the contingency650 of his resurrection. Her grandfather would never surrender it, she felt, and if she descended into his mysterious underground and abstracted it, that might upset his wits altogether. Besides, Uncle Lilliwhyte’s face was now taking on a strange beauty, as though his pecuniary651 anxieties were allayed652.
But her nerves were giving way—she threw open the door and looked out eagerly, not for the lover, but for the man who seemed necessary in these rough moments. The dead must not be left alone, she knew that, or she would have set out to meet Will. Perhaps if she left him alone, his shy friend the fox would come trotting653 in, now he was so still. The parish authorities must doubtless be summoned to take charge of him. But ought he to have a pauper654 funeral—ought she not to steal back enough of his money to save him from that? But she remembered with relief that he had expressed indifference655 as to what became of his body—so long as it was restored to earth, its good old mother. As she moved a few paces without, in her peering for Will, she saw the blue smoke rising through the three top-hats, and in spite of the dead man’s doctrines656 and apprehensions, she could not help fancying it was his spirit soaring towards the abode657 of the Angel-Mother.
When Will returned, she was relieved to find Ravens striding beside him. That sunny-souled factotum658, who had meant to hie to the Skindle wedding, now found himself transformed instead into a corpse-watcher, while Will, taking Jinny a bit of his way, went off by the shortest cuts to Chipstone Poorhouse, as probably the centre of authority for parish funerals.
“There’s the coroner, too,” Ravens called after him.
“Will there be an inquest?” Jinny asked.
“Must be,” said Will, and Jinny, alarmed for Martha’s sake, ran back on pretence of her basket, and surreptitiously wiped the bolster. As they left the clearing, they heard Ravens singing in the hut.
XI
When their roads parted, Jinny insisted on returning to her grandfather, whose excitement now recurred659 to her mind. She was still a little uneasy about the pauper funeral, but Will had emphatically agreed with her that the teapot could not now be recaptured. Nor could it be drawn upon, he declared: the old grabber would assuredly have counted the contents. Jinny suspected that Will was pleased rather than sympathetic at her having ceased to be an heiress. The death of Uncle Lilliwhyte, so much the junior of Daniel Quarles, could not but set both their minds on the thought of a similar cutting of their Gordian knot, but the thought—dreaded or welcome—was not allowed to appear in their conversation, finding expression only in Will’s aggrieved660 assumption of the Gaffer’s immortality. “Even if I was to strike a nugget as big as a prize marrow, we’d be no forrarder,” he had grumbled, and Jinny, with jangled nerves, had accused him of selfishness, when that poor old uncle was lying dead.
As she approached Blackwater Hall, a creepy conviction began to invade her that their knot was already cut: after that scene in the hut she was aquiver with presages661 of death and disaster. The absence of smoke—surely Gran’fer’s hearth was not already cold—added to her alarm. She remembered again his effervescence at breakfast; why should his heart not stop too? And when she saw the broad garden-gate open, and the house door ajar, her own heart nearly stopped. Her intuition, she felt, had not deceived her. Yet he was nowhere in the house. Ante-room, living-room, kitchen, all were empty of him. The fire was out. In the bedroom lay his telescope, a discarded toy. She was about to sweep the horizon with it, when she had an inspiration. The smugglers’ storehouse! He had gone down to count his gold, and the stone had rolled back—The Mistletoe Bough in another version. Tearing downstairs, she managed, after much fumbling662 with the poker663, to make it revolve664, and peered down into the dark clammy depths.
“Gran’fer! Gran’fer!” she cried. But only the dank silence welled up. He was undoubtedly665 dead, lying there stark666 among his guineas. She was scrambling down into the vault667. But no! What nonsense! He must be pottering about with a spud, currycombing Methusalem, or doing some other odd job his renewed strength permitted. She hauled herself up—at any rate that would postpone542 the dread276 vision—and rushed round to the stable. That door too was open—Methusalem was gone! So was the cart. Nor was there any sign of Nip.
In her relief it was almost a pleasure to trace the wheels on the road. But soon she saw black again. It was his last drive—the last drive of Daniel Quarles, Carrier. That was the meaning of his excitement of the morning. He had gone out for the last time on his old rounds, and would meet Death on his driving-board, face to face, as he had met so many wintry storms and buffets668. Staying only to roll back the stone, she raced out in his tracks.
But his course led unluckily to the Four Wantz Way and there she could no longer disentangle his cart-ruts. However, Mrs. Pennymole, reinstated in her scoured669 ground floor, had reassuring670 news enough, though it carried a new apprehension.
“I couldn’t believe my eyes when I catched sight of him with the May Day favours all a-flyin’ and a-flutterin’ on whip and harness, and lookin’ that strong with a great old smile over his dear old phiz, and Nip barkin’ fit to bust330. ‘Where be you off to?’ I cries as he dashes by, whippin’ past like fleck—I never seen Methusalem go that pace, seemin’ a’most as if he was glad to have his old master back agen, meanin’ no disrespect to you, Jinny.”
“No, of course not,” said Jinny impatiently. “But what did he say?”
“I didn’t rightly hear, I’m tellin’ you, seein’ how he tore towards the bridge. But ’twas summat about ’Lijah! I yeard that!”
“Good heavens!” cried Jinny, and thanking Mrs. Pennymole, she tore equally towards the bridge, wondering if she could get a vehicle at “The King of Prussia.” It was clear the old wretch—there was really no other name for him—had gone to sell Methusalem again. Set up with all that gold, he meant to retire, and, inflamed by it, he could not resist the extra five pounds offered by the vet134. And this time Mr. Skindle would not risk impounding her horse, he would slaughter671 instanter. Yes, her eerie672 premonitions had been justified673, but they were warnings about Methusalem, not about her grandfather.
At the repaired bridge Farmer Gale’s dog-cart came along with himself and his wife, but she was too shy to ask for a lift. Nor was there anything to be got immediately at “The King of Prussia.” She toiled674 on through footpaths675 grey-silted from the flood till she reached the by-way that branched off to Foxearth Farm. Here she paused, wondering if it was worth while to go down it on the chance of finding Barnaby’s trap available. And while she hesitated, there came bowling676 by from church the Skindle wedding-party in grand carriages. But though she cowered into the hedge, their insolent677 prosperity only soothed461 her somewhat by reminding her that Elijah had other work to-day than killing678, and that, in any case, there was now no motive679 for it, unless perhaps revenge. To her surprise, in the rear of the procession, sharing Barnaby’s bepranked trap, rode Will. His face beside Barnaby’s seemed one large smile: even the unexpected sight of herself would hardly explain such broad cheerfulness in a man who, though profiting by a wedding, had come from arranging a pauper funeral, not to mention an inquest. But perhaps he was rejoicing at his escape from that overblown Blanche.
As if to corroborate680 this interpretation681, he jumped down and caught her to him in the open daylight, while Barnaby’s vehicle sympathetically disappeared after the others round the by-way.
“Oh, Jinny, Jinny!” he cried. “Such a lark682!”
“But Gran’fer——!” she gasped, extricating683 herself.
He burst into a roar of laughter. “Have you heard it already?”
“Heard what? I’m looking for Gran’fer!”
“Haven’t you met him on the road? He started back ahead of me!”
She drew a breath of relief. “With Methusalem?”
“And a fare,” he grinned. “I had to go on to the coroner or else I too——”
But she no longer heard. “I must have missed him on the footpaths,” she said happily.
“You’ll find him at Mr. Fallow’s,” he said, and then laughter caught him again and rapt his breath.
“But do speak! Do speak! What’s this mystery?”
“Your Gran’fer’s eloped!”
“What?”
He wiped the tears from his eyes.
“Do speak!” She almost shook him. “Eloped with who?”
“?’Lijah Skindle’s mother.”
“Annie?” she murmured involuntarily.
“Carried her off from the poorhouse! I was only in time for the tail-end of the fun.”
“But how could he get at her?”
“Well, I tell you I only saw it at the point the Master came into it. But others saw more, and I’ve picked up spicy684 details from the paupers685 and the wretched porter—Jims, you know.”
“Yes, I know Mr. Jims.” A vision of the fat little man in his peaked cap and blue uniform rose before her. The dismal brick building in its iron enclosure was half a mile before you got to Chipstone—administered under the Gilbert Act by half a dozen parishes clubbed together.
“Well, your Gran’fer, rigged up to the nines with his best smock and beaver686, and ribbons on his whip and a bunch of wallflowers and primroses687 sticking out of the spout of the teapot he carried, rings at the gate, and when Jims came to take in the parcel, as he thought, the old man pushes through and makes for the wards91, Jims runs after him, and when he asks him what he wants, he answers, ‘Annie! I’ve come for Annie!’ ‘Who’s Annie?’ asks Jims. ‘We don’t keep Annies—there’s only old women, and it ain’t visiting day.’ ‘Do ye don’t tell me no fibs,’ says your Gran’fer, and when Jims tries to stop him, he catches him in the stomach with his teapot and leaves him winded. Then off he scuttles688 to the stairs, and ‘Where’s Annie?’ he cries to an old pauper woman sweeping them. This creature happened to know Mrs. Skindle was Annie, so she says, ‘She’s washing Mr. Robinson in his bedroom.’ ‘What?’ shrieks689 your Gran’fer, swelling690 like a turkey-cock with jealousy. ‘You just show me where that bedroom is!’ The frightened old woman takes him up the stone stairs to the little yellow-ochred room where they had stowed the old dotard all by himself—I don’t think he’s as old as your Gran’fer, but he’s quite a helpless driveller—and there, the old woman told me, your Gran’fer gives a great cry ‘Annie!’ and Mrs. Skindle drops the flannel691, and there they were crying and laughing and kissing like two children, and he calling her ‘My darling! My beautiful Annie!’?”
“More than you’ve ever called me,” said Jinny, herself inclined to laugh and cry and even to kiss.
The story was interrupted by an idyllic interlude. “But I expect Gran’fer’s rather short-sighted without a telescope,” she commented, disentangling herself blushingly.
“I was in the Master’s room,” resumed Will, “speaking to him about the funeral, and hearing a lot about the guardians and the parish authorities and such-like grand folk, when in rushes Jims and pants out his tale, and we all race around till we find the old couple coming down the staircase with arms round each other’s waists, and your Gran’fer tells us fiercely he’s taking her away, and opens the teapot to show he can support two wives if he wants to! ‘Hold hard!’ says the Master. ‘I won’t stop you, though I ought to have twenty-four hours notice, because I know the guardians haven’t made such a good bargain with Mr. Skindle that they’ll try to keep her, but you can’t take away the parish clothes.’ For of course the old woman was wearing that blue cotton dress——”
“It’s got white stripes if you look close,” put in Jinny.
“?‘Well, Oi can’t take her away without clothes,’ roared your Gran’fer. He said he counted it unrespectable enough that they should allow her to wash a strange old man, alone in a room, and that if they didn’t mend their ways he’d have a piece put in the paper about it all. ‘Well, let ’em give me back my own clothes,’ says Mrs. Skindle. ‘I’ve got to have twenty-four hours’ notice about that,’ says the Master. ‘Ha, you’ve stole ’em!’ says your Gran’fer. ‘You be careful what you’re sayin’,’ says the Master, bridling692 up. ‘Who wants her rags and jags?’ But in the end it was all settled friendlywise—your Gran’fer buying up some of the cast-off grandeur of the matron’s (they drove a good bargain with your Gran’fer, the pair of screws, but he was free and flush with his teapot), and off the happy pair went at last, the bride as spruced up as the bridegroom, and I saw him hand her into the wedding-cart with her bouquet693, while the old gentlemen in the corduroys and the old ladies in blue, and especially the little orphans694, raised a cheer. Even Jims waved. I expect he’d had a drop out of the teapot.”
“Daniel Quarles, Carrier-Off,” laughed Jinny, half hysterically, for scandalized and startled though she was, a rosy light, whose source was yet unclear to her, seemed rising on her horizon.
“I went up to the cart under pretence of patting Nip,” Will went on, “and asked the old boy where he was off to. ‘Home, of course,’ he answers friendly. ‘You should be going to chapel first, you old rip,’ I told him. ‘We’re going to be married in church,’ answers Mrs. Skindle stiffly. ‘I’m Church of England.’ ‘That’s all right, Annie,’ he says, patting her hand, ‘we’ll look in on Mr. Fallow about they banns,’ and singing ‘Oi’m Seventeen come Sunday,’ drives off with her.”
But Jinny refused to sympathize with the course of true love. “He’s not really going to marry her?” she now cried. “But that’s dreadful!”
“You scandalous creature! It would be more dreadful if he didn’t!”
“But at his age!”
“Why, he’s quite young yet,” laughed Will. “One hundred and fifty-two is his little span, remember.”
She let herself relax under his laughter. “Will they ring a peal695 of Grandsire Triples at his wedding?” she asked whimsically. Then with renewed anxiety: “Oh, but I do hope it hasn’t all excited him too much,” she cried. “I’d best get home as quick as possible.”
“Home? You don’t mean Blackwater Hall?”
“Where else?”
“You can’t go there. As your Gran’fer remarked to the Master, that’s no place for a respectable female.”
She stared at him. “Besides,” he said, “you don’t want to interfere696 with the young couple.”
“But I’ve not cooked the dinner!”
“Let the bride do that. She’s as strong as a horse. It’s the best thing that could have happened for both of ’em. After fending697 for all of us at Rosemary Villa, Blackwater Hall will be a holiday to her.”
“But I must go and see about things. She won’t know where anything is. And even if she cooks the dinner, she’ll want my apron30. She can’t spoil her fineries.”
“That’s enough,” he said sternly. “I don’t often quote my father, but I’m bound to say some people are near-sighted and can’t see God, their friend. You’ve done with Blackwater Hall.”
“But where am I to go then?”
He laughed. “And what about Frog Farm?” He took her arm. “And we, too, must get tied up as soon as possible. No, Jinny, we can’t do better than follow in your Gran’fer’s footsteps. The way he held that grey-headed old woman’s hand in the wedding-cart, while I—you’re right, I haven’t called you ‘beautiful’ enough.” He paused to do so without words. “The old boy’s taught me a lesson, dashing in like that, while I’ve been sitting growling698 and grizzling and wasting our best years.”
“But you see, Will, it couldn’t be before. And he was sacrificing himself to me, poor Gran’fer, if he wanted her so badly all the time. Just see how he waited till he could support her!”
“On your money! Under the roof you re-thatched for him!”
“It wasn’t my money. And it was Ravens who did the roof.”
“You paid for it!”
“No, I didn’t,” she protested.
“Why not?”
“He won’t send me in the bill.”
“Oh, won’t he!” Will clenched his fist. “I’ll jolly soon stop his singing if he don’t hurry up with it! And why didn’t you ask me to mend your thatch?”
“You couldn’t come in.”
“You don’t come in to the roof.”
“That might have been a way of coming in,” she laughed, “it was so leaky. Anyhow you might have done Uncle Lilliwhyte’s—it is his money that has saved us all.”
“In a roundabout way,” he admitted.
She snuggled to him. Happiness, which had hitherto seemed like the soaped pig at village sports, was seizable at last. “Won’t it be wonderful when we’re in the hut!” she said.
He opened his eyes. “You don’t propose to live in Uncle Lilliwhyte’s hut with the three top-hats!”
“Of course not,” she said, blushing. “It’s in Australia. There’s just poles stuck in the ground.”
“Why, when have you been in Australia?”
“Never you mind! You see, I’ve already saved up a little towards my passage and——”
But her words died on his lips. “I don’t know that we need pull up our stakes,” he said when he released her. “Farmer Gale’s looking for a looker.”
“You don’t really mean that?” she said.
“He does, anyhow. I just met him in his dog-cart and he’s mad about his flood-losses. ‘You should have paid a good man,’ I told the hunks to his head.”
“Oh, but, Will,” she said, shrinking, “you don’t like Farmer Gale!”
“Well, he’s safely married now, and after all, my father had the place first. . . . It belongs to the family. . . . Anyhow,” he broke off masterfully, “I’d pay my wife’s passage-money.”
“Then I’ll be able to buy Methusalem,” she said in cheerful submission699. “He’s only five pounds—I suppose your father would take care of him.”
“Rather! It would be a refuge from the New Jerusalem.”
“But we’ll take Nip with us, sweetheart—it won’t be the goldfields, you know, just a farm. And we can take over the Bidlake girls too, if you like.”
“Lord, what a crowd! But I don’t see Nip on an emigrant334 ship.”
“Haven’t I heard of dog-watches?” she smiled.
“I guess you’d smuggle him in somehow,” he laughed. “I’ve noticed you generally get your own way. And captains are but men.”
“I thought they were sea-dogs,” she laughed.
“You generally get the last word too,” he grumbled with adoring admiration. “But I tell you, Jinny, though there may be more money, all these new countries are terribly raw.”
“I know—‘no longer an egg, not yet a bird, only a smell,’?” she quoted with wistful humour, and these words of his in the English wood last May evoked700 again for both of them all the magic of their love at its dawning.
They walked on in silence towards Frog Farm. After all, with their united treasure of youth, energy, and love, their livelihood was no grave problem. Larks701 were carolling, the little wrens702 piping, and ringdoves calling, calling, for the Spring was near after all, and the daffodils had already come. It seemed indeed a vain snapping of the heart-strings to leave such a homeland.
“That’ll be winter soon in Australia,” mused309 Will tenaciously703.
“Not if we were together,” Jinny whispered, although the more she pondered during that wonderful walk the more the Antipodes receded to their geographical704 distance, the more shadowy grew the danger of falling off her planet. But, however they were to decide, she could see no reason—once her grandfather’s wedding-bells had rung—why they should not all live—wherever they all lived—happy ever after.
The End
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1 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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2 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
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3 adventurous | |
adj.爱冒险的;惊心动魄的,惊险的,刺激的 | |
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4 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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5 tilt | |
v.(使)倾侧;(使)倾斜;n.倾侧;倾斜 | |
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6 symbolic | |
adj.象征性的,符号的,象征主义的 | |
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7 sable | |
n.黑貂;adj.黑色的 | |
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8 poultry | |
n.家禽,禽肉 | |
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9 reassure | |
v.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
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10 wafted | |
v.吹送,飘送,(使)浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11 mien | |
n.风采;态度 | |
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12 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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13 transpired | |
(事实,秘密等)被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 ); 泄露; 显露; 发生 | |
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14 cascade | |
n.小瀑布,喷流;层叠;vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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15 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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16 outskirts | |
n.郊外,郊区 | |
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17 hips | |
abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯,耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 );[建筑学]屋脊;臀围(尺寸);臀部…的 | |
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18 villa | |
n.别墅,城郊小屋 | |
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19 undo | |
vt.解开,松开;取消,撤销 | |
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20 rim | |
n.(圆物的)边,轮缘;边界 | |
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21 smear | |
v.涂抹;诽谤,玷污;n.污点;诽谤,污蔑 | |
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22 spasm | |
n.痉挛,抽搐;一阵发作 | |
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23 sob | |
n.空间轨道的轰炸机;呜咽,哭泣 | |
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24 sobbed | |
哭泣,啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 ); 哭诉,呜咽地说 | |
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25 writhing | |
(因极度痛苦而)扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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26 maternity | |
n.母性,母道,妇产科病房;adj.孕妇的,母性的 | |
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27 drudge | |
n.劳碌的人;v.做苦工,操劳 | |
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28 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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29 lank | |
adj.瘦削的;稀疏的 | |
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30 apron | |
n.围裙;工作裙 | |
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31 prone | |
adj.(to)易于…的,很可能…的;俯卧的 | |
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32 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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33 imminent | |
adj.即将发生的,临近的,逼近的 | |
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34 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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35 smacking | |
活泼的,发出响声的,精力充沛的 | |
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36 scoffed | |
嘲笑,嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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38 ravens | |
n.低质煤;渡鸦( raven的名词复数 ) | |
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39 aggravated | |
使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 ); 使更严重; 激怒; 使恼火 | |
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40 pang | |
n.剧痛,悲痛,苦闷 | |
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41 frigid | |
adj.寒冷的,凛冽的;冷淡的;拘禁的 | |
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42 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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43 wager | |
n.赌注;vt.押注,打赌 | |
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44 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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45 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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46 lone | |
adj.孤寂的,单独的;唯一的 | |
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47 apprise | |
vt.通知,告知 | |
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48 redeeming | |
补偿的,弥补的 | |
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49 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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50 inflamed | |
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51 throbbed | |
抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 ); (心脏、脉搏等)跳动 | |
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52 darts | |
n.掷飞镖游戏;飞镖( dart的名词复数 );急驰,飞奔v.投掷,投射( dart的第三人称单数 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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53 dart | |
v.猛冲,投掷;n.飞镖,猛冲 | |
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54 voluptuous | |
adj.肉欲的,骄奢淫逸的 | |
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55 venom | |
n.毒液,恶毒,痛恨 | |
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56 chuckled | |
轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57 chuckle | |
vi./n.轻声笑,咯咯笑 | |
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58 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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59 wan | |
(wide area network)广域网 | |
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60 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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61 tarn | |
n.山中的小湖或小潭 | |
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62 iniquity | |
n.邪恶;不公正 | |
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63 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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64 doggedly | |
adv.顽强地,固执地 | |
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65 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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66 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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67 fleck | |
n.斑点,微粒 vt.使有斑点,使成斑驳 | |
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68 climax | |
n.顶点;高潮;v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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69 grotesque | |
adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
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70 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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71 grovel | |
vi.卑躬屈膝,奴颜婢膝 | |
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72 impair | |
v.损害,损伤;削弱,减少 | |
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73 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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74 partnership | |
n.合作关系,伙伴关系 | |
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75 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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76 jocosity | |
n.诙谐 | |
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77 muddles | |
v.弄乱,弄糟( muddle的第三人称单数 );使糊涂;对付,混日子 | |
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78 unravel | |
v.弄清楚(秘密);拆开,解开,松开 | |
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79 grotesquely | |
adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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80 soothingly | |
adv.抚慰地,安慰地;镇痛地 | |
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81 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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82 flip | |
vt.快速翻动;轻抛;轻拍;n.轻抛;adj.轻浮的 | |
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83 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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84 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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85 rebuking | |
责难或指责( rebuke的现在分词 ) | |
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86 psalm | |
n.赞美诗,圣诗 | |
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87 grudge | |
n.不满,怨恨,妒嫉;vt.勉强给,不情愿做 | |
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88 soften | |
v.(使)变柔软;(使)变柔和 | |
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89 softening | |
变软,软化 | |
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90 rustle | |
v.沙沙作响;偷盗(牛、马等);n.沙沙声声 | |
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91 wards | |
区( ward的名词复数 ); 病房; 受监护的未成年者; 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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92 joyfully | |
adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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93 beacon | |
n.烽火,(警告用的)闪火灯,灯塔 | |
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94 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
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95 grumbles | |
抱怨( grumble的第三人称单数 ); 发牢骚; 咕哝; 发哼声 | |
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96 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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97 scooping | |
n.捞球v.抢先报道( scoop的现在分词 );(敏捷地)抱起;抢先获得;用铲[勺]等挖(洞等) | |
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98 sling | |
vt.扔;悬挂;n.挂带;吊索,吊兜;弹弓 | |
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99 clogging | |
堵塞,闭合 | |
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100 hairpins | |
n.发夹( hairpin的名词复数 ) | |
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101 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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102 velocity | |
n.速度,速率 | |
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103 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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104 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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105 gale | |
n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
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106 gal | |
n.姑娘,少女 | |
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107 almighty | |
adj.全能的,万能的;很大的,很强的 | |
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108 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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109 plaza | |
n.广场,市场 | |
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110 thatch | |
vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部;n.茅草(屋) | |
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111 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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112 scuttled | |
v.使船沉没( scuttle的过去式和过去分词 );快跑,急走 | |
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113 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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114 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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115 guise | |
n.外表,伪装的姿态 | |
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116 apprised | |
v.告知,通知( apprise的过去式和过去分词 );评价 | |
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117 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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118 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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119 surmised | |
v.臆测,推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 );揣测;猜想 | |
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120 jocose | |
adj.开玩笑的,滑稽的 | |
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121 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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122 subsided | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的过去式和过去分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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123 pangs | |
突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 ); 悲痛 | |
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124 discomforts | |
n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 );不愉快,苦恼 | |
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125 monotonously | |
adv.单调地,无变化地 | |
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126 unnaturally | |
adv.违反习俗地;不自然地;勉强地;不近人情地 | |
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127 grievances | |
n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 );苦衷;不满;牢骚 | |
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128 grievance | |
n.怨愤,气恼,委屈 | |
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129 yearning | |
a.渴望的;向往的;怀念的 | |
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130 monopolized | |
v.垄断( monopolize的过去式和过去分词 );独占;专卖;专营 | |
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131 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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132 tingling | |
v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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133 coveted | |
adj.令人垂涎的;垂涎的,梦寐以求的v.贪求,觊觎(covet的过去分词);垂涎;贪图 | |
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134 vet | |
n.兽医,退役军人;vt.检查 | |
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135 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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136 surmounted | |
战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 ); 克服(困难); 居于…之上; 在…顶上 | |
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137 trumpet | |
n.喇叭,喇叭声;v.吹喇叭,吹嘘 | |
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138 trumpets | |
喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 ); 小号; 喇叭形物; (尤指)绽开的水仙花 | |
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139 funereally | |
adj.送葬的,悲哀的,适合葬礼的 | |
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140 confided | |
v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的过去式和过去分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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141 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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142 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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143 brazen | |
adj.厚脸皮的,无耻的,坚硬的 | |
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144 cowered | |
v.畏缩,抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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145 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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146 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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147 stammering | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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148 ascertained | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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149 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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150 deluge | |
n./vt.洪水,暴雨,使泛滥 | |
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151 lug | |
n.柄,突出部,螺帽;(英)耳朵;(俚)笨蛋;vt.拖,拉,用力拖动 | |
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152 hysterical | |
adj.情绪异常激动的,歇斯底里般的 | |
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153 bleak | |
adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
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154 assuage | |
v.缓和,减轻,镇定 | |
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155 irrelevant | |
adj.不恰当的,无关系的,不相干的 | |
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156 sordid | |
adj.肮脏的,不干净的,卑鄙的,暗淡的 | |
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157 wink | |
n.眨眼,使眼色,瞬间;v.眨眼,使眼色,闪烁 | |
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158 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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159 miserably | |
adv.痛苦地;悲惨地;糟糕地;极度地 | |
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160 nemesis | |
n.给以报应者,复仇者,难以对付的敌手 | |
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161 owl | |
n.猫头鹰,枭 | |
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162 wilful | |
adj.任性的,故意的 | |
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163 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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164 luring | |
吸引,引诱(lure的现在分词形式) | |
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165 espy | |
v.(从远处等)突然看到 | |
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166 undone | |
a.未做完的,未完成的 | |
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167 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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168 sweeping | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
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169 distraction | |
n.精神涣散,精神不集中,消遣,娱乐 | |
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170 uncertainty | |
n.易变,靠不住,不确知,不确定的事物 | |
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171 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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172 intensified | |
v.(使)增强, (使)加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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173 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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174 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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175 exclamation | |
n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
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176 perturbed | |
adj.烦燥不安的v.使(某人)烦恼,不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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177 bereaved | |
adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去(希望、生命等)( bereave的过去式和过去分词);(尤指死亡)使丧失(亲人、朋友等);使孤寂;抢走(财物) | |
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178 loom | |
n.织布机,织机;v.隐现,(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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179 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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180 anecdote | |
n.轶事,趣闻,短故事 | |
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181 steered | |
v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 );操纵;控制;引导 | |
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182 zigzag | |
n.曲折,之字形;adj.曲折的,锯齿形的;adv.曲折地,成锯齿形地;vt.使曲折;vi.曲折前行 | |
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183 sodden | |
adj.浑身湿透的;v.使浸透;使呆头呆脑 | |
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184 bough | |
n.大树枝,主枝 | |
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185 mendaciously | |
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186 rippled | |
使泛起涟漪(ripple的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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187 peruse | |
v.细读,精读 | |
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188 swelled | |
增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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189 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
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190 obituary | |
n.讣告,死亡公告;adj.死亡的 | |
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191 complimentary | |
adj.赠送的,免费的,赞美的,恭维的 | |
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192 amends | |
n. 赔偿 | |
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193 eminence | |
n.卓越,显赫;高地,高处;名家 | |
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194 prolix | |
adj.罗嗦的;冗长的 | |
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195 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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196 lamentable | |
adj.令人惋惜的,悔恨的 | |
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197 sensational | |
adj.使人感动的,非常好的,轰动的,耸人听闻的 | |
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198 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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199 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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200 dodged | |
v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 );回避 | |
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201 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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202 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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203 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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204 pricking | |
刺,刺痕,刺痛感 | |
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205 ruffled | |
adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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206 demolished | |
v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 );推翻;拆毁(尤指大建筑物);吃光 | |
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207 veracity | |
n.诚实 | |
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208 vindicated | |
v.澄清(某人/某事物)受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 );表明或证明(所争辩的事物)属实、正当、有效等;维护 | |
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209 jug | |
n.(有柄,小口,可盛水等的)大壶,罐,盂 | |
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210 juggled | |
v.歪曲( juggle的过去式和过去分词 );耍弄;有效地组织;尽力同时应付(两个或两个以上的重要工作或活动) | |
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211 fabulous | |
adj.极好的;极为巨大的;寓言中的,传说中的 | |
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212 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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213 immortality | |
n.不死,不朽 | |
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214 mythology | |
n.神话,神话学,神话集 | |
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215 ramifications | |
n.结果,后果( ramification的名词复数 ) | |
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216 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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217 congruity | |
n.全等,一致 | |
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218 begotten | |
v.为…之生父( beget的过去分词 );产生,引起 | |
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219 atheism | |
n.无神论,不信神 | |
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220 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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221 catastrophe | |
n.大灾难,大祸 | |
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222 perverse | |
adj.刚愎的;坚持错误的,行为反常的 | |
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223 discrepancies | |
n.差异,不符合(之处),不一致(之处)( discrepancy的名词复数 ) | |
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224 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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225 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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226 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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227 scented | |
adj.有香味的;洒香水的;有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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228 truants | |
n.旷课的小学生( truant的名词复数 );逃学生;逃避责任者;懒散的人 | |
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229 raptures | |
极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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230 creek | |
n.小溪,小河,小湾 | |
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231 quartz | |
n.石英 | |
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232 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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233 shovel | |
n.铁锨,铲子,一铲之量;v.铲,铲出 | |
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234 shovels | |
n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 );锹;推土机、挖土机等的)铲;铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 );锹;推土机、挖土机等的)铲;铲形部份 | |
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235 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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236 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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237 shearing | |
n.剪羊毛,剪取的羊毛v.剪羊毛( shear的现在分词 );切断;剪切 | |
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238 livelihood | |
n.生计,谋生之道 | |
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239 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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240 respite | |
n.休息,中止,暂缓 | |
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241 hover | |
vi.翱翔,盘旋;徘徊;彷徨,犹豫 | |
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242 hovered | |
鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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243 sane | |
adj.心智健全的,神志清醒的,明智的,稳健的 | |
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244 suspense | |
n.(对可能发生的事)紧张感,担心,挂虑 | |
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245 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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246 caress | |
vt./n.爱抚,抚摸 | |
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247 gaily | |
adv.欢乐地,高兴地 | |
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248 ascertaining | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的现在分词 ) | |
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249 softened | |
(使)变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
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250 crudity | |
n.粗糙,生硬;adj.粗略的 | |
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251 latch | |
n.门闩,窗闩;弹簧锁 | |
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252 tugged | |
v.用力拉,使劲拉,猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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253 blurred | |
v.(使)变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 );(使)难以区分;模模糊糊;迷离 | |
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254 vow | |
n.誓(言),誓约;v.起誓,立誓 | |
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255 vowed | |
起誓,发誓(vow的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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256 jaunty | |
adj.愉快的,满足的;adv.心满意足地,洋洋得意地;n.心满意足;洋洋得意 | |
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257 jaunt | |
v.短程旅游;n.游览 | |
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258 stiffened | |
加强的 | |
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259 physically | |
adj.物质上,体格上,身体上,按自然规律 | |
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260 humiliation | |
n.羞辱 | |
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261 tickled | |
(使)发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)愉快,逗乐 | |
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262 scrambled | |
v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 );攀登;争夺;(军事飞机)紧急起飞 | |
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263 sullenly | |
不高兴地,绷着脸,忧郁地 | |
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264 lout | |
n.粗鄙的人;举止粗鲁的人 | |
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265 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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266 vows | |
誓言( vow的名词复数 ); 郑重宣布,许愿 | |
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267 repudiation | |
n.拒绝;否认;断绝关系;抛弃 | |
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268 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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269 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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270 marrow | |
n.骨髓;精华;活力 | |
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271 sprightly | |
adj.愉快的,活泼的 | |
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272 perch | |
n.栖木,高位,杆;v.栖息,就位,位于 | |
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273 blandly | |
adv.温和地,殷勤地 | |
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274 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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275 collapse | |
vi.累倒;昏倒;倒塌;塌陷 | |
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276 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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277 gnawing | |
a.痛苦的,折磨人的 | |
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278 ablaze | |
adj.着火的,燃烧的;闪耀的,灯火辉煌的 | |
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279 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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280 flamboyant | |
adj.火焰般的,华丽的,炫耀的 | |
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281 carnival | |
n.嘉年华会,狂欢,狂欢节,巡回表演 | |
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282 allusiveness | |
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283 overture | |
n.前奏曲、序曲,提议,提案,初步交涉 | |
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284 dames | |
n.(在英国)夫人(一种封号),夫人(爵士妻子的称号)( dame的名词复数 );女人 | |
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285 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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286 casually | |
adv.漠不关心地,无动于衷地,不负责任地 | |
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287 riddle | |
n.谜,谜语,粗筛;vt.解谜,给…出谜,筛,检查,鉴定,非难,充满于;vi.出谜 | |
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288 wavy | |
adj.有波浪的,多浪的,波浪状的,波动的,不稳定的 | |
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289 serial | |
n.连本影片,连本电视节目;adj.连续的 | |
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290 miraculous | |
adj.像奇迹一样的,不可思议的 | |
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291 devastated | |
v.彻底破坏( devastate的过去式和过去分词);摧毁;毁灭;在感情上(精神上、财务上等)压垮adj.毁坏的;极为震惊的 | |
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292 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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293 sensationally | |
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294 arduous | |
adj.艰苦的,费力的,陡峭的 | |
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295 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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296 filthy | |
adj.卑劣的;恶劣的,肮脏的 | |
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297 lucre | |
n.金钱,财富 | |
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298 shanties | |
n.简陋的小木屋( shanty的名词复数 );铁皮棚屋;船工号子;船歌 | |
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299 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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300 prim | |
adj.拘泥形式的,一本正经的;n.循规蹈矩,整洁;adv.循规蹈矩地,整洁地 | |
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301 chunks | |
厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 ); (某物)相当大的数量或部分 | |
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302 caravan | |
n.大蓬车;活动房屋 | |
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303 rascal | |
n.流氓;不诚实的人 | |
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304 scribbled | |
v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 );乱画;草草地写;匆匆记下 | |
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305 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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306 chatter | |
vi./n.喋喋不休;短促尖叫;(牙齿)打战 | |
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307 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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308 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
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309 mused | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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310 defrauding | |
v.诈取,骗取( defraud的现在分词 ) | |
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311 creditors | |
n.债权人,债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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312 aggravation | |
n.烦恼,恼火 | |
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313 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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314 kindled | |
(使某物)燃烧,着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 ); 激起(感情等); 发亮,放光 | |
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315 obsession | |
n.困扰,无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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316 bristling | |
a.竖立的 | |
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317 perturbing | |
v.使(某人)烦恼,不安( perturb的现在分词 ) | |
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318 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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319 colossal | |
adj.异常的,庞大的 | |
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320 receded | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
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321 scrupulously | |
adv.一丝不苟地;小心翼翼地,多顾虑地 | |
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322 albeit | |
conj.即使;纵使;虽然 | |
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323 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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324 improper | |
adj.不适当的,不合适的,不正确的,不合礼仪的 | |
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325 obstinacy | |
n.顽固;(病痛等)难治 | |
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326 feuds | |
n.长期不和,世仇( feud的名词复数 ) | |
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327 unreasonably | |
adv. 不合理地 | |
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328 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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329 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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330 bust | |
vt.打破;vi.爆裂;n.半身像;胸部 | |
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331 cemetery | |
n.坟墓,墓地,坟场 | |
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332 premature | |
adj.比预期时间早的;不成熟的,仓促的 | |
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333 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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334 emigrant | |
adj.移居的,移民的;n.移居外国的人,移民 | |
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335 hawks | |
鹰( hawk的名词复数 ); 鹰派人物,主战派人物 | |
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336 reassurance | |
n.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
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337 confinement | |
n.幽禁,拘留,监禁;分娩;限制,局限 | |
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338 emanated | |
v.从…处传出,传出( emanate的过去式和过去分词 );产生,表现,显示 | |
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339 well-being | |
n.安康,安乐,幸福 | |
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340 lottery | |
n.抽彩;碰运气的事,难于算计的事 | |
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341 outlay | |
n.费用,经费,支出;v.花费 | |
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342 colonization | |
殖民地的开拓,殖民,殖民地化; 移殖 | |
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343 conjured | |
用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 ); 祈求,恳求; 变戏法; (变魔术般地) 使…出现 | |
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344 magistrates | |
地方法官,治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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345 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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346 lure | |
n.吸引人的东西,诱惑物;vt.引诱,吸引 | |
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347 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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348 turnips | |
芜青( turnip的名词复数 ); 芜菁块根; 芜菁甘蓝块根; 怀表 | |
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349 plentiful | |
adj.富裕的,丰富的 | |
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350 depreciatory | |
adj.贬值的,蔑视的 | |
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351 allusions | |
暗指,间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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352 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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353 exodus | |
v.大批离去,成群外出 | |
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354 moor | |
n.荒野,沼泽;vt.(使)停泊;vi.停泊 | |
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355 braced | |
adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 );撑牢;使自己站稳;振作起来 | |
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356 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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357 edible | |
n.食品,食物;adj.可食用的 | |
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358 contingencies | |
n.偶然发生的事故,意外事故( contingency的名词复数 );以备万一 | |
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359 edibles | |
可以吃的,可食用的( edible的名词复数 ); 食物 | |
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360 larder | |
n.食物贮藏室,食品橱 | |
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361 idyllic | |
adj.质朴宜人的,田园风光的 | |
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362 denigrated | |
v.诋毁,诽谤( denigrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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363 prying | |
adj.爱打听的v.打听,刺探(他人的私事)( pry的现在分词 );撬开 | |
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364 postulated | |
v.假定,假设( postulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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365 rations | |
定量( ration的名词复数 ); 配给量; 正常量; 合理的量 | |
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366 daydream | |
v.做白日梦,幻想 | |
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367 fowls | |
鸟( fowl的名词复数 ); 禽肉; 既不是这; 非驴非马 | |
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368 intrude | |
vi.闯入;侵入;打扰,侵扰 | |
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369 distressful | |
adj.苦难重重的,不幸的,使苦恼的 | |
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370 leisurely | |
adj.悠闲的;从容的,慢慢的 | |
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371 alligators | |
n.短吻鳄( alligator的名词复数 ) | |
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372 starry | |
adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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373 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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374 constellations | |
n.星座( constellation的名词复数 );一群杰出人物;一系列(相关的想法、事物);一群(相关的人) | |
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375 tenement | |
n.公寓;房屋 | |
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376 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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377 slippers | |
n. 拖鞋 | |
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378 fusion | |
n.溶化;熔解;熔化状态,熔和;熔接 | |
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379 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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380 wading | |
(从水、泥等)蹚,走过,跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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381 salvage | |
v.救助,营救,援救;n.救助,营救 | |
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382 rheumatism | |
n.风湿病 | |
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383 shanty | |
n.小屋,棚屋;船工号子 | |
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384 affluence | |
n.充裕,富足 | |
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385 leeward | |
adj.背风的;下风的 | |
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386 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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387 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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388 strenuously | |
adv.奋发地,费力地 | |
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389 bolster | |
n.枕垫;v.支持,鼓励 | |
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390 visualized | |
直观的,直视的 | |
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391 rumour | |
n.谣言,谣传,传闻 | |
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392 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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393 receding | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
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394 snails | |
n.蜗牛;迟钝的人;蜗牛( snail的名词复数 ) | |
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395 sleepless | |
adj.不睡眠的,睡不著的,不休息的 | |
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396 lodgings | |
n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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397 bravado | |
n.虚张声势,故作勇敢,逞能 | |
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398 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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399 outfit | |
n.(为特殊用途的)全套装备,全套服装 | |
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400 displease | |
vt.使不高兴,惹怒;n.不悦,不满,生气 | |
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401 trudged | |
vt.& vi.跋涉,吃力地走(trudge的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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402 battering | |
n.用坏,损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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403 twitching | |
n.颤搐 | |
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404 eyelids | |
n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 );眼睛也不眨一下;不露声色;面不改色 | |
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405 clenched | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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406 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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407 ascend | |
vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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408 soothe | |
v.安慰;使平静;使减轻;缓和;奉承 | |
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409 gasped | |
v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 );喘息;倒抽气;很想要 | |
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410 sobbing | |
<主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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411 tangle | |
n.纠缠;缠结;混乱;v.(使)缠绕;变乱 | |
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412 deadlock | |
n.僵局,僵持 | |
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413 humiliated | |
感到羞愧的 | |
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414 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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415 futility | |
n.无用 | |
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416 cleanse | |
vt.使清洁,使纯洁,清洗 | |
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417 smuggle | |
vt.私运;vi.走私 | |
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418 debonair | |
adj.殷勤的,快乐的 | |
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419 precipitately | |
adv.猛进地 | |
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420 scriptures | |
经文,圣典( scripture的名词复数 ); 经典 | |
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421 antidotes | |
解药( antidote的名词复数 ); 解毒剂; 对抗手段; 除害物 | |
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422 casement | |
n.竖铰链窗;窗扉 | |
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423 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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424 celestial | |
adj.天体的;天上的 | |
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425 thatcher | |
n.茅屋匠 | |
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426 fussily | |
adv.无事空扰地,大惊小怪地,小题大做地 | |
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427 shears | |
n.大剪刀 | |
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428 jingle | |
n.叮当声,韵律简单的诗句;v.使叮当作响,叮当响,押韵 | |
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429 mule | |
n.骡子,杂种,执拗的人 | |
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430 bullied | |
adj.被欺负了v.恐吓,威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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431 breakdown | |
n.垮,衰竭;损坏,故障,倒塌 | |
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432 furtively | |
adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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433 risible | |
adj.能笑的;可笑的 | |
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434 babbling | |
n.胡说,婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 );作潺潺声(如流水);含糊不清地说话;泄漏秘密 | |
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435 fortifying | |
筑防御工事于( fortify的现在分词 ); 筑堡于; 增强; 强化(食品) | |
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436 queasy | |
adj.易呕的 | |
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437 duel | |
n./v.决斗;(双方的)斗争 | |
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438 ecstasies | |
狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 ); 出神; 入迷; 迷幻药 | |
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439 candidly | |
adv.坦率地,直率而诚恳地 | |
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440 hysterically | |
ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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441 queried | |
v.质疑,对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 );询问 | |
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442 crafty | |
adj.狡猾的,诡诈的 | |
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443 blithely | |
adv.欢乐地,快活地,无挂虑地 | |
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444 thumping | |
adj.重大的,巨大的;重击的;尺码大的;极好的adv.极端地;非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词);狠打;怦怦地跳;全力支持 | |
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445 thump | |
v.重击,砰然地响;n.重击,重击声 | |
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446 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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447 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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448 spatially | |
空间地,存在于空间地 | |
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449 penetrated | |
adj. 击穿的,鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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450 goad | |
n.刺棒,刺痛物;激励;vt.激励,刺激 | |
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451 gibe | |
n.讥笑;嘲弄 | |
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452 consonant | |
n.辅音;adj.[音]符合的 | |
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453 dreariest | |
使人闷闷不乐或沮丧的( dreary的最高级 ); 阴沉的; 令人厌烦的; 单调的 | |
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454 garrulous | |
adj.唠叨的,多话的 | |
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455 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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456 morbidly | |
adv.病态地 | |
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457 diatribes | |
n.谩骂,讽刺( diatribe的名词复数 ) | |
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458 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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459 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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460 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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461 soothed | |
v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 );抚慰;使舒服;减轻痛苦 | |
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462 romp | |
n.欢闹;v.嬉闹玩笑 | |
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463 collapsed | |
adj.倒塌的 | |
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464 hoarded | |
v.积蓄并储藏(某物)( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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465 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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466 inquisitive | |
adj.求知欲强的,好奇的,好寻根究底的 | |
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467 dismally | |
adv.阴暗地,沉闷地 | |
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468 yarn | |
n.纱,纱线,纺线;奇闻漫谈,旅行轶事 | |
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469 shuffle | |
n.拖著脚走,洗纸牌;v.拖曳,慢吞吞地走 | |
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470 slit | |
n.狭长的切口;裂缝;vt.切开,撕裂 | |
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471 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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472 sentimentally | |
adv.富情感地 | |
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473 grotesqueness | |
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474 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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475 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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476 sobs | |
啜泣(声),呜咽(声)( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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477 parodied | |
v.滑稽地模仿,拙劣地模仿( parody的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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478 glowered | |
v.怒视( glower的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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479 impasse | |
n.僵局;死路 | |
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480 reconciliation | |
n.和解,和谐,一致 | |
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481 frenzied | |
a.激怒的;疯狂的 | |
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482 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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483 kernel | |
n.(果实的)核,仁;(问题)的中心,核心 | |
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484 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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485 assertiveness | |
n.过分自信 | |
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486 legitimately | |
ad.合法地;正当地,合理地 | |
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487 tricky | |
adj.狡猾的,奸诈的;(工作等)棘手的,微妙的 | |
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488 tussle | |
n.&v.扭打,搏斗,争辩 | |
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489 glumly | |
adv.忧郁地,闷闷不乐地;阴郁地 | |
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490 pretext | |
n.借口,托词 | |
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491 postponing | |
v.延期,推迟( postpone的现在分词 ) | |
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492 jumble | |
vt.使混乱,混杂;n.混乱;杂乱的一堆 | |
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493 backwards | |
adv.往回地,向原处,倒,相反,前后倒置地 | |
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494 winced | |
赶紧避开,畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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495 aloofness | |
超然态度 | |
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496 fervently | |
adv.热烈地,热情地,强烈地 | |
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497 mischievously | |
adv.有害地;淘气地 | |
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498 hurl | |
vt.猛投,力掷,声叫骂 | |
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499 swoop | |
n.俯冲,攫取;v.抓取,突然袭击 | |
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500 perpendicular | |
adj.垂直的,直立的;n.垂直线,垂直的位置 | |
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501 lumbering | |
n.采伐林木 | |
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502 medley | |
n.混合 | |
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503 hissed | |
发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 ); 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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504 tantalizingly | |
adv.…得令人着急,…到令人着急的程度 | |
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505 deftly | |
adv.灵巧地,熟练地,敏捷地 | |
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506 implored | |
恳求或乞求(某人)( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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507 inflexible | |
adj.不可改变的,不受影响的,不屈服的 | |
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508 asphyxiating | |
v.渴望的,有抱负的,追求名誉或地位的( aspirant的现在分词 );有志向或渴望获得…的人 | |
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509 nervously | |
adv.神情激动地,不安地 | |
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510 hurled | |
v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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511 scrambling | |
v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 );攀登;争夺;(军事飞机)紧急起飞 | |
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512 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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513 croaked | |
v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 );用粗的声音说 | |
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514 spasms | |
n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 );抽搐;(能量、行为等的)突发;发作 | |
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515 enchantment | |
n.迷惑,妖术,魅力 | |
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516 chuckling | |
轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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517 amiably | |
adv.和蔼可亲地,亲切地 | |
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518 guffaw | |
n.哄笑;突然的大笑 | |
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519 guffawing | |
v.大笑,狂笑( guffaw的现在分词 ) | |
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520 sinewy | |
adj.多腱的,强壮有力的 | |
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521 clinching | |
v.(尤指两人)互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的现在分词 );解决(争端、交易),达成(协议) | |
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522 farce | |
n.闹剧,笑剧,滑稽戏;胡闹 | |
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523 poked | |
v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 );戳出;拨弄;与(某人)性交 | |
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524 meekly | |
adv.温顺地,逆来顺受地 | |
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525 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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526 cowering | |
v.畏缩,抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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527 dazedly | |
头昏眼花地,眼花缭乱地,茫然地 | |
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528 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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|
529 improvising | |
即兴创作(improvise的现在分词形式) | |
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530 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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531 groused | |
v.抱怨,发牢骚( grouse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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532 cramp | |
n.痉挛;[pl.](腹)绞痛;vt.限制,束缚 | |
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533 contagion | |
n.(通过接触的疾病)传染;蔓延 | |
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534 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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535 assailed | |
v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 );困扰;质问;毅然应对 | |
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|
536 rape | |
n.抢夺,掠夺,强奸;vt.掠夺,抢夺,强奸 | |
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537 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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538 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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539 portended | |
v.预示( portend的过去式和过去分词 );预兆;给…以警告;预告 | |
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540 hubbub | |
n.嘈杂;骚乱 | |
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541 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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542 postpone | |
v.延期,推迟 | |
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543 postponed | |
vt.& vi.延期,缓办,(使)延迟vt.把…放在次要地位;[语]把…放在后面(或句尾)vi.(疟疾等)延缓发作(或复发) | |
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544 famished | |
adj.饥饿的 | |
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545 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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546 rigidity | |
adj.钢性,坚硬 | |
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547 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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548 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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549 lamentation | |
n.悲叹,哀悼 | |
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550 clutter | |
n.零乱,杂乱;vt.弄乱,把…弄得杂乱 | |
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551 stoutly | |
adv.牢固地,粗壮的 | |
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552 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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553 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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554 pensively | |
adv.沉思地,焦虑地 | |
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555 mules | |
骡( mule的名词复数 ); 拖鞋; 顽固的人; 越境运毒者 | |
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556 radius | |
n.半径,半径范围;有效航程,范围,界限 | |
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557 supplanted | |
把…排挤掉,取代( supplant的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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558 guffaws | |
n.大笑,狂笑( guffaw的名词复数 )v.大笑,狂笑( guffaw的第三人称单数 ) | |
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559 poking | |
n. 刺,戳,袋 vt. 拨开,刺,戳 vi. 戳,刺,捅,搜索,伸出,行动散慢 | |
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560 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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561 tyrant | |
n.暴君,专制的君主,残暴的人 | |
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562 delectable | |
adj.使人愉快的;美味的 | |
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563 lugubriously | |
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564 speculations | |
n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 );思考;投机活动;推断 | |
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565 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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566 rumbled | |
发出隆隆声,发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 轰鸣着缓慢行进; 发现…的真相; 看穿(阴谋) | |
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567 supervision | |
n.监督,管理 | |
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568 aspired | |
v.渴望,追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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569 spurn | |
v.拒绝,摈弃;n.轻视的拒绝;踢开 | |
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570 adoration | |
n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
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571 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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572 imminence | |
n.急迫,危急 | |
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573 invalid | |
n.病人,伤残人;adj.有病的,伤残的;无效的 | |
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574 trotted | |
小跑,急走( trot的过去分词 ); 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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575 weirdly | |
古怪地 | |
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576 replenish | |
vt.补充;(把…)装满;(再)填满 | |
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577 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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578 shuddered | |
v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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579 consecrated | |
adj.神圣的,被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣,给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 );奉献 | |
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580 lurid | |
adj.可怕的;血红的;苍白的 | |
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|
581 streak | |
n.条理,斑纹,倾向,少许,痕迹;v.加条纹,变成条纹,奔驰,快速移动 | |
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582 glamour | |
n.魔力,魅力;vt.迷住 | |
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583 metallic | |
adj.金属的;金属制的;含金属的;产金属的;像金属的 | |
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|
584 spout | |
v.喷出,涌出;滔滔不绝地讲;n.喷管;水柱 | |
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585 gnomes | |
n.矮子( gnome的名词复数 );侏儒;(尤指金融市场上搞投机的)银行家;守护神 | |
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586 shimmering | |
v.闪闪发光,发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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587 guardians | |
监护人( guardian的名词复数 ); 保护者,维护者 | |
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588 dubs | |
v.给…起绰号( dub的第三人称单数 );把…称为;配音;复制 | |
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589 culled | |
v.挑选,剔除( cull的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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590 realization | |
n.实现;认识到,深刻了解 | |
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591 hoarsely | |
adv.嘶哑地 | |
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592 shovelled | |
v.铲子( shovel的过去式和过去分词 );锹;推土机、挖土机等的)铲;铲形部份 | |
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593 flattened | |
[医](水)平扁的,弄平的 | |
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594 superfluous | |
adj.过多的,过剩的,多余的 | |
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595 repugnance | |
n.嫌恶 | |
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596 counteract | |
vt.对…起反作用,对抗,抵消 | |
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597 coppers | |
铜( copper的名词复数 ); 铜币 | |
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598 aisles | |
n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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599 incurable | |
adj.不能医治的,不能矫正的,无救的;n.不治的病人,无救的人 | |
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600 humbly | |
adv. 恭顺地,谦卑地 | |
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601 daydreams | |
n.白日梦( daydream的名词复数 )v.想入非非,空想( daydream的第三人称单数 ) | |
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602 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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603 squeaks | |
n.短促的尖叫声,吱吱声( squeak的名词复数 )v.短促地尖叫( squeak的第三人称单数 );吱吱叫;告密;充当告密者 | |
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604 exultant | |
adj.欢腾的,狂欢的,大喜的 | |
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605 dabbled | |
v.涉猎( dabble的过去式和过去分词 );涉足;浅尝;少量投资 | |
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606 recapitulated | |
v.总结,扼要重述( recapitulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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607 scooped | |
v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 );(敏捷地)抱起;抢先获得;用铲[勺]等挖(洞等) | |
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608 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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609 rustling | |
n. 瑟瑟声,沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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610 shutters | |
百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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611 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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612 seizure | |
n.没收;占有;抵押 | |
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613 flickering | |
adj.闪烁的,摇曳的,一闪一闪的 | |
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614 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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615 cylinder | |
n.圆筒,柱(面),汽缸 | |
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616 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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617 magpie | |
n.喜欢收藏物品的人,喜鹊,饶舌者 | |
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618 bestowing | |
砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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619 slewed | |
adj.喝醉的v.杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去式 )( slew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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620 pivot | |
v.在枢轴上转动;装枢轴,枢轴;adj.枢轴的 | |
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621 heralded | |
v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 );宣布(好或重要) | |
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622 scrutinize | |
n.详细检查,细读 | |
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623 veer | |
vt.转向,顺时针转,改变;n.转向 | |
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624 maliciously | |
adv.有敌意地 | |
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625 warded | |
有锁孔的,有钥匙榫槽的 | |
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626 exuberance | |
n.丰富;繁荣 | |
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627 lesser | |
adj.次要的,较小的;adv.较小地,较少地 | |
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628 penuriousness | |
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629 rendezvous | |
n.约会,约会地点,汇合点;vi.汇合,集合;vt.使汇合,使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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630 whining | |
n. 抱怨,牢骚 v. 哭诉,发牢骚 | |
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631 peevish | |
adj.易怒的,坏脾气的 | |
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632 transcend | |
vt.超出,超越(理性等)的范围 | |
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633 cynical | |
adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的,不信世道向善的 | |
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634 espied | |
v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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635 effulgence | |
n.光辉 | |
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636 glorified | |
美其名的,变荣耀的 | |
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637 countenances | |
n.面容( countenance的名词复数 );表情;镇静;道义支持 | |
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638 envious | |
adj.嫉妒的,羡慕的 | |
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639 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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640 winked | |
v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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641 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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642 conversion | |
n.转化,转换,转变 | |
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643 repudiating | |
v.(正式地)否认( repudiate的现在分词 );拒绝接受;拒绝与…往来;拒不履行(法律义务) | |
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644 frenzy | |
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
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645 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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646 posture | |
n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
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647 inscription | |
n.(尤指石块上的)刻印文字,铭文,碑文 | |
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648 morbidity | |
n.病态;不健全;发病;发病率 | |
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649 wrestle | |
vi.摔跤,角力;搏斗;全力对付 | |
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650 contingency | |
n.意外事件,可能性 | |
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651 pecuniary | |
adj.金钱的;金钱上的 | |
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652 allayed | |
v.减轻,缓和( allay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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653 trotting | |
小跑,急走( trot的现在分词 ); 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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654 pauper | |
n.贫民,被救济者,穷人 | |
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655 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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656 doctrines | |
n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 );教义;学说;(政府政策的)正式声明 | |
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657 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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658 factotum | |
n.杂役;听差 | |
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659 recurred | |
再发生,复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 ); 治愈 | |
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660 aggrieved | |
adj.愤愤不平的,受委屈的;悲痛的;(在合法权利方面)受侵害的v.令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式);令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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661 presages | |
v.预示,预兆( presage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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662 fumbling | |
n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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663 poker | |
n.扑克;vt.烙制 | |
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664 revolve | |
vi.(使)旋转;循环出现 | |
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665 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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666 stark | |
adj.荒凉的;严酷的;完全的;adv.完全地 | |
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667 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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668 buffets | |
(火车站的)饮食柜台( buffet的名词复数 ); (火车的)餐车; 自助餐 | |
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669 scoured | |
走遍(某地)搜寻(人或物)( scour的过去式和过去分词 ); (用力)刷; 擦净; 擦亮 | |
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670 reassuring | |
a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的,使人放心的 | |
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671 slaughter | |
n.屠杀,屠宰;vt.屠杀,宰杀 | |
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672 eerie | |
adj.怪诞的;奇异的;可怕的;胆怯的 | |
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673 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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674 toiled | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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675 footpaths | |
人行小径,人行道( footpath的名词复数 ) | |
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676 bowling | |
n.保龄球运动 | |
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677 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
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678 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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679 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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680 corroborate | |
v.支持,证实,确定 | |
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681 interpretation | |
n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
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682 lark | |
n.云雀,百灵鸟;n.嬉戏,玩笑;vi.嬉戏 | |
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683 extricating | |
v.使摆脱困难,脱身( extricate的现在分词 ) | |
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684 spicy | |
adj.加香料的;辛辣的,有风味的 | |
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685 paupers | |
n.穷人( pauper的名词复数 );贫民;贫穷 | |
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686 beaver | |
n.海狸,河狸 | |
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687 primroses | |
n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 );淡黄色;追求享乐(招至恶果) | |
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688 scuttles | |
n.天窗( scuttle的名词复数 )v.使船沉没( scuttle的第三人称单数 );快跑,急走 | |
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689 shrieks | |
n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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690 swelling | |
n.肿胀 | |
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691 flannel | |
n.法兰绒;法兰绒衣服 | |
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692 bridling | |
给…套龙头( bridle的现在分词 ); 控制; 昂首表示轻蔑(或怨忿等); 动怒,生气 | |
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693 bouquet | |
n.花束,酒香 | |
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694 orphans | |
孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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695 peal | |
n.钟声;v.鸣响 | |
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696 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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697 fending | |
v.独立生活,照料自己( fend的现在分词 );挡开,避开 | |
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698 growling | |
n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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699 submission | |
n.服从,投降;温顺,谦虚;提出 | |
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700 evoked | |
[医]诱发的 | |
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701 larks | |
n.百灵科鸟(尤指云雀)( lark的名词复数 );一大早就起床;鸡鸣即起;(因太费力而不想干时说)算了v.百灵科鸟(尤指云雀)( lark的第三人称单数 );一大早就起床;鸡鸣即起;(因太费力而不想干时说)算了 | |
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702 wrens | |
n.鹪鹩( wren的名词复数 ) | |
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703 tenaciously | |
坚持地 | |
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704 geographical | |
adj.地理的;地区(性)的 | |
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