The city astounded5 him, captivated him, gave him a feeling of humility6. He was familiar with Detroit, had seen Chicago and New York, but Paris—Paris was different. His experience gave him nothing with which to compare it. Chicago and New York were unsightly upheavals7; the fantastic work of tremendous industrial forces in irresistible8 motion. They reared. Paris did not rear; it reposed9; it had not been upheaved tumultuously—it had been dreamed and dreamed by genius which comprehended beauty.
The city affected10 him almost to breathlessness as it opened before him when he passed the ancient grayness of the Louvre. He turned to the left and stood between the wide jaws11 of the Louvre, the mouth of the Place du Carrousel, and, standing12 there, looked westward13 through the reaches of the Tuileries and beyond to where, silhouetted14 with massive grandeur15, uprose Napoleon’s Arc de Triomphe.... It was impossible—incredibly magnificent. At that instant began the first great change in his life. He might not consciously have dated it from that instant, and possibly he never dated it at all, but Paris had set the hand of her beauty upon him; her spell had touched him with its magic.
“Why,” he said to himself, “anything could happen here!” And presently, “The Germans drop bombs on this ... they try to destroy this.”
For the first time came an appreciation16, not yet a full appreciation, but far more than an inkling, that a great event had overtaken him: he had left the Middle West behind him; he felt that he was not only about to see, but to be a part of, a new and wonderful mode of life and of thought. There came to him a hint that there might be something to life besides merely living it. Though he did not know the phrase, he felt something of the meaning it bears—Joie de vivre. Later he would, perhaps, appreciate a remark made to him by a French officer. “It is not savoir faire that is the great knowledge, it is savoir vivre.” It is not so important to know how to conduct oneself as it is to know how to make the most of life....
He retraced17 his steps to the rue de Rivoli, stopped to regard the golden Jeanne d’Arc about which he said to himself that he would have liked it better if it had been bronze or marble, and that the sculptor18 had made Jeanne “huskier” than he had pictured her to himself. That was the word he used—“huskier.” Somehow he had always conceived Jeanne d’Arc—what slight conception he had of her—as rather anemic and thin and fragile.... His conception of Jeanne was like the conception many good Americans have made for themselves of France. Two millions of them would soon be on French soil to see for themselves that it was not an anemic, fragile country, but robust19, healthy, capable not only of visions, but of battles....
He walked on to pause again in the Place de la Concorde and to marvel20 at such prodigality21 of open space in the very heart of a great city. He even tried to calculate to himself the money worth of so many acres in the retail22 section of New York, say along Fifth Avenue from Thirty-fourth Street north and west.... It was a typical American calculation. Beyond him the Champs élysées reached on, climbing its little gradient to the Arc dc Triomphe. It was splendid and beautiful. It “got under his skin,” as he phrased it.
He stood there looking off across the river toward the Chamber23 of Deputies, over the roof of which could be seen the dome24 of Napoleon’s Tomb. Then he turned and surveyed the path he had just traversed, that reach of low, symmetrical buildings facing the Jardin des Tuileries. He was not exactly inarticulate, but he was not eloquent25. “I’ll be damned,” he said under his breath. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Now he was hungry, and, walking more rapidly, he returned to the University union to find the dining-room open and a few American officers at petit déjeuner. For the most part they were eating bread and confiture and washing it down with chocolate. A few were taking the American breakfast, actually eating two eggs and other food—a thing to convince the Parisian that these visitors were indeed mad, or at least barbarians26.
“Yea, boy!” said a loud voice, just as Captain Ware was endeavoring to give his order to one of the two pretty French girls who were the waitresses. It was his first sight of the Parisienne, and it had rather surprised him. They did not wear short skirts and high-heeled slippers27, with more than enough black-stockinged ankle to regard. They had not saucy28 eyes and rétroussé noses, nor did they whisk about flirtatiously. They were pretty, indeed they were charming, but they were quiet, even subdued29, and they looked nice. That was a good American word he could apply to them. He liked their looks, even if they failed to come up to his ideas of what a French waitress should be.
He looked up from the pad on which he had been checking off the petit déjeuner, to see facing him across the table, in a captain’s uniform and Sam Brown belt which made him almost unrecognizable, a man with whom he had been more than friendly through four years in Ann Arbor30.
“Bert Stanley!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and extending his hand.
“They all come here,” said Stanley to himself, “all of them—if you just wait long enough.... When did you land?”
“Day before yesterday.”
“And got to Paris so soon? How did you work that?”
“Ordered.... What are you doing here?”
“Making marks on pieces of paper. That’s what I got for knowing anything about architectural engineering. I’m in the Signal Corps31 and I’m drawing plans for aeroplane-sheds.... What are you?” He looked down at Kendall’s collar markings.
“Intelligence! I’m one of the fellows who find out everything about everything in the world and tell it to the army for its good.”
“Stationed here?”
“Don’t know. Report this morning.”
“Fix it, son, fix it.... It’s a great guerre, and this battle of Paris—”
“Beurre, monsieur?” asked the waitress.
“Eh? What’s that?”
“She wants to know,” explained Stanley, with exaggerated patience, “if you want butter. It’s extra.”
Kendall signified his desire for butter. “I’ve just been out looking at the town,” he said. “The fellows that built it knew what they were doing, didn’t they?”
“They knew how to do a lot of things. Staying here, of course.”
“Didn’t know where else to go. You, too?”
“Have been a month, but if I’m going to live here for the duration, and it looks as if I were, I’d like to get somebody and take a little apartment somewhere.... Over in the Quartier Latin or up on one of the streets off the étoile. Have some comfort. Live cheaper, too. Get a cook for sixty or seventy francs, and be regular people.... Say, if you’re set down in Paris, come on in with me.”
“Sounds reasonable,” said Kendall, tentatively. “Haven’t the least idea what they’ll do with me, though.”
“Well, you run up and see, and, whatever happens, meet me here at half past six and I’ll take you to a regular place to eat, and then we’ll go out and look at the sights.”
“You’re on,” said Kendall, “bigger than a house.”
Captain Ware had hoped to be assigned to active duty with a combat unit. He had studied and trained himself for the duties of an intelligence officer at the front, and for months had looked forward with enthusiasm to those interesting and invaluable32 duties which such an officer performs. He was not a young man to welcome a desk job or to be contented33 with a position in the Safety of the Service of Supplies region. In that he resembled thousands of other young officers whose fortune it would never be to hear a cannon34 fired in battle, to take part in a charge, or to be nearer to the front than some small town in the interior of France. None of them had chosen their places. They had been sent where they were most needed and where their work was essential to the victories to be won against the enemy.... Captain Ware, like these others, must perform the task set for him, wherever it might lie—hoping always for a new assignment that should carry him to the dugout and to the trench35. It was, therefore, with grievous disappointment that he learned he was to be stationed in Paris, apparently36 in permanence. He could still hope, for in the army in France no man can tell what to-morrow will bring him. Orders come and men go.... Somehow it did not seem possible to him that he would thus go to war without going to war; that he should journey across the ocean to this mightiest37 of all conflicts without the experience of battle....
At half after six he was again at the union, where he found Bert Stanley waiting for him in the lounge, whiling away the time very pleasantly in conversation with charming Annette of the pert face, white teeth, and busy chatter38—a chatter made up in very large part of excellent American idiom learned from the patrons of the cigar-and-candy case of which she was custodian39. Hundreds of American officers will return to their country after the war with pleasant memories of wise little Annette, the little French girl who sold cigarettes and candy and wrist watches and post-cards at the stand in the union.
Kendall ascended40 to his room in the queer little elevator whose conductor was a tiny Belgian boy, proud of a few words of American, and presently walked down the five flights—for in France it is not considered good manners in war-time to use an elevator for descent—and rejoined Stanley.
“Well,” said Stanley, “what luck?”
“It looks like Paris for mine,” said Kendall, still depressed41 by his disappointment.
“Might be worse.... Might have been Chaumont.”
They walked north on the rue de Richelieu, past the Molière fountain, and by the door of Marty’s which Kendall was to know very well later on. At the rue St.-Marc they turned to the left until the Opéra Comique uprose before them, and then made their way into the up-stairs dining-room of the Café Poccardi on rue Favart.
“It’s early. The crowd doesn’t show up before seven-thirty, so we can get a table up front where we can see the show,” said Stanley. “Besides, there’s a waiter there who speaks English.”
They found seats with their backs toward the windows, a point of vantage from which they could view the large, mirrored room with its rows of small, closely set tables. Only a few were occupied, but gradually the patrons straggled in—a truly Parisian gathering42. There were handsome men in officers’ uniforms with many gold service stripes on the sleeve, and some with two, three, or even four wound chevrons43 on the opposite sleeve. They were accompanied by well-dressed women, mostly young, always very neat.... It was their shoes that demanded Kendall’s attention. This was a matter that had been impressing itself upon him through the day—that the Parisienne knew how to dress her feet. There were poilus on leave, each with his girl, or even with two girls. There were one or two old but immaculate men with women young enough to be their granddaughters. A few women entered alone and seated themselves quietly at tables to await their partners—perhaps the café was their place of rendezvous44.... Two women, beautifully dressed in black, with widows’ veils, occupied a table just across from Kendall and his companion. They were very young, and one was remarkably45 lovely.... The sight rather depressed Kendall. This was one of the meanings of war—this youthful widowhood! Here was the cruelty of it, the bitterness of it!
“France must be filled with widows,” he said to Stanley.
Bert grinned. “Camouflage46,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“If you’re thinking about our friends opposite, don’t get too sympathetic. They’re no more widows than I am. Camouflage. It’s the style. But they’re overdoing47 it. Everybody’s next, now, even us Americans. Bait, sonny, bait, that’s what it is.”
Bert looked over at the widows and smiled, and the lovelier one smiled in reply, not brazenly48, not with the red-lipped, painted-cheeked smile of the Anglo-Saxon siren, but demurely49, pleasantly, as if she were merely returning his smile out of courtesy and from an abundance of gentle good nature.
“See?” said Bert.
“But they look nice.” Again Kendall used that word.
“They are nice.... This isn’t Terre Haute, son.”
Everybody was drinking wine, Kendall noticed. It was universal, and as the meal progressed he spoke50 about it.
“Everybody is going to the wine,” he said, “but nobody gets noisy.”
“Nobody does,” said Bert. “Do we get noisy at home when we drink coffee?”
Kendall watched. He saw a man half fill his companion’s glass with red wine, then pour in as much water as there was wine. This, he saw, was almost universally done.... Conversation was animated51. There was gay laughter and lightness, but it was not the gaiety of wine.
At a table well within view sat two poilus with their wives or sweethearts. Kendall watched them, for it was by far the jolliest, least restrained party in the room.... And then he saw the larger soldier throw his arm around the neck of his buxom52 companion and kiss her soundly.... It rather shocked him. The idea of demonstrative affection in, for instance, the dining-room of the McAlpin, or in one of the better-class cafés of Detroit, was impossible to entertain. He watched for a waiter to protest, perhaps to eject the couple from the place.... But there were only tolerant smiles when any notice whatever was taken of the event.... And it was an event which was repeated—the sound of hearty53 smacks54 coming even to Kendall’s ear.... He saw other men come in, and before they sat down beside waiting companions they would stoop to salute55 with a kiss.... The thing was not universal, not even general, but there was enough of it for him to become aware that it was not exceptional.... But for all that, it made him feel embarrassed and uncomfortable. Apparently, if people had kissing to do they simply did it.... He was to recognize this later as one manifestation56 of the frank, unaffected genuineness of the people. Now it seemed rather gross to him, gross and exotic. The idea did not occur to him then that it was he with his American notions and antecedents, with his inheritances from Plymouth Rock, that was exotic.
He wondered who all these people were; he wondered if they were married. Were these men and women husbands and wives, or were the women those mysterious, very French, somewhat exciting persons whom he had read about in novels and who were called mistresses?
He did not put the question to Stanley because he was afraid of appearing provincial57. He might as well have done so, for in all probability Stanley, with all of his month’s experience in Paris, was pondering the same matter.... Anyhow, he felt that he was seeing life; that he was beholding58 things which he could tell about later to interested audiences.... It is a peculiarity59 of the Anglo-Saxon mind that everything which is strange to it appears to it as necessarily tinged60 with naughtiness.
At another table, over to Kendall’s left, two girls were eating alone, and he watched them with interest and considerable curiosity, wondering who and what they were. One of them attracted him particularly. She was young, in the neighborhood of twenty, he judged. She was dressed in white, a suit of some knit material that reminded him of a light jersey61, and on her very black and wavy62 hair was a shapeless white cap of the tam-o-’shanter variety. Her skin was a delightful63 olive, and her eyes black, with shadows under them. She was not beautiful, unless her eyes made her so. She was small and almost thin. She addressed herself to her food in a very business-like manner, not often looking up from her plate, but once in a while she smiled as she replied to some comment of her companion, and her teeth were very white and regular. There was no appearance of wealth about her, but every feature spoke of intelligence—indeed, of a certain keenness.... She was very attractive.
“Look,” he said to Bert. “I wonder who she is. She looks as if she had ‘class.’”
“Pretty kid,” said Bert, who, just then, was more interested in poule au riz than in Parisiennes.
He continued to stare, unconscious of his rudeness, until she lifted her eyes to his. For a moment she regarded him, with no especial interest, certainly with no sign which could be interpreted as provocative64, and dropped her eyes again to her plate.... Kendall was conscious at once of disappointment and satisfaction. Here was another girl that he had estimated as “nice,” and this time, apparently, he was right.
In a moment he heard her name, for her companion uttered it. “Andree.” Somehow it suited her, Kendall thought, and he thought, too, that it was a decidedly pretty name ... “Andree.”
From time to time, as he was finishing his dinner, Kendall glanced at Andree. But he did not meet her eyes again. She was not interested in him, apparently, and even when he walked past her table on his way out she did not look up or manifest by a sign that she was conscious of his existence.
“Where now?” he said as they debouched onto the broad Boulevard des Italiens.
“Might as well take in the ‘Folies Bergère.’ It’s one of the sights.”
They walked along in silence, crossing the boulevard and turning up a narrow street toward the theater. Kendall continued to think about the little girl with the black eyes. Somehow she had made an impression of some sort upon him. He could not have described it nor estimated it. All he knew was that he liked her looks immensely and was curious about her. Probably he would never see her again, but he found himself hoping that he might.
They bought tickets for the “Folies” and entered, traversing the large hall filled with tables at which the audience was expected to refresh itself between the acts, or even during the performance, and, after buying programs, were conducted to their seats by a girl usher65 who stood sternly by until she received her tip—a tip that she would have suggested if it had not been tendered.
Then the performance began—a very disappointing performance to a Middle-Western young man who had heard tales of the naughtiness of the French stage. It turned out to be a rather clumsy musical comedy which was more vaudeville66 than either music or comedy. It was not naughty at all, he said to himself—but perhaps that was because he failed to understand the dialogue. Anyhow, he had seen much franker costumes and much more suggestive incident in Mr. Ziegfeld’s “Follies” or at the Winter Garden.
The audience was more than half American; the music was adapted from American shows, and between the acts a jazz orchestra, “straight from Broadway,” made the ears ring. Everybody got up between the acts and promenaded67 or sat at the little tables.... Girls wandered about and spoke to one, and made Kendall feel uncomfortable and embarrassed again. He was glad when they returned to their seats.
The performance rather bored him, and he suggested leaving. Bert was ready, too, so they sauntered out onto the dark streets, making their way to the Avenue de l’Opéra and past the huge bulk of that wonderful building which France had erected68 even while she was paying to Germany the billion-franc indemnity69 exacted after 1870. Once or twice soft voices accosted70 them out of the darkness, but they walked on toward the union, and presently were ordering ice-cream and listening to a lieutenant71 play ragtime72 on the piano.
Then, suddenly, the air was rent by a startling, metallic73 shriek74, a long-sustained, nerve-twanging, raucous75 blast.
“Raid!” said Stanley, getting to his feet.
“Bomb raid?” asked Kendall, instantly excited.
“Yes. Let’s go out and take a look.”
So, with characteristic foolhardiness, they sallied out and hurried up the rue de Rivoli to the Place de la Concorde, where they sat on a stone balustrade and waited. They were not alone. About that open space were scattered76 a dozen Americans impelled77 by absurd curiosity—a curiosity they would discard very shortly and become more circumspect78 in their behavior as well as more respectful toward the Gothas.
Still the alerte sounded, more terrifying than the sound of the barrage79 which was presently to begin. Sirens mounted on fire-engines were giving the alarm, tearing madly through the black streets, and with horrid80 voice commanding Paris to seek sanctuary81 in abri or in the tunnels of the Metropolitan82.
Kendall was not frightened; he was hardly apprehensive83. Even when the guns opened toward the north and he could see bright star-flashes as shrapnel burst high above, he was only exhilarated and very interested. The thing did not seem serious to him. But it was serious, he knew. It was war, and such barbarous war as held the world in a spell of horror. Presently the air was filled with the crashes of cannon, and one could trace the course of the enemy by the spreading of the ring of fire about the city.... Once in a while would come a deep, dull, thunderous boom, as a bomb, released by a Gotha, would fall in the distant suburbs, perhaps upon the home of some laborer84, burying himself with his wife and babies in the ruins, or destroying them utterly85 so that no trace of their human shell would ever be discovered.... The firing moved westward, and then swung around to the south as the hostile aeroplanes strove vainly to penetrate86 the city.... This continued for half an hour. Then there was a time of quietness, after which came the pleasant voices of bugles87 notifying a cowering88 population that all was clear.... The raid had been abortive—it had succeeded in killing89 only half a dozen defenseless civilians90!
Kendall and Stanley walked back to the union—to have another dish of ice-cream. As they walked up-stairs in the darkness Kendall said to his friend: “I wonder who that girl was ... the one in the restaurant. Her name was Andree.”
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1
ware
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| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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upheavals
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| 突然的巨变( upheaval的名词复数 )； 大动荡； 大变动； 胀起 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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prodigality
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| n.浪费，挥霍 | |
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retail
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| v./n.零售；adv.以零售价格 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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barbarians
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| n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 )；外国人；粗野的人；无教养的人 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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arbor
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| n.凉亭；树木 | |
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corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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mightiest
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| adj.趾高气扬( mighty的最高级 )；巨大的；强有力的；浩瀚的 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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custodian
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| n.保管人，监护人；公共建筑看守 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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chevrons
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| n.（警察或士兵所佩带以示衔级的）∧形或∨形标志( chevron的名词复数 ) | |
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rendezvous
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| 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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45
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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camouflage
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| n./v.掩饰，伪装 | |
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overdoing
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| v.做得过分( overdo的现在分词 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
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brazenly
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| adv.厚颜无耻地；厚脸皮地肆无忌惮地 | |
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49
demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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50
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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51
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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52
buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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53
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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54
smacks
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| 掌掴（声）( smack的名词复数 )； 海洛因； （打的）一拳； 打巴掌 | |
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55
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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56
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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57
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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58
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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59
peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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60
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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62
wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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provocative
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| adj.挑衅的，煽动的，刺激的，挑逗的 | |
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65
usher
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| n.带位员，招待员；vt.引导，护送；vi.做招待，担任引座员 | |
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66
vaudeville
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| n.歌舞杂耍表演 | |
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67
promenaded
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| v.兜风( promenade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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69
indemnity
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| n.赔偿，赔款，补偿金 | |
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70
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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71
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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72
ragtime
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| n.拉格泰姆音乐 | |
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73
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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74
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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75
raucous
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| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
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76
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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77
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
circumspect
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| adj.慎重的，谨慎的 | |
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79
barrage
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| n.火力网，弹幕 | |
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80
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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81
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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82
metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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83
apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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84
laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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85
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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86
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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87
bugles
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| 妙脆角，一种类似薯片但做成尖角或喇叭状的零食； 号角( bugle的名词复数 )； 喇叭； 匍匐筋骨草； （装饰女服用的）柱状玻璃（或塑料）小珠 | |
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88
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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89
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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90
civilians
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| 平民，百姓( civilian的名词复数 )； 老百姓 | |
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