It happened, most unfortunately, that the appeal synchronized5 with another, also for funds, which was issued by Mr. O’Rourke, the leader of the Parliamentary party. Since the death of John O’Neill the purse of the party had been getting lean. The old tactics which used to draw plaudits and dollars from the United States, as well as a tribute from every parish in Ireland, had lately been unsuccessful. There were still violent scenes in the House of Commons, but they no longer produced anything except contemptuous smiles. Members of Parliament still succeeded occasionally in getting the Chief Secretary to imprison6 them, but the glory of martyrdom was harder to win than in the old days. Latterly things had come to such a pass that even the reduced stipends7 offered to the members fell into arrear8. The attendance at Westminster dropped away. The Government could afford to smile at Mr. O’Rourke’s efforts to make himself disagreeable, and the Opposition9 were frankly10 contemptuous of a people who could not profit them by more than a dozen votes in a critical division. It became impossible to wring11 even a modest Land Bill from the Prime Minister, and Mr. Chesney, now much at ease in the Secretary’s office in the Castle, scarcely felt it necessary to be civil to deputations which wanted railways. It was clear that something must be done, or Mr. O’Rourke’s business would disappear. He decided12 to appeal for funds orbi et urbi. The world—in this case North America—was to be visited, exhorted13, and, it was hoped, taxed by some of his most eloquent14 lieutenants15. Even Canada, with its leaven16 of Orangemen, was to be honoured with the speeches of an orator17 of second-rate powers. The city—Dublin, of course—was the chosen scene of the leader’s personal exertions18. Since his revolt against John O’Neill, O’Rourke had been a little shy of Dublin audiences, but the pressing nature of the present crisis almost forced him to pay his court to the capital. He found some comfort in the recollection that during the five years that had elapsed since O’Neill’s death he had missed no public opportunity of shedding tears beside his tomb. He remembered, too, that he had put his name down for a large subscription19 towards the erection of a statue to the dead leader, a work of art which the existing generation seemed unlikely to have the pleasure of seeing.
Thus it happened that on the very day of the publication of Miss Goold’s scheme Mr. O’Rourke announced his intention of addressing an appeal for funds to a public meeting in the Rotunda20. Miss Goold was disconcerted and irritated. She was well aware that Mr. O’Rourke’s appeal would give the respectable Nationalists an excellent excuse for ignoring hers, and unfortunately the respectable people are just the ones who have most money. She was confident that she could rely on the extreme section of the Nationalists, and on that element in the city population which loves and makes a row, but she could not count on the moneyed classes. They were, so far as their words went, very enthusiastic for the Boer cause; but when it came to writing cheques, it was likely that the counter-attractions of the Parliamentary fund would prove too strong.
Since it seemed that Mr. O’Rourke would certainly spoil her collection, the obvious thing to do was to try to spoil his. If he afforded people an excuse for not paying the travelling expenses of her volunteers to Lorenzo Marques, she would, if possible, suggest a way of escape from paying for his men’s journeys to London. After all, no one really wanted to subscribe21 to either fund, and it might be supposed that the public would very gladly keep their purses shut altogether.
For an Irishman it is quite possible to be genuinely enthusiastic and at the same time able to see the humorous side of his own enthusiasm. This is a reason why an Irishman is never a bore unless, to gain his private ends, he wants to be. Even an Irish advocate of total abstinence, or an Irish antivaccinationist, if such a thing exists, is not a bore, because he will always trot22 out his conscientious23 objections with a half-humorous, half-deprecating smile. This same capacity for avoiding the slavery of serious fanaticism24 enables an Irishman to cease quite joyfully25 from the pursuit of his own particular fad26 in order to corner an obnoxious27 opponent. Thus Augusta Goold and her friends were genuinely desirous of striking a blow at England, and really believed that their volunteers might do it; but this did not prevent them from finding infinite relish28 in the prospect29 of watching Mr. O’Rourke squirming on the horns of a dilemma30. They took counsel together, and the result of their deliberations was peculiar31. They proposed to invite Mr. O’Rourke to join his appeal to theirs, to pool the money which came in, and to divide it evenly between the volunteers and the members of Parliament. It was Tim Halloran who hit upon the brilliant idea. Augusta Goold chuckled32 over it as she grasped its consequences. Mr. O’Rourke, Tim argued, would be unwilling33 to accept the proposal because he wanted all the money he could get, more than was at all likely to be collected. He would be equally unwilling to reject it, because he could then be represented as indifferent to the heroic struggle of the Boers. In the existing state of Irish and American opinion a suspicion of such indifference34 would be quite sufficient to wreck35 his chances of getting any money at all.
Of course, the obvious way of making such a proposal would have been by letter to Mr. O’Rourke. Afterwards the correspondence—he must make a reply of some sort—could be sent to the press, and sufficient publicity36 would be given to the matter. This was what Tim Halloran wanted to do, but such a course did not commend itself to Augusta Goold. It lacked dramatic possibilities, and there was always the chance that the leading papers might refuse to take any notice of the matter, or relegate37 the letters to a back page and small print. Besides, a mere38 newspaper controversy39 would not make a strong appeal to the section of the Dublin populace on whose support she chiefly relied. A much more attractive plan suggested itself. Augusta Goold, with a few friends to act as aides-de-camp, would present herself to Mr. O’Rourke at his Rotunda meeting, and put the proposal to him then and there in the presence of the audience.
In the meantime the few days before the meeting were occupied in scattering40 suggestive seed over the hoardings and blank walls of the city. One morning people were startled by the sight of an immense placard which asked in violent red letters, ‘What is Ireland going to do?’ Public opinion was divided about the ultimate purpose of the poster. The majority expected the announcement of a new play or novel; a few held that a pill or a cocoa would be recommended. Next morning the question became more explicit41, and the hypothesis of the play and the pill were excluded. ‘What,’ the new poster ran, ‘is Ireland going to do for the Boers?’ The public were not intensely anxious to find an answer to the conundrum42 thrust thus forcibly on their attention, but they became curious to know who the advertisers were who hungered for the information. Men blessed by Providence43 with sagacious-looking faces made the most of their opportunity, and informed their friends that the thing was a new dodge44 of O’Rourke’s to get money. Their reputation suffered when the next placard appeared. The advertisers had apparently45 changed their minds, for what they now wanted to know was, ‘What are the Irish M.P.‘s going to do for the Boers?’ Clearly Mr. O’Rourke could have nothing to gain by insisting on an answer to such a question. The public were puzzled but pleased. The bill-stickers of the city foresaw the possibility of realizing a competence46, for the next morning the satisfied inquirers published the result of their investigations47. ‘The Em Pees ‘(it was thus that they now referred to the honourable48 members of Parliament) ‘are supporting the infamies49 of England.’ It was at this point that the eye of a Castle official was caught by one of the placards as he made his way to the Kildare Street Club for luncheon50. He discussed the matter with a colleague, and it occurred to them that since they were paid for governing Ireland, they ought to give the public some value for their money, and seize the opportunity of doing something. They sent a series of telegrams to Mr. Chesney’s London house, which were forwarded by his private secretary to the Riviera. The replies which followed kept the Castle officials in a state of pleasurable excitement until quite late in the evening. At about eight o’clock large numbers of Metropolitan51 police sallied out of their barracks and tore down the last batch52 of placards. Next morning fresh ones were posted up, each of which bore the single word, ‘Why?’ The bill-stickers were highly pleased, and many of them were arrested for drunkenness. Mr. O’Rourke was much less pleased, for he began to guess what the answer was likely to be, and how it would affect his chances of securing a satisfactory collection. The officials were perplexed53. They suspected the ‘Why?’ of containing within its three letters some hideous54 sedition55, but it was not possible to deal vigorously with what might, after all, be only the cunning novelty of some advertising56 manufacturer. More telegrams harried57 Mr. Chesney, but before any definite course of action had been decided on the morning of the Rotunda meeting arrived, and with it an answer to the multifarious ‘Whys’: Because O’Rourke wants all the money to spend in the London restaurants.’ There was a great deal of laughter, and many people, quite uninterested in politics, determined58 to go to the meeting in hopes of more amusement.
When Mr. O’Rourke took the chair the hall was crowded to its utmost capacity. Under ordinary circumstances this would have augured59 well for the success of his appeal, for it showed that the public were at all events not apathetic60. On this particular occasion, however, Mr. O’Rourke would have been better pleased with a smaller audience. The placards had shown him that something unpleasant was likely to occur, though they afforded no hint of the form which the unpleasantness would take. When he rose to his feet he was greeted with the usual volley of cheers, and although some rude remarks about the Boers were made in the corners of the hall, they did not amount to anything like an organized attempt at interruption. He began his speech cautiously, feeling the pulse of his audience, and plying61 them with the well-worn platitudes62 of the Nationalist platform. When these evoked63 the usual enthusiasm he waxed bolder, and shot out some almost original epigrams directed against the Government, working up to a really new gibe64 about officials who sat like spiders spinning murderous webs in Dublin Castle. The audience were delighted with this, but their joy reached its height when someone shouted: ‘You might speak better of the men who tore down the placard on Wednesday.’ Mr. O’Rourke ignored the suggestion, and passed on to sharpen his wit upon the landlords. He described them as ‘ill-omened tax-gatherers who suck the life-blood of the country, and refuse to disgorge a penny of it for any useful purpose.’ Mr. O’Rourke was not a man who shrank from a mixed metaphor65, or paused to consider such trifles as the unpleasantness which would ensue if anyone who had been sucking blood were to repent66 and disgorge it. ‘Where,’ he went on to ask, ‘do they spend their immense revenues? Is it in Ireland?’ Here he made one of those dramatic pauses for which his oratory67 was famous. The audience waited breathlessly for the denunciation which was to follow. They were treated, unexpectedly, to a well-conceived anticlimax68. A voice spoke70 softly, but quite clearly, from the back of the hall:
‘Bedad, and I shouldn’t wonder if it was in the London restaurants.’
A roar of laughter followed. The orator might no doubt have made an effective reply, but every time he opened his mouth minor71 wits, rending72 like wolves the carcase of the original joke, yelled ‘turtle-soup’ at him, or ‘champagne and oysters73.’ He got angry, and consequently flurried. He tried to quell74 the tumult75 by thundering out the denunciation which he had prepared. But the delight which the audience took in shrieking76 the items of their imaginary bill of fare was too much for him. He forgot what he had meant to say, floundered, attempted to pull himself together, and brought out the stale jest about providing each landlord with a single ticket to Holyhead.
‘And that same,’ said his original tormentor77, ‘would be cheaper than giving you a return ticket to London.’
The audience was immensely tickled78. So far the entertainment, if not precisely79 novel, was better than anything they had hoped for, and everyone had an agreeable conviction that there was still something in the way of a sensation in store. Perhaps it was eagerness for the expected climax69 which induced them to keep tolerably quiet during the remainder of Mr. O’Rourke’s speech. He set forth at some length the glorious achievements of his party in the past, and explained the opportunities of future usefulness which lay to be grasped if only the necessary funds were provided. He sat down to make way, as he assured the audience, for certain tried and trusty soldiers of the cause who were waiting to propose important resolutions. So far as these warriors80 were concerned, he might as well have remained standing81. Their resolutions are to this day unproposed and uncommended—a secret joy, no doubt, to those who framed them, but not endorsed82 by any popular approval.
Hyacinth Conneally was not admitted to the secret councils of Augusta Goold and her friends. He knew no more than the general public what kind of a coup83 was meditated84, but he gathered from Miss O’Dwyer’s nervous excitement and Tim Halloran’s air of immense and mysterious importance that something quite out of the common was likely to occur. By arriving an hour and a half before the opening of the meeting he secured a seat near the platform. He enjoyed the discomfiture85 of O’Rourke, whom he had learnt from the pages of the Croppy to despise as a mere windbag86, and to hate as the betrayer of O’Neill. A sudden thrill of excitement went through him when O’Rourke sat down. The whole audience turned their faces from the platform towards the door at the far end of the hall, and Hyacinth, without knowing exactly what he expected, turned too. There was a swaying visible among the crowd near the door, and almost immediately it became clear that someone was trying to force a way through the densely-packed people. Curses were to be heard, and even cries from those who were being trodden on. At last a way was made. Augusta Goold, followed by Grealy, Halloran, and Mary O’Dwyer, came slowly up the hall towards the platform. Those of the audience whose limbs had not been crushed or their feet mangled88 in preparation for her progress cheered her wildly. Indeed, she made a regal appeal to them. Even amidst a crowd of men her height made her conspicuous89, and she had arrayed herself for the occasion in a magnificent violet robe. It flowed from her shoulders in spacious90 folds, and swept behind her, splendidly contemptuous of the part it played as scavenger91 amid the accumulated filth92 of the floor. Her bare arms shone out of the wide sleeves which hung around them. Her neck rose strong and stately over the silver clasp of a cloak which she had thrown back from her shoulders. She wore a hat which seemed to hold her hair captive from falling loose around her. One great tress alone escaped from it, and by some cunning manipulation was made to stand straight out, as if blown by the wind from its fastenings. In comparison her suite93 looked commonplace and mean. Poor Miss O’Dwyer was arrayed—‘gowned,’ she would have said herself in reporting the scene—in vesture not wanting in splendour, but which beside Miss Goold’s could not catch the eye. Thomas Grealy, awkward and stooped, peered through his glasses at the crowd. Tim Halloran walked jauntily94, but his eyes glanced nervously95 from side to side. He was certainly ill at ease, possibly frightened, at the position in which he found himself.
A hurried consultation96 took place among the gentlemen on the platform, which ended in Mr. O’Rourke stepping forward with a smile and an outstretched hand to welcome Augusta Goold as she ascended97 the steps. The expression of his face belied98 the smile which he had impressed upon his lips. His eyes had the same look of furtive99 malice100 as a dog’s which wants to bite but fears the stick. Augusta Goold waved aside the proffered101 hand, and stepped unaided on to the platform. Mr. O’Rourke placed a chair for her, but she ignored it and stood, with her followers102 behind her, facing the audience. O’Rourke and two of his tried and trusty members of Parliament approached her. They stood between her and the audience, and talked to her for some time, apparently very earnestly. Augusta Goold looked past them, over them, sometimes it seemed through them, while they spoke, but made them no answer whatever. At last Mr. O’Rourke shrugged103 his shoulders, and withdrew to his chair with a sulky scowl104.
‘I wish,’ said Augusta Goold, ‘to ask a simple question of your chairman.’
Mr. O’Rourke rose.
‘This meeting,’ he said, ‘is convened105 for the purpose of raising funds for the carrying on of the national business in the House of Commons. If Miss Goold’s question relates to the business in hand, I shall be most happy to answer it. If not, I am afraid I cannot allow it to be asked here. At another time and in another place I shall be prepared to listen to what Miss Goold has to say, and in the meantime if she will take her seat on the platform she will be heartily106 welcome.’
‘My question,’ said Augusta Goold, ‘is intimately connected with the business of the meeting. It is simply this: Are you, Mr. O’Rourke, prepared to give any portion of the money entrusted107 to you by the Irish people to assist the Boers in their struggle for freedom?’
It was manifestly absurd to ask such a question at all. Mr. O’Rourke had no intention of collecting money for the Boers, who seemed to have plenty of their own, and he could not without breach108 of trust have applied109 funds subscribed111 to feed and clothe members of Parliament to arming volunteers. Nevertheless, it was an awkward question to answer in the presence of an audience excited by Augusta Goold’s beauty and splendid audacity112. A really strong man, like, for instance, O’Rourke’s predecessor113, John O’Neill, might have faced the situation, and won, if not the immediate87 cheers, at least the respect of the Irish people. But Mr. O’Rourke was not a strong man, and besides he was out of temper and had lost his nerve. He took perhaps the worst course open to him: he made a speech. He appealed to his past record as a Nationalist, and to his publicly reiterated114 expressions of sympathy with the Boer cause. He asked the audience to trust him to do what was right, but he neither said Yes nor No to the question he was asked.
Augusta Goold stood calm and impassive while he spoke. A sneer115 gathered on her lips and indrawn nostrils116 as he made his appeal for the people’s confidence. When he had finished she said, very slowly, and with that extreme distinctness of articulation117 which women speakers seem to learn so much more easily than men:
‘Are you prepared to give any portion of the money entrusted to you by the Irish people to assist the Boers in their struggle for freedom?’
Mr. O’Rourke was goaded118 into attempting another speech, but the audience was in no mood to listen to him. He was interrupted again and again with shouts of ‘Yes or no!’ ‘Answer the question!’ The bantering119 tone with which they had plied110 him earlier in the evening with suggestions for a menu had changed now into angry insistence120. He passed his hand over his forehead with a gesture of despair, and sat down. At once the tumult ceased, and the people waited breathless for Augusta Goold to speak again.
‘Are you prepared’—she seemed to have learnt her question off by heart—‘to give any portion of the money entrusted to you by the Irish people to assist the Boers in their struggle for freedom?’
Mr. Shea, a red-headed member of Parliament from Co. Limerick, being himself one of those most deeply interested in the contents of the party’s purse, sprang to his feet. It was clear that he was in a condition of almost dangerous excitement, for he stammered121, as he shouted to the chairman:
‘Sir, is this—this—this woman to be allowed to interrupt the meeting? I demand her immediate removal.’
Augusta Goold smiled at him. It was really a very gracious, almost a tender, smile. One might imagine the divine Theodora in her earlier days smiling with just such an expression on a plebeian122 lover whose passion she regarded as creditable to him but hopeless.
‘I assure you, Mr. Shea, that I shall not interrupt the business for more than a minute. Mr. O’Rourke has only got to say one word—either Yes or No. Are you prepared to give any portion of the funds entrusted to you by the Irish people to assist the Boers in their struggle for freedom?’
Mr. Shea was not at all mollified either by the smile or the politeness of her tone.
‘We shall not permit the meeting to be interrupted any more,’ he shouted. ‘Either you will withdraw at once, or we shall have you removed by force.’
She smiled at him again—a pitying smile, as if she regretted the petulance123 of his manner, and turned to the chairman.
‘Are you prepared to give——’
Then Mr. Shea’s feelings became too strong for his self-control. He sprang forward, apparently with the intention of laying violent hands upon Augusta Groold. Hyacinth Conneally started up to protect her, and the same impulse moved a large part of the audience. There was a rush for the platform, and a fierce, threatening yell. Mr. Shea hung back, frightened. Augusta Goold held up her hand, and immediately the rush stopped and the people were silent. She went on with her question, taking it up at the exact word which Mr. Shea had interrupted, in the same level and exquisitely124 irritating tone.
‘—Any of the money entrusted to you by the Irish people to assist the Boers in their struggle for freedom?’
Mr. O’Rourke had sat scowling125 silently since the failure of his last attempt to explain himself. This final disjointed repetition of the galling126 question roused him to the necessity of doing something. He was a pitiful sight as he rose and confronted Augusta Goold. There were blotches127 of purple red and spaces of pallor on his face; his hands twisted together; a sweat had broken out from his neck, and made his collar limp. His words were a stammering128 mixture of bluster129 and appeal.
‘You mustn’t—mustn’t—mustn’t interrupt the meeting,’ So far he tried to assert himself, then, with a glance at the contemptuous face of the woman before him, he relapsed into the tone of a schoolboy who begs off the last strokes of a caning131. ‘Is this nice conduct? Is it ladylike to come here and attack us like this? Miss Goold, I’m ashamed of you.’
‘I am glad to hear,’ said Augusta Goold, departing for the first time from her question, ‘that there is anything left in the world that Mr. O’Rourke is ashamed of. I didn’t think there was.’
It was Mr. Shea and not his leader who resented this last insult. His lips drew apart, leaving his teeth bare in a ghastly grin. He clenched132 his fists, and stood for a moment trembling from head to foot. Then he leaped forward towards Augusta Goold. The man who stood next Hyacinth lurched suddenly forward, wrenched133 his right hand free of the crowd round him, and flung it back behind his head. Hyacinth saw that he held a large stone in it.
‘You are a cowardly blackguard, Shea,’ he yelled—‘a damned, cowardly blackguard! Would you strike a woman?’
Shea turned on the instant, saw the hand stretched back to fling the stone. He seized the chair behind him—the very chair which, while an appearance of politeness was still possible, Mr. O’Rourke had offered to Augusta Goold—and flung it with all his force at the man with the stone. One of the legs grazed Hyacinth’s cheek, scraping the skin off. The corner of the seat struck the man beside him full across the forehead just above his eyes. The blood poured out, blinding, and then, as he gasped134, choking him. He reeled and huddled135 together helplessly. He could not fall, for the pressure of the crowd round him held him up. Hyacinth felt his hands groping wildly as if for support, and reached out his own to grasp him. But the man wanted no help for himself. As soon as he felt another hand touch his he pressed the stone into it.
‘I can’t see,’ he whispered hoarsely136. ‘Take it, you, and kill him, kill him, kill him! smash his skull137!’
Hyacinth took the stone. The feel of the man’s blood warm on it and the fierce yelling and stamping of the crowd filled him with a mad lust130 of hate against Shea, who stood as if suddenly paralyzed within a few feet of him. He wrenched his hand free, and with a mighty138 effort flung the stone. He saw it strike Shea fair on the forehead. In spite of the tumult around him, he fancied he heard the dull thud of its impact. He saw Shea fling up his hands and pitch forward. He saw Augusta Goold gather her skirts in her hand, and sweep them swiftly aside lest the man should fall on them. Then the crowd pressing towards the platform swept him off his feet, and he was tossed helplessly forward. A giddy sickness seized him. The pressure slackened for an instant, and he fell. Someone’s boot struck him on the head. He felt without any keen regret that he was likely to be trampled139 to death. Then he lost consciousness.
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enrolling
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| v.招收( enrol的现在分词 )；吸收；入学；加入；[亦作enrol]( enroll的现在分词 )；登记，招收，使入伍（或入会、入学等），参加，成为成员；记入名册；卷起，包起 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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absurdities
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| n.极端无理性( absurdity的名词复数 )；荒谬；谬论；荒谬的行为 | |
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synchronized
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| 同步的 | |
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imprison
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| vt.监禁，关押，限制，束缚 | |
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stipends
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| n.（尤指牧师的）薪俸( stipend的名词复数 ) | |
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arrear
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| n.欠款 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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exhorted
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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lieutenants
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| n.陆军中尉( lieutenant的名词复数 )；副职官员；空军；仅低于…官阶的官员 | |
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leaven
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| v.使发酵；n.酵母；影响 | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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rotunda
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| n.圆形建筑物；圆厅 | |
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subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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fanaticism
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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fad
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| n.时尚；一时流行的狂热；一时的爱好 | |
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obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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35
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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36
publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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37
relegate
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| v.使降级，流放，移交，委任 | |
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38
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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39
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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40
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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41
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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42
conundrum
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| n.谜语；难题 | |
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43
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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44
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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45
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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46
competence
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| n.能力，胜任，称职 | |
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47
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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48
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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49
infamies
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| n.声名狼藉( infamy的名词复数 )；臭名；丑恶；恶行 | |
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50
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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51
metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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52
batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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53
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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54
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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55
sedition
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| n.煽动叛乱 | |
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56
advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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57
harried
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| v.使苦恼( harry的过去式和过去分词 )；不断烦扰；一再袭击；侵扰 | |
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58
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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59
augured
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| v.预示，预兆，预言( augur的过去式和过去分词 )；成为预兆；占卜 | |
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60
apathetic
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| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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61
plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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62
platitudes
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| n.平常的话，老生常谈，陈词滥调( platitude的名词复数 )；滥套子 | |
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63
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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64
gibe
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| n.讥笑；嘲弄 | |
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65
metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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66
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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67
oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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68
anticlimax
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| n.令人扫兴的结局；突降法 | |
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69
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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70
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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71
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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72
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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73
oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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74
quell
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| v.压制，平息，减轻 | |
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75
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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76
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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77
tormentor
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| n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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78
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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79
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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80
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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81
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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82
endorsed
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| vt.& vi.endorse的过去式或过去分词形式v.赞同( endorse的过去式和过去分词 )；在（尤指支票的）背面签字；在（文件的）背面写评论；在广告上说本人使用并赞同某产品 | |
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83
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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84
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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85
discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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86
windbag
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| n.风囊，饶舌之人，好说话的人 | |
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87
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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88
mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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89
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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90
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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91
scavenger
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| n.以腐尸为食的动物，清扫工 | |
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92
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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93
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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94
jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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95
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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96
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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97
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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99
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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100
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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101
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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103
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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104
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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105
convened
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| 召开( convene的过去式 )； 召集； （为正式会议而）聚集； 集合 | |
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106
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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107
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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109
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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110
plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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111
subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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112
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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113
predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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114
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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116
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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117
articulation
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| n.（清楚的）发音；清晰度，咬合 | |
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118
goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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119
bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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120
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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121
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
plebeian
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| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
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123
petulance
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| n.发脾气，生气，易怒，暴躁，性急 | |
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124
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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125
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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126
galling
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| adj.难堪的,使烦恼的,使焦躁的 | |
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127
blotches
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| n.（皮肤上的）红斑，疹块( blotch的名词复数 )；大滴 [大片]（墨水或颜色的）污渍 | |
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128
stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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129
bluster
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| v.猛刮；怒冲冲的说；n.吓唬，怒号；狂风声 | |
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130
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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131
caning
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| n.鞭打 | |
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132
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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134
gasped
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| 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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135
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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136
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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137
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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138
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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139
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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