It was therefore no wonder that the nuns9 had decked their convent with all possible splendour. On each side of the iron gateway10 was a flag-post. From the top of one fluttered the green banner of Ireland, with its gold harp11 and a great crown over it. From the other hung the union Jack12, emblem13 of that marriage of nationalities for whose consummation eight centuries have not sufficed. It was hoisted14 upside down—not with intentional15 disrespect, but because Sister Gertrude, who superintended this part of the decorations, had long ago renounced16 the world, and did not remember that the tangled17 crosses had a top or a bottom to them. Between the posts hung a festoon of signalling flags, long pointed18 strips of bunting with red balls or blue on them. The central streamer just tipped as it fluttered the top of the iron cross which marked the religious nature of the gateway. The straight gravel19 walk inside was covered with red baize, and on each side of it were planted tapering20 poles, round which crimson21 and white muslin circled in alternate stripes, giving them the appearance of huge old-fashioned sugar-sticks. These added to the gaiety of the scene, though it cannot be supposed that they were of any actual use. The most bewildered visitor was hardly likely to stray off the red baize or miss his way to the door in front of him. Within the great entrance-hall were palms and flowering shrubs22 in pots or tubs. The mosaic23 flooring, imported from Italy, and a source of pride to all the Sisters, shone with much washing and polishing. The Madonna with the blue eyes and the golden crown, before which even Bishops24 crossed themselves, was less in evidence than usual, for the expected guests were mostly heretics. She stood retired25 behind the flower-pots, and veiled her benignity26 with the leaves of palms.
Right and left of the hall stretched corridors, whose shining parquet27 invited the curious to explore the working-rooms and eating-rooms which lay beyond. The door of the chapel stood open, and offered a vision of simpering angels crowding the canvas of the altar-piece, a justly-admired specimen28 of German religious art. Before it, dimly seen, two nuns knelt, types of conventual piety29, absorbed in spiritual contemplation amid the tumult30 of the world’s invasion of their sanctuary31. Another door led to the garden. Here a fountain played into a great stone basin, and neat gravel walks intersected each other at sharp angles among flower-beds. The grass which lay around the maze32 of paths was sacred as a rule, even from the list slippers33 of the nuns, but to-day booths stood on it like stalls at a charity bazaar34, hung with tweeds, blankets, and stockings. A tall Calvary lowered incongruously over one. An inferior Madonna, deposed35 from her old station in the entrance-hall, presided in a weather-beaten blue robe over another.
Beyond the garden, blocked off from it by a white wall, lay the factory itself, the magnet which was drawing the great of the earth to the nunnery. Here were the workers, all of them bright young women, smiling pleasantly and well washed for the occasion. They were dressed in neat violet petticoats and white blouses, with shawls thrown back from their heads, a glorified36 presentment of the Mayo woman’s working dress. Here and there, a touch of realism creditable to the Reverend Mother’s talent for stage management, one sat in bare feet—not, of course, dust or mud stained, as bare feet are apt to be in Connaught, but clean. The careful observer of detail might have been led to suppose that the Sisters improved upon the practice of the Holy Father himself, and daily washed the feet of the poor.
Everywhere fresh-complexioned, gentle-faced nuns flitted silently about. The brass37 crosses pendent over their breasts relieved with a single glitter the sombre folds of their robes. Snowy coifs, which had cost the industrial schoolgirls of a sister house hours of labour and many tears, shone, glazed38 and unwrinkled, round their heads. Even the youngest of them had acquired the difficult art of walking gracefully39 with her hands folded in front of her.
At about two o’clock the visitors began to arrive, although the train from Dublin which was to bring the very elect was not due for another half-hour. Lady Geoghegan, grown pleasantly stout40 and cheerfully benignant, came by a local train, and rejoiced the eyes of beholders with a dress made of one of the convent tweeds. Sir Gerald followed her, awkward and unwilling41. He had been dragged with difficulty from his books and the society of his children, and was doubtful whether a cigar in a nunnery garden might not be counted sacrilege. With them was a wonderful person—an English priest: it was thus he described himself—whom Lady Geoghegan had met in Yorkshire. His charming manners and good Church principles had won her favour and earned him the holiday he was enjoying at Clogher House. He was arrayed in a pair of gray trousers, a white shirt, and a blazer with the arms of Brazenose College embroidered42 on the pocket, his sacerdotal character being marked only by his collar. He leaped gaily43 from the car which brought them from the station, and, as he assisted his hostess to alight, amazed the little crowd around the gate by chaffing the driver in an entirely44 unknown tongue. The good man had an ear for music, and plumed45 himself on his ability to pick up any dialect he heard—Scotch, Yorkshire, or Irish brogue. The driver was bewildered, but smiled pleasantly. He realized that the gentleman was a foreigner, and since the meaning of his speech was not clear, it was quite likely that he might be hazy46 about the value of money and the rates of car hire.
The Duchess of Drummin came in her landau. Like Lady Geoghegan, she marked the national and industrial nature of the occasion in her attire47. At much personal inconvenience, for the day was warm, she wore a long cloak of rich brown tweed, adorned48 with rows of large leather-covered buttons. Lady Josephine Maguire fluttered after her. She had bidden her maid disguise a dress, neither Irish nor homespun, with as much Carrickmacross lace as could be attached to it. Lord Eustace, who represented his father, appeared in all the glory of a silk hat and a frock-coat. He eyed Sir Gerald’s baggy49 trousers and shabby wideawake with contempt, and turned away his eyes from beholding50 the vanity of obviously bad form when he came face to face with the English priest in his blazer.
A smiling nun8 took charge of each party as it arrived. Lady Geoghegan plied51 hers with questions, and received a series of quite uninforming answers. Her husband followed her, bent52 principally upon escaping from the precincts if he could. Already he was bored, and he knew that speeches from great men were in store for him if he were forced to linger. The Duchess of Drummin eyed each object presented to her notice gravely through long-handled glasses, but gave her attendant nun very little conversational53 help. Lady Josephine made every effort to be intelligent, and inquired in a dormitory where the looking-glasses were. She was amazed to hear that the nuns did, or failed to do, their hair—the head-dresses concealed54 the result of their efforts—without mirrors. Lord Eustace was preoccupied55. Amid his unaccustomed surroundings he walked uncertain whether to keep his hat on his head or hold it in his hands. The English priest, whose name was Austin, got detached from Lady Geoghegan, and picked up a stray nun for himself. She took him, by his own request, straight to the chapel. He crossed himself with elaborate care on entering, and knelt for a moment before the altar. The nun was delighted.
‘So you, too, are a Catholic?’
‘Certainly,’ he replied briskly—‘an English Catholic.’
‘Ah! many of our priests go to England. Perhaps you have met Father O’Connell. He is on a London mission.’
‘No,’ said Mr. Austin, ‘I do not happen to have met him. My church is in Yorkshire.’
The nun gazed at him in amazement56.
‘Your church! Then you are——
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I am a priest.’
Her eyes slowly travelled over him. They began at the gray trousers, passed to the blazer, resting a moment on the college arms, which certainly suggested the ecclesiastical, and remained fixed57 on his collar. After all, why should she, a humble58 nun, doubt his word when he said he was a priest? Perhaps he might belong to some order of which she had never heard. Eccentricities59 of costume might be forced on the English clergy60 by Protestant intolerance. She smothered61 her uncertainty62, and took him at his word. They went together into the garden. Mr. Austin took off his hat before the tarnished63 Madonna, and crossed himself again. The nun’s doubts vanished.
‘I think,’ he said, ‘that I should like to buy some of this tweed. Is it for sale?’
‘Oh, certainly. Sister Aloysia will sell it to you. We are so glad, so very glad, when anyone will buy what our poor workers make. It is all a help to the good cause.’
‘Now this,’ said Mr. Austin, fingering a bright-green cloth, ‘would make a nice lady’s dress. Don’t you think so?’
The nun cast down her eyes.
‘I do not know, Father, about dresses. Sister Aloysia, the Reverend Father wants to buy tweed to make a dress for ‘—she hesitated; perhaps it was his niece, but he looked young to have a full-grown niece—‘for his sister.’
Sister Aloysia looked round her, puzzled. She saw no Reverend Father.
‘This,’ said the other, ‘is Father—Father——’
‘Austin,’ he helped her out.
‘Father Austin,’ added the nun.
‘And you wish,’ said Sister Aloysia, ‘to buy a dress for your sister?’
‘Not for my sister,’ said Mr. Austin—‘for my wife.’
Both nuns started back as if he had tried to strike them.
‘Your wife! Your wife! Then you are a Protestant.’
‘Certainly not,’ he said. ‘I detest64 all Protestants. I am a Catholic—an Anglo-Catholic.’
Neither of the nuns had ever heard of an Anglo-Catholic before. What manner of religion such people might profess65 was doubtful and unimportant. One thing was clear—this was not a priest in any sense of the word which they could recognise. They distrusted him, as a wolf, not certainly in the clothing, but using the language, of a sheep. The situation became embarrassing. Mr. Austin prepared to bow himself away.
‘I think,’ he said, ‘I shall ask Lady Geoghegan’—he rolled the title out emphatically; it formed a salve to his wounded dignity—‘I shall ask Lady Geoghegan to purchase the tweed for me. I must be on the look-out for a friend who promised to meet me here this afternoon—a young man whom I contemplate66 engaging as my curate. I am most particular in the choice of a curate, and should, of course, prefer a public school and ‘Varsity man. I need scarcely say that I refer only to Oxford67 and Cambridge as the Universities. As a rule, I do not care for Irishmen, but on the recommendation of my friend Dr. Henry, I am willing to consider this Mr. Conneally.’
It seemed to Mr. Austin that a preference for the English Universities, the friendship of a distinguished68 professor, a contempt for the mere69 Irishman, and a titled hostess ought to restore the respect he had forfeited70 by the mention of his wife. Curiously71 enough, and this shows the disadvantage of a monastic seclusion72 from the world, the nuns remained unimpressed. The conception of a married priest was too much for them. As he walked away Mr. Austin heard Sister Aloysia murmur73:
‘How very indecent!’
Meanwhile, the train from Dublin had arrived, and Mr. Austin, when he returned after his interview with Hyacinth, found that even the two nuns he had victimized had forgotten him in the excitement of gazing at more important visitors. Mr. Justice Saunders, a tall, stout man with a florid face, made a tour of the factory under the charge of one of the senior Sisters. He took little notice of what he was shown, being mainly bent on explaining to his escort how he came to be known in legal circles as ‘Satan Saunders.’ Afterwards he added a tale of how he had once bluffed74 a crowd in an out-of-the-way country town into giving three cheers for the Queen.
‘You’re all loyal here,’ he said. ‘I saw the union Jack flying over the gate as I came in.’
The nun smiled, a slow, enigmatic smile, and the Judge, watching her, was struck by her innocence75 and simplicity76.
‘Surely,’ she said, ‘the Church must always be loyal.’
‘Well, I’m not so sure of that. I’ve met a few firebrands of priests in my time.’
‘Oh, those!’ she said with a shrug77 of her shoulders. ‘You must not think of them. It will always be easy to keep them in order when the time comes. They spring from the cabins. What can you expect of them? But the Church—— Can the Church fail of respect for the Sovereign?’
Mr. Clifford and Mr. Davis followed Judge Saunders. They were members of the Congested Districts Board, and it was clear from the manner of the nun who escorted them that they were guests of very considerable importance in her estimation. Mr. Clifford was an Englishman who had been imported to assist in governing Ireland because he was married to the sister of the Chief Secretary’s wife. He was otherwise qualified78 for the task by possessing a fair knowledge of the points of a horse. He believed that he knew Ireland and the Irish people thoroughly79.
His colleague, Mr. Davis, was a man of quite a different stamp. The son of a Presbyterian farmer in County Tyrone, he had joined the Irish Parliamentary party, and made himself particularly objectionable in Westminster. He had devoted80 his talents to discovering and publishing the principles upon which appointments to lucrative81 posts are made by the officials in Dublin Castle. It was found convenient at last to provide him with a salary and a seat on the Congested Districts Board. Thus he found himself engaged in ameliorating the lot of the Connaught peasants. Mr. Clifford used to describe him as ‘a bit of a bounder—in fact, a complete outsider—but no fool.’ His estimate of Mr. Clifford was perhaps less complimentary82.
‘Every business,’ he used to say, ‘must have at least one gentleman in it to do the entertaining and the dining out. We have Mr. Clifford. He’s a first-rate man at one of the Lord Lieutenant’s balls.’
A professor from Trinity College was one of the two guests conducted by the Reverend Mother herself. Nominally83 this learned gentleman existed for the purpose of impressing upon the world the beauties of Latin poetry, but he was best known to fame as an orator84 on the platforms of the Primrose85 League, and a writer of magazine articles on Irish questions. He was a man who owed his success in life largely to his faculty87 for always keeping beside the most important person present. The Lord Lieutenant, being slightly indisposed, had been unable to make an early start, so the most honourable88 stranger was Mr. Chesney, the Chief Secretary. To him Professor Cairns attached himself, and received a share of the Reverend Mother’s blandishments.
Mr. Chesney himself was dapper and smiling as usual. Even the early hour at which he had been obliged to leave home had neither ruffled89 his temper nor withered90 the flower in his buttonhole. He spent his money generously at the various stalls in the garden, addressed friendly remarks to the women in the factory, and asked the questions with which Mr. Davis had primed him in the train.
Quite a crowd of minor91 people followed the great statesman. There were barristers who hoped to become County Court Judges, and ladies who enjoyed a novel kind of occasion for displaying their clothes, hoping to see their names afterwards in the newspaper accounts of the proceedings92. There were a few foremen from leading Dublin shops, who foresaw the possibility of a fashionable boom in Robeen tweeds and flannels93. There were also reporters from the Dublin papers, and a representative—Miss O’Dwyer—of a syndicate which supplied ladies’ journals with accounts of the clothes worn at fashionable functions.
The supreme94 moment of the day arrived when the company assembled to listen to words of wisdom from the orators95 selected to address them. Seats had been provided by carting in forms from the neighbouring national schools. A handsomely-carved chair of ecclesiastical design awaited Mr. Chesney.
He opened his speech by assuring his audience that there was no occasion for him to address them at all, a truth which struck home to the heart of Sir Gerald, who was trying to arrange himself comfortably at a desk designed for a class of infants.
‘Facts,’ Mr. Chesney explained himself, ‘are more eloquent96 than words. You have seen what I could never have described to you—the contented97 workers in this factory and the artistic98 designs of the fabrics99 they weave. Many of you remember what Robeen was a few years ago—a howling wilderness100. We are told on high authority that even the wilderness shall blossom as a rose.’
He bowed in the direction of the Reverend Mother, possibly with a feeling that it was suitable to acknowledge her presence when quoting Holy Writ86, possibly with a vague idea that she might consider herself a spiritual descendant of the Prophet Isaiah. ‘You see it now a hive of happy industry.’
He observed with pleasure that the reporters were busy with their note-books, and he knew that these editors of public utterance101 might be relied on to unravel102 a tangled metaphor103 before publishing a speech. He went on light-heartedly, confident that in the next day’s papers his wilderness would blossom into something else, and that the hive, if it appeared at all, would be arrived at by some other process than blossoming. The habit of rolling out agreeable platitudes104 to audiences forced to listen is one which grows on public men as dram-drinking does on the common herd105. Mr. Chesney was evidently enjoying himself, and there seemed no reason why he should ever stop. He could, and perhaps would, have gone on for hours but for the offensive way in which Judge Saunders snapped the case of his watch at the end of every period. There was really no hurry, for the special train which was to bring them back to Dublin would certainly wait until they were ready for it. Mr. Chesney felt aggrieved106 at the repeated interruption, and closed his speech without giving the audience the benefit of his peroration107.
The Judge came next, and began with reminding his hearers that he was known as ‘Satan Saunders.’ An account of the origin of the name followed, and was enjoyed even by those who had listened to the Judge’s oratory108 before, and therefore knew the story. There was something piquant109, almost risqué, in the constant repetition of a really wicked word like ‘Satan’ in the halls of a nunnery. The audience laughed reassuringly110, and the Judge went on to supply fresh pabulum for mirth by suggesting that the Reverend Mother should clothe her nuns in their own tweeds. He was probably right in supposing that the new costumes would add a gaiety to the religious life. Other jests followed, and he sat down amid a flutter of applause after promising111 that when he next presided over the Winter Assizes in a draughty court-house he would send for a Robeen blanket and wrap his legs in it.
Mr. Clifford, who followed the Judge, began by wondering whether anyone present had ever been in Lancashire. After a pause, during which no one owned to having crossed the Channel, he said that Lancashire was the home of the modern factory. There every man and woman earned good wages, wore excellent clothes, and lived in a house fitted with hot and cold water taps and a gas-meter. It was his hope to see Mayo turned into another Lancashire. When ladies of undoubted commercial ability, like the Lady Abbess who presided over the Robeen convent—Lady Abbess sounded well, and Mr. Clifford was not strong on ecclesiastical titles—took the matter up, success was assured. All that was required for the development of the factory system in Mayo was capital, and that ‘we, the Congested Districts Board, are in a position to supply.’ With the help of some prompting from Mr. Davis, he proceeded to lay before the audience a few figures purporting112 to explain the Board’s expenditure113.
Professor Cairns was evidently anxious to follow Mr. Clifford, if only in the humble capacity of the proposer of a vote of thanks. But his name was not on the programme, and Mr. Chesney was already engaged in a whispered conversation with the Reverend Mother. Ignoring the professor, almost rudely, he announced that the company in general was invited to tea in the dining-room.
The refreshments114 provided, if not substantial, were admirable in quality. There happened just then to be a young lady engaged, at the expense of the County Council, in teaching cookery in a neighbouring convent. She was sent over to Robeen for the occasion, and made a number of delightful115 cakes at extremely small expense. The workers in the factory had given the butter she required as a thank-offering, and the necessary eggs came from another convent where the nuns, with financial assistance from the Congested Districts Board, kept a poultry-farm. The Reverend Mother dispensed116 her hospitality with the same air of generosity117 with which Mr. Clifford had spoken of providing capital for the future ecclesiastical factories.
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1
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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2
recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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holders
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| 支持物( holder的名词复数 )； 持有者； （支票等）持有人； 支托（或握持）…之物 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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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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8
nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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10
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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13
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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14
hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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intentional
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| adj.故意的，有意（识）的 | |
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renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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tapering
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| adj.尖端细的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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mosaic
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| n./adj.镶嵌细工的，镶嵌工艺品的，嵌花式的 | |
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bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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25
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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benignity
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| n.仁慈 | |
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parquet
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| n.镶木地板 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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deposed
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| v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 )；（在法庭上）宣誓作证 | |
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glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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41
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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45
plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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46
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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47
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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48
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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49
baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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50
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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51
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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52
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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53
conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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54
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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56
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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bluffed
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| 以假象欺骗，吹牛( bluff的过去式和过去分词 )； 以虚张声势找出或达成 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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lucrative
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| adj.赚钱的，可获利的 | |
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complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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nominally
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| 在名义上，表面地； 应名儿 | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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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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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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ruffled
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| 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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withered
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| 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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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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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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orators
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| n.演说者，演讲家( orator的名词复数 ) | |
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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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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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fabrics
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| 织物( fabric的名词复数 )； 布； 构造； （建筑物的）结构（如墙、地面、屋顶）：质地 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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102
unravel
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| v.弄清楚（秘密）；拆开，解开，松开 | |
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metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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104
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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105
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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aggrieved
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| 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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107
peroration
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| n.（演说等之）结论 | |
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oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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109
piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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110
reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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111
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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112
purporting
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| v.声称是…，（装得）像是…的样子( purport的现在分词 ) | |
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113
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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114
refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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115
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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116
dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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117
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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