"And which they secure for the most part (except from hotel clerks), even in this republican land," I answered briskly.
For in my humble1 opinion, for sound copper-bottomed snobbery2, registered A1 at Lloyd's, give me the free-born American citizen.
We travelled through the States, accordingly, for the next four months, from Maine to California, and from Oregon to Florida, under our own true names, "Confirming the churches," as Charles facetiously3 put it—or in other words, looking into the management and control of railways, syndicates, mines, and cattle-ranches5. We inquired about everything. And the result of our investigations6 appeared to be, as Charles further remarked, that the Sabeans who so troubled the sons of Job seemed to have migrated in a body to Kansas and Nebraska, and that several thousand head of cattle seemed mysteriously to vanish, à la Colonel Clay, into the pure air of the prairies just before each branding.
However, we were fortunate in avoiding the incursions of the Colonel himself, who must have migrated meanwhile on some enchanted7 carpet to other happy hunting-grounds.
It was chill October before we found ourselves safe back in New York, en route for England. So long a term of freedom from the Colonel's depredations8 (as Charles fondly imagined—but I will not anticipate) had done my brother-in-law's health and spirits a world of good; he was so lively and cheerful that he began to fancy his tormentor9 must have succumbed10 to yellow fever, then raging in New Orleans, or eaten himself ill, as we nearly did ourselves, on a generous mixture of clam-chowder, terrapin11, soft-shelled crabs12, Jersey13 peaches, canvas-backed ducks, Catawba wine, winter cherries, brandy cocktails14, strawberry-shortcake, ice-creams, corn-dodger, and a judicious16 brew17 commonly known as a Colorado corpse-reviver. However that may be, Charles returned to New York in excellent trim; and, dreading18 in that great city the wiles19 of his antagonist20, he cheerfully accepted the invitation of his brother millionaire, Senator Wrengold of Nevada, to spend a few days before sailing in the Senator's magnificent and newly-finished palace at the upper end of Fifth Avenue.
"There, at least, I shall be safe, Sey," he said to me plaintively21, with a weary smile. "Wrengold, at any rate, won't try to take me in—except, of course, in the regular way of business."
Boss-Nugget Hall (as it is popularly christened) is perhaps the handsomest brown stone mansion22 in the Richardsonian style on all Fifth Avenue. We spent a delightful23 week there. The lines had fallen to us in pleasant places. On the night we arrived Wrengold gave a small bachelor party in our honour. He knew Sir Charles was travelling without Lady Vandrift, and rightly judged he would prefer on his first night an informal party, with cards and cigars, instead of being bothered with the charming, but still somewhat hampering24 addition of female society.
The guests that evening were no more than seven, all told, ourselves included—making up, Wrengold said, that perfect number, an octave. He was a nouveau riche himself—the newest of the new—commonly known in exclusive old-fashioned New York society as the Gilded25 Squatter26; for he "struck his reef" no more than ten years ago; and he was therefore doubly anxious, after the American style, to be "just dizzy with culture." In his capacity of M?cenas, he had invited amongst others the latest of English literary arrivals in New York—Mr. Algernon Coleyard, the famous poet, and leader of the Briar-rose school of West-country fiction.
"You know him in London, of course?" he observed to Charles, with a smile, as we waited dinner for our guests.
"No," Charles answered stolidly27. "I have not had that honour. We move, you see, in different circles."
I observed by a curious shade which passed over Senator Wrengold's face that he quite misapprehended my brother-in-law's meaning. Charles wished to convey, of course, that Mr. Coleyard belonged to a mere28 literary and Bohemian set in London, while he himself moved on a more exalted29 plane of peers and politicians. But the Senator, better accustomed to the new-rich point of view, understood Charles to mean that he had not the entrée of that distinguished30 coterie31 in which Mr. Coleyard posed as a shining luminary32. Which naturally made him rate even higher than before his literary acquisition.
At two minutes past the hour the poet entered. Even if we had not been already familiar with his portrait at all ages in The Strand33 Magazine, we should have recognised him at once for a genuine bard34 by his impassioned eyes, his delicate mouth, the artistic35 twirl of one gray lock upon his expansive brow, the grizzled moustache that gave point and force to the genial36 smile, and the two white rows of perfect teeth behind it. Most of our fellow-guests had met Coleyard before at a reception given by the Lotus Club that afternoon, for the bard had reached New York but the previous evening; so Charles and I were the only visitors who remained to be introduced to him. The lion of the hour was attired37 in ordinary evening dress, with no foppery of any kind, but he wore in his buttonhole a dainty blue flower whose name I do not know; and as he bowed distantly to Charles, whom he surveyed through his eyeglass, the gleam of a big diamond in the middle of his shirt-front betrayed the fact that the Briar-rose school, as it was called (from his famous epic), had at least succeeded in making money out of poetry. He explained to us a little later, in fact, that he was over in New York to look after his royalties38. "The beggars," he said, "only gave me eight hundred pounds on my last volume. I couldn't stand that, you know; for a modern bard, moving with the age, can only sing when duly wound up; so I've run across to investigate. Put a penny in the slot, don't you see, and the poet will pipe for you."
"Exactly like myself," Charles said, finding a point in common. "I'm interested in mines; and I, too, have come over to look after my royalties."
The poet placed his eyeglass in his eye once more, and surveyed Charles deliberately39 from head to foot. "Oh," he murmured slowly. He said not a word more; but somehow, everybody felt that Charles was demolished41. I saw that Wrengold, when we went in to dinner, hastily altered the cards that marked their places. He had evidently put Charles at first to sit next the poet; he varied42 that arrangement now, setting Algernon Coleyard between a railway king and a magazine editor. I have seldom seen my respected brother-in-law so completely silenced.
The poet's conduct during dinner was most peculiar43. He kept quoting poetry at inopportune moments.
"Roast lamb or boiled turkey, sir?" said the footman.
"Mary had a little lamb," said the poet. "I shall imitate Mary."
Charles and the Senator thought the remark undignified.
After dinner, however, under the mellowing44 influence of some excellent Roederer, Charles began to expand again, and grew lively and anecdotal. The poet had made us all laugh not a little with various capital stories of London literary society—at least two of them, I think, new ones; and Charles was moved by generous emulation45 to contribute his own share to the amusement of the company. He was in excellent cue. He is not often brilliant; but when he chooses, he has a certain dry vein46 of caustic47 humour which is decidedly funny, though not perhaps strictly48 without being vulgar. On this particular night, then, warmed with the admirable Wrengold champagne—the best made in America—he launched out into a full and embroidered49 description of the various ways in which Colonel Clay had deceived him. I will not say that he narrated50 them in full with the same frankness and accuracy that I have shown in these pages; he suppressed not a few of the most amusing details—on no other ground, apparently52, than because they happened to tell against himself; and he enlarged a good deal on the surprising cleverness with which several times he had nearly secured his man; but still, making all allowances for native vanity in concealment53 and addition, he was distinctly funny—he represented the matter for once in its ludicrous rather than in its disastrous54 aspect. He observed also, looking around the table, that after all he had lost less by Colonel Clay in four years of persecution55 than he often lost by one injudicious move in a single day on the London Stock Exchange; while he seemed to imply to the solid men of New York, that he would cheerfully sacrifice such a fleabite as that, in return for the amusement and excitement of the chase which the Colonel had afforded him.
The poet was pleased. "You are a man of spirit, Sir Charles," he said. "I love to see this fine old English admiration56 of pluck and adventure! The fellow must really have some good in him, after all. I should like to take notes of a few of those stories; they would supply nice material for basing a romance upon."
"I hardly know whether I'm exactly the man to make the hero of a novel," Charles murmured, with complacence. And he certainly didn't look it.
"I was thinking rather of Colonel Clay as the hero," the poet responded coldly.
"Ah, that's the way with you men of letters," Charles answered, growing warm. "You always have a sneaking57 sympathy with the rascals59."
"That may be better," Coleyard retorted, in an icy voice, "than sympathy with the worst forms of Stock Exchange speculation60."
The company smiled uneasily. The railway king wriggled61. Wrengold tried to change the subject hastily. But Charles would not be put down.
"You must hear the end, though," he said. "That's not quite the worst. The meanest thing about the man is that he's also a hypocrite. He wrote me such a letter at the end of his last trick—here, positively62 here, in America." And he proceeded to give his own version of the Quackenboss incident, enlivened with sundry63 imaginative bursts of pure Vandrift fancy.
When Charles spoke64 of Mrs. Quackenboss the poet smiled. "The worst of married women," he said, "is—that you can't marry them; the worst of unmarried women is—that they want to marry you." But when it came to the letter, the poet's eye was upon my brother-in-law. Charles, I must fain admit, garbled65 the document sadly. Still, even so, some gleam of good feeling remained in its sentences. But Charles ended all by saying, "So, to crown his misdemeanours, the rascal58 shows himself a whining66 cur and a disgusting Pharisee."
"Don't you think," the poet interposed, in his cultivated drawl, "he may have really meant it? Why should not some grain of compunction have stirred his soul still?—some remnant of conscience made him shrink from betraying a man who confided67 in him? I have an idea, myself, that even the worst of rogues68 have always some good in them. I notice they often succeed to the end in retaining the affection and fidelity69 of women."
"Oh, I said so!" Charles sneered71. "I told you you literary men have always an underhand regard for a scoundrel."
"Perhaps so," the poet answered. "For we are all of us human. Let him that is without sin among us cast the first stone." And then he relapsed into moody72 silence.
We rose from table. Cigars went round. We adjourned73 to the smoking-room. It was a Moorish74 marvel75, with Oriental hangings. There, Senator Wrengold and Charles exchanged reminiscences of bonanzas76 and ranches and other exciting post-prandial topics; while the magazine editor cut in now and again with a pertinent77 inquiry78 or a quaint79 and sarcastic80 parallel instance. It was clear he had an eye to future copy. Only Algernon Coleyard sat brooding and silent, with his chin on one hand, and his brow intent, musing51 and gazing at the embers in the fireplace. The hand, by the way, was remarkable81 for a curious, antique-looking ring, apparently of Egyptian or Etruscan workmanship, with a projecting gem4 of several large facets82. Once only, in the midst of a game of whist, he broke out with a single comment.
"Hawkins was made an earl," said Charles, speaking of some London acquaintance.
"What for?" asked the Senator.
"Successful adulteration," said the poet tartly83.
"Honours are easy," the magazine editor put in.
"And two by tricks to Sir Charles," the poet added.
Towards the close of the evening, however—the poet still remaining moody, not to say positively grumpy—Senator Wrengold proposed a friendly game of Swedish poker84. It was the latest fashionable variant85 in Western society on the old gambling86 round, and few of us knew it, save the omniscient87 poet and the magazine editor. It turned out afterwards that Wrengold proposed that particular game because he had heard Coleyard observe at the Lotus Club the same afternoon that it was a favourite amusement of his. Now, however, for a while he objected to playing. He was a poor man, he said, and the rest were all rich; why should he throw away the value of a dozen golden sonnets88 just to add one more pinnacle89 to the gilded roofs of a millionaire's palace? Besides, he was half-way through with an ode he was inditing90 to Republican simplicity91. The pristine92 austerity of a democratic senatorial cottage had naturally inspired him with memories of Dentatus, the Fabii, Camillus. But Wrengold, dimly aware he was being made fun of somehow, insisted that the poet must take a hand with the financiers. "You can pass, you know," he said, "as often as you like; and you can stake low, or go it blind, according as you're inclined to. It's a democratic game; every man decides for himself how high he will play, except the banker; and you needn't take bank unless you want it."
"Oh, if you insist upon it," Coleyard drawled out, with languid reluctance93, "I'll play, of course. I won't spoil your evening. But remember, I'm a poet; I have strange inspirations."
The cards were "squeezers"—that is to say, had the suit and the number of pips in each printed small in the corner, as well as over the face, for ease of reference. We played low at first. The poet seldom staked; and when he did—a few pounds—he lost, with singular persistence94. He wanted to play for doubloons or sequins, and could with difficulty be induced to condescend95 to dollars. Charles looked across at him at last; the stakes by that time were fast rising higher, and we played for ready money. Notes lay thick on the green cloth. "Well," he murmured provokingly, "how about your inspiration? Has Apollo deserted96 you?"
It was an unwonted flight of classical allusion97 for Charles, and I confess it astonished me. (I discovered afterwards he had cribbed it from a review in that evening's Critic.) But the poet smiled.
"No," he answered calmly, "I am waiting for one now. When it comes, you may be sure you shall have the benefit of it."
Next round, Charles dealing98 and banking99, the poet staked on his card, unseen as usual. He staked like a gentleman. To our immense astonishment100 he pulled out a roll of notes, and remarked, in a quiet tone, "I have an inspiration now. Half-hearted will do. I go five thousand." That was dollars, of course; but it amounted to a thousand pounds in English money—high play for an author.
Charles smiled and turned his card. The poet turned his—and won a thousand.
"Good shot!" Charles murmured, pretending not to mind, though he detests101 losing.
"Inspiration!" the poet mused102, and looked once more abstracted.
Charles dealt again. The poet watched the deal with boiled-fishy eyes. His thoughts were far away. His lips moved audibly. "Myrtle, and kirtle, and hurtle," he muttered. "They'll do for three. Then there's turtle, meaning dove; and that finishes the possible. Laurel and coral make a very bad rhyme. Try myrtle; don't you think so?"
"Do you stake?" Charles asked, severely103, interrupting his reverie.
The poet started. "No, pass," he replied, looking down at his card, and subsided104 into muttering. We caught a tremor105 of his lips again, and heard something like this: "Not less but more republican than thou, Half-hearted watcher by the Western sea, After long years I come to visit thee, And test thy fealty106 to that maiden107 vow108, That bound thee in thy budding prime For Freedom's bride—"
"Stake?" Charles interrupted, inquiringly, again.
"Yes, five thousand," the poet answered dreamily, pushing forward his pile of notes, and never ceasing from his murmur40: "For Freedom's bride to all succeeding time. Succeeding; succeeding; weak word, succeeding. Couldn't go five dollars on it."
Charles turned his card once more. The poet had won again. Charles passed over his notes. The poet raked them in with a far-away air, as one who looks at infinity109, and asked if he could borrow a pencil and paper. He had a few priceless lines to set down which might otherwise escape him.
"This is play," Charles said pointedly110. "Will you kindly111 attend to one thing or the other?"
The poet glanced at him with a compassionate112 smile. "I told you I had inspirations," he said. "They always come together. I can't win your money as fast as I would like, unless at the same time I am making verses. Whenever I hit upon a good epithet113, I back my luck, don't you see? I won a thousand on half-hearted and a thousand on budding; if I were to back succeeding, I should lose, to a certainty. You understand my system?"
"I call it pure rubbish," Charles answered. "However, continue. Systems were made for fools—and to suit wise men. Sooner or later you must lose at such a stupid fancy."
The poet continued. "For Freedom's bride to all ensuing time."
"Stake!" Charles cried sharply. We each of us staked.
"Ensuing," the poet murmured. "To all ensuing time. First-rate epithet that. I go ten thousand, Sir Charles, on ensuing."
We all turned up. Some of us lost, some won; but the poet had secured his two thousand sterling114.
"I haven't that amount about me," Charles said, in that austerely115 nettled116 voice which he always assumes when he loses at cards; "but—I'll settle it with you to-morrow."
"Another round?" the host asked, beaming.
"No, thank you," Charles answered; "Mr. Coleyard's inspirations come too pat for my taste. His luck beats mine. I retire from the game, Senator."
Just at that moment a servant entered, bearing a salver, with a small note in an envelope. "For Mr. Coleyard," he observed; "and the messenger said, urgent."
Coleyard tore it open hurriedly. I could see he was agitated117. His face grew white at once.
"I—I beg your pardon," he said. "I—I must go back instantly. My wife is dangerously ill—quite a sudden attack. Forgive me, Senator. Sir Charles, you shall have your revenge to-morrow."
It was clear that his voice faltered118. We felt at least he was a man of feeling. He was obviously frightened. His coolness forsook119 him. He shook hands as in a dream, and rushed downstairs for his dust-coat. Almost as he closed the front door, a new guest entered, just missing him in the vestibule.
"Halloa, you men," he said, "we've been taken in, do you know? It's all over the Lotus. The man we made an honorary member of the club to-day is not Algernon Coleyard. He's a blatant120 impostor. There's a telegram come in on the tape to-night saying Algernon Coleyard is dangerously ill at his home in England."
Charles gasped122 a violent gasp121. "Colonel Clay!" he shouted, aloud. "And once more he's done me. There's not a moment to lose. After him, gentlemen! after him!"
Never before in our lives had we had such a close shave of catching123 and fixing the redoubtable124 swindler. We burst down the stairs in a body, and rushed out into Fifth Avenue. The pretended poet had only a hundred yards' start of us, and he saw he was discovered. But he was an excellent runner. So was I, weight for age; and I dashed wildly after him. He turned round a corner; it proved to lead nowhere, and lost him time. He darted125 back again, madly. Delighted with the idea that I was capturing so famous a criminal, I redoubled my efforts—and came up with him, panting. He was wearing a light dust-coat. I seized it in my hands. "I've got you at last!" I cried; "Colonel Clay, I've got you!"
He turned and looked at me. "Ha, old Ten Per Cent!" he called out, struggling. "It's you, then, is it? Never, never to you, sir!" And as he spoke, he somehow flung his arms straight out behind him, and let the dust-coat slip off, which it easily did, the sleeves being new and smoothly126 silk-lined. The suddenness of the movement threw me completely off my guard, and off my legs as well. I was clinging to the coat and holding him. As the support gave way I rolled over backward, in the mud of the street, and hurt my back seriously. As for Colonel Clay, with a nervous laugh, he bolted off at full speed in his evening coat, and vanished round a corner.
It was some seconds before I had sufficiently127 recovered my breath to pick myself up again, and examine my bruises128. By this time Charles and the other pursuers had come up, and I explained my condition to them. Instead of commending me for my zeal129 in his cause—which had cost me a barked arm and a good evening suit—my brother-in-law remarked, with an unfeeling sneer70, that when I had so nearly caught my man I might as well have held him.
"I have his coat, at least," I said. "That may afford us a clue." And I limped back with it in my hands, feeling horribly bruised130 and a good deal shaken.
When we came to examine the coat, however, it bore no maker's name; the strap131 at the back, where the tailor proclaims with pride his handicraft, had been carefully ripped off, and its place was taken by a tag of plain black tape without inscription132 of any sort. We searched the breast-pocket. A handkerchief, similarly nameless, but of finest cambric. The side-pockets—ha, what was this? I drew a piece of paper out in triumph. It was a note—a real find—the one which the servant had handed to our friend just before at the Senator's.
We read it through breathlessly:—
"DARLING PAUL,—I told you it was too dangerous. You should have listened to me. You ought never to have imitated any real person. I happened to glance at the hotel tape just now, to see the quotations133 for Cloetedorps to-day, and what do you think I read as part of the latest telegram from England? 'Mr. Algernon Coleyard, the famous poet, is lying on his death-bed at his home in Devonshire.' By this time all New York knows. Don't stop one minute. Say I'm dangerously ill, and come away at once. Don't return to the hotel. I am removing our things. Meet me at Mary's. Your devoted134, MARGOT."
"This is very important," Charles said. "This does give us a clue. We know two things now: his real name is Paul—whatever else it may be, and Madame Picardet's is Margot."
I searched the pocket again, and pulled out a ring. Evidently he had thrust these two things there when he saw me pursuing him, and had forgotten or neglected them in the heat of the mêlée.
I looked at it close. It was the very ring I had noticed on his finger while he was playing Swedish poker. It had a large compound gem in the centre, set with many facets, and rising like a pyramid to a point in the middle. There were eight faces in all, some of them composed of emerald, amethyst135, or turquoise136. But one face—the one that turned at a direct angle towards the wearer's eye—was not a gem at all, but an extremely tiny convex mirror. In a moment I spotted137 the trick. He held this hand carelessly on the table while my brother-in-law dealt; and when he saw that the suit and number of his own card mirrored in it by means of the squeezers were better than Charles's, he had "an inspiration," and backed his luck—or rather his knowledge—with perfect confidence. I did not doubt, either, that his odd-looking eyeglass was a powerful magnifier which helped him in the trick. Still, we tried another deal, by way of experiment—I wearing the ring; and even with the naked eye I was able to distinguish in every case the suit and pips of the card that was dealt me.
"Why, that was almost dishonest," the Senator said, drawing back. He wished to show us that even far-Western speculators drew a line somewhere.
"Yes," the magazine editor echoed. "To back your skill is legal; to back your luck is foolish; to back your knowledge is—"
"Immoral," I suggested.
"Very good business," said the magazine editor.
"It's a simple trick," Charles interposed. "I should have spotted it if it had been done by any other fellow. But his patter about inspiration put me clean off the track. That's the rascal's dodge15. He plays the regular conjurer's game of distracting your attention from the real point at issue—so well that you never find out what he's really about till he's sold you irretrievably."
We set the New York police upon the trail of the Colonel; but of course he had vanished at once, as usual, into the thin smoke of Manhattan. Not a sign could we find of him. "Mary's," we found an insufficient138 address.
We waited on in New York for a whole fortnight. Nothing came of it. We never found "Mary's." The only token of Colonel Clay's presence vouchsafed139 us in the city was one of his customary insulting notes. It was conceived as follows:—
"O ETERNAL GULLIBLE140!—Since I saw you on Lake George, I have run back to London, and promptly141 come out again. I had business to transact142 there, indeed, which I have now completed; the excessive attentions of the English police sent me once more, like great Orion, "sloping slowly to the west." I returned to America in order to see whether or not you were still impenitent143. On the day of my arrival I happened to meet Senator Wrengold, and accepted his kind invitation solely144 that I might see how far my last communication had had a proper effect upon you. As I found you quite obdurate145, and as you furthermore persisted in misunderstanding my motives146, I determined147 to read you one more small lesson. It nearly failed; and I confess the accident has affected148 my nerves a little. I am now about to retire from business altogether, and settle down for life at my place in Surrey. I mean to try just one more small coup149; and, when that is finished, Colonel Clay will hang up his sword, like Cincinnatus, and take to farming. You need no longer fear me. I have realised enough to secure me for life a modest competence150; and as I am not possessed151 like yourself with an immoderate greed of gain, I recognise that good citizenship152 demands of me now an early retirement153 in favour of some younger and more deserving rascal. I shall always look back with pleasure upon our agreeable adventures together; and as you hold my dust-coat, together with a ring and letter to which I attach importance, I consider we are quits, and I shall withdraw with dignity. Your sincere well-wisher, CUTHBERT CLAY, Poet."
"Just like him!" Charles said, "to hold this one last coup over my head in terrorem. Though even when he has played it, why should I trust his word? A scamp like that may say it, of course, on purpose to disarm154 me."
For my own part, I quite agreed with "Margot." When the Colonel was reduced to dressing155 the part of a known personage I felt he had reached almost his last card, and would be well advised to retire into Surrey.
But the magazine editor summed up all in a word. "Don't believe that nonsense about fortunes being made by industry and ability," he said. "In life, as at cards, two things go to produce success—the first is chance; the second is cheating."
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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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snobbery
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| n. 充绅士气派, 俗不可耐的性格 | |
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facetiously
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| adv.爱开玩笑地；滑稽地，爱开玩笑地 | |
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gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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ranches
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| 大农场， （兼种果树，养鸡等的）大牧场( ranch的名词复数 ) | |
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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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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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depredations
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| n.劫掠，毁坏( depredation的名词复数 ) | |
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tormentor
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| n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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terrapin
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| n.泥龟；鳖 | |
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crabs
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| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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cocktails
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| n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 )；餐前开胃菜；混合物 | |
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dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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22
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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23
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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24
hampering
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的现在分词 ) | |
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25
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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26
squatter
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| n.擅自占地者 | |
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27
stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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28
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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29
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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30
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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31
coterie
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| n.(有共同兴趣的)小团体，小圈子 | |
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32
luminary
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| n.名人，天体 | |
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33
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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34
bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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35
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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36
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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37
attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
royalties
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| 特许权使用费 | |
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39
deliberately
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|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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40
murmur
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|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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41
demolished
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|
| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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42
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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43
peculiar
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|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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44
mellowing
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| 软化，醇化 | |
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45
emulation
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|
| n.竞争；仿效 | |
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46
vein
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|
| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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47
caustic
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|
| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
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48
strictly
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|
| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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49
embroidered
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|
| adj．绣花的 | |
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50
narrated
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|
| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
musing
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|
| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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52
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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53
concealment
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|
| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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54
disastrous
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|
| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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55
persecution
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|
| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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56
admiration
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|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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57
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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58
rascal
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|
| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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59
rascals
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|
| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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60
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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61
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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62
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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63
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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64
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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65
garbled
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|
| adj.（指信息）混乱的，引起误解的v.对（事实）歪曲，对（文章等）断章取义，窜改( garble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
whining
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|
| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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67
confided
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|
| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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68
rogues
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|
| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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69
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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70
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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71
sneered
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|
| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
moody
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|
| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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73
adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
moorish
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|
| adj.沼地的，荒野的，生[住]在沼地的 | |
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75
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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76
bonanzas
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|
| n.（突然的）财源( bonanza的名词复数 )；意想不到的幸运；富矿脉；大矿囊 | |
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77
pertinent
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|
| adj.恰当的；贴切的；中肯的；有关的；相干的 | |
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78
inquiry
|
|
| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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79
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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80
sarcastic
|
|
| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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81
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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82
facets
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|
| n.（宝石或首饰的）小平面( facet的名词复数 )；（事物的）面；方面 | |
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83
tartly
|
|
| adv.辛辣地，刻薄地 | |
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84
poker
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|
| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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85
variant
|
|
| adj.不同的，变异的；n.变体，异体 | |
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86
gambling
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|
| n.赌博；投机 | |
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87
omniscient
|
|
| adj.无所不知的；博识的 | |
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88
sonnets
|
|
| n.十四行诗( sonnet的名词复数 ) | |
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89
pinnacle
|
|
| n.尖塔，尖顶，山峰；(喻)顶峰 | |
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90
inditing
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|
| v.写（文章，信等）创作，赋诗，创作( indite的现在分词 ) | |
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91
simplicity
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|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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92
pristine
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|
| adj.原来的，古时的，原始的，纯净的，无垢的 | |
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93
reluctance
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|
| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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94
persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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95
condescend
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|
| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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96
deserted
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|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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97
allusion
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|
| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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98
dealing
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|
| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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99
banking
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|
| n.银行业，银行学，金融业 | |
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100
astonishment
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|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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101
detests
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的第三人称单数 ) | |
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102
mused
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|
| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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103
severely
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|
| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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104
subsided
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|
| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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105
tremor
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|
| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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106
fealty
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|
| n.忠贞，忠节 | |
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107
maiden
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|
| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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108
vow
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|
| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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109
infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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110
pointedly
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|
| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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111
kindly
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|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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112
compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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113
epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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114
sterling
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|
| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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115
austerely
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| adv.严格地，朴质地 | |
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116
nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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117
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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118
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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119
forsook
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| forsake的过去式 | |
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120
blatant
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| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
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121
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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122
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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123
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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124
redoubtable
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| adj.可敬的；可怕的 | |
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125
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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126
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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127
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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128
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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129
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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130
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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131
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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132
inscription
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|
| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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133
quotations
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| n.引用( quotation的名词复数 )；[商业]行情（报告）；（货物或股票的）市价；时价 | |
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134
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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135
amethyst
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| n.紫水晶 | |
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136
turquoise
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|
| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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137
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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138
insufficient
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|
| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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139
vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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140
gullible
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|
| adj.易受骗的；轻信的 | |
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141
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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142
transact
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| v.处理；做交易；谈判 | |
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143
impenitent
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|
| adj.不悔悟的，顽固的 | |
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144
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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145
obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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146
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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147
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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148
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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149
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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150
competence
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|
| n.能力，胜任，称职 | |
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151
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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152
citizenship
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| n.市民权，公民权，国民的义务(身份) | |
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153
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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154
disarm
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| v.解除武装，回复平常的编制，缓和 | |
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155
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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