Mrs. Winthrop drew herself together from the peas she was languidly shelling, and answered in the dry withered3 tone of a aged5" target="_blank">middle-aged4 northern New Yorker, 'Wal, I s'pose, Zeph, he's gone down to the blackberry lot, most likely.'
'Blackberry lot,' Mr. Winthrop replied with a fine air of irony6. 'Blackberry lot, indeed. What does he want blackberryin', I should like to know? I'll blackberry him, I kin7 tell you, whenever I ketch him. Jest you go an' holler for him, Het, an' ef he don't come ruther sooner'n lightnin', he'll ketch it, an' no mistake, sure as preachin'. I've got an orful itchin', Mis' Winthrop, to give that thar boy a durned good cow-hidin' this very minnit.'
Mrs. Winthrop rose from the basket of peas and proceeded across the front yard with as much alacrity8 as she could summon up, to call for Hiram. She was a tall, weazened, sallow woman, prematurely9 aged, with a pair of high cheekbones, and a hard, hungry-looking, unlovable mouth; but she was averse10 to the extreme and unnecessary measure of cowhiding her firstborn. 'Hiram,' she called out, in her loudest and shrillest voice: 'Hiram!
Drat the boy, whar is he? Hiram! Hi-ram!' It was a dreary11 and a monotonous12 outlook altogether, that view from the gate of Zephaniah Winthrop's freehold farm in Geauga County. The homestead itself, an unpainted frame house, consisted of planed planks13 set carelessly one above the other on upright beams, stood in a weedy yard, surrounded by a raw-looking paling, and unbeautified by a single tree, creeper, shrub14, bush, or scented15 flower. A square house, planted naked in the exact centre of a square yard, desolate16 and lonely, as though such an idea as that of beauty had never entered into the human heart. In front the long straight township road ran indefinitely as far as the eye could reach in either direction, beginning at the horizon on the north, and ending at the horizon on the south, but leading nowhere in particular, that anyone ever heard of, meanwhile, unless it were to Muddy Creek17 Dép?t (pronounced deepo) on the Rome, Watertown, and Ogdens-burg Railroad. At considerable intervals18 along its course, a new but congenitally shabby gate opened here and there into another bare square yard, and gave access to another bare square frame house of unpainted pine planks. In the blanks between these oases19 of unvarnished ugliness the road, instead of being bordered by green trees and smiling hedgerows, pursued its gaunt way, unrejoicing, between open fields or long and hideous20 snake fences. If you have ever seen a snake fence, you know what that means; if you haven't seen one, sit down in your own easy chair gratefully and comfortably, and thank an indulgent heaven with all your heart for your happy ignorance.
Beyond and behind the snake fences lay fields of wheat and meadows and pasture land; not, as in England, green and lush with grass or clover, but all alike bare, brown, weedy, and illimitable. There were no trees to be seen anywhere (though there were plenty of stumps23), for this was 'a very fully21 settled section,' as Mr. Winthrop used to murmur24 to himself complacently25: 'the country thar real beautiful: you might look about you, some parts, for a mile or two right away togither and never see a single tree a-standin' anywhar.' Indeed, it was difficult to imagine where on earth a boy could manage to hide himself in all that long, level, leafless district. But Mrs. Winthrop knew better: she knew Hiram was loafing away somewhere down in the blackberry lot beside the river.
'Lot' is a cheap and nasty equivalent in the great American language for field, meadow, croft, copse, paddock, and all the other beautiful and expressive26 old-world names which denote in the tongue of the old country our own time-honoured English inclosures. And the blackberry lot, at the bottom of the farm, was the one joy and delight of young Hiram Winthrop's boyish existence. Though you could hardly guess it, as seen from the farm, there was a river running in the hollow down yonder-Muddy Creek, in fact, which gave its own euphonious27 name to the naked little Dép?t; not here muddy, indeed, as in its lower reaches, but clear and limpid28 from the virgin29 springs of the Gilboa hillsides. Beside the creek, there stretched a waste lot, too rough and stony30 to be worth the curse of cultivation31; and on that lot the blackberry bushes grew in wild profusion32, and the morning-glories opened their great pink bells blushingly to the early sun, and the bobolinks chattered33 in the garish34 noontide, and the grey squirrels hid by day among the stunted35 trees, and the chipmunks36 showed their painted sides for a moment as they darted37 swiftly in and out from hole to hole amid the tangled38 brushwood. What a charmed spot it seemed to the boy's mind, that one solitary39 patch of undesecrated nature, in the midst of so many blackened stumps, and so much first-rate fall wheat, and such endless, hopeless, dreary hillocks of straight rowed, dry leaved, tillering Indian corn!
'Hiram! Hiram! Hi-ram!' cried Mrs. Winthrop, growing every moment shriller and shriller.
Hiram heard, and leaped from the brink40 at once, though a kingfisher was at that very moment eyeing him with head on one side from the half-concealing foliage41 of the basswood tree opposite. 'Yes, marm,' he answered submissively, showing himself as fast as he was able in the pasture above the blackberry lot. 'Wal! What is it?'
'Hiram,' his mother said, as soon as he was within convenient speaking distance, 'you come right along in here, sonny. Where was you, say? Here's father swearin he'll thrash you for goin' loafin'. He wants you jest to come in at once and help weed the peppermint. I guess you've bin42 down in the blackberry lot, fishin', or suthin'.'
'I ain't bin fishin',' Hiram answered, with a certain dogged, placid43 resignation. 'I've bin lookin' around, and that's so, mother. On'y lookin' around at the chipmunks an' bobolinks, 'cause I was dreadful tired.'
'Tired of what?' asked his mother, not uncompassionately.
'Planin',' Hiram answered, with a nod. 'Planks. Father give me forty planks to plane, an' I've done'em.'
'Wal, mind he don't thrash you, Hiram,' the sallow-faced woman said, warningly, with as much tenderness in her voice as lay within the compass of her nature. 'He's orful mad with you now, 'cause you didn't answer immejately when he hollered.'
'Then why don't he holler loud enough?' asked Hiram, in an injured tone—he was an ill-clad boy of about twelve—'I can't never hear him down lot yonder.'
'What's that you got in your pocket, sir?' Mr. Winthrop puts in, coming up unexpectedly to the pair on the long, straight, blinking high-road. 'What's that, naow, eh, sonny?'
Hiram pulls the evidence of guilt44 slowly out of his rough tunic45. 'Injuns,' he answers, shortly, in the true western laconic46 fashion.
Mr. Winthrop examines the object carelessly. It is a bit of blackish stone, rudely chipped into shape, and ground at one end to an artificial edge with some nicety of execution.
'Injuns!' he echoes contemptuously, dashing it on the path: 'Injuns! Oh yes, this is Injuns! An' what's Injuns? Heathens, outlandish heathens; and a drunken, p'isonous crowd at that, too. The noble red man is a fraud; Injuns must go. It allus licks my poor finite understandin' altogether why the Lord should ever have run this great continent so long with nothin' better'n Injuns. It's one o' them mysteries o' Providence47 that 'taint48 given us poor wums to comprehend daown here, noways. Wal, they're all cleared out of this section naow, anyway, and why a lad that's brought up a Chrischun and Hopkinsite should want to go grubbin' up their knives and things in this cent'ry is a caution to me, that's what it is, a reg'lar caution.'
'This ain't a knife,' Hiram answered, still doggedly49. 'This is a tommyhawk. Injun knives ain't made like this 'ere. I've had knives, and they're quite a different kinder pattern.'
Mr. Winthrop shook his head solemnly.
'Seems to me,' he said with a loud snort, ''taint right of any believin' boy goin' lookin' up these heathenish things, mother. He's allus bringin' 'em home—arrowheads, he calls 'em, and tommyhawks, and Lord knows what rubbish—when he ought to be weedin' in the peppermint lot, an' earnin' his livin'. Why wasn't you here, eh, sonny? Why wasn't you? Why wasn't you? Why wasn't you?'
As Mr. Winthrop accompanied each of these questions by a cuff50, crescendo51, on either ear alternately, it is not probable that he himself intended Hiram to reply to them with any particular definiteness. But Hiram, drawing his sleeve across his eyes, and wiping away the tears hastily, proceeded to answer with due deliberation: ''Cause I was tired planin' planks. So I went down to the blackberry lot, to rest a bit. But you won't let a feller rest. You want him to be workin' like a nigger all day.'Taint reasonable.'
'Mother,' Mr. Winthrop said again, more solemnly than before, 'it's my opinion that the old Adam is on-common powerful in this here lad, on-common powerful! Ef he had lived in Bible times, I should hev been afeard of a visible judgment52 on his head, like the babes that mocked at Elijah. (Or was it Elisha?' asked Mr. Winthrop to himself, dubitatively. 'I don't'zackly recollect53 the pertickler prophet.) The eye that mocketh at its father, you know, sonny; it's a dangerous thing, I kin tell you, to mock at your father. Go an' weed that thar peppermint, sir; go an' weed that thar peppermint.' And as he spoke54 the deacon gave Hiram a parting dig in the side with the handle of the Dutch hoe he was lightly carrying.
Hiram dodged55 the hoe quickly, and set off at a run to the peppermint lot. When he got there he waited a moment, and then felt in his pocket cautiously for some other unseen object. Oh joy, it wasn't broken! He took it out and looked at it tenderly. It was a bobolink's egg. He held it up to the light, and saw the sunshine gleaming through it.
'Aint it cunning?' he said to himself, with a little hug and chuckle56 of triumph. 'Ain't it a cunning little egg, either? I thought he'd most broke it, I did, but he hadn't, seems. It's the first I ever found, that sort. Oh my, ain't it cunning?' And he put the egg back lovingly in his pocket, with great cautiousness.
For a while the boy went on pulling up the weeds that grew between the wide rows of peppermint, and then at last he came to a big milk-weed in full flower. The flowers were very pretty, and so curious, too. He looked at them and admired them. But he must pull it up: no room in the field for milk-weed (it isn't a marketable crop, alas57!), so he caught the pretty thing in his hands, and uprooted58 it without a murmur. Thus he went on, row after row, in the hot July sun, till nearly half the peppermint was well weeded.
Then he sat down to rest a little on the pile of boulders59 in the far corner. There was no tree to sit under, and no shade; but the boy could at least sit in the eye of the sun on the pile of ice-worn boulders. As he sat, he saw a wonderful and beautiful sight. In the sky above, a great bald-headed eagle came wheeling slowly toward the corner of the fall wheat lot. From the opposite quarter of the sky his partner circled on buoyant wings to meet him; and with wide curves to right and left, crossing and recrossing each other at the central point like well-bred setters, those two magnificent birds swiftly beat the sunlit fields for miles around them. At last, one of the pair detected game; for an instant he checked his flight, to steady his swoop60, and then, with wings halffolded, and a rushing noise through the air, he fell plump on the ground at a vague spot in the midst of the meadow. One moment more, and he rose again, with a quivering rabbit suspended from his yellow claws. Presently he made towards the corn lot. It was fenced round, like all the others, with a snake fence, and, to Hiram's intense joy, the eagle finally settled, just opposite him, on one of the two upright rails that stand as a crook61 or stake for the top rail, called the rider. Its big white head shone in the sunlight, its throat rang out a sharp, short bark, and it craned its neck this way and that, looking defiantly62 across the field to Hiram.
'I reckon,' the boy said to himself quietly, 'I could draw that thar eagle.'
He put his hand into his trousers pocket, and pulled out from it a well-worn stump22 of blacklead pencil. Then from another pocket he took a small blank book, an old account book, in fact, with one side of the pages all unwritten, though the other was closely covered with rows of figures. It was a very precious possession to Hiram Winthrop, that dog-eared little volume, for it was nearly-filled with his own tentative pencil sketches64 of beast and birds, and all the other beautiful things that lived together in the blackberry bottom. He had never seen anything beautiful anywhere else, and that one spot and that one book were all the world to him that he loved or cared for.
He laid the book upon his knee, and proceeded carefully to sketch63 the grand whiteheaded eagle in his boyish fashion. 'He's the American eagle, I guess,' the lad said to himself, as he looked from bird to paper with rapid glances; 'on'y he ain't so stiff-built as the one upon the dollars, neither. His head goes so. Aint it elegant? Oh my, not a bit, ruther. And his tail! That's how. The feathers runs the same as if it was shingles65 on the roof of a residence. I've got his tail just as true as Genesis, you bet. I can go the head and the tail, straight an' square, but what licks me is the wings. Seems as if you couldn't get his wing to show right, nohow, agin the body. Think it must be that way, pretty near; but I don't know. I wish thar was some feller here in Geauga could show me how the folks that draw the illustriations in the books ud draw that thar wing. It goes one too high for me, altogether.'
Even as Hiram thought that last thought he was dimly aware in a moment of an ominous66 shadow supervening behind him, and of a heavy hand lifted angrily to cuff him about the head for his pesky idleness. He knew it was his father, and with rapid instinct he managed to avoid the unseen blow. But, alas, alas, as he did so, he dropped the precious account book from his lap and let it fall upon the heap of boulders. Deacon Winthrop took the mysterious volume up, and peered at it long and cautiously. 'Wal,' he said slowly, turning over the pages one by one, as if they were clear evidence of original sin unregenerated—'wal, this do beat all, really. I've allus wondered what on airth you could be up to, sonny, when you was sent to weed, and didn't get a furrer or two done, mornings, while I was hoein' a dozen rows of corn or tomaters. Wal, this do beat all. Makin' figgers of chipmunks, and woodchucks, and musk-rats, and—my goodness, ef that thar aint a rattlesnake! Hiram Winthrop, it's my opinion that you was born to reprobation68—that's jest about the size of it!'
If this opinion had not been vigorously backed by a box on the ears and a violent shaking, it isn't likely that Hiram in his own mind would have felt deeply concerned at it. Reprobation is such a very long way off (especially when you're twelve years old), whereas a box on the ears is usually experienced in the present tense with remarkable69 rapidity. But Hiram was so well used to cuffing70 (for the deacon was a God-fearing man, who held it prime part of his parental71 duty to correct his child with due severity) that he didn't cry much or make a fuss about it. To say the truth, too, he was watching so eagerly to see what his father would do with the beloved sketch-book that he had no time to indulge in unnecessary sentiment. For if only that sketch-book were taken from him—that poor, soiled, second-hand72, half-covered sketch-book—Hiram felt in his dim inarticulate fashion that he would have solved the pessimistic problem forthwith in the negative, and that life for him would no longer be worth living.
The deacon turned the leaves over slowly for some minutes more, with many angry ejaculations, and then deliberately74 took them between his finger and thumb, and tore the book in two across the middle. Next, he doubled the pages over again, and tore them a second time across, and so on until the whole lot was reduced to a mass of little fluttering crumpled75 fragments. These he tossed contemptuously among the boulders, and with a parting cuff to Hiram proceeded on his way, to ruminate76 over the singular mystery of reprobation, even in the children of regenerate67 parents. 'You jest mind you go in right thar an' weed the rest of that peppermint, sonny,' he said as he strode away. 'An' be pretty quick about it, too, or else you'll be more scar't when you come home to-night than ever you was scar't in all your life afore, you take my word for it.'
As soon as the deacon was gone, poor Hiram sat down again on the heap of boulders and cried as though his little heart would fairly break. In spite of his father's vigorous admonition, he couldn't turn to at once and weed the peppermint. ''Taint the lickin' I mind,' he said to himself ruefully, as he gathered up the scattered77 fragments in his hand, ''tain't the lickin', it's the picturs. Them thar picturs was pretty near the on'y thing I liked best of anything livin'. Wal, it wouldn't hev mattered much ef he'd on'y tore up the ones I'd drawed: but when he tore up all my paper, so as I can't draw any more, that does make a feller feel reel bad. I never was so mad with him in my life afore. I reckon fathers is the onaccountablest and most mirac'lous creeturs in all creation. He might hev tore the picturs ef he liked, but what for. did he want to go tearin' up all my paper?'
As he sat there on the boulders, still, with that gross injustice78 rankling79 impotently in his boyish soul, he felt another shadow approaching once more, and looked up expecting to see his father returning. But it wasn't the gaunt long shadow of the deacon that came across the pile: it was a plump, round, thickset English shadow, and it was closely followed by the body of its owner, his father's hired help, late come from Dorsetshire. Sam Churchill leant down in his bluff80, kindly81 way, when he saw the little chap crying, and asked him quickly if he was ill.
'Sick?' Hiram answered, through his sobs82, unconsciously translating the word into his own dialect. 'Sick? No, I aint sick, Mr. Sam; but I'm orful mad with father. He kem right here just now and tore up my drawin' book—an' that drawin' book was most everything to me, it was—and he's tore it up, a ravin' an' tearin' like all possest, this very minnit.'
Sam looked at the fragments sympathetically. 'I tell'ee, Hiram,' he said gently, 'I've got a brother o' my own awver yonder in Darsetshire—about your age, too—as is turble vond of drawin'. I was turble vond of it myself when I was a little chap at 'Ootton. Thik ther eagle is drawed first-rate, 'e be, an' so's the squir'l. I've drawed squir'ls myself, many's the time, in the copse at 'Ootton, I mind: an' I've gone mitching, too, in summer, birds'-nestin' and that, all over the vields for miles around us. Your faather's a main good man, Hiram;'e 's a religious man, an' a 'onest man, and I do love to 'ear 'un argify most turble vine about religion, an' 'ell, an' reprobation, an' 'Enery Clay, and such like: but'e's a'ard man, tiler's no denyin' of it.'E's took'is religion 'ot an' 'ot, 'e 'as; an' I do think'e do use 'ee bad sometimes, vor a little chap, an' no mistake. Now, don't 'ee go an' cry no longer, ther's a good little vulla; don't 'ee cry, Hiram, vor I never could abare to zee a little chap or a woman a-cryin'. Zee 'ere, Hiram,' and the big hand dived deep into the recesses83 of a pair of very muddy corduroy trousers, ''ere's a sixpence for'ee—what do 'ee call it awver 'ere, ten cents, bain't it? 'Ere, take it, take it young un; don't 'ee be aveard. Now, what'll 'ee buy wi' it, eh? Lollipops84, most like, I sim.'
'Lollipops!' the boy answered quickly, taking the dime85 with a grateful gesture. 'No, Mr. Sam, not them: nor toffy, nor peanuts neither. I shall go right away to Wes' Johnson's store, next time father's in the city, an' buy a new book, so as I can make a crowd more drawin's. That's what I like better'n anything. It's jest splendid.'
Sam looked at the little Yankee boy again with a certain faint moisture in his eyes; but he didn't reflect to himself that human nature is much the same all the world over, in Dorsetshire or in Geauga County. In fact, it would never have occurred to Sam's simple heart to doubt the truth of that fairly obvious principle. He only put his hand on Hiram's ragged86 head, and said softly: 'Well, Hiram, turn to now, an' I'll help 'ee weed the peppermint.'
They weeded a row or two in silence, and then Sam asked suddenly: 'What vor do un grow thik peppermint, Hiram?'
'To make candy, Mr. Sam,' Hiram answered.
'Good job too,' Sam went on musingly87. 'Seems to me they do want it turble bad in these 'ere parts. Sight too much corn, an' not near enough candy down to 'Murrica; why can't deacon let the little vulla draw a squir'l if 'e's got a mind to? That's what I wants to know. What do those varmers all around 'ere do? (Varmers they do call 'em; no better nor labourers, I take it.) Why, they buy a bit 'o land, an' work, an' slave thesselves an' their missuses, all their lives long, what vor? To raise pork and corn on. What vor, again? To buy more land; to raise more corn an' bacon; to buy more land again; to raise more corn an' bacon; and so on, world without end, amen, for ever an' ever. An' in the tottal, what do ur all come to? Pork and flour, for ever an' ever. Why, even awver yonder in old England, we'd got something better nor that, and better worth livin' vor.' And Sam's mind wandered back gently to Wootton Mandeville, and the old tower which he didn't know to be of Norman architecture, but which he loved just as well as if he did for all that: and then he borrowed Hiram's pencil, and pulled a piece of folded paper from his pocket (it had inclosed an ounce of best Virginia), and drew upon it for Hiram's wondering eyes a rough sketch of an English village church, with big round arches and dog-tooth ornament88, embowered in shady elm-trees, and backed up by a rolling chalk down in the further distance. Hiram looked at the sketch admiringly and eagerly.
'I wish I could draw such a thing as that, he said with delight. 'But I can't, Mr. Sam; I can only draw birds and musk-rats and things—not churches. That's a reel pretty church, too: reckon I never see such a one as that thar anywhere. Might that be whar you was raised, now?'
Sam nodded assent89.
'Wal, that does beat everything. I should like to go an' see something like that, sometime. Ef I git a book, will you learn me to draw a church same as you do, Mr. Sam?'
'Bless yer 'eart, yes,' Sam answered quickly, and turned with swimming eyes to weed the rest of the peppermint. From that day forth73, Sam Churchill and Hiram Winthrop were sworn friends through all their troubles.
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tartly
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| adv.辛辣地，刻薄地 | |
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peppermint
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| n.薄荷，薄荷油，薄荷糖 | |
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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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middle-aged
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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kin
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alacrity
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prematurely
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averse
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dreary
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monotonous
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planks
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shrub
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scented
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desolate
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creek
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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oases
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hideous
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fully
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stump
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stumps
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murmur
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complacently
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expressive
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euphonious
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limpid
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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garish
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| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
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stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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chipmunks
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| n.金花鼠( chipmunk的名词复数 ) | |
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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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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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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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40
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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42
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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laconic
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| adj.简洁的；精练的 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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51
crescendo
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| n.(音乐)渐强，高潮 | |
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52
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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54
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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dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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57
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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uprooted
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| v.把（某物）连根拔起( uproot的过去式和过去分词 )；根除；赶走；把…赶出家园 | |
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59
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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60
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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65
shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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regenerate
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| vt.使恢复，使新生；vi.恢复，再生；adj.恢复的 | |
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reprobation
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| n.斥责 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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cuffing
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| v.掌打，拳打( cuff的现在分词 )；袖口状白血球聚集 | |
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71
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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72
second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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73
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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ruminate
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| v.反刍；沉思 | |
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77
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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79
rankling
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的现在分词 ) | |
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80
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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81
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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82
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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83
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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84
lollipops
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| n.棒糖，棒棒糖( lollipop的名词复数 )；（用交通指挥牌让车辆暂停以便儿童安全通过马路的）交通纠察 | |
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85
dime
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| n.（指美国、加拿大的钱币）一角 | |
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86
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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87
musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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88
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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