To make you understand my next yarn1, I must go back to the date of my introduction to Hilda.
“It is witchcraft2!” I said the first time I saw her, at Le Geyt's luncheon-party.
She smiled a smile which was bewitching, indeed, but by no means witch-like,—a frank, open smile with just a touch of natural feminine triumph in it. “No, not witchcraft,” she answered, helping3 herself with her dainty fingers to a burnt almond from the Venetian glass dish,—“not witchcraft,—memory; aided, perhaps, by some native quickness of perception. Though I say it myself, I never met anyone, I think, whose memory goes quite as far as mine does.”
“You don't mean quite as far BACK,” I cried, jesting; for she looked about twenty-four, and had cheeks like a ripe nectarine, just as pink and just as softly downy.
She smiled again, showing a row of semi-transparent teeth, with a gleam in the depths of them. She was certainly most attractive. She had that indefinable, incommunicable, unanalysable personal quality which we know as CHARM. “No, not as far BACK,” she repeated. “Though, indeed, I often seem to remember things that happened before I was born (like Queen Elizabeth's visit to Kenilworth): I recollect4 so vividly5 all that I have heard or read about them. But as far IN EXTENT, I mean. I never let anything drop out of my memory. As this case shows you, I can recall even quite unimportant and casual bits of knowledge when any chance clue happens to bring them back to me.”
She had certainly astonished me. The occasion for my astonishment6 was the fact that when I handed her my card, “Dr. Hubert Ford7 Cumberledge, St. Nathaniel's Hospital,” she had glanced at it for a second and exclaimed, without sensible pause or break, “Oh, then, of course, you're half Welsh, as I am.”
The instantaneous and apparent inconsecutiveness of her inference took me aback. “Well, m'yes: I AM half Welsh,” I replied. “My mother came from Carnarvonshire. But, why THEN, and OF COURSE? I fail to perceive your train of reasoning.”
She laughed a sunny little laugh, like one well accustomed to receive such inquiries8. “Fancy asking A WOMAN to give you 'the train of reasoning' for her intuitions!” she cried, merrily. “That shows, Dr. Cumberledge, that you are a mere9 man—a man of science, perhaps, but NOT a psychologist. It also suggests that you are a confirmed bachelor. A married man accepts intuitions, without expecting them to be based on reasoning.... Well, just this once, I will stretch a point to enlighten you. If I recollect right, your mother died about three years ago?”
“You are quite correct. Then you knew my mother?”
“Oh, dear me, no! I never even met her. Why THEN?”
Her look was mischievous10. “But, unless I mistake, I think she came from Hendre Coed, near Bangor.”
“Wales is a village!” I exclaimed, catching11 my breath. “Every Welsh person seems to know all about every other.”
My new acquaintance smiled again. When she smiled she was irresistible13: a laughing face protruding14 from a cloud of diaphanous15 drapery. “Now, shall I tell you how I came to know that?” she asked, poising16 a glace cherry on her dessert fork in front of her. “Shall I explain my trick, like the conjurers?”
“Conjurers never explain anything,” I answered. “They say: 'So, you see, THAT'S how it's done!'—with a swift whisk of the hand—and leave you as much in the dark as ever. Don't explain like the conjurers, but tell me how you guessed it.”
She shut her eyes and seemed to turn her glance inward.
“About three years ago,” she began slowly, like one who reconstructs with an effort a half-forgotten scene, “I saw a notice in the Times—Births, Deaths, and Marriages—'On the 27th of October'—was it the 27th?” The keen brown eyes opened again for a second and flashed inquiry18 into mine.
“Quite right,” I answered, nodding.
“I thought so. 'On the 27th of October, at Brynmor, Bournemouth, Emily Olwen Josephine, widow of the late Thomas Cumberledge, sometime colonel of the 7th Bengal Regiment19 of Foot, and daughter of Iolo Gwyn Ford, Esq., J.P., of Hendre Coed, near Bangor. Am I correct?” She lifted her dark eyelashes once more and flooded me.
“You are quite correct,” I answered, surprised. “And that is really all that you knew of my mother?”
“Absolutely all. The moment I saw your card, I thought to myself, in a breath: 'Ford, Cumberledge; what do I know of those two names? I have some link between them. Ah, yes; found Mrs. Cumberledge, wife of Colonel Thomas Cumberledge, of the 7th Bengals, was a Miss Ford, daughter of a Mr. Ford, of Bangor.' That came to me like a lightning-gleam. Then I said to myself again, 'Dr. Hubert Ford Cumberledge must be their son.' So there you have 'the train of reasoning.' Women CAN reason—sometimes. I had to think twice, though, before I could recall the exact words of the Times notice.”
“And can you do the same with everyone?”
“Everyone! Oh, come, now: that is expecting too much! I have not read, marked, learned, and inwardly digested everyone's family announcements. I don't pretend to be the Peerage, the Clergy20 List, and the London Directory rolled into one. I remembered YOUR family all the more vividly, no doubt, because of the pretty and unusual old Welsh names, 'Olwen' and 'Iolo Gwyn Ford,' which fixed21 themselves on my memory by their mere beauty. Everything about Wales always attracts me; my Welsh side is uppermost. But I have hundreds—oh, thousands—of such facts stored and pigeon-holed in my memory. If anybody else cares to try me,” she glanced round the table, “perhaps we may be able to test my power that way.”
Two or three of the company accepted her challenge, giving the full names of their sisters or brothers; and, in three cases out of five, my witch was able to supply either the notice of their marriage or some other like published circumstance. In the instance of Charlie Vere, it is true, she went wrong, just at first, though only in a single small particular; it was not Charlie himself who was gazetted to a sub-lieutenancy in the Warwickshire Regiment, but his brother Walter. However, the moment she was told of this slip, she corrected herself at once, and added, like lightning, “Ah, yes: how stupid of me! I have mixed up the names. Charles Cassilis Vere got an appointment on the same day in the Rhodesian Mounted Police, didn't he?” Which was in point of fact quite accurate.
But I am forgetting that all this time I have not even now introduced my witch to you.
Hilda Wade22, when I first saw her, was one of the prettiest, cheeriest, and most graceful24 girls I have ever met—a dusky blonde, brown-eyed, brown-haired, with a creamy, waxen whiteness of skin that was yet warm and peach-downy. And I wish to insist from the outset upon the plain fact that there was nothing uncanny about her. In spite of her singular faculty25 of insight, which sometimes seemed to illogical people almost weird26 or eerie23, she was in the main a bright, well-educated, sensible, winsome27, lawn-tennis-playing English girl. Her vivacious28 spirits rose superior to her surroundings, which were often sad enough. But she was above all things wholesome29, unaffected, and sparkling—a gleam of sunshine. She laid no claim to supernatural powers; she held no dealings with familiar spirits; she was simply a girl of strong personal charm, endowed with an astounding30 memory and a rare measure of feminine intuition. Her memory, she told me, she shared with her father and all her father's family; they were famous for their prodigious31 faculty in that respect. Her impulsive32 temperament33 and quick instincts, on the other hand, descended34 to her, she thought, from her mother and her Welsh ancestry35.
Externally, she seemed thus at first sight little more than the ordinary pretty, light-hearted English girl, with a taste for field sports (especially riding), and a native love of the country. But at times one caught in the brightened colour of her lustrous36 brown eyes certain curious undercurrents of depth, of reserve, and of a questioning wistfulness which made you suspect the presence of profounder elements in her nature. From the earliest moment of our acquaintance, indeed, I can say with truth that Hilda Wade interested me immensely. I felt drawn37. Her face had that strange quality of compelling attention for which we have as yet no English name, but which everybody recognises. You could not ignore her. She stood out. She was the sort of girl one was constrained38 to notice.
It was Le Geyts first luncheon-party since his second marriage. Big-bearded, genial39, he beamed round on us jubilant. He was proud of his wife and proud of his recent Q.C.-ship. The new Mrs. Le Geyt sat at the head of the table, handsome, capable, self-possessed; a vivid, vigorous woman and a model hostess. Though still quite young, she was large and commanding. Everybody was impressed by her. “Such a good mother to those poor motherless children!” all the ladies declared in a chorus of applause. And, indeed, she had the face of a splendid manager.
I said as much in an undertone over the ices to Miss Wade, who sat beside me—though I ought not to have discussed them at their own table. “Hugo Le Geyt seems to have made an excellent choice,” I murmured. “Maisie and Ettie will be lucky, indeed, to be taken care of by such a competent stepmother. Don't you think so?”
My witch glanced up at her hostess with a piercing dart41 of the keen brown eyes, held her wine-glass half raised, and then electrified42 me by uttering, in the same low voice, audible to me alone, but quite clearly and unhesitatingly, these astounding words:
“I think, before twelve mouths are out, MR. LE GEYT WILL HAVE MURDERED HER!”
For a minute I could not answer, so startling was the effect of this confident prediction. One does not expect to be told such things at lunch, over the port and peaches, about one's dearest friends, beside their own mahogany. And the assured air of unfaltering conviction with which Hilda Wade said it to a complete stranger took my breath away. WHY did she think so at all? And IF she thought so why choose ME as the recipient43 of her singular confidences?
I gasped44 and wondered.
“What makes you fancy anything so unlikely?” I asked aside at last, behind the babel of voices. “You quite alarm me.”
She rolled a mouthful of apricot ice reflectively on her tongue, and then murmured, in a similar aside, “Don't ask me now. Some other time will do. But I mean what I say. Believe me; I do not speak at random45.”
She was quite right, of course. To continue would have been equally rude and foolish. I had perforce to bottle up my curiosity for the moment and wait till my sibyl was in the mood for interpreting.
After lunch we adjourned46 to the drawing-room. Almost at once, Hilda Wade flitted up with her brisk step to the corner where I was sitting. “Oh, Dr. Cumberledge,” she began, as if nothing odd had occurred before, “I WAS so glad to meet you and have a chance of talking to you, because I DO so want to get a nurse's place at St. Nathaniel's.”
“A nurse's place!” I exclaimed, a little surprised, surveying her dress of palest and softest Indian muslin; for she looked to me far too much of a butterfly for such serious work. “Do you really mean it; or are you one of the ten thousand modern young ladies who are in quest of a Mission, without understanding that Missions are unpleasant? Nursing, I can tell you, is not all crimped cap and becoming uniform.”
“I know that,” she answered, growing grave. “I ought to know it. I am a nurse already at St. George's Hospital.”
“You are a nurse! And at St. George's! Yet you want to change to Nathaniel's? Why? St. George's is in a much nicer part of London, and the patients there come on an average from a much better class than ours in Smithfield.”
“I know that too; but... Sebastian is at St. Nathaniel's—and I want to be near Sebastian.”
“Professor Sebastian!” I cried, my face lighting47 up with a gleam of enthusiasm at our great teacher's name. “Ah, if it is to be under Sebastian that you desire, I can see you mean business. I know now you are in earnest.”
“In earnest?” she echoed, that strange deeper shade coming over her face as she spoke48, while her tone altered. “Yes, I think I am in earnest! It is my object in life to be near Sebastian—to watch him and observe him. I mean to succeed.... But I have given you my confidence, perhaps too hastily, and I must implore49 you not to mention my wish to him.”
“You may trust me implicitly51,” I answered.
“Oh, yes; I saw that,” she put in, with a quick gesture. “Of course, I saw by your face you were a man of honour—a man one could trust or I would not have spoken to you. But—you promise me?”
“I promise you,” I replied, naturally flattered. She was delicately pretty, and her quaint12, oracular air, so incongruous with the dainty face and the fluffy52 brown hair, piqued53 me not a little. That special mysterious commodity of CHARM seemed to pervade54 all she did and said. So I added: “And I will mention to Sebastian that you wish for a nurse's place at Nathaniel's. As you have had experience, and can be recommended, I suppose, by Le Geyt's sister,” with whom she had come, “no doubt you can secure an early vacancy55.”
“Thanks so much,” she answered, with that delicious smile. It had an infantile simplicity56 about it which contrasted most piquantly57 with her prophetic manner.
“Only,” I went on, assuming a confidential58 tone, “you really MUST tell me why you said that just now about Hugo Le Geyt. Recollect, your Delphian utterances59 have gravely astonished and disquieted61 me. Hugo is one of my oldest and dearest friends; and I want to know why you have formed this sudden bad opinion of him.”
“Not of HIM, but of HER,” she answered, to my surprise, taking a small Norwegian dagger62 from the what-not and playing with it to distract attention.
“Come, come, now,” I cried, drawing back. “You are trying to mystify me. This is deliberate seer-mongery. You are presuming on your powers. But I am not the sort of man to be caught by horoscopes. I decline to believe it.”
She turned on me with a meaning glance. Those truthful63 eyes fixed me. “I am going from here straight to my hospital,” she murmured, with a quiet air of knowledge—talking, I mean to say, like one who really knows. “This room is not the place to discuss this matter, is it? If you will walk back to St. George's with me, I think I can make you see and feel that I am speaking, not at haphazard64, but from observation and experience.”
Her confidence roused my most vivid curiosity. When she left I left with her. The Le Geyts lived in one of those new streets of large houses on Campden Hill, so that our way eastward65 lay naturally through Kensington Gardens.
It was a sunny June day, when light pierced even through the smoke of London, and the shrubberies breathed the breath of white lilacs. “Now, what did you mean by that enigmatical saying?” I asked my new Cassandra, as we strolled down the scent-laden path. “Woman's intuition is all very well in its way; but a mere man may be excused if he asks for evidence.”
She stopped short as I spoke, and gazed full into my eyes. Her hand fingered her parasol handle. “I meant what I said,” she answered, with emphasis. “Within one year, Mr. Le Geyt will have murdered his wife. You may take my word, for it.”
“Le Geyt!” I cried. “Never! I know the man so well! A big, good-natured, kindly66 schoolboy! He is the gentlest and best of mortals. Le Geyt a murderer! Im—possible!”
Her eyes were far away. “Has it never occurred to you,” she asked, slowly, with her pythoness air, “that there are murders and murders?—murders which depend in the main upon the murderer... and also murders which depend in the main upon the victim?”
“The victim? What do you mean?”
“Well, there are brutal67 men who commit murder out of sheer brutality—the ruffians of the slums; and there are sordid68 men who commit murder for sordid money—the insurers who want to forestall69 their policies, the poisoners who want to inherit property; but have you ever realised that there are also murderers who become so by accident, through their victims' idiosyncrasy? I thought all the time while I was watching Mrs. Le Geyt, 'That woman is of the sort predestined to be murdered.'... And when you asked me, I told you so. I may have been imprudent; still, I saw it, and I said it.”
“But this is second sight!” I cried, drawing away. “Do you pretend to prevision?”
“No, not second sight; nothing uncanny, nothing supernatural. But prevision, yes; prevision based, not on omens70 or auguries71, but on solid fact—on what I have seen and noticed.”
“Explain yourself, oh, prophetess!”
She let the point of her parasol make a curved trail on the gravel60, and followed its serpentine72 wavings with her eyes. “You know our house surgeon?” she asked at last, looking up of a sudden.
“What, Travers? Oh, intimately.”
“Then come to my ward17 and see. After you have seen, you will perhaps believe me.”
Nothing that I could say would get any further explanation out of her just then. “You would laugh at me if I told you,” she persisted; “you won't laugh when you have seen it.”
We walked on in silence as far as Hyde Park Corner. There my Sphinx tripped lightly up the steps of St. George's Hospital. “Get Mr. Travers's leave,” she said, with a nod, and a bright smile, “to visit Nurse Wade's ward. Then come up to me there in five minutes.”
I explained to my friend the house surgeon that I wished to see certain cases in the accident ward of which I had heard; he smiled a restrained smile—“Nurse Wade, no doubt!” but, of course, gave me permission to go up and look at them. “Stop a minute,” he added, “and I'll come with you.” When we got there, my witch had already changed her dress, and was waiting for us demurely73 in the neat dove-coloured gown and smooth white apron74 of the hospital nurses. She looked even prettier and more meaningful so than in her ethereal outside summer-cloud muslin.
“Come over to this bed,” she said at once to Travers and myself, without the least air of mystery. “I will show you what I mean by it.”
“Nurse Wade has remarkable75 insight,” Travers whispered to me as we went.
“I can believe it,” I answered.
“Look at this woman,” she went on, aside, in a low voice—“no, NOT the first bed; the one beyond it; Number 60. I don't want the patient to know you are watching her. Do you observe anything odd about her appearance?”
“She is somewhat the same type,” I began, “as Mrs.—”
Before I could get out the words “Le Geyt,” her warning eye and puckering76 forehead had stopped me. “As the lady we were discussing,” she interposed, with a quiet wave of one hand. “Yes, in some points very much so. You notice in particular her scanty77 hair—so thin and poor—though she is young and good-looking?”
“It is certainly rather a feeble crop for a woman of her age,” I admitted. “And pale at that, and washy.”
“Precisely78. It's done up behind about as big as a nutmeg.... Now, observe the contour of her back as she sits up there; it is curiously79 curved, isn't it?”
“Very,” I replied. “Not exactly a stoop, nor yet quite a hunch80, but certainly an odd spinal81 configuration82.”
“Like our friend's, once more?”
“Like our friend's, exactly!”
Hilda Wade looked away, lest she should attract the patient's attention. “Well, that woman was brought in here, half-dead, assaulted by her husband,” she went on, with a note of unobtrusive demonstration83.
“We get a great many such cases,” Travers put in, with true medical unconcern, “very interesting cases; and Nurse Wade has pointed84 out to me the singular fact that in almost all instances the patients resemble one another physically85.”
“Incredible!” I cried. “I can understand that there might well be a type of men who assault their wives, but not, surely, a type of women who get assaulted.”
“That is because you know less about it than Nurse Wade,” Travers answered, with an annoying smile of superior knowledge.
Our instructress moved on to another bed, laying one gentle hand as she passed on a patient's forehead. The patient glanced gratitude86. “That one again,” she said once more, half indicating a cot at a little distance: “Number 74. She has much the same thin hair—sparse, weak, and colourless. She has much the same curved back, and much the same aggressive, self-assertive features. Looks capable, doesn't she? A born housewife!... Well, she, too, was knocked down and kicked half-dead the other night by her husband.”
“It is certainly odd,” I answered, “how very much they both recall—”
“Our friend at lunch! Yes, extraordinary. See here”; she pulled out a pencil and drew the quick outline of a face in her note-book. “THAT is what is central and essential to the type. They have THIS sort of profile. Women with faces like that ALWAYS get assaulted.”
Travers glanced over her shoulder. “Quite true,” he assented87, with his bourgeois88 nod. “Nurse Wade in her time has shown me dozens of them. Round dozens: bakers89' dozens! They all belong to that species. In fact, when a woman of this type is brought in to us wounded now, I ask at once, 'Husband?' and the invariable answer comes pat: 'Well, yes, sir; we had some words together.' The effect of words, my dear fellow, is something truly surprising.”
“They can pierce like a dagger,” I mused90.
“And leave an open wound behind that requires dressing,” Travers added, unsuspecting. Practical man, Travers!
“But WHY do they get assaulted—the women of this type?” I asked, still bewildered.
“Number 87 has her mother just come to see her,” my sorceress interposed. “SHE'S an assault case; brought in last night; badly kicked and bruised91 about the head and shoulders. Speak to the mother. She'll explain it all to you.”
Travers and I moved over to the cot her hand scarcely indicated. “Well, your daughter looks pretty comfortable this afternoon, in spite of the little fuss,” Travers began, tentatively.
“Yus, she's a bit tidy, thanky,” the mother answered, smoothing her soiled black gown, grown green with long service. “She'll git on naow, please Gord. But Joe most did for 'er.”
“How did it all happen?” Travers asked, in a jaunty92 tone, to draw her out.
“Well, it was like this, sir, yer see. My daughter, she's a lidy as keeps 'erself TO 'erself, as the sayin' is, an' 'olds 'er 'ead up. She keeps up a proper pride, an' minds 'er 'ouse an' 'er little uns. She ain't no gadabaht. But she 'AVE a tongue, she 'ave”; the mother lowered her voice cautiously, lest the “lidy” should hear. “I don't deny it that she 'AVE a tongue, at times, through myself 'avin' suffered from it. And when she DO go on, Lord bless you, why, there ain't no stoppin' of 'er.”
“Oh, she has a tongue, has she?” Travers replied, surveying the “case” critically. “Well, you know, she looks like it.”
“So she do, sir; so she do. An' Joe, 'e's a man as wouldn't 'urt a biby—not when 'e's sober, Joe wouldn't. But 'e'd bin93 aht; that's where it is; an' 'e cum 'ome lite, a bit fresh, through 'avin' bin at the friendly lead; an' my daughter, yer see, she up an' give it to 'im. My word, she DID give it to 'im! An' Joe, 'e's a peaceable man when 'e ain't a bit fresh; 'e's more like a friend to 'er than an 'usband, Joe is; but 'e lost 'is temper that time, as yer may say, by reason o' bein' fresh, an' 'e knocked 'er abaht a little, an' knocked 'er teeth aht. So we brought 'er to the orspital.”
The injured woman raised herself up in bed with a vindictive94 scowl95, displaying as she did so the same whale-like curved back as in the other “cases.” “But we've sent 'im to the lockup,” she continued, the scowl giving way fast to a radiant joy of victory as she contemplated96 her triumph “an' wot's more, I 'ad the last word of 'im. 'An 'e'll git six month for this, the neighbours says; an' when he comes aht again, my Gord, won't 'e ketch it!”
“You look capable of punishing him for it,” I answered, and as I spoke, I shuddered98; for I saw her expression was precisely the expression Mrs. Le Geyt's face had worn for a passing second when her husband accidentally trod on her dress as we left the dining-room.
My witch moved away. We followed. “Well, what do you say to it now?” she asked, gliding99 among the beds with noiseless feet and ministering fingers.
“Say to it?” I answered. “That it is wonderful, wonderful. You have quite convinced me.”
“You would think so,” Travers put in, “if you had been in this ward as often as I have, and observed their faces. It's a dead certainty. Sooner or later, that type of woman is cock-sure to be assaulted.”
“In a certain rank of life, perhaps,” I answered, still loth to believe it; “but not surely in ours. Gentlemen do not knock down their wives and kick their teeth out.”
My Sibyl smiled. “No; there class tells,” she admitted. “They take longer about it, and suffer more provocation100. They curb101 their tempers. But in the end, one day, they are goaded102 beyond endurance; and then—a convenient knife—a rusty103 old sword—a pair of scissors—anything that comes handy, like that dagger this morning. One wild blow—half unpremeditated—and... the thing is done! Twelve good men and true will find it wilful104 murder.”
I felt really perturbed105. “But can we do nothing,” I cried, “to warn poor Hugo?”
“Nothing, I fear,” she answered. “After all, character must work itself out in its interactions with character. He has married that woman, and he must take the consequences. Does not each of us in life suffer perforce the Nemesis106 of his own temperament?”
“Then is there not also a type of men who assault their wives?”
“That is the odd part of it—no. All kinds, good and bad, quick and slow, can be driven to it at last. The quick-tempered stab or kick; the slow devise some deliberate means of ridding themselves of their burden.”
“But surely we might caution Le Geyt of his danger!”
“It is useless. He would not believe us. We cannot be at his elbow to hold back his hand when the bad moment comes. Nobody will be there, as a matter of fact; for women of this temperament—born naggers, in short, since that's what it comes to—when they are also ladies, graceful and gracious as she is; never nag40 at all before outsiders. To the world, they are bland107; everybody says, 'What charming talkers!' They are 'angels abroad, devils at home,' as the proverb puts it. Some night she will provoke him when they are alone, till she has reached his utmost limit of endurance—and then,” she drew one hand across her dove-like throat, “it will be all finished.”
“You think so?”
“I am sure of it. We human beings go straight like sheep to our natural destiny.”
“But—that is fatalism.”
“No, not fatalism: insight into temperament. Fatalists believe that your life is arranged for you beforehand from without; willy-nilly, you MUST act so. I only believe that in this jostling world your life is mostly determined108 by your own character, in its interaction with the characters of those who surround you. Temperament works itself out. It is your own acts and deeds that make up Fate for you.”
For some months after this meeting neither Hilda Wade nor I saw anything more of the Le Geyts. They left town for Scotland at the end of the season; and when all the grouse109 had been duly slaughtered110 and all the salmon111 duly hooked, they went on to Leicestershire for the opening of fox-hunting; so it was not till after Christmas that they returned to Campden Hill. Meanwhile, I had spoken to Dr. Sebastian about Miss Wade, and on my recommendation he had found her a vacancy at our hospital. “A most intelligent girl, Cumberledge,” he remarked to me with a rare burst of approval—for the Professor was always critical—after she had been at work for some weeks at St. Nathaniel's. “I am glad you introduced her here. A nurse with brains is such a valuable accessory—unless, of course, she takes to THINKING. But Nurse Wade never THINKS; she is a useful instrument—does what she's told, and carries out one's orders implicitly.”
“She knows enough to know when she doesn't know,” I answered, “which is really the rarest kind of knowledge.”
“Unrecorded among young doctors!” the Professor retorted, with his sardonic112 smile. “They think they understand the human body from top to toe, when, in reality—well, they might do the measles113!”
Early in January, I was invited again to lunch with the Le Geyts. Hilda Wade was invited, too. The moment we entered the house, we were both of us aware that some grim change had come over it. Le Geyt met us in the hall, in his old genial style, it is true; but still with a certain reserve, a curious veiled timidity which we had not known in him. Big and good-humoured as he was, with kindly eyes beneath the shaggy eyebrows114, he seemed strangely subdued115 now; the boyish buoyancy had gone out of him. He spoke rather lower than was his natural key, and welcomed us warmly, though less effusively116 than of old. An irreproachable117 housemaid, in a spotless cap, ushered118 us into the transfigured drawing-room. Mrs. Le Geyt, in a pretty cloth dress, neatly119 tailor-made, rose to meet us, beaming the vapid120 smile of the perfect hostess—that impartial121 smile which falls, like the rain from Heaven, on good and bad indifferently. “SO charmed to see you again, Dr. Cumberledge!” she bubbled out, with a cheerful air—she was always cheerful, mechanically cheerful, from a sense of duty. “It IS such a pleasure to meet dear Hugo's old friends! AND Miss Wade, too; how delightful122! You look so well, Miss Wade! Oh, you're both at St. Nathaniel's now, aren't you? So you can come together. What a privilege for you, Dr. Cumberledge, to have such a clever assistant—or, rather, fellow-worker. It must be a great life, yours, Miss Wade; such a sphere of usefulness! If we can only feel we are DOING GOOD—that is the main matter. For my own part, I like to be mixed up with every good work that's going on in my neighbourhood. I'm the soup-kitchen, you know, and I'm visitor at the workhouse; and I'm the Dorcas Society, and the Mutual123 Improvement Class; and the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and to Children, and I'm sure I don't know how much else; so that, what with all that, and what with dear Hugo and the darling children”—she glanced affectionately at Maisie and Ettie, who sat bolt upright, very mute and still, in their best and stiffest frocks, on two stools in the corner—“I can hardly find time for my social duties.”
“Oh, dear Mrs. Le Geyt,” one of her visitors said with effusion, from beneath a nodding bonnet—she was the wife of a rural dean from Staffordshire—“EVERYBODY is agreed that YOUR social duties are performed to a marvel124. They are the envy of Kensington. We all of us wonder, indeed, how one woman can find time for all of it!”
Our hostess looked pleased. “Well, yes,” she answered, gazing down at her fawn-coloured dress with a half-suppressed smile of self-satisfaction, “I flatter myself I CAN get through about as much work in a day as anybody!” Her eye wandered round her rooms with a modest air of placid125 self-approval which was almost comic. Everything in them was as well-kept and as well-polished as good servants, thoroughly126 drilled, could make it. Not a stain or a speck127 anywhere. A miracle of neatness. Indeed, when I carelessly drew the Norwegian dagger from its scabbard, as we waited for lunch, and found that it stuck in the sheath, I almost started to discover that rust50 could intrude128 into that orderly household.
I recollected129 then how Hilda Wade had pointed out to me during those six months at St. Nathaniel's that the women whose husbands assaulted them were almost always “notable housewives,” as they say in America—good souls who prided themselves not a little on their skill in management. They were capable, practical mothers of families, with a boundless130 belief in themselves, a sincere desire to do their duty, as far as they understood it, and a habit of impressing their virtues131 upon others which was quite beyond all human endurance. Placidity132 was their note; provoking placidity. I felt sure it must have been of a woman of this type that the famous phrase was coined—“Elle a toutes les vertus—et elle est insupportable.”
“Clara, dear,” the husband said, “shall we go in to lunch?”
“You dear, stupid boy! Are we not all waiting for YOU to give your arm to Lady Maitland?”
The lunch was perfect, and it was perfectly133 served. The silver glowed; the linen134 was marked with H. C. Le G. in a most artistic135 monogram136. I noticed that the table decorations were extremely pretty. Somebody complimented our hostess upon them. Mrs. Le Geyt nodded and smiled—“I arranged them. Dear Hugo, in his blundering way—the big darling—forgot to get me the orchids137 I had ordered. So I had to make shift with what few things our own wee conservatory138 afforded. Still, with a little taste and a little ingenuity—” She surveyed her handiwork with just pride, and left the rest to our imaginations.
“Only you ought to explain, Clara—” Le Geyt began, in a deprecatory tone.
“Now, you darling old bear, we won't harp139 on that twice-told tale again,” Clara interrupted, with a knowing smile. “Point da rechauffes! Let us leave one another's misdeeds and one another's explanations for their proper sphere—the family circle. The orchids did NOT turn up, that is the point; and I managed to make shift with the plumbago and the geraniums. Maisie, my sweet, NOT that pudding, IF you please; too rich for you, darling. I know your digestive capacities better than you do. I have told you fifty times it doesn't agree with you. A small slice of the other one!”
“Yes, mamma,” Maisie answered, with a cowed and cowering140 air. I felt sure she would have murmured, “Yes, mamma,” in the selfsame tone if the second Mrs. Le Geyt had ordered her to hang herself.
“I saw you out in the park, yesterday, on your bicycle, Ettie,” Le Geyt's sister, Mrs. Mallet141, put in. “But do you know, dear, I didn't think your jacket was half warm enough.”
“Mamma doesn't like me to wear a warmer one,” the child answered, with a visible shudder97 of recollection, “though I should love to, Aunt Lina.”
“My precious Ettie, what nonsense—for a violent exercise like bicycling! Where one gets so hot! So unbecomingly hot! You'd be simply stifled142, darling.” I caught a darted143 glance which accompanied the words and which made Ettie recoil144 into the recesses145 of her pudding.
“But yesterday was so cold, Clara,” Mrs. Mallet went on, actually venturing to oppose the infallible authority. “A nipping morning. And such a flimsy coat! Might not the dear child be allowed to judge for herself in a matter purely146 of her own feelings?”
Mrs. Le Geyt, with just the shadow of a shrug147, was all sweet reasonableness. She smiled more suavely148 than ever. “Surely, Lina,” she remonstrated149, in her frankest and most convincing tone, “I must know best what is good for dear Ettie, when I have been watching her daily for more than six months past, and taking the greatest pains to understand both her constitution and her disposition150. She needs hardening, Ettie does. Hardening. Don't you agree with me, Hugo?”
Le Geyt shuffled151 uneasily in his chair. Big man as he was, with his great black beard and manly152 bearing, I could see he was afraid to differ from her overtly153. “Well,—m—perhaps, Clara,” he began, peering from under the shaggy eyebrows, “it would be best for a delicate child like Ettie—”
Mrs. Le Geyt smiled a compassionate154 smile. “Ah, I forgot,” she cooed, sweetly. “Dear Hugo never CAN understand the upbringing of children. It is a sense denied him. We women know”—with a sage155 nod. “They were wild little savages156 when I took them in hand first—weren't you, Maisie? Do you remember, dear, how you broke the looking-glass in the boudoir, like an untamed young monkey? Talking of monkeys, Mr. Cotswould, HAVE you seen those delightful, clever, amusing French pictures at that place in Suffolk Street? There's a man there—a Parisian—I forget his honoured name—Leblanc, or Lenoir, or Lebrun, or something—but he's a most humorous artist, and he paints monkeys and storks157 and all sorts of queer beasties ALMOST as quaintly158 and expressively159 as you do. Mind, I say ALMOST, for I never will allow that any Frenchman could do anything QUITE so good, quite so funnily mock-human, as your marabouts and professors.”
“What a charming hostess Mrs. Le Geyt makes,” the painter observed to me, after lunch. “Such tact160! Such discrimination!... AND, what a devoted161 stepmother!”
“She is one of the local secretaries of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children,” I said, drily.
“And charity begins at home,” Hilda Wade added, in a significant aside.
We walked home together as far as Stanhope Gate. Our sense of doom162 oppressed us. “And yet,” I said, turning to her, as we left the doorstep, “I don't doubt Mrs. Le Geyt really believes she IS a model stepmother!”
“Of course she believes it,” my witch answered. “She has no more doubt about that than about anything else. Doubts are not in her line. She does everything exactly as it ought to be done—who should know, if not she?—and therefore she is never afraid of criticism. Hardening, indeed! that poor slender, tender, shrinking little Ettie! A frail163 exotic. She would harden her into a skeleton if she had her way. Nothing's much harder than a skeleton, I suppose, except Mrs. Le Geyt's manner of training one.”
“I should be sorry to think,” I broke in, “that that sweet little floating thistle-down of a child I once knew was to be done to death by her.”
“Oh, as for that, she will NOT be done to death,” Hilda answered, in her confident way. “Mrs. Le Geyt won't live long enough.”
I started. “You think not?”
“I don't think, I am sure of it. We are at the fifth act now. I watched Mr. Le Geyt closely all through lunch, and I'm more confident than ever that the end is coming. He is temporarily crushed; but he is like steam in a boiler164, seething165, seething, seething. One day she will sit on the safety-valve, and the explosion will come. When it comes”—she raised aloft one quick hand in the air as if striking a dagger home—“good-bye to her!”
For the next few months I saw much of Le Geyt; and the more I saw of him, the more I saw that my witch's prognosis was essentially166 correct. They never quarrelled; but Mrs. Le Geyt, in her unobtrusive way, held a quiet hand over her husband which became increasingly apparent. In the midst of her fancy-work (those busy fingers were never idle) she kept her eyes well fixed on him. Now and again I saw him glance at his motherless girls with what looked like a tender, protecting regret; especially when “Clara” had been most openly drilling them; but he dared not interfere167. She was crushing their spirit, as she was crushing their father's—and all, bear in mind, for the best of motives168! She had their interest at heart; she wanted to do what was right for them. Her manner to him and to them was always honey-sweet—in all externals; yet one could somehow feel it was the velvet169 glove that masked the iron hand; not cruel, not harsh even, but severely170, irresistibly171, unflinchingly crushing. “Ettie, my dear, get your brown hat at once. What's that? Going to rain? I did not ask you, my child, for YOUR opinion on the weather. My own suffices. A headache? Oh, nonsense! Headaches are caused by want of exercise. Nothing so good for a touch of headache as a nice brisk walk in Kensington Gardens. Maisie, don't hold your sister's hand like that; it is imitation sympathy! You are aiding and abetting172 her in setting my wishes at naught173. Now, no long faces! What I require is CHEERFUL obedience174.”
A bland, autocratic martinet175: smiling, inexorable! Poor, pale Ettie grew thinner and wanner176 under her law daily, while Maisie's temper, naturally docile177, was being spoiled before one's eyes by persistent178, needless thwarting179.
As spring came on, however, I began to hope that things were really mending. Le Geyt looked brighter; some of his own careless, happy-go-lucky self came back again at intervals180. He told me once, with a wistful sigh, that he thought of sending the children to school in the country—it would be better for them, he said, and would take a little work off dear Clara's shoulders; for never even to me was he disloyal to Clara. I encouraged him in the idea. He went on to say that the great difficulty in the way was... Clara. She was SO conscientious181; she thought it her duty to look after the children herself, and couldn't bear to delegate any part of that duty to others. Besides, she had such an excellent opinion of the Kensington High School!
When I told Hilda Wade of this, she set her teeth together and answered at once: “That settles it! The end is very near. HE will insist upon their going, to save them from that woman's ruthless kindness; and SHE will refuse to give up any part of what she calls her duty. HE will reason with her; he will plead for his children; SHE will be adamant182. Not angry—it is never the way of that temperament to get angry—just calmly, sedately183, and insupportably provoking. When she goes too far, he will flare184 up at last; some taunt185 will rouse him; the explosion will come; and... the children will go to their Aunt Lina, whom they dote upon. When all is said and done, it is the poor man I pity!”
“You said within twelve months.”
“That was a bow drawn at a venture. It may be a little sooner; it may be a little later. But—next week or next month—it is coming: it is coming!”
June smiled upon us once more; and on the afternoon of the 13th, the anniversary of our first lunch together at the Le Geyts, I was up at my work in the accident ward at St. Nathaniel's. “Well, the ides of June have come, Sister Wade!” I said, when I met her, parodying186 Caesar.
“But not yet gone,” she answered; and a profound sense of foreboding spread over her speaking face as she uttered the words.
Her oracle187 disquieted me. “Why, I dined there last night,” I cried; “and all seemed exceptionally well.”
“The calm before the storm, perhaps,” she murmured.
Just at that moment I heard a boy crying in the street: “Pall188 mall Gazette; 'ere y'are; speshul edishun! Shocking tragedy at the West-end! Orful murder! 'Ere y'are! Spechul Globe! Pall Mall, extry speshul!”
A weird tremor189 broke over me. I walked down into the street and bought a paper. There it stared me in the face on the middle page: “Tragedy at Campden Hill: Well-known Barrister Murders his Wife. Sensational190 Details.”
I looked closer and read. It was as I feared. The Le Geyts! After I left their house, the night before, husband and wife must have quarrelled, no doubt over the question of the children's schooling191; and at some provoking word, as it seemed, Hugo must have snatched up a knife—“a little ornamental192 Norwegian dagger,” the report said, “which happened to lie close by on the cabinet in the drawing-room,” and plunged193 it into his wife's heart. “The unhappy lady died instantaneously, by all appearances, and the dastardly crime was not discovered by the servants till eight o'clock this morning. Mr. Le Geyt is missing.”
I rushed up with the news to Nurse Wade, who was at work in the accident ward. She turned pale, but bent194 over her patient and said nothing.
“It is fearful to think!” I groaned195 out at last; “for us who know all—that poor Le Geyt will be hanged for it! Hanged for attempting to protect his children!”
“He will NOT be hanged,” my witch answered, with the same unquestioning confidence as ever.
“Why not?” I asked, astonished once more at this bold prediction.
She went on bandaging the arm of the patient whom she was attending. “Because... he will commit suicide,” she replied, without moving a muscle.
“How do you know that?”
She stuck a steel safety-pin with deft196 fingers into the roll of lint197. “When I have finished my day's work,” she answered slowly, still continuing the bandage, “I may perhaps find time to tell you.”
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1
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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witchcraft
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| n.魔法，巫术 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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diaphanous
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| adj.(布)精致的，半透明的 | |
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poising
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| 使平衡( poise的现在分词 )； 保持（某种姿势）； 抓紧； 使稳定 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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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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wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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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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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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winsome
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| n.迷人的，漂亮的 | |
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vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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30
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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41
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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42
electrified
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| v.使电气化( electrify的过去式和过去分词 )；使兴奋 | |
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43
recipient
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| a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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44
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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45
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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46
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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47
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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48
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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49
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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50
rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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51
implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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52
fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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53
piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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54
pervade
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| v.弥漫，遍及，充满，渗透，漫延 | |
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55
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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piquantly
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58
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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utterances
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| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
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60
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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61
disquieted
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| v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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65
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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66
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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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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69
forestall
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| vt.抢在…之前采取行动；预先阻止 | |
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70
omens
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| n.前兆，预兆( omen的名词复数 ) | |
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71
auguries
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| n.（古罗马）占卜术，占卜仪式( augury的名词复数 )；预兆 | |
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72
serpentine
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| adj.蜿蜒的，弯曲的 | |
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73
demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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74
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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75
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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76
puckering
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的现在分词 )；小褶纹；小褶皱 | |
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77
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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78
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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79
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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80
hunch
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| n.预感，直觉 | |
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81
spinal
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| adj.针的，尖刺的，尖刺状突起的；adj.脊骨的，脊髓的 | |
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82
configuration
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| n.结构，布局，形态，(计算机)配置 | |
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83
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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84
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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85
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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86
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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87
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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89
bakers
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| n.面包师( baker的名词复数 )；面包店；面包店店主；十三 | |
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90
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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91
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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92
jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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93
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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94
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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95
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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96
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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97
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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98
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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99
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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100
provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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101
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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102
goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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103
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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104
wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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105
perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
nemesis
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| n.给以报应者，复仇者，难以对付的敌手 | |
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107
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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108
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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109
grouse
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| n.松鸡；v.牢骚，诉苦 | |
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110
slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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112
sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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113
measles
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| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
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114
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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115
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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116
effusively
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| adv.变溢地，热情洋溢地 | |
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117
irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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118
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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120
vapid
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| adj.无味的；无生气的 | |
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121
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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122
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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123
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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124
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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125
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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126
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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127
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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128
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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129
recollected
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|
| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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131
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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132
placidity
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| n.平静，安静，温和 | |
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133
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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134
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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135
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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136
monogram
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| n.字母组合 | |
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137
orchids
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| n.兰花( orchid的名词复数 ) | |
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138
conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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139
harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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140
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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141
mallet
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| n.槌棒 | |
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142
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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143
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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144
recoil
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| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
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145
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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146
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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147
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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148
suavely
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149
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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150
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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151
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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152
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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153
overtly
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| ad.公开地 | |
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154
compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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155
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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156
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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157
storks
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| n.鹳( stork的名词复数 ) | |
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158
quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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159
expressively
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| ad.表示(某事物)地；表达地 | |
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160
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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161
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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162
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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163
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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164
boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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165
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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166
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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167
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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168
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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169
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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170
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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171
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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172
abetting
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| v.教唆（犯罪）( abet的现在分词 )；煽动；怂恿；支持 | |
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173
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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174
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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175
martinet
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| n.要求严格服从纪律的人 | |
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176
wanner
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| adj.苍白的( wan的最高级 )；无血色的；病态的；暗淡的 | |
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177
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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178
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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179
thwarting
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| 阻挠( thwart的现在分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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180
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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181
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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182
adamant
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| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
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183
sedately
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| adv.镇静地，安详地 | |
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184
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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185
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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186
parodying
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| v.滑稽地模仿，拙劣地模仿( parody的现在分词 ) | |
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187
oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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188
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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189
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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190
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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191
schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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192
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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193
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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194
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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195
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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196
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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197
lint
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| n.线头；绷带用麻布，皮棉 | |
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