[Drawn from the Life. By a Gentleman with No Sensibilities.]
Is there any law in England which will protect me from Mrs. Badgery?
I am a bachelor, and Mrs. Badgery is a widow. Don't suppose she wants to marry me! She wants nothing of the sort. She has not attempted to marry me; she would not think of marrying me, even if I asked her. Understand, if you please, at the outset, that my grievance1 in relation to this widow lady is a grievance of an entirely2 new kind.
Let me begin again. I am a bachelor of a certain age. I have a large circle of acquaintance; but I solemnly declare that the late Mr. Badgery was never numbered on the list of my friends. I never heard of him in my life; I never knew that he had left a relict; I never set eyes on Mrs. Badgery until one fatal morning when I went to see if the fixtures3 were all right in my new house.
My new house is in the suburbs of London. I 275 looked at it, liked it, took it. Three times I visited it before I sent my furniture in. Once with a friend, once with a surveyor, once by myself, to throw a sharp eye, as I have already intimated, over the fixtures. The third visit marked the fatal occasion on which I first saw Mrs. Badgery. A deep interest attaches to this event, and I shall go into details in describing it.
I rang at the bell of the garden-door. The old woman appointed to keep the house answered it. I directly saw something strange and confused in her face and manner. Some men would have pondered a little and questioned her. I am by nature impetuous and a rusher at conclusions. "Drunk," I said to myself, and walked on into the house perfectly4 satisfied.
I looked into the front parlour. Grate all right, curtain-pole all right, gas chandelier all right. I looked into the back parlour—ditto, ditto, ditto, as we men of business say. I mounted the stairs. Blind on back window right? Yes; blind on back window right. I opened the door of the front drawing-room—and there, sitting in the middle of the bare floor, was a large woman on a little camp-stool! She was dressed in the deepest mourning; her face was hidden by the thickest crape veil I ever saw; and she was groaning5 softly to herself in the desolate6 solitude7 of my new unfurnished house. 276
What did I do? Do! I bounced back into the landing as if I had been shot, uttering the national exclamation8 of terror and astonishment9: "Hullo!" (And here I particularly beg, in parenthesis10, that the printer will follow my spelling of the word, and not put Hillo, or Halloa, instead, both of which are senseless compromises which represent no sound that ever yet issued from an Englishman's lips.) I said, "Hullo!" and then I turned round fiercely upon the old woman who kept the house, and said "Hullo!" again.
She understood the irresistible11 appeal that I had made to her feelings, and curtseyed, and looked towards the drawing-room, and humbly12 hoped that I was not startled or put out. I asked who the crape-covered woman on the camp-stool was, and what she wanted there. Before the old woman could answer, the soft groaning in the drawing-room ceased, and a muffled13 voice, speaking from behind the crape veil, addressed me reproachfully, and said:
"I am the widow of the late Mr. Badgery."
What do you think I said in answer? Exactly the words which, I flatter myself, any other sensible man in my situation would have said. And what words were they? These two:
"Oh, indeed?"
"Mr. Badgery and myself were the last tenants15 who inhabited this house," continued the muffled 277 voice. "Mr. Badgery died here." The voice ceased, and the soft groans16 began again.
It was perhaps not necessary to answer this; but I did answer it. How? In two words again:
"Did he?"
"Our house has been long empty," resumed the voice, choked by sobs17. "Our establishment has been broken up. Being left in reduced circumstances, I now live in a cottage near; but it is not home to me. This is home. However long I live, wherever I go, whatever changes may happen to this beloved house, nothing can ever prevent me from looking on it as my home. I came here, sir, with Mr. Badgery after our honeymoon18. All the brief happiness of my life was once contained within these four walls. Every dear remembrance that I fondly cherish is shut up in these sacred rooms."
Again the voice ceased, and again the soft groans echoed round my empty walls, and oozed19 out past me down my uncarpeted staircase.
I reflected. Mrs. Badgery's brief happiness and dear remembrances were not included in the list of fixtures. Why could she not take them away with her? Why should she leave them littered about in the way of my furniture? I was just thinking how I could put this view of the case strongly to Mrs. Badgery, when she suddenly left off groaning, and addressed me once more. 278
"While this house has been empty," she said, "I have been in the habit of looking in from time to time, and renewing my tender associations with the place. I have lived, as it were, in the sacred memories of Mr. Badgery and of the past, which these dear, these priceless rooms call up, dismantled20 and dusty as they are at the present moment. It has been my practice to give a remuneration to the attendant for any slight trouble that I might occasion——"
"Only sixpence, sir," whispered the old woman, close at my ear.
"And to ask nothing in return," continued Mrs. Badgery, "but the permission to bring my camp-stool with me, and to meditate21 on Mr. Badgery in the empty rooms, with every one of which some happy thought, or eloquent22 word, or tender action of his, is everlastingly23 associated. I came here on my usual errand to-day. I am discovered, I presume, by the new proprietor24 of the house—discovered, I am quite ready to admit, as an intruder. I am willing to go, if you wish it after hearing my explanation. My heart is full, sir; I am quite incapable26 of contending with you. You would hardly think it, but I am sitting on the spot once occupied by our ottoman. I am looking towards the window in which my flower-stand once stood. In this very place, Mr. Badgery first sat down and clasped me to his 279 heart, when we came back from our honeymoon trip. 'Matilda,' he said, 'your drawing-room has been expensively papered, carpeted, and furnished for a month; but it has only been adorned27, love, since you entered it.' If you have no sympathy, sir, for such remembrances as these; if you see nothing pitiable in my position, taken in connection with my presence here; if you cannot enter into my feelings, and thoroughly28 understand that this is not a house, but a Shrine29—you have only to say so, and I am quite willing to go."
She spoke30 with the air of a martyr31—a martyr to my insensibility. If she had been the proprietor and I had been the intruder, she could not have been more mournfully magnanimous. All this time, too, she never raised her veil—she never has raised it, in my presence, from that time to this. I have no idea whether she is young or old, dark or fair, handsome or ugly: my impression is, that she is in every respect a finished and perfect Gorgon32; but I have no basis of fact on which I can support that horrible idea. A moving mass of crape, and a muffled voice—that, if you drive me to it, is all I know, in a personal point of view, of Mrs. Badgery.
"Ever since my irreparable loss, this has been the shrine of my pilgrimage, and the altar of my worship," proceeded the voice. "One man may call himself a landlord, and say that he will let it; 280 another man may call himself a tenant14, and say that he will take it. I don't blame either of those two men; I don't wish to intrude25 on either of those two men; I only tell them that this is my home; that my heart is still in possession, and that no mortal laws, landlords, or tenants can ever turn it out. If you don't understand this, sir; if the holiest feelings that do honour to our common nature have no particular sanctity in your estimation, pray do not scruple33 to say so; pray tell me to go."
"I don't wish to do anything uncivil, ma'am," said I. "But I am a single man, and I am not sentimental34." (Mrs. Badgery groaned35.) "Nobody told me I was coming into a Shrine when I took this house; nobody warned me, when I first went over it that there was a Heart in possession. I regret to have disturbed your meditations36, and I am sorry to hear that Mr. Badgery is dead. That is all I have to say about it; and now, with your kind permission, I will do myself the honour of wishing you good morning, and will go up-stairs to look after the fixtures on the second floor."
Could I have given a gentler hint than this? Could I have spoken more compassionately37 to a woman whom I sincerely believe to be old and ugly? Where is the man to be found who can lay his hand on his heart, and honestly say that he ever really pitied the sorrows of a Gorgon? Search through the 281 whole surface of the globe, and you will discover human phenomena38 of all sorts; but you will not find that man.
To resume. I made her a bow, and left her on the camp-stool, in the middle of the drawing-room floor, exactly as I had found her. I ascended39 to the second floor, walked into the back room first, and inspected the grate. It appeared to be a little out of repair, so I stooped down to look at it closer. While I was kneeling over the bars, I was violently startled by the fall of one large drop of Warm Water, from a great height, exactly in the middle of a bald place, which has been widening a great deal of late years on the top of my head. I turned on my knees, and looked round. Heaven and earth! the crape-covered woman had followed me up-stairs—the source from which the drop of warm water had fallen was Mrs. Badgery's eye!
"I wish you could contrive40 not to cry over the top of my head, ma'am," I remarked. My patience was becoming exhausted41, and I spoke with considerable asperity42. The curly-headed youth of the present age may not be able to sympathise with my feelings on this occasion; but my bald brethren know, as well as I do, that the most unpardonable of all liberties is a liberty taken with the unguarded top of the human head.
Mrs. Badgery did not seem to hear me. When she 282 had dropped the tear, she was standing43 exactly over me, looking down at the grate; and she never stirred an inch after I had spoken. "Don't cry over my head, ma'am," I repeated, more irritably44 than before.
"This was his dressing-room," said Mrs. Badgery, indulging in muffled soliloquy. "He was singularly particular about his shaving-water. He always liked to have it in a little tin pot, and he invariably desired that it might be placed on this hob." She groaned again, and tapped one side of the grate with the leg of her camp-stool.
If I had been a woman, or if Mrs. Badgery had been a man, I should now have proceeded to extremities45, and should have vindicated46 my right to my own house by an appeal to physical force. Under existing circumstances, all that I could do was to express my indignation by a glance. The glance produced not the slightest result—and no wonder. Who can look at a woman with any effect, through a crape veil?
I retreated into the second-floor front room, and instantly shut the door after me. The next moment I heard the rustling47 of the crape garments outside, and the muffled voice of Mrs. Badgery poured lamentably48 through the keyhole.
"Do you mean to make that your bed-room?" asked the voice on the other side of the door. "Oh, don't, don't make that your bed-room! I am going 283 away directly—but, oh pray, pray let that one room be sacred! Don't sleep there! If you can possibly help it, don't sleep there!"
I opened the window, and looked up and down the road. If I had seen a policeman within hail I should certainly have called him in. No such person was visible. I shut the window again, and warned Mrs. Badgery, through the door, in my sternest tones, not to interfere49 with my domestic arrangements. "I mean to have my own iron bedstead put up here," I said. "And what is more, I mean to sleep here. And what is more, I mean to snore here!" Severe, I think, that last sentence? It completely crushed Mrs. Badgery for the moment. I heard the crape garments rustling away from the door; I heard the muffled groans going slowly and solemnly down the stairs again.
In due course of time I also descended50 to the ground-floor. Had Mrs. Badgery really left the premises51? I looked into the front parlour—empty. Back parlour—empty. Any other room on the ground-floor? Yes; a long room at the end of the passage. The door was closed. I opened it cautiously, and peeped in. A faint scream, and a smack52 of two distractedly-clasped hands saluted53 my appearance. There she was, again on the camp-stool, again sitting exactly in the middle of the floor.
"Don't, don't look in, in that way!" cried Mrs. 284 Badgery, wringing54 her hands. "I could bear it in any other room, but I can't bear it in this. Every Monday morning I looked out the things for the wash in this room. He was difficult to please about his linen55; the washerwoman never put starch56 enough into his collars to satisfy him. Oh, how often and often has he popped his head in here, as you popped yours just now; and said, in his amusing way, 'More starch!' Oh, how droll57 he always was—how very, very droll in this dear little back room!"
I said nothing. The situation had now got beyond words. I stood with the door in my hand, looking down the passage towards the garden, and waiting doggedly58 for Mrs. Badgery to go out. My plan succeeded. She rose, sighed, shut up the camp-stool, stalked along the passage, paused on the hall mat, said to herself, "Sweet, sweet spot!" descended the steps, groaned along the gravel-walk, and disappeared from view at last through the garden-door.
"Let her in again at your peril," said I to the woman who kept the house. She curtseyed and trembled. I left the premises, satisfied with my own conduct under very trying circumstances; delusively59 convinced also that I had done with Mrs. Badgery.
The next day I sent in the furniture. The most unprotected object on the face of this earth is a house 285 when the furniture is going in. The doors must be kept open; and employ as many servants as you may, nobody can be depended on as a domestic sentry60 so long as the van is at the gate. The confusion of "moving in" demoralises the steadiest disposition61, and there is no such thing as a properly-guarded post from the top of the house to the bottom. How the invasion was managed, how the surprise was effected, I know not; but it is certainly the fact, that when my furniture went in, the inevitable62 Mrs. Badgery went in along with it.
I have some very choice engravings, after the old masters; and I was first awakened63 to a consciousness of Mrs. Badgery's presence in the house, while I was hanging up my proof impression of Titian's Venus over the front parlour fire-place. "Not there!" cried the muffled voice imploringly64. "His portrait used to hang there. Oh, what a print—what a dreadful, dreadful print to put where his dear portrait used to be!"
I turned round in a fury. There she was, still muffled up in crape, still carrying her abominable65 camp-stool. Before I could say a word in remonstrance66, six men in green baize aprons67 staggered in with my sideboard, and Mrs. Badgery suddenly disappeared. Had they trampled68 her under foot, or crushed her in the doorway69? Though not an inhuman70 man by nature, I asked myself those questions 286 quite composedly. No very long time elapsed before they were practically answered in the negative by the reappearance of Mrs. Badgery herself, in a perfectly unruffled condition of chronic71 grief. In the course of the day I had my toes trodden on, I was knocked about by my own furniture, the six men in baize aprons dropped all sorts of small articles over me in going up and down stairs; but Mrs. Badgery escaped unscathed. Every time I thought she had been turned out of the house she proved, on the contrary, to be groaning close behind me. She wept over Mr. Badgery's memory in every room, perfectly undisturbed to the last, by the chaotic72 confusion of moving in. I am not sure, but I think she brought a tin box of sandwiches with her, and celebrated73 a tearful pic-nic of her own in the groves74 of my front garden. I say I am not sure of this; but I am positively75 certain that I never entirely got rid of her all day; and I know to my cost that she insisted on making me as well acquainted with Mr. Badgery's favourite notions and habits as I am with my own. It may interest the reader if I report that my taste in carpets is not equal to Mr. Badgery's; that my ideas on the subject of servants' wages are not so generous as Mr. Badgery's; and that I ignorantly persisted in placing a sofa in the position which Mr. Badgery, in his time, considered to be particularly fitted for an arm-chair. 287 I could go nowhere, look nowhere, do nothing, say nothing, all that day, without bringing the widowed incubus76 in the crape garments down upon me immediately. I tried civil remonstrances77, I tried rude speeches, I tried sulky silence—nothing had the least effect on her. The memory of Mr. Badgery was the shield of proof with which she warded78 off my fiercest attacks. Not till the last article of furniture had been moved in, did I lose sight of her; and even then she had not really left the house. One of my six men in green baize aprons routed her out of the back-garden area, where she was telling my servants, with floods of tears, of Mr. Badgery's virtuous79 strictness with his housemaid in the matter of followers80. My admirable man in green baize courageously81 saw her out, and shut the garden-door after her. I gave him half-a-crown on the spot; and if anything happens to him, I am ready to make the future prosperity of his fatherless family my own peculiar82 care.
The next day was Sunday; and I attended morning service at my new parish church.
A popular preacher had been announced, and the building was crowded. I advanced a little way up the nave83, and looked to my right, and saw no room. Before I could look to my left, I felt a hand laid persuasively84 on my arm. I turned round—and there was Mrs. Badgery, with her pew-door open, solemnly 288 beckoning85 me in. The crowd had closed up behind me; the eyes of a dozen members of the congregation, at least, were fixed86 on me. I had no choice but to save appearances, and accept the dreadful invitation. There was a vacant place next to the door of the pew. I tried to drop into it, but Mrs. Badgery stopped me. "His seat," she whispered, and signed to me to place myself on the other side of her. It is unnecessary to say that I had to climb over a hassock, and that I knocked down all Mrs. Badgery's devotional books before I succeeded in passing between her and the front of the pew. She cried uninterruptedly through the service; composed herself when it was over; and began to tell me what Mr. Badgery's opinions had been on points of abstract theology. Fortunately there was great confusion and crowding at the door of the church; and I escaped, at the hazard of my life, by running round the back of the carriages. I passed the interval87 between the services alone in the fields, being deterred88 from going home by the fear that Mrs. Badgery might have got there before me.
Monday came. I positively ordered my servants to let no lady in deep mourning pass inside the garden-door, without first consulting me. After that, feeling tolerably secure, I occupied myself in arranging my books and prints.
I had not pursued this employment much more 289 than an hour, when one of the servants burst excitably into the room, and informed me that a lady in deep mourning had been taken faint, just outside my door, and had requested leave to come in and sit down for a few moments. I ran down the garden-path to bolt the door, and arrived just in time to see it violently pushed open by an officious and sympathising crowd. They drew away on either side as they saw me. There she was, leaning on the grocer's shoulder, with the butcher's boy in attendance, carrying her camp-stool! Leaving my servants to do what they liked with her, I ran back and locked myself up in my bedroom. When she evacuated89 the premises, some hours afterwards, I received a message of apology, informing me that this particular Monday was the sad anniversary of her wedding-day, and that she had been taken faint, in consequence, at the sight of her lost husband's house.
Tuesday forenoon passed away happily, without any new invasion. After lunch, I thought I would go out and take a walk. My garden-door has a sort of peep-hole in it, covered with a wire grating. As I got close to this grating, I thought I saw something mysteriously dark on the outer side of it. I bent90 my head down to look through, and instantly found myself face to face with the crape veil. "Sweet, sweet spot!" said the muffled voice, speaking straight into my eyes through the grating. The usual groans followed, 290 and the name of Mr. Badgery was plaintively91 pronounced before I could recover myself sufficiently92 to retreat to the house.
Wednesday is the day on which I am writing this narrative93. It is not twelve o'clock yet, and there is every probability that some new form of sentimental persecution94 is in store for me before the evening. Thus far, these lines contain a perfectly true statement of Mrs. Badgery's conduct towards me since I entered on the possession of my house and her shrine. What am I to do?—that is the point I wish to insist on—what am I to do? How am I to get away from the memory of Mr. Badgery, and the unappeasable grief of his disconsolate95 widow? Any other species of invasion it is possible to resist; but how is a man placed in my unhappy and unparalleled circumstances to defend himself? I can't keep a dog ready to fly at Mrs. Badgery. I can't charge her at a police-court with being oppressively fond of the house in which her husband died. I can't set man-traps for a woman, or prosecute96 a weeping widow as a trespasser97 and a nuisance. I am helplessly involved in the unrelaxing folds of Mrs. Badgery's crape veil. Surely there was no exaggeration in my language when I said that I was a sufferer under a perfectly new grievance! Can anybody advise me? Has anybody had even the remotest experience of the peculiar form of persecution which I am now enduring? 291 If nobody has, is there any legal gentleman in the United Kingdom who can answer the all-important question which appears at the head of this narrative? I began by asking that question because it was uppermost in my mind. It is uppermost in my mind still, and I therefore beg leave to conclude appropriately by asking it again:
Is there any law in England which will protect me from Mrs. Badgery?
END OF VOL. I.
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grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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fixtures
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| （房屋等的）固定装置( fixture的名词复数 )； 如（浴盆、抽水马桶）； 固定在某位置的人或物； （定期定点举行的）体育活动 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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exclamation
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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parenthesis
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| n.圆括号，插入语，插曲，间歇，停歇 | |
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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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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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tenants
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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sobs
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honeymoon
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oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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dismantled
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meditate
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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everlastingly
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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incapable
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adorned
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thoroughly
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shrine
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spoke
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martyr
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gorgon
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scruple
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sentimental
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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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meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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compassionately
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| adv.表示怜悯地，有同情心地 | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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extremities
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| n.端点( extremity的名词复数 )；尽头；手和足；极窘迫的境地 | |
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vindicated
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| v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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lamentably
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| adv.哀伤地，拙劣地 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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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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starch
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| n.淀粉；vt.给...上浆 | |
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droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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delusively
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| adv.困惑地，欺瞒地 | |
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sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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imploringly
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| adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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aprons
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| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
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trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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chaotic
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| adj.混沌的，一片混乱的，一团糟的 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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incubus
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| n.负担；恶梦 | |
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remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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warded
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| 有锁孔的，有钥匙榫槽的 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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courageously
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| ad.勇敢地，无畏地 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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nave
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| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
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persuasively
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| adv.口才好地；令人信服地 | |
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beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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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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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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deterred
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| v.阻止，制止( deter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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evacuated
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| 撤退者的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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92
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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93
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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prosecute
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| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
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trespasser
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| n.侵犯者；违反者 | |
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