Mrs. Wragge was dressed, armed at all points with her collection of circulars, and eager to be away by ten o’clock. At an earlier hour Magdalen had provided for her being properly taken care of by the landlady2’s eldest3 daughter—a quiet, well-conducted girl, whose interest in the shopping expedition was readily secured by a little present of money for the purchase, on her own account, of a parasol and a muslin dress. Shortly after ten o’clock Magdalen dismissed Mrs. Wragge and her attendant in a cab. She then joined the landlady—who was occupied in setting the rooms in order upstairs—with the object of ascertaining4, by a little well-timed gossip, what the daily habits might be of the inmates5 of the house.
She discovered that there were no other lodgers6 but Mrs. Wragge and herself. The landlady’s husband was away all day, employed at a railway station. Her second daughter was charged with the care of the kitchen in the elder sister’s absence. The younger children were at school, and would be back at one o’clock to dinner. The landlady herself “got up fine linen7 for ladies,” and expected to be occupied over her work all that morning in a little room built out at the back of the premises8. Thus there was every facility for Magdalen’s leaving the house in disguise, and leaving it unobserved, provided she went out before the children came back to dinner at one o’clock.
By eleven o’clock the apartments were set in order, and the landlady had retired9 to pursue her own employments. Magdalen softly locked the door of her room, drew the blind over the window, and entered at once on her preparations for the perilous10 experiment of the day.
The same quick perception of dangers to be avoided and difficulties to be overcome which had warned her to leave the extravagant11 part of her character costume in the box at Birmingham now kept her mind fully12 alive to the vast difference between a disguise worn by gas-light for the amusement of an audience and a disguise assumed by daylight to deceive the searching eyes of two strangers. The first article of dress which she put on was an old gown of her own (made of the material called “alpaca”), of a dark-brown color, with a neat pattern of little star-shaped spots in white. A double flounce running round the bottom of this dress was the only milliner’s ornament13 which it presented—an ornament not at all out of character with the costume appropriated to an elderly lady. The disguise of her head and face was the next object of her attention. She fitted and arranged the gray wig14 with the dexterity15 which constant practice had given her; fixed16 the false eyebrows17 (made rather large, and of hair darker than the wig) carefully in their position with the gum she had with her for the purpose, and stained her face with the customary stage materials, so as to change the transparent18 fairness of her complexion19 to the dull, faintly opaque20 color of a woman in ill health. The lines and markings of age followed next; and here the first obstacles presented themselves. The art which succeeded by gas-light failed by day: the difficulty of hiding the plainly artificial nature of the marks was almost insuperable. She turned to her trunk; took from it two veils; and putting on her old-fashioned bonnet21, tried the effect of them in succession. One of the veils (of black lace) was too thick to be worn over the face at that summer season without exciting remark. The other, of plain net, allowed her features to be seen through it, just indistinctly enough to permit the safe introduction of certain lines (many fewer than she was accustomed to use in performing the character) on the forehead and at the sides of the mouth. But the obstacle thus set aside only opened the way to a new difficulty—the difficulty of keeping her veil down while she was speaking to other persons, without any obvious reason for doing so. An instant’s consideration, and a chance look at her little china palette of stage colors, suggested to her ready invention the production of a visible excuse for wearing her veil. She deliberately22 disfigured herself by artificially reddening the insides of her eyelids23 so as to produce an appearance of inflammation which no human creature but a doctor—and that doctor at close quarters—could have detected as false. She sprang to her feet and looked triumphantly24 at the hideous25 transformation26 of herself reflected in the glass. Who could think it strange now if she wore her veil down, and if she begged Mrs. Lecount’s permission to sit with her back to the light?
Her last proceeding27 was to put on the quiet gray cloak which she had brought from Birmingham, and which had been padded inside by Captain Wragge’s own experienced hands, so as to hide the youthful grace and beauty of her back and shoulders. Her costume being now complete, she practiced the walk which had been originally taught her as appropriate to the character—a walk with a slight limp—and, returning to the glass after a minute’s trial, exercised herself next in the disguise of her voice and manner. This was the only part of the character in which it had been possible, with her physical peculiarities28, to produce an imitation of Miss Garth; and here the resemblance was perfect. The harsh voice, the blunt manner, the habit of accompanying certain phrases by an emphatic29 nod of the head, the Northumbrian burr expressing itself in every word which contained the letter “r”—all these personal peculiarities of the old North-country governess were reproduced to the life. The personal transformation thus completed was literally30 what Captain Wragge had described it to be—a triumph in the art of self-disguise. Excepting the one case of seeing her face close, with a strong light on it, nobody who now looked at Magdalen could have suspected for an instant that she was other than an ailing31, ill-made, unattractive woman of fifty years old at least.
Before unlocking the door, she looked about her carefully, to make sure that none of her stage materials were exposed to view in case the landlady entered the room in her absence. The only forgotten object belonging to her that she discovered was a little packet of Norah’s letters which she had been reading overnight, and which had been accidentally pushed under the looking-glass while she was engaged in dressing33 herself. As she took up the letters to put them away, the thought struck her for the first time, “Would Norah know me now if we met each other in the street?” She looked in the glass, and smiled sadly. “No,” she said, “not even Norah.”
She unlocked the door, after first looking at her watch. It was close on twelve o’clock. There was barely an hour left to try her desperate experiment, and to return to the lodging34 before the landlady’s children came back from school.
An instant’s listening on the landing assured her that all was quiet in the passage below. She noiselessly descended35 the stairs and gained the street without having met any living creature on her way out of the house. In another minute she had crossed the road, and had knocked at Noel Vanstone’s door.
The door was opened by the same woman-servant whom she had followed on the previous evening to the stationer’s shop. With a momentary36 tremor37, which recalled the memorable38 first night of her appearance in public, Magdalen inquired (in Miss Garth’s voice, and with Miss Garth’s manner) for Mrs. Lecount.
“Mrs. Lecount has gone out, ma’am,” said the servant.
“Is Mr. Vanstone at home?” asked Magdalen, her resolution asserting itself at once against the first obstacle that opposed it.
“My master is not up yet, ma’am.”
Another check! A weaker nature would have accepted the warning. Magdalen’s nature rose in revolt against it.
“What time will Mrs. Lecount be back?” she asked.
“About one o’clock, ma’am.”
“Say, if you please, that I will call again as soon after one o’clock as possible. I particularly wish to see Mrs. Lecount. My name is Miss Garth.”
She turned and left the house. Going back to her own room was out of the question. The servant (as Magdalen knew by not hearing the door close) was looking after her; and, moreover, she would expose herself, if she went indoors, to the risk of going out again exactly at the time when the landlady’s children were sure to be about the house. She turned mechanically to the right, walked on until she recalled Vauxhall Bridge, and waited there, looking out over the river.
The interval39 of unemployed40 time now before her was nearly an hour. How should she occupy it?
As she asked herself the question, the thought which had struck her when she put away the packet of Norah’s letters rose in her mind once more. A sudden impulse to test the miserable41 completeness of her disguise mixed with the higher and purer feeling at her heart, and strengthened her natural longing32 to see her sister’s face again, though she dare not discover herself and speak. Norah’s later letters had described, in the fullest details, her life as a governess—her hours for teaching, her hours of leisure, her hours for walking out with her pupils. There was just time, if she could find a vehicle at once, for Magdalen to drive to the house of Norah’s employer, with the chance of getting there a few minutes before the hour when her sister would be going out. “One look at her will tell me more than a hundred letters!” With that thought in her heart, with the one object of following Norah on her daily walk, under protection of the disguise, Magdalen hastened over the bridge, and made for the northern bank of the river.
So, at the turning-point of her life—so, in the interval before she took the irrevocable step, and passed the threshold of Noel Vanstone’s door—the forces of Good triumphing in the strife42 for her over the forces of Evil, turned her back on the scene of her meditated43 deception44, and hurried her mercifully further and further away from the fatal house.
She stopped the first empty cab that passed her; told the driver to go to New Street, Spring Gardens; and promised to double his fare if he reached his destination by a given time. The man earned the money—more than earned it, as the event proved. Magdalen had not taken ten steps in advance along New Street, walking toward St. James’s Park, before the door of a house beyond her opened, and a lady in mourning came out, accompanied by two little girls. The lady also took the direction of the Park, without turning her head toward Magdalen as she descended the house step. It mattered little; Magdalen’s heart looked through her eyes, and told her that she saw Norah.
She followed them into St. James’s Park, and thence (along the Mall) into the Green Park, venturing closer and closer as they reached the grass and ascended45 the rising ground in the direction of Hyde Park Corner. Her eager eyes devoured46 every detail in Norah’s dress, and detected the slightest change that had taken place in her figure and her bearing. She had become thinner since the autumn—her head drooped47 a little; she walked wearily. Her mourning dress, worn with the modest grace and neatness which no misfortune could take from her, was suited to her altered station; her black gown was made of stuff; her black shawl and bonnet were of the plainest and cheapest kind. The two little girls, walking on either side of her, were dressed in silk. Magdalen instinctively48 hated them.
She made a wide circuit on the grass, so as to turn gradually and meet her sister without exciting suspicion that the meeting was contrived49. Her heart beat fast; a burning heat glowed in her as she thought of her false hair, her false color, her false dress, and saw the dear familiar face coming nearer and nearer. They passed each other close. Norah’s dark gentle eyes looked up, with a deeper light in them, with a sadder beauty than of old—rested, all unconscious of the truth, on her sister’s face—and looked away from it again as from the face of a stranger. That glance of an instant struck Magdalen to the heart. She stood rooted to the ground after Norah had passed by. A horror of the vile50 disguise that concealed51 her; a yearning52 to burst its trammels and hide her shameful53 painted face on Norah’s bosom54, took possession of her, body and soul. She turned and looked back.
Norah and the two children had reached the higher ground, and were close to one of the gates in the iron railing which fenced the Park from the street. Drawn55 by an irresistible56 fascination57, Magdalen followed them again, gained on them as they reached the gate, and heard the voices of the two children raised in angry dispute which way they wanted to walk next. She saw Norah take them through the gate, and then stoop and speak to them, while waiting for an opportunity to cross the road. They only grew the louder and the angrier for what she said. The youngest—a girl of eight or nine years old—flew into a child’s vehement58 passion, cried, screamed, and even kicked at the governess. The people in the street stopped and laughed; some of them jestingly advised a little wholesome59 correction; one woman asked Norah if she was the child’s mother; another pitied her audibly for being the child’s governess. Before Magdalen could push her way through the crowd—before her all-mastering anxiety to help her sister had blinded her to every other consideration, and had brought her, self-betrayed, to Norah’s side—an open carriage passed the pavement slowly, hindered in its progress by the press of vehicles before it. An old lady seated inside heard the child’s cries, recognized Norah, and called to her immediately. The footman parted the crowd, and the children were put into the carriage. “It’s lucky I happened to pass this way,” said the old lady, beckoning60 contemptuously to Norah to take her place on the front seat; “you never could manage my daughter’s children, and you never will.” The footman put up the steps, the carriage drove on with the children and the governess, the crowd dispersed61, and Magdalen was alone again.
“So be it!” she thought, bitterly. “I should only have distressed62 her. We should only have had the misery63 of parting to suffer again.”
She mechanically retraced64 her steps; she returned, as in a dream, to the open space of the Park. Arming itself treacherously65 with the strength of her love for her sister, with the vehemence66 of the indignation that she felt for her sister’s sake, the terrible temptation of her life fastened its hold on her more firmly than ever. Through all the paint and disfigurement of the disguise, the fierce despair of that strong and passionate67 nature lowered, haggard and horrible. Norah made an object of public curiosity and amusement; Norah reprimanded in the open street; Norah, the hired victim of an old woman’s insolence68 and a child’s ill-temper, and the same man to thank for it who had sent Frank to China!—and that man’s son to thank after him! The thought of her sister, which had turned her from the scene of her meditated deception, which had made the consciousness of her own disguise hateful to her, was now the thought which sanctioned that means, or any means, to compass her end; the thought which set wings to her feet, and hurried her back nearer and nearer to the fatal house.
She left the Park again, and found herself in the streets without knowing where. Once more she hailed the first cab that passed her, and told the man to drive to Vauxhall Walk.
The change from walking to riding quieted her. She felt her attention returning to herself and her dress. The necessity of making sure that no accident had happened to her disguise in the interval since she had left her own room impressed itself immediately on her mind. She stopped the driver at the first pastry-cook’s shop which he passed, and there obtained the means of consulting a looking-glass before she ventured back to Vauxhall Walk.
Her gray head-dress was disordered, and the old-fashioned bonnet was a little on one side. Nothing else had suffered. She set right the few defects in her costume, and returned to the cab. It was half-past one when she approached the house and knocked, for the second time, at Noel Vanstone’s door. The woman-servant opened it as before.
“Has Mrs. Lecount come back?”
“Yes, ma’am. Step this way, if you please.”
The servant preceded Magdalen along an empty passage, and, leading her past an uncarpeted staircase, opened the door of a room at the back of the house. The room was lighted by one window looking out on a yard; the walls were bare; the boarded floor was uncovered. Two bedroom chairs stood against the wall, and a kitchen-table was placed under the window. On the table stood a glass tank filled with water, and ornamented69 in the middle by a miniature pyramid of rock-work interlaced with weeds. Snails70 clung to the sides of the tank; tadpoles71 and tiny fish swam swiftly in the green water, slippery efts and slimy frogs twined their noiseless way in and out of the weedy rock-work; and on top of the pyramid there sat solitary72, cold as the stone, brown as the stone, motionless as the stone, a little bright-eyed toad73. The art of keeping fish and reptiles75 as domestic pets had not at that time been popularized in England; and Magdalen, on entering the room, started back, in irrepressible astonishment76 and disgust, from the first specimen77 of an Aquarium78 that she had ever seen.
“Don’t be alarmed,” said a woman’s voice behind her. “My pets hurt nobody.”
Magdalen turned, and confronted Mrs. Lecount. She had expected—founding her anticipations79 on the letter which the housekeeper80 had written to her—to see a hard, wily, ill-favored, insolent81 old woman. She found herself in the presence of a lady of mild, ingratiating manners, whose dress was the perfection of neatness, taste, and matronly simplicity82, whose personal appearance was little less than a triumph of physical resistance to the deteriorating83 influence of time. If Mrs. Lecount had struck some fifteen or sixteen years off her real age, and had asserted herself to be eight-and-thirty, there would not have been one man in a thousand, or one woman in a hundred, who would have hesitated to believe her. Her dark hair was just turning to gray, and no more. It was plainly parted under a spotless lace cap, sparingly ornamented with mourning ribbons. Not a wrinkle appeared on her smooth white forehead, or her plump white cheeks. Her double chin was dimpled, and her teeth were marvels84 of whiteness and regularity85. Her lips might have been critically considered as too thin, if they had not been accustomed to make the best of their defects by means of a pleading and persuasive86 smile. Her large black eyes might have looked fierce if they had been set in the face of another woman, they were mild and melting in the face of Mrs. Lecount; they were tenderly interested in everything she looked at—in Magdalen, in the toad on the rock-work, in the back-yard view from the window; in her own plump fair hands,—which she rubbed softly one over the other while she spoke87; in her own pretty cambric chemisette, which she had a habit of looking at complacently88 while she listened to others. The elegant black gown in which she mourned the memory of Michael Vanstone was not a mere89 dress—it was a well-made compliment paid to Death. Her innocent white muslin apron90 was a little domestic poem in itself. Her jet earrings91 were so modest in their pretensions92 that a Quaker might have looked at them and committed no sin. The comely93 plumpness of her face was matched by the comely plumpness of her figure; it glided94 smoothly95 over the ground; it flowed in sedate96 undulations when she walked. There are not many men who could have observed Mrs. Lecount entirely97 from the Platonic98 point of view—lads in their teens would have found her irresistible—women only could have hardened their hearts against her, and mercilessly forced their way inward through that fair and smiling surface. Magdalen’s first glance at this Venus of the autumn period of female life more than satisfied her that she had done well to feel her ground in disguise before she ventured on matching herself against Mrs. Lecount.
“Have I the pleasure of addressing the lady who called this morning?” inquired the housekeeper. “Am I speaking to Miss Garth?”
Something in the expression of her eyes, as she asked that question, warned Magdalen to turn her face further inward from the window than she had turned it yet. The bare doubt whether the housekeeper might not have seen her already under too strong a light shook her self-possession for the moment. She gave herself time to recover it, and merely answered by a bow.
“Accept my excuses, ma’am, for the place in which I am compelled to receive you,” proceeded Mrs. Lecount in fluent English, spoken with a foreign accent. “Mr. Vanstone is only here for a temporary purpose. We leave for the sea-side to-morrow afternoon, and it has not been thought worth while to set the house in proper order. Will you take a seat, and oblige me by mentioning the object of your visit?”
She glided imperceptibly a step or two nearer to Magdalen, and placed a chair for her exactly opposite the light from the window. “Pray sit down,” said Mrs. Lecount, looking with the tenderest interest at the visitor’s inflamed99 eyes through the visitor’s net veil.
“I am suffering, as you see, from a complaint in the eyes,” replied Magdalen, steadily100 keeping her profile toward the window, and carefully pitching her voice to the tone of Miss Garth’s. “I must beg your permission to wear my veil down, and to sit away from the light.” She said those words, feeling mistress of herself again. With perfect composure she drew the chair back into the corner of the room beyond the window and seated herself, keeping the shadow of her bonnet well over her face. Mrs. Lecount’s persuasive lips murmured a polite expression of sympathy; Mrs. Lecount’s amiable101 black eyes looked more interested in the strange lady than ever. She placed a chair for herself exactly on a line with Magdalen’s, and sat so close to the wall as to force her visitor either to turn her head a little further round toward the window, or to fail in politeness by not looking at the person whom she addressed. “Yes,” said Mrs. Lecount, with a confidential102 little cough. “And to what circumstances am I indebted for the honor of this visit?”
“May I inquire, first, if my name happens to be familiar to you?” said Magdalen, turning toward her as a matter of necessity, but coolly holding up her handkerchief at the same time between her face and the light.
“No,” answered Mrs. Lecount, with another little cough, rather harsher than the first. “The name of Miss Garth is not familiar to me.”
“In that case,” pursued Magdalen, “I shall best explain the object that causes me to intrude103 on you by mentioning who I am. I lived for many years as governess in the family of the late Mr. Andrew Vanstone, of Combe-Raven, and I come here in the interest of his orphan104 daughters.”
Mrs. Lecount’s hands, which had been smoothly sliding one over the other up to this time, suddenly stopped; and Mrs. Lecount’s lips, self-forgetfully shutting up, owned they were too thin at the very outset of the interview.
“I am surprised you can bear the light out-of-doors without a green shade,” she quietly remarked; leaving the false Miss Garth’s announcement of herself as completely unnoticed as it she had not spoken at all.
“I find a shade over my eyes keeps them too hot at this time of the year,” rejoined Magdalen, steadily matching the housekeeper’s composure. “May I ask whether you heard what I said just now on the subject of my errand in this house?”
“May I inquire on my side, ma’am, in what way that errand can possibly concern me?” retorted Mrs. Lecount.
“Certainly,” said Magdalen. “I come to you because Mr. Noel Vanstone’s intentions toward the two young ladies were made known to them in the form of a letter from yourself.”
That plain answer had its effect. It warned Mrs. Lecount that the strange lady was better informed than she had at first suspected, and that it might hardly be wise, under the circumstances, to dismiss her unheard.
“Pray pardon me,” said the housekeeper, “I scarcely understood before; I perfectly105 understand now. You are mistaken, ma’am, in supposing that I am of any importance, or that I exercise any influence in this painful matter. I am the mouth-piece of Mr. Noel Vanstone; the pen he holds, if you will excuse the expression—nothing more. He is an invalid106, and like other invalids107, he has his bad days and his good. It was his bad day when that answer was written to the young person—shall I call her Miss Vanstone? I will, with pleasure, poor girl; for who am I to make distinctions, and what is it to me whether her parents were married or not? As I was saying, it was one of Mr. Noel Vanstone’s bad days when that answer was sent, and therefore I had to write it; simply as his secretary, for want of a better. If you wish to speak on the subject of these young ladies—shall I call them young ladies, as you did just now? no, poor things, I will call them the Misses Vanstone.—If you wish to speak on the subject of these Misses Vanstone, I will mention your name, and your object in favoring me with this call, to Mr. Noel Vanstone. He is alone in the parlor108, and this is one of his good days. I have the influence of an old servant over him, and I will use that influence with pleasure in your behalf. Shall I go at once?” asked Mrs. Lecount, rising, with the friendliest anxiety to make herself useful.
“If you please,” replied Magdalen; “and if I am not taking any undue109 advantage of your kindness.”
“On the contrary,” rejoined Mrs. Lecount, “you are laying me under an obligation—you are permitting me, in my very limited way, to assist the performance of a benevolent110 action.” She bowed, smiled, and glided out of the room.
Left by herself, Magdalen allowed the anger which she had suppressed in Mrs. Lecount’s presence to break free from her. For want of a nobler object to attack, it took the direction of the toad. The sight of the hideous little reptile74 sitting placid111 on his rock throne, with his bright eyes staring impenetrably into vacancy112, irritated every nerve in her body. She looked at the creature with a shrinking intensity113 of hatred114; she whispered at it maliciously115 through her set teeth. “I wonder whose blood runs coldest,” she said, “yours, you little monster, or Mrs. Lecount’s? I wonder which is the slimiest, her heart or your back? You hateful wretch116, do you know what your mistress is? Your mistress is a devil!”
The speckled skin under the toad’s mouth mysteriously wrinkled itself, then slowly expanded again, as if he had swallowed the words just addressed to him. Magdalen started back in disgust from the first perceptible movement in the creature’s body, trifling117 as it was, and returned to her chair. She had not seated herself again a moment too soon. The door opened noiselessly, and Mrs. Lecount appeared once more.
“Mr. Vanstone will see you,” she said, “if you will kindly118 wait a few minutes. He will ring the parlor bell when his present occupation is at an end, and he is ready to receive you. Be careful, ma’am, not to depress his spirits, nor to agitate119 him in any way. His heart has been a cause of serious anxiety to those about him, from his earliest years. There is no positive disease; there is only a chronic120 feebleness—a fatty degeneration—a want of vital power in the organ itself. His heart will go on well enough if you don’t give his heart too much to do—that is the advice of all the medical men who have seen him. You will not forget it, and you will keep a guard over your conversation accordingly. Talking of medical men, have you ever tried the Golden Ointment121 for that sad affliction in your eyes? It has been described to me as an excellent remedy.”
“It has not succeeded in my case,” replied Magdalen, sharply. “Before I see Mr. Noel Vanstone,” she continued, “may I inquire—”
“I beg your pardon,” interposed Mrs. Lecount. “Does your question refer in any way to those two poor girls?”
“It refers to the Misses Vanstone.”
“Then I can’t enter into it. Excuse me, I really can’t discuss these poor girls (I am so glad to hear you call them the Misses Vanstone!) except in my master’s presence, and by my master’s express permission. Let us talk of something else while we are waiting here. Will you notice my glass Tank? I have every reason to believe that it is a perfect novelty in England.”
“I looked at the tank while you were out of the room,” said Magdalen.
“Did you? You take no interest in the subject, I dare say? Quite natural. I took no interest either until I was married. My dear husband—dead many years since—formed my tastes and elevated me to himself. You have heard of the late Professor Lecomte, the eminent122 Swiss naturalist123? I am his widow. The English circle at Zurich (where I lived in my late master’s service) Anglicized my name to Lecount. Your generous country people will have nothing foreign about them—not even a name, if they can help it. But I was speaking of my husband—my dear husband, who permitted me to assist him in his pursuits. I have had only one interest since his death—an interest in science. Eminent in many things, the professor was great at reptiles. He left me his Subjects and his Tank. I had no other legacy124. There is the Tank. All the Subjects died but this quiet little fellow—this nice little toad. Are you surprised at my liking125 him? There is nothing to be surprised at. The professor lived long enough to elevate me above the common prejudice against the reptile creation. Properly understood, the reptile creation is beautiful. Properly dissected126, the reptile creation is instructive in the last degree.” She stretched out her little finger, and gently stroked the toad’s back with the tip of it. “So refreshing127 to the touch,” said Mrs. Lecount—“so nice and cool this summer weather!”
The bell from the parlor rang. Mrs. Lecount rose, bent128 fondly over the Aquarium, and chirruped to the toad at parting as if it had been a bird. “Mr. Vanstone is ready to receive you. Follow me, if you please, Miss Garth.” With these words she opened the door, and led the way out of the room.
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overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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ascertaining
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的现在分词 ) | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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lodgers
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| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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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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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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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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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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18
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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19
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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21
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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22
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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23
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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24
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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25
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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26
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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27
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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28
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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29
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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30
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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31
ailing
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| v.生病 | |
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32
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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33
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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34
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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35
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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36
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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37
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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38
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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39
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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40
unemployed
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| adj.失业的，没有工作的；未动用的，闲置的 | |
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41
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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42
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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43
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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44
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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45
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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47
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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49
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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50
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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51
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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52
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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53
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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54
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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55
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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56
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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57
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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58
vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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59
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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60
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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61
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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62
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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63
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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64
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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65
treacherously
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| 背信弃义地； 背叛地； 靠不住地； 危险地 | |
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66
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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67
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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68
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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69
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
snails
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| n.蜗牛；迟钝的人；蜗牛( snail的名词复数 ) | |
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71
tadpoles
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| n.蝌蚪( tadpole的名词复数 ) | |
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72
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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73
toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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74
reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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75
reptiles
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| n.爬行动物，爬虫( reptile的名词复数 ) | |
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76
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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77
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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78
aquarium
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| n.水族馆，养鱼池，玻璃缸 | |
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79
anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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80
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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81
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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82
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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83
deteriorating
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| 恶化，变坏( deteriorate的现在分词 ) | |
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84
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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85
regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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86
persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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87
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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88
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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89
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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90
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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91
earrings
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| n.耳环( earring的名词复数 )；耳坠子 | |
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92
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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93
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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94
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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95
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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96
sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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97
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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98
platonic
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| adj.精神的；柏拉图（哲学）的 | |
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99
inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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101
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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102
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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103
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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104
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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105
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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106
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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107
invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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108
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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109
undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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110
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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111
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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112
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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113
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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114
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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115
maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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116
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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117
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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118
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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119
agitate
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| vi.(for,against)煽动，鼓动；vt.搅动 | |
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120
chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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121
ointment
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| n.药膏，油膏，软膏 | |
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122
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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123
naturalist
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| n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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124
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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125
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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126
dissected
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| adj.切开的，分割的，（叶子）多裂的v.解剖（动物等）( dissect的过去式和过去分词 )；仔细分析或研究 | |
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127
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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128
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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