O Baumbach's, with your deliciously crumbling1 butter cookies and your kaffee kuchen, and your thick cream, and your thicker waitresses and your cockroaches3, and your dinginess4 and your dowdy5 German ladies and your black, black Kaffee, where in this country is there another like you!
Blackie, true to his promise, had hailed me from the doorway6 on the afternoon of the following day. In the rush of the day's work I had quite forgotten about Blackie and Baumbach's.
“Come, Kindchen!” he called. “Get your bonnet7 on. We will by Baumbach's go, no?”
Ruefully I gazed at the grimy cuffs8 of my blouse, and felt of my dishevelled hair. “Oh, I'm afraid I can't go. I look so mussy. Haven't had time to brush up.”
“Brush up!” scoffed9 Blackie, “the only thing about you that will need brushin' up is your German. I was goin' t' warn you to rumple10 up your hair a little so you wouldn't feel overdressed w'en you got there. Come on, girl.”
And so I came. And oh, I'm so glad I came!
I must have passed it a dozen times without once noticing it—just a dingy11 little black shop nestling between two taller buildings, almost within the shadow of the city hall. Over the sidewalk swung a shabby black sign with gilt12 letters that spelled, “Franz Baumbach.”
Blackie waved an introductory hand in the direction of the sign. “There he is. That's all you'll ever see of him.”
“Dead?” asked I, regretfully, as we entered the narrow doorway.
“No; down in the basement baking Kaffeekuchen.”
Two tiny show-windows faced the street—such queer, old-fashioned windows in these days of plate glass. At the back they were quite open to the shop, and in one of them reposed13 a huge, white, immovable structure—a majestic14, heavy, nutty, surely indigestible birthday cake. Around its edge were flutings and scrolls15 of white icing, and on its broad breast reposed cherries, and stout16 butterflies of jelly, and cunning traceries of colored sugar. It was quite the dressiest cake I had ever beheld17. Surely no human hand could be wanton enough to guide a knife through all that magnificence. But in the center of all this splendor18 was an inscription19 in heavy white letters of icing: “Charlottens Geburtstag.”
Reluctantly I tore my gaze from this imposing20 example of the German confectioner's art, for Blackie was tugging21 impatiently at my sleeve.
“But Blackie,” I marveled, “do you honestly suppose that that structure is intended for some Charlotte's birthday?”
“In Milwaukee,” explained Blackie, “w'en you got a birthday you got t' have a geburtstag cake, with your name on it, and all the cousins and aunts and members of the North Side Frauen Turner Verein Gesellchaft, in for the day. It ain't considered decent if you don't. Are you ready to fight your way into the main tent?”
It was holiday time, and the single narrow aisle22 of the front shop was crowded. It was not easy to elbow one's way through the packed little space. Men and women were ordering recklessly of the cakes of every description that were heaped in cases and on shelves.
Cakes! What a pale; dry name to apply to those crumbling, melting, indigestible German confections! Blackie grinned with enjoyment23 while I gazed. There were cakes the like of which I had never seen and of which I did not even know the names. There were little round cup cakes made of almond paste that melts in the mouth; there were Schnecken glazed24 with a delicious candied brown sugar; there were Bismarcks composed of layer upon layer of flaky crust inlaid with an oozy25 custard that evades the eager consumer at the first bite, and that slides down one's collar when chased with a pursuing tongue. There were Pfeffernusse; there, were Lebkuchen; there were cheese-kuchen; plum-kuchen, peach-kuchen, Apfelkuchen, the juicy fruit stuck thickly into the crust, the whole dusted over with powdered sugar. There were Torten, and Hornchen, and butter cookies.
Blackie touched my arm, and I tore my gaze from a cherry-studded Schaumtorte that was being reverently26 packed for delivery.
“My, what a greedy girl! Now get your mind all made up. This is your chance. You know you're supposed t' take a slant27 at th' things an' make up your mind w'at you want before you go back w'ere th' tables are. Don't fumble28 this thing. When Olga or Minna comes waddlin' up t' you an' says: 'Nu, Fraulein?' you gotta tell her whether your heart says plum-kuchen oder Nusstorte, or both, see? Just like that. Now make up your mind. I'd hate t' have you blunder. Have you decided29?”
“Decided! How can I?” I moaned, watching a black-haired, black-eyed Alsatian girl behind the counter as she rolled a piece of white paper into a cone30 and dipped a spoonful of whipped cream from a great brown bowl heaped high with the snowy stuff. She filled the paper cone, inserted the point of it into one end of a hollow pastry32 horn, and gently squeezed. Presto33! A cream-filled Hornchen!
“Oh, Blackie!” I gasped34. “Come on. I want to go in and eat.”
As we elbowed our way to the rear room separated from the front shop only by a flimsy wooden partition, I expected I know not what.
But surely this was not Blackie's much-vaunted Baumbach's! This long, narrow, dingy room, with its bare floor and its iron-legged tables whose bare marble tops were yellow with age and use! I said nothing as we seated ourselves. Blackie was watching me out of the tail of his eye. My glance wandered about the shabby, smoke-filled room, and slowly and surely the charm of that fusty, dingy little cafe came upon me.
A huge stove glowed red in one corner. On the wall behind the stove was suspended a wooden rack, black with age, its compartments35 holding German, Austrian and Hungarian newspapers. Against the opposite wall stood an ancient walnut36 mirror, and above it hung a colored print of Bismarck, helmeted, uniformed, and fiercely mustached. The clumsy iron-legged tables stood in two solemn rows down the length of the narrow room. Three or four stout, blond girls plodded37 back and forth38, from tables to front shop, bearing trays of cakes and steaming cups of coffee. There was a rumble39 and clatter40 of German. Every one seemed to know every one else. A game of chess was in progress at one table, and between moves each contestant41 would refresh himself with a long-drawn42, sibilant mouthful of coffee. There was nothing about the place or its occupants to remind one of America. This dim, smoky, cake-scented cafe was Germany.
“Time!” said Blackie. “Here comes Rosie to take our order. You can take your choice of coffee or chocolate. That's as fancy as they get here.”
An expansive blond girl paused at our table smiling a broad welcome at Blackie.
“Wie geht's, Roschen?” he greeted her. Roschen's smile became still more pervasive43, so that her blue eyes disappeared in creases44 of good humor. She wiped the marble table top with a large and careless gesture that precipitated45 stray crumbs46 into our laps. “Gut!” murmured she, coyly, and leaned one hand on a portly hip31 in an attitude of waiting.
“Coffee?” asked Blackie, turning to me. I nodded.
“Zweimal Kaffee?” beamed Roschen, grasping the idea.
“Now's your time to speak up,” urged Blackie. “Go ahead an' order all the cream gefillte things that looked good to you out in front.”
But I leaned forward, lowering my voice discreetly47. “Blackie, before I plunge48 in too recklessly, tell me, are their prices very—”
“Sa-a-ay, child, you just can't spend half a dollar here if you try. The flossiest kind of thing they got is only ten cents a order. They'll smother49 you in whipped cream f'r a quarter. You c'n come in here an' eat an' eat an' put away piles of cakes till you feel like a combination of Little Jack50 Horner an' old Doc Johnson. An' w'en you're all through, they hand yuh your check, an', say—it says forty-five cents. You can't beat it, so wade51 right in an' spoil your complexion52.”
With enthusiasm I turned upon the patient Rosie. “O, bring me some of those cunning little round things with the cream on 'em, you know—two of those, eh Blackie? And a couple of those with the flaky crust and the custard between, and a slice of that fluffy-looking cake and some of those funny cocked-hat shaped cookies—”
But a pall53 of bewilderment was slowly settling over Rosie's erstwhile smiling face. Her plump shoulders went up in a helpless shrug54, and she turned her round blue eyes appealingly to Blackie.
“Was meint sie alles?” she asked.
So I began all over again, with the assistance of Blackie. We went into minute detail. We made elaborate gestures. We drew pictures of our desired goodies on the marble-topped table, using a soft-lead pencil. Rosie's countenance55 wore a distracted look. In desperation I was about to accompany her to the crowded shop, there to point out my chosen dainties when suddenly, as they would put it here, a light went her over.
“Ach, yes-s-s-s! Sie wollten vielleicht abgeruhrter Gugelhopf haben, und auch Schaumtorte, und Bismarcks, und Hornchen mit cream gefullt, nicht?”
“Certainly,” I murmured, quite crushed. Roschen waddled56 merrily off to the shop.
Blackie was rolling a cigarette. He ran his funny little red tongue along the edge of the paper and glanced up at me in glee. “Don't bother about me,” he generously observed. “Just set still and let the atmosphere soak in.”
But already I was lost in contemplation of a red-faced, pompadoured German who was drinking coffee and reading the Fliegende Blatter at a table just across the way. There were counterparts of my aborigines at Knapf's—thick spectacled engineers with high foreheads—actors and actresses from the German stock company—reporters from the English and German newspapers—business men with comfortable German consciences—long-haired musicians—dapper young lawyers—a giggling57 group of college girls and boys—a couple of smartly dressed women nibbling58 appreciatively at slices of Nusstorte—low-voiced lovers whose coffee cups stood untouched at their elbows, while no fragrant59 cloud of steam rose to indicate that there was warmth within. Their glances grow warmer as the neglected Kaffee grows colder. The color comes and goes in the girl's face and I watch it, a bit enviously60, marveling that the old story still should be so new.
At a large square table near the doorway a group of eight men were absorbed in an animated61 political discussion, accompanied by much waving of arms, and thundering of gutturals. It appeared to be a table of importance, for the high-backed bench that ran along one side was upholstered in worn red velvet62, and every newcomer paused a moment to nod or to say a word in greeting. It was not of American politics that they talked, but of the politics of Austria and Hungary. Finally the argument resolved itself into a duel63 of words between a handsome, red-faced German whose rosy64 skin seemed to take on a deeper tone in contrast to the whiteness of his hair and mustache, and a swarthy young fellow whose thick spectacles and heavy mane of black hair gave him the look of a caricature out of an illustrated65 German weekly. The red-faced man argued loudly, with much rapping of bare knuckles66 on the table top. But the dark man spoke67 seldom, and softly, with a little twisted half-smile on his lips; and whenever he spoke the red-faced man grew redder, and there came a huge laugh from the others who sat listening.
“Say, wouldn't it curdle68 your English?” Blackie laughed.
Solemnly I turned to him. “Blackie Griffith, these people do not even realize that there is anything unusual about this.”
“Sure not; that's the beauty of it. They don't need to make no artificial atmosphere for this place; it just grows wild, like dandelions. Everybody comes here for their coffee because their aunts an' uncles and Grossmutters and Grosspapas used t' come, and come yet, if they're livin'! An', after all, what is it but a little German bakery?”
“But O, wise Herr Baumbach down in the kitchen! O, subtle Frau Baumbach back of the desk!” said I. “Others may fit their shops with mirrors, and cut-glass chandeliers and Oriental rugs and mahogany, but you sit serenely69 by, and you smile, and you change nothing. You let the brown walls grow dimmer with age; you see the marble-topped tables turning yellow; you leave bare your wooden floor, and you smile, and smile, and smile.”
“Fine!” applauded Blackie. “You're on. And here comes Rosie.”
Rosie, the radiant, placed on the table cups and saucers of an unbelievable thickness. She set them down on the marble surface with a crash as one who knows well that no mere70 marble or granite71 could shatter the solidity of those stout earthenware72 receptacles. Napkins there were none. I was to learn that fingers were rid of any clinging remnants of cream or crumb2 by the simple expedient73 of licking them.
Blackie emptied his pitcher74 of cream into his cup of black, black coffee, sugared it, stirred, tasted, and then, with a wicked gleam in his black eyes he lifted the heavy cup to his lips and took a long, gurgling mouthful.
“Blackie,” I hissed75, “if you do that again I shall refuse to speak to you!”
“Do what?” demanded he, all injured innocence76.
“Snuffle up your coffee like that.”
“Why, girl, that's th' proper way t' drink coffee here. Listen t' everybody else.” And while I glared he wrapped his hand lovingly about his cup, holding the spoon imprisoned77 between first and second fingers, and took another sibilant mouthful. “Any more of your back talk and I'll drink it out of m' saucer an' blow on it like the hefty party over there in the earrings78 is doin'. Calm yerself an' try a Bismarck.”
I picked up one of the flaky confections and eyed it in despair. There were no plates except that on which the cakes reposed.
“How does one eat them?” I inquired.
“Yuh don't really eat 'em. The motion is more like inhalin'. T' eat 'em successful you really ought t' get into a bath-tub half-filled with water, because as soon's you bite in at one end w'y the custard stuff slides out at the other, an' no human mouth c'n be two places at oncet. Shut your eyes girl, an' just wade in.”
I waded79. In silence I took a deep delicious bite, nimbly chased the coy filling around a corner with my tongue, devoured80 every bit down to the last crumb and licked the stickiness off my fingers. Then I investigated the interior of the next cake.
“I'm coming here every day,” I announced.
“Better not. Ruin your complexion and turn all your lines into bumps. Look at the dame81 with the earrings. I've been keepin' count an' I've seen her eat three Schnecken, two cream puffs82, a Nusshornchen and a slice of Torte with two cups of coffee. Ain't she a horrible example! And yet she's got th' nerve t' wear a princess gown!”
“I don't care,” I replied, recklessly, my voice choked with whipped cream and butteriness. “I can just feel myself getting greasy83. Haven't I done beautifully for a new hand? Now tell me about some of these people. Who is the funny little man in the checked suit with the black braid trimming, and the green cravat84, and the white spats85, and the tan hat and the eyeglasses?”
“Ain't them th' dizzy habiliments?” A note of envy crept into Blackie's voice. “His name is Hugo Luders. Used t' be a reporter on the Germania, but he's reformed and gone into advertisin', where there's real money. Some say he wears them clo'es on a bet, and some say his taste in dress is a curse descended86 upon him from Joseph, the guy with the fancy coat, but I think he wears 'em because he fancies 'em. He's been coming here ever' afternoon for twelve years, has a cup of coffee, game of chess, and a pow-wow with a bunch of cronies. If Baumbach's ever decide to paint the front of their shop or put in cut glass fixtures87 and handpainted china, Hugo Luders would serve an injunction on 'em. Next!”
“Who's the woman with the leathery complexion and the belt to match, and the untidy hair and the big feet? I like her face. And why does she sit at a table with all those strange-looking men? And who are all the men? And who is the fur-lined grand opera tenor88 just coming in—Oh!”
Blackie glanced over his shoulder just as the tall man in the doorway turned his face toward us. “That? Why, girl, that's Von Gerhard, the man who gives me one more year t' live. Look at everybody kowtowing to him. He don't favor Baumbach's often. Too busy patching up the nervous wrecks89 that are washed up on his shores.”
The tall figure in the doorway was glancing from table to table, nodding here and there to an acquaintance. His eyes traveled the length of the room. Now they were nearing us. I felt a sudden, inexplicable91 tightening92 at heart and throat, as though fingers were clutching there. Then his eyes met mine, and I felt the blood rushing to my face as he came swiftly over to our table and took my hand in his.
“So you have discovered Baumbach's,” he said. “May I have my coffee and cigar here with you?”
“Blackie here is responsible for my being initiated93 into the sticky mysteries of Baumbach's. I never should have discovered it if he had not offered to act as personal conductor. You know one another, I believe?”
The two men shook hands across the table. There was something forced and graceless about the act. Blackie eyed Von Gerhard through a misty94 curtain of cigarette smoke. Von Gerhard gazed at Blackie through narrowed lids as he lighted his cigar. “I'm th' gink you killed off two or three years back,” Blackie explained.
“I remember you perfectly,” Von Gerhard returned, courteously95. “I rejoice to see that I was mistaken.”
“Well,” drawled Blackie, a wicked gleam in his black eyes, “I'm some rejoiced m'self, old top. Angel wings and a white kimono, worn bare-footy, would go some rotten with my Spanish style of beauty, what? Didn't know that you and m'dame friend here was acquainted. Known each other long?”
I felt myself flushing again.
“I knew Dr. von Gerhard back home. I've scarcely seen him since I have been here. Famous specialists can't be bothered with middle-aged96 relatives of their college friends, can they, Herr Doktor?”
And now it was Von Gerhard's face that flushed a deep and painful crimson97. He looked at me, in silence, and I felt very little, and insignificant98, and much like an impudent99 child who has stuck out its tongue at its elders. Silent men always affect talkative women in that way.
“You know that what you say is not true,” he said, slowly.
“Well, we won't quibble. We—we were just about to leave, weren't we Blackie?”
“Just,” said Blackie, rising. “Sorry t' see you drinkin' Baumbach's coffee, Doc. It ain't fair t' your patients.”
“Quite right,” replied Von Gerhard; and rose with us. “I shall not drink it. I shall walk home with Mrs. Orme instead, if she will allow me. That will be more stimulating100 than coffee, and twice as dangerous, perhaps, but—”
“You know how I hate that sort of thing,” I said, coldly, as we passed from the warmth of the little front shop where the plump girls were still filling pasteboard boxes with holiday cakes, to the brisk chill of the winter street. The little black-and-gilt sign swung and creaked in the wind. Whimsically, and with the memory of that last cream-filled cake fresh in my mind, I saluted101 the letters that spelled “Franz Baumbach.”
Blackie chuckled102 impishly. “Just the same, try a pinch of soda103 bicarb'nate when you get home, Dawn,” he advised. “Well, I'm off to the factory again. Got t' make up for time wasted on m' lady friend. Auf wiedersehen!”
And the little figure in the checked top-coat trotted104 off.
“But he called you—Dawn,” broke from Von Gerhard.
“Mhum,” I agreed. “My name's Dawn.”
“Surely not to him. You have known him but a few weeks. I would not have presumed—”
“Blackie never presumes,” I laughed. “Blackie's just—Blackie. Imagine taking offense105 at him! He knows every one by their given name, from Jo, the boss of the pressroom, to the Chief, who imports his office coats from London. Besides, Blackie and I are newspaper men. And people don't scrape and bow in a newspaper office—especially when they're fond of one another. You wouldn't understand.”
As I looked at Von Gerhard in the light of the street lamp I saw a tense, drawn look about the little group of muscles which show when the teeth are set hard. When he spoke those muscles had relaxed but little.
“One man does not talk ill of another. But this is different. I want to ask you—do you know what manner of man this—this Blackie is? I ask you because I would have you safe and sheltered always from such as he—because I—”
“Safe! From Blackie? Now listen. There never was a safer, saner106, truer, more generous friend. Oh, I know what his life has been. But what else could it have been, beginning as he did? I have no wish to reform him. I tried my hand at reforming one man, and made a glorious mess of it. So I'll just take Blackie as he is, if you please—slang, wickedness, pink shirt, red necktie, diamond rings and all. If there's any bad in him, we all know it, for it's right down on the table, face up. You're just angry because he called you Doc.”
“Small one,” said Von Gerhard, in his quaint90 German idiom, “we will not quarrel, you and I. If I have been neglectful it was because edged tools were never a chosen plaything of mine. Perhaps your little Blackie realizes that he need have no fear of such things, for the Great Fear is upon him.”
“The Great Fear! You mean!—”
“I mean that there are too many fine little lines radiating from the corners of the sunken eyes, and that his hand-clasp leaves a moisture in the palm. Ach! you may laugh. Come, we will change the subject to something more cheerful, yes? Tell me, how grows the book?”
“By inches. After working all day on a bulletin paper whose city editor is constantly shouting: 'Boil it now, fellows! Keep it down! We're crowded!' it is too much of a wrench107 to find myself seated calmly before my own typewriter at night, privileged to write one hundred thousand words if I choose. I can't get over the habit of crowding the story all into the first paragraph. Whenever I flower into a descriptive passage I glance nervously108 over my shoulder, expecting to find Norberg stationed behind me, scissors and blue pencil in hand. Consequently the book, thus far, sounds very much like a police reporter's story of a fire four minutes before the paper is due to go to press.”
Von Gerhard's face was unsmiling. “So,” he said, slowly. “You burn the candle at both ends. All day you write, is it not so? And at night you come home to write still more? Ach, Kindchen!—Na, we shall change all that. We will be better comrades, we two, yes? You remember that gay little walk of last autumn, when we explored the Michigan country lane at dusk? I shall be your Sunday Schatz, and there shall be more rambles109 like that one, to bring the roses into your cheeks. We shall be good Kameraden, as you and this little Griffith are—what is it they say—good fellows? That is it—good fellows, yes? So, shall we shake hands on it?”
But I snatched my hand away. “I don't want to be a good fellow,” I cried. “I'm tired of being a good fellow. I've been a good fellow for years and years, while every other married woman in the world has been happy in her own home, bringing up her babies. When I am old I want some sons to worry me, too, and to stay awake nights for, and some daughters to keep me young, and to prevent me from doing my hair in a knob and wearing bonnets110! I hate good-fellow women, and so do you, and so does every one else! I—I—”
“Dawn!” cried Von Gerhard. But I ran up the steps and into the house and slammed the door behind me, leaving him standing111 there.
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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crumb
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cockroaches
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| n.蟑螂( cockroach的名词复数 ) | |
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dinginess
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| n.暗淡，肮脏 | |
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dowdy
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| adj.不整洁的；过旧的 | |
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doorway
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bonnet
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cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rumple
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dingy
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gilt
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reposed
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majestic
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scrolls
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| n.（常用于录写正式文件的）纸卷( scroll的名词复数 )；卷轴；涡卷形（装饰）；卷形花纹v.（电脑屏幕上）从上到下移动（资料等），卷页( scroll的第三人称单数 )；（似卷轴般）卷起；（像展开卷轴般地）将文字显示于屏幕 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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splendor
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inscription
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imposing
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tugging
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aisle
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enjoyment
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glazed
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oozy
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reverently
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slant
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fumble
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decided
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cone
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hip
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pastry
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| n.油酥面团，酥皮糕点 | |
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presto
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| adv.急速地；n.急板乐段；adj.急板的 | |
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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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35
compartments
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| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
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36
walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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37
plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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40
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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41
contestant
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| n.竞争者，参加竞赛者 | |
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42
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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pervasive
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| adj.普遍的；遍布的，(到处)弥漫的；渗透性的 | |
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creases
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的第三人称单数 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹 | |
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45
precipitated
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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46
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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47
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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48
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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49
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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50
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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51
wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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52
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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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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54
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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56
waddled
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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nibbling
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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enviously
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| adv.满怀嫉妒地 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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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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68
curdle
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| v.使凝结，变稠 | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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earthenware
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| n.土器，陶器 | |
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expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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74
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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76
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
earrings
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| n.耳环( earring的名词复数 )；耳坠子 | |
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79
waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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81
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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82
puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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83
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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84
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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85
spats
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| n.口角( spat的名词复数 )；小争吵；鞋罩；鞋套v.spit的过去式和过去分词( spat的第三人称单数 )；口角；小争吵；鞋罩 | |
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86
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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87
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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88
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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89
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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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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91
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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92
tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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93
initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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94
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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95
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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96
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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97
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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98
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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99
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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100
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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101
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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102
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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104
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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105
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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106
saner
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| adj.心智健全的( sane的比较级 )；神志正常的；明智的；稳健的 | |
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107
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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108
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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109
rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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110
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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111
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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