Furniture on the porch, woollens on the line, mattresses5 in the yard—everything that could be pounded, beaten, whisked, rubbed, flapped, shaken, or aired was dragged out and subjected to one or all of these indignities6. After which, completely cowed, they were dragged in again and set in their places. Year after year, in attic and in cellar, things had piled up higher and higher—useless things, sentimental7 things; things in trunks; things in chests; shelves full of things wrapped up in brown-paper parcels.
And boxes—oh, above all, boxes: pasteboard boxes, long and flat, square and oblong, each bearing weird9 and cryptic10 pencillings on one end; cryptic, that is, to any one except Mrs. Brewster and you who have owned an attic. Thus "H's Fshg Tckl" jabberwocked one long, slim box. Another stunned11 you with "Cur Ted1 Slpg Pch." A cabalistic third hid its contents under "Sip12 Cov Pinky Rm." To say nothing of such curt13 yet intriguing14 fragments as "Blk Nt Drs" and "Sun Par8 Val." Once you had the code key they translated themselves simply enough into such homely15 items as Hosey's fishing tackle, canvas curtains for Ted's sleeping porch, slip covers for Pinky's room, black net dress, sun-parlour valance.
The contents of those boxes formed a commentary on normal American household life as lived by Mr. and Mrs. Hosea C. Brewster, of Winnebago, Wisconsin. Hosey's rheumatism16 had prohibited trout17 fishing these ten years; Ted wrote from Arizona that "the li'l' ol' sky" was his sleeping-porch roof and you didn't have to worry out there about the neighbours seeing you in your pyjamas18; Pinky's rose-cretonne room had lacked an occupant since Pinky left the Winnebago High School for the Chicago Art Institute, thence to New York and those amazingly successful magazine covers that stare up at you from your table—young lady, hollow chested (she'd need to be with that dêcolletage), carrying feather fan. You could tell a Brewster cover at sight, without the fan. That leaves the black net dress and the sun-parlour valance. The first had grown too tight under the arms (Mrs. Brewster's arms); the second had faded.
Now, don't gather from this that Mrs. Brewster was an ample, pie-baking, ginghamed old soul who wore black silk and a crushed-looking hat with a palsied rose atop it. Nor that Hosea C. Brewster was spectacled and slippered20. Not at all. The Hosea C. Brewsters, of Winnebago, Wisconsin, were the people you've met on the veranda21 of the Moana Hotel at Honolulu, or at the top of Pike's Peak, or peering into the restless heart of Vesuvius. They were the prosperous Middle-Western type of citizen who runs down to Chicago to see the new plays and buy a hat, and to order a dozen Wedgwood salad plates at Field's.
Mrs. Brewster knew about Dunsany and georgette and alligator22 pears; and Hosea Brewster was in the habit of dropping around to the Elks23' Club, up above Schirmer's furniture store on Elm Street, at about five in the afternoon on his way home from the cold-storage plant. The Brewster place was honeycombed with sleeping porches and sun parlours and linen24 closets, and laundry chutes and vegetable bins25 and electric surprises, as your well-to-do Middle-Western house is likely to be.
That house had long ago grown too large for the two of them—physically, that is. But as the big frame house had expanded, so had they—in tolerance27 and understanding and humanness—until now, as you talked with them, you felt that here was room and to spare of sun-filled mental chambers29, and shelves well stored with experience; and pantries and bins and closets for all your worries and confidences.
But the attic! And the cellar! The attic was the kind of attic every woman longs for who hasn't one and every woman loathes31 who has. "If I only had some place to put things in!" wails32 the first. And, "If it weren't for the attic I'd have thrown this stuff away long ago," complains the second. Mrs. Brewster herself had helped plan it. Hardwood floored, spacious33, light, the Brewster attic revealed to you the social, ?sthetic, educational, and spiritual progress of the entire family as clearly as if a sociologist34 had charted it.
Take, for example (before we run down to the cellar for a minute), the crayon portraits of Gran'ma and Gran'pa Brewster. When Ted had been a junior and Pinky a freshman35 at the Winnebago High School the crayon portraits had beamed down upon them from the living-room wall. To each of these worthy36 old people the artist had given a pair of hectic37 pink cheeks. Gran'ma Brewster especially, simpering down at you from the labyrinthian38 scrolls39 of her sextuple gold frame, was rouged40 like a soubrette and further embellished41 with a pair of gentian-blue eyes behind steel-bowed specs. Pinky—and in fact the entire Brewster household—had thought these massive atrocities42 the last word in artistic43 ornament44. By the time she reached her sophomore45 year, Pinky had prevailed upon her mother to banish47 them to the dining room. Then, two years later, when the Chicago decorator did over the living room and the dining room, the crayons were relegated48 to the upstairs hall.
Ted and Pinky, away at school, began to bring their friends back with them for the vacations. Pinky's room had been done over in cream enamel49 and rose-flowered cretonne. She said the chromos in the hall spoiled the entire second floor. So the gold frames, glittering undimmed, the cheeks as rosily50 glowing as ever, found temporary resting place in a nondescript back chamber30 known as the sewing room. Then the new sleeping porch was built for Ted, and the portraits ended their journeying in the attic.
One paragraph will cover the cellar. Stationary51 tubs, laundry stove. Behind that, bin26 for potatoes, bin for carrots, bins for onions, apples, cabbages. Boxed shelves for preserves. And behind that Hosea C. Brewster's bête noir and plaything, tyrant52 and slave—the furnace. "She's eating up coal this winter," Hosea Brewster would complain. Or: "Give her a little more draft, Fred." Fred, of the furnace and lawn mower53, would shake a doleful head. "She ain't drawin' good. I do' know what's got into her."
By noon of this particular September day—a blue-and-gold Wisconsin September day—Mrs. Brewster had reached that stage in the cleaning of the attic when it looked as if it would never be clean and orderly again. Taking into consideration Miz' Merz (Miz' Merz by-the-day, you understand) and Gussie, the girl, and Fred, there was very little necessity for Mrs. Brewster's official house-cleaning uniform. She might have unpinned her skirt, unbound her head, rolled down her sleeves, and left for the day, serene54 in the knowledge that no corner, no chandelier, no mirror, no curlicue so hidden, so high, so glittering, so ornate that it might hope to escape the rag or brush of one or the other of this relentless55 and expert crew.
Every year, twice a year, as this box, that trunk or chest was opened and its contents revealed, Miz' Merz would say: "You keepin' this, Miz' Brewster?"
"That? Oh, dear, yes!" Or: "Well—I don't know. You can take that home with you if you want it. It might make over for Minnie."
Yet, why in the name of all that's ridiculous did she treasure the funeral wheat wreath in the walnut56 frame? Nothing is more passéthan a last summer's hat, yet the leghorn and pink-cambric-rose thing in the tin trunk was the one Mrs. Brewster had worn when a bride. Then the plaid kilted dress with the black velvet57 monkey jacket that Pinky had worn when she spoke58 her first piece at the age of seven—well, these were things that even the rapacious59 eye of Miz' Merz (by-the-day) passed by unbrightened by covetousness60.
The smell of soap and water, and cedar61, and moth4 balls, and dust, and the ghost of a perfumery that Pinky used to use pervaded62 the hot attic. Mrs. Brewster, head and shoulders in a trunk, was trying not to listen and not to seem not to listen to Miz' Merz's recital63 of her husband's relations' latest flagrancy.
"'Families is nix,' I says. 'I got my own fam'ly to look out fur,' I says. Like that. 'Well,' s's he, 'w'en it comes to that,' s's he, 'I guess I got some—'" Punctuated64 by thumps65, spatterings, swashings, and much heavy breathing, so that the sound of light footsteps along the second-floor hallway, a young, clear voice calling, then the same footsteps, fleeter now, on the attic stairway, were quite unheard.
Pinky's arms were around her mother's neck and for one awful moment it looked as if both were to be decapitated by the trunk lid, so violent had been Mrs. Brewster's start of surprise.
Incoherent little cries, and sentences unfinished:
"Pinky! Why—my baby! We didn't get your telegram. Did you—"
"No; I didn't. I just thought I—Don't look so dazed, mummy—You're all smudged, too—what in the world!" Pinky straightened her hat and looked about the attic. "Why, mother! You're—you're house cleaning!" There was a stunned sort of look on her face. Pinky's last visit home had been in June, all hammocks, and roses, and especially baked things, and motor trips into the country.
"Of course. This is September. But if I'd known you were coming—Come here to the window. Let mother see you. Is that the kind of hat they're—why, it's a winter one, isn't it? Already! Dear me, I've just got used to the angle of my summer one. You must telephone father."
Miz' Merz, damply calicoed, rose from a corner and came forward, wiping a moist and parboiled hand on her skirt. "Ha' do, Pinky. Ain't forgot your old friends, have you?"
"It's Mrs. Merz!" Pinky put her cool, sweet fingers into the other woman's spongy clasp. "Why, hello, Mrs. Merz! Of course when there's house cleaning—I'd forgotten all about house cleaning—that there was such a thing, I mean."
"It's got to be done," replied Miz' Merz, severely66.
Pinky, suddenly looking like one of her own magazine covers (in tailor clothes), turned swiftly to her mother. "Nothing of the kind," she said, crisply. She looked about the hot, dusty, littered room. She included and then banished67 it all with one sweeping68 gesture. "Nothing of the kind. This is—this is an anachronism."
"Mebbe so," retorted Miz' Merz with equal crispness. "But it's got to be cleaned just the same. Yessir; it's got to be cleaned."
They smiled at each other then, the mother and daughter. They descended69 the winding71 attic stairs happily, talking very fast and interrupting each other.
Mrs. Brewster's skirt was still pinned up. Her hair was bound in the protecting towel. "You must telephone father. No, let's surprise him. You'll hate the dinner—built around Miz Merz; you know—boiled. Well, you know what a despot she is."
It was hot for September, in Wisconsin. As they came out to the porch Pinky saw that there were tiny beads72 of moisture under her mother's eyes and about her chin. The sight infuriated her somehow. "Well, really, mother!"
Mrs. Brewster unpinned her skirt and smoothed it down; and smiled at Pinky, all unconscious that she looked like a plump, pink Sister of Mercy with that towel bound tightly about her hair. With a swift movement Pinky unpinned the towel, unwound it, dabbed73 with it tenderly at her mother's chin and brow, rolled it into a vicious wad, and hurled74 it through the open doorway75.
"Now just what does that mean?" said Mrs. Brewster, equably. "Take off your hat and coat, Pinky, but don't treat them that way—unless that's the way they're doing in New York. Everything is so informal since the war." She had a pretty wit of her own, Mrs. Brewster.
Of course Pinky laughed then, and kissed her mother and hugged her hard. "It's just that it seems so idiotic—your digging around in an attic in this day and age! Why, it's—it's—" Pinky could express herself much more clearly in colours than in words. "There is no such thing as an attic. People don't clean them any more. I never realized before—this huge house. It has been wonderful to come back to, of course. But just you and dad." She stopped. She raised two young fists high in impotent anger. "Do you like cleaning the attic?"
"Why, no. I hate it."
"Then why in the world—"
"I've always done it, Pinky. And while they may not be wearing attics76 in New York, we haven't taken them off in Winnebago. Come on up to your room, dear. It looks bare. If I'd known you were coming—the slip covers—"
"Are they in the box in the attic labelled 'Slp Cov Pinky Rm'?" She succeeded in slurring77 it ludicrously.
It brought an appreciative78 giggle79 from Mrs. Brewster. A giggle need not be inconsistent, with fifty years, especially if one's nose wrinkles up delightfully80 in the act. But no smile curved the daughter's stern young lips. Together they went up to Pinky's old room (the older woman stopped to pick up the crumpled81 towel on the hall floor). On the way they paused at the door of Mrs. Brewster's bedroom, so cool, so spacious, all soft grays and blues82.
Suddenly Pinky's eyes widened with horror. She pointed83 an accusing forefinger84 at a large, dark object in a corner near a window. "That's the old walnut desk!" she exclaimed.
"I know it."
The girl turned, half amused, half annoyed. "Oh, mother dear! That's the situation in a nutshell. Without a shadow of doubt there's an eradicable85 streak86 of black walnut in your gray-enamel make-up."
"Eradicable! That's a grand word, Pinky. Stylish87! I never expected to meet it out of a book. And, fu'thermore, as Miz' Merz would say, I didn't know there was any situation."
"I meant the attic. And it's more than a situation. It's a state of mind."
Mrs. Brewster had disappeared into the depths of her clothes closet. Her voice sounded muffled88. "Pinky, you're talking the way they did at that tea you gave for father and me when we visited New York last winter." She emerged with a cool-looking blue kimono. "Here. Put this on. Father'll be home at twelve-thirty, for dinner, you know. You'll want a bath, won't you, dear?"
"Yes. Mummy, is it boiled—honestly?—on a day like this?"
"With onions," said Mrs. Brewster, firmly.
Fifteen minutes later Pinky, splashing in a cool tub, heard the voice of Miz' Merz high-pitched with excitement and a certain awful joy: "Miz' Brewster! Oh, Miz' Brewster! I found a moth in Mr. Brewster's winter flannels89!"
"Oh!" in choked accents of fury from Pinky; and she brought a hard young fist down in the water—spat!—so that it splashed ceiling, hair, and floor impartially90.
Still, it was a cool and serene young daughter who greeted Hosea Brewster as he came limping up the porch stairs. He placed the flat of the foot down at each step instead of heel and ball. It gave him a queer, hitching91 gait. The girl felt a sharp little constriction92 of her throat as she marked that rheumatic limp. "It's the beastly Wisconsin winters," she told herself. Then, darting93 out at him from the corner where she had been hiding: "S'prise! S'prise!"
His plump blond face, flushed with the unwonted heat, went darkly red. He dropped his hat. His arms gathered her in. Her fresh young cheek was pressed against his dear prickly one. So they stood for a long minute—close.
"Need a shave, dad."
"Well, gosh, how did I know my best girl was coming!" He held her off. "What's the matter, Pink? Don't they like your covers any more?"
"Not a thing, Hosey. Don't get fresh. They're decorating my studio—you know—plasterers and stuff. I couldn't work. And I was lonesome for you."
Hosea Brewster went to the open doorway and gave a long whistle with a little quirk94 at the end. Then he came back to Pinky in the wide-seated porch swing. "You know," he said, his voice lowered confidentially95, "I thought I'd take mother to New York for ten days or so. See the shows, and run around and eat at the dens96 of wickedness. She likes it for a change."
Pinky sat up, tense. "For a change? Dad, I want to talk to you about that. Mother needs—"
Mrs. Brewster's light footstep sounded in the hall. She wore an all-enveloping gingham apron97. "How did you like your surprise, father?" She came over to him and kissed the top of his head. "I'm getting dinner so that Gussie can go on with the attic. Everything's ready if you want to come in. I didn't want to dish up until you were at the table, so's everything would be hot." She threw a laughing glance at Pinky.
But when they were seated, there appeared a platter of cold, thinly sliced ham for Pinky, and a crisp salad, and a featherweight cheese soufflé, and iced tea, and a dessert coolly capped with whipped cream.
"But, mother, you shouldn't have—" feebly.
"There are always a lot of things in the house. You know that. I just wanted to tease you."
Father Brewster lingered for an unwonted hour after the midday meal. But two o'clock found him back at the cold-storage plant. Pinky watched him go, a speculative98 look in her eyes.
She visited the attic that afternoon at four, when it was again neat, clean, orderly, smelling of soap and sunshine. Standing28 there in the centre of the big room, freshly napped, smartly coifed, blue-serged, trim, the very concentrated essence of modernity, she eyed with stern deliberation the funeral wheat wreath in its walnut frame; the trunks; the chests; the boxes all shelved and neatly99 inscribed100 with their "H's Fshg Tckl" and "Blk Nt Drs."
"Barbaric!" she said aloud, though she stood there alone. "Medieval! Mad! It has got to be stopped. Slavery!" After which she went downstairs and picked golden glow for the living-room vases and scarlet101 salvia for the bowl in the dining room.
Still, as one saw Mrs. Brewster's tired droop102 at supper that night, there is no denying that there seemed some justification103 for Pinky's volcanic104 remarks.
Hosea Brewster announced, after supper, that he and Fred were going to have a session with the furnace; she needed going over in September before they began firing up for the winter.
"I'll go down with you," said Pinky.
"No, you stay up here with mother. You'll get all ashes and coal dust."
But Pinky was firm. "Mother's half dead. She's going straight up to bed, after that darned old attic. I'll come up to tuck you in, mummy."
And though she did not descend70 to the cellar until the overhauling105 process was nearly completed she did come down in time for the last of the scene. She perched at the foot of the stairs and watched the two men, overalled, sooty, tobacco-wreathed, and happy. When, finally, Hosea Brewster knocked the ashes out of his stubby black pipe, dusted his sooty hands together briskly, and began to peel his overalls106, Pinky came forward.
She put her hand on his arm. "Dad, I want to talk to you."
"Careful there. Better not touch me. I'm all dirt. G'night, Fred."
"Listen, dad. Mother isn't well."
He stopped then, with one overall leg off and the other on, and looked at her. "Huh? What d'you mean—isn't well? Mother." His mouth was open. His eyes looked suddenly strained.
"This house—it's killing107 her. She could hardly keep her eyes open at supper. It's too much for her. She ought to be enjoying herself—like other women. She's a slave to the attic and all those huge rooms. And you're another."
"Me?" feebly.
"Yes. A slave to this furnace. You said yourself to Fred, just now, that it was all worn out, and needed new pipes or something—I don't know what. And that coal was so high it would be cheaper using dollar bills for fuel. Oh, I know you were just being funny. But it was partly true. Wasn't it? Wasn't it?"
"Yeh, but listen here, Paula." He never called her Paula unless he was terribly disturbed, "About mother—you said—"
"You and she ought to go away this winter—not just for a trip, but to stay. You"—she drew a long breath and made the plunge—"you ought to give up the house."
"Give up—"
"Permanently108. Mother and you are buried alive here. You ought to come to New York to live. Both of you will love it when you are there for a few days. I don't mean to come to a hotel. I mean to take a little apartment, a furnished apartment at first, to see how you like it—two rooms and kitchenette, like a playhouse."
Hosey Brewster looked down at his own big bulk, then around the great furnace room. "Oh, but listen—"
"No, I want you to listen first. Mother's worn out, I tell you. It isn't as if she were the old-fashioned kind; she isn't. She loves the theatres, and pretty hats, and shoes with buckles109, and lobster110, and concerts."
He broke in again: "Sure; she likes 'em for a change. But for a steady diet—Besides, I've got a business to 'tend to. My gosh! I've got a business to—"
"You know perfectly111 well that Wetzler practically runs the whole thing—or could, if you'd let him." Youth is cruel like that, when it wants its way.
He did not even deny it. He seemed suddenly old. Pinky's heart smote112 her a little. "It's just that you've got so used to this great barracks you don't know how unhappy it's making you. Why, mother said to-day that she hated it. I asked about the attic—the cleaning and all—and she said she hated it."
"Did she say that, Paula?"
"Yes."
He dusted his hands together, slowly, spiritlessly. His eyes looked pained and dull. "She did, h'm? You say she did?" He was talking to himself, and thinking, thinking.
Pinky, sensing victory, left him. She ran lightly up the cellar stairs, through the first-floor rooms, and up to the second floor. Her mother's bedroom door was open.
A little mauve lamp shed its glow upon the tired woman in one of the plump, gray-enamel beds. "No, I'm not sleeping. Come here, dear. What in the world have you been doing in the cellar all this time?"
"Talking to dad." She came over and perched herself on the side of the bed. She looked down at her mother. Then she bent113 and kissed her. Mrs. Brewster looked incredibly girlish with the lamp's rosy114 glow on her face and her hair, warmly brown and profuse115, rippling116 out over the pillow. Scarcely a thread of gray in it. "You know, mother, I think dad isn't well. He ought to go away."
As if by magic the youth and glow faded out of the face on the pillow. As she sat up, clutching her nightgown to her breast, she looked suddenly pinched and old. "What do you mean, Pinky! Father—but he isn't sick. He—"
"Not sick. I don't mean sick exactly. But sort of worn out. That furnace. He's sick and tired of the thing; that's what he said to Fred. He needs a change. He ought to retire and enjoy life. He could. This house is killing both of you. Why in the world don't you close it up, or sell it, and come to New York?"
"But we do. We did. Last winter—"
"I don't mean just for a little trip. I mean to live. Take a little two-room apartment in one of the new buildings—near my studio—and relax. Enjoy yourselves. Meet new men and women. Live! You're in a rut—both of you. Besides, dad needs it. That rheumatism of his, with these Wisconsin winters—"
"But California—we could go to California for—"
"That's only a stop-gap. Get your little place in New York all settled, and then run away whenever you like, without feeling that this great hulk of a house is waiting for you. Father hates it; I know it."
"Did he ever say so?"
"Well, practically. He thinks you're fond of it. He—"
Slow steps ascending117 the stairs—heavy, painful steps. The two women listened in silence. Every footfall seemed to emphasize Pinky's words. The older woman turned her face toward the sound, her lips parted, her eyes anxious, tender.
"How tired he sounds," said Pinky; "and old. And he's only—why, dad's only fifty-eight."
"Fifty-seven," snapped Mrs. Brewster, sharply, protectingly.
Pinky leaned forward and kissed her. "Good-night, mummy dear. You're so tired, aren't you?"
Her father stood in the doorway.
"Good-night, dear. I ought to be tucking you into bed. It's all turned around, isn't it? Biscuits and honey for breakfast, remember."
So Pinky went off to her own room (sans slp cov) and slept soundly, dreamlessly, as does one whose work is well done.
Three days later Pinky left. She waved a good-bye from the car platform, a radiant, electric, confident Pinky, her work well done.
"Au 'voir! The first of November! Everything begins then. You'll love it. You'll be real New Yorkers by Christmas. Now, no changing your minds, remember."
And by Christmas, somehow, miraculously118, there were they, real New Yorkers; or as real and as New York as any one can be who is living in a studio apartment (duplex) that has been rented (furnished) from a lady who turned out to be from Des Moines.
When they arrived, Pinky had four apartments waiting for their inspection119. She told them this in triumph, and well she might, it being the winter after the war, when New York apartments were as scarce as black diamonds and twice as costly120.
Father Brewster, on hearing the price, emitted a long, low whistle and said: "How many rooms did you say?"
"Two—and a kitchenette, of course."
"Well, then, all I can say is the furniture ought to be solid gold for that; inlaid with rubies121 and picked out with platinum122."
But it wasn't. In fact, it wasn't solid anything, being mostly of a very impermanent structure and style. Pinky explained that she had kept the best for the last. The thing that worried Father Brewster was that, no matter at what hour of the day they might happen to call on the prospective123 lessor, that person was always feminine and hatted. Once it was eleven in the morning. Once five in the afternoon.
"Do these New York women wear hats in the house all the time?" demanded Hosea Brewster, worriedly. "I think they sleep in 'em. It's a wonder they ain't bald. Maybe they are. Maybe that's why. Anyway, it makes you feel like a book agent."
He sounded excited and tired, "Now, father!" said Mrs. Brewster, soothingly124.
They were in the elevator that was taking them up to the fourth and (according to Pinky) choicest apartment. The building was what is known as a studio apartment, in the West Sixties. The corridors were done in red flagstones, with gray-tone walls. The metal doors were painted gray.
Pinky was snickering. "Now she'll say: 'Well, we've been very comfortable here.' They always do. Don't look too eager."
"No fear," put in Hosey Brewster.
"It's really lovely. And a real fireplace. Everything new and good. She's asking two hundred and twenty-five. Offer her one seventy-five. She'll take two hundred."
"You bet she will," growled125 Hosea.
She answered the door—hatted; hatted in henna, that being the season's chosen colour. A small, dark foyer, overcrowded with furniture; a studio living room, bright, high-ceilinged, smallish; one entire side was window. There were Japanese prints, and a baby grand piano, and a lot of tables, and a davenport placed the way they do it on the stage, with its back to the room and its arms to the fireplace, and a long table just behind it, with a lamp on it, and books, and a dull jar thing, just as you've see it in the second-act library.
Hosea Brewster twisted his head around and up to gaze at the lofty ceiling. "Feel's if I was standing at the bottom of a well," he remarked.
But the hatted one did not hear him. "No; no dining room," she was saying, briskly. "No, indeed. I always use this gate-legged table. You see? It pulls out like this. You can easily seat six—eight, in fact."
"Heaven forbid!" in fervent126 sotto voce from Father Brewster.
"It's an enormous saving in time and labour."
"The—kitchen!" inquired Mrs. Brewster.
The hat waxed playful. "You'll never guess where the kitchen is!" She skipped across the room. "You see this screen?" They saw it. A really handsome affair, and so placed at one end of the room that it looked a part of it. "Come here." They came. The reverse side of the screen was dotted with hooks, and on each hook hung a pot, a pan, a ladle, a spoon. And there was the tiny gas range, the infinitesimal ice chest, the miniature sink. The whole would have been lost in one corner of the Brewster's Winnebago china closet.
"Why, how—how wonderful!" breathed Mrs. Brewster.
"Isn't it? So complete—and so convenient. I've cooked roasts, steaks, chops, everything right here. It's just play."
A terrible fear seized upon Father Brewster. He eyed the sink and the tiny range with a suspicious eye. "The beds," he demanded, "where are the beds?"
She opened the little oven door and his heart sank. But, "They're upstairs," she said. "This is a duplex, you know."
A little flight of winding stairs ended in a balcony. The rail was hung with a gay mandarin127 robe. Two more steps and you were in the bedroom—a rather breathless little bedroom, profusely128 rose-coloured, and with whole battalions129 of photographs in flat silver frames standing about on dressing130 table, shelf, desk. The one window faced a gray brick wall.
They took the apartment. And thus began a life of ease and gayety for Mr. and Mrs. Hosea C. Brewster, of Winnebago, Wisconsin.
Pinky had dinner with them the first night, and they laughed a great deal, what with one thing and another. She sprang up to the balcony, and let down her bright hair, and leaned over the railing, à la Juliet, having first decked Hosey out in a sketchy131 but effective Romeo costume consisting of a hastily snatched up scarf over one shoulder, Pinky's little turban, and a frying pan for a lute132. Mother Brewster did the Nurse, and by the time Hosea began his limping climb up the balcony, the turban over one eye and the scarf winding itself about his stocky legs, they ended by tumbling in a heap of tearful laughter.
After Pinky left there came upon them, in that cozy133 little two-room apartment, a feeling of desolation and vastness, and a terrible loneliness such as they had never dreamed of in the great twelve-room house in Winnebago. They kept close to each other. They toiled134 up the winding stairs together and stood a moment on the balcony, feigning136 a light-heartedness that neither of them felt.
They lay very still in the little stuffy137 rose-coloured room, and the street noises of New York came up to them—a loose chain flapping against the mud guard of a taxi; the jolt138 of a flat-wheeled Eighth Avenue street car; the roar of an L train; laughter; the bleat139 of a motor horn; a piano in the apartment next door, or upstairs, or down.
She thought, as she lay there, choking, of the great, gracious gray-and-blue room at home, many-windowed, sweet-smelling, quiet. Quiet!
He thought, as he lay there, choking, of the gracious gray-blue room at home, many-windowed, sweet-smelling, quiet. Quiet!
Then, as he had said that night in September: "Sleeping, mother?"
"N-no. Not yet. Just dozing140 off."
"It's the strange beds, I guess. This is going to be great, though. Great!"
"My, yes!" agreed Mrs. Brewster, heartily141.
They awoke next morning unrefreshed. Pa Brewster, back home in Winnebago, always whistled mournfully, off key, when he shaved. The more doleful his tune142 the happier his wife knew him to be. Also, she had learned to mark his progress by this or that passage in a refrain. Sometimes he sang, too (also off key), and you heard his genial143 roar all over the house. The louder he roared, and the more doleful the tune, the happier his frame of mind. Milly Brewster knew this. She had never known that she knew it. Neither had he. It was just one of those subconscious144 bits of marital145 knowledge that make for happiness and understanding.
When he sang "The Dying Cowboy's Lament146" and came to the passage, "Oh, take me to the churchyard and lay the sod o-o-over me," Mrs. Brewster used to say: "Gussie, Mr. Brewster'll be down in ten minutes. You can start the eggs."
In the months of their gay life in Sixty-Seventh Street Hosey Brewster never once sang "The Dying Cowboy's Lament," nor whistled "In the Sweet By-and-By." No; he whistled not at all, or when he did, gay bits of jazz heard at the theatre or in a restaurant the night before. He deceived no one, least of all himself. Sometimes his voice would trail off into nothingness, but he would catch the tune and toss it up again, heavily, as though it were a physical weight.
Theatres! Music! Restaurants! Teas! Shopping! The gay life!
"Enjoying yourself, Milly?" he would say.
"Time of my life, father."
She had her hair dressed in those geometrical undulations without which no New York audience feels itself clothed. They saw Pinky less frequently as time went on and her feeling of responsibility lessened147. Besides, the magazine covers took most of her day. She gave a tea for her father and mother at her own studio, and Mrs. Brewster's hat, slippers148, gown, and manner equalled in line, style, cut, and texture149 those of any other woman present, which rather surprised her until she had talked to five or six of them.
She and Hosey drifted together and compared notes. "Say, Milly," he confided150, "they're all from Wisconsin—or approximately; Michigan, and Minnesota, and Iowa, and around. Far's I can make out there's only one New Yorker, really, in the whole caboodle of 'em."
"Which one?"
"That kind of plain little one over there—sensible looking, with the blue suit. I was talking to her. She was born right here in New York, but she doesn't live here—that is, not in the city. Lives in some place in the country, in a house."
A sort of look came into Mrs. Brewster's eyes. "Is that so? I'd like to talk to her, Hosey. Take me over."
She did talk to the quiet little woman in the plain blue suit. And the quiet little woman said: "Oh, dear, yes!" She ignored her r's fascinatingly, as New Yorkers do. "We live in Connecticut. You see, you Wisconsin people have crowded us out of New York; no breathing space. Besides, how can one live here? I mean to say—live. And then the children—it's no place for children, grown up or otherwise. I love it—oh, yes, indeed. I love it. But it's too difficult."
Mrs. Brewster defended it like a true Westerner. "But if you have just a tiny apartment, with a kitchenette—"
The New York woman laughed. There was nothing malicious151 about her. But she laughed. "I tried it. There's one corner of my soul that's still wrinkled from the crushing. Everything in a heap. Not to speak of the slavery of it. That—that deceitful, lying kitchenette."
This was the first woman who Mrs. Brewster had talked to—really talked to—since leaving Winnebago. And she liked women. She missed them. At first she had eyed wonderingly, speculatively152, the women she saw on Fifth Avenue. Swathed luxuriously153 in precious pelts154, marvellously coifed and hatted, wearing the frailest155 of boots and hose, exhaling156 a mysterious, heady scent157, they were more like strange, exotic birds than women.
The clerks in the shops, too—they were so remote, so contemptuous. When she went into Gerretson's, back home, Nellie Monahan was likely to say: "You've certainly had a lot of wear out of that blue, Mrs. Brewster. Let's see, you've had it two—three years this spring? My land! Let me show you our new taupes."
Pa Brewster had taken to conversing158 with the doorman. That adamantine individual, unaccustomed to being addressed as a human being, was startled at first, surly and distrustful. But he mellowed159 under Hosey's simple and friendly advances. They became quite pals19, these two—perhaps two as lonely men as you could find in all lonely New York.
"I guess you ain't a New Yorker, huh?" Mike said.
"Me? No."
"Th' most of the folks in th' buildin' ain't."
"Ain't!" Hosea Brewster was startled into it. "They're artists, aren't they? Most of 'em?"
"No! Out-of-town folks, mostly, like you. West—Iowa an' Californy an' around there. Livin' here, though. Seem t' like it better'n where they come from. I dunno."
Hosey Brewster took to eying them as Mrs. Brewster had eyed the women. He wondered about them, these tight, trim men, rather short of breath, buttoned so snugly160 into their shining shoes and their tailored clothes, with their necks bulging161 in a fold of fat above the back of their white linen collars. He knew that he would never be like them. It wasn't his square-toed shoes that made the difference, or his gray hat, or his baggy162 trousers. It was something inside him—something he lacked, he thought. It never occurred to him that it was something he possessed163 that they did not.
"Enjoying yourself, Milly?"
"I should say I am, father."
"That's good. No housework and responsibility to this, is there?"
"It's play."
She hated the toy gas stove, and the tiny ice chest, and the screen pantry. All her married life she had kept house in a big, bounteous164 way: apples in barrels; butter in firkins; flour in sacks; eggs in boxes; sugar in bins; cream in crocks. Sometimes she told herself, bitterly, that it was easier to keep twelve rooms tidy and habitable than one combination kitchen-dining-and-living room.
"Chops taste good, Hosey?"
"Grand. But you oughtn't to be cooking around like this. We'll eat out to-morrow night somewhere, and go to a show."
"You're enjoying it, aren't you, Hosey, h'm?"
"It's the life, mother! It's the life!"
His ruddy colour began to fade. He took to haunting department store kitchenware sections. He would come home with a new kind of cream whipper, or a patent device for the bathroom. He would tinker happily with this, driving a nail, adjusting a screw. At such times he was even known to begin to whistle some scrap165 of a doleful tune such as he used to hum. But he would change, quickly, into something lively. The price of butter, eggs, milk, cream, and the like horrified166 his Wisconsin cold-storage sensibilities. He used often to go down to Fulton Market before daylight and walk about among the stalls and shops, piled with tons of food of all kinds. He would talk to the marketmen, and the buyers and grocers, and come away feeling almost happy for a time.
Then, one day, with a sort of shock, he remembered a farmer he had known back home in Winnebago. He knew the farmers for miles around, naturally, in his business. This man had been a steady butter-and-egg acquaintance, one of the wealthy farmers in that prosperous Wisconsin farming community. For his family's sake he had moved into town, a ruddy, rufous-bearded, clumping167 fellow, intelligent, kindly168. They had sold the farm with a fine profit and had taken a box-like house on Franklin Street. He had nothing to do but enjoy himself. You saw him out on the porch early, very early summer mornings.
You saw him ambling169 about the yard, poking170 at a weed here, a plant there. A terrible loneliness was upon him; a loneliness for the soil he had deserted171. And slowly, resistlessly, the soil pulled at him with its black strength and its green tendrils down, down, until he ceased to struggle and lay there clasped gently to her breast, the mistress he had thought to desert and who had him again at last, and forever.
"I don't know what ailed46 him," his widow had said, weeping. "He just seemed to kind of pine away."
It was one morning in April—one soft, golden April morning—when this memory had struck Hosey Brewster. He had been down at Fulton Market. Something about the place—the dewy fresh vegetables, the crates172 of eggs, the butter, the cheese—had brought such a surge of homesickness over him as to amount to an actual nausea173. Riding uptown in the Subway he had caught a glimpse of himself in a slot-machine mirror. His face was pale and somehow shrunken. He looked at his hands. The skin hung loose where the little pads of fat had plumped them out.
"Gosh!" he said. "Gosh, I—"
He thought, then, of the red-faced farmer who used to come clumping into the cold-storage warehouse174 in his big boots and his buffalo175 coat. A great fear swept over him and left him weak and sick.
The chill grandeur176 of the studio-building foyer stabbed him. The glittering lift made him dizzy, somehow, this morning. He shouldn't have gone out without some breakfast perhaps. He walked down the flagged corridor softly; turned the key ever so cautiously. She might still be sleeping. He turned the knob gently, gently; tiptoed in and, turning, fell over a heavy wooden object that lay directly in his path in the dim little hall.
A barked shin. A good, round oath.
"Hosey! What's the matter? What—" She came running to him. She led him into the bright front room.
"What was that thing? A box or something, right there in front of the door. What the—"
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Hosey. You sometimes have breakfast downtown. I didn't know—"
Something in her voice—he stopped rubbing the injured shin to look up at her. Then he straightened slowly, his mouth ludicrously open. Her head was bound in a white towel. Her skirt was pinned back. Her sleeves were rolled up. Chairs, tables, rugs, ornaments177, were huddled178 in a promiscuous179 heap. Mrs. Hosea C. Brewster was cleaning house.
"Milly!" he began, sternly. "And that's just the thing you came here to get away from. If Pinky—"
"I didn't mean to, father. But when I got up this morning there was a letter—a letter from the woman who owns this apartment, you know. She asked if I'd go to the hall closet—the one she reserved for her own things, you know—and unlock it, and get out a box she told me about, and have the hall boy express it to her. And I did, and—look!"
Limping a little he followed her. She turned on the light that hung in the closet. Boxes—pasteboard boxes—each one bearing a cryptic pencilling on the end that stared out at you. "Drp Stud Win," said one; "Sum Slp Cov Bedrm," another; "Toil135. Set & Pic Frms."
Mrs. Brewster turned to her husband, almost shamefacedly, and yet with a little air of defiance180. "It—I don't know—it made me—not homesick, Hosey. Not homesick, exactly; but—well, I guess I'm not the only woman with a walnut streak in her modern make-up. Here's the woman—she came to the door with her hat on, and yet—"
Truth—blinding, white-hot truth—burst in upon him. "Mother," he said—and he stood up, suddenly robust181, virile182, alert—"mother, let's go home."
Mechanically she began to unpin the looped-back skirt. "When?"
"Now."
"But, Hosey! Pinky—this flat—until June—"
"Now! Unless you want to stay. Unless you like it here in this—this make-believe, double-barrelled, duplex do-funny of a studio thing. Let's go home, mother. Let's go home—and breathe."
In Wisconsin you are likely to find snow in April—snow or slush. The Brewsters found both. Yet on their way up from the station in 'Gene183 Buck's flivver taxi they beamed out at it as if it were a carpet of daisies.
At the corner of Elm and Jackson streets Hosey Brewster stuck his head out of the window. "Stop here a minute, will you, 'Gene?"
They stopped in front of Hengel's meat market, and Hosey went in. Mrs. Brewster leaned back without comment.
Inside the shop. "Well, I see you're back from the East," said Aug Hengel.
"Yep."
"We thought you'd given us the go-by, you stayed away so long."
"No, sir-ree! Say, Aug, give me that piece of bacon—the big piece. And send me up some corned beef to-morrow for corned beef and cabbage. I'll take a steak along for to-night. Oh, about four pounds. That's right."
It seemed to him that nothing less than a side of beef could take out of his mouth the taste of those fiddling184 little lamb chops and the restaurant fare of the past six months.
All through the winter Fred had kept up a little heat in the house, with an eye to frozen water pipes. But there was a chill upon the place as they opened the door now. It was late afternoon. The house was very still, with the stillness of a dwelling185 that has long been uninhabited. The two stood there a moment, peering into the darkened rooms. Then Hosea Brewster strode forward, jerked up this curtain, that curtain with a sharp snap, flap! He stamped his feet to rid them of slush. He took off his hat and threw it high in the air and opened his arms wide and emitted a whoop186 of sheer joy and relief.
"Welcome home! Home!"
She clung to him. "Oh, Hosey, isn't it wonderful? How big it looks! Huge!"
"Land, yes." He strode from hall to dining room, from kitchen to library. "I know how a jack-in-the-box feels when the lid's opened. No wonder it grins and throws out its arms."
They did little talking after that. By five o'clock he was down in the cellar. She heard him making a great sound of rattling187 and bumping and shaking and pounding and shovelling188. She smelled the acrid189 odour of his stubby black pipe.
"Hosey!"—from the top of the cellar stairs. "Hosey, bring up a can of preserves when you come."
"What?"
"Can of preserves."
"What kind?"
"Any kind you like."
"Can I have two kinds?"
He brought up quince marmalade and her choicest damson plums. He put them down on the kitchen table and looked around, spatting190 his hands together briskly to rid them of dust. "Sh's burning pretty good now. That Fred! Don't any more know how to handle a boiler191 than a baby does. Is the house getting warmer?"
He clumped192 into the dining room, through the butler's pantry, but he was back again in a wink193, his eyes round. "Why, say, mother! You've got out the best dishes, and the silver, and the candles, and all. And the tablecloth194 with the do-dads on it. Why—"
"I know it." She opened the oven door, took out a pan of biscuits and slid it deftly195 to one side. "It seems as if I can't spread enough. I'm going to use the biggest platters, and I've put two extra boards in the table. It's big enough to seat ten. I want everything big, somehow. I've cooked enough potatoes for a regiment196, and I know it's wasteful197, and I don't care. I'll eat in my kitchen apron, if you'll keep on your overalls. Come on."
He cut into the steak—a great, thick slice. He knew she could never eat it, and she knew she could never eat it. But she did eat it all, ecstatically. And in a sort of ecstatic Nirvana the quiet and vastness and peace of the big old frame house settled down upon them.
The telephone in the hall rang startlingly, unexpectedly.
"Let me go, Milly."
"But who in the world! Nobody knows we're—"
He was at the telephone. "Who? Who? Oh." He turned: "It's Miz' Merz. She says her little Minnie went by at six and saw a light in the house. She—Hello! What?... She says she wants to know if she's to save time for you at the end of the month for the April cleaning."
Mrs. Brewster took the receiver from him: "The twenty-fifth, as usual, Miz' Merz. The twenty-fifth, as usual. The attic must be a sight."
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
ted
|
|
| vt.翻晒，撒，撒开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
attic
|
|
| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
dedicated
|
|
| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
moth
|
|
| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
mattresses
|
|
| 褥垫，床垫( mattress的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
indignities
|
|
| n.侮辱，轻蔑( indignity的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
sentimental
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
par
|
|
| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
weird
|
|
| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
cryptic
|
|
| adj.秘密的，神秘的，含义模糊的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
stunned
|
|
| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
sip
|
|
| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
curt
|
|
| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
intriguing
|
|
| adj.有趣的；迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词)；激起…的好奇心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
homely
|
|
| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
rheumatism
|
|
| n.风湿病 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
trout
|
|
| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
pyjamas
|
|
| n.（宽大的）睡衣裤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
pals
|
|
| n.朋友( pal的名词复数 )；老兄；小子；（对男子的不友好的称呼）家伙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
slippered
|
|
| 穿拖鞋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
veranda
|
|
| n.走廊；阳台 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
alligator
|
|
| n.短吻鳄(一种鳄鱼) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
elks
|
|
| n.麋鹿( elk的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
linen
|
|
| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
bins
|
|
| n.大储藏箱( bin的名词复数 )；宽口箱（如面包箱，垃圾箱等）v.扔掉，丢弃( bin的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
bin
|
|
| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
tolerance
|
|
| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
chambers
|
|
| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
loathes
|
|
| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的第三人称单数 )；极不喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
wails
|
|
| 痛哭，哭声( wail的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
spacious
|
|
| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
sociologist
|
|
| n.研究社会学的人，社会学家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
freshman
|
|
| n.大学一年级学生(可兼指男女) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
hectic
|
|
| adj.肺病的；消耗热的；发热的；闹哄哄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
labyrinthian
|
|
| 错综复杂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
scrolls
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
rouged
|
|
| 胭脂，口红( rouge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
embellished
|
|
| v.美化( embellish的过去式和过去分词 )；装饰；修饰；润色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
atrocities
|
|
| n.邪恶，暴行( atrocity的名词复数 )；滔天大罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
artistic
|
|
| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
ornament
|
|
| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
sophomore
|
|
| n.大学二年级生；adj.第二年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
ailed
|
|
| v.生病( ail的过去式和过去分词 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
banish
|
|
| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
relegated
|
|
| v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 )；使降职；转移；把…归类 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
enamel
|
|
| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
rosily
|
|
| adv.带玫瑰色地，乐观地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
51
stationary
|
|
| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
tyrant
|
|
| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
mower
|
|
| n.割草机 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
serene
|
|
| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
relentless
|
|
| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
walnut
|
|
| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
rapacious
|
|
| adj.贪婪的，强夺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
covetousness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
cedar
|
|
| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
pervaded
|
|
| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
recital
|
|
| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
punctuated
|
|
| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
thumps
|
|
| n.猪肺病；砰的重击声( thump的名词复数 )v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
severely
|
|
| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
banished
|
|
| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
sweeping
|
|
| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
descend
|
|
| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
winding
|
|
| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
beads
|
|
| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
dabbed
|
|
| （用某物）轻触( dab的过去式和过去分词 )； 轻而快地擦掉（或抹掉）； 快速擦拭； （用某物）轻而快地涂上（或点上）… | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
hurled
|
|
| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
attics
|
|
| n. 阁楼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
slurring
|
|
| 含糊地说出( slur的现在分词 )； 含糊地发…的声； 侮辱； 连唱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
appreciative
|
|
| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
giggle
|
|
| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
delightfully
|
|
| 大喜，欣然 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
crumpled
|
|
| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
blues
|
|
| n.抑郁，沮丧；布鲁斯音乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
forefinger
|
|
| n.食指 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
eradicable
|
|
| 可根除的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
86
streak
|
|
| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
stylish
|
|
| adj.流行的，时髦的；漂亮的，气派的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
muffled
|
|
| 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） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
flannels
|
|
| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
impartially
|
|
| adv.公平地，无私地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
hitching
|
|
| 搭乘； （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的现在分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
constriction
|
|
| 压缩； 紧压的感觉； 束紧； 压缩物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
darting
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
quirk
|
|
| n.奇事，巧合；古怪的举动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
confidentially
|
|
| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
dens
|
|
| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
apron
|
|
| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
speculative
|
|
| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
neatly
|
|
| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
inscribed
|
|
| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
droop
|
|
| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
justification
|
|
| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
volcanic
|
|
| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
overhauling
|
|
| n.大修；拆修；卸修；翻修v.彻底检查( overhaul的现在分词 )；大修；赶上；超越 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
overalls
|
|
| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
killing
|
|
| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
permanently
|
|
| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
buckles
|
|
| 搭扣，扣环( buckle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
lobster
|
|
| n.龙虾，龙虾肉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
smote
|
|
| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
profuse
|
|
| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
rippling
|
|
| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
ascending
|
|
| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
miraculously
|
|
| ad.奇迹般地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
inspection
|
|
| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
costly
|
|
| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
rubies
|
|
| 红宝石( ruby的名词复数 )； 红宝石色，深红色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
platinum
|
|
| n.白金 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
prospective
|
|
| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
soothingly
|
|
| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
growled
|
|
| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
fervent
|
|
| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
Mandarin
|
|
| n.中国官话，国语，满清官吏；adj.华丽辞藻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
profusely
|
|
| ad.abundantly | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
battalions
|
|
| n.（陆军的）一营（大约有一千兵士）( battalion的名词复数 )；协同作战的部队；军队；（组织在一起工作的）队伍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
sketchy
|
|
| adj.写生的，写生风格的，概略的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
lute
|
|
| n.琵琶，鲁特琴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
cozy
|
|
| adj.亲如手足的，密切的，暖和舒服的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
toiled
|
|
| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
toil
|
|
| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
feigning
|
|
| 假装，伪装( feign的现在分词 )； 捏造（借口、理由等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
stuffy
|
|
| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
jolt
|
|
| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
bleat
|
|
| v.咩咩叫，(讲)废话，哭诉；n.咩咩叫，废话，哭诉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
dozing
|
|
| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
heartily
|
|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
tune
|
|
| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
genial
|
|
| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
subconscious
|
|
| n./adj.潜意识(的)，下意识(的) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
marital
|
|
| adj.婚姻的，夫妻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
lament
|
|
| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
lessened
|
|
| 减少的，减弱的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
slippers
|
|
| n. 拖鞋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
texture
|
|
| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
confided
|
|
| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
malicious
|
|
| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
speculatively
|
|
| adv.思考地，思索地；投机地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
luxuriously
|
|
| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
pelts
|
|
| n. 皮毛，投掷, 疾行 vt. 剥去皮毛，（连续）投掷 vi. 猛击，大步走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
frailest
|
|
| 脆弱的( frail的最高级 )； 易损的； 易碎的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
156
exhaling
|
|
| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的现在分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
scent
|
|
| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
conversing
|
|
| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
mellowed
|
|
| （使）成熟( mellow的过去式和过去分词 )； 使色彩更加柔和，使酒更加醇香 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
snugly
|
|
| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
bulging
|
|
| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
baggy
|
|
| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
bounteous
|
|
| adj.丰富的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
scrap
|
|
| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
horrified
|
|
| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
clumping
|
|
| v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的现在分词 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
ambling
|
|
| v.（马）缓行( amble的现在分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
poking
|
|
| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
crates
|
|
| n. 板条箱, 篓子, 旧汽车 vt. 装进纸条箱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
nausea
|
|
| n.作呕，恶心；极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
warehouse
|
|
| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
buffalo
|
|
| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
grandeur
|
|
| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
ornaments
|
|
| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
huddled
|
|
| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
promiscuous
|
|
| adj.杂乱的，随便的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
defiance
|
|
| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
robust
|
|
| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
virile
|
|
| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
gene
|
|
| n.遗传因子，基因 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
fiddling
|
|
| 微小的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
185
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
186
whoop
|
|
| n.大叫，呐喊，喘息声；v.叫喊，喘息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
187
rattling
|
|
| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
188
shovelling
|
|
| v.铲子( shovel的现在分词 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
189
acrid
|
|
| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
190
spatting
|
|
| n.喷溅麻点（喷枪中有水珠、油滴，喷涂时造成漆膜缺陷）（漆病）v.spit的过去式和过去分词( spat的现在分词 )；口角；小争吵；鞋罩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
191
boiler
|
|
| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
192
clumped
|
|
| adj.[医]成群的v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的过去式和过去分词 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
193
wink
|
|
| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
194
tablecloth
|
|
| n.桌布，台布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
195
deftly
|
|
| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
196
regiment
|
|
| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
197
wasteful
|
|
| adj.（造成）浪费的，挥霍的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |