Usually she walked alone; but on rare occasions, especially round Christmastime, she might have been seen accompanied by some silent, dull-eyed, stupid-looking girl, who would follow her dumbly in and out of stores, stopping now and then to admire a cheap comb or a chain set with flashy imitation stones—or, queerly enough, a doll with yellow hair and blue eyes and very pink cheeks. But, alone or in company, her appearance in the stores of our town was the signal for a sudden jump in the cost of living. The storekeepers mulcted her; and she knew it and paid in silence, for she was of the class that has no redress7. She owned the House with the Closed Shutters8, near the freight depot9—did Blanche Devine.
In a larger town than ours she would have passed unnoticed. She did not look like a bad woman. Of course she used too much make-up, and as she passed you caught the oversweet breath of a certain heavy scent10. Then, too, her diamond eardrops would have made any woman's features look hard; but her plump face, in spite of its heaviness, wore an expression of good-humored intelligence, and her eyeglasses gave her somehow a look of respectability. We do not associate vice11 with eyeglasses. So in a large city she would have passed for a well-dressed, prosperous, comfortable wife and mother who was in danger of losing her figure from an overabundance of good living; but with us she was a town character, like Old Man Givins, the drunkard, or the weak-minded Binns girl. When she passed the drug-store corner there would be a sniggering among the vacant-eyed loafers idling there, and they would leer at each other and jest in undertones.
So, knowing Blanche Devine as we did, there was something resembling a riot in one of our most respectable neighborhoods when it was learned that she had given up her interest in the house near the freight depot and was going to settle down in the white cottage on the corner and be good. All the husbands in the block, urged on by righteously indignant wives, dropped in on Alderman Mooney after supper to see if the thing could not be stopped. The fourth of the protesting husbands to arrive was the Very Young Husband who lived next door to the corner cottage that Blanche Devine had bought. The Very Young Husband had a Very Young Wife, and they were the joint12 owners of Snooky. Snooky was three-going-on-four, and looked something like an angel—only healthier and with grimier hands. The whole neighborhood borrowed her and tried to spoil her; but Snooky would not spoil.
Alderman Mooney was down in the cellar, fooling with the furnace.
He was in his furnace overalls13; a short black pipe in his mouth. Three protesting husbands had just left. As the Very Young Husband, following Mrs. Mooney's directions, descended15 the cellar stairs, Alderman Mooney looked up from his tinkering. He peered through a haze16 of pipe smoke.
"Hello!" he called, and waved the haze away with his open palm.
"Come on down! Been tinkering with this blamed furnace since supper. She don't draw like she ought. 'Long toward spring a furnace always gets balky. How many tons you used this winter?"
"Oh-five," said the Very Young Husband shortly. Alderman Mooney considered it thoughtfully. The Young Husband leaned up against the side of the water tank, his hands in his pockets. "Say, Mooney, is that right about Blanche Devine's having bought the house on the corner?"
"You're the fourth man that's been in to ask me that this evening. I'm expecting the rest of the block before bedtime. She bought it all right."
The Young Husband flushed and kicked at a piece of coal with the toe of his boot.
"Well, it's a darned shame!" he began hotly. "Jen was ready to cry at supper. This'll be a fine neighborhood for Snooky to grow up in! What's a woman like that want to come into a respectable street for, anyway? I own my home and pay my taxes—"
Alderman Mooney looked up.
"So does she," he interrupted. "She's going to improve the place—paint it, and put in a cellar and a furnace, and build a porch, and lay a cement walk all round."
The Young Husband took his hands out of his pockets in order to emphasize his remarks with gestures.
"What's that got to do with it? I don't care if she puts in diamonds for windows and sets out Italian gardens and a terrace with peacocks on it. You're the alderman of this ward17, aren't you? Well, it was up to you to keep her out of this block! You could have fixed19 it with an injunction or something. I'm going to get up a petition—that's what I'm going——"
Alderman Mooney closed the furnace door with a bang that drowned the rest of the threat. He turned the draft in a pipe overhead and brushed his sooty palms briskly together like one who would put an end to a profitless conversation.
"She's bought the house," he said mildly, "and paid for it. And it's hers. She's got a right to live in this neighborhood as long as she acts respectable."
The Very Young Husband laughed.
"She won't last! They never do."
Alderman Mooney had taken his pipe out of his mouth and was rubbing his thumb over the smooth bowl, looking down at it with unseeing eyes. On his face was a queer look—the look of one who is embarrassed because he is about to say something honest.
"Look here! I want to tell you something: I happened to be up in the mayor's office the day Blanche signed for the place. She had to go through a lot of red tape before she got it—had quite a time of it, she did! And say, kid, that woman ain't so—bad."
The Very Young Husband exclaimed impatiently:
"Oh, don't give me any of that, Mooney! Blanche Devine's a town character. Even the kids know what she is. If she's got religion or something, and wants to quit and be decent, why doesn't she go to another town—Chicago or someplace—where nobody knows her?"
That motion of Alderman Mooney's thumb against the smooth pipe bowl stopped. He looked up slowly.
"That's what I said—the mayor too. But Blanche Devine said she wanted to try it here. She said this was home to her. Funny—ain't it? Said she wouldn't be fooling anybody here. They know her. And if she moved away, she said, it'd leak out some way sooner or later. It does, she said. Always! Seems she wants to live like—well, like other women. She put it like this: she says she hasn't got religion, or any of that. She says she's no different than she was when she was twenty. She says that for the last ten years the ambition of her life has been to be able to go into a grocery store and ask the price of, say, celery; and, if the clerk charged her ten when it ought to be seven, to be able to sass him with a regular piece of her mind—and then sail out and trade somewhere else until he saw that she didn't have to stand anything from storekeepers, any more than any other woman that did her own marketing20. She's a smart woman, Blanche is! God knows I ain't taking her part—exactly; but she talked a little, and the mayor and me got a little of her history."
A sneer21 appeared on the face of the Very Young Husband. He had been known before he met Jen as a rather industrious22 sower of wild oats. He knew a thing or two, did the Very Young Husband, in spite of his youth! He always fussed when Jen wore even a V-necked summer gown on the street.
"Oh, she wasn't playing for sympathy," went on Alderman Mooney in answer to the sneer. "She said she'd always paid her way and always expected to. Seems her husband left her without a cent when she was eighteen—with a baby. She worked for four dollars a week in a cheap eating house. The two of 'em couldn't live on that. Then the baby——"
"Good night!" said the Very Young Husband. "I suppose Mrs. Mooney's going to call?"
"Minnie! It was her scolding all through supper that drove me down to monkey with the furnace. She's wild—Minnie is." He peeled off his overalls and hung them on a nail. The Young Husband started to ascend23 the cellar stairs. Alderman Mooney laid a detaining finger on his sleeve. "Don't say anything in front of Minnie! She's boiling! Minnie and the kids are going to visit her folks out West this summer; so I wouldn't so much as dare to say 'Good morning!' to the Devine woman. Anyway, a person wouldn't talk to her, I suppose. But I kind of thought I'd tell you about her.
"Thanks!" said the Very Young Husband dryly.
In the early spring, before Blanche Devine moved in, there came stone-masons, who began to build something. It was a great stone fireplace that rose in massive incongruity24 at the side of the little white cottage. Blanche Devine was trying to make a home for herself.
Blanche Devine used to come and watch them now and then as the work progressed. She had a way of walking round and round the house, looking up at it and poking25 at plaster and paint with her umbrella or finger tip. One day she brought with her a man with a spade. He spaded up a neat square of ground at the side of the cottage and a long ridge26 near the fence that separated her yard from that of the Very Young Couple next door. The ridge spelled sweet peas and nasturtiums to our small-town eyes.
On the day that Blanche Devine moved in there was wild agitation27 among the white-ruffed bedroom curtains of the neighborhood. Later on certain odors, as of burning dinners, pervaded28 the atmosphere. Blanche Devine, flushed and excited, her hair slightly askew29, her diamond eardrops flashing, directed the moving, wrapped in her great fur coat; but on the third morning we gasped30 when she appeared out-of-doors, carrying a little household ladder, a pail of steaming water, and sundry31 voluminous white cloths. She reared the little ladder against the side of the house, mounted it cautiously, and began to wash windows with housewifely thoroughness. Her stout figure was swathed in a gray sweater and on her head was a battered32 felt hat—the sort of window—washing costume that has been worn by women from time immemorial. We noticed that she used plenty of hot water and clean rags, and that she rubbed the glass until it sparkled, leaning perilously33 sideways on the ladder to detect elusive34 streaks35. Our keenest housekeeping eye could find no fault with the way Blanche Devine washed windows.
By May, Blanche Devine had left off her diamond eardrops—perhaps it was their absence that gave her face a new expression. When she went downtown we noticed that her hats were more like the hats the other women in our town wore; but she still affected36 extravagant37 footgear, as is right and proper for a stout woman who has cause to be vain of her feet. We noticed that her trips downtown were rare that spring and summer. She used to come home laden38 with little bundles; and before supper she would change her street clothes for a neat, washable housedress, as is our thrifty39 custom. Through her bright windows we could see her moving briskly about from kitchen to sitting room; and from the smells that floated out from her kitchen door, she seemed to be preparing for her solitary40 supper the same homely41 viands42 that were frying or stewing43 or baking in our kitchens. Sometimes you could detect the delectable44 scent of browning, hot tea biscuit. It takes a determined45 woman to make tea biscuit for no one but herself.
Blanche Devine joined the church. On the first Sunday morning she came to the service there was a little flurry among the ushers46 at the vestibule door. They seated her well in the rear. The second Sunday morning a dreadful thing happened. The woman next to whom they seated her turned, regarded her stonily47 for a moment, then rose agitatedly48 and moved to a pew across the aisle49.
Blanche Devine's face went a dull red beneath her white powder. She never came again—though we saw the minister visit her once or twice. She always accompanied him to the door pleasantly, holding it well open until he was down the little flight of steps and on the sidewalk. The minister's wife did not call.
She rose early, like the rest of us; and as summer came on we used to see her moving about in her little garden patch in the dewy, golden morning. She wore absurd pale-blue negligees that made her stout figure loom50 immense against the greenery of garden and apple tree. The neighborhood women viewed these negligees with Puritan disapproval51 as they smoothed down their own prim52, starched53 gingham skirts. They said it was disgusting—and perhaps it was; but the habit of years is not easily overcome. Blanche Devine—snipping her sweet peas, peering anxiously at the Virginia creeper that clung with such fragile fingers to the trellis, watering the flower baskets that hung from her porch—was blissfully unconscious of the disapproving54 eyes. I wish one of us had just stopped to call good morning to her over the fence, and to say in our neighborly, small-town way: "My, ain't this a scorcher! So early too! It'll be fierce by noon!"
But we did not.
I think perhaps the evenings must have been the loneliest for her. The summer evenings in our little town are filled with intimate, human, neighborly sounds. After the heat of the day it is pleasant to relax in the cool comfort of the front porch, with the life of the town eddying55 about us. We sew and read out there until it grows dusk. We call across lots to our next-door neighbor. The men water the lawns and the flower boxes and get together in little, quiet groups to discuss the new street paving. I have even known Mrs. Hines to bring her cherries out there when she had canning to do, and pit them there on the front porch partially56 shielded by her porch vine, but not so effectually that she was deprived of the sights and sounds about her. The kettle in her lap and the dishpan full of great ripe cherries on the porch floor by her chair, she would pit and chat and peer out through the vines, the red juice staining her plump bare arms.
I have wondered since what Blanche Devine thought of us those lonesome evenings—those evenings filled with friendly sights and sounds. It must have been difficult for her, who had dwelt behind closed shutters so long, to seat herself on the new front porch for all the world to stare at; but she did sit there—resolutely—watching us in silence.
She seized hungrily upon the stray crumbs57 of conversation that fell to her. The milkman and the iceman and the butcher boy used to hold daily conversation with her. They—sociable gentlemen—would stand on her door-step, one grimy hand resting against the white of her doorpost, exchanging the time of day with Blanche in the doorway58—a tea towel in one hand, perhaps, and a plate in the other. Her little house was a miracle of cleanliness. It was no uncommon59 sight to see her down on her knees on the kitchen floor, wielding60 her brush and rag like the rest of us. In canning and preserving time there floated out from her kitchen the pungent61 scent of pickled crab62 apples; the mouth-watering smell that meant sweet pickles63; or the cloying64, divinely sticky odor that meant raspberry jam. Snooky, from her side of the fence, often used to peer through the pickets65, gazing in the direction of the enticing66 smells next door.
Early one September morning there floated out from Blanche Devine's kitchen that fragrant67, sweet scent of fresh-baked cookies—cookies with butter in them, and spice, and with nuts on top. Just by the smell of them your mind's eye pictured them coming from the oven-crisp brown circlets, crumbly, delectable. Snooky, in her scarlet68 sweater and cap, sniffed69 them from afar and straightway deserted70 her sand pile to take her stand at the fence. She peered through the restraining bars, standing71 on tiptoe. Blanche Devine, glancing up from her board and rolling pin, saw the eager golden head. And Snooky, with guile72 in her heart, raised one fat, dimpled hand above the fence and waved it friendlily. Blanche Devine waved back. Thus encouraged, Snooky's two hands wigwagged frantically73 above the pickets. Blanche Devine hesitated a moment, her floury hand on her hip74. Then she went to the pantry shelf and took out a clean white saucer. She selected from the brown jar on the table three of the brownest, crumbliest, most perfect cookies, with a walnut75 meat perched atop of each, placed them temptingly on the saucer and, descending76 the steps, came swiftly across the grass to the triumphant77 Snooky. Blanche Devine held out the saucer, her lips smiling, her eyes tender. Snooky reached up with one plump white arm.
"Snooky!" shrilled78 a high voice. "Snooky!" A voice of horror and of wrath79. "Come here to me this minute! And don't you dare to touch those!" Snooky hesitated rebelliously80, one pink finger in her pouting81 mouth.
"Snooky! Do you hear me?"
And the Very Young Wife began to descend14 the steps of her back porch. Snooky, regretful eyes on the toothsome dainties, turned away aggrieved82. The Very Young Wife, her lips set, her eyes flashing, advanced and seized the shrieking83 Snooky by one arm and dragged her away toward home and safety.
Blanche Devine stood there at the fence, holding the saucer in her hand. The saucer tipped slowly, and the three cookies slipped off and fell to the grass. Blanche Devine stood staring at them a moment. Then she turned quickly, went into the house, and shut the door.
It was about this time we noticed that Blanche Devine was away much of the time. The little white cottage would be empty for weeks. We knew she was out of town because the expressman would come for her trunk. We used to lift our eyebrows84 significantly. The newspapers and handbills would accumulate in a dusty little heap on the porch; but when she returned there was always a grand cleaning, with the windows open, and Blanche—her head bound turbanwise in a towel—appearing at a window every few minutes to shake out a dustcloth. She seemed to put an enormous amount of energy into those cleanings—as if they were a sort of safety valve.
As winter came on she used to sit up before her grate fire long, long after we were asleep in our beds. When she neglected to pull down the shades we could see the flames of her cosy85 fire dancing gnomelike on the wall. There came a night of sleet86 and snow, and wind and rattling87 hail—one of those blustering88, wild nights that are followed by morning-paper reports of trains stalled in drifts, mail delayed, telephone and telegraph wires down. It must have been midnight or past when there came a hammering at Blanche Devine's door—a persistent89, clamorous90 rapping. Blanche Devine, sitting before her dying fire half asleep, started and cringed when she heard it, then jumped to her feet, her hand at her breast—her eyes darting91 this way and that, as though seeking escape.
She had heard a rapping like that before. It had meant bluecoats swarming92 up the stairway, and frightened cries and pleadings, and wild confusion. So she started forward now, quivering. And then she remembered, being wholly awake now—she remembered, and threw up her head and smiled a little bitterly and walked toward the door. The hammering continued, louder than ever. Blanche Devine flicked93 on the porch light and opened the door. The half-clad figure of the Very Young Wife next door staggered into the room. She seized Blanche Devine's arm with both her frenzied94 hands and shook her, the wind and snow beating in upon both of them.
"The baby!" she screamed in a high, hysterical95 voice. "The baby! The baby——!"
Blanche Devine shut the door and shook the Young Wife smartly by the shoulders.
"Stop screaming," she said quietly. "Is she sick?"
The Young Wife told her, her teeth chattering96:
"Come quick! She's dying! Will's out of town. I tried to get the doctor. The telephone wouldn't—— I saw your light! For God's sake——"
Blanche Devine grasped the Young Wife's arm, opened the door, and together they sped across the little space that separated the two houses. Blanche Devine was a big woman, but she took the stairs like a girl and found the right bedroom by some miraculous4 woman instinct. A dreadful choking, rattling sound was coming from Snooky's bed.
"Croup," said Blanche Devine, and began her fight.
It was a good fight. She marshaled her inadequate97 forces, made up of the half-fainting Young Wife and the terrified and awkward hired girl.
"Get the hot water on—lots of it!" Blanche Devine pinned up her sleeves. "Hot cloths! Tear up a sheet—or anything! Got an oilstove? I want a tea-kettle boiling in the room. She's got to have the steam. If that don't do it we'll raise an umbrella over her and throw a sheet over, and hold the kettle under till the steam gets to her that way. Got any ipecac?"
The Young Wife obeyed orders, white-faced and shaking. Once Blanche Devine glanced up at her sharply.
"Don't you dare faint!" she commanded.
And the fight went on. Gradually the breathing that had been so frightful98 became softer, easier. Blanche Devine did not relax. It was not until the little figure breathed gently in sleep that Blanche Devine sat back, satisfied. Then she tucked a cover at the side of the bed, took a last satisfied look at the face on the pillow, and turned to look at the wan18, disheveled Young Wife.
"She's all right now. We can get the doctor when morning comes—though I don't know's you'll need him."
The Young Wife came round to Blanche Devine's side of the bed and stood looking up at her.
"My baby died," said Blanche Devine simply. The Young Wife gave a little inarticulate cry, put her two hands on Blanche Devine's broad shoulders, and laid her tired head on her breast.
"I guess I'd better be going," said Blanche Devine.
The Young Wife raised her head. Her eyes were round with fright.
"Going! Oh, please stay! I'm so afraid. Suppose she should take sick again! That awful—breathing——"
"I'll stay if you want me to."
"Oh, please! I'll make up your bed and you can rest——"
"I'm not sleepy. I'm not much of a hand to sleep anyway. I'll sit up here in the hall, where there's a light. You get to bed. I'll watch and see that everything's all right. Have you got something I can read out here—something kind of lively—with a love story in it?"
So the night went by. Snooky slept in her white bed. The Very Young Wife half dozed99 in her bed, so near the little one. In the hall, her stout figure looming100 grotesque101 in wall shadows, sat Blanche Devine, pretending to read. Now and then she rose and tiptoed into the bedroom with miraculous quiet, and stooped over the little bed and listened and looked—and tiptoed away again, satisfied.
The Young Husband came home from his business trip next day with tales of snowdrifts and stalled engines. Blanche Devine breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him from her kitchen window. She watched the house now with a sort of proprietary102 eye. She wondered about Snooky; but she knew better than to ask. So she waited. The Young Wife next door had told her husband all about that awful night—had told him with tears and sobs103. The Very Young Husband had been very, very angry with her—angry, he said, and astonished! Snooky could not have been so sick! Look at her now! As well as ever. And to have called such a woman! Well, he did not want to be harsh; but she must understand that she must never speak to the woman again. Never!
So the next day the Very Young Wife happened to go by with the Young Husband. Blanche Devine spied them from her sitting-room104 window, and she made the excuse of looking in her mailbox in order to go to the door. She stood in the doorway and the Very Young Wife went by on the arm of her husband. She went by—rather white-faced—without a look or a word or a sign!
And then this happened! There came into Blanche Devine's face a look that made slits105 of her eyes, and drew her mouth down into an ugly, narrow line, and that made the muscles of her jaw106 tense and hard. It was the ugliest look you can imagine. Then she smiled—if having one's lips curl away from one's teeth can be called smiling.
Two days later there was great news of the white cottage on the corner. The curtains were down; the furniture was packed; the rugs were rolled. The wagons107 came and backed up to the house and took those things that had made a home for Blanche Devine. And when we heard that she had bought back her interest in the House with the Closed Shutters, near the freight depot, we sniffed.
"I knew she wouldn't last!" we said.
"They never do!" said we.
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doff
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| v.脱，丢弃，废除 | |
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plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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mink
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| n.貂，貂皮 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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miraculously
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redress
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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scent
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vice
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joint
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overalls
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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descended
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haze
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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fixed
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marketing
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sneer
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industrious
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ascend
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incongruity
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poking
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ridge
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agitation
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pervaded
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askew
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gasped
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sundry
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battered
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perilously
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elusive
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streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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36
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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37
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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38
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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39
thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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40
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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41
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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42
viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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43
stewing
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| 炖 | |
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44
delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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45
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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46
ushers
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| n.引座员( usher的名词复数 )；招待员；门房；助理教员v.引，领，陪同( usher的第三人称单数 ) | |
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stonily
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| 石头地，冷酷地 | |
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agitatedly
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| 动摇，兴奋； 勃然 | |
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49
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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50
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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51
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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52
prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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53
starched
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| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
disapproving
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| adj.不满的，反对的v.不赞成( disapprove的现在分词 ) | |
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55
eddying
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| 涡流，涡流的形成 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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57
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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58
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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60
wielding
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| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的现在分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
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pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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pickles
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| n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 )；处于困境；遇到麻烦；菜酱 | |
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cloying
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| adj.甜得发腻的 | |
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pickets
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| 罢工纠察员( picket的名词复数 ) | |
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enticing
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| adj.迷人的；诱人的 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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guile
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| n.诈术 | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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shrilled
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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rebelliously
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| adv.造反地，难以控制地 | |
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pouting
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的现在分词 ) | |
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aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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83
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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84
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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85
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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86
sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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87
rattling
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| 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 | |
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88
blustering
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| adj.狂风大作的，狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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89
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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90
clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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91
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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93
flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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94
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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95
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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96
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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97
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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98
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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99
dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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101
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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102
proprietary
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| n.所有权，所有的；独占的；业主 | |
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103
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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104
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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105
slits
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| n.狭长的口子，裂缝( slit的名词复数 )v.切开，撕开( slit的第三人称单数 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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106
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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107
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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