This was not the first time by many in which he had been in a similar plight—but his resource in such case had been to tell the truth gallantly7 to his friend Mrs. Davis; and some sort of viands8, not at all unprepossessing to him in his hunger, would always be forthcoming for him at the 'Cat and Whistle.' This supply was now closed to him. Were he, under his present circumstances, to seek for his dinner from the fair hands of Norah Geraghty, it would be tantamount to giving himself up as lost for ever.
This want of a dinner, however, was a small misfortune in comparison with others which afflicted10 him. Should or should he not keep his promise to Mrs. Davis, and go to the 'Cat and Whistle' that evening? That was the question which disturbed his equanimity11, and hindered him from teasing Mr. Snape in his usual vivacious12 manner.
And here let it not be said that Charley must be altogether despicable in being so weak; that he is not only a vulgar rake in his present habits, but a fool also, and altogether spiritless, and of a low disposition13. Persons who may so argue of him, who so argue of those whom they meet in the real living world, are ignorant of the twists and turns, and rapid changes in character which are brought about by outward circumstances. Many a youth, abandoned by his friends to perdition on account of his folly14, might have yet prospered15, had his character not been set down as gone, before, in truth, it was well formed. It is not one calf16 only that should be killed for the returning prodigal17. Oh, fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, guardians18, and elderly friends in general, kill seven fatted calves19 if seven should unfortunately be necessary!
And then there was a third calamity20. Charley had, at this moment, in his pocket a certain document, which in civil but still somewhat peremptory21 language invited him to meet a very celebrated22 learned pundit23, being no less than one of Her Majesty's puisne judges, at some court in Westminster, to explain why he declined to pay to one Nathaniel Outerman, a tailor, the sum of &c., &c., &c.; and the document then went on to say, that any hesitation24 on Charley's part to accept this invitation would be regarded as great contempt shown to the said learned pundit, and would be treated accordingly. Now Charley had not paid the slightest attention to this requisition from the judge. It would, he conceived, have been merely putting his head into the lion's mouth to do so. But yet he knew that such documents meant something; that the day of grace was gone by, and that Mr. Nathaniel Outerman would very speedily have him locked up.
So Charley sat meditative over his lock entries, and allowed even his proposed vengeance26 on Mr. Snape to be delayed.
'I say, Charley,' said Scatterall, coming over and whispering to him, 'you couldn't lend me half a crown, could you?'
Charley said nothing, but looked on his brother navvy in a manner that made any other kind of reply quite unnecessary.
'I was afraid it was so,' said Scatterall, in a melancholy27 voice. And then, as if by the brilliance28 of his thought he had suddenly recovered his spirits, he made a little proposition.
'I'll tell you what you might do, Charley. I put my watch up the spout29 last week. It's a silver turnip30, so I only got fifteen shillings; yours is a Cox and Savary, and it's gold. I'm sure you'd get ?3 for it easily—perhaps ?3 3s. Now, if you'll do that, and take my turnip down, I'll let you have the turnip to wear, if you'll let me have ten shillings of the money. You see, you'd get clear—let me see how much.' And Scatterall went to work with a sheet of foolscap paper, endeavouring to make some estimate of what amount of ready cash Charley might have in his pocket on completion of this delicate little arrangement.
'You be d——,' said Charley.
'You'll not do it, then?' said Dick.
Charley merely repeated with a little more emphasis the speech which he had just before made.
'Oh, very well,' said Scatterall; 'there couldn't have been a fairer bargain; at least it was all on your side; for you would have had the watch to wear, and nearly all the money too.'
Charley still repeated the same little speech. This was uncivil; for it had evidently been looked on by Scatterall as unsatisfactory.
'Oh, very well,' said that gentleman, now in a state of mild anger—'only I saw that you had a fine new purse, and I thought you'd wish to have something to put in it.'
Charley again repeated his offensive mandate31; but he did it in a spirit of bravado32, in order to maintain his reputation. The allusion33 to the purse made him sadder than ever. He put his hand into his breast-pocket, and felt that it was near his heart: and then he fancied that he again heard her words—'You will be steady; won't you, dear Charley?'
At four o'clock, he was by no means in his usual hurry to go away, and he sat there drawing patterns on his blotting-paper, and chopping up a stick of sealing-wax with his penknife, in a very disconsolate34 way. Scatterall went. Corkscrew went. Mr. Snape, having carefully brushed his hat and taken down from its accustomed peg35 the old cotton umbrella, also took his departure; and the fourth navvy, who inhabited the same room, went also. The iron-fingered hand of time struck a quarter past four on the Somerset House clock, and still Charley Tudor lingered at his office. The maid who came to sweep the room was thoroughly36 amazed, and knew that something must be wrong.
Just as he was about to move, Mr. Oldeschole came bustling37 into the room. 'Where is Corkscrew?' said he. 'Gone,' said Charley. 'And Scatterall?' asked Oldeschole. 'Gone, sir,' said Charley. 'And Mr. Snape?' said the Secretary. 'Oh, he is gone, of course,' said Charley, taking his revenge at last.
'Then, Mr. Tudor, I must trouble you to copy these papers for me at once. They are wanted immediately for Sir Gregory Hardlines.' It was quite clear that Mr. Oldeschole was very much in earnest about the job, and that he was rejoiced to find that he still had one clerk to aid him.
Charley sat down and did the required work. On any other day he would greatly have disliked such a summons, but now he did not care much about it. He made the copies, however, as quickly as he could, and then took them in to Mr. Oldeschole.
The worthy40 Secretary rewarded him by a lecture; a lecture, however, which, as Charley well understood, was intended all in kindness. He told him how Mr. Snape complained of him, how the office books told against him, how the clerks talked, and all Somerset House made stories of his grotesque41 iniquities42. With penitential air Charley listened and promised. Mr. Oldeschole promised also that bygones should be bygones. 'I wonder whether the old cock would lend me a five-pound note! I dare say he would,' said Charley to himself, as he left the office. He abstained43, however, from asking for it.
Returning to his room, he took his hat and went downstairs. As he was sauntering forth9 through the archway into the Strand, a man with a decent coat but a very bad hat came up to him.
'I'm afraid I must trouble you to go with me, Mr. Tudor,' said the man.
'All right,' said Charley; 'Outerman, I suppose; isn't it?'
'All right,' said the bailiff.
And away the two walked together to a sponging-house in Cursitor Street.
Charley had been arrested at the suit of Mr. Outerman, the tailor. He perfectly45 understood the fact, and made no special objection to following the bailiff. One case was at any rate off his mind; he could not now, be his will to do so ever so good, keep his appointment with Norah Geraghty. Perhaps it was quite as well for him to be arrested just at this moment, as be left at liberty. It must have come sooner or later. So he walked on with the bailiff not without some feeling of consolation46.
The man had suggested to him a cab; but Charley had told him, without the slightest mauvaise honte, that he had not about him the means of paying for a cab. The man again suggested that perhaps he had better go home and get some money, as he would find it in Cursitor Street very desirable to have some. To this Charley replied that neither had he any money at home.
'That's blue,' said the man.
We need not give any detailed48 description of Charley's prison-house. He was luckily not detained there so long as to make it necessary that we should become acquainted with his fellow-captives, or even have much intercourse49 with his jailers. He was taken to the sponging-house, and it was there imparted to him that he had better send for two things—first of all for money, which was by far the more desirable of the two; and secondly50, for bail44, which even if forthcoming was represented as being at best but a dubious51 advantage.
'There's Mrs. Davis, she'd bail you, of course, and willing,' said the bailiff.
'Mrs. Davis!' said Charley, surprised that the man should know aught of his personal acquaintances.
'Yes, Mrs. Davis of the 'Cat and Whistle.' She'd do it in course, along of Miss Geraghty.'
Charley perceived with a shudder52 that his matrimonial arrangements were known and talked of even in the distant world of Cursitor Street. He declined, however, the assistance of the landlady53, which no doubt would have been willingly forthcoming, and was divided between his three friends, Alaric, Harry, and Mr. M'Ruen. Alaric was his cousin and his natural resource in such a position, but he had lately rejected Alaric's advice, and now felt a disinclination to call upon him in his difficulty. Harry he knew would assist him, would at once pay Mr. Outerman's bill, and relieve him from all immediate39 danger; but the sense of what he already owed to Norman made him unwilling54 to incur55 further obligations;—so he decided56 on sending for Mr. M'Ruen. In spite of his being so poorly supplied with immediate cash, it was surmised57 from his appearance, clothes, and known rank, that any little outlay58 made in his behalf would be probably repaid, and he was therefore furnished with a messenger on credit. This man was first to call at Mr. M'Ruen's with a note, and then to go to Charley's lodgings and get his brushes, razors, &c., these being the first necessaries of life for which a man naturally looks when once overtaken by such a misfortune as that with which Charley was now afflicted.
In the process of time the brushes and razors came, and so did Mr. M'Ruen.
'This is very kind of you,' said Charley, in rather a doleful voice, for he was already becoming tired of Cursitor Street.
Mr. M'Ruen twisted his head round inside his cravat59, and put out three fingers by way of shaking hands with the prisoner.
'You seem pretty comfortable here,' said M'Ruen. Charley dissented60 to this, and said that he was extremely uncomfortable.
'And what is it that I can do for you, Mr. Tudor?' said M'Ruen.
'Do for me! Why, bail me, to be sure; they won't let me out unless somebody bails61 me. You know I shan't run away.'
'Bail you!' said M'Ruen.
'Yes, bail me,' said Charley. 'You don't mean to say that you have any objection?'
Mr. M'Ruen looked very sharply at his young client from head to foot. 'I don't know about bail,' he said: 'it's very dangerous, very; why didn't you send for Mr. Norman or your cousin?'
'Because I didn't choose,' said Charley—'because I preferred sending to some one I could pay for the trouble.'
'Ha—ha—ha,' laughed M'Ruen; 'but that's just it—can you pay? You owe me a great deal of money, Mr. Tudor. You are so unpunctual, you know.'
'There are two ways of telling that story,' said Charley; 'but come, I don't want to quarrel with you about that now—you go bail for me now, and you'll find your advantage in it. You know that well enough.'
'Ha—ha—ha,' laughed the good-humoured usurer; 'ha—ha—ha—well, upon my word I don't know. You owe me a great deal of money, Mr. Tudor. Now, what o'clock is it by you, I wonder?'
'Aye; you've a very nice watch, I see. Come, Mr. Tudor, you owe me a great deal of money, and you are the most unpunctual young man I know; but yet I don't like to see you distressed63. I'll tell you what, now—do you hand over your watch to me, just as a temporary loan—you can't want it here, you know; and I'll come down and bail you out to-morrow.'
Charley declined dealing64 on these terms; and then Mr. M'Ruen at last went away, leaving Charley to his fate, and lamenting65 quite pathetically that he was such an unpunctual young man, so very unpunctual that it was impossible to do anything to assist him. Charley, however, manfully resisted the second attack upon his devoted66 watch.
'That's very blue, very blue indeed,' said the master of the house, as Mr. M'Ruen took his departure—'ha'n't you got no huncles nor hants, nor nothin' of that sort?'
Charley declared that he had lots of uncles and aunts, grandfathers and grandmothers, and a perfect wealth of cousins, and that he would send for some of the leading members of his family to-morrow. Satisfied with this, the man supplied him with bread and cheese, gin and water, and plenty of tobacco; and, fortified67 with these comforts, Charley betook himself at last very lugubriously68, to a filthy69, uninviting bed.
He had, we have seen, sent for his brushes, and hence came escape; but in a manner that he had little recked of, and of which, had he been asked, he would as little have approved. Mrs. Richards, his landlady, was not slow in learning from the messenger how it came to pass that Charley wanted the articles of his toilet so suddenly demanded. 'Why, you see, he's just been quodded,' said the boy.
Mrs. Richards was quite enough up to the world, and had dealt with young men long enough, to know what this meant; nor indeed was she much surprised. She had practical knowledge that Charley had no strong propensity70 to pay his debts, and she herself was not unaccustomed to answer the emissaries of Mr. Outerman and other greedy tradesmen who were similarly situated71. To Mrs. Richards herself Charley was not in debt, and she had therefore nothing to embitter72 her own feelings against him. Indeed, she had all that fondness for him which a lodging-house keeper generally has for a handsome, dissipated, easy-tempered young man; and when she heard that he had been 'quodded,' immediately made up her mind that steps must be taken for his release.
But what was she to do? Norman, who she was aware would 'unquod' him immediately, if he were in the way, was down at Hampton, and was not expected to be at his lodgings for two or three days. After some cogitation73, Mrs. Richards resolved that there was nothing for it but to go down to Hampton herself, and break the news to his friends. Charley would not have been a bit obliged to her had he known it, but Mrs. Richards acted for the best. There was a train down to Hampton Court that night, and a return train to bring her home again—so off she started.
Mrs. Woodward had on that same afternoon taken down Katie, who was still an invalid74;—Norman had gone down with them, and was to remain there for some few days—going up and down every morning and evening. Mrs. Woodward was sitting in the drawing-room; Linda and Katie were with her, the latter lying in state on her sofa as invalid young ladies should do; Captain Cuttwater was at Hampton Court, and Norman was on the water; when a fly from the railway made its way up to the door of the Cottage.
'Mrs. Richards, ma'am,' said the demure75 parlour-maid, ushering76 in the lodging-house keeper, who in her church-going best made a very decent appearance.
'Oh, Mrs. Richards, how are you?' said Mrs. Woodward, who knew the woman very well—'pray sit down—are there any news from London?'
'Oh, ma'am, such news—such bad news—Mister Charley—.' Up jumped Katie from her sofa and stood erect77 upon the floor. She stood there, with her mouth slightly open, with her eyes intently fixed78 on Mrs. Richards, with her little hands each firmly clenched79, drawing her breath with hard, short, palpitating efforts. There she stood, but said nothing.
'Oh, Mrs. Richards—what is it?' said Mrs. Woodward; 'for Heaven's sake what is the matter?'
'Oh, ma'am; he's been took,' said Mrs. Richards.
'Took!' repeated Mrs. Woodward. 'Katie, dear Katie—sit down, my child—sit down.'
'Oh, mamma! oh, mamma!' said she, apparently80 unable to move, and certainly all but unable to stand.
'Tell us, Mrs. Richards, what is it—what has happened to Mr. Tudor?' and as she spoke81 Mrs. Woodward got up and passed her arm around her younger daughter's waist—Linda also got up and joined the group.
'Why, ma'am,' said Mrs. Richards, 'he's been took by the bailiffs, and now he's in prison.'
Katie did not faint. She never had fainted, and probably did not know the way; but she clenched her hands still tighter, breathed harder than before, and repeated her appeal to her mother in a voice of agony. 'Oh, mamma! oh, mamma!'
Katie had no very accurate conception of what an arrest for debt meant. She knew that next to death imprisonment82 was the severest punishment inflicted83 on erring84 mortals, and she now heard that Charley was in prison. She did not stop to think whether it was for his life, or for some more limited period. It was enough for her to know, that this terrible misfortune had come upon him, to him who, to her young fancy, was so bright, so good, so clever, so excellent, upon him who had saved her life—upon him whom she so dearly loved.
Mrs. Woodward was greatly afflicted. She was indeed sorry to hear such tidings of Charley Tudor; but her grief was now deeper even than that. She could not be longer blind to the sort of feeling which her child evinced for this young man; she could not think that these passionate86 bursts of overpowering sorrow were the result of mere25 childish friendship; she could not but see that her Katie's bosom87 now held a woman's heart, and that that heart was no longer her own.
And then Mrs. Woodward reflected of what nature, of what sort, was this man whom she had allowed to associate with her darling, almost as a brother does with his sister; whom she had warmed in her bosom till he had found an opportunity of inflicting88 this deadly wound. With terrible bitterness she upbraided89 herself as she sat down and bade Mrs. Richards go on with her tale. She knew that nothing which could now be said would add to Katie's anguish90.
Mrs. Richards' story was soon told. It simply amounted to this—that 'Mister Charley,' as she always called him, had been arrested for debt at the suit of a tailor, and that she had learnt the circumstances from the fact of the prisoner having sent for his brushes.
'And so I thought the best thing was to come and tell Mr. Norman,' said Mrs. Richards, concluding her speech.
Nothing could be done till Norman came in. Linda went out with Mrs. Richards to get some refreshment91 in the dining-room, and Mrs. Woodward sat with her arm round Katie's neck on the sofa, comforting her with kisses and little caressing92 touches, but saying nothing. Katie, still unconscious of her passion, gave way to spasmodic utterance93 of her own grief.
'Oh, mamma!' she said—' what can be done? What can we do? You will do something, mamma, won't you? Poor Charley! Dear Charley! Harry will do something—won't he? Won't Harry go to London, and do something?'
Mrs. Woodward did what she could to quiet her. Something should be done, she said. They must wait till Harry came in, and then settle what was best. Nothing could be done till Harry came in. 'You must be patient, Katie, or else you will make yourself really ill.'
Katie became afraid that she would be sent off to bed on the score of her illness before Harry had come, and thus lose the advantage of hearing what was the step decided on. So she sat silent in the corner of her sofa feigning95 to be asleep, but pondering in her mind what sort of penalties were the penalties of imprisonment, how dreadful, how endurable, or how unendurable. Would they put chains on him? would they starve him? would they cut off his beautiful brown hair?
Mrs. Woodward sat silent waiting for Harry's return. When first she had watched Katie's extreme misery96, and guessed the secret of her child's heart, she had felt something like hard, bitter anger against Charley. But by degrees this feeling softened97 down. It was by no means natural to her, nor akin38 to her usual tenderness. After all, the fault hitherto was probably more her own than his.
Mrs. Richards was sent back to town. She was thanked for the trouble she had taken, and told that Mr. Norman would do in the matter all that was necessary to be done. So she took her departure, and Linda returned to the drawing-room.
Unfortunately Captain Cuttwater came in first. They none of them mentioned Charley's misfortune to him. Charley was no favourite with Uncle Bat, and his remarks would not have been of the most cheering tendency.
At last Norman came also. He came, as was his wont98, through the drawing-room window, and, throwing himself into a chair, began to tell the girls how much they had lost by not joining him on the river.
'Harry,' said Mrs. Woodward, 'step into the dining-room with me for a moment.'
Harry got up to follow her. Katie and Linda also instantly jumped from their seats to do the same. Mrs. Woodward looked round, and motioned to them to stay with their uncle. Linda obediently, though reluctantly, remained; but Katie's impulse was too strong for her. She gave one imploring99 look at her mother, a look which Mrs. Woodward well understood, and then taking silence for consent, crept into the dining-room.
'Harry,' said Mrs. Woodward, as soon as the dining-room door was closed, 'Charley has been arrested;' and then she told him how Mrs. Richards had been at the Cottage, and what was the nature of the tidings she had brought.
Norman was not much surprised, nor did he feign94 to be so. He took the news so coolly that Katie almost hated him. 'Did she say who had arrested him, or what was the amount?' he asked.
Mrs. Woodward replied that she knew no more than what she had already told. Katie stood in the shade with her eyes fixed upon her cousin, but as yet she said nothing. How cruel, how stony-hearted must he be to hear such dreadful tidings and remain thus undisturbed! Had Charley heard that Norman was arrested, he would have been half way to London by this time. So, at least, thought Katie.
'Something can be done for him, Harry, can there not? We must contrive100 to do something—eh, Harry?' said Mrs. Woodward.
'I fear it is too late to do anything to-night,' said Harry, looking at his watch. 'The last train is gone, and I could not possibly find him out before twelve.'
'And to-morrow is Sunday,' said Mrs. Woodward.
'Oh, Harry, pray do something!' said Katie, 'pray, pray, pray, do! Oh, Harry, think of Charley being in prison! Oh, Harry, he would do anything for you!' and then she burst into tears, and caught hold of Harry's arm and the front of his coat to add force to her entreaty101.
'Katie,' said her mother, 'don't be so foolish. Harry will, of course, do whatever is best.'
'But, mamma, he says he will do nothing; why does he not go at once?'
'I will go at once, dear Katie,' said he; 'I will go now directly. I don't know whether we can set him free to-night, or even to-morrow, as to-morrow is Sunday; but it certainly shall be done on Monday, you may be sure of that at any rate. Whatever can be done shall be done;' and, without further talk upon the subject, he took his hat and went his way.
'May God Almighty102 bless him!' said Mrs. Woodward. 'How infinitely103 greater are truth and honesty than any talent, however brilliant!' She spoke only to herself and no one even guessed what was the nature of the comparison which she thus made.
As soon as Norman was gone, Katie went to bed: and in the morning she was pronounced to be too unwell to get up. And, indeed, she was far from well. During the night she only slept by short starts, and in her sleep she was restless and uneasy; then, when she woke, she would burst out into fits of tears, and lie sobbing104 hysterically105 till she slept again. In the morning, Mrs. Woodward said something about Charley's misconduct, and this threw her into a wretched state of misery, from which nothing would rouse her till her mother promised that the prodigal should not be thrown over and abandoned.
Poor Mrs. Woodward was in a dreadful state of doubt as to what it now behoved her to do. She felt that, however anxious she might be to assist Charley for his own sake, it was her bounden duty to separate him from her child. Whatever merits he might have—and in her eyes he had many—at any rate he had not those which a mother would desire to see in the future husband of her daughter. He was profligate106, extravagant107, careless, and idle; his prospects108 in life were in every respect bad; he had no self-respect, no self-reliance, no moral strength. Was it not absolutely necessary that she should put a stop to any love that might have sprung up between such a man as this and her own young bright-eyed darling?
Put a stop to it! Yes, indeed, most expedient109; nay110, absolutely necessary—if it were only possible. Now, when it was too late, she began to perceive that she had not known of what material her own child was formed. At sixteen, Gertrude and Linda had in reality been little more than children. In manner, Katie had been more childish even than them, and yet—Mrs. Woodward, as she thought of these things, felt her heart faint within her.
She was resolved that, cost what it might, Charley must be banished111 from the Cottage. But at the first word of assumed displeasure that she uttered, Katie fell into such an agony of grief that her soft heart gave way, and she found herself obliged to promise that the sinner should be forgiven. Katie the while was entirely112 unconscious of the state of her own feelings. Had she thought that she loved him as women love, had any thought of such love and of him together even entered her mind, she could not have talked of him as she now talked. Had he been her brother, she could not have been less guarded in her protestations of affection, or more open in her appeals to her mother that he might be forgiven. Such was her present state; but it was doomed113 that her eyes should soon be opened, and that she should know her own sorrow.
On the Sunday afternoon, Norman returned to Hampton with the tidings that Charley was once more a free man. The key of gold which he had taken with him had been found potent114 enough to open all barriers, even those with which the sanctity of Sunday had surrounded the prisoner. Mr. Outerman, and the bailiff, and the messenger, had all been paid their full claims, and Charley, with his combs and brushes, had returned to the more benign115 custody116 of Mrs. Richards.
'And why didn't he come down with you?' said Katie to Norman, who had gone up to her bedroom to give her the good tidings.
Norman looked at Mrs. Woodward, but made no reply.
'He would probably prefer remaining in town at present,' said Mrs. Woodward. 'It will be more comfortable for him to do so.'
And then Katie was left alone to meditate117 why Charley should be more comfortable after his arrest in London than at Hampton; and after a while she thought that she had surmised the truth. 'Poor Charley! perhaps he is ashamed. He need not be ashamed to come at any rate to me.'
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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forth
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afflicted
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equanimity
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vivacious
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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prospered
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calf
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prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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guardians
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calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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22
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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23
pundit
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| n.博学之人；权威 | |
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24
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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26
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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29
spout
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| v.喷出，涌出；滔滔不绝地讲；n.喷管；水柱 | |
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30
turnip
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| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
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31
mandate
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| n.托管地；命令，指示 | |
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32
bravado
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| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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33
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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34
disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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35
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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36
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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37
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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38
akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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39
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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40
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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41
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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42
iniquities
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| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
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43
abstained
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| v.戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的过去式和过去分词 )；弃权（不投票） | |
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44
bail
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| v.舀（水），保释；n.保证金，保释，保释人 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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46
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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47
amicably
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| adv.友善地 | |
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48
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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49
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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50
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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51
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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52
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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53
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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54
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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55
incur
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| vt.招致，蒙受，遭遇 | |
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56
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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57
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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58
outlay
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| n.费用，经费，支出；v.花费 | |
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59
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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dissented
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| 不同意，持异议( dissent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
bails
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| （法庭命令缴付的）保释金( bail的名词复数 )； 三柱门上的横木 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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64
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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65
lamenting
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| adj.悲伤的，悲哀的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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66
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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67
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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68
lugubriously
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69
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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70
propensity
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| n.倾向；习性 | |
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71
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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72
embitter
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| v.使苦；激怒 | |
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73
cogitation
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| n.仔细思考，计划，设计 | |
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74
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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75
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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76
ushering
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的现在分词 ) | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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79
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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81
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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82
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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83
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84
erring
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| 做错事的，错误的 | |
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85
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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86
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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87
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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88
inflicting
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的现在分词 ) | |
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89
upbraided
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| v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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91
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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92
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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93
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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94
feign
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| vt.假装，佯作 | |
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95
feigning
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| 假装，伪装( feign的现在分词 )； 捏造（借口、理由等） | |
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96
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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97
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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98
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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99
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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100
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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101
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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102
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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103
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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104
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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105
hysterically
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| ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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106
profligate
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| adj.行为不检的；n.放荡的人，浪子，肆意挥霍者 | |
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107
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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108
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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109
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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110
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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111
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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113
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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114
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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115
benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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116
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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117
meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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