Pursuing their course along Castle Street for about a quarter of a mile, Gerard and Stephen turned down a street which intersected it, and so on, through a variety of ways and winding10 lanes, till they arrived at an open portion of the town, a district where streets and squares and even rows, disappeared, and where the tall chimneys and bulky barrack-looking buildings that rose in all directions, clustering yet isolated11, announced that they were in the principal scene of the industry of Mowbray. Crossing this open ground they gained a suburb, but one of a very different description to that in which was situate the convent where they had parted with Sybil. This one was populous12, noisy, and lighted. It was Saturday night; the streets were thronged13; an infinite population kept swarming14 to and fro the close courts and pestilential cul-de-sacs that continually communicated with the streets by narrow archways, like the entrance of hives, so low that you were obliged to stoop for admission: while ascending15 to these same streets, from their dank and dismal16 dwellings17 by narrow flights of steps the subterraneous nation of the cellars poured forth18 to enjoy the coolness of the summer night, and market for the day of rest. The bright and lively shops were crowded; and groups of purchasers were gathered round the stalls, that by the aid of glaring lamps and flaunting19 lanthorns, displayed their wares20.
“Come, come, it’s a prime piece,” said a jolly looking woman, who was presiding at a stall which, though considerably21 thinned by previous purchasers, still offered many temptations to many who could not purchase.
“And so it is widow,” said a little pale man, wistfully.
“Come, come, it’s getting late, and your wife’s ill; you’re a good soul, we’ll say fi’pence a pound, and I’ll throw you the scrag end in for love.”
“No butcher’s meat to-morrow for us, widow,” said the man.
“And why not, neighbour? With your wages, you ought to live like a prize-fighter, or the mayor of Mowbray at least.”
“Wages!” said the man, “I wish you may get ‘em. Those villains22, Shuffle23 and Screw, have sarved me with another bate24 ticket: and a pretty figure too.”
“Oh! the carnal monsters!” exclaimed the widow. “If their day don’t come, the bloody-minded knaves25!”
“And for small cops, too! Small cops be hanged! Am I the man to send up a bad-bottomed cop, Widow Carey?”
“You sent up for snicks! I have known you man and boy John Hill these twenty summers, and never heard a word against you till you got into Shuffle and Screw’s mill. Oh! they are a bad yarn26, John.”
“They do us all, widow. They pretends to give the same wages as the rest, and works it out in fines. You can’t come, and you can’t go, but there’s a fine; you’re never paid wages, but there’s a bate ticket. I’ve heard they keep their whole establishment on factory fines.”
“Soul alive, but those Shuffle and Screw are rotten, snickey, bad yarns,” said Mistress Carey. “Now ma’am, if you please; fi’pence ha’penny; no, ma’am, we’ve no weal left. Weal, indeed! you look very like a soul as feeds on weal,” continued Mrs Carey in an under tone as her declining customer moved away. “Well, it gets late,” said the widow, “and if you like to take this scrag end home to your wife neighbour Hill, we can talk of the rest next Saturday. And what’s your will, sir?” said the widow with a stern expression to a youth who now stopped at her stall.
He was about sixteen, with a lithe27 figure, and a handsome, faded, impudent28 face. His long, loose, white trousers gave him height; he had no waistcoat, but a pink silk handkerchief was twisted carelessly round his neck, and fastened with a very large pin, which, whatever were its materials, had unquestionably a very gorgeous appearance. A loose frock-coat of a coarse white cloth, and fastened by one button round his waist, completed his habiliments, with the addition of the covering to his head, a high-crowned dark-brown hat, which relieved his complexion30, and heightened the effect of his mischievous31 blue eye.
“Well, you need not be so fierce, Mother Carey,” said the youth with an affected32 air of deprecation.
“Don’t mother me,” said the jolly widow with a kindling33 eye; “go to your own mother, who is dying in a back cellar without a winder, while you’ve got lodgings34 in a two pair.”
“Dying; she’s only drunk,” said the youth.
“And if she is only drunk,” rejoined Mrs Carey in a passion, “what makes her drink but toil35; working from five o’clock in the morning to seven o’clock at night, and for the like of such as you.”
“That’s a good one,” said the youth; “I should like to know what my mother ever did for me, but give me treacle36 and laudanum when I was a babby to stop my tongue and fill my stomach; by the token of which, as my gal37 says, she stunted38 the growth of the prettiest figure in all Mowbray.” And here the youth drew himself up, and thrust his hands in the side pockets of his pea-jacket.
“Well, I never,” said Mrs Carey. “No; I never heard a thing like that!”
“Hold your tongue, Mr Imperence,” said the widow. “It’s very well known you’re no Christian40, and who’ll believe what you say?”
“It’s very well known that I’m a man what pays his way,” said the boy, “and don’t keep a huckster’s stall to sell carrion41 by star-light; but live in a two pair, if you please, and has a wife and family, or as good.”
“O! you aggravating42 imp29!” exclaimed the widow in despair, unable to wreak43 her vengeance44 on one who kept in a secure position, and whose movements were as nimble as his words.
“Why, Madam Carey, what has Dandy Mick done to thee?” said a good-humoured voice, it came from one of two factory girls who were passing her stall and stopped. They were gaily45 dressed, a light handkerchief tied under the chin, their hair scrupulously46 arranged; they wore coral neck-laces and earrings47 of gold.
“Ah! is it you, my child,” said the widow, who was a good-hearted creature. “The dandy has been giving me some of his imperence.”
“But I meant nothing, dame,” said Mick. “It was a joke,—only a joke.”
“Well, let it pass,” said Mrs Carey. “And where have you been this long time, my child; and who’s your friend?” she added in a lower tone.
“Well, I have left Mr Trafford’s mill,” said the girl.
“That’s a bad job,” said Mrs Carey; “for those Traffords are kind to their people. It’s a great thing for a young person to be in their mill.”
“So it is,” said the girl, “but then it was so dull. I can’t stand a country life, Mrs Carey. I must have company.”
“Well, I do love a bit of gossip myself,” said Mrs Carey, with great frankness.
“And then I’m no scholar,” said the girl, “and never could take to learning. And those Traffords had so many schools.”
“Learning is better than house and land,” said Mrs Carey; “though I’m no scholar myself; but then, in my time, things was different. But young persons—”
“Yes,” said Mick; “I don’t think I could get through the day, if it wurno’ for our Institute.”
“The Shoddy-Court Literary and Scientific, to be sure,” said Mick; “we have got fifty members, and take in three London papers; one ‘Northern Star’ and two ‘Moral Worlds.’”
“And where are you now, child?” continued the widow to the girl.
“I am at Wiggins and Webster’s,” said the girl; “and this is my partner. We keep house together; we have a very nice room in Arbour Court, No. 7, high up; it’s very airy. If you will take a dish of tea with us to-morrow, we expect some friends.”
“I take it kindly,” said Mrs Carey; “and so you keep house together! All the children keep house in these days. Times is changed indeed!”
“And we shall be happy to see you, Mick; and Julia, if you are not engaged;” continued the girl; and she looked at her friend, a pretty demure49 girl, who immediately said, but in a somewhat faultering tone, “Oh! that we shall.”
“And what are you going to do now, Caroline?” said Mick.
“Well, we had no thoughts; but I said to Harriet, as it is a fine night, let us walk about as long as we can and then to-morrow we will lie in bed till afternoon.”
“That’s all well eno’ in winter time with plenty of baccy,” said Mick, “but at this season of the year I must have life. The moment I came out I bathed in the river, and then went home and dressed,” he added in a satisfied tone; “and now I am going to the Temple. I’ll tell you what, Julia has been pricked50 to-day with a shuttle, ‘tis not much, but she can’t go out; I’ll stand treat, and take you and your friend to the Temple.”
“Well, that’s delight,” said Caroline. “There’s no one does the handsome thing like you, Dandy Mick, and I always say so. Oh! I love the Temple! ‘Tis so genteel! I was speaking of it to Harriet last night; she never was there. I proposed to go with her—but two girls alone,—you understand me. One does not like to be seen in these places, as if one kept no company.”
“Very true,” said Mick; “and now we’ll be off. Good night, widow.”
“You’ll remember us to-morrow evening,” said Caroline. “To-morrow evening! The Temple!” murmured Mrs Carey to herself. “I think the world is turned upside downwards51 in these parts. A brat52 like Mick Radley to live in a two pair, with a wife and family, or as good as he says; and this girl asks me to take a dish of tea with her and keeps house! Fathers and mothers goes for nothing,” continued Mrs Carey, as she took a very long pinch of snuff and deeply mused53. “‘tis the children gets the wages,” she added after a profound pause, “and there it is.”
点击收听单词发音
1 brawl | |
n.大声争吵,喧嚷;v.吵架,对骂 | |
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2 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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3 dependence | |
n.依靠,依赖;信任,信赖;隶属 | |
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4 metropolis | |
n.首府;大城市 | |
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5 warehouses | |
仓库,货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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6 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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7 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
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8 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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9 posterity | |
n.后裔,子孙,后代 | |
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10 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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11 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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12 populous | |
adj.人口稠密的,人口众多的 | |
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13 thronged | |
v.成群,挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14 swarming | |
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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15 ascending | |
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
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16 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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17 dwellings | |
n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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18 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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19 flaunting | |
adj.招摇的,扬扬得意的,夸耀的v.炫耀,夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 );有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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20 wares | |
n. 货物, 商品 | |
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21 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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22 villains | |
n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 );罪犯;(小说、戏剧等中的)反面人物;淘气鬼 | |
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23 shuffle | |
n.拖著脚走,洗纸牌;v.拖曳,慢吞吞地走 | |
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24 bate | |
v.压制;减弱;n.(制革用的)软化剂 | |
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25 knaves | |
n.恶棍,无赖( knave的名词复数 );(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
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26 yarn | |
n.纱,纱线,纺线;奇闻漫谈,旅行轶事 | |
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27 lithe | |
adj.(指人、身体)柔软的,易弯的 | |
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28 impudent | |
adj.鲁莽的,卑鄙的,厚颜无耻的 | |
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29 imp | |
n.顽童 | |
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30 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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31 mischievous | |
adj.调皮的,恶作剧的,有害的,伤人的 | |
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32 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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33 kindling | |
n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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34 lodgings | |
n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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35 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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36 treacle | |
n.糖蜜 | |
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37 gal | |
n.姑娘,少女 | |
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38 stunted | |
adj.矮小的;发育迟缓的 | |
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39 veal | |
n.小牛肉 | |
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40 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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41 carrion | |
n.腐肉 | |
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42 aggravating | |
adj.恼人的,讨厌的 | |
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43 wreak | |
v.发泄;报复 | |
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44 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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45 gaily | |
adv.欢乐地,高兴地 | |
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46 scrupulously | |
adv.一丝不苟地;小心翼翼地,多顾虑地 | |
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47 earrings | |
n.耳环( earring的名词复数 );耳坠子 | |
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48 sneer | |
v.轻蔑;嘲笑;n.嘲笑,讥讽的言语 | |
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49 demure | |
adj.严肃的;端庄的 | |
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50 pricked | |
刺,扎,戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 ); 刺伤; 刺痛; 使剧痛 | |
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51 downwards | |
adj./adv.向下的(地),下行的(地) | |
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52 brat | |
n.孩子;顽童 | |
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53 mused | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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