I
Despite their promises at the last Election, the politicians had not yet changed the climate. The State Meteorological Institute had so far produced only an unseasonable fall of snow and two little thunderbolts no larger than apricots. The weather varied1 from day to day and from county to county as it had done of old, most anomalously2.
This was a rich, old-fashioned Tennysonian night.
Strains of a string quartet floated out from the drawing-room windows and were lost amid the splash and murmur3 of the gardens. In the basin the folded lilies had left a brooding sweetness over the water. No gold fin4 winked5 in the porphyry font and any peacock which seemed to be milkily drooping6 in the moon-shadows was indeed a ghost, for the whole flock of them had been found mysteriously and rudely slaughtered7 a day or two ago in the first disturbing flush of this sudden summer.
Miles, sauntering among the sleeping flowers, was suffused8 with melancholy9. He did not much care for music and this was his last evening at Mountjoy. Never again, perhaps, would he be free to roam these walks.
Mountjoy had been planned and planted in the years of which he knew nothing; generations of skilled and patient husband-men had weeded and dunged and pruned11; generations of dilettanti had watered it with cascades12 and jets; generations of collectors had lugged13 statuary here; all, it seemed, for his enjoyment14 this very night under this huge moon. Miles knew nothing of such periods and processes, but he felt an incomprehensible tidal pull towards the circumjacent splendours.
Eleven struck from the stables. The music ceased. Miles turned back and, as he reached the terrace, the shutters15 began to close and the great chandeliers were one by one extinguished. By the light of the sconces which still shone on their panels of faded satin and clouded gold, he joined the company dispersing16 to bed through the islands of old furniture.
His room was not one of the grand succession which lay along the garden front. Those were reserved for murderers. Nor was it on the floor above, tenanted mostly by sexual offenders17. His was a humbler wing. Indeed he overlooked the luggage porch and the coal bunker. Only professional men visiting Mountjoy on professional business and very poor relations had been put here in the old days. But Miles was attached to this room, which was the first he had ever called his own in all his twenty years of Progress.
His next-door neighbour, a Mr. Sweat, paused at his door to say good-night. It was only now after twenty months’ proximity19, when Miles’s time was up, that this veteran had begun to unbend. He and a man named Soapy, survivals of another age, had kept themselves to themselves, talking wistfully of cribs they had cracked, of sparklers, of snug20 bar-parlours where they had met their favourite fences, of strenuous21 penal22 days at the Scrubs and on the Moor23. They had small use for the younger generation; crime, calvinism and classical music were their interests. But at last Mr. Sweat had taken to nodding, to grunting25, and finally, too late for friendship, to speaking to Miles.
“What price the old strings26 tonight, chum?” he asked.
“I wasn’t there, Mr. Sweat.”
“You missed a treat. Of course nothing’s ever good enough for old Soapy. Made me fair sick to hear Soapy going on all the time. The viola was scratchy, Soapy says. They played the Mozart just like it was Haydn. No feeling in the Debussy pizzicato, says Soapy.”
“Soapy knows too much.”
“Soapy knows a lot more than some I could mention, schooling27 or no schooling. Next time they’re going to do the Grosse Fugue as the last movement of the B-flat. That’s something to look forward to, that is, though Soapy says no late Beethoven comes off. We’ll see. Leastways, me and Soapy will; you won’t. You’re off tomorrow. Pleased?”
“Not particularly.”
“No, no more wouldn’t I be. It’s a funny thing but I’ve settled down here wonderful. Never thought I should. It all seemed a bit too posh at first. Not like the old Scrubs. But it’s a real pretty place once you’re used to it. Wouldn’t mind settling here for a lifer if they’d let me. The trouble is there’s no security in crime these days. Time was, you knew just what a job was worth, six months, three years; whatever it was, you knew where you were. Now what with prison commissioners28 and Preventive Custody29 and Corrective Treatment they can keep you in or push you out just as it suits them. It’s not right.
“I’ll tell you what it is, chum,” continued Mr. Sweat. “There’s no understanding of crime these days like what there was. I remember when I was a nipper, the first time I came up before the beak31, he spoke32 up straight: ‘My lad,’ he says, ‘you are embarking33 upon a course of life that can only lead to disaster and degradation34 in this world and everlasting35 damnation in the next.’ Now that’s talking. It’s plain sense and it shows a personal interest. But last time I was up, when they sent me here, they called me an ‘antisocial phenomenon’; said I was ‘maladjusted.’ That’s no way to speak of a man what was doing time before they was in long trousers, now is it?”
“They said something of the same kind to me.”
“Yes and now they’re giving you the push, just like you hadn’t no Rights. I tell you it’s made a lot of the boys uncomfortable your going out all of a sudden like this. Who’ll it be next time, that’s what we’re wondering?
“I tell you where you went wrong, chum. You didn’t give enough trouble. You made it too easy for them to say you was cured. Soapy and me got wise to that. You remember them birds as got done in? That was Soapy and me. They took a lot of killing36 too; powerful great bastards37. But we got the evidence all hid away tidy and if there’s ever any talk of me and Soapy being ‘rehabilitated39’ we’ll lay it out conspicuous40.
“Well, so long, chum. Tomorrow’s my morning for Remedial Repose41 so I daresay you’ll be off before I get down. Come back soon.”
“I hope so,” said Miles and turned alone in his own room.
He stood briefly43 at the window and gazed his last on the cobbled yard. He made a good figure of a man, for he came of handsome parents and all his life had been carefully fed and doctored and exercised; well clothed too. He wore the drab serge dress that was the normal garb44 of the period—only certified45 homosexuals wore colours—but there were differences of fit and condition among these uniforms. Miles displayed the handiwork of tailor and valet. He belonged to a privileged class.
The State had made him.
No clean-living, God-fearing, Victorian gentleman, he; no complete man of the renaissance46; no genteel knight47 nor dutiful pagan nor, even, noble savage48. All that succession of past worthies49 had gone its way, content to play a prelude50 to Miles. He was the Modern Man.
His history, as it appeared in multuplet in the filing cabinets of numberless State departments, was typical of a thousand others. Before his birth the politicians had succeeded in bringing down his father and mother to penury51; they, destitute52, had thrown themselves into the simple diversions of the very poor and thus, between one war and the next, set in motion a chain-reaction of divorces which scattered53 them and their various associates in forlorn couples all over the Free World. The aunt on whom the infant Miles had been quartered was conscribed for work in a factory and shortly afterwards died of boredom54 at the conveyer-belt. The child was put to safety in an Orphanage56.
Huge sums were thenceforward spent upon him; sums which, fifty years earlier, would have sent whole quiversful of boys to Winchester and New College and established them in the learned professions. In halls adorned57 with Picassos and Légers he yawned through long periods of Constructive58 Play. He never lacked the requisite59 cubic feet of air. His diet was balanced and on the first Friday of every month he was psychoanalysed. Every detail of his adolescence60 was recorded and microfilmed and filed, until at the appropriate age he was transferred to the Air Force.
There were no aeroplanes at the station to which he was posted. It was an institution to train instructors61 to train instructors to train instructors in Personal Recreation.
There for some weeks he tended a dish-washing machine and tended it, as his adjutant testified at his trial, in an exemplary fashion. The work in itself lacked glory, but it was the normal novitiate. Men from the Orphanages62 provided the hard core of the Forces, a caste apart which united the formidable qualities of Janissary and Junker. Miles had been picked early for high command. Dish-washing was only the beginning. The adjutant, an Orphan55 too, had himself washed both dishes and officers’ underclothes, he testified, before rising to his present position.
Courts Martial63 had been abolished some years before this. The Forces handed their defaulters over to the civil arm for treatment. Miles came up at quarter sessions. It was plain from the start, when Arson64, Wilful65 Damage, Manslaughter, Prejudicial Conduct and Treason were struck out of the Indictment66 and the whole reduced to a simple charge of Antisocial Activity, that the sympathies of the Court were with the prisoner.
The Station Psychologist gave his opinion that an element of incendiarism was inseparable from adolescence. Indeed, if checked, it might produce morbid67 neuroses. For his part he thought the prisoner had performed a perfectly68 normal act and, moreover, had shown more than normal intelligence in its execution.
At this point some widows, mothers and orphans69 of the incinerated airmen set up an outcry from the public gallery and were sharply reminded from the Bench that this was a Court of Welfare and not a meeting of the Housewives’ Union.
The case developed into a concerted eulogy70 of the accused. An attempt by the prosecution71 to emphasize the extent of the damage was rebuked72 from the Bench.
“The jury,” he said, “will expunge74 from their memories these sentimental75 details which have been most improperly76 introduced.”
“May be a detail to you,” said a voice from the gallery. “He was a good husband to me.”
“Arrest that woman,” said the Judge.
Order was restored and the panegyrics77 continued.
At last the Bench summed up. He reminded the jury that it was a first principle of the New Law that no man could be held responsible for the consequences of his own acts. The jury must dismiss from their minds the consideration that much valuable property and many valuable lives had been lost and the cause of Personal Recreation gravely retarded78. They had merely to decide whether in fact the prisoner had arranged inflammable material at various judiciously79 selected points in the Institution and had ignited them. If he had done so, and the evidence plainly indicated that he had, he contravened80 the Standing30 Orders of the Institution and was thereby81 liable to the appropriate penalties.
Thus directed the jury brought in a verdict of guilty coupled with a recommendation of mercy towards the various bereaved82 persons who from time to time in the course of the hearing had been committed for contempt. The Bench reprimanded the jury for presumption83 and impertinence in the matter of the prisoners held in contempt, and sentenced Miles to residence during the State’s pleasure at Mountjoy Castle (the ancestral seat of a maimed V.C. of the Second World War, who had been sent to a Home for the Handicapped when the place was converted into a gaol).
The State was capricious in her pleasures. For nearly two years Miles enjoyed her particular favours. Every agreeable remedial device was applied84 to him and applied, it was now proclaimed, successfully. Then without warning a few days back, while he lay dozing85 under a mulberry tree, the unexpected blow had fallen; they had come to him, the Deputy Chief-Guide and the sub-Deputy, and told him bluntly and brutally86 that he was rehabilitated.
Now on this last night he knew he was to wake tomorrow on a harsh world. Nevertheless he slept and was gently awoken for the last time to the familiar scent87 of china tea on his bed table, the thin bread and butter, the curtains drawn88 above the luggage porch, the sunlit kitchen-yard and the stable clock just visible behind the cut-leaf copper89 beech90.
He breakfasted late and alone. The rest of the household were already engaged in the first community-songs of the day. Presently he was called to the Guidance Office.
Since his first day at Mountjoy, when with other entrants Miles had been addressed at length by the Chief Guide on the Aims and Achievements of the New Penology, they had seldom met. The Chief Guide was almost always away addressing penological conferences.
The Guidance Office was the former housekeeper’s room stripped now of its plush and patriotic92 pictures; sadly tricked out instead with standard civil-service equipment, class A.
It was full of people.
“This is Miles Plastic,” said the Chief Guide. “Sit down, Miles. You can see from the presence of our visitors this morning what an important occasion this is.”
Miles took a chair and looked and saw seated beside the Chief Guide two elderly men whose faces were familiar from the television screen as prominent colleagues in the Coalition93 Government. They wore open flannel94 shirts, blazers with numerous pens and pencils protruding95 from the breast pocket, and baggy96 trousers. This was the dress of very high politicians.
“The Minister of Welfare and the Minister of Rest and Culture,” continued the Chief Guide. “The stars to which we have hitched97 our wagon98. Have the press got the handout99?”
“Yes, Chief.”
“And the photographers are all ready?”
“Yes, Chief.”
“Then I can proceed.”
He proceeded as he had done at countless100 congresses, at countless spas and university cities. He concluded, as he always did: “In the New Britain which we are building, there are no criminals. There are only the victims of inadequate101 social services.”
The Minister of Welfare, who had not reached his present eminence102 without the help of a certain sharpness in debate, remarked: “But I understood that Plastic is from one of our own Orphanages ...”
“Plastic is recognized as a Special Case,” said the Chief Guide.
The Minister of Rest and Culture, who in the old days had more than once done time himself, said: “Well, Plastic, lad, from all they do say I reckon you’ve been uncommon103 smart.”
“Exactly,” said the Chief Guide. “Miles is our first success, the vindication104 of the Method.”
“Of all the new prisons established in the first glorious wave of Reform, Mountjoy alone has produced a complete case of rehabilitation105,” the Minister of Welfare said. “You may or may not be aware that the Method has come in for a good deal of criticism both in Parliament and outside. There are a lot of young hotheads who take their inspiration from our Great Neighbour in the East. You can quote the authorities to them till you’re black in the face but they are always pressing for all the latest gadgets106 of capital and corporal punishment, for chain gangs and solitary107 confinement108, bread and water, the cat-o’nine-tails, the rope and the block, and all manner of new-fangled nonsense. They think we’re a lot of old fogeys. Thank goodness we’ve still got the solid sense of the people behind us, but we’re on the defensive109 now. We have to show results. That’s why we’re here this morning. To show them results. You are our Result.”
These were solemn words and Miles in some measure responded to the occasion. He gazed before him blankly with an expression that might seem to be awe110.
“You’d best watch your step now, lad,” said the Minister of Rest and Culture.
“Photographs,” said the Minister of Welfare. “Yes, shake my hand. Turn towards the cameras. Try to smile.”
Bulbs flashed all over the dreary111 little room.
“State be with you,” said the Minister of Welfare.
“Give us a paw, lad,” said the Minister of Rest and Culture, taking Miles’s hand in his turn. “And no funny business, mind.”
Then the politicians departed.
“The Deputy-Chief will attend to all the practical matters,” said the Chief wearily. “Go and see him now.”
Miles went.
“Well, Miles, from now on I must call you Mr. Plastic,” said the Deputy-Chief. “In less than a minute you become a Citizen. This little pile of papers is You. When I stamp them, Miles the Problem ceases to exist and Mr. Plastic the Citizen is born. We are sending you to Satellite City, the nearest Population Centre, where you will be attached to the Ministry112 of Welfare as a sub-official. In view of your special training you are not being classified as a Worker. The immediate113 material rewards, of course, are not as great. But you are definitely in the Service. We have set your foot on the bottom rung of the non-competitive ladder.”
The Deputy Chief Guide picked up the rubber stamp and proceeded to his work of creation. Flip-thump, flip-thump the papers were turned and stained.
“There you are, Mr. Plastic,” said the Deputy-Chief handing Miles, as it were, the baby.
At last Miles spoke: “What must I do to get back here?” he asked.
“Come, come, you’re rehabilitated now, remember. It is your turn to give back to the State some of the service the State has given you. You will report this morning to the Area Progressive. Transport has been laid on. State be with you, Mr. Plastic. Be careful, that’s your Certificate of Human Personality you’ve dropped—a vital document.”
II
Satellite City, one of a hundred such grand conceptions, was not yet in its teens but already the Dome114 of Security showed signs of wear. This was the name of the great municipal edifice115 about which the city was planned. The eponymous dome had looked well enough in the architect’s model, shallow certainly but amply making up in girth what it lacked in height, the daring exercise of some new trick of construction. But to the surprise of all, when the building arose and was seen from the ground, the dome blandly116 vanished. It was hidden forever among the roofs and butting117 shoulders of the ancillary118 wings and was never seen again from the outside except by airmen and steeplejacks. Only the name remained. On the day of its dedication119, among massed politicians and People’s Choirs120 the great lump of building materials had shone fine as a factory in all its brilliance121 of glass and new concrete. Since then, during one of the rather frequent weekends of international panic, it had been camouflaged122 and its windows blackened. Cleaners were few and usually on strike. So the Dome of Security remained blotched and dingy123, the sole permanent building of Satellite City.
There were no workers’ flats, no officials’ garden suburb, no parks, no playgrounds yet. These were all on the drawing boards in the surveyor’s office, tattered124 at the edges, ringed by tea cups; their designer long since cremated125 and his ashes scattered among the docks and nettles126. Thus the Dome of Security comprised, even more than had been intended, all the aspirations127 and amenities128 of the city.
The officials subsisted129 in perpetual twilight130. Great sheets of glass, planned to “trap” the sun, admitted few gleams from scratches in their coat of tar38. At evening when the electric light came on, there was a faint glow, here and there. When, as often, the power station was “shedding its load” the officials stopped work early and groped their way back to their darkened huts where in the useless refrigerators their tiny rations10 were quietly putrefying. On working days the officials, male and female, trudged131 through cigarette ends round and round, up and down what had once been lift-shafts, in a silent, shabby, shadowy procession.
Among these pilgrims of the dusk, in the weeks that followed his discharge from Mountjoy, moved the exiled Miles Plastic.
He was in a key department.
Euthanasia had not been part of the original 1945 Health Service; it was a Tory measure designed to attract votes from the aged91 and the mortally sick. Under the Bevan-Eden Coalition the service came into general use and won instant popularity. The Union of Teachers was pressing for its application to difficult children. Foreigners came in such numbers to take advantage of the service that immigration authorities now turned back the bearers of single tickets.
Miles recognized the importance of his appointment even before he began work. On his first evening in the hostel132 his fellow sub-officials gathered round to question him.
“Euthanasia? I say, you’re in luck. They work you jolly hard, of course, but it’s the one department that’s expanding.”
“You’ll get promoted before you know your way about.”
“Great State! You must have pull. Only the very bright boys get posted to Euthanasia.”
“I’ve been in Contraception for five years. It’s a blind alley133.”
“They say that in a year or two Euthanasia will have taken over Pensions.”
“You must be an Orphan.”
“Yes, I am.”
“That accounts for it. Orphans get all the plums. I had a Full Family Life, State help me.”
It was gratifying, of course, this respect and envy. It was well to have fine prospects134; but for the time being Miles’s duties were humble18 enough.
He was junior sub-official in a staff of half a dozen. The Director was an elderly man called Dr. Beamish, a man whose character had been formed in the nervous ’30s, now much embittered135, like many of his contemporaries, by the fulfilment of his early hopes. He had signed manifestos in his hot youth, had raised his fist in Barcelona and had painted abstractedly for Horizon; he had stood beside Spender at great concourses of Youth, and written “publicity” for the Last Viceroy. Now his reward had come to him. He held the most envied post in Satellite City and, sardonically136, he was making the worst of it. Dr. Beamish rejoiced in every attenuation137 of official difficulties.
Satellite City was said to be the worst served Euthanasia Centre in the State. Dr. Beamish’s patients were kept waiting so long that often they died natural deaths before he found it convenient to poison them.
His small staff respected Dr. Beamish. They were all of the official class, for it was part of the grim little game which Dr. Beamish played with the higher authorities to economize138 extravagantly139. His department, he maintained, could not, on its present allotment, afford workers. Even the furnace-man and the girl who despatched unwanted false teeth to the Dental Redistribution Centre were sub-officials.
Sub-officials were cheap and plentiful140. The Universities turned them out in thousands every year. Indeed, ever since the Incitement141 to Industry Act of 1955, which exempted142 workers from taxation—that great and popular measure of reform which had consolidated143 the now permanent Coalition Government—there had been a nefarious144 one-way traffic of expensively State-educated officials “passing,” as it was called, into the ranks of the workers.
Miles’s duties required no special skill. Daily at ten the service opened its doors to welfare-weary citizens. Miles was the man who opened them, stemmed the too eager rush and admitted the first half-dozen; then he closed the doors on the waiting multitude until a Higher Official gave the signal for the admission of another batch145.
Once inside they came briefly under his charge; he set them in order, saw that they did not press ahead of their turn, and adjusted the television set for their amusement. A Higher Official interviewed them, checked their papers and arranged for the confiscation146 of their property. Miles never passed the door through which they were finally one by one conducted. A faint whiff of cyanide sometimes gave a hint of the mysteries beyond. Meanwhile he swept the waiting room, emptied the wastepaper basket and brewed147 tea—a worker’s job, for which the refinements148 of Mountjoy proved a too rich apprenticeship149.
In his hostel the same reproductions of Léger and Picasso as had haunted his childhood still stared down on him. At the cinema, to which he could afford, at the best, a weekly visit, the same films as he had seen free at Orphanage, Air Force station and prison, flickered150 and drawled before him. He was a child of Welfare, strictly151 schooled to a life of boredom, but he had known better than this. He had known the tranquil152 melancholy of the gardens at Mountjoy. He had known ecstasy153 when the Air Force Training School had whirled to the stars in a typhoon of flame. And as he moved sluggishly154 between Dome and hostel there rang in his ears the words of the old lag: “You didn’t give enough trouble.”
Then one day, in the least expected quarter, in his own drab department, hope appeared.
Miles later remembered every detail of that morning. It had started in the normal way; rather below normal indeed, for they were reopening after a week’s enforced idleness. There had been a strike among the coal-miners and Euthanasia had been at a standstill. Now the necessary capitulations had been signed, the ovens glowed again, and the queue at the patients’ entrance stretched halfway155 round the Dome. Dr. Beamish squinted156 at the waiting crowd through the periscope157 and said with some satisfaction: “It will take months to catch up on the waiting list now. We shall have to start making a charge for the service. It’s the only way to keep down the demand.”
“The Ministry will never agree to that, surely, sir?”
“Damned sentimentalists. My father and mother hanged themselves in their own backyard with their own clothesline. Now no one will lift a finger to help himself. There’s something wrong in the system, Plastic. There are still rivers to drown in, trains—every now and then—to put your head under; gas-fires in some of the huts. The country is full of the natural resources of death, but everyone has to come to us.”
It was not often he spoke so frankly158 before his subordinates. He had overspent during the week’s holiday, drunk too much at his hostel with other unemployed159 colleagues. Always after a strike the senior officials returned to work in low spirits.
“Shall I let the first batch in, sir?”
“Not for the moment,” said Dr. Beamish. “There’s a priority case to see first, sent over with a pink chit from Drama. She’s in the private waiting room now. Fetch her in.”
Miles went to the room reserved for patients of importance. All one wall was of glass. Pressed to it a girl was standing, turned away from him, looking out at the glum160 queue below. Miles stood, the light in his eyes, conscious only of a shadow which stirred at the sound of the latch161 and turned, still a shadow merely but of exquisite162 grace, to meet him. He stood at the door, momentarily struck silent at this blind glance of beauty. Then he said: “We’re quite ready for you now, miss.”
The girl came nearer. Miles’s eyes adjusted themselves to the light. The shadow took form. The full vision was all that the first glance had hinted; more than all, for every slight movement revealed perfection. One feature only broke the canon of pure beauty; a long, silken, corn-gold beard.
She said, with a deep, sweet tone, all unlike the flat conventional accent of the age: “Let it be quite understood that I don’t want anything done to me. I consented to come here. The Director of Drama and the Director of Health were so pathetic about it all that I thought it was the least I could do. I said I was quite willing to hear about your service, but I do not want anything done.”
“Better tell him inside,” said Miles.
He led her to Dr. Beamish’s room.
“Great State!” said Dr. Beamish, with eyes for the beard alone.
“Yes,” she said. “It is a shock, isn’t it? I’ve got used to it by now but I can understand how people feel seeing it for the first time.”
“Is it real?”
“Pull.”
“It is strong. Can’t they do anything about it?”
“Oh they’ve tried everything.”
Dr. Beamish was so deeply interested that he forgot Miles’s presence. “Klugmann’s Operation, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“It does go wrong like that every now and then. They had two or three cases at Cambridge.”
“I never wanted it done. I never want anything done. It was the Head of the Ballet. He insists on all the girls being sterilized163. Apparently164 you can never dance really well again after you’ve had a baby. And I did want to dance really well. Now this is what’s happened.”
“Yes,” said Dr. Beamish. “Yes. They’re far too slap-dash. They had to put down those girls at Cambridge, too. There was no cure. Well, we’ll attend to you, young lady. Have you any arrangements to make or shall I take you straight away?”
“But I don’t want to be put down. I told your assistant here, I’ve simply consented to come at all, because the Director of Drama cried so, and he’s rather a darling. I’ve not the smallest intention of letting you kill me.”
While she spoke, Dr. Beamish’s geniality165 froze. He looked at her with hatred166, not speaking. Then he picked up the pink form. “Then this no longer applies?”
“No.”
“Then for State’s sake,” said Dr. Beamish, very angry, “what are you wasting my time for? I’ve got more than a hundred urgent cases waiting outside and you come in here to tell me that the Director of Drama is a darling. I know the Director of Drama. We live side by side in the same ghastly hostel. He’s a pest. And I’m going to write a report to the Ministry about this tomfoolery which will make him and the lunatic who thinks he can perform a Klugmann, come round to me begging for extermination167. And then I’ll put them at the bottom of the queue. Get her out of here, Plastic, and let some sane168 people in.”
Miles led her into the public waiting room. “What an old beast,” she said. “What a perfect beast. I’ve never been spoken to like that before even in the ballet school. He seemed so nice at first.”
“It’s his professional feeling,” said Miles. “He was naturally put out at losing such an attractive patient.”
She smiled. Her beard was not so thick as quite to obscure her delicate ovoid of cheek and chin. She might have been peeping at him over ripe heads of barley169.
Her smile started in her wide grey eyes. Her lips under her golden moustachios were unpainted, tactile170. A line of pale down sprang below them and ran through the centre of the chin, spreading and thickening and growing richer in colour till it met the full flow of the whiskers, but leaving on either side, clear and tender, two symmetrical zones, naked and provocative171. So might have smiled some carefree deacon in the colonnaded172 schools of fifth-century Alexandria and struck dumb the heresiarchs.
“I think your beard is beautiful.”
“Do you really? I can’t help liking173 it too. I can’t help liking anything about myself, can you?”
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
“That’s not natural.”
Clamour at the outer door interrupted the talk. Like gulls174 round a lighthouse the impatient victims kept up an irregular flap and slap on the panels.
“We’re all ready, Plastic,” said a senior official. “What’s going on this morning?”
What was going on? Miles could not answer. Turbulent sea birds seemed to be dashing themselves against the light in his own heart.
“Don’t go,” he said to the girl. “Please, I shan’t be a minute.”
“Oh, I’ve nothing to take me away. My department all think I’m half dead by now.”
Miles opened the door and admitted an indignant half-dozen. He directed them to their chairs, to the registry. Then he went back to the girl who had turned away slightly from the crowd and drawn a scarf peasantwise round her head, hiding her beard.
“I still don’t quite like people staring,” she said.
“Our patients are far too busy with their own affairs to notice anyone else,” said Miles. “Besides you’d have been stared at all right if you’d stayed on in ballet.”
Miles adjusted the television but few eyes in the waiting-room glanced towards it; all were fixed175 on the registrar176’s table and the doors beyond.
“Think of them all coming here,” said the bearded girl.
“We give them the best service we can,” said Miles.
“Yes, of course, I know you do. Please don’t think I was finding fault. I only meant, fancy wanting to die.”
“One or two have good reasons.”
“I suppose you would say that I had. Everyone has been trying to persuade me, since my operation. The medical officials were the worst. They’re afraid they may get into trouble for doing it wrong. And then the ballet people were almost as bad. They are so keen on Art that they say: ‘You were the best of your class. You can never dance again. How can life be worth living?’ What I try to explain is that it’s just because I could dance that I know life is worth living. That’s what Art means to me. Does that sound very silly?”
“It sounds unorthodox.”
“Ah, but you’re not an artist.”
“Oh, I’ve danced all right. Twice a week all through my time at the Orphanage.”
“Therapeutic dancing?”
“That’s what they called it.”
“But, you see, that’s quite different from Art.”
“Why?”
“Oh,” she said with a sudden full intimacy177, with fondness. “Oh what a lot you don’t know.”
The dancer’s name was Clara.
III
Courtship was free and easy in this epoch178 but Miles was Clara’s first lover. The strenuous exercises of her training, the austere179 standards of the corps-de-ballet and her devotion to her art had kept her body and soul unencumbered.
For Miles, child of the State, Sex had been part of the curriculum at every stage of his education; first in diagrams, then in demonstrations180, then in application, he had mastered all the antics of procreation. Love was a word seldom used except by politicians and by them only in moments of pure fatuity182. Nothing that he had been taught prepared him for Clara.
Once in drama, always in drama. Clara now spent her days mending ballet shoes and helping183 neophytes on the wall bars. She had a cubicle184 in a Nissen hut and it was there that she and Miles spent most of their evenings. It was unlike anyone else’s quarters in Satellite City.
Two little paintings hung on the walls, unlike any paintings Miles had seen before, unlike anything approved by the Ministry of Art. One represented a goddess of antiquity185, naked and rosy186, fondling a peacock on a bank of flowers; the other a vast, tree-fringed lake and a party in spreading silken clothes embarking in a pleasure boat under a broken arch. The gilt187 frames were much chipped but what remained of them was elaborately foliated.
“They’re French,” said Clara. “More than two hundred years old. My mother left them to me.”
All her possessions had come from her mother, nearly enough of them to furnish the little room—a looking glass framed in porcelain188 flowers, a gilt, irregular clock. She and Miles drank their sad, officially compounded coffee out of brilliant, riveted189 cups.
“It reminds me of prison,” said Miles when he was first admitted there.
It was the highest praise he knew.
On the first evening among this delicate bric-a-brac his lips found the bare twin spaces of her chin.
“I knew it would be a mistake to let the beastly doctor poison me,” said Clara complacently190.
Full summer came. Another moon waxed over these rare lovers. Once they sought coolness and secrecy191 among the high cow-parsley and willow-herb of the waste building sites. Clara’s beard was all silvered like a patriarch’s in the midnight radiance.
“On such a night as this,” said Miles, supine, gazing into the face of the moon, “on such a night as this I burned an Air Force Station and half its occupants.”
Clara sat up and began lazily smoothing her whiskers, then more vigorously tugged192 the comb through the thicker, tangled193 growth of her head, dragging it from her forehead; re-ordered the clothing which their embraces had loosed. She was full of womanly content and ready to go home. But Miles, all male, post coitum tristis, was struck by a chill sense of loss. No demonstration181 or exercise had prepared him for this strange new experience of the sudden loneliness that follows requited194 love.
Walking home they talked casually195 and rather crossly.
“You never go to the ballet now.”
“No.”
“Won’t they give you seats?”
“I suppose they would.”
“Then why don’t you go?”
“I don’t think I should like it. I see them often rehearsing. I don’t like it.”
“But you lived for it.”
“Other interests now.”
“Me?”
“Of course.”
“You love me more than the ballet?”
“I am very happy.”
“Happier than if you were dancing?”
“I can’t tell, can I? You’re all I’ve got now.”
“But if you could change?”
“I can’t.”
“If?”
“There’s no ‘if.’”
“Damn.”
“Don’t fret196, darling. It’s only the moon.”
And they parted in silence.
November came, a season of strikes; leisure for Miles, unsought and unvalued; lonely periods when the ballet school worked on and the death house stood cold and empty.
Clara began to complain of ill health. She was growing stout197.
“Just contentment,” she said at first, but the change worried her. “Can it be that beastly operation?” she asked. “I heard the reason they put down one of the Cambridge girls was that she kept growing fatter and fatter.”
“She weighed nineteen stone,” said Miles. “I know because Dr. Beamish mentioned it. He has strong professional objections to the Klugmann operation.”
“I’m going to see the Director of Medicine. There’s a new one now.”
When she returned from her appointment, Miles, still left idle by the strikers, was waiting for her among her pictures and china. She sat beside him on the bed.
“Let’s have a drink,” she said.
They had taken to drinking wine together, very rarely because of the expense. The State chose and named the vintage. This month the issue was “Progress Port.” Clara kept it in a crimson198, white-cut, Bohemian flagon. The glasses were modern, unbreakable and unsightly.
“What did the doctor say?”
“He’s very sweet.”
“Well?”
“Much cleverer than the one before.”
“Did he say it was anything to do with your operation?”
“Oh, yes. Everything to do with it.”
“Can he put you right?”
“Yes, he thinks so.”
“Good.”
They drank their wine.
“That first doctor did make a mess of the operation, didn’t he?”
“Such a mess. The new doctor says I’m a unique case. You see, I’m pregnant.”
“Clara.”
“Yes, it is a surprise, isn’t it?”
“This needs thinking about,” said Miles.
He thought.
He refilled their glasses.
He said: “It’s hard luck on the poor little beast not being an Orphan. Not much opportunity for it. If he’s a boy we must try and get him registered as a worker. Of course it might be a girl. Then,” brightly, “we could make her a dancer.”
“Oh, don’t mention dancing,” cried Clara, and suddenly began weeping. “Don’t speak to me of dancing.”
Her tears fell fast. No tantrum this, but deep uncontrolled inconsolable sorrow.
And next day she disappeared.
IV
Santa-Claus-tide was near. Shops were full of shoddy little dolls. Children in the schools sang old ditties about peace and goodwill199. Strikers went back to work in order to qualify for their seasonal200 bonus. Electric bulbs were hung in the conifers and the furnaces in the Dome of Security roared again. Miles had been promoted. He now sat beside the assistant registrar and helped stamp and file the documents of the dead. It was harder work than he was used to and Miles was hungry for Clara’s company. The lights were going out in the Dome and on the Goodwill Tree in the car park. He walked the half-mile of hutments to Clara’s quarters. Other girls were waiting for their consorts201 or setting out to find them in the Recreatorium, but Clara’s door was locked. A note, pinned to it, read: Miles, Going away for a bit. C.
Angry and puzzled he returned to his hostel.
Clara, unlike himself, had uncles and cousins scattered about the country. Since her operation she had been shy of visiting them. Now, Miles supposed, she was taking cover among them. It was the manner of her flight, so unlike her gentle ways, that tortured him. For a busy week he thought of nothing else. His reproaches sang in his head as the undertone to all the activities of the day and at night he lay sleepless202, repeating in his mind every word spoken between them and every act of intimacy.
After a week the thought of her became spasmodic and regular. The subject bored him unendurably. He strove to keep it out of his mind as a man might strive to control an attack of hiccups203, and as impotently. Spasmodically, mechanically, the thought of Clara returned. He timed it and found that it came every seven and one-half minutes. He went to sleep thinking of her, he woke up thinking of her. But between times he slept. He consulted the departmental psychiatrist204 who told him that he was burdened by the responsibility of parentage. But it was not Clara the mother who haunted him, but Clara the betrayer.
Next week he thought of her every twenty minutes. The week after that he thought of her irregularly, though often; only when something outside himself reminded him of her. He began to look at other girls and considered himself cured.
He looked hard at other girls as he passed them in the dim corridors of the Dome and they looked boldly back at him. Then one of them stopped him and said: “I’ve seen you before with Clara” and at the mention of her name all interest in the other girl ceased in pain. “I went to visit her yesterday.”
“Where?”
“In hospital, of course. Didn’t you know?”
“What’s the matter with her?”
“She won’t say. Nor will anyone else at the hospital. She’s top secret. If you ask me she’s been in an accident and there’s some politician involved. I can’t think of any other reason for all the fuss. She’s covered in bandages and gay as a lark205.”
Next day, December 25th, was Santa Claus Day; no holiday in the department of Euthanasia, which was an essential service. At dusk Miles walked to the hospital, one of the unfinished edifices206, all concrete and steel and glass in front and a jumble207 of huts behind. The hall porter was engrossed208 in the television, which was performing an old obscure folk play which past generations had performed on Santa Claus Day, and was now revived and revised as a matter of historical interest.
It was of professional interest to the porter for it dealt with maternity209 services before the days of Welfare. He gave the number of Clara’s room without glancing up from the strange spectacle of an ox and an ass24, an old man with a lantern, and a young mother. “People here are always complaining,” he said. “They ought to realize what things were like before Progress.”
The corridors were loud with relayed music. Miles found the hut he sought. It was marked “Experimental Surgery. Health Officers Only.” He found the cubicle. He found Clara sleeping, the sheet pulled up to her eyes, her hair loose on the pillow. She had brought some of her property with her. An old shawl lay across the bed table. A painted fan stood against the television set. She awoke, her eyes full of frank welcome, and pulled the sheet higher, speaking through it.
“Darling, you shouldn’t have come. I was keeping it for a surprise.”
Miles sat by the bed and thought of nothing to say except: “How are you?”
“Wonderful. They’ve taken the bandages off today. They won’t let me have a looking glass yet but they say everything has been a tremendous success. I’m something very special, Miles—a new chapter in surgical210 progress.”
“But what has happened to you? Is it something to do with the baby?”
“Oh no. At least, it was. That was the first operation. But that’s all over now.”
“You mean our child?”
“Yes, that had to go. I should never have been able to dance afterwards. I told you all about it. That was why I had the Klugmann operation, don’t you remember?”
“But you gave up dancing.”
“That’s where they’ve been so clever. Didn’t I tell you about the sweet, clever new medical director? He’s cured all that.”
“Your dear beard.”
“Quite gone. An operation the new director invented himself. It’s going to be named after him or even perhaps after me. He’s so unselfish he wants to call it the Clara operation. He’s taken off all the skin and put on a wonderful new substance, a sort of synthetic211 rubber that takes grease-paint perfectly. He says the colour isn’t perfect but that it will never show on the stage. Look, feel it.”
She sat up in bed, joyful212 and proud.
Her eyes and brow were all that was left of the loved face. Below it something quite inhuman213, a tight, slippery mask, salmon214 pink.
Miles stared. In the television screen by the bed further characters had appeared—Food Production Workers. They seemed to declare a sudden strike, left their sheep and ran off at the bidding of some kind of shop-steward in fantastic dress. The machine by the bedside broke into song, an old, forgotten ditty: “O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy, O tidings of comfort and joy.”
Miles retched unobtrusively. The ghastly face regarded him with fondness and pride. At length the right words came to him; the trite215, the traditional sentence uttered by countless lips of generations of baffled and impassioned Englishmen: “I think I shall go for a short walk.”
But first he walked only as far as his hostel. There he lay down until the moon moved to his window and fell across his sleepless face. Then he set out, walking far into the fields, out of sight of the Dome of Security, for two hours until the moon was near setting.
He had travelled at random216 but now the white rays fell on a signpost and he read: “Mountjoy 3/4.” He strode on with only the stars to light his way till he came to the Castle gates.
They stood open as always, gracious symbol of the new penology. He followed the drive. The whole lightless face of the old house stared at him silently, without rebuke73.
He knew now what was needed. He carried in his pocket a cigarette lighter217 which often worked. It worked for him now.
No need for oil here. The dry old silk of the drawing-room curtains lit like paper. Paint and panelling, plaster and tapestry218 and gilding219 bowed to the embrace of the leaping flames. He stepped outside. Soon it was too hot on the terrace and he retreated further, to the marble temple at the end of the long walk. The murderers were leaping from the first-storey windows but the sexual offenders, trapped above, set up a wail220 of terror. He heard the chandeliers fall and saw the boiling lead cascading221 from the roof. This was something altogether finer than the strangulation of a few peacocks. He watched exultant222 as minute by minute the scene disclosed fresh wonders. Great timbers crashed within; outside, the lily pond hissed223 with falling brands; a vast ceiling of smoke shut out the stars and under it tongues of flame floated away into the treetops.
Two hours later when the first engine arrived, the force of the fiery224 storm was already spent. Miles rose from his marble throne and began the long walk home. But he was no longer at all fatigued225. He strode out cheerfully with his shadow, cast by the dying blaze, stretching before him along the lane.
On the main road a motorist stopped him and asked: “What’s that over there? A house on fire?”
“It was,” said Miles. “It’s almost out now.”
“Looks like a big place. Only Government property, I suppose?”
“That’s all,” said Miles.
“Well hop42 in if you want a lift.”
“Thanks,” said Miles, “I’m walking for pleasure.”
V
Miles rose after two hours in bed. The hostel was alive with all the normal activity of morning. The wireless226 was playing; the sub-officials were coughing over their wash basins; the reek227 of State sausages frying in State grease filled the asbestos cubicle. He was slightly stiff after his long walk and slightly footsore, but his mind was as calm and empty as the sleep from which he had awoken. The scorched-earth policy had succeeded. He had made a desert in his imagination which he might call peace. Once before he had burned his childhood. Now his brief adult life lay in ashes; the enchantments228 that surrounded Clara were one with the splendours of Mountjoy; her great golden beard, one with the tongues of flame that had leaped and expired among the stars; her fans and pictures and scraps229 of old embroidery230, one with the bilded cornices and silk hangings, black, cold and sodden231. He ate his sausage with keen appetite and went to work.
All was quiet too at the Department of Euthanasia.
The first announcement of the Mountjoy disaster had been on the early news. Its proximity to Satellite City gave it a special poignancy232 there.
“It is a significant phenomenon,” said Dr. Beamish, “that any bad news has an immediate effect on our service. You see it whenever there is an international crisis. Sometimes I think people only come to us when they have nothing to talk about. Have you looked at our queue today?”
Miles turned to the periscope. Only one man waited outside, old Parsnip, a poet of the ’30s who came daily but was usually jostled to the back of the crowd. He was a comic character in the department, this veteran poet. Twice in Miles’s short term he had succeeded in gaining admission but on both occasions had suddenly taken fright and bolted.
“It’s a lucky day for Parsnip,” said Miles.
“Yes. He deserves some luck. I knew him well once, him and his friend Pimpernell. New Writing, the Left Book Club, they were all the rage. Pimpernell was one of my first patients. Hand Parsnip in and we’ll finish him off.”
So old Parsnip was summoned and that day his nerve stood firm. He passed fairly calmly through the gas chamber233 on his way to rejoin Pimpernell.
“We might as well knock off for the day,” said Dr. Beamish. “We shall be busy again soon when the excitement dies down.”
But the politicians seemed determined234 to keep the excitement up. All the normal features of television were interrupted and curtailed235 to give place to Mountjoy. Survivors236 appeared on the screen, among them Soapy, who described how long practice as a cat burglar had enabled him to escape. Mr. Sweat, he remarked with respect, had got clear away. The ruins were surveyed by the apparatus237. A sexual maniac238 with broken legs gave audience from his hospital bed. The Minister of Welfare, it was announced, would make a special appearance that evening to comment on the disaster.
Miles dozed239 intermittently240 beside the hostel set and at dusk rose, still calm and free; so purged241 of emotion that he made his way once more to the hospital and called on Clara.
She had spent the afternoon with looking glass and makeup242 box. The new substance of her face fulfilled all the surgeon’s promises. It took paint to perfection. Clara had given herself a full mask as though for the lights of the stage; an even creamy white with sudden high spots of crimson on the cheekbones, huge hard crimson lips, eyebrows243 extended and turned up catwise, the eyes shaded all round with ultramarine and dotted at the corners with crimson.
“You’re the first to see me,” she said. “I was half-afraid you wouldn’t come. You seemed cross yesterday.”
“I wanted to see the television,” said Miles. “It’s so crowded at the hostel.”
“So dull today. Nothing except this prison that has been burned down.”
“I was there myself. Don’t you remember? I often talked of it.”
“Did you, Miles? Perhaps so. I’ve such a bad memory for things that don’t concern me. Do you really want to hear the Minister? It would be much cosier244 to talk.”
“It’s him I’ve come for.”
And presently the Minister appeared, open-necked as always but without his usual smile; grave to the verge245 of tears. He spoke for twenty minutes. “... The great experiment must go on ... the martyrs246 of maladjustment shall not have died in vain ... A greater, new Mountjoy shall rise from the ashes of the old ...” Eventually tears came—real tears for he held an invisible onion—and trickled247 down his cheeks. So the speech ended.
“That’s all I came for,” said Miles, and left Clara to her cocoa-butter and face towel.
Next day all the organs of public information were still piping the theme of Mountjoy. Two or three patients, already bored with the entertainment, presented themselves for extermination and were happily despatched. Then a message came from the Regional Director, official-in-chief of Satellite City. He required the immediate presence of Miles in his office.
“I have a move order for you, Mr. Plastic. You are to report to the Ministers of Welfare and Rest and Culture. You will be issued with a Grade A hat, umbrella and briefcase248 for the journey. My congratulations.”
Equipped with these insignia of sudden, dizzy promotion249, Miles travelled to the capital leaving behind a domeful of sub-officials chattering250 with envy.
At the terminus an official met him. Together in an official car they drove to Whitehall.
“Let me carry your briefcase, Mr. Plastic.”
“There’s nothing in it.”
Miles’s escort laughed obsequiously251 at this risqué joke.
At the Ministry the lifts were in working order. It was a new and alarming experience to enter the little cage and rise to the top of the great building.
“Do they always work here?”
“Not always, but very very often.”
Miles realized that he was indeed at the heart of things.
“Wait here. I will call you when the Ministers are ready.”
Miles looked from the waiting-room window at the slow streams of traffic. Just below him stood a strange, purposeless obstruction252 of stone. A very old man, walking by, removed his hat to it as though saluting253 an acquaintance. Why? Miles wondered. Then he was summoned to the politicians.
They were alone in their office save for a gruesome young woman. The Minister of Rest and Culture said: “Ease your feet, lad” and indicated a large leatherette armchair.
“Not such a happy occasion, alas254, as our last meeting,” said the Minister of Welfare.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Miles. He was enjoying the outing.
“The tragedy at Mountjoy Castle was a grievous loss to the cause of penology.”
“But the great work of Rehabilitation will continue,” said the gruesome young woman.
“A greater Mountjoy will arise from the ashes,” said the Minister.
“Those noble criminal lives have not been lost in vain.”
“Their memory will inspire us.”
“Yes,” said Miles. “I heard the broadcast.”
“Exactly,” said the Minister. “Precisely255. Then you appreciate, perhaps, what a change the occurrence makes in your own position. From being, as we hoped, the first of a continuous series of successes, you are our only one. It would not be too much to say that the whole future of penology is in your hands. The destruction of Mountjoy Castle by itself was merely a setback256. A sad one, of course, but something which might be described as the growing pains of a great movement. But there is a darker side. I told you, I think, that our great experiment had been made only against considerable opposition257. Now—I speak confidentially—that opposition has become vocal258 and unscrupulous. There is, in fact, a whispering campaign that the fire was no accident but the act of one of the very men whom we were seeking to serve. That campaign must be scotched259.”
“They can’t do us down as easy as they think,” said the Minister of Rest and Culture. “Us old dogs know a trick or two.”
“Exactly. Counter-propaganda. You are our Exhibit A. The irrefutable evidence of the triumph of our system. We are going to send you up and down the country to lecture. My colleagues have already written your speech. You will be accompanied by Miss Flower here, who will show and explain the model of the new Mountjoy. Perhaps you will care to see it yourself. Miss Flower, the model please.”
All the time they were speaking Miles had been aware of a bulky, sheeted object on a table in the window. Miss Flower now unveiled it. Miles gazed in awe.
The object displayed was a familiar, standard packing case, set on end.
“A rush job,” said the Minister of Welfare. “You will be provided with something more elaborate for your tour.”
Miles gazed at the box.
It fitted. It fell into place precisely in the void of his mind, satisfying all the needs for which his education had prepared him. The conditioned personality recognized its proper pre-ordained environment. All else was insubstantial; the gardens of Mountjoy, Clara’s cracked Crown Derby and her enveloping260 beard were trophies261 of a fading dream.
The Modern Man was home.
“There is one further point,” continued the Minister of Welfare. “A domestic one but not as irrelevant262 as it may seem. Have you by any chance formed an attachment263 in Satellite City? Your dossier suggests that you have.”
“Any woman trouble?” explained the Minister of Rest and Culture.
“Oh, yes,” said Miles. “Great trouble. But that is over.”
“You see, perfect rehabilitation, complete citizenship264 should include marriage.”
“It has not,” said Miles.
“That should be rectified265.”
“Folks like a bloke to be spliced,” said the Minister of Rest and Culture. “With a couple of kids.”
“There is hardly time for them,” said the Minister of Welfare. “But we think that psychologically you will have more appeal if you have a wife by your side. Miss Flower here has every qualification.”
“Looks are only skin deep, lad,” said the Minister of Rest and Culture.
“So if you have no preferable alternative to offer.....?”
“None,” said Miles.
“Spoken like an Orphan. I see a splendid career ahead of the pair of you.”
“When can we get divorced?”
“Come, come, Plastic. You mustn’t look too far ahead. First things first. You have already obtained the necessary leave from your Director, Miss Flower?”
“Yes, Minister.”
“Then off you both go. And State be with you.”
In perfect peace of heart Miles followed Miss Flower to the Registrar’s office.
Then the mood veered266.
Miles felt ill at ease during the ceremony and fidgeted with something small and hard which he found in his pocket. It proved to be his cigarette lighter, a most uncertain apparatus. He pressed the catch and instantly, surprisingly, there burst out a tiny flame—gemlike, hymeneal, auspicious267.
收听单词发音 |
1
varied
|
|
| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
anomalously
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
fin
|
|
| n.鳍；(飞机的)安定翼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
winked
|
|
| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
drooping
|
|
| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
slaughtered
|
|
| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
suffused
|
|
| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
rations
|
|
| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
pruned
|
|
| v.修剪（树木等）( prune的过去式和过去分词 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
cascades
|
|
| 倾泻( cascade的名词复数 )； 小瀑布（尤指一连串瀑布中的一支）； 瀑布状物； 倾泻（或涌出）的东西 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
lugged
|
|
| vt.用力拖拉（lug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
shutters
|
|
| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
dispersing
|
|
| adj. 分散的 动词disperse的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
offenders
|
|
| n.冒犯者( offender的名词复数 )；犯规者；罪犯；妨害…的人（或事物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
proximity
|
|
| n.接近，邻近 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
snug
|
|
| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
strenuous
|
|
| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
penal
|
|
| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
moor
|
|
| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
ass
|
|
| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
grunting
|
|
| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
strings
|
|
| n.弦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
schooling
|
|
| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
commissioners
|
|
| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
custody
|
|
| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
beak
|
|
| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
embarking
|
|
| 乘船( embark的现在分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
degradation
|
|
| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
everlasting
|
|
| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
killing
|
|
| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
bastards
|
|
| 私生子( bastard的名词复数 )； 坏蛋； 讨厌的事物； 麻烦事 （认为别人走运或不幸时说）家伙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
tar
|
|
| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
rehabilitated
|
|
| 改造（罪犯等）( rehabilitate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使恢复正常生活； 使恢复原状； 修复 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
conspicuous
|
|
| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
hop
|
|
| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
briefly
|
|
| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
garb
|
|
| n.服装，装束 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
certified
|
|
| a.经证明合格的；具有证明文件的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
renaissance
|
|
| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
knight
|
|
| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
worthies
|
|
| 应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
prelude
|
|
| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
penury
|
|
| n.贫穷，拮据 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
destitute
|
|
| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
boredom
|
|
| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
orphan
|
|
| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
orphanage
|
|
| n.孤儿院 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
adorned
|
|
| [计]被修饰的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
constructive
|
|
| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
requisite
|
|
| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
adolescence
|
|
| n.青春期，青少年 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
instructors
|
|
| 指导者，教师( instructor的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
orphanages
|
|
| 孤儿院( orphanage的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
martial
|
|
| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
arson
|
|
| n.纵火，放火 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
wilful
|
|
| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
indictment
|
|
| n.起诉；诉状 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
morbid
|
|
| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
orphans
|
|
| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
eulogy
|
|
| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
prosecution
|
|
| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
rebuked
|
|
| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
rebuke
|
|
| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
expunge
|
|
| v.除去，删掉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
sentimental
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
improperly
|
|
| 不正确地，不适当地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
panegyrics
|
|
| n.赞美( panegyric的名词复数 )；称颂；颂词；颂扬的演讲或文章 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
78
retarded
|
|
| a.智力迟钝的，智力发育迟缓的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
judiciously
|
|
| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
contravened
|
|
| v.取消，违反( contravene的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
thereby
|
|
| adv.因此，从而 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
bereaved
|
|
| adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去（希望、生命等）( bereave的过去式和过去分词)；（尤指死亡）使丧失（亲人、朋友等）；使孤寂；抢走（财物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
presumption
|
|
| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
dozing
|
|
| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
brutally
|
|
| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
scent
|
|
| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
copper
|
|
| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
beech
|
|
| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
patriotic
|
|
| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
coalition
|
|
| n.结合体，同盟，结合，联合 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
flannel
|
|
| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
protruding
|
|
| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
baggy
|
|
| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
hitched
|
|
| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
wagon
|
|
| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
handout
|
|
| n.散发的文字材料；救济品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
countless
|
|
| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
inadequate
|
|
| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
eminence
|
|
| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
uncommon
|
|
| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
vindication
|
|
| n.洗冤，证实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
rehabilitation
|
|
| n.康复，悔过自新，修复，复兴，复职，复位 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
gadgets
|
|
| n.小机械，小器具（ gadget的名词复数 ） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
confinement
|
|
| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
defensive
|
|
| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
awe
|
|
| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
ministry
|
|
| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
dome
|
|
| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
edifice
|
|
| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
blandly
|
|
| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
butting
|
|
| 用头撞人（犯规动作） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
ancillary
|
|
| adj.附属的，从属的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
dedication
|
|
| n.奉献，献身，致力，题献，献辞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
choirs
|
|
| n.教堂的唱诗班( choir的名词复数 )；唱诗队；公开表演的合唱团；（教堂）唱经楼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
brilliance
|
|
| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
camouflaged
|
|
| v.隐蔽( camouflage的过去式和过去分词 )；掩盖；伪装，掩饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
dingy
|
|
| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
tattered
|
|
| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
cremated
|
|
| v.火葬，火化（尸体）( cremate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
nettles
|
|
| n.荨麻( nettle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
aspirations
|
|
| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
amenities
|
|
| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
subsisted
|
|
| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
trudged
|
|
| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
hostel
|
|
| n.（学生）宿舍，招待所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
alley
|
|
| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
prospects
|
|
| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
embittered
|
|
| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
sardonically
|
|
| adv.讽刺地，冷嘲地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
attenuation
|
|
| n.变薄；弄细；稀薄化；减少 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
economize
|
|
| v.节约，节省 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
extravagantly
|
|
| adv.挥霍无度地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
plentiful
|
|
| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
incitement
|
|
| 激励； 刺激； 煽动； 激励物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
exempted
|
|
| 使免除[豁免]( exempt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
consolidated
|
|
| a.联合的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
nefarious
|
|
| adj.恶毒的，极坏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
batch
|
|
| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
confiscation
|
|
| n. 没收, 充公, 征收 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
brewed
|
|
| 调制( brew的过去式和过去分词 )； 酝酿； 沏（茶）； 煮（咖啡） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
refinements
|
|
| n.（生活）风雅；精炼( refinement的名词复数 )；改良品；细微的改良；优雅或高贵的动作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
apprenticeship
|
|
| n.学徒身份；学徒期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
flickered
|
|
| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
strictly
|
|
| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
tranquil
|
|
| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
ecstasy
|
|
| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
sluggishly
|
|
| adv.懒惰地；缓慢地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
halfway
|
|
| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
squinted
|
|
| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
periscope
|
|
| n. 潜望镜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
unemployed
|
|
| adj.失业的，没有工作的；未动用的，闲置的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
glum
|
|
| adj.闷闷不乐的，阴郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
latch
|
|
| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
sterilized
|
|
| v.消毒( sterilize的过去式和过去分词 )；使无菌；使失去生育能力；使绝育 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
geniality
|
|
| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
hatred
|
|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
extermination
|
|
| n.消灭，根绝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
sane
|
|
| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
barley
|
|
| n.大麦，大麦粒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
tactile
|
|
| adj.触觉的，有触觉的，能触知的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
provocative
|
|
| adj.挑衅的，煽动的，刺激的，挑逗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
colonnaded
|
|
| adj.有列柱的，有柱廊的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
liking
|
|
| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
gulls
|
|
| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
registrar
|
|
| n.记录员，登记员；(大学的)注册主任 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
epoch
|
|
| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
austere
|
|
| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
demonstrations
|
|
| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
demonstration
|
|
| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
fatuity
|
|
| n.愚蠢，愚昧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
helping
|
|
| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
cubicle
|
|
| n.大房间中隔出的小室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
185
antiquity
|
|
| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
186
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
187
gilt
|
|
| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
188
porcelain
|
|
| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
189
riveted
|
|
| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
190
complacently
|
|
| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
191
secrecy
|
|
| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
192
tugged
|
|
| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
193
tangled
|
|
| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
194
requited
|
|
| v.报答( requite的过去式和过去分词 )；酬谢；回报；报复 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
195
casually
|
|
| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
196
fret
|
|
| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
198
crimson
|
|
| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
199
goodwill
|
|
| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
200
seasonal
|
|
| adj.季节的，季节性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
201
consorts
|
|
| n.配偶( consort的名词复数 )；（演奏古典音乐的）一组乐师；一组古典乐器；一起v.结伴( consort的第三人称单数 )；交往；相称；调和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
202
sleepless
|
|
| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
203
hiccups
|
|
| n.嗝( hiccup的名词复数 )；连续地打嗝；暂时性的小问题；短暂的停顿v.嗝( hiccup的第三人称单数 )；连续地打嗝；暂时性的小问题；短暂的停顿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
204
psychiatrist
|
|
| n.精神病专家；精神病医师 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
205
lark
|
|
| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
206
edifices
|
|
| n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
207
jumble
|
|
| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
208
engrossed
|
|
| adj.全神贯注的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
209
maternity
|
|
| n.母性，母道，妇产科病房；adj.孕妇的，母性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
210
surgical
|
|
| adj.外科的，外科医生的，手术上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
211
synthetic
|
|
| adj.合成的，人工的；综合的；n.人工制品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
212
joyful
|
|
| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
213
inhuman
|
|
| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
214
salmon
|
|
| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
215
trite
|
|
| adj.陈腐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
216
random
|
|
| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
217
lighter
|
|
| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
218
tapestry
|
|
| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
219
gilding
|
|
| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
220
wail
|
|
| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
221
cascading
|
|
| 流注( cascade的现在分词 )； 大量落下； 大量垂悬； 梯流 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
222
exultant
|
|
| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
223
hissed
|
|
| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
224
fiery
|
|
| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
225
fatigued
|
|
| adj. 疲乏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
226
wireless
|
|
| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
227
reek
|
|
| v.发出臭气；n.恶臭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
228
enchantments
|
|
| n.魅力( enchantment的名词复数 )；迷人之处；施魔法；着魔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
229
scraps
|
|
| 油渣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
230
embroidery
|
|
| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
231
sodden
|
|
| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
232
poignancy
|
|
| n.辛酸事，尖锐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
233
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
234
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
235
curtailed
|
|
| v.截断，缩短( curtail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
236
survivors
|
|
| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
237
apparatus
|
|
| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
238
maniac
|
|
| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
239
dozed
|
|
| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
240
intermittently
|
|
| adv.间歇地；断断续续 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
241
purged
|
|
| 清除（政敌等）( purge的过去式和过去分词 )； 涤除（罪恶等）； 净化（心灵、风气等）； 消除（错事等）的不良影响 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
242
makeup
|
|
| n.组织；性格；化装品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
243
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
244
cosier
|
|
| adj.温暖舒适的( cosy的比较级 )；亲切友好的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
245
verge
|
|
| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
246
martyrs
|
|
| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
247
trickled
|
|
| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
248
briefcase
|
|
| n.手提箱，公事皮包 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
249
promotion
|
|
| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
250
chattering
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
251
obsequiously
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
252
obstruction
|
|
| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
253
saluting
|
|
| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的现在分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
254
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
255
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
256
setback
|
|
| n.退步，挫折，挫败 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
257
opposition
|
|
| n.反对，敌对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
258
vocal
|
|
| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
259
scotched
|
|
| v.阻止( scotch的过去式和过去分词 )；制止（车轮）转动；弄伤；镇压 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
260
enveloping
|
|
| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
261
trophies
|
|
| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
262
irrelevant
|
|
| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
263
attachment
|
|
| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
264
citizenship
|
|
| n.市民权，公民权，国民的义务(身份) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
265
rectified
|
|
| [医]矫正的，调整的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
266
veered
|
|
| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
267
auspicious
|
|
| adj.吉利的；幸运的，吉兆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |