"You are soon tired of your sport, Mr. Churchill," said Barbara; "I should have thought that you would have followed ardently24 any pursuit on which you entered."
"You do me a great deal too much honour, Miss Lexden," replied Churchill, laughing; "my pursuits are of a very desultory25 nature, and in all of them I observe Talleyrand's caution,--Point de zèle."
"And you carry that out in every thing?"
"In most things. Mine is a very easy-going, uneventful, unexcitable life; I live thoroughly quietly; da capo--all over again; and it is seldom that any thing breaks in upon the routine of my humdrum26 existence."
"Then," said Barbara, looking saucily27 up at him from under her hat--"then you do not follow the advice which your favourite Talleyrand gave to the ambassadors whom he was despatching, tenez bonne table, et soignez les femmes."
Churchill looked up, and for an instant caught her glance; then he laughed lightly, and said,
"Well, not exactly; though the dinners at the club, even the modest joint28 and the table-beer, are not by any means to be despised; and as for the rest of it, not being a diplomatist, Miss Lexden, I have no occasion to play the agreeable to any one save in my own house, and, being a bachelor, the only woman I have to see to as properly soignée is my old mother, and I do like her to have the best of every thing."
"Your mother lives with you?"
"Yes, and will, so far as I can see, until the end of the chapter."
"She--you must be very fond of her!" said Barbara, as by a sudden impulse, looking up at his kindling29 eyes and earnest face.
"I am very proud of her," he replied; "she is more like my sister than my mother; enters into all my hopes and fears, shares all my aspirations30, and consoles me in all my doubts."
"More like your wife, then," said Barbara, with a slight sneer31. "You have in her a rare combination of virtues32."
"No," said Churchill; "not rare, I am disposed to think. I don't suppose that, in your class,--where maternity34 means nothing in particular to sons, and merely chaperonage, or the part of buffer35, to ward36 off paternal37 anger for bills incurred38, to daughters,--such characters flourish; but in mine they are common enough."--("A little touch of old Harding's Radicalism39 in that speech, by Jove!" thought he to himself.)
"I don't exactly fallow your reference to my class as distinct from your own. I suppose we mix amongst pretty much the same people, though as individuals we have not met before. But," added Barbara, with a smile, "now that that great occurrence has taken place, I don't think we need enter into lengthy40 disquisitions as to the charms and duties of maternity; indeed, we will not, for I shall ask you to observe the only conditions which I require from my friends."
"And they are--?" asked Churchill.
"Qu'on exécute mes orders, as Louis Napoleon said when asked what should be done on the Second of December. So long as my commands are obeyed, I am amiability41 itself."
"And suppose they were disobeyed?" asked Churchill again.
"Then--but I won't tell you what would happen! I don't think you'll ever have the chance of knowing; do you think you shall? Not that I like amiable42 people generally--do you? Your blue-eyed girls, with colourless hair like blotting-paper, and--but I forgot I was talking to an author. I suppose you're making fun of all I say?"
"On the contrary," said Churchill, struggling to keep his gravity, and producing a small memorandum-book, "I purpose making a note of that description for use on a future occasion. There is a spiteful simplicity43 in that phrase about 'blotting-paper hair' which is really worth embalming44 in a leader."
"Now I know you're laughing, and I hate to be laughed at--"
"By no means; I subscribe45 the roll. I am now one of the ames damnées, sworn to obey the spell of the sorceress; and the spell is--?"
"Nothing. Never mind. You will know easily enough when it is once uttered. Now they're coming back to us, and I've lost my glove. Have you seen it? How very absurd!"
As she spoke46, they came up with Lyster and Miss Townshend, who were waiting for them at a gate leading into the Grange lands.
"How slowly you walk, Miss Lexden!" said Lyster; "Miss Townshend thought you never would come up with us."
Miss Townshend, with much curl-tossing and laughter, declared she had never said any thing of the kind.
"Quite otherwise," replied Barbara; "from the earnest manner in which you were carrying on the conversation, there could be no doubt that it was you who were going ahead."
"I?--I give you my word I was merely talking of scenery, and telling Miss Townshend how much I should like to show her Rome."
"And promising47, when there, to enter into the spirit of the proverb, and do as the Romans--eh, Captain Lyster?"
"Oh, ah,--yes! I see what you mean. That's not so bad, eh, Mr. Churchill? You might use that in some of your thingummies, eh? Though I don't know that there's much difference between Rome and any other place, after all. It's rather like London, I think."
"Well, I don't know; it's mouldier and more tumbledown, certainly, but there are some parts of it that are uncommonly49 like the unfinished streets in the new part of Belgravia. And people walk about, and eat and drink, and flirt50, you know, just as they do in town. There's a Colosseum at Rome, too, as well as in London, only the one in Rome isn't in such good repair."
This was said in perfect good faith; and the others shouted with laughter at it, in the midst of which they came to a stile, joining upon the Paddock, and here they parted into couples again, only this time Churchill and Barbara took the lead.
"I think she's made another coup51," said Lyster, looking at them, as they immediately fell into earnest conversation. "She certainly is wonderful,--never misses fire!"
"If I were Barbara, I should be careful about any flirtation52 with Mr. Churchill. They're dreadful people, these poets, you know,--at least so I've always heard; and if you give them any encouragement, and then won't marry them, they cry out, and abuse you terribly in books and newspapers."
"That would be awful!" said Lyster; "as bad as having your letters read out in a breach-of-promise case, by Jove! Never could understand how fellows wrote such spoony letters to women,--never could fancy how they thought of all the things they said."
And yet I think, if Captain Lyster had been rigorously cross-examined, he must needs have confessed that he himself had never, throughout the whole course of his previous life, gone through so much actual thinking as since he knew Miss Townshend. There was, perhaps, no species of flirtation in which he was not an adept53, for he had sufficient brains to do what he called the "talkee-talkee;" while his natural idleness enabled him to carry on a silent solitude54 à deux, and to make great play with an occasional elevation55 of the eyebrow56 or touch of the hand. He had run through a thorough course of garrison57 hacks58, and had seen all the best produce of the export Indian market; he had met the beauties of the season at London balls and in country houses, and his listlessness and languor59 had hitherto carried him through scot-free. But now he was certainly "fetched," as his friends would call it, and began to feel an interest in Miss Townshend which he had never felt for any other person. There had been a two days' flirtation between him and Barbara Lexden; but they were so utterly60 unsuited, that, at the end of that time, they, as it were, showed their hands to each other, and then, with a laugh, threw up their cards. The flirtation was never renewed; but a curious, strange friendship,--exhibited in the conversation about the coming professor,--and always half raillery on both sides, existed between them. But "this little Townshend girl," as he thought of her in his dreamy reveries, was quite another matter; she was so jolly and good-tempered, and so approachable, and never gave herself any airs, and never wanted talking to or that sort of thing, but could amuse herself always, as chirpy as a bird, by Jove! And these attributes had an immense amount of weight with taciturn Fred Lyster, who, moreover, had recently discovered a bald spot about the size of a sixpence at the top of his back-parting, and who immediately perceived imminent61 age, determined62 on marriage, and even thought of making his will. And little Miss Townshend walks by his side, and prattles63 away, and laughs, saucily tossing her curls in the air, and is as merry as possible; save when, stealing an occasional glance from under her hat, she detects her companion's eyes very earnestly fixed64 upon her, and then a serious expression will settle on her face for an instant, and something like a sigh escape her.
We are a strange race! Here are two couples engaged in the same pursuit, and yet how different is the process! While Lyster is strolling idly by Miss Townshend's side, and listening to her little nonsense, Churchill and Barbara are stepping ahead, thoroughly engrossed65 in their conversation. He is talking now, telling her of a German adventure of his; how, with some other students, he made the descent of the Rhine on one of the timber-rafts; how they came to grief just below the L?rely, and were all nearly drowned. He tells this with great animation67 and with many gestures, acting68 out his story, as is his wont69; and throughout all he has a sensation of pleasure as he catches glimpses of her upturned earnest face, lighting70 up at the special bits of the narrative71, always eager and attentive72. His earnestness seems infectious. She has dropped all her society drawl, all her society tricks and byplay, and shows more of the real woman than she has for many a day. They talk of Germany and its literature, of Goethe and Schiller and Heine; and he tells her some of those stories of Hoffmann which are such special favourites with Bürschen. Thus they pass on to our home poets; and here Barbara is the talker, Churchill listening and occasionally commenting. Barbara has read much, and talks well. It is an utter mistake to suppose that women nowadays have what we have been accustomed, as a term of reproach, to call "miss-ish" taste in books or art. Five minutes' survey of that room which Barbara called her own in her aunt's house in Gloucester Place would have served to dispel73 any such idea. On the walls were proofs of Leonardo's "Last Supper" and Landseers "Shoeing the Horse;" a print of Delaroche's "Execution of Lady Jane Grey;" a large framed photograph of Gerome's "Death of C?sar;" an old-fashioned pencil-sketch of Barbara's father, taken in the old days by D'Orsay long before he ever thought of turning that pencil to actual use; and a coloured photograph--a recent acquisition--of a girl sitting over a wood-fire in a dreamy attitude, burning her love-letters, called "L' Auto74 da Fé." On the bookshelves you would have found Milton, Thomas à-Kempis, David Copperfield, The Christmas Carol, a much-used Tennyson, Keats, George Herbert's Poems, Quarles' Emblems75, The Christian76 Year, Carlyle's French Revolution, Dante, Schiller, Faust, Tupper (of course! "and it is merely envy that makes you laugh at him," she always said), The Newcomes, and a quarto Shakespeare. No French novels, I am glad to say; but a fat little Béranger, and a yellow-covered Alfred de Musset are on the mantelpiece, while a brass-cross-bearing red-edged Prayer-Book lies on the table by the bed. Barbara's books were not show-books; they all bore more or less the signs of use; but she had read them in a desultory manner, and had never thoroughly appreciated the pleasure to be derived77 from them. She had never lived in a reading set; for when old Miss Lexden had mastered the police intelligence and the fashionable news from the Post, her intellectual exercises were at an end for the day; and her friends were very much of the same calibre. So now for the first time Barbara heard literature talked of by one who had hitherto made it his worship, and who spoke of it with mingled78 love and reverence--spoke without lecturing, leading his companion into her fair share of the talk, mingling79 apt quotation80 with caustic81 comment or enthusiastic eulogy82, until they found themselves, to Barbara's surprise, at the hall-door.
I am glad that it is my province as historian to discourse83 to my readers of the thoughts, impulses, and motives84 influencing the characters in this story, else it would be difficult for me to convey so much of their inner life as I wish to be known, and which yet would not crop out in the course of the action. In writing a full-flavoured romance of the sensational85 order, it is not, perhaps, very difficult to imbue86 your readers with a proper notion of your characters' character. The gentleman who hires two masked assassins to waylay87 his brother at the foot of the bridge has evidently no undue88 veneration89 for the Sixth Commandment; while the marchioness who, after having only once seen the young artist in black velvet90, gives him the gold key leading to her secret apartments, and makes an assignation with him at midnight, is palpably not the style of person whom you would prefer as governess for your daughters. But in a commonplace story of every-day life, touching91 upon such ordinary topics as walks and dinners and butchers' meat, marrying and giving in marriage, running into debt, and riding horses in Rotten Row,--where (at least; so far as my experience serves) you find no such marked outlines of character, you must bring to your aid all that quality of work which in the sister art is known by the title pre-Raphaelitic, and show virtue33 in the cut of a coat and vice12 in the adjustment of a cravat92. Moreover, we pen-and-ink workers have, in such cases, an advantage over our brethren of the pencil, inasmuch as we can take our readers by the button-hole, and lead them out of the main current of the story, showing them our heroes and heroines in déshabille, and, through the medium of that window which Vulcan wished had been fixed in the human breast--and which really is there, for the novelist's inspection--making them acquainted with the inmost thoughts and feelings of the puppets moving before them.
When Barbara went to her room that night and surrendered herself to Parker and the hair-brushes, that pattern of ladies'-maids thought that she had never seen her mistress so preoccupied93 since Karl von Knitzler, an attaché of the Austrian Embassy,--who ran for a whole season in the ruck of the Lexden's admirers, and at last thought he had strength for the first flight,--had received his coup de grace. In her wonderment Parker gave two or three hardish tugs94 at the hair which she was manipulating, but received no reproof95; for the inside of that little head was so busy as to render it almost insensible to the outside friction96. Barbara was thinking of Mr. Churchill--as yet she had not even thought of him by his Christian name, scarcely perhaps knew it--and of the strange interest which he seemed to have aroused in her. The tones of his voice yet seemed ringing in her ears; she remembered his warm, earnest manner when speaking from himself, and the light way in which he fell into her tone of jesting badinage97. Then, with something like a jar, she recollected98 his suppressed sneer at the difference in their "class," and her foot tapped angrily on the floor as the recollection rose in her mind. Mingled strangely with these were reminiscences of his comely99 head, white shapely hands, strong figure, and well-made boots; of the way in which he sat and walked; of--and then, with a start which nearly hurled100 one of the brushes out of Parker's hand, she gathered herself together as she felt the whole truth rush upon her, and knew that she was thinking too much of the man and determined that she would so think no more. Who was he, living away in some obscure region in London among a set of people whom no one knew, leading a life which would not be tolerated by any of her friends, to engross15 her thoughts? Between them rolled a gulf101, wide and impassable, on the brink102 of which they might indeed stand for a few minutes interchanging casual nothings in the course of life's journey, but which rendered closer contact impossible. And yet--but Barbara determined there should be no "and yet;" and with this determination full upon her, she dismissed Parker and fell asleep.
And Churchill--what of him? Alas103, regardless of his doom104, that little victim played! When old Marmaduke gave the signal for retiring, Churchill would not, on this night, follow the other men into the smoking-room. The politics, the ribaldry, the scandal, the horsey-doggy talk, would be all more intolerable than ever; he wanted to be alone, to go through that process, so familiar to him on all difficult occasions, of "thinking it out;" so he told Gumble to take a bottle of claret to his room, and, arrived there, he lit his old meerschaum, and leant out of the window gazing over the distant moonlit park. But this time the "thinking it out" failed dismally105; amid the white smoke-wreaths curling before him rose a tall, slight grateful figure; in his ear yet lingered the sound of a clear low voice; his hand yet retained the thrill which ran through him as she touched it in wishing him "good night." He thought of her as he had never thought of woman before, and he gloried in the thought: he was no love-sick boy, to waste in fond despair, and sicken in his longing106; he was a strong, healthy man, with a faultless digestion107, an earnest will, a clear conscience, and a heart thinking no guile108. There was the difference in the rank, certainly--and in connexion with this reflection a grim smile crossed his face as he remembered Harding, and his caution about "swells"--but what of that? Did not good education, and a life that would bear scrutiny109, lift a man to any rank? and would not she--and then he drew from his pocket a dainty, pearl-gray glove (Jouvin's two-buttoned, letter B), and pressed it to his lips. It was silly, ladies and gentlemen, I admit; but then, you know, it never happened to any of us; and though "the court, the camp, the grove110" suffer, we have the pleasure of thinking that the senate, the bar, the commerce of England, and the public press, always escape scot-free.
Breakfast at Bissett Grange lasted from nine--at the striking of which hour old Sir Marmaduke entered the room, and immediately rang the bell for a huge smoking bowl of oatmeal porridge, his invariable matutinal meal--until twelve; by which time the laziest of the guests had generally progressed from Yorkshire-pie, through bacon, eggs, and Finnan haddies, down to toast and marmalade, and were sufficiently111 refected. Barbara was always one of the last; she was specially112 late on the morning after the talk just described; and on her arrival in the breakfast-room found only Mr. and Mrs. Vincent, who always lingered fondly over their meals, and who, so long as the cloth remained on the table, sat pecking and nibbling113, like a couple of old sparrows, at the dishes within reach of them; Captain Lyster, who between his sips114 of coffee was dipping into Bell's Life; and Sir Marmaduke himself, who had returned from a brisk walk round the grounds and the stables and the farm, and was deep in the columns of the Times. But, to her astonishment115, the place at table next hers had evidently not yet been occupied. The solid white breakfast-set was unused, the knives and forks were unsoiled; and yet Mr. Churchill, who had hitherto occupied that place, had usually finished his meal and departed before Barbara arrived. This morning, however, was clearly an exception; he had not yet breakfasted, for by his plate lay three unopened letters addressed to him. Barbara noticed this--noticed moreover that the top letter, in a long shiny pink envelope, was addressed in a scrawly117, unmistakably female hand, and had been redirected in a larger, bolder writing. As she seated herself, with her eyes, it must be confessed, on this dainty missive, the door opened, and Churchill entered. After a general salutation, he was beginning a half-laughing apology for his lateness as he sat down, when his eye lit on the pink envelope. He changed colour slightly; then, before commencing his breakfast, took up his letters and placed them in the breast-pocket of his shooting-coat.
"This is horrible, Miss Lexden," he said, "bringing these dreadful hours into the country; here--where you should enjoy the breezy call of incense-breathing morn, the cock's shrill118 clarion119, and all the rest of it--to come down to your breakfast just when the bucolic120 mind is pondering on the immediate advent66 of its dinner."
"Be good enough to include yourself in this sweeping121 censure122, Mr. Churchill," said Barbara. "I was down before you; but I accepted my position, nor, however late I might have been, should I have attempted--"
"I congratulate you, sir," interrupted Mr. Vincent, dallying123 with a lump of marmalade on a wedge of toast,--"I congratulate you, Mr. Churchill, on a prudence124 which but few men of your age possess."
"You are very good, but I scarcely follow you."
"I saw you--I saw you put away your letters until after breakfast. A great stroke that! Men generally are so eager to get at their letters, that they plunge125 into them at once, before meals little thinking that the contents may have horrible influence on their digestion."
"I am sorry to say that I was influenced by no such sanitary126 precautions. My correspondence will keep; and I have yet to learn that to read letters in the presence of ladies is--"
"Pray, make no apologies, as far as I am concerned," said Barbara, with a curl of her lip and an expansion of nostril127; "if you have any wish to read your doubtless important correspondence--"
"I have no such wish, Miss Lexden. Litera scripta manet; which, being interpreted, means, my letters will keep. And now, Mr. Vincent, I'll trouble you for a skilful128 help of that game-pie."
Churchill remained firm; he was still at breakfast, and his letters remained unopened in his pocket, when Barbara left the room to prepare for a drive with Miss Townshend. As they re?ntered the avenue after a two hours' turn round the Downs, they met Captain Lyster in a dog-cart.
"I have been over to Brighton," he explained; "drove Churchill to the station. He got some news this morning, and is obliged to run up to town for a day or two. But he's coming back, Miss Lexden."
"Is he, indeed!" said Barbara. "What splendid intelligence! I should think, Captain Lyster, that, since the announcement of the fall of Sebastopol, England has scarcely heard such glorious news as that Mr. Churchill is coming back to Bissett." And, with a clear, ringing laugh, she pulled the ponies129 short up at the hall-door, jumped from the carriage, and passed to her room.
"She don't like his going, all the same,--give you my word," said Lyster, simply, to Miss Townshend.
And she did not. She coupled his sudden departure with the receipt of that pink envelope and the address in the feminine scrawl116. Who was the writer of that letter? What could the business be to take him away so hastily? With her head leaning on her hand, she sits before her dressing-table pondering these things. It certainly was a woman's writing. Is this quiet, sedate130, self-possessed man a flirt? Does he carry on a correspondence with-- And if he does, what is it to her? She is nothing to him--and yet--who can it be? It was a woman's hand! She wonders where he is at that moment; she would like to see him just for an instant.
If she could have had her wish, she would have seen him by himself in a railway-carriage, an unheeded Times lying across his knee, and in his hand a little pearl-gray kid-glove.
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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revelled
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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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forth
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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majestic
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sinuously
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succumbing
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的现在分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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vice
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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thoroughly
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engross
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engrossing
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necessitate
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immediate
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slumber
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fatigue
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ebb
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distrait
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luncheon
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ardently
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desultory
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humdrum
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saucily
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joint
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kindling
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aspirations
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sneer
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virtues
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virtue
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maternity
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buffer
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ward
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paternal
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incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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39
radicalism
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| n. 急进主义, 根本的改革主义 | |
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40
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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41
amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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42
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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43
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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44
embalming
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| v.保存（尸体）不腐( embalm的现在分词 )；使不被遗忘；使充满香气 | |
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45
subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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46
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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47
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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48
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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49
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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50
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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51
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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52
flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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53
adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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54
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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55
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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56
eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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57
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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58
hacks
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| 黑客 | |
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59
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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60
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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61
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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62
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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63
prattles
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| v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话( prattle的第三人称单数 )；发出连续而无意义的声音；闲扯；东拉西扯 | |
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64
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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65
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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66
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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67
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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68
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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69
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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70
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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71
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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72
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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73
dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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74
auto
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| n.(=automobile)(口语)汽车 | |
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75
emblems
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| n.象征，标记( emblem的名词复数 ) | |
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76
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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77
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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78
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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79
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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80
quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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81
caustic
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| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
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82
eulogy
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| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
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83
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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84
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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85
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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86
imbue
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| v.灌输(某种强烈的情感或意见)，感染 | |
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87
waylay
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| v.埋伏，伏击 | |
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88
undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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89
veneration
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| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
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90
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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91
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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92
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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93
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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94
tugs
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| n.猛拉( tug的名词复数 )；猛拖；拖船v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的第三人称单数 ) | |
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95
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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96
friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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97
badinage
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| n.开玩笑，打趣 | |
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98
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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100
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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101
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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102
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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103
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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104
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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105
dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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106
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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107
digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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108
guile
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| n.诈术 | |
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109
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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110
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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111
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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112
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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113
nibbling
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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114
sips
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| n.小口喝，一小口的量( sip的名词复数 )v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的第三人称单数 ) | |
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115
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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116
scrawl
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| vt.潦草地书写；n.潦草的笔记，涂写 | |
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117
scrawly
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| 潦草地写 | |
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118
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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119
clarion
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| n.尖音小号声；尖音小号 | |
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120
bucolic
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| adj.乡村的；牧羊的 | |
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121
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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122
censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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123
dallying
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| v.随随便便地对待( dally的现在分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
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124
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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125
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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126
sanitary
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| adj.卫生方面的，卫生的，清洁的，卫生的 | |
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127
nostril
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| n.鼻孔 | |
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128
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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129
ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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130
sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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