The superior rooms lay up a little passage to the right of the messengers' lobby, and were three in number. First came the Board-room, a large and solemn salmon-coloured apartment, where the Commissioners sat when for despatch15 of business assembled. A big, dull-faced clock ticked on the mantelshelf; solemn green maps of distant countries, from year's end to year's end undisturbed, curled themselves round in dusty layers on the walls; and a large red-leather sofa, on which Mr. Beresford, in the absence of the other Commissioners, and after a hard night's waltzing, had enjoyed hours of pleasant repose16, filled up a recess17. In the centre of the room stood a heavy writing-table, with pads of blotting-paper, pools of black ink, and bundles of quill-pens distributed at regular intervals18. At the head of this table always stood a red-leather arm-chair, and this arm-chair always on business occasions contained the sacred person of the Chief Commissioner, Sir Hickory Maddox. A little man, Sir Hickory, with a parchment face, a blue eye like a bit out of a china plate, stiff gray hair brushed into a point on the top of his head, and formal little gray whiskers: always dressed in a little black frock-coat, and little gray waistcoat and trousers; wearing too a heavy gold-set cornelian seal, and a cumbrous old-fashioned watch-key, just projecting from his fob,--buoys to show whereabouts his thick gold chronometer19 was sunk, in some unknown depths. A kind-hearted, fussy20, hard-working man, whose family had been for generations in the public service, who had himself worked for years in the Draft and Docket Office, had risen and distinguished21 himself there, and had finally been rewarded with the Chief-Commissionership of the Tin-Tax, and with being created a K.C.B. His official position he esteemed22 one of the most enviable in the kingdom; he thought of nothing but official matters; and when, being of a hospitable23 turn, he had solemn dinners at his house in Wimpole Street, all the guests were magnates of other offices or--for he was a kind chief in that respect--juniors of the Tin-Tax. And invariably, just as the cloth was drawn24, the butler would appear at his master's elbow, bearing a salver, on which lay an enormous red-leather official despatch-pouch25. The little man would smile feebly at his guests, would shrug26 his shoulders, and saying, "Our labours follow us even here," would unlock the pouch, glance at its contents (probably the Globe, and private note), and relocking it, say, "Lay it on the library-table, Benson. I must go into the matter before I sleep. However, nunc vino pellite curas! Port, sherry, madeira, and claret!"
Between Sir Hickory Maddox the senior, and Mr. Beresford the junior, there were two other Commissioners. One was the Honourable27 Morris Peck, who had been a Gentleman Usher28 at Court,--at whose name years ago young ladies used to blush, and matrons to gather themselves together in brood-hen fashion for the protection of their chicks,--a roysterer at Crockford's, a friend of Pea-Green Payne and the Golden Hall and that lot,--a "devil of a fellow, sir!" but who was now merely a hook-nosed old gentleman in a high coat-collar and a curly-brimmed hat; wearing false teeth, dyed hair, and blacked eyebrows29; who always slept peacefully until his signature was required, when he gave it in a very shaky schoolboy scrawl30. The other was Mr. Miles O'Scardon, an Irish gentleman of ancient family, but limited means, who had represented Ballyhogue in Parliament for years, and who had obtained his appointment for the fidelity31 with which he had always obeyed the summons of the ministerial whip. Beyond the Board-room lay the sanctum of the Chief-Commissioner's private secretary, a young man always chosen for his good looks, his good clothes, and his gentlemanly bearing, who was envied by his brother juniors, but who had to answer Sir Hickory's bell, and was consequently taunted32 by the epithet33 "Jeames." And beyond that, though unconnected with it, lay the Secretary's room.
A large, light, airy room, far away from the noise and bustle34, and looking on to the river. Round the walls are huge oak-presses, filled with tied-up bundles of confidential35 papers, secret reports of the out-door agents of the Tin-Tax Office, which, if published, would have astonished the world by throwing quite a new light on the incomes of several of its idols36. Maps were there too, and framed tables of statistics, and the Stationers' Almanac; and over the mantelpiece hung a proof-before-letters engraving37 of the portrait of Sir Hickory Maddox, after Grant, with an exact likeness38 of that great official's favourite inkstand and quill-pen, and with a correctness in the fit of the trousers such as was never achieved by the great original. There was a round table in the middle of the room, divided into two equal portions by a line of books of reference--Guide-books, M'Culloch's Commercial Dictionary, Haydn's Dates, the Post-Office Directory, Bradshaw, and other light reading: one side of the line of demarcation was bare (save at one o'clock, when it bore the little tray containing the Secretary's light luncheon); on the other lay the Secretary's blotting-book, pen-stand, and paper-case.
About the time when the conversation recorded in the last chapter was going on between his clerks, Mr. Simnel, the Secretary, sat in his official room, signing his name to printed papers, which he took one by one from a large heap at his right hand, and, after signing, dropped at his feet. It was plain that his thoughts were otherwise absorbed; for as the sheets fell from his hand and fluttered to the ground, he never looked after them, but would occasionally pause in his occupation, lay down his pen, nurse his right leg with both hands, and rock himself quietly to and fro. As he moved here and there in the sunlight, you might have perceived that his limbs were long and ungainly; that he had big broad hands with thick corrugated39 veins40, and finger-nails strong, hard, and cut to a point; that he was very bald, and that such fringe of hair as remained was of a dull red; that he had a large sensual face, big projecting brown eyes, thick clumsy nose, full scarlet41 underlip, heavy jowl, and large massive chin. You could have noticed, too, that, in certain lights, this face was worn and jaded42 and almost haggard, traversed here and there with deep furrowed43 lines, marked with crow's-feet and wrinkles and deep indentations. As you gazed, perhaps, all this faded away, the face beamed forth44 happy, jolly, sensual as ever; but you felt that the wrinkles were there, and that so soon as the flicker45 passed away, they would be seen again.
Not in the discharge of his easy labours at the Tin-Tax Office had Mr. Simnel acquired these lines and wrinkles. The calm direction of that engine of the State had only come upon him of late years, and never had caused him any trouble. But Mr. Simnel had compressed a great many years' experience into forty years of life, and the crow's-feet and indentations were the result of brain-labour, worry, and anxiety. Mr. Simnel's first recollection of any thing found him a little boy, in a skeleton-suit, at the grammar-school of Combcardingham,--a city which every body save the envious46 inhabitants of its rival Dockborough allowed to be the metropolis48 of the north. Little Bob Simnel did not know whose son he was, or how his schooling49 was paid for; all he knew was, that he boarded with an old lady, the widow of a tax-collector, who was very kind to him, and that he soon found out the best thing he could do was to stick to his book. To his book he stuck manfully; walked through all the classes of the grammar-school, one by one, until he became junior boy of the sixth form, until he became senior boy of the sixth form, until the visiting examiner, the Bishop50 of Latakia, New Zealand, declared that he had the greatest pleasure in naming Mr. Robert Simnel as the gainer of the exhibition of seventy-five pounds a year; and added, as he shook hands with said Robert, that whichever University he might prefer would be honoured by his choice. Young Mr. Simnel, however, did not go to either Oxford51 or Cambridge: after a lengthened52 interview with the head-master, the Rev7. Dr. Barker, Mr. Simnel gracefully53 resigned the exhibition in favour of Swetter, major, who "proxime accessit," and entered as the articled clerk of Messrs. Banner and Blair, accounted the sharpest lawyers in Combcardingham, and known through all the county as great electioneering agents for the Liberal party. A few years passed on; Mr. Simnel had finished his articles had become the junior partner of Messrs. Banner and Blair, and was working steadily54 and well, when an event happened which insured his success for life.
It was this: Combcardingham, for the three last general elections, had returned the same two members--Sir Thomas Prodd and Mr. Shuttler; both local magnates, employing hundreds of hands, supporting local charities, known throughout the county, and Liberal to the backbone55. One morning news sped to London that Mr. Shuttler was dead; and that evening a tall, thin gentleman, with a hare-lip, arrived by afternoon express in Combcardingham, and engaged the Waterloo Hotel as the head-quarters of Mr. Farquhar, the Conservative candidate. Blue bills on a dead-wall unpleasantly proclaimed this fact to M. Simnel as he was shaving himself the next morning; and he perceived that young Woofham, the hope of the Liberal party, would not be brought in without a struggle. So he, metaphorically56, took off his coat and set to work; canvassed57, intrigued58, cajoled, went through all the dirty round of electioneering tactics, but found he did not make much way; found, in truth, that the hare-lipped man seemed to have Fortunatus's purse somewhere about him, and that young Woofham was a miserly young hunks, who did not see the borough47 as a proper investment for his ingots. What was to be done? To lose the borough would be a tremendous blow to the Government, who had always looked upon it as their own, and to whom it was always supposed to owe allegiance. But the money? The night before the nomination59, Mr. Simnel, with his face muffled60 in a huge handkerchief, despatched the following telegraphic message to Mr. Weal, the Government whip, at the Retrenchment61 Club: "No. 104 is putting on the steam at Combcardingham. If No. 102 does not do likewise, up goes the sponge." While No. 102 Mall-Pall is the Retrenchment Club, No. 104 is, it is needless to say, the No Surrender (familiarly known as the Wig62 and Whiskers), the head-quarters of the Conservative party. By the early morning express a messenger, with a letter from Mr. Weal, arrived at Mr. Simnel's office, and during the day the doubts under which many of the electors suffered were satisfactorily explained away, and at the close of the poll Mr. Woofham's name stood well ahead of his rival. Mr. Weal and his party did not forget their telegraphing friend at Combcardingham. After the election was over, Mr. Simnel was summoned to London, had an interview with certain of the Dii majors, and at the end of six months was inducted into the Secretaryship of the Tin-Tax Office, then vacant.
They did not like him at first at the Tin-Tax; they thought Bingham ought to have succeeded to the berth63; and Bingham--who was a very gouty old gentleman, who took a great deal of snuff, and swore a great deal, and kept a pocket-dictionary in the right-hand top-drawer of his desk wherewith to correct his orthography--thought so too. But Sir Hickory Maddox, who was not merely very popular, but very much respected by his men, showed such thorough appreciation64 of Mr. Simnel's talents, and so thoroughly65 endorsed66 all the Secretary's acts, that the men began to waver in their allegiance to the Bingham faction67; to think that Bingham was little better than an old idiot; that "new blood" in the secretariat might probably not only improve the status of the Tin-Tax Office, but get a new and improved scale for the clerks; and when they found that, after a couple of years, the new Secretary actually did accomplish this feat69, the new Secretary was popular for ever. Popular officially, not privately70. The juniors at the Tin-Tax had been in the habit of chaffing their late lamented71 secretary; of bribing72 him, by gifts of game and hothouse fruits, to grant them odd days and even weeks of leave of absence; of chatting with him familiarly on current events. Mr. Simnel's manners effectually checked all that kind of thing. With the Commissioners he might unbend; with the juniors he was adamant73. But if he met one of his men in society, in the Opera lobby, or at a Botanical Fête, he would make a point of shaking hands with him as though they hadn't seen each other for ages, and of talking with him of every subject possible--except the Tin-Tax Office.
The pile of papers for signature had melted to one solitary74 document, the floor was strewn with the evidences of Mr. Simnel's handiwork, and Mr. Simnel himself sat nursing his leg and swaying himself gently to and fro in meditation75. Occasionally he would pass his disengaged hand through his fringe of hair, and smile quietly to himself, then make a few figures on his blotting-pad, add them, and set-to rocking again. In the midst of this occupation he heard his door open, and looking up, saw Mr. Beresford.
"Why, what the deuce does this mean?" he exclaimed, in surprise. "I thought you were on Tom Tiddler's ground, picking up unlimited76 gold and silver, wooing heiresses, and settling a Belgravian ménage; and you turn up in this dingy77 old barrack. Is it all over?--has the lady succumbed78? and do you want me to help you to choose fire-irons and window-curtains?"
Mr. Beresford did not reply for a minute; then he said, shortly and decisively, "I've been sold!"
Mr. Simnel gave one short, loud whistle, and said interrogatively, "Wouldn't?"
Mr. Beresford, seating himself on the edge of the table, looked up at Mr. Simnel, who had taken up his position on the rug, with his back to the empty fireplace, and said, "No chance; booked beforehand!"
Whereupon Mr. Simnel gave a louder whistle, and said, "Tell!"
"You know how I stand, Simnel, well enough," said Mr. Beresford; "and this looked a very safe coup68, I thought, specially79 after I got your telegram. There were two or three fellows staying down at Bissett who I thought were on, too. Man named Lyster; do you know him?--tall man, dark beard, yaw-haw beast, from Indian army."
"And another man, newspaper man, belongs to the 'Retrenchment' and the 'Fly-by-night;' Churchill, you know."
"I know Churchill. Was he going in for an heiress?"
"No, not exactly; at least I thought so, but it turned out not. But I didn't like these fellows hanging about; specially Lyster--romantic party, sigh and that sort of business. So, when I found from you it was all right, I made up my mind to see where I was."
"Well; and Miss Townshend wouldn't have it?"
"Not at all! We were sitting after dinner, when the women had gone to the drawing-room, the very day I got your telegram, and old Wentworth told us there was a man coming down the next day,--Schr?tter, or Schr?der, a German merchant in Mincing81 Lane--"
"I know him," interrupted Simnel: "Gustav Schr?der; elderly man. What took him to Bissett?"
"Love, sir--love! he's engaged to be married to Miss Townshend!"
"Whew!" said Mr. Simnel, with his longest and shrillest whistle. "The deuce he is! That is news! How does the young lady like it?"
"Well, not much. She couldn't, of course, be expected to feel very enthusiastic about a short, stout82, gray-headed German, who talks the most infernal jargon83, and hasn't got a sound tooth in his head. Took him out shooting once, but he made the most awful mess of it; devilish near shot the beaters, and sprained84 his ankle leaping a half-foot ditch. The girl seemed horribly ashamed of him, and of his clumsy compliments and elephantine gambols85; but she's evidently booked--her father takes care of that."
"Ah, ha!" said Mr. Simnel, nursing his knee, rocking himself to and fro, and rapidly going off into an absent fit; "ah, ha!"
"I hate to hear you say 'ah, ha,' Simnel!" said Mr. Beresford, with some asperity86. "You're always up to some plottings and plans when you utter those seemingly benevolent87 grunts88. I suppose you suspect old Townshend of some grand diablerie in this affair. I never could make out what it is that you know about that old gentleman."
"Know about him?" said Simnel, rousing himself with a laugh; "that he gives capital dinners and has plenty of money; that he's about to marry his daughter to one of the richest men in the City. What more need one know about a man? I don't know what church he goes to, or what peculiar89 shade of religion he affects; whether he's a good father or a bad one; whether he rules his daughter, or is ruled by her. But I do know that he drinks Tod-Heatly's champagne90, and banks at the London and Westminster. This news looks fishy91 for your business, Beresford!"
"Simply a case of stump," said Mr. Beresford, rising from the table, plunging92 his hands into his trousers-pockets, and striding up and down the room.
"What do you mean to do?"
"Borrow two hundred pounds more of you," exclaimed Beresford, stopping short on the edge of the rug, and confronting Mr. Simnel.
"And then?" asked the latter gentleman, smiling calmly.
"God knows!" said Beresford, with something like a shudder93. "Something must turn up; the Bishop must die or Lady Lowndes, and there'd be a safe something from them; or there'll be some girl--"
"Ye-es," interrupted Mr. Simnel drily, seating himself at his desk, and unlocking a draw therein. "You're the most marvellously sanguine94 fellow, perfectly95 Micawberish in your notions of something turning up, and your making a coup. But--suppose t'other! suppose it didn't come off! Now you owe me,"--looking at a paper which he took from the drawer,--"six hundred pounds already, and I've only got insurance policies for security."
"A mild six;" said Mr. Simnel, with a shrug of his shoulders and his pleasant smile. "A mild six; just what I should get in Bombay Preference, or Great Luxembourg Centrals, or a dozen other safe investments. However, you shall have this two hundred; but I should be glad to see your way in the future. Is there no girl with money whom you think you could propose to speedily?"
"Not one," said Beresford, stopping in his walk and reseating himself on the table. "Oh, by Jove, I forgot to tell you that."
"What?"
"About Kate Mellon,--tremendous scene just before I left;" and Mr. Beresford proceeded to recount the dialogue between him and Kate Mellon, which was recorded in the fourth chapter of this story. He told the tale honestly throughout, and when he had finished he looked up in Mr. Simnel's face, and said, "Deuced awkward position, wasn't it?"
Mr. Simnel had not lost one word of the story; on the contrary, he had listened to it with the greatest eagerness and interest, but he did not answer Mr. Beresford's final query97. He had fallen into his old, leg-nursing attitude, and was rocking himself silently to and fro.
"Devilish unpleasant, wasn't it?" reiterated98 Mr. Beresford.
"Eh!" said Mr. Simnel in a loud high key. "Yes, most unpleasant, of course. We'll talk more about that; but you must be off now. To-day's only half a day, you know; and I've got all sorts of things to do before I go. You shall have that two hundred on Monday, all right. Good-by! see you on Monday," and the Secretary shook hands with the Commissioner until the latter was fairly outside the door.
Then Mr. Simnel returned to his desk, and took up his leg again.
"It seems to be coming on now," he said to himself, "and all together too. The old man always meant little Alice for a Duke, and now to let her go to such carrion99 as old Schr?der; that looks like smash. He holds heavily in Pernambucos, in Cotopaxis, and other stuff that's run down like water lately; and he must have dropped at least ten thousand in that blessed Bird-in-the-Hand insurance. I think the time has come to put the screw on, and I don't think"--turning to a drawer and taking from an envelope a paper yellow with age--"that he'll dishonour100 this. What an awful time ago it seems! There,"--replacing the paper,--"go back till you're wanted. You've kept so long that--Ah, by Jove! the other business! To be married, eh? To be married, Kate?" releasing his leg and plucking at his lips. "To be married to Master Charley Beresford! not while I live, my child! not while I live, and have power to turn a screw on in your direction too!"
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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commissioners
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| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
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commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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incumbent
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| adj.成为责任的，有义务的；现任的，在职的 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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belligerent
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| adj.好战的，挑起战争的；n.交战国，交战者 | |
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accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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rebate
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| v./n.折扣，回扣，退款；vt.给...回扣，给...打折扣 | |
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despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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chronometer
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fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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distinguished
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esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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hospitable
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drawn
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pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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usher
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| n.带位员，招待员；vt.引导，护送；vi.做招待，担任引座员 | |
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eyebrows
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scrawl
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| vt.潦草地书写；n.潦草的笔记，涂写 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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taunted
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| 嘲讽( taunt的过去式和过去分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
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epithet
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bustle
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confidential
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idols
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| 偶像( idol的名词复数 )； 受崇拜的人或物； 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物； 神像 | |
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engraving
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| n.版画；雕刻（作品）；雕刻艺术；镌版术v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的现在分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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likeness
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corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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borough
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| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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metaphorically
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| adv. 用比喻地 | |
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canvassed
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| v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的过去式和过去分词 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
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intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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nomination
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| n.提名，任命，提名权 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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retrenchment
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| n.节省，删除 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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endorsed
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| vt.& vi.endorse的过去式或过去分词形式v.赞同( endorse的过去式和过去分词 )；在（尤指支票的）背面签字；在（文件的）背面写评论；在广告上说本人使用并赞同某产品 | |
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faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bribing
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| 贿赂 | |
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adamant
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| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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sprained
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| v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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gambols
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| v.蹦跳，跳跃，嬉戏( gambol的第三人称单数 ) | |
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asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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grunts
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的第三人称单数 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说； 石鲈 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
carrion
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| n.腐肉 | |
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100
dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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