Félicie Nanteuil, her hair powdered, with blue on her eyelids1, rouge2 on her cheeks and ears, and white on her neck and shoulders, was holding out her foot to Madame Michon, the dresser, who was fitting on a pair of little black slippers3 with red heels. Dr. Trublet, the physician attached to the theatre, and a friend of the actress's, was resting his bald cranium on a cushion of the divan4, his hands folded upon his stomach and his short legs crossed.
"What else, my dear?" he inquired of her.
"Oh, I don't know! Fits of suffocation5; giddiness; and, all of a sudden, an agonizing6 pain, as if I were going to die. That's the worst of all."
"Do you sometimes feel as though you must laugh or cry for no apparent reason, about nothing at all?"
[Pg 2]
"That I cannot tell you, for in this life one has so many reasons for laughing or crying!"
"Are you subject to attacks of dizziness?"
"No. But, just think, doctor, at night, I see an imaginary cat, under the chairs or the table, gazing at me with fiery7 eyes!"
"Try not to dream of cats any more," said Madame Michon, "because that's a bad omen8. To see a cat is a sign that you'll be betrayed by friends, or deceived by a woman."
"But it is not in my dreams that I see a cat! It's when I'm wide awake!"
Trublet, who was in attendance at the Odéon once a month only, was given to looking in as a friend almost every evening. He was fond of the actresses, delighted in chatting with them, gave them good advice, and listened with delicacy9 to their confidences. He promised Félicie that he would write her a prescription10 at once.
"We'll attend to the stomach, my dear child, and you'll see no more cats under the chairs and tables."
Madame Michon was adjusting the actress's stays. The doctor, suddenly gloomy, watched her tugging11 at the laces.
"Don't scowl," said Félicie. "I am never tight-laced. With my waist I should surely be a fool if I were." And she added, thinking of her [Pg 3] best friend in the theatre, "It's all very well for Fagette, who has no shoulders and no hips12; she's simply straight up and down. Michon, you can pull a little tighter still. I know you are no lover of waists, doctor. Nevertheless, I cannot wear swaddling bands like those ?sthetic creatures. Just slip your hand into my stays, and you'll see that I don't squeeze myself too tight."
He denied that he was inimical to stays; he only condemned13 them when too tightly laced. He deplored14 the fact that women should have no sense of the harmony of line; that they should associate with smallness of the waist an idea of grace and beauty, not realizing that their beauty resided wholly in those modulations through which the body, having displayed the superb expansion of chest and bosom15, tapers16 off gradually below the thorax, to glorify17 itself in the calm and generous width of the flanks.
"The waist," he said, "the waist, since one has to make use of that hideous18 word, should be a gradual, imperceptible, gentle transition from one to another of woman's two glories, her bosom and her womb, and you stupidly strangle it, you stave in the thorax, which involves the breasts in its ruin, you flatten19 your lower ribs20, and you plough a horrible furrow21 above the navel. The negresses, who file their teeth down to a point, and split their lips, in order to insert a wooden disc, disfigure themselves [Pg 4] in a less barbarous fashion. For, after all, some feminine splendour still remains23 to a creature who wears rings in the cartilage of her nose, and whose lip is distended24 by a circular disc of mahogany as big as this pomade pot. But the devastation25 is complete when woman carries her ravages26 into the sacred centre of her empire."
Dwelling27 upon a favourite subject, he enumerated28 one by one the deformities of the bones and muscles caused by the wearing of stays, in terms now fanciful, now precise, now droll29, now lugubrious30.
Nanteuil laughed as she listened. She laughed because, being a woman, she felt an inclination31 to laugh at physical uncomeliness or poverty; because, referring everything to her own little world of actors and actresses, each and every deformity described by the doctor reminded her of some comrade of the boards, stamping itself on her mind like a caricature. Knowing that she herself had a good figure, she delighted in her own young body as she pictured to herself all these indignities32 of the flesh. With a ringing laugh she crossed the dressing-room towards the doctor, dragging with her Madame Michon, who was holding on to her stay-laces as though they were reins33, with the look of a sorceress being whisked away to a witches' sabbath.
"Don't be afraid!" she said.
And she objected that peasant women, [Pg 5] who never wore stays, had far worse figures than town-bred women.
The doctor bitterly inveighed34 against the Western civilizations because of their contempt for and ignorance of natural beauty.
Trublet, born within the shadow of Saint-Sulpice, had gone as a young man to practise in Cairo. He brought back from that city a little money, a liver complaint, and a knowledge of the various customs of humanity. When at a ripe age, he returned to his own country, he rarely strayed from his ancient Rue35 de Seine, thoroughly36 enjoying his life, save that it depressed37 him a trifle to see how little able his contemporaries were to realize the deplorable misunderstandings which for eighteen centuries had kept humanity at cross-purposes with nature.
There was a tap at the door.
"It's only me!" exclaimed a woman's voice in the passage.
Félicie, slipping on her pink petticoat, begged the doctor to open the door.
Enter Madame Doulce, a lady who was allowing her massive person to run to seed, although she had long contrived38 to hold it together on the boards, compelling it to assume the dignity proper to aristocratic mothers.
"Well, my dear! How-d'ye-do, doctor! [Pg 6] Félicie, you know I am not one to pay compliments. Nevertheless, I saw you the day before yesterday, and I assure you that in the second of La Mère confidente you put in some excellent touches, which are far from easy to bring off."
Nanteuil, with smiling eyes, waited—as is always the case when one has received a compliment—for another.
Madame Doulce, thus invited by Nanteuil's silence, murmured some additional words of praise:
"...excellent touches, genuinely individual business!"
"You really think so, Madame Doulce? Glad to hear it, for I don't feel the part. And then that great Perrin woman upsets me altogether. It is a fact. When I sit on the creature's knees, it makes me feel as if——You don't know all the horrors that she whispers into my ear while we are on the stage! She's crazy! I understand everything, but there are some things which disgust me. Michon, don't my stays crease39 at the back, on the right?"
"My dear child," cried Trublet with enthusiasm, "you have just said something that is really admirable."
"What?" inquired Nanteuil simply.
"You said: 'I understand everything, but there are some things which disgust me.' You understand everything; the thoughts and actions of men [Pg 7] appear to you as particular instances of the universal mechanics, but in respect of them you cherish neither hatred40 nor anger. But there are things which disgust you; you have a fastidious taste, and it is profoundly true that morals are a matter of taste. My child, I could wish that the Academy of Moral Science thought as sanely41 as you. Yes. You are quite right. As regards the instincts which you attribute to your fellow-actress, it is as futile42 to blame her for them as to blame lactic43 acid for being an acid possessing mixed properties."
"What are you talking about?"
"I am saying that we can no longer assign praise or blame to any human thought or action, once the inevitable44 nature of such thoughts and actions has been proved for us."
"So you approve of the morals of that gawk of a Perrin, do you? You, a member of the Legion of Honour! A nice thing, to be sure!"
The doctor heaved himself up.
"My child," he said, "give me a moment's attention; I am going to tell you an instructive story:
"In times gone by, human nature was other than it is to-day. There were then not men and women only, but also hermaphrodites; in other words, beings in whom the two sexes were combined. These three kinds of human beings possessed45 four arms, four legs, and two faces. They [Pg 8] were robust46 and rotated rapidly on their own axes, just like wheels. Their strength inspired them with audacity47 to war with the gods, therein following the example of the Giants, Jupiter, unable to brook48 such insolence——"
"Michon, doesn't my petticoat hang too low on the left?" asked Nanteuil.
"Resolved," continued the doctor, "to render them less strong and less daring. He divided each into two, so that they had now but two arms, two legs, and one head apiece, and thenceforward the human race became what it is to-day. Consequently, each of us is only the half of a human being, divided from the other half, just as one divides a sole into two portions. These halves are ever seeking their other halves. The love which we experience for one another is nothing but an invisible force impelling49 us to reunite our two halves in order to re-establish ourselves in our pristine50 perfection. Those men who result from the divisions of hermaphrodites love women; those women who have a similar origin love men. But the women who proceed from the division of primitive51 women do not bestow52 much attention upon men, but are drawn53 toward their own sex. So do not be astonished when you see——"
"Did you invent that precious story, doctor?" inquired Nanteuil, pinning a rose in her bodice.
[Pg 9]
The doctor protested that he had not invented a word of it. On the contrary, he had, he said, left out part of the story.
"So much the better?" exclaimed Nanteuil. "For I must tell you that the person who did invent it is not particularly brilliant."
"He is dead," remarked Trublet.
Nanteuil once more expressed her disgust of her fellow-actress, but Madame Doulce, who was prudent54 and occasionally took déjeuner with Jeanne Perrin, changed the subject.
"Well, my darling, so you've got the part of Angélique. Only remember what I told you: your gestures should be somewhat restrained, and you yourself a little stiff. That is the secret of the ingénue. Beware of your charming natural suppleness55. Young girls in a 'stock' piece ought to be just a trifle doll-like. It's good form. The costume requires it. You see, Félicie, what you must do above all, when you are playing in La Mère confidente, which is a delightful56 play——"
"Oh," interrupted Félicie, "so long as I have a good part, I don't care a fig22 for the play. Besides, I am not particularly in love with Marivaux——What are you laughing at, doctor? Have I put my foot in it? Isn't La Mère confidente by Marivaux?"
"To be sure it is!"
[Pg 10]
"Well, then? You are always trying to muddle57 me. I was saying that Angélique gets on my nerves. I should prefer a part with more meat in it, something out of the ordinary. This evenings especially, the part gives me the creeps."
"All the more likely that you'll do well in it, my pet," said Madame Doulce. "We never enter more thoroughly into our parts than when we do so by main force, and in spite of ourselves. I could give you many examples. I myself, in La Vivandière d'Austerlitz, staggered the house by my gaiety of tone, when I had just been informed that my Doulce, so great an artist and so good a husband, had had an epileptic fit in the orchestra at the Odéon, just as he was picking up his cornet."
"Why do they insist on my being nothing but an ingénue?" inquired Nanteuil, who wanted to play the woman in love, the brilliant coquette, and every part a woman could play.
"That is quite natural," persisted Madame Doulce. "Comedy is an imitative art; and you imitate an art all the better for not feeling it yourself."
"Do not delude58 yourself, my child," said the doctor to Félicie. "Once an ingénue, always an ingénue. You are born an Angélique or a Dorine, a Célimène or a Madame Pernelle. On the stage, some women are always twenty, others are always [Pg 11] thirty, others again are always sixty. As for you, Mademoiselle Nanteuil, you will always be eighteen, and you will always be an ingénue."
"I am quite content with my work," replied Nanteuil, "but you cannot expect me to play all ingénues with the same pleasure. There is one part, for example, which I long to play, and that is Agnès in L'école des femmes."
At the mere59 mention of the name of Agnès, the doctor murmured delightedly from among his cushions:
"Mes yeux ont-ils du mal pour en donner au monde?"
"Agnès, that's a part if you like!" exclaimed Nanteuil. "I have asked Pradel to give it me."
Pradel, the manager of the theatre, was an ex-comedian, a wideawake, genial60 fellow, who had got rid of his illusions and nourished no exaggerated hopes. He loved peace, books and women. Nanteuil had every reason to speak well of Pradel, and she referred to him without any feeling of ill will, and with frank directness.
"It was shameful61, disgusting, rotten of him," she said. "He wouldn't let me play Agnès and gave the part to Falempin. I must say, though, that when I asked him I didn't go the right way about it. While she knows how to tackle him, if you like! But what do I care! If Pradel doesn't let [Pg 12] me play Agnès, he can go to the deuce, and his dirty Punch and Judy show too!"
Madame Doulce continued to lavish62 her unheeded precepts63. She was an actress of merits but she was old and worn out, and no longer obtained any engagements. She gave advice to beginners, wrote their letters for them, and thus, in the morning or evenings earned what was almost every day her only meal.
"Doctor," asked Félicie, while Madame Michon was fastening a black velvet64 ribbon round her neck: "You say that my fits of dizziness are due to my stomach. Are you sure of that?"
Before Trublet could answer, Madame Doulce exclaimed that fits of dizziness always proceeded from the stomach, and that two or three hours after meals she experienced a feeling of distension65 in hers, and she thereupon asked the doctor for a remedy.
Félicie, however, was thinking, for she was capable of thought.
"Doctor," she said suddenly, "I want to ask you a question, which you may possibly think a droll one; but I do really want to know whether, considering that you know just what there is in the human body, and that you have seen all the things we have inside us, it doesn't embarrass you, at certain moments, in your dealings with women? [Pg 13] It seems to me that the idea of all that must disgust you."
"My dear child, there is no more exquisitely67 delicate, rich, and beautiful tissue than the skin of a pretty woman. That is what I was telling myself just now, while contemplating68 the back of your neck, and you will readily understand that, under such an impression——"
"Well, then, since you wish it, mademoiselle, you shall have an instructive answer. Some twenty years ago we had, in the post-mortem room at the H?pital Saint-Joseph, a drunken old watchman, named Daddy Rousseau, who every day at eleven o'clock used to lunch at the end of the table on which the corpse71 was lying. He ate his lunch because he was hungry. Nothing prevents people who are hungry from eating as soon as they have got something to eat. Only Daddy Rousseau used to say: 'I don't know whether it is because of the atmosphere of the room, but I must have something fresh and appetizing.'"
[Pg 14]
"I understand," said Félicie. "Little flower-girls are what you want. But you mustn't, you know. And there you are seated like a Turk and you haven't written out my prescription yet." She cast an inquiring glance at him. "Where is the stomach exactly?"
The door had remained ajar. A young man, a very pretty fellow and extremely fashionable, pushed it open, and, having taken a couple of steps into the dressing-room, inquired politely whether he might come in.
"Oh, it's you!" said Nanteuil. And she stretched out her hand, which he kissed with pleasure, ceremony and fatuity72.
"How are you, Doctor Socrates?" he inquired, without wasting any particular courtesies on Madame Doulce.
Trublet was often accosted73 in this manner, because of his snub-nose and his subtle speech. Pointing to Nanteuil, he said:
"Monsieur de Ligny, you see before you a young lady who is not quite sure whether she has a stomach. It is a serious question. We advise her to refer, for the answer, to the little girl who ate too much jam. Her mother said to her: 'You will injure your stomach.' The child replied: 'It's only ladies who have stomachs; little girls haven't any.'"
[Pg 15]
"Heavens, how silly you are, doctor!" cried Nanteuil.
"I would you spoke74 the truth, mademoiselle. Silliness is the capacity for happiness. It is the sovereign content. It is the prime asset in a civilized75 society."
"You are paradoxical, my dear doctor," remarked Monsieur de Ligny. "But I grant you that it is better to be silly as everybody is silly than to be clever as no one else is clever."
"It's true, what Robert says!" exclaimed Nanteuil, sincerely impressed. And she added thoughtfully: "At any rate, doctor, one thing is certain. It is that stupidity often prevents one from doing stupid things. I have noticed that many a time. Whether you take men or women, those are not the most stupid who act the most stupidly. For example, there are intelligent women who are stupid about men."
"You mean those who cannot do without them."
"There's no hiding anything from you, my little Socrates."
"Ah," sighed the big Doulce, "what a terrible slavery it is! Every woman who cannot control her senses is lost to art."
Nanteuil shrugged76 her pretty shoulders, which still retained something of the angularity of youth.
"Oh, my great-grandmother! Don't try to [Pg 16] kid the youngsters! What an idea! In your days, did actresses control their—how did you put it? Fiddlesticks! They didn't control them a scrap77!"
Noticing that Nanteuil's temper was rising, the bulky Doulce retired78 with dignity and prudence79. Once in the passage, she vouchsafed80 a further word of advice:
"Remember, my darling, to play Angélique as a 'bud.' The part requires it."
But Nanteuil, her nerves on edge, took no notice.
"Really," she said, sitting down before her dressing-table, "she makes me boil, that old Doulce, with her morality. Does she think people have forgotten her adventures? If so, she is mistaken. Madame Ravaud tells one of them six days out of seven. Everybody knows that she reduced her husband, the musician, to such a state of exhaustion81 that one night he tumbled into his cornet. As for her lovers, magnificent men, just ask Madame Michon. Why, in less than two years she made mere shadows of them, mere puffs82 of breath. That's the way she controlled them! And supposing anyone had told her that she was lost to art!"
Dr. Trublet extended his two hands, palms outward, towards Nanteuil, as though to stop her.
"Do not excite yourself, my child. Madame [Pg 17] Doulce is sincere. She used to love men, now she loves God. One loves what one can, as one can, and with what one has. She has become chaste83 and pious84 at the fitting age. She is diligent85 in the practices of her religion: she goes to Mass on Sundays and feast days, she——"
"Well, she is right to go to Mass," asserted Nanteuil "Michon, light a candle for me, to heat my rouge. I must do my lips again. Certainly, she is quite right to go to Mass, but religion does not forbid one to have a lover."
"You think not?" asked the doctor.
"I know my religion better than you, that's certain!"
A lugubrious bell sounded, and the mournful voice of the call-boy was heard in the corridors:
"The curtain-raiser is over!"
Nanteuil rose, and slipped over her wrist a velvet ribbon ornamented86 with a steel medallion. Madame Michon was on her knees arranging the three Watteau pleats of the pink dress, and, with her mouth full of pins, delivered herself from one corner of her lips of the following maxim87:
"There is one good thing in being old, men cannot make you suffer any more."
Robert de Ligny took a cigarette from his case.
"May I?" And he moved toward the lighted candle on the dressing-table.
[Pg 18]
Nanteuil, who never took her eyes off him, saw beneath his moustache, red and light as flame, his lips, ruddy in the candlelight, drawing in and puffing88 out the smoke. She felt a slight warmth in her ears. Pretending to look among her trinkets, she grazed Ligny's neck with her lips, and whispered to him:
"Wait for me after the show, in a cab, at the corner of the Rue de Tournon."
At this moment the sound of voices and footsteps was heard in the corridor. The actors in the curtain-raiser were returning to their dressing-rooms.
"Doctor, pass me your newspaper."
"It is highly uninteresting, mademoiselle."
"Never mind, pass it over."
She took it and held it like a screen above her head.
"The light makes my eyes ache," she observed.
It was true that a too brilliant light would sometimes give her a headache. But she had just seen herself in the glass. With her blue-tinted89 eyelids, her eyelashes smeared90 with a black paste, her grease-painted cheeks, her lips tinted red in the shape of a tiny heart, it seemed to her she looked like a painted corpse with glass eyes, and she did not wish Ligny to see her thus.
While she was keeping her face in the shadow of the newspaper a tall, lean young man entered the [Pg 19] dressing-room with a swaggering gait. His melancholy91 eyes were deeply sunken above a nose like a crow's beak92; his mouth was set in a petrified93 grin. The Adam's apple of his long throat made a deep shadow on his stock. He was dressed as a stage bailiff.
"That you, Chevalier? How are you, my friend?" gaily94 inquired Dr. Trublet, who was fond of actors, preferred the bad ones, and had a special liking95 for Chevalier.
"Come in, everybody!" cried Nanteuil "This isn't a dressing-room; it's a mill."
"My respects, none the less, Mme. Miller96!" replied Chevalier, "I warn you, there's a pack of idiots out in front. Would you believe it—they shut me up!"
"That's no reason for walking in without knocking," replied Nanteuil snappishly.
The doctor pointed97 out that Monsieur de Ligny had left the door open; whereupon Nanteuil, turning to Ligny, said in a tone of tender reproach:
"Did you really leave the door open? But, when one comes into a room, one closes the door on other people: it is one of the first things one is taught."
She wrapped herself in a white blanket-cloak.
The call-boy summoned the players to the stage.
[Pg 20]
She grasped the hand which Ligny offered her, and, exploring his wrist with her fingers, dug her nail into the spot, close to the veins98, where the skin is tender. Then she disappeared into the dark corridor.
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1
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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3
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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suffocation
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| n.窒息 | |
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agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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12
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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13
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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tapers
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| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
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glorify
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| vt.颂扬，赞美，使增光，美化 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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flatten
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| v.把．．．弄平，使倒伏；使(漆等)失去光泽 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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furrow
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| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
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fig
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| n.无花果(树) | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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distended
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| v.（使）膨胀，肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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devastation
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| n.毁坏；荒废；极度震惊或悲伤 | |
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ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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enumerated
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| v.列举，枚举，数( enumerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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indignities
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| n.侮辱，轻蔑( indignity的名词复数 ) | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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34
inveighed
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| v.猛烈抨击，痛骂，谩骂( inveigh的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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crease
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| n.折缝，褶痕，皱褶；v.(使)起皱 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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sanely
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| ad.神志清楚地 | |
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42
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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lactic
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| adj.乳汁的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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impelling
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| adj.迫使性的，强有力的v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的现在分词 ) | |
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pristine
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| adj.原来的，古时的，原始的，纯净的，无垢的 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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52
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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53
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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suppleness
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| 柔软； 灵活； 易弯曲； 顺从 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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57
muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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delude
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| vt.欺骗；哄骗 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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precepts
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| n.规诫，戒律，箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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distension
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| n.扩张，膨胀(distention) | |
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wafting
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的现在分词 ) | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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fatuity
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| n.愚蠢，愚昧 | |
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accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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74
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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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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81
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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83
chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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84
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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85
diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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86
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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88
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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89
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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90
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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91
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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94
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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95
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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96
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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98
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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