Mrs. Austin's instruction of her mistress was shortened by full five minutes that morning--five minutes during which Lady Mitford was occupied in leaning out of the window and watching her husband down the drive. How handsome he looked! in his big heavy brown driving-coat with its huge horn buttons, his well-fitting dogskin gloves, and his natty7 hat--wideawakes had not then been invented, but driving-men used to wear a hat low in the crown and broad in the brim, winch, though a trifle slangy, was in some cases very becoming. The sun shone on his bright complexion8, his breezy golden whiskers, and his brilliant teeth, as he smiled his adieu; and as he brought the chestnuts up to their bearings after their first mad plunges9, and standing10 up got them well in hand and settled them down to their work, Georgie was lost in admiration11 of his strong muscular figure, his pluck and grace. It was a subject on which she would have been naturally particularly reticent12, even had there been any one to "gush13" to; but I think the tears of pleasure welled into her eyes, and she had a very happy "cry" before she rejoined Mrs. Austin in the still-room.
And Sir Charles, what were his thoughts during his drive? Among all the wonderful revelations which the publication of the Divorce-Court trials has made public, the sad heart-rending misery14, the brutal15 ruffianism, the heartless villany, the existence of which could scarcely have been dreamed of, there is one phase of life which, so far as I have seen--and I have looked for it attentively,--has never yet been chronicled. The man who leaves his wife and family to get on as they best can, while he revels16 in riot and debauchery; the man who is the blind slave of his own brute17 passions, and who goes headlong to destruction without any apparent thought save for his own gratification; the man who would seem in the iteration of his share of the marriage-service to have substituted "hate" for "love," and who either detests19 his wife with savage20 rancour, or loathes21 her with deep disgust, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, until the Judge-Ordinary does them part; the respectable man, so punctual in the discharge of his domestic duties, so unswerving in the matter of family-prayers, whose conjugal23 comfort is one day wrecked24 by the arrival of a clamorous25 and not too sober lady with heightened colour and blackened eyelids:--with all these types we are familiar enough through the newspaper columns; but there is another character, by no means so numerously represented, nor so likely to be brought publicly under notice, who yet exists, and with specimens26 of which some of us must be familiar. I mean the man who, with great affection for his wife and strong desire to do right, is yet so feeble in moral purpose, so impotent to struggle against inclination27, such a facile prey28 to temptation, as to be perpetually doing wrong. He never grows hardened in his vice18, he never withdraws his love from its proper object--for in that case it would quickly be supplanted29 by the opposite feeling; he never even grows indifferent: after every slip he inwardly upbraids30 himself bitterly and vows31 repentance32; in his hour of remorse33 he institutes comparisons between his proper and improper34 attractions, in which the virtues35 of the former are always very bright and the vices36 of the latter always very black; and then on the very next occasion his virtuous37 resolutions melt away like snow, and he goes wrong again as pleasantly as possible.
Sir Charles Mitford was of this class. He would have been horrified38 if any one had suggested that he had any intention of wronging his wife; would have said that such an idea had never crossed his mind--and truthfully, as whenever it rose he immediately smothered40 it; would have declared, as he believed, that Georgie was the prettiest, the best, and the dearest girl in the world. But he was a man of strong passions, and most susceptible41 to flattery; and ever since Mrs. Hammond had seemed to select him for special notice, more especially since she had assumed the habit of occasionally looking pensively42 at him, with a kind of dreamy languor43 in her large eyes, he had thought more of her, in both senses of the phrase, than was right. He was thinking of her even then, as he sat square and erect44 in his phaeton, before he passed out of Georgie's gaze; thinking of her large eyes and their long glances, her full rounded figure, a peculiar45 hand-clasp which she gave, a thrill without a grip, a scarcely perceptible unforgettable pressure. Then his horsey instincts rose within him, and he began to take coachman's notice of the chestnuts; saw the merits and demerits of each, and almost unconsciously set about the work of educating the former, and checking the latter; and thus he employed himself until the white houses of Torquay came within sight, and glancing at his watch he found he should have done his twenty miles in an hour and forty minutes.
Mrs. Hammond had told him that he would be sure of finding their address at the Royal Hotel; so to the Royal Hotel he drove. The chestnuts went bounding through the town, attracting attention from all the valetudinarians then creeping about on their shopping or anteprandial walks. These poor fellows in respirators and high shawls, bending feebly on sticks or tottering46 on each other's arms, resented the sight of this great strong Phoebus dashing along with his spinning chariot-wheels. When he pulled up at the door of the Royal, a little crowd of invalids48 crept out of sunny nooks, and sheltered corners, where they had been resting, to look at him. The waiter, a fat greasy49 man, who used to let the winter-boarders tear many times at the bell before he dreamt of answering it, heard the tramp of the horses, and the violent pull given to the door-bell by Sir Charles's groom50, and in a kind of hazy51 dream thought that it must be summer again, and that it must be some of the gents from the yachts, as was always so noisy and obstreperous52. Before he could rouse himself sufficiently53 to get to the door, he had been anticipated by the landlord, wit° had scarcely made his bow, before Dr. Bronk, who had noticed the phaeton dashing round the corner, fancied it might be a son or a nephew on the lookout54 for quarters--and medical attendance--for some invalid47 relative, came into the portico55, and bestowed56 the greatest care in rubbing his shoes on the hall-mat.
Mr. Hammond? No, the landlord had never heard the name. Constant change of faces renders landlords preternaturally stupid on this point, they can never fit names to faces or faces to names. Hammond? no, he thought not. John! did John know the name of Hammond? But before John could sufficiently focus his wits to know whether he did or not, Dr. Bronk had heard all, had stepped up to the side of the phaeton, had made a half-friendly, half-deferential57 bow, and was in full swing.
Mr. Hammond? a middle-aged58 gentleman,--well, who perhaps might be described as rather elderly, yes. Bald,--yes. With a young daughter and a very charming wife? Yes, O yes; certainly he knew them; he had the honour of being their medical attendant,--Dr. Bronk of the Paragon59. Lately had come down to Torquay, recommended to him by his--he was proud to say--old friend and former fellow-pupil, Sir Charles Dumfunk, now President of the College of Physicians. Where were they? well, they had been really unfortunate. Torquay, my dear sir, every year rising in importance, every year more sought after,--for which perhaps some little credit was due to a little medical brochure of his, Torquay and its Climate,--Torquay was so full that when Mrs. Hammond sent down that admirable person, Miss Gillespie,--whom of course the gentleman knew,--there was only one house vacant. So the family had been forced to content themselves with a mansion--No. 2, Cleveland Gardens, very nice, sheltered, and yet with a charming sea-view. Where was it? Did the gentleman see the bow-windowed shop at the corner? Second turning to the right, just beyond that--"Se-cond turn-ing to the right!" This shouted after Sir Charles, who, with a feeling that the chestnuts were too rapidly cooling after their sharp drive, had started them off the minute he had obtained the information.
The second turning to the right was duly taken, and No. 2, Cleveland Gardens, was duly reached. It was the usual style of seaside-house, with stuccoed front and green veranda60, and the never-failing creeper which the Devonians always grow to show the mildness of their climate. The groom's thundering knock produced a smart waiting-maid, who acknowledged that Mrs. Hammond lived there; and the sending in of Sir Charles Mitford's card produced a London flunkey, on whom the country air had had a demoralizing influence, so far as his outward appearance was concerned. But he acknowledged Sir Charles's arrival with a deferential bow, and begging him to walk in, assured him that his mistress would come down directly. So the groom was sent round, to put up his horses at the stables of the Royal, and Sir Charles followed the footman into the drawing-room.
It was not an apartment to be left alone in for long. No doubt the family of the owner, a younger brother of an Irish peer, found it pleasant and airy when they were down there in the summer, and the owner himself found the rent of it for the spring, autumn, and winter, a very hopeful source of income; but it bore "lodging-house" on every scrap61 of furniture throughout it. Sir Charles stared round at the bad engravings, at the bad old-fashioned artists on the walls; looked with concentrated interest on a plaster-model of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and wondered whether the mortar62 shrinking had warped63 it; peeped into two or three books on the table; looked out of the window at the promenading64 invalids and the green twinkling sea; and was relieved beyond measure when he heard a woman's step on the staircase outside.
The door opened, and a woman entered--but not Mrs. Hammond. A tall woman, with sallow cheeks and great eyes, and a thickish nose and large full lips, with a low forehead, over which tumbled waves of crisp brown hair, with a marvellous lithe65 figure and a peculiar swinging walk. Shifty in her glance, stealthy in her walk, cat-like in her motions, her face deadly pale,--a volcano crumbled66 into ashes, with no trace of its former fire save in her eyes,--a woman at once uncomfortable, uncanny, noticeable, and fearsome,--Miss Gillespie.
The family of the younger brother of the Irish peer owning the house prided themselves immensely on certain pink-silk blinds to the windows, which happened at that moment to be down. There must have been some very peculiar effect in the tint67 thrown by those blinds to have caused Sir Charles Mitford to stare so hard at the new-comer, or to lose all trace of his ordinary colour as he gazed at her.
She spoke68 first. Her full lips parted over a brilliant set of teeth as with a slight inclination she said, "I have the pleasure of addressing Sir Charles Mitford? Mrs. Hammond begs me to say that she is at present in attendance upon Mr. Hammond, who is forbidden to-day to leave his room; but she hopes to be with you in a very few minutes."
A polite but sufficiently ordinary speech; certainly not in itself calculated to call forth69 Mitford's rejoinder--"In God's name, how did you come here?"
"You still keep up that horrid70 habit of swearing! Autre temps, autres moeurs, as I teach my young lady from the French proverb-book. What was it you asked?"
"How did you come here? what are you doing here?"
"I came here through the medium of the Ladies' Association for Instructors71, to whom I paid a registration-fee of five shillings. What am I doing here? Educating youth, and making myself generally useful. I am Miss Gillespie, of whom I know you have heard."
"You have seen me before this, since--since the old days?"
"I don't know what is meant by 'old days.' I was born two years ago, just before Mrs. Hammond married, and was christened Ruth Gillespie. My mother was the Ladies' Association for Instructors, and she at once placed me where I am. Except this I have no past."
"And your future?"
"Can take care of itself: sufficient for the day, &c.; and the present days are very pleasant. There is no past for you either, is there? so far as I am concerned, I mean. I first saw Sir Charles Mitford when I was sitting in Mrs. Hammond's phaeton in the Park with my Shetland veil down, I recollect72; and as I had heard the story of the romantic manner in which he had succeeded to the title and estates, I asked full particulars about him from--well--my mistress. I learned that he had married, and that his wife was reported to be very lovely--oh, very lovely indeed!" she almost purred as she said this, and undulated as though about to spring.
"Be good enough to leave my wife's name alone. You say there is no past for either of us. Let our present be as wide asunder73 as possible."
"That all rests with you."
"I wonder," said Sir Charles, almost below his breath, "what infernal chance has sent you here!"
"If 'infernal' were a word to be used by a lady--I doubt whether it should be used in a lady's presence; but that is a matter of taste--I should reiterate74 your sentiment; because, if you remark, you are the interloper and intruder. I am going on perfectly75 quietly, earning my living, giving every satisfaction to my employers,--living, in fact, like the virtuous peasant on the stage or in the penny romances,--when chance brings you into my line of life, and you at once grumble76 at me for being there."
"You can understand fast enough, I suppose," said Sir Charles, sulkily, "that my associations with my former life are not such as I take great pleasure in recalling."
"If a lady might say such a word, I should say, upon my soul I can't understand any such thing. Though I go quietly enough in harness, and take my share of the collar-work too, they little think how I long sometimes to kick over the traces, to substitute Alfred de Musset for Fénelon in my pupil's reading, or to let my fingers and voice stray off from Adeste Fideles into Eh, ioup, ioup, ioup, tralala, lala! How it would astonish them! wouldn't it?--the files, I mean; not Mrs. Hammond, who knows everything, and I've no doubt would follow on with Mon père est à Paris as naturally as possible."
Sir Charles was by no means soothed77 by this rattle78, but frowningly asked, "How long do you mean to remain here?"
"How long? Well, my movements are of course controlled by Mrs. Hammond. It is betraying no confidence to say that I know she is expecting an invitation to Redmoor (you see I know the name of your place); and as this house is not particularly comfortable, and your hospitality is boundless79, I conclude, when once we get there, we shall not leave much before we return to town for the season."
"We!" exclaimed Sir Charles; "why, do you mean to say that you are coming to stay at my house?"
"Of course I am. Mrs. Hammond told me that she gave you distinctly to understand that she must bring Miss Gillespie with her when she came to stop at Redmoor."
"True; but then--"
"Then you did not know Miss Gillespie. Well, you'll find she's not a bad fellow, after all."
"Look here," said Mitford with knitted brows and set teeth: "there's a point to which you may go, but which you sha'n't pass. If you dare to come into my house as my guest, look to yourself; for, by the Lord, it shall be the worse for you!"
"The privileges of the salt, monseigneur!" cried Miss Gillespie, with a crisp laugh; "the salt, 'that sacred pledge, which once partaken blunts the sabre's edge.' You would never abuse the glorious rites80 of hospitality?"
"You were always fond of d--d stage-jargon; but you ought to have known me long enough to know that it would have no effect on me. Take the warning I've given you in good part, and stay away."
"And take the warning I give you in good part and in good earnest, Charles Mitford," said Miss Gillespie, with a sudden change of voice and manner; "I've been tolerant to you hitherto for the sake of the old times which I love and you loathe22; but don't you presume upon that. I could crush you like a snail81: now this is no stage-jargon, but simple honest fact. You'll recollect that though perhaps a little given to rodomontade, in matters of business I was truthful39. I can crush you like a snail; and if you cross me in my desires,--which are of the humblest; merely to be allowed to continue my present mode of life in peace,--so help me Heaven, I'll do it!"
All claws out here.
"You mean war, then?
"Hush82! not a word; here's Mrs. Hammond coming down. I do mean war, under circumstances; but you won't drive me to that. Yes, as you say, Sir Charles, it is the very place for an invalid."
As she spoke Mrs. Hammond entered the room, looking very fresh and pretty; her dark-blue merino dress with its close-fitting body displaying her round figure, and its sweeping83 skirts, and its tight sleeves, with natty linen84 cuffs85. She advanced with outstretched hand and with a pleasant smile, showing all her fresh wholesome86 teeth.
"So you've come at last," she said; "it's no great compliment to say that we have anxiously expected you--for anything like the horror of this place you cannot imagine. Everybody you meet looks as if that day were their last, and that they had just crawled out to take farewell of the sun. And there's not a soul we know here, except the doctor who's attending Mr. Hammond, and he's an odious87 little chatterbox. And how is dear Lady Mitford? and how did you find the house? and did Captain Bligh make the arrangements as nicely as we thought he would? Come, sit down and tell me all about it."
It was at this period, and before they seated themselves, that Miss Gillespie said she thought she would go and see what Alice was doing. And Mrs. Hammond asked her to tell Newman that Sir Charles Mitford would dine with them; and that as he had a long drive home, they had better say six-o'clock dinner. And charged with these messages, Miss Gillespie retired88.
Then Mrs. Hammond sunk down into a pleasant ottoman fitted into a recess89 close by the glowing fire, and Sir Charles Mitford, looking round for a seat, obeyed the silent invitation conveyed to him in her eyes and in the movement of her dress, and seated himself by her side.
"Well, you must have a great deal to tell me," she commenced. "I saw in the Post that you had left town, and therefore imagined that Captain Bligh's arrangements were concluded. And how do you like Redmoor?"
"It's a glorious place, really a glorious place, though I've been rather bored there for the last two or three days--wanted people there, you know, and that sort of thing. But the place itself is first-rate. I've chosen your rooms. I did that the first day."
"Did you?" said she, her eyes sparkling with delight; "and where are they?"
"They are in the south wing, looking over the civilized90 side of the country, and are to my thinking the very best rooms in the house."
"And you chose them for us, and thought of us directly you arrived! How very, very kind of you! But suppose we should be unable to come?"
"What! unable to come! Mrs. Hammond, you're chaffing me, eh?"
"No, indeed. Mr. Hammond's health is in that wretched state, that I doubt whether Dr. Bronk would sanction his being moved, even to the soft air and all the luxuries of Redmoor."
"Oh, do him good, I'm sure; could do him no possible harm. He should have everything he wanted, you know; and the doctor could come spinning over there every day, for the matter of that. But at any rate you won't disappoint us?"
"I don't think my not coming would be keenly felt by many."
"It would by me," said Mitford in a low voice.
She looked him full in the face for an instant. "I believe it would," said she; "frankly91 I believe it would;" and she stretched out her hand almost involuntarily. Sir Charles took it, pressed it, and would have retained it, but she withdrew it gently. "No, that would never do. Mrs. Grundy would have a great deal to say on the subject; and besides, my place is at his side." If "his side" were her husband's, Mrs. Hammond was far more frequently out of place than in it. "My place is by his side," she repeated. "Ah, Sir Charles, you've no idea what a life I lead!"
He was looking at her hand as she spoke, was admiring its plumpness and whiteness, and was idly following with his eye the track of the violet veins92. There is a something legible in the back of a hand, something which chiromancy93 wots not of, and Sir Charles Bell has left unexplained. Mitford was wondering whether he read this problem aright when the last words fell on his ear; and feeling it was necessary that he should reply, said, "It must be dull, eh?"
"Dull! you've no conception how dull. And I often think I was meant for something different,--something better than a sick-man's nurse, to bear his whims94, and be patient under his irritability95. I often think--But what nonsense I'm talking!--what are my thoughts to you?"
"A great deal more than you know of. Go on, please."
"I often think that if I had been married to a man who could understand me, who could appreciate me, I should have been a very happy and a good woman. Good and happy! God knows very different from what I am now."
With her right hand she touched her eyes with a delicate little handkerchief. In her left hand she had held a small feather fan, with which she had screened herself from the fire; but the fan had fallen to the floor and lay there unnoticed, while the hand hung listlessly by her side close by Sir Charles. Gradually their hands touched, and this time she made no effort to withdraw hers from his clasp.
There was silence for a few moments, broken by her saying, "There, there is an end of that! It is but seldom that I break down, and show myself in my true colours; but there is something in you which--inexplicably to myself--won my confidence, and now I've bored you with my troubles. There, let me go now, and I'll promise never to be so silly again." She struggled to free her hand, but he held it firmly.
"Leave it there," said he; "you have not misplaced your confidence, as you know very well. Oh, you needn't shake your head; you know that I would do anything to serve you."
He spoke in a low earnest voice; and as she looked up at him with one of her long deep dreamy looks, she saw a sudden thrill run through him, and felt his hand which held hers tremble.
"I do know it," she said; "and we will be the best, the very best of friends. Now let us talk of something else."
He was with her the whole of that day in a state of dreamful happiness, drinking in the music of her voice, watching her graceful96 motions, delighted with a certain bold recklessness, a contempt for the conventional rules of society, a horror of obedience97 to prescribed ordinances98, which now and then her conversation betrayed. They saw nothing more of Miss Gillespie, save at dinner, when Mitford noticed that Mrs. Hammond made no alteration99 in her manner towards him, unless indeed it was a little more prononcé than when they had been alone. Miss Gillespie did not appear to remark it, but sat and purred from time to time in a very amiable100 and pleasant manner. She retired after dinner, and then Sir Charles's phaeton was brought round, and it was time to say adieu.
He said it in the little library, where the brother of the Irish peer kept his boots and his driving-whips, as he was lighting101 a cigar for which Mrs. Hammond held a cedar-match. As he bent102 over her, he felt her breath upon his face, and felt his whiskers touch her scented103 hair. He had not been inattentive to some Burgundy, which the invalid upstairs had specially commended to him in a message, and his blood coursed like fire through his veins. At that moment Miss Gillespie appeared at the open door with a glove which she had found in the hall, and with her dark-green eyes gleaming with rage. So Sir Charles only took Mrs. Hammond's hand, whispering "Friends?" receiving a long pressure and "Always!" for answer; and passing with a bow Miss Gillespie, whose eyes still gleamed ferociously104 sprang into his phaeton and drove off.
That last pressure of Mrs. Hammond's hand was on his hand, that last word of hers rung in his ear all the way home. All the way home his fevered fancy brought her image alluringly105 before him--more frequently, more alluringly than it had been in his morning's drive. But there was another figure which he had not thought of in the morning, and which now rose up;--the figure of a woman, green-eyed, pale-faced, cat-like in her motions. And when Sir Charles Mitford thought of her, he stamped his foot savagely106 and swore.
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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chestnuts
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| n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 )；栗色；栗树；栗色马 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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natty
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| adj.整洁的，漂亮的 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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plunges
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| n.跳进，投入vt.使投入，使插入，使陷入vi.投入，跳进，陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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standing
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admiration
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reticent
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gush
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misery
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brutal
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revels
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brute
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vice
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detests
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savage
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loathes
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loathe
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conjugal
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wrecked
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clamorous
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specimens
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inclination
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prey
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supplanted
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upbraids
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vows
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repentance
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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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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tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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obstreperous
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| adj.喧闹的，不守秩序的 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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paragon
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| n.模范，典型 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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warped
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| adj.反常的；乖戾的；（变）弯曲的；变形的v.弄弯，变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
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promenading
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| v.兜风( promenade的现在分词 ) | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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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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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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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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instructors
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| 指导者，教师( instructor的名词复数 ) | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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reiterate
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| v.重申，反复地说 | |
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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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grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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snail
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| n.蜗牛 | |
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82
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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84
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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85
cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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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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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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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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chiromancy
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| n.手相术 | |
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WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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irritability
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| n.易怒 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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ordinances
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| n.条例，法令( ordinance的名词复数 ) | |
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alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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101
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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103
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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104
ferociously
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| 野蛮地，残忍地 | |
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alluringly
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| 诱人地，妩媚地 | |
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106
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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