There was no neon sign to guide him, only a flight of stairs downward to a door with the name painted on it. Once past a solid-looking bouncer, he found a dark low-ceilinged room, decorated with abstract murals and a few mobiles. The bar was opposite him. Otherwise the walls were lined with booths, advantageously deep, and the floor was packed with tables. Most of the light came from candles on these, in old wax-crusted Chianti bottles. Patronage2 was thin this evening, perhaps a dozen couples and as many stags. They ran to type: either barely of drinking age or else quite gray, the men with their long hair and half-open blouses more ornate than most of the women, a few obvious faggots, a crop-headed girl in a man's shirt and trousers holding hands with a more female-looking one.
Hipsters, professionally futile4; students, many of whom would never leave the warm walls of academe; a Communist or two, or a disillusioned5 ex-Communist who had not found a fresh illusion, perpetually refighting the Spanish Civil War; self-appointed intellectuals who had long ago stopped learning or forgetting; dabblers in art or religion or the dance; petty racketeers, some with a college degree but no will to make use of it—Kintyre stopped enumerating6. He knew these people. One of his strictures on Margery was her weakness for such a crowd. They bored him.
Guido sat on a dais near the bar, draped around a high stool with a glass of beer handy. His fingers tickled7 the guitar strings8, they responded with life, he bore his brother's musical gifts. His voice was better than Bruce's:
"—Who lived long years ago.
He ruled the land with an iron hand
But his mind was weak and low—"
Despite himself, Kintyre was amused to find such an old acquaintance here. He wondered if Guido knew the author.
He threaded between the tables till he reached one close by the platform. Guido's glance touched him, and the curly head made a half-nod of recognition.
Since he would be overcharged anyway, Kintyre ordered an import beer and settled back to nurse it. The ballad9 went on to its indelicate conclusion. Guido ended with a crashing chord and finished his brew10 at a gulp11. There was light applause and buzzing conversation.
Guido leaned back against the wall. His eyelids12 drooped13 and he drew wholly different sounds from the strings. Talk died away. Not many here would know this song. Kintyre himself didn't recognize it before the singer had embarked14 on the haunting refrain. Then Guido looked his way, smiling a little, and he knew it was a gift to him.
"Quant' è bella giovinezza
Che si fugge tuttavia!
Di doman' non c' è certezza:
Chi vuol esse lieto, sia!"
Lorenzo the Magnificent had written it, long ago in the days of pride.
When he finished, Guido said, "Entr'acte," laid down his guitar, and came over to Kintyre's table. He stood with his left hand on his hip3, fetching out a cigarette and lighting15 it with the right.
"Thanks," said Kintyre.
Guido continued the business with the cigarette, taking his time. Kintyre returned to his beer.
"Well," said Guido finally. He grinned. "You're a cool one. I mean in every sense of the word. Let's find a booth."
They sat down on opposite sides of the recessed16 table. A handsome young waitress lit the candle for them. "On me," said Guido.
"Same, then," said Kintyre, emptying his glass.
Guido squirmed. "How d'you like the place?" he asked.
"This Parisian bistro deal is only on slack nights. Weekends, we got a combo in here."
"I think I prefer the bistro."
"I guess you would."
They fell back into silence. Guido smoked raggedly18. Kintyre felt no need for tobacco; the implacable sense of going somewhere overrode19 his self.
After the girl had brought their round, Guido said in a harsh tone, looking away from him: "Well, what is it? I got to go on again soon."
"I just came from the Michaelis'," said Kintyre.
"What?" Guido jerked. "What'd you go there for?"
"You don't—" Guido looked up. Something congealed21 in him. "I thought Corinna was just flipping," he said, very softly.
"I don't accuse anyone," said Kintyre. "I'm only a civilian22. However, the police are going to give him a rough time if he won't alibi23 himself."
"Where were you, Saturday afternoon through Monday morning?" Kintyre tossed the question off as lightly as he was able.
"Out of town," said Guido. "With some friends."
"You'd better get in touch with them, then, so they can give statements to that effect."
"They—Christ almighty25!" In the guttering26 flamelight, Kintyre saw how sweat began to film the faun countenance27.
"My personal opinion," he said, watching Guido's lips fight to stiffen28 themselves, "is that you are not involved. The fact remains29, though, you'd better account for your weekend."
"I can't force you. But without trying to play detective, I am sticking my nose a ways into this affair. Knowing the people concerned, I might possibly turn up something the police can use.
"So where did you spend your weekend, Guido?"
"Where is anyone's motive? You have a lot of shady friends. I daresay your mother had to shield you often enough from your father—or even from the authorities, once or twice." It was a guess on Kintyre's part, but he saw that he had struck a target. "Maybe of late you've gotten mixed up with something worse. Maybe Bruce found out."
"Beat feet," said Guido. "Blow before I call the bouncer."
"I'm merely trying to reason as a policeman might. I'm not accusing you, I'm warning you."
"Well," said Guido, raising his eyes again, "there wasn't anything like that going on. Certainly nothing Bruce would know about. I mean, man, he was all professor!"
"Jealousy," murmured Kintyre. "There's another motive. Bruce was the favorite. All his life he was the favorite. Oh, he deserved it—the well-behaved kid, the bright and promising34 kid. But it must have been hard for you to take, with your Italian background, where the oldest son normally has precedence. You were college material too. It just so happened Bruce was better, and there was only money for one. Of course, later you had your G.I., and didn't use it. You'd lost interest. Which doesn't change the fact: money was spent on Bruce that might otherwise have been spent on you."
Guido finished his whisky and signaled out the booth. "Crazy," he fleered. "But go on."
"Well, let's see. I imagine you're always at loggerheads with your father. That won't recommend you to a suspicious detective either. Here you are, thirty years old, and except for your military hitch35 you've always lived at home. You've sponged, between short-lived half-hearted jobs; you've drifted from one night club engagement to another, but all small time and steadily36 getting smaller. I hardly think you belong to the Church any more, do you?"
"I was kicked out," admitted Guido with a certain cockiness. "I got married a few years back. It didn't take. So I got divorced and the Church kicked me out. Not that I'd believed that guff for a long time before. But there was quite a row."
The waitress looked into the booth. Guido slid a hand down her hip. "Let's have a bottle in here," he said. "Raus!" He slapped her heartily37 on the rump. His gaze followed her toward the bar.
"Nice piece, that," he said. "Maybe I can fix you up with her, if you want."
"No, thanks," said Kintyre.
Guido was winning back his confidence. He grinned and said: "Sure. I'm the bad boy. Bruce worked part time all his undergraduate years, and made his own way since. Corinna still helps out with a slice of her paycheck, which is none too big. But me, man, I got horns, hoof38, and tail. I eat babies for breakfast.
"Only lemme tell you something about Bruce. All the time he was so holy-holy, attending Mass every Sunday he was over on this side—but avoiding Communion, come to think of it—he didn't give a damn either. He just didn't have the nerve to make a clean break with those black crows, like me."
Kintyre, who had listened to many midnight hours of troubled young confidences, said quietly: "At the time he died, Bruce hadn't yet decided39 what he believed. He wouldn't hurt his parents for what might turn out to be a moment's intellectual whim40."
Kintyre raised his brows. "I'm surprised he told you. He introduced the girl around as his fiancée. In the apartment house he said she was his wife. He was more concerned about her reputation than she was."
"Come off it," snorted Guido. "Who did he fool?"
"Nnn ... nobody who met her, I suppose. He tried, but—"
"But this was the first woman he ever had, and it was such a big event he couldn't hide it. He was a lousy liar42. Just for kicks, I badgered him till he broke down and admitted it to me."
"It was her idea," said Kintyre. "He wanted to marry her."
"Be this as it may," said Guido, "our little tin Jesus turns out to've been less than frank with everybody. So what else did he have cooking? Don't ask what I'm mixed up in. Look into his doings."
"I might," said Kintyre, "except that you have explained to me how poor a liar he was."
The girl came back with a pint43 of bourbon and a chit for Guido to sign. She leaned far over to set down a bottle of soda44 and two glasses of ice, so Kintyre could have a good look down her dress.
"Man," said Guido when she had oscillated off again, "Laura's got ants tonight. If you don't help yourself to that, I will."
"Why offer me the chance in the first place?" asked Kintyre. He ignored the proffered45 glass, sticking to his beer.
"I was going out on the town when I finished here. Know some places, they cost but they're worth it." Guido slugged his own glass full, added a dash of mix, and drank heartily. "They'll keep till tomorrow, though."
"I wonder where a chronically46 broke small-time entertainer gets money to splurge, all at once," said Kintyre.
"Never you mind," he said, in the bleakest48 voice Kintyre had yet heard him use. "Forget I mentioned it. Run along home and play with your books."
"As you wish. But when you're being officially grilled—and you will be, sonny—I wouldn't talk about Bruce in exactly the terms you used tonight. It sounds more and more as if you hated him."
Kintyre had no intention of leaving. Guido was disquietingly hard to understand. He might even, actually, be a party to the murder. Kintyre didn't want to believe that. He hoped all the tough and scornful words had been no more than a concealment49, from Guido's own inward self, of bewildered pain. But he couldn't be sure.
He would have to learn more.
He sat back, easing his body, his mind, trying not to expect anything whatsoever50. Then nothing could catch him off balance.
But the third party jarred him nonetheless.
A man came over toward the booth. He had evidently just made an inquiry51 of the waitress. He wore a good suit, painstakingly52 fashionable, and very tight black shoes. His face looked young.
Guido saw him coming and tightened53 fingers around his glass. A pulse in the singer's throat began to flutter.
"Get out," he said.
"What's wrong now?" Kintyre didn't move.
"Get out!" The eyes that turned to him were dark circles rimmed54 all around with white. The tones cracked across. "I'll see you later. There could be trouble if you stay. Blow!"
Kintyre made no doubt of it. Ordinarily he would have left, he was not one to search for a conflict. But he did not think any man could be worse to meet than the horror, and he could feel the horror still waiting to take him, as soon as he stopped having other matters to focus on.
He was young indeed, Kintyre saw, perhaps so young he needed false identification to drink. His face was almost girlish, in a broad-nosed sleepy-eyed way, and very white. The rest of him was middling tall and well muscled; he moved with a sureness which told Kintyre he was quick on his feet.
"Uh," said Guido.
The young man jerked his head backward.
"When I finish my beer, of course," said Kintyre mildly.
"Drink up," said the young man. He had no color in his voice. Its accent wasn't local, but Kintyre couldn't place the exact region. More or less Midwestern. Chicago?
It was a good excuse to get his back up. "I don't see where you have any authority in the matter," said Kintyre.
"Mother of God," whispered Guido frantically57 across the table. "Scram!"
The young man stood droop-lidded for a moment, considering. Then he said to Guido: "Okay. Another booth."
"Won't you join us here?" asked Kintyre. "You can say your say when I've gone."
The young man thought it over for a second or two. He shrugged faintly and sat down beside Kintyre, a couple of feet away. Shakily, Guido poured a drink into the unused glass of ice.
"Th-th-this is—Larkin," he said. "Terry Larkin. This is Professor Kintyre. He was a friend of my brother, is all."
"Are you from out of town, Mr. Larkin?" said Kintyre.
The young man took out a pack of cigarettes. It was the container for a standard brand, but the homemade cylinders58 inside were another matter. He lit one and sat back, unheeding of the whisky.
Kintyre would not have thought an ordinary drug addict59 anything to reckon with: the effects are too ruinous. But in spite of all the lurid60 stories, marijuana is a mild sort of dope, which leaves more control than alcohol and probably does less physiological61 damage than tobacco. If it came to trouble, Larkin was not going to be inconvenienced by a reefer or two.
"Friend of mine," said Guido. He was still tense, his smile a meaningless rictus. But a hope was becoming clear to see on him, that the episode would pass over quietly.
Kintyre did not mean for it to. There was more than coincidence here. If Larkin simply had private business to discuss, even illegal business, Guido would have had no reason to fear trouble. Larkin could merely wait until the professor took his bumbling presence home.
The trouble is, thought Kintyre, I've been asking so many questions. I might irritate Happy here.
Wherefore he dropped his bomb with some care: "Perhaps you can help me, Mr. Larkin. I suppose you know Guido's brother was murdered. Guido won't tell me where he was during that time, Saturday and Sunday, and I'm afraid he might get in trouble with the law."
Guido regarded Larkin like a beggar.
Larkin sat still. So still. It must have been half a minute before he moved. Then he looked through a woman's lashes62 at Kintyre and said:
"He was with me. We went out and picked daisies all weekend."
Kintyre smiled. "Well, if that's all—" His bomb had missed. He dropped another. "To avoid trouble, though, you'd better both go to the police with a statement."
"You're no cop," said Larkin.
"No. It was only a suggestion." Having bracketed the target, Kintyre dropped his third missile. "If they happen to ask me first what I know about it, I can refer them to you. Where are you staying?"
Larkin's face remained dead. But he laid down his cigarette and said slowly and clearly: "I told you to run along home. This time I mean it, daddy-o."
Kintyre bunched his muscles—only for an instant, then he remembered that he must be at ease, at ease.
"I'm beginning to wonder what you really were doing last weekend, Terry," he said.
There was hardly a visible movement. He heard the click, and the switchblade poised64 on the bench, aimed at his throat.
"End of the line," Larkin told him without rancor65. "On your way. If you know what's good for you, you won't come back."
"Do you know," murmured Kintyre, "I think this really is a case for the police. Ever hear of citizen's arrest?"
Larkin's blade spurted67 upward. It was an expert, underhand sticking motion; Kintyre could have died with hardly a noise, in that booth designed not to be looked into from outside.
From the moment the steel emerged, he had realized he was going to get cut. That was half the technique of facing a knife. His last remark had been absolutely sincere: the law needed Larkin a prisoner, now. His left arm moved simultaneously68 with Larkin's right. The blade struck his forearm and furrowed69 keenly through the sleeve. It opened the skin beneath, but little more, for Kintyre was already lifting the arm, violently, as the follow-through slid Larkin's wrist across. He smacked70 the knife hand back against the booth wall.
His own right hand slipped under Larkin's knee. Then he half stood up; his left came down to assist; and he threw Larkin out of the booth.
He followed, out where there was room to deal properly with the boy. Larkin had hit a table (Western movie style, grinned part of Kintyre) and the whole business crashed and skated over the floor.
The bouncer ran ponderously71 to break up the fight. Kintyre had nothing against him, except that any delay would give Larkin too much time. He ran to meet the bouncer, therefore, stopped a fractional second before collision, and took the body's impact on his hip. It was elementary art from there on in. The bouncer bounced.
Larkin was back on his feet, spitting fury and blood. He'd lost his knife—should be easy to wrap up—Hold it!
The second switchblade gleamed among candles. Kintyre had almost impaled72 himself. He fell, in the judo73 manner, cushioned by an arm. Whetted74 metal buzzed where he had been. Rolling over on his back, Kintyre waited for Larkin to jump at him. Larkin was not that na?ve. He picked a Chianti bottle off a table and threw it.
Kintyre saved his eyes with an arm hastily raised. The blow was numbing75. He whipped to his feet again. The bartender circled on the fringes, gibbering and waving a bungstarter: the typical barroom fight is ridiculous, these two meant what they were doing. The bouncer dragged himself to his hands and knees.
"Call the police," snapped Kintyre. "And for God's sake, some of these tablecloths76 will start burning any minute!"
The customers were milling away. One of the fairies screamed; the butch stood on a chair and watched with dry avid77 eyes. Larkin backed off along the wall. Kintyre followed. Larkin wasn't foolish enough to rush; Kintyre would have to.
He waited till there was a small space clear of tables before him. Then he crouched78 low and ran in. His left arm was up, for a shield. He'd take that toadstabber in the biceps if he must.
Larkin, back against the bar, drew into himself. Almost on one knee, thought Kintyre as he plunged79 in, like a Roman gladiator trying for the belly80. A tactical change was called for.
He shifted course and met the bar six feet from Larkin. His palms came down on it, he used his own speed to leap frogwise up to its surface, pivoting81 to face Larkin. He made one jump along the bar. His second was into the air. He landed with both feet on Larkin's back, before the other had more than half straightened.
Larkin went down, the knife flying from his hand. Kintyre fell off and went in a heap. This wasn't judo, it wasn't anything; Trig would laugh himself sick if he could watch. But—
Kintyre rolled back. Larkin was climbing unsteadily to his feet. Kintyre pulled him down and got a choking hold from behind. He lay on Larkin's back, his legs and sheer weight controlling the body, one arm around the throat, hands gripping wrists.
"Okay," he panted. "Squirm away. You'll just strangle yourself, you know."
Larkin hissed82 an obscenity. He was lighter83, but Kintyre could feel a hard vitality84 in him. No matter, he was held now.
Something landed on his head.
It was like an explosion. For a moment he spiraled down toward night. He felt Larkin wriggle86 free, he groped mindlessly but his hands were empty and the world was blackness and great millstones.
Then he was aware once more. Guido crouched beside him, shaken and sobbing87, and pawed at his bleeding scalp with a handkerchief. "Oh, God, Doc, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Are you hurt?"
"Out the back door. Christ, Doc, I had to, you don't know what—Mary, Mother of God, forgive me, but—"
Kintyre stood up, leaning on Guido. A small riot was developing among the clientele and the help. He ignored it, brushing someone aside without even looking. The singer's stool lay at his feet. Guido must have clobbered89 him with that.
"Suppose you tell me why," he said.
"I—Get out. Get out before the cops come. I'll cover for you—tell them I don't know who you are, you were a stranger and—Get out!" Guido pushed at him, still weeping.
"I don't have anything to fear from them," said Kintyre. "It strikes me that maybe you do."
"Maybe," whispered Guido.
"Bruce died in a nasty way."
"This isn't—nothing to do with—I swear it, Doc, so help me God I do. Think I'd ever—It's something else, for Christ's sake!" Guido spoke90 in a slurred91 muted scream. "It's not only the cops I'm scared of, Doc, it's the others. They'd kill me!"
Kintyre studied him for a long second.
After all, he thought, this was Bruce's brother. And Corinna's.
"Okay," he said. "I promise you nothing. I, at least, will insist on knowing what this is all about. When I do, perhaps I'll decide the police ought to be told, and perhaps not. But for now, good night, Guido."
He turned to go out the rear exit. Faintly through the main door, he heard approaching sirens, but there was time enough to get into a back alley and thence to his car.
He realized, suddenly, with an unsurprised drowsy92 delight like the aftermath of love, that the horror had left him. When he continued his search for Larkin and for that more terrible thing which Larkin must represent, it would be from honor, because he was taking it on himself not to tell the police at once that there was a mansticker loose in their city. He would not be merely running from his private ghosts.
Tonight he would be able to sleep.
He paused at the door, looking back. "Good night, Guido," he repeated. "And thanks again for the song."
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收听单词发音
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1
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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3
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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5
disillusioned
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| a.不再抱幻想的，大失所望的，幻想破灭的 | |
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6
enumerating
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| v.列举，枚举，数( enumerate的现在分词 ) | |
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7
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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8
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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10
brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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12
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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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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recessed
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| v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的过去式和过去分词 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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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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raggedly
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| 破烂地，粗糙地 | |
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overrode
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| 越控( override的过去式 )； （以权力）否决； 优先于； 比…更重要 | |
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gene
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| n.遗传因子，基因 | |
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congealed
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| v.使凝结，冻结( congeal的过去式和过去分词 )；（指血）凝结 | |
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civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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guttering
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| n.用于建排水系统的材料；沟状切除术；开沟 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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stiffen
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| v.(使)硬，(使)变挺，(使)变僵硬 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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truculence
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| n.凶猛，粗暴 | |
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pouted
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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shacking
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| vi.未婚而同居（shack的现在分词形式） | |
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42
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chronically
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| ad.长期地 | |
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taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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bleakest
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| 阴冷的( bleak的最高级 )； （状况）无望的； 没有希望的； 光秃的 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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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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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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52
painstakingly
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| adv. 费力地 苦心地 | |
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53
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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54
rimmed
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| adj.有边缘的，有框的v.沿…边缘滚动；给…镶边 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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cylinders
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| n.圆筒( cylinder的名词复数 )；圆柱；汽缸；（尤指用作容器的）圆筒状物 | |
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addict
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| v.使沉溺；使上瘾；n.沉溺于不良嗜好的人 | |
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lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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physiological
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| adj.生理学的，生理学上的 | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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rancor
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| n.深仇，积怨 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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spurted
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的过去式和过去分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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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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smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ponderously
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impaled
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| 钉在尖桩上( impale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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judo
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| n.柔道 | |
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whetted
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| v.（在石头上）磨（刀、斧等）( whet的过去式和过去分词 )；引起，刺激（食欲、欲望、兴趣等） | |
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numbing
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| adj.使麻木的，使失去感觉的v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的现在分词 ) | |
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tablecloths
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| n.桌布，台布( tablecloth的名词复数 ) | |
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avid
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| adj.热心的；贪婪的；渴望的；劲头十足的 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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pivoting
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| n.绕轴旋转，绕公共法线旋转v.（似）在枢轴上转动( pivot的现在分词 )；把…放在枢轴上；以…为核心，围绕（主旨）展开 | |
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hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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83
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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wheezed
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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87
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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88
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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clobbered
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| v.狠揍， （不停）猛打( clobber的过去式和过去分词 )；彻底击败 | |
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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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slurred
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| 含糊地说出( slur的过去式和过去分词 )； 含糊地发…的声； 侮辱； 连唱 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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