Calthorpe came often to see the Denes after the inquest; no one could have been kinder, more considerate, or more attentive1 than Calthorpe.
No doubt the Denes would have preferred to keep out Calthorpe, as they had kept out every one else, but he was the overseer, and they tolerated him.
He came on Saturday afternoons, on Sundays, and sometimes on ordinary week-days, during the evening.
He would spend a little time talking to Silas, and then he would knock at Nancy’s door and ask her for confidential2 information.
“Nobody can tell me so well how Silas is getting on as you can, Mrs. Dene,” he would say; “may I come in for a minute?” or else “would you stroll down the road?”
Nan never strolled down the road, but she always let him into her kitchen and gave him a chair beside 66the fire. Sometimes her husband was there, sometimes he was not, but in either case he could not affect the conversation. Nan told Calthorpe one day how it had taken her a little while to become accustomed to the disabilities of the brothers, and to remember that whereas Silas could hear and speak but could not see, Gregory could see but could neither hear nor speak.
“I used to stop and think; now of course I know without thinking. And really you wouldn’t believe how one can get on with Gregory: I talk to him with my fingers like I talk to you with my tongue, it’s no bother. He’s very quick, too, at understanding.”
Calthorpe had already noticed that she never lost an opportunity of praising her husband and advertising4 her own contentment. She was more reticent5 about her brother-in-law, and when once Calthorpe asked her why, she replied after a slight hesitation6.
“Silas can speak for himself; he doesn’t need any one to speak for him.”
“He can certainly speak!” said Calthorpe. “Do you remember how he startled us all at the inquest? why, by the time he’d finished, half the folk were wondering whether they shouldn’t throw themselves 67into the floods, and the other half whether they shouldn’t go home and strangle their families!”
It was the first time he had directly mentioned the inquest to Nan, and he did so now in full recollection of the effect Silas’s speech had had upon her. He had hesitated long over the problem whether he should ever allude7 to it or no, but recognising the subject as the shadow always in the background of their talks, he had decided8 to attack it openly, his intent, as usual, kindly9.
“It’s worried you a good deal, I know,” he added.
“Oh,” she began,—he knew that little “Oh,” by which she prefaced her remarks and which always betrayed her nervousness,—“Oh, I don’t think we ought to talk about it, do you?”
“You mean, you don’t want to talk about it?”
She got up in a restless way, and busied herself with a vase of wild flowers upon the dresser, turning herself so that her face was hidden from him.
“Mrs. Dene, you don’t want to talk about it?”
Calthorpe was very remorseful11 to feel that he had been the cause of this distress, and he came over to the dresser where she stood arranging the flowers.
68“Very well; of course we will never speak of it again,” he said, trying to soothe12 her, but knowing that if his repentance13 took too affectionate a form she would immediately shy away from him. “What are you doing with those flowers? look, you have upset some of the water! here’s my handkerchief to mop it up with.”
As she took the handkerchief he saw that there were tears on her cheek, as clear as the drops of water she had spilt from the flowers; but with his large, rough tact14 he pretended not to notice.
“Where did you find so many flowers, this time of year? Primroses15 in February! Catkins, of course, and grasses, and a sprig of plum blossom....”
“And some wild violets,” she said, showing him. “Smell them, how sweet!”
“Well, I wish I had somebody like you to put flowers about my place,” he said in a rush of sentiment.
“Will you take these? Yes, please!” crushing them, all wet as they were, into his hands. “I got them in a copse over by Thorpe’s Howland last Sunday, I walked over there....”
“What, by yourself?”
“No, with Silas and Mr. Morgan; it was Gregory’s 69Sunday on at the factory. We started after dinner, Silas was in a good temper, and I was happy to get away from the floods for a bit. You know, there’s a belt of higher ground away there to the south, which never gets flooded. It was nice to see the green again, and to go through woods where the trees didn’t stand with their roots soaking and rotting in water. I hate the floods, they’re so cruel; cruel in a dull, flat sort of way.... Gregory likes them; they make him grin. Of course, Silas can’t see them, but if he could I’m certain he’d like them too; he’s always asking me to tell him just what they’re like. But that Sunday he’d forgotten about them. He was as cheerful as could be, repeating poetry all the time as we went along the lanes; he kept stopping and saying “Now listen to this!” and waving time with his stick as he recited, and Mr. Morgan kept capping what he said, and they laughed a lot, trying to outdo each other.” She smiled at the recollection, leaning with her back against the dresser; then Calthorpe saw the smile disappear from her lips as though at another darker remembrance, and the scared look came into her eyes.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Oh. Well, then we went on till we got to 70Thorpe’s Howland, and we made Silas sit under a beech-tree while we looked for primroses....”
“You and Linnet Morgan?”
“Yes, I and Mr. Morgan. Silas sat under the tree for a bit, pulling up the moss16 all round him; then he got up and leant against the tree-trunk, saying more poetry; Shakespeare, I think it was. Mr. Morgan beckoned17 to me to come and listen, so we crept up on tiptoe, and Silas went on like that for about half an hour; I don’t know how he manages to keep it all in his head. I don’t like it so much when he starts his poetry in the kitchen, but in the wood it seemed all right; it might have been part of the wood,” she said, lowering her voice and hanging her head with her pretty, sudden shyness, and scrutinising her finger nails.
“How do you mean: part of the wood?”
“Well,—there was a lot of patchy sunlight on the ground, coming through the trees, and the moss that Silas had torn up smelt18 bitter,—like earth,—and the primroses smelt soft and sweet. There was the sort of big sand-pit in the bank, where we had picked them. There were the trees, so gray and naked. There was Silas,—Mr. Morgan whispered to me that Silas looked like a tree himself, a tree that had 71been blasted by lightning, and when he said that, I saw he was right; even Silas’s arms, waving about, were like the branches.”
“Well, well!” said Calthorpe, scratching his chin.
“Mr. Morgan’s like a son to Silas already,” she went on; “he’s gay with him, and he’s as gentle as a woman. He’s never put out by Silas’s ways—never seems to notice them, in fact. And Silas likes him because he can talk to him by the hour about all the things he thinks about and reads about.”
“But Silas always talks to everybody.”
“Yes, he’s so greedy for an audience that he’ll put up with never getting a sensible answer, sooner than not talk at all. But Mr. Morgan’s got education; he’ll argue with Silas; he’s like a whetstone to a knife. He’ll get Silas into a proper excited rage, and then laugh, and Silas takes it in good part. It was a grand day when he came to live in the cottage.”
“Yes,—well, I must be going,” said Calthorpe, moving away, and he went after a rather sulky good-bye, very unlike his usual friendliness19 and promises to come again.
II
Nan stood still, with a finger to her lip, after he had gone, then she opened the door and ran quickly 72after him. He heard her steps, and her voice calling his name and, turning, he saw her, a bright flushed spot on each small cheek-bone, with strands20 of dark hair blowing across her face.
“Oh, Mr. Calthorpe, I haven’t offended you, have I?”
(“How tiny she is, and how concerned she looks!” he thought, and nearly laughed with tenderness.)
“Bless me, no, my dear!” he said, patting her arm as one might pat a child’s.
“I’m so glad; I was afraid ... you went away so suddenly.... You forgot the flowers; here, I’ve brought them.” She held them out, and continued to look anxiously up into his face. “Sure I didn’t say anything to offend you—sure?”
“Sure! you’re very sweet,” he said, taking the flowers.
“You’ve been so kind; I think you’re my best friend,” she said impulsively21, and she put her hand on his cuff22. “I must go back now—but you’re not cross, are you?”
“Not a bit; not in the very least.”
He walked away shaking his head rather ruefully.
“She won’t come for an ordinary stroll with me of an evening, yet she tears after me without a hat 73or a coat, all upset, for anybody to see! She’s got a good heart.... She’s never herself when those Denes are about. But when she’s herself she’s just as sweet as she can be. Poor little thing! Am I a fool to go there?” and thinking these thoughts he hurried on, carrying the flowers she had given him.
III
He continued, however, to go there, but he made his visits more rare, reflecting, with a shade of surprise at his own considerateness, that it would be doing her a bad turn to cause gossip in the village. He was, after all, the overseer, while she was only the wife of a factory-hand and a factory-hand herself, so that he could not visit the Denes as another man might, on a footing of equality. The death of Silas’s wife had given him an excuse at first for frequenting the double cottage, but that affair was now a month old, and was already beginning to be forgotten in the rude world of the factory-village, where accidents were more or less common. Silas himself never alluded23 to it. He seemed, as Nan had said, to live in comparative content with Linnet Morgan. Linnet Morgan was young, educated, and extremely clever; and so merry that Silas’s dark 74moods usually ended by being dispelled24 before his laughter. Linnet Morgan seemed, in fact, to have taken charge of Silas’s life.
So much, Calthorpe thought, for Linnet Morgan.
But Nan,—ah! Nan was winning and tantalising, demure25 sometimes and sometimes impetuous; Nan was shy but confiding26; little and sweet and windblown; and Calthorpe tried to feel large and fatherly towards Nan. She evidently welcomed him, gave him his chair by the fire; then went about her occupations, stopping to chatter27 when she felt inclined, asking him his opinion with her pretty head held on one side and her hands on her hips28, singing over her work,—adopting him very much, in fact, as an inmate29 of her household. This method might put him at his ease, but it also mortified30 him. She accepted his visits with a lack of self-consciousness, he sometimes thought, that would have been mortifying31 to any man. He supposed that Gregory was fond of her, but the difficulty of communicating with Gregory rendered too tedious the effort of discovering his thoughts. Calthorpe usually nodded pleasantly to Gregory, and left their acquaintance at that. He thought Gregory a sneering33, sour kind of fellow, jealously wrapped up in his machinery34; 75he would not let Calthorpe look at his designs, but covered them over with both hands outspread, when once the overseer bent35 with a friendly interest over his shoulder.
But Nan,—no, never had Calthorpe blundered across so delectable36 a being as Nan. He cursed himself for having hitherto overlooked the grace and delicacy37 which set her so apart from the other working women; he cursed himself anew each time he watched her as she hung muslin curtains across her windows, or arranged and re-arranged her wild flowers upon the dresser. He had to make his observations for himself, for she told him nothing; she did not tell him how she wilted38 daily as she passed through the factory on her way to her own work, which lay among the heaps of white powder and the myriads39 of little scent-bottles, and was congenial to her,—soft powder, coloured boxes, gilt40 labels, pretty cut-glass, and a constant rainbow of ribbons. She snipped41 them with her scissors, sitting on a high stool before the table, in company with rows of other girls, all in blue overalls42; and the ends of ribbon fell in a scatter43 of confetti around her. She noticed everything that the other girls did not notice. They only lifted their heads to gape44 76at the visitors who were being taken over the factory, but Nan, gentle, uncommenting, and inwardly blandished, dwelt with pleasure upon the bright lightness of the big room, upon the pale sunlight that fell on the bent heads of the girls,—some of them had fair, sleek45 hair that looked like spun46 silk in the sun,—upon the powdery cleanliness of the floor, and the scrubbed expanse of the tables between the armies of shining little bottles. She hated the rest of the factory, that smelt and smoked and clanked; but this one room approached her secret vision of diaphaneity and seemliness.
IV
For who amongst men and women lives without the secret vision of some spot, either known or merely conjectural48, whether of red moors49 or sheltered meadows, mirrored coasts or battlemented mountains? Hers was a pitifully simple dream. Sun and water, and always light: light everywhere, streaming and pouring in, because light to her meant happiness. The house must be small, the rooms low; size alarmed her. She would be too timid to dwell beneath vaulted50 roofs. In her mind she knew its geography intimately, and the disposal of its garden; 77it stood in the heart of undulating cornlands, not very far from the sea. She had never seen it. And with whom she shared it she did not know. Certainly not with Gregory. Gregory’s exclusion51 was not deliberate; it was unthinking, and, had it been put to her in words, might have perplexed52 and dismayed her; nevertheless, it was a fact that Gregory’s step never sounded upon the tiles of her dream-passage, nor did his belongings53 lie in the litter of joint-proprietorship about the rooms.
V
Instead of this she was given flooded, low-lying country, a dark and ancient abbey, and the clanging factory served by fire and iron. She shuddered54 at the cranes which discharged the coal from the slow canal-barges55 of the factory’s private canal. She compared the barges to beetles56, and the cranes that poised57 above them, to the pincer-armed antenn? of some gigantic spider, descending58 to devour59. When they pivoted60 slowly with their dangling61 burdens, she shrank, thinking that the cable must break, either from accident or mischief62, and drop the weight upon the men below. She thought the factory would relish63 that. She never went near the 78canal wharves64 or the railway line if she could possibly avoid it, but sometimes she had to take Silas to the “shops”—the packing sheds where he worked, and which were near the railway. He seemed often to ask her to take him there since Hannah had died, and on the way there he would talk about the accident. Nan was unable to answer. She led him conscientiously65, holding her black shawl about her head with her free hand, and turning her profile away from him; but though she was careful of his steps she could never force an answer between her lips. No, not if she had known that he would guess his secret had been surprised; nothing could have loosened her response,—yet her terror of him was extreme. She had often to constrain66 herself from crying out. He walked boldly, really knowing the way without her guidance, and talking in a loud voice, swinging his arms, so that sometimes people stopped to stare at him. He rehearsed and repeated every detail of that day, making a grievance67 that he had not known of his wife’s death until three hours after its occurrence, and Nan shuddered, wondering how he could infuse so much vehemence68 into a lie. Had he perhaps persuaded himself of its truth? But she little knew the rotations69 moving in his brain, 79that dwelt upon the murder as a vindication70 of his own cunning and courage. That was a deed planned and executed by no bungler71 and no coward! He delighted fearfully in its elaboration. With every phrase he was risking a slip, as a man walking in a dangerous place risks his limbs with every step. True, he held Nan in contempt, but she did well enough for him to practice on; any suspicion that might raise its head in her mind could easily be laid again by his inventive brain. And after she had left him, he felt flattered and gratified by his own daring.
VI
A coward! was he a coward? Surely a blind man had very little choice; deeds of danger were debarred from him, but Silas dwelt amorously72 upon such deeds—courage pre-eminent amongst the high attributes that fascinated, baffled, and angered him.
By a twist of his brain, through his blindness, courage meant light. Courage shone. It allured73 him, so that he turned constantly round the image. There was nothing moral about this allurement74, it was as pagan as any cult32 of beauty. Courage moreover—physical courage—carried with it the thought of death, which to his egoism was so supremely75 and 80morbidly entrancing. That he should cease to be?... he could never adopt this idea. He went up to it, and fingered it, but its clammy touch revolted him, and he violently rejected it always. But he returned to it again and again, working back his way in a roundabout fashion, disguising the phantom76 under a rich cloak of phrases.
VII
He was scarcely more wary77 in his dealings with Lady Malleson than with Nan, not that he underestimated her intelligence, but because she awoke all his boastfulness, pandered78 to it, stimulated79 him as nobody had in the whole of his highly experimental life. The comparative frequency of his interviews with her was kept strictly80 secret. It was now no longer Nan who led him to Malleson Place, as on the first occasion, but Hambley, whom Silas had terrorised into discretion81. Nor did those meetings invariably take place in the house, but sometimes in a summer-house, away from the gossip of the servants, while Hambley was sent to skulk82 about the park, with orders not to return before an hour, or two hours; and even once, when Sir Robert was in London, Hambley was dismissed 81until midnight. He offered no objection; the employment was after his own heart, and Lady Malleson, unknown to Silas, made it well worth his while. He knew that he was safe enough over this. When the lady brought Silas to the garden gate, and gave him over to Hambley, Silas could not see what passed between her hand and Hambley’s. He could not see Hambley’s grin of thanks, or his lifted cap, or Lady Malleson’s nod of smiling complicity that enjoined83 silence. He could only stand by, waiting to be led away, during the little farce84 that was never neglected:
“Well, good-night, Dene; so glad you’re getting on well.”
“Good-night, my lady; thank you.”
“Good-night, Hambley. Take care of Dene going through the park.”
“Yes, my lady; good-night, my lady.”
Then they would turn and go, Hambley leading Silas with care, while Christine Malleson re-locked the garden gate and watched them, always reluctantly, out of sight.
VIII
That first occasion!
She had long resisted the impulse to send for him. 82How long? She did not know; every day had been a week, since the wish first consciously awoke in her. What had deterred85 her? she did not know that either; perhaps a superstitious86 shrinking, an instinct that the amusement might turn to a wild beast of danger as soon as she exchanged the tractable87 wraith88 of her own evoking89 for a human creature of independent intentions, of will and muscle. So she had prolonged the period of evasion90, knowing perfectly91 well that at the end of the road she was descending with such restrained, deliberate footsteps, stood the figure of Silas, with folded arms, waiting for her. Sometimes she had wondered whether the whole thing were not the creation of her fancy. The matter had grown in her mind, since she had first heard from her husband the story of the inquest, until the blind man now accompanied every moment of her day; and so strong was this fateful companionship, that she believed Silas, down in the village, must be living in equivalent consciousness of her nearness and the rapid convergence of their lives. Still she attempted to persuade herself that her own idle mind was alone responsible; sometimes with a laugh, sometimes with a shrug92, she had tried to dismiss the too persistent93 figure.
83She had not believed her own lips when she heard them giving the order to fetch Silas Dene.
IX
When they came to tell her that he had arrived she had glanced at herself in the mirror, then remembering that he was blind, she thought, “Absurd!”
“Who is with him?” she asked the servant.
“A young woman, my lady.”
“Very well; give her some tea in the housekeeper’s room. Bring Dene up here.”
She lay on her sofa, waiting for him to be brought up. She hoped his blindness was not disfiguring, and suddenly the matter lost its almost mystical value, and she saw it in a prosaic94 light: why had she been so foolish as to obey her whim95 and send for this man? she knew that she was very unskilled at talking to what she called “common people,” even when she came across them accidentally, such as gardeners; they were always taciturn and hostile, and she thought vaguely96 that they would be more so within four walls even than in the open air. The prospect97 of being closeted in her sitting-room98 alone with a factory-hand,—he was nothing else,—appalled her. Perhaps he would spit. Perhaps he 84would smell.... In any case, what should she find to say to him?
He was there, standing3 by the door where the servant had left him, with the special stillness of the blind in a strange place. Contrary to her expectation, he did not wear a beard. She saw at once that he had an extraordinary proud, fine-featured face, and that his blindness was not in the least disfiguring. Indeed, his eyes were so dark and so full of fire that it was hard to believe them sightless. He had nothing of the smartened-up appearance that she was accustomed to associate with the poor when visiting the rich. He had so clearly taken no trouble either to brush his hair or change his coat, that she remembered with a twinge of annoyance99 her own glance into the mirror when his arrival was announced. Her embarrassment100 diminished as she realised that he was himself neither intimidated101 nor impressed.
“Oh, Dene,” she said, “I am glad to see you. Sir Robert has been telling me a little about your circumstances, and I wondered whether I could help you in any way? So I asked you to come up here to speak to me.” She was satisfied with her opening, but felt the last phrase to be weak, a falling 85away; his quietness, and the knowledge that he could not see her, disconcerted her.
“In what way did you mean exactly, my lady?” he asked.
How could she answer that question? Mention of money was impossible; she knew that already, although she had only heard him pronounce nine words. She was driven up against the truth that she had wanted to see him for no other purpose than her own distraction102, that any other reason would be a mere47 pretext103, and she had a swift impulse to tell him this, confident that he would not misunderstand. So much already did she feel him to be not only her social, but also her intellectual equal. (Social was a wrong word, an absurd word; it could never be used, with all the artifice104 and fallacy that it implied, in connection with Silas Dene. Her discoveries went rapidly. But she must give some sort of answer.)
“I meant nothing exactly. I thought that if there was anything I could do, you would tell me.”
“This is the first time, my lady, that I remember your sending for any one from the factory up to Malleson Place.”
She was astonished at that; his tone amounted 86to an accusation105. He was so grave, and she used in her mind the word “chained,” as most nearly expressing his obvious reserve of force.
“The truth is,” she said, ceasing to lie at full length upon the sofa, and sitting upright, “that I was very much interested in what Sir Robert told me, and thought I would like to see you for myself.”
“As your ladyship has seen me now,” he suggested, “and there is nothing I want, I can go?”
As soon as he wanted to go, she wanted him to stay. She got up and came to help him, saying, “But I should like to talk to you for a little, Dene; give me your hand and I will take you to a chair.”
He shook his head, and said that he preferred to stand. She had to go back to her sofa thwarted106, though in so small a thing, while he remained by the door. He made her sitting-room appear tawdry, with its little gilt chairs and lacy cushions and pink carpet, so much did he rob people and objects of all but their true significance. She was almost ashamed of her surroundings, and was thankful that he could not see them, but she thought that it would take more than mere blindness to stay his more perilous108 vision down through the embellishments into anybody’s soul. She was conscious of saying to herself, 87“This won’t do,” and of taking herself sharply in hand. “This is to be my game,” she insisted, “not his.”
X
She had failed entirely109 to make him sit down, for he continued to refuse her invitation with the same haughty110 gravity, and responded not at all to the one or two phrases with which she tried him.
“I have heard reports of your fame as a public speaker, Dene,” she said with a propitiatory111 smile, forgetting for the moment that her smiles were wasted on him.
“A lot of the chaps speak, my lady.”
“But without your advantages. Sir Robert tells me you are a very highly-educated man.”
“No such luck, my lady.”
“Oh, come, Dene? Sir Robert says you are a great reader.”
“Somebody must ha’ been kiddin’ Sir Robert, my lady.”
She delighted in him. He was perfectly grave, and affected112 a Lincolnshire accent, which he certainly had not possessed113 when he first came into the room; a subtle insolence114, but one which she did 88not resent, for it demonstrated him as unwilling115 to prance116 out his tricks, cheaply, at the bidding of a sophisticated curiosity, and she was a woman who knew how to esteem117 superficial, although perhaps not fundamental dignity. (Malleson had fundamental dignity, which, poor man, had not served him to very much purpose with his wife.) Also, she was emphatically a woman who maintained that the first duty of sex in the game was to be a danger to the opposite sex. Dene—certainly Dene fulfilled both these conditions! Acquaintance such as hers with him was like a sojourn118 at the foot of a volcano which might at any moment erupt. She relished119 the peril107 of the game. How she stirred him to extravagance after extravagance! how she poked120 and probed and decoyed his mind! encouraging, insinuating121, blowing upon the ready spark; “baiting Silas Dene,” she called it, as a baron122 might have said, “baiting the bear”; all the better sport because she knew it to be so quick with danger. She sent for him as often as she dared, and when he was absent she thought about him, but always as an experiment, an intellectual exercise. She was too cold-blooded a schemer to allow herself to think of him now as anything else....
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
attentive
|
|
| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
confidential
|
|
| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
advertising
|
|
| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
reticent
|
|
| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
allude
|
|
| v.提及，暗指 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
distress
|
|
| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
remorseful
|
|
| adj.悔恨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
soothe
|
|
| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
repentance
|
|
| n.懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
tact
|
|
| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
primroses
|
|
| n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 )；淡黄色；追求享乐（招至恶果） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
moss
|
|
| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
beckoned
|
|
| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
smelt
|
|
| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
friendliness
|
|
| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
strands
|
|
| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
impulsively
|
|
| adv.冲动地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
cuff
|
|
| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
alluded
|
|
| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
dispelled
|
|
| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
demure
|
|
| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
confiding
|
|
| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
chatter
|
|
| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
hips
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
inmate
|
|
| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
mortified
|
|
| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
mortifying
|
|
| adj.抑制的，苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
cult
|
|
| n.异教，邪教；时尚，狂热的崇拜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
sneering
|
|
| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
machinery
|
|
| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
delectable
|
|
| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
delicacy
|
|
| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
wilted
|
|
| （使）凋谢，枯萎( wilt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
myriads
|
|
| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
gilt
|
|
| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
snipped
|
|
| v.剪( snip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
overalls
|
|
| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
scatter
|
|
| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
gape
|
|
| v.张口，打呵欠，目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
sleek
|
|
| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
spun
|
|
| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
conjectural
|
|
| adj.推测的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
moors
|
|
| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
vaulted
|
|
| adj.拱状的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
exclusion
|
|
| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
perplexed
|
|
| adj.不知所措的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
belongings
|
|
| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
shuddered
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
barges
|
|
| 驳船( barge的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
beetles
|
|
| n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
poised
|
|
| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
descending
|
|
| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
devour
|
|
| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
pivoted
|
|
| adj.转动的，回转的，装在枢轴上的v.（似）在枢轴上转动( pivot的过去式和过去分词 )；把…放在枢轴上；以…为核心，围绕（主旨）展开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
dangling
|
|
| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
mischief
|
|
| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
relish
|
|
| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
wharves
|
|
| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
conscientiously
|
|
| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
constrain
|
|
| vt.限制，约束；克制，抑制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
grievance
|
|
| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
vehemence
|
|
| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
rotations
|
|
| 旋转( rotation的名词复数 )； 转动； 轮流； 轮换 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
vindication
|
|
| n.洗冤，证实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
Bungler
|
|
| n.笨拙者，经验不够的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
amorously
|
|
| adv.好色地，妖艳地；脉；脉脉；眽眽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
allured
|
|
| 诱引，吸引( allure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
allurement
|
|
| n.诱惑物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
supremely
|
|
| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
phantom
|
|
| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
wary
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
pandered
|
|
| v.迎合（他人的低级趣味或淫欲）( pander的过去式和过去分词 )；纵容某人；迁就某事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
stimulated
|
|
| a.刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
strictly
|
|
| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
discretion
|
|
| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
skulk
|
|
| v.藏匿；潜行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
enjoined
|
|
| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
farce
|
|
| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
deterred
|
|
| v.阻止，制止( deter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
superstitious
|
|
| adj.迷信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
tractable
|
|
| adj.易驾驭的；温顺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
wraith
|
|
| n.幽灵；骨瘦如柴的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
evoking
|
|
| 产生，引起，唤起( evoke的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
evasion
|
|
| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
shrug
|
|
| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
persistent
|
|
| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
prosaic
|
|
| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
whim
|
|
| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
sitting-room
|
|
| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
annoyance
|
|
| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
embarrassment
|
|
| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
intimidated
|
|
| v.恐吓；威胁adj.害怕的；受到威胁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
distraction
|
|
| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
pretext
|
|
| n.借口，托词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
artifice
|
|
| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
accusation
|
|
| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
thwarted
|
|
| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
peril
|
|
| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
perilous
|
|
| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
haughty
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
propitiatory
|
|
| adj.劝解的；抚慰的；谋求好感的；哄人息怒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
insolence
|
|
| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
unwilling
|
|
| adj.不情愿的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
prance
|
|
| v.（马）腾跃，(人)神气活现地走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
esteem
|
|
| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
sojourn
|
|
| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
relished
|
|
| v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
poked
|
|
| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
insinuating
|
|
| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
baron
|
|
| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |