"Just say a Mr. Smith," Kerrigan announced importantly. Across the Russian boy's harsh features there was the shadow of contempt. He reappeared in an instant and held open a door for Kerrigan.
Kerrigan had been expecting something of the dark, perfumed, cheap interior of a palmist's studio; or the meretricious3 mystery of a clairvoyant4 apartment with its crystal glass on faded velvet5. Even Kerrigan's untrained Broadwayish mind was awe6-struck by the huge, somber7 living-room into which he was ushered8. He sensed, rather than understood, the richness of the pictures and hangings, the beautiful ceiling. Only in books and papers had he seen anything like the great white borzoi lying before the roaring fireplace like a patient cat. The man he had come to see was sitting by the fire; dead-white features against a black background. Lean, emaciated9, with his full black beard, black cassock, and high black headdress of the Greek monk10, he seemed more spirit than body. He looked at Kerrigan with the insolence11 of a prince.
"Yes?" He did not ask Kerrigan to sit down.
Kerrigan had planned a neat speech, somewhat humorous, cynical12, patronizing, but it had fled from his memory. He felt a sort of vague terror, as though this man were probing, uninvited, inside his soul and mind.
"I heard—down-town—" he muttered.
"Yes!" the monk said impatiently. "What do you want me to do?"
"I wondered, Mr.—ah, Mr.—"
"Brother Sergius!"
"I wondered, Brother Sergius, if it were possible to hold converse13—or see—or have some communication—some certain communication—with a person who 's been dead some time, some fourteen years—"
The monk was looking at him keenly. What had this well-fed business man, with the sweeping14 mustache and obviously massaged15 face, to do with the dim inhabitants of Death?
"How did this man die?" the monk Sergius asked.
"By accident," Matthew Kerrigan answered. "He drowned himself."
"What interest have you in him?"
"They say he killed himself on account of me," Kerrigan's voice broke out as though he were pleading to a judge. "It's not true!"
"You don't know whether it's true or not?" The Greek monk was studying Kerrigan's terrified features.
"Can it be done?" Kerrigan was surprised at himself, so hoarse16 his voice sounded, so sincere his tones. "I must know about it. Can it be done?"
"It can be done." The monk nodded.
"If there 's any fee—" Kerrigan suggested.
"There is no fee." The monk laughed contemptuously. "I act for the good of souls, when it is necessary." He watched Kerrigan intently for some minutes. "On Monday morning—at two in the morning—if the weather is clear, I will send for you. Leave your name and address with the butler." And he turned again to the book he was reading, oblivious17 of Kerrigan, as a great lord might be of the peasant standing18 awkward and awe-stricken in his presence.
Financial agents admire Matthew Kerrigan. He is the sort of person who gives them no trouble. They are more cordial toward him than they are toward great bankers or great Wall Street men. For great bank-presidents and stock-manipulators wage terrific and lyrical battles on the terrain19 of commerce, and though there are great Leipzigs and Jenas, there are also great Waterloos. But Kerrigan is safe. He takes no chances. His factories in Yonkers purr, day in, day out, making by the million that simple fastening device for women's corsets that has made him several fortunes.
"That's the way to make money," they will tell you. "Just hit upon something simple and necessary, like a hair-pin or a shoe-horn, that no other person has thought of. Make it and sell it to the public and bank your money in gilt-edged securities. Look at Matthew Kerrigan! And not fifteen years ago he was a clerk in an accountant's office."
Along Broadway, too, he is known favorably, in that happy-go-easy circle of minor20 actors, wine-merchants, and women aspirants21 for the stage and movies. Head waiters are deferential22, and slightly contemptuous toward him. He is a good spender, and yet— There is something repulsive23, unhealthy in the way he enjoys food and drink and looks at women.
"Six things doth the Lord hate; yea, seven, which are an abomination unto him": and the first is haughty24 eyes. I cannot conceive that as denoting the light that shines from eyes lit from a sense of high and noble lineage, of chivalrous25 ideals, of just power. I translate it by the eyes of Matthew Kerrigan—those gray, full orbs26 which look about a room stating that there is no man present whose equal and superior Kerrigan is now. Eyes which tell you Kerrigan has money, and is prepared to spend money for what he wants. You know that man will get good measure for his money—shrewdness and sophistication gleam from them in a wary27, reptilian28 way.
"They may call this the Rube City," Morgenthal, the little real-estate broker29, announced at the Elks30' Club, "but, believe me, there 's one guy in town they can't put anything over on, and that's Kerrigan. He 's wise. I tell you, boy, he 's wise. Did you hear about that baby at the Winter Garden that tried to pull that hard-luck story on him? You didn't, eh? Well, let me tell you something: She got hers...."
There is one other place you may collect facts about Matthew Kerrigan and that is the down-town lunch-rooms of the financial district—uncomfortable, clattering31 places where you eat on a high stool at a counter and compute33 the price of your meal to the cashier as you go out. There is a race of clerks there, old men, natty34 but shabby of dress, pinched in the face, gray-headed, stoop-shouldered. Some of them are bitter and many are garrulous35. They specialize in the early histories of well-known men.
"I remember him when he was a bum36 in the street," they will tell you of nearly all of them; "when he had n't got a nickle for a shoe-shine. Did you ever hear how he got on his feet?" And then will follow either a sordid37 or a criminal story. And from them you can learn the story of Matthew Kerrigan and Leonard Holt.
An office friend had told Kerrigan of an eccentric inventor who lived out in his home town of Englewood, a poor, poverty-stricken, scatter-brained mechanic who plodded38 in a broken-down cottage on the outskirts39 of Englewood at magnificent and foolish dreams, such as aviation and perpetual motion. When Kerrigan went out to see his friend he was taken, on a rainy afternoon, to pass the dull hours, on a visit to the man Holt. Beyond an occasional dunning tradesman, who sneered40 at him, and an occasional equally poor friend who remonstrated41 with him and urged him to take a position in a factory, Holt saw no one. And when Kerrigan was introduced, he talked like a starved fanatic42. Tall; loosely built, as though his jointures were precarious43; stooped; with great greasy44 hands; sandy-haired; with burning blue eyes and a high forehead, and a listless mouth and chin—one might have been pardoned for believing him an impractical45 fool. He pointed46 out a large system of wheels and pulleys, of weights and springs. It was the perpetual-motion model on which he was working.
"But I thought perpetual motion had been given up as impossible," Kerrigan objected.
"They have been making strides toward it," Holt answered. "The Struttapparat was a great advance. Of course a small quantity of radium is necessary. But, still, energy may be—it is just possible—created mechanically. They disprove perpetual motion by the hypothesis of the conservation of energy, which is not proven—"
And so he went on at great length in his jerky sentences, while Kerrigan listened, picking up things and dropping them boredly—a Bunsen burner, a pair of pliers, a tripod—what not. He lifted two pieces of asbestos, clamped queerly together by two long pieces of flexible metal. As he toyed with it the thing came apart in his hands. A snap, and it was together again. Kerrigan looked up in interest.
"What's this for?"
"A little fastening trick. Of no practical use—except, perhaps, for women's corsets!" Holt laughed. Kerrigan was silent.
"Patented?" he suggested, after a while.
"Everything I have is patented," Holt said with a touch of pride.
"May I bring it along," Kerrigan asked, "to show it to a friend?"
"Why, certainly!" Holt nodded. "Now, if you understand that the energy develops in geometric progression—"
And very efficiently47 did Matthew Kerrigan show Holt's fastening device to his friend—a prominent banker who had never heard of Kerrigan before, but had always money to sink, at a price, in worthy48 enterprises. Kerrigan returned to Holt.
"There may be something in that little thing of yours. Will you take a hundred dollars for it outright49?"
But that intuition which sometimes warns the unworldly minded, and that mulish obstinacy50 which some men have, made Holt stand out for a share of the profits, and unwillingly51 Kerrigan and his associate had to allow it.
"It's a hold-up," they complained to each other bitterly, "but we can't do anything about it!"
So Holt was admitted to the profits of his patent, and for a while he dreamed dreams of wealth untellable; a wealth that would enable him to send his motherless three-year-old daughter to boarding-school and college and leave him in peace to work, with all appliances to hand—Stuttapparat and radium and everything—at the problem which had baffled scientific dreamers since the dawn of intelligence.
"The model on a big scale," he figured, "would cost ten thousand dollars—" and on his visions went, unhampered, unselfish, unpractical. He wanted to benefit the world by his discovery—and to get a little applause, a little credit.
I don't know how they do these things, but they do them, and they must do them skilfully52, for they evade53 the law, the iron law which insists on justice for all men. Kerrigan laid his hand feelingly on Holt's shoulder.
"I 'm sorry, old man," he said with that sincere stop in his voice. "We made a mistake. It's not practical."
Holt had received many blows, and was nearly impervious54 to them. He smiled wistfully.
"Perhaps I can do something," Kerrigan continued. "I might get a little for your rights from some one who will take a chance. I should like you to get something for it. I led you to believe so much in it—"
They were very generous, for they knew there were millions ahead of them, so they gave Holt a thousand dollars, and he buckled55 to again at his grotesque56 machine. A few weeks later some well-intentioned Christian57 told him the truth and commented fulsomely58 on what a fool Holt was. The last blow was the fatal one. It split his heart in two.
Methodically he made arrangements for his child to be brought up in a convent, and he left what money he had for the purpose. He took the train to New York and crossing on the ferry-boat he climbed to the upper deck. He sat huddled59 up in a corner, gray and shabby of clothes, gray and shabby of face, until the boat was half-way over. He stood up on the seat and jumped, and the noise his jump made was drowned in the clatter32 of the paddles.
Tall, lank60, oblivious, unpractical—your economist61 will tell you that the man was of no value to the community, and was better dead. And your religious person will tell you that the crime of suicide merits hell-fire. But somehow I feel that for these poor men with the light heads and the light bodies, and the heavy, heavy hearts, there is somewhere Understanding and Great Tenderness....
All this they will tell you, the garrulous and bitter old men, and while they inveigh62 against Kerrigan, you see somewhere in their eyes a glint of admiration63 and of envy. The arena64 of Wall Street differs little from the arena of Neronic Rome; v? victis is the motto and the rule of the game. And before you can leave them in contemptuous horror they will tap you on the knee, gloatingly dramatic.
"And now Kerrigan is going to marry Holt's daughter! Can you beat it? Can you beat that?"
He had gone—perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps out of the depths of sentimentality that men of his type have somewhere in the bottom of their hearts—with his cousin, the chubby65 little minister of religion, to the prize-giving at the convent in Newark. The bishop66 was there, and a play of Dunsany's was given; a few poems recited, and a song or two sung.
His eye had been attracted all through the exercises by a tall girl in a white dress with a blue sash—a slim girl with hazel eyes and light-brown hair who in the distance had the profile of a Saint Cecilia—a Saint Cecilia with a somewhat broad, honest mouth and good firm teeth.
"That's an attractive girl," he told his cousin.
The little cherubic minister, who worried in secret about his cousin's soul, was delighted. He dreamed often of having his cousin Matthew reformed by the influence of some sweet woman. A Dominican religious brought her forward.
"Miss Holt, Miss Agnes Holt." Kerrigan was introduced to her. He talked banalities to her for a half-hour, when she shyly took her leave of him, blushing furiously under the glances of her schoolmates. When he was alone Kerrigan smiled queerly, with a distant look in his eyes.
At forty-five there comes always to a man of Kerrigan's type, with the first gray hairs, the fear of age. There will be an inevitable68 day when he will no longer attract women, and when, in the bars and about the clubs, he will be referred to as an old man of another generation, and there arises in his mind the fear of loneliness in the fifties and the sixties, with Death hurrying breathlessly toward him day by day. The only thing to do then is to begin anew with a young wife, far away from the swirl69 of the city.
"It's the only life," they say pathetically; "a wife and kiddies, a little bit of land somewhere, away from all this stuff." And they wave their hands at the gleaming glasses and the pictures on the bar-room walls. "There's nothing to it," they aver70; and they drink up and have another one.
He met the religious as he was going away.
"That Miss Holt," he said, "is a very attractive girl." It was the only adjective he knew to fit her.
"Yes," the nun71 agreed. "We all like her. She 's been with us nearly all her life. Her father died when she was young. He was an inventor; Leonard Holt was his name."
"The name is familiar." Kerrigan was shocked, but his self-restraint was superb. "Died after some business depression, if I remember aright?"
"He was murdered!" The little religious's eyes flashed magnificently. "Murdered! In the way of business!"
Kerrigan had heard that word used of Holt's end more than once. But the fourteen years had been full ones, and the matter had not troubled him much—things like that happened so often. And, besides, it was not true. A murder predicates a murderer, and he was no murderer. It was all a business arrangement. And the man could n't stand the gaff. That was all!
"All rotten foolishness!" he swore. But somehow, this last time, perhaps on account of the dramatic meeting with the daughter, it would not go out of his head.
And no more would go out of his head the thought and picture of Agnes Holt in her white dress and blue sash, with her Saint Cecilia profile. She haunted him night and day. At that period, peculiar72 in a man as the late thirties are in women, he fell in love, or in what for him would pass for love. In all his selfish business career he had known intimately no woman like her, and her aloof73, unrifled virginity struck him like a blinding flash of light.
"After all," he said, in the manner of his kind, "there is nothing on God's earth like a sweet, pure woman!"
And for days he thought about her and about love, not as a young man might, in a burning equation with factors of living flame, but in the smoldering74 symbols of maturity75, which are so long in the consuming and so hard to quench76. He would go away from Broadway—"quit the whole condemned77 shooting-match," as he weirdly78 termed it—and take a place in Westchester or Long Island, a good, comfortable house with grounds to it. They would be glad to have him in such a community. He would be one of the village trustees; run for president. And he would fashion a new life there with a young and beautiful bride, whom everybody would envy him. There would be children, too. Undoubtedly79 there would be children.
"She 'll be glad to get away from the convent," he thought shrewdly. And, after all, perhaps he had treated Holt a bit shabbily. He would make up for it in the way he would treat his daughter. She should wear diamonds.
"I 'm thinking of marrying and settling down, Father John," he told the little clergyman one day.
"I 'm glad to hear of it, Cousin Matthew," he said, rubbing his plump little hands, his cherub's face beaming benignantly. "I 'm delighted. I am so!" He shook his finger waggishly80. "And I think I know the young lady, too."
"It's the little Holt girl we met at the convent that day."
"You must come over and meet her again," Father John planned. "I 'll talk to the Mother Superior."
And so, with due chaperonage, Kerrigan met Agnes Holt several times, and each time he became more impressed with her. She would say little, blushing mostly, and playing with something in her lap. She understood vaguely81 that this portly, mustached man was thinking of marrying her, but that denoted nothing to her, so cloistered83 had her life been.
"Yes," or "No," or "Thank you," was nearly the limit of her conversation, and she had difficulty in not adding "sir." At times she would accompany him, with Father John, to a matinée in New York to see a carefully chosen family production, or to have tea at the less-worldly restaurants. Occasionally she would burst out with a na?ve exclamation84.
"I once rode in a Fifth Avenue bus with Sister Mary Joseph," was the sort of thing she would vouchsafe85.
"If you were n't to marry her," Father John said, "she would enter the convent as a lay sister."
More and more as he met her Kerrigan's mind was taken up by the idea of her father. The contour of her face; a certain look of her eye; a light in her hair when the sun shone on it, would recall the inventor, and immediately within him would rise a measure of uneasiness which he could not get rid of. He once asked her if she remembered him.
"He died when I was young, very young," she said. "An accident in a ferry-boat. I have spent all my life with the sisters."
As he went to and from the convent, he often met the religious who had spoken of Holt's death as murder. And as often as he met her, so often would his mind revert86 to that sinister87 word, and he would find himself arguing about it internally, as though he were defending himself in a court of law. He would try to shake off the mood.
"Of all the blamed foolishness!" he would tell himself angrily.
But the idea would persist, and, growing morbid88 about it, he found himself reading carefully the charges of judges in cases of homicide. He went to the public library and conned89 upon the subject in encyclopedias90. He read of the magnificent fair play in trial by jury.
"I guess that settles it," he told himself. "There 's nothing to it."
He went on, however, and, reading farther, he came on the ancient custom of trial by ordeal91 of justice—of the test of a man's innocence92 by touching93 the dead body of a murdered man. If the person suspected were guilty, blood would exude94 from the corpse95. A couplet of Shakespeare's was quoted—from the play of "Richard III":
O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh!
The thing made his flesh creep. He read of the grisly test of the dead hand, and of the ordeal by fire and the ordeal by poison.
"There 's no sense to that!" he muttered angrily, and little beads96 of perspiration97 gathered on his brow. Even the innocent would waver under such a test. Trial by jury—that was the sensible way.
"Agnes—" he cleared his throat, and he was honestly husky—"I suppose you have understood that my intentions toward you had a wedding in view. I can make you very happy."
"I must talk to the Mother Superior," she said, blushing furiously, her voice low.
He took her hand, and, opening a case, put a ring on her finger.
"I have talked to the Mother Superior, myself," he told her, "and that is all right." He drew her toward him, trembling a little, and on her forehead, with his mustached lips, he kissed her. He was suddenly still, and strangely cold. The touch of that skin reminded him of his last hand-shake with Leonard Holt.
"I must put an end to this obsession100!" he told himself angrily, that night at his hotel, and he poured himself stiff drinks of Bourbon. Should he tell Father John? No! he decided101. He knew Father John well for a relative and a friend and a genial102 companion with lovable peccadillos. But he knew, too, that the little clergyman could thunder with the thunder of Sinai. Marry the daughter of a man in whose death he was implicated103! Never would Father John consent. The cleric would not understand. What could a priest know of business?
"It's no use going to him," Kerrigan decided.
He stopped a moment, thinking. And, half-laughing and half-nervous, he remembered a conversation with a friend of his, a great Wall Street operator, who combined the shrewdness of his kind with his kind's superstition104, and had recourse in moments of tension to clairvoyants105 and tarot cards. He told Kerrigan of M. Sergius.
"He's a Greek monk—been expelled from Mount Athos for practising magic. What that man can tell you—"
"I suppose the next thing you 'll tell me is that he raises spirits."
"Listen! You just ask Cabot Montgomery how they found that will of Van Vleet's. Just ask him."
"There's one born every minute," Kerrigan laughed, "and some of 'em live."
"Listen, brother," Kerrigan was told, "this man does it for nothing. Do you get me? For nothing! If it's important enough he 'll do it. If not, outside. This is none of your country-fair crystal-gazers."
In Kerrigan, too, was that strain of superstition that all men laugh at and all men have. And right now as he sat in a mental, spiritual whirlwind, the memory of that conversation came to him as a preserver. After all, if he put things to the test— Of course it was foolish; it was ridiculous, but still— Nothing could come of it, by any manner of means, and yet—
"What's the harm?" he laughed.
At his time of life, he smiled, to put himself in the hands of a charlatan106, to conjure107 up a spirit! In this century, with the telephone by his bedside, with the electric light overhead, to patronize a mumming magician! Nothing would, could happen.
But that nothing would be his answer. It would mean that his life was free forever, purged108 of the foolish innuendos109, the lunatic accusations110 of outsiders; the morbid worries of his own abnormal mind. Free to go ahead and be married, and to live happily ever after.
When the butler had come for him silently, in the big blue limousine111, one fine night of stars, he had gone with a little tremor112 in his veins113. What would Father John and the gentle nuns114 and his little betrothed115 think of this mad excursion? Well, he had thrown down a gauntlet to Fate, and he would go through with it, regardless of the empty issue. There was a witticism116 on his lips as he entered the apartment; but the witticism froze.
Silently the butler ushered him into a dim room lighted by tapers117. In a corner, silent, were Sergius and four young men. In the middle of the floor was a strange geometric design of circles and squares.
"Your butler just came for me—" Kerrigan felt the need of saying something, no matter how banal67. In a sort of awe Kerrigan noted82 the white garments of the former monk, and of his disciples119; the white shoes embroidered121 in red; the white crowns with the Hebrew letters.
"Do you still wish to go ahead with this?" the Russian asked him.
"Of course," Kerrigan uttered. His own voice seemed strange in his ears.
"You are to obey me in all things." The ex-monk's voice had a terrible hidden menace in it, "and if you move out of that circle you are worse than a dead man! Follow me."
They moved forward through an opening into the strange geometric design, and behind them on silent feet came the four attendants. Kerrigan noticed in a sort of daze122 the sword they carried, the trumpet123, the book, and the lighted taper118. About him, outside the circle, were strange paper symbols that seemed to cut him off from the world of sane124 and living men. The Magus lit a circle of censers about the outer square. He closed the circle and lifted one on high. He swung it toward the four corners of the square. An attendant handed him a sword. He stuck it in the ground. Another handed him a trumpet. He blew it brazenly125.
"O Lord! Hear my prayer, and let my cry come unto Thee...."
Queer little whorls of smoke mounted through the air from the censers. The attendants had retired126 to the four points of the compass. The Magus raised the bare sword. His voice vibrated like an organ:
"O ye spirits! Ye I conjure by the power, wisdom, and virtue127 of the Spirit of God ... by the Holy Name of God Eheith ... by which Adam, having invoked129, acquired the knowledge of all created things ... by the invisible name Yod, which had Abel invoked he would have escaped from the hand of Cain, his brother...."
It seemed to Kerrigan, standing there that about this circle was something that was not life, and that it was cut off from the security of things without as an island is cut off by water. About it the incense130 rose in shadowy vapors131. The lights of the candles became dulled to a pale, diaphanous133 gold. There was something terrible about it all. He had imagined a grisly, morbid thing of quackery134. This he could have stood smiling. But cold, stern majesty135 of ritual made his heart contract, as it might be oppressed in the nave136 of some great cathedral.
"... By the Two Tables of the Law; by the Seven Burning Candlesticks; by the Holy of Holies where only the High Priest may go..."
He wanted to raise his voice, to tell the man to stop this mummery. He wanted to walk to the door and slam it contemptuously, and to walk home through the cool mundane137 air. That would be an end for him of all this morbidness138. But somehow he could not go. It was as though he were held by hypnosis to the spot.
"... That spirit who was known here as Leonard Holt, and with whom this man, for a sufficient reason, would converse. I conjure and invoke128 him in the name of the Lord Adonai. I conjure him in the name of the god El, strong and powerful...."
Fear arose in Kerrigan like a cold marsh139 vapor132. He had come there in a braggadocio140 test of fate, to something whose being and name he knew not; to face it man to man, and to abide141 by the result. But he seemed now to be, as it were, in a dock, not to argue but to be judged, by that vagueness against which he had thrown down the gauntlet.
"In the name of Him who hath made the heavens and the earth, and who hath measured them in the hollow of His hand, enclosing the earth in three of His fingers..."
Without those circles now, Kerrigan imagined, things were hovering142 with a force as of a great wind. Things hurtled themselves against the mystic, powerful symbols like troopers against an impregnable fortalice. No longer was he certain that nothing could happen. If in a minute now, at any instant, the Thing that was being called would come, not the vacuous143, impractical body, but a terrible being armed with the awful majesty of the dead, standing before him accusingly, with terrible eyes—standing like a flaming weapon between Kerrigan and the daughter who was flesh of him, who they said was murdered ... If! If! If! If! His skin contracted in a tense horripilation. His breath came shallow and panting, like that of a strained dog.
The Magus stood up. Again the sword flashed in his hand. He laid his hand on his heart. His voice rang vibrant144 with power. The acolytes146 bowed their heads.
"Here be the symbols of secret things—the standards, the banners, the ensigns of God the Conqueror147; the arms of the Almighty148 One to compel the aerial potencies149. I command absolutely—"
Across Kerrigan's mind thoughts raced like skipping rabbits; like reels of living pictures. He was being tried! His wrists shook as the blood pulsed through. Tried! Tried by ordeal of justice! By the terrible thing that made a dead man's wounds open when you touched him. By ordeal of justice! That was it. He felt his face contract into a horrible grimace150. By ordeal of justice! There was a weight on his chest of as huge granite151 blocks, very cold. He could n't breathe. Through his heart there ran a pain like a knife....
"... By their power and virtue that he come near to us, into our presence from whatsoever152 part of the world he may be in—"
"Master!" An acolyte145 stepped forward and touched the exorcist's white samite sleeve. He pointed to the crumpled153 figure in the circle. "Master, this man is dead!"
The End
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
furtively
|
|
| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
mansion
|
|
| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
meretricious
|
|
| adj.华而不实的，俗艳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
clairvoyant
|
|
| adj.有预见的；n.有预见的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
awe
|
|
| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
somber
|
|
| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
ushered
|
|
| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
emaciated
|
|
| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
monk
|
|
| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
insolence
|
|
| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
cynical
|
|
| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
converse
|
|
| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
sweeping
|
|
| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
massaged
|
|
| 按摩，推拿( massage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
hoarse
|
|
| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
oblivious
|
|
| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
terrain
|
|
| n.地面，地形，地图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
minor
|
|
| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
aspirants
|
|
| n.有志向或渴望获得…的人( aspirant的名词复数 )v.渴望的，有抱负的，追求名誉或地位的( aspirant的第三人称单数 )；有志向或渴望获得…的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
deferential
|
|
| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
repulsive
|
|
| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
haughty
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
chivalrous
|
|
| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
orbs
|
|
| abbr.off-reservation boarding school 在校寄宿学校n.球，天体，圆形物( orb的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
wary
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
reptilian
|
|
| adj.（像）爬行动物的；（像）爬虫的；卑躬屈节的；卑鄙的n.两栖动物；卑劣的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
broker
|
|
| n.中间人，经纪人；v.作为中间人来安排 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
elks
|
|
| n.麋鹿( elk的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
clattering
|
|
| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
clatter
|
|
| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
compute
|
|
| v./n.计算，估计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
natty
|
|
| adj.整洁的，漂亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
garrulous
|
|
| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
bum
|
|
| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
sordid
|
|
| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
plodded
|
|
| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
outskirts
|
|
| n.郊外，郊区 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
sneered
|
|
| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
remonstrated
|
|
| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
fanatic
|
|
| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
precarious
|
|
| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
greasy
|
|
| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
impractical
|
|
| adj.不现实的，不实用的，不切实际的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
efficiently
|
|
| adv.高效率地，有能力地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
outright
|
|
| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
obstinacy
|
|
| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
unwillingly
|
|
| adv.不情愿地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
skilfully
|
|
| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
evade
|
|
| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
impervious
|
|
| adj.不能渗透的，不能穿过的，不易伤害的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
buckled
|
|
| a. 有带扣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
fulsomely
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
huddled
|
|
| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
lank
|
|
| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
economist
|
|
| n.经济学家，经济专家，节俭的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
inveigh
|
|
| v.痛骂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
arena
|
|
| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
chubby
|
|
| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
bishop
|
|
| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
banal
|
|
| adj.陈腐的，平庸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
swirl
|
|
| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
aver
|
|
| v.极力声明；断言；确证 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
nun
|
|
| n.修女，尼姑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
aloof
|
|
| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
smoldering
|
|
| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
maturity
|
|
| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
quench
|
|
| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
condemned
|
|
| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
weirdly
|
|
| 古怪地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
undoubtedly
|
|
| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
waggishly
|
|
| adv.waggish（滑稽的，诙谐的）的变形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
81
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
noted
|
|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
cloistered
|
|
| adj.隐居的，躲开尘世纷争的v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
exclamation
|
|
| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
vouchsafe
|
|
| v.惠予，准许 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
revert
|
|
| v.恢复，复归，回到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
sinister
|
|
| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
morbid
|
|
| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
conned
|
|
| adj.被骗了v.指挥操舵( conn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
encyclopedias
|
|
| n.百科全书， （某一学科的）专科全书( encyclopedia的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
ordeal
|
|
| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
innocence
|
|
| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
exude
|
|
| v.(使)流出，(使)渗出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
corpse
|
|
| n.尸体，死尸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
beads
|
|
| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
perspiration
|
|
| n.汗水；出汗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
bleak
|
|
| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
sitting-room
|
|
| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
obsession
|
|
| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
genial
|
|
| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
implicated
|
|
| adj.密切关联的；牵涉其中的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
superstition
|
|
| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
clairvoyants
|
|
| n.透视者，千里眼的人( clairvoyant的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
106
charlatan
|
|
| n.骗子；江湖医生；假内行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
conjure
|
|
| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
purged
|
|
| 清除（政敌等）( purge的过去式和过去分词 )； 涤除（罪恶等）； 净化（心灵、风气等）； 消除（错事等）的不良影响 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
innuendos
|
|
| n.影射的话( innuendo的名词复数 )；讽刺的话；含沙射影；暗讽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
accusations
|
|
| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
limousine
|
|
| n.豪华轿车 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
tremor
|
|
| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
nuns
|
|
| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
betrothed
|
|
| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
witticism
|
|
| n.谐语，妙语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
tapers
|
|
| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
taper
|
|
| n.小蜡烛，尖细，渐弱；adj.尖细的；v.逐渐变小 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
disciples
|
|
| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
disciple
|
|
| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
embroidered
|
|
| adj．绣花的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
daze
|
|
| v.(使)茫然，(使)发昏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
trumpet
|
|
| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
sane
|
|
| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
brazenly
|
|
| adv.厚颜无耻地；厚脸皮地肆无忌惮地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
invoke
|
|
| v.求助于(神、法律)；恳求，乞求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
invoked
|
|
| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
incense
|
|
| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
vapors
|
|
| n.水汽，水蒸气，无实质之物( vapor的名词复数 )；自夸者；幻想 [药]吸入剂 [古]忧郁（症）v.自夸，（使）蒸发( vapor的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
vapor
|
|
| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
diaphanous
|
|
| adj.(布)精致的，半透明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
quackery
|
|
| n.庸医的医术，骗子的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
majesty
|
|
| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
nave
|
|
| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
mundane
|
|
| adj.平凡的；尘世的；宇宙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
morbidness
|
|
| （精神的）病态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
marsh
|
|
| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
braggadocio
|
|
| n.吹牛大王 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
abide
|
|
| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
hovering
|
|
| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
vacuous
|
|
| adj.空的，漫散的，无聊的，愚蠢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
vibrant
|
|
| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
acolyte
|
|
| n.助手，侍僧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
acolytes
|
|
| n.助手( acolyte的名词复数 )；随从；新手；（天主教）侍祭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
conqueror
|
|
| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
almighty
|
|
| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
potencies
|
|
| n.威力( potency的名词复数 )；权力；效力；（男人的）性交能力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
grimace
|
|
| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
granite
|
|
| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
whatsoever
|
|
| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
crumpled
|
|
| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |