Not he! In the hand which Stewart Routh was at that moment playing in the greater game of life, the card representing a hundred and forty pounds was one on which he bestowed13 very little attention. It might, or it might not, form part of the odd trick, either way: but it had very little influence on his strategy and finesse14. There were times when a five-pound note might have turned his chance, but this was not one of them. Driven into a corner, pressed for the means of discharging paltry15 debts, harassed16 by dunning creditors17, Stewart Routh would have needed and claimed the money due to him by George Dallas. Present circumstances were more favourable18, and he only needed George Dallas's assistance in his schemes. For, Stewart Routh's measures for raising money were of all kinds and of all dimensions; the elephant's trunk of his genius could pick up a five-pound-note bet from a flat at écarté, or could move the lever of a gigantic city swindle. And he was "in for a large thing" just at this time. Men attending professionally at the betting-ring at the great steeplechase then coming off, noticed Routh's absence with wonder, and though he occasionally looked in at two or three of the second-rate sporting clubs of which he was a member, he was listless and preoccupied19. If he took a hand at cards, though from mere20 habit he played closely and cautiously, yet he made no great points, and was by no means, as usual, the dashing Paladin round whose chair men gathered thickly, and whose play they backed cheerily. No! The paltry gains of the dice-box and cards paled before the glamour21 of the fortune to be made in companies and shares; the elephant's trunk was to show its strength now, as well as its dexterity23, and the genius which had hitherto been confined to "bridging" a pack of cards, or "securing" a die, talking over a flat or winning money of a greenhorn, was to have its vent24 in launching a great City Company. Of this scheme Dallas knew nothing. A disinherited man, with neither name nor influence, would have been utterly25 useless; but he was reserved for possible contingencies26. Routh was always sending to him to call, always glad to see him when he called, and never plagued him with allusions28 to his debt. But in their interviews nothing but mere generalities were discussed, and George noticed that he always received a hint to go whenever Mr. Deane was announced.
But although Stewart Routh was seen but seldom in his usual haunts, he was by no means inactive or neglectful of his own interests. Day after day he spent several hours in the City, diligently29 engaged in the formation of his new Company, a grand undertaking30 for working some newly-discovered silver mines in the Brazils; and day after day were his careful scheming, his elaborate plotting, his vivacious31 daring, and his consummate32 knowledge of the world, rewarded by the steady progress which the undertaking made. The temporary offices in Tokenhouse-yard were besieged33 with inquirers; good brokers34 with City names of high standing35 offered their services; splendid reports came from the engineers, who had been sent out to investigate the state of the mines. Only one thing was wanting, and that was capital; capital, by hook or by crook36, Mr. Stewart Routh must have, and was determined37 to have. If the affair were to be launched, the brokers said, the next week must see it done; and the difficulty of raising the funds for the necessary preliminary expenses was becoming day by day more and more palpable and insurmountable to Stewart Routh.
The interval38 of time that had witnessed so much activity on the part of Mr. Stewart Routh, and had advanced his schemes close to a condition of imminent39 crisis, had been productive of nothing new or remarkable40 in the existence of George Dallas. That is to say, on the surface of it. He was still leading the desultory41 life of a man who, with an intellectual and moral nature capable of better deeds and nobler aspirations42, is incurably43 weak, impulsive44, and swayed by a love of pleasure; a man incapable45 of real self-control, and with whom the gratification of the present is potent46, above all suggestions or considerations of the contingencies of the future. He worked a little, and his talent was beginning to tell on the popularity of the paper for which he worked, The Mercury, and on the perceptions of its proprietors47. George Dallas was a man in whose character there were many contradictions. With much of the fervour of the poetic48 temperament2, with its sensuousness49 and its sensitiveness, he had a certain nonchalance50 about him, a fitful indifference51 to external things, and a spasmodic impatience52 of his surroundings. This latter was apt to come over him at times when he was apparently53 merriest, and it had quite as much to do with his anxiety to get his debt to Routh discharged, and to set himself free from Routh, as any moral sense of the danger of keeping such company, or any moral consciousness of the waste of his life, and the deterioration54 of his character. George Dallas had no knowledge of the true history of Routh's career; of the blacker shades of his character he was entirely55 ignorant. In his eyes Routh was a clever man and a good-for-nothing, a "black sheep" like himself, a sheep for whose blackness Dallas (as he did in his own case) held circumstances, the white sheep, anything and everything except the man himself, to blame. He was dimly conscious that his associate was stronger than he, stronger in will, stronger in knowledge of men, and somehow, though he never defined or acknowledged the feeling to himself, he mistrusted and feared him. He liked him, too, he felt grateful to him for his help; he did not discern the interested motives56 which actuated him, and, indeed, they were but small, and would by no means have accounted for all Routh's proceedings57 towards Dallas. Nor is it necessary that they should; a villain58 is not, therefore, altogether precluded59 from likings, or even the feebler forms of friendship, and Dallas was not simply silly and egotistical when he believed that Routh felt kindly60 and warmly towards him. Still, whether a merciful and occult influence was at work within him or the tide of his feelings had been turned by his stolen interview with his mother, by his being brought into such positive contact with her life and its conditions, and having been made to realize the bitterness he had infused into it, it were vain to inquire. Whatever his motives, however mixed their nature or confused their origin, he was filled, whenever he was out of Routh's presence, and looked his life in the face, with an ardent61 longing63 to "cut the whole concern," as he phrased it in his thoughts. And Harriet?--for the "whole concern" included her, and he was forced to remember--Harriet, the only woman whose society he liked--Harriet, whom he admired with an admiration64 as pure and respectful as he could have felt for her, had he met her in the least equivocal, nay65, even in the most exalted66 position. Well, he would be very sorry to lose Harriet, but, after all, she cared only for Routh; and he was dangerous. "I must turn over a new leaf, for her sake" (he meant for his mother's); "and I can't turn it while they are at my elbows." From which conviction on the part of George it is sufficiently67 evident that Routh and Harriet had ample reason to apprehend68 that Dallas, on whom they desired to retain a hold, for more reasons than one, was slipping through their fingers.
George Dallas was more than usually occupied with such thoughts one morning, six weeks after his unsuccessful visit to Poynings. He had been very much with Routh and Deane during this period, and yet he had begun to feel aware, with a jealous and suspicious sense of it, too, that he really knew very little of what they had been about. They met in the evening, in pursuit of pleasure, and they abandoned themselves to it; or they met at Routh's lodgings69, and Dallas surrendered himself to the charm which Harriet's society always had for him. But he had begun to observe of late that there was no reference to the occupation of the earlier part of the day, and that while there was apparently a close bond of mutual70 confidence or convenience between Routh and Deane, there was some under-current of mutual dislike.
"If my mother can only get me out of this scrape, and I can get the Piccadilly people to take my serial," said George Dallas to himself one morning, when April was half gone, and "the season" was half come, "I shall get away somewhere, and go in for work in earnest." He looked, ruefully enough, round the wretched little bed-room, at whose small window he was standing, as he spoke72; and he thought impatiently of his debt to his coarse shrewish landlady73, and of the small liabilities which hampered74 him as effectually as the great one. It was later than his usual hour of rising, and he felt ill and despondent75: not anxious to face the gay, rich, busy world outside, and still less inclined for his own company and waking thoughts in the shabby little den62 he tenanted. A small room, a mere apology for a sitting-room76, was reached through a rickety folding-door, which no human ingenuity77 could contrive78 to keep shut if any one opened the other door leading to the narrow passage, and the top of the steep dark staircase. Through this yawning aperture79 George lounged disconsolately80 into the little room beyond, eyeing with strong disfavour the preparations for his breakfast, which preparations chiefly consisted of a dirty table-cloth and a portion of a stale loaf, popularly known as a "heel." But his gaze travelled further, and brightened; for on the cracked and blistered81 wooden chimney-piece lay a letter in his mother's hand. He darted82 at it, and opened it eagerly, then held it for a moment in his hand unread. His face turned very pale, and he caught his breath once or twice as he muttered:
"Suppose it's to say she can't do anything at all." But the fear, the suspense83 were over with the first glance at his mother's letter. She wrote:
"Poynings, 13th April, 1861.
"My Dear George,--I have succeeded in procuring84 you the money, for which you tell me you have such urgent need. Perhaps if I admired, and felt disposed to act up to, a lofty standard of sentimental85 generosity86, I should content myself with making this announcement, and sending you the sum which you assure me will release you from your difficulties, and enable you to commence the better life on which you have led me to hope you are resolved. But not only do the circumstances under which I have contrived87 to get this money for you make it impossible for me to act in this way, but I consider I should be very wrong, and quite wanting in my duty, if I failed to make you understand, at the cost of whatever pain to myself, the price I have had to pay for the power of aiding you.
"You have occasioned me much suffering, George. You, my only child, to whom I looked in the first dark days of my early bereavement88, with such hope and pride as I cannot express, and as only a mother can understand--you have darkened my darkness and shadowed my joy, you have been the source of my deepest anxiety, though not the less for that, as you well know, the object of my fondest love. I don't write this to reproach you--I don't believe in the efficacy of reproach; but merely to tell you the truth--to preface another truth, the full significance of which it may prove very beneficial to you to understand. Sorrow I have known through you, and shame I have experienced for you. You have cost me many tears, whose marks can never be effaced89 from my face or my heart; you have cost me infinite disappointment, bitterness, heart-sickness, and domestic wretchedness; but now, for the first time, you cost me shame on my own account. Many and great as my faults and shortcomings have been through life, deceit was equally abhorrent90 to my nature and foreign to my habits. But for you, George, for your sake, to help you in this strait, to enable you to release yourself from the trammels in which you are held, I have descended91 to an act of deceit and meanness, the recollection of which must for ever haunt me with a keen sense of humiliation92. I retain enough of my former belief in you, my son, to hope that what no other argument has been able to effect, this confession93 on my part may accomplish, and that you, recognizing the price at which I have so far rescued you, may pause, and turn from, the path leading downward into an abyss of ruin, from which no effort of mine could avail to snatch you. I have procured95 the money you require, by an expedient96 suggested to me accidentally, just when I had begun utterly to despair of ever being able to accomplish my ardent desire, by a conversation which took place at dinner between Mr. Carruthers and his family solicitor97, Mr. Tatham. The conversation turned on a curious and disgraceful family story which had come under his knowledge lately. I need not trouble you to read, nor myself to write, its details; you will learn them when I see you, and give you the money; and I do not doubt, I dare not doubt, George, that you will feel all I expect you to feel when you learn to how deliberate, laborious98, and mean a deception99 I have descended for your sake. I can never do the same thing again; the expedient is one that it is only possible to use once, and which is highly dangerous even in that one instance. So, if even you were bad and callous100 enough to calculate upon a repetition of it, which I could not believe, my own dear boy, I am bound to tell you that it never could be. Unless Mr. Carruthers should change his mind, consequent upon an entire, radical101, and most happy change in your conduct, all pecuniary102 assistance on my part must be entirely impossible. I say this, thus strongly, out of the kindest and best motives towards you. Your unexpected appearance and application agitated103 and distressed104 me very much; not but that the sight of you, under any circumstances, must always give me pleasure, however closely pursued and overtaken by pain. For several days I was so completely upset by the recollection of your visit, and the strong and desperate necessity that existed for repressing all traces of such feelings, that I was unable to think over the expedients106 by which I might procure94 the money you required. Then as I began to grow a little quieter, accident gave me the hint upon which I have acted secretly and safely. Come down to Poynings in three days from this time. Mr. Carruthers is at present away at an agricultural meeting at York, and I can see you at Amherst, without difficulty or danger. Go to the town, but not to the inn. Wait about until you see my carriage. This is the 13th. I shall expect you on the 17th, by which day I hope to have the money ready for you.
"And now, my dear boy, how shall I end this letter? What shall I say? What can I say that I have not said again and again, and with sadly little effect, as you will not deny! But I forbear, and I hope. A feeling that I cannot define, an instinct, tells me that a crisis in my life is near. And what can such a crisis in my life mean, except in reference to you, my beloved and only child? In your hands lies all the future, all the disposition107 of the 'few and evil' years which remain to me. How are you going to deal with them? Is the love, which can never fail or falter108, to be tried and wounded to the end, George, or is it to see any fruition in this world? Think over this question, my son, and let me read in your face, when I see you, that the answer is to be one of hope. You are much changed, George, the bitterness is succeeding the honey in your mouth; you are 'giving your strength for that which is not meat, and your labour for that which satisfieth not,' and though all the lookers-on at such a career as yours can see, and always do see, its emptiness and insufficiency plainly, what does their wisdom, their experience, avail? But if wisdom and experience come to yourself, that makes all the difference. If you have learned, and I venture to hope you have, that the delusive109 light is but a 'Will of the Wisp,' you will cease to pursue it. Come to me, then, my boy. I have kept my word to you, at such a cost as you can hardly estimate, seeing that no heart can impart all its bitterness to another; will you keep yours to me?
"C. L. Carruthers."
"What does she mean? What can she mean?" George Dallas asked himself this question again and again, as he stood looking at the letter in his hand. "What has she done? A mean and deliberate deceit--some dishonourable transaction? My mother could not do anything deserving to be so called. It is impossible. Even if she could contemplate110 such a thing, she would not know how to set about it. God bless her!"
He sat down by the table, drew the dingy111 Britannia-metal teapot over beside his cup, and sat with his hand resting idly upon the distorted handle, still thinking less of the relief which the letter had brought him, than of the mysterious terms in which it was couched.
"She can't have got it out of Carruthers without his knowing anything about it?" he mused112. "No; besides, getting it from him at all, is precisely113 the thing she told me she could not do. Well, I must wait to know; but how good of her to get it! Who's the fellow who says a man can have only one mother? By Jove, how right he is!"
Then George ate his breakfast hastily, and, putting the precious letter in his breast-pocket, went to Routh's lodgings.
"I dare say they're not up," he thought, as he knocked at the door, and patiently waited the lingering approach of the slipshod servant. "Routh was as late as I was last night, and I know she always sits up for him."
He was right; they had not yet appeared in the sitting-room, and he had time for a good deal of walking up and down, and much cogitation114 over his mother's letter, before Harriet appeared. She was looking anxious, Dallas thought, so he stepped forward even more eagerly than usual, and told her in hurried tones of gladness that the post had brought him good news, and that his mother was going to give him the money.
"I don't know how she has contrived to get it, Mrs. Routh," he said.
"Does she not tell you, then?" asked Harriet, as she eyed with some curiosity the letter which Dallas had taken out of his pocket, and which he turned about in his hand, as he stood talking to her. As she spoke, he replaced the letter in his pocket, and sat down.
"No," he answered, moodily115, "she does not; but she did not get it easily, I know--not without a very painful self-sacrifice; but here's Routh."
"Ha! Dallas, my boy," said Routh, after he had directed one fleeting116 glance of inquiry117 towards his wife, and almost before he had fairly entered the room. "You're early--any news?"
"Very good news," replied Dallas; and he repeated the information he had already given Harriet. Routh received it with a somewhat feigned118 warmth, but Dallas was too much excited by his own feelings to perceive the impression which the news really produced on Routh.
"Is your letter from the great Mr. Carruthers himself?" said Routh; "from the provincial119 magnate who has the honour of being stepfather to you--your magnificent three-tailed bashaw?"
"Oh dear no!" said the young man grimly; "not from him. My letter is from my mother."
"And what has she to say?" asked Harriet quickly.
"She tells me she will very shortly be able to let me have the sum I require."
"The deuce she will!" said Routh. "Well, I congratulate you, my boy! I may say I congratulate all of us, for the matter of that; but it's rather unexpected, isn't it? I thought Mrs. Carruthers told you, when you saw her so lately, that the chances of her bleeding that charming person, her husband, were very remote."
"She did say so, and she was right; it's not from him she's going to get the money. Thank Heaven for that!"
"Certainly, if you wish it, though I'm not sure that we're right in being over-particular whence the money comes, so that it does come when one wants it. What is that example in the Eton Latin Grammar--'I came to her in season, which is the chief thing of all?' But if not from Mr. Carruthers, where does she get the money?"
"I--I don't know; but she does not get it without some horrible self-sacrifice; you may depend on that."
"My dear George, Mrs. Carruthers's case is not a singular one. We none of us get money without an extraordinary amount of self-sacrifice."
"Not a singular one! No, by George, you're right there, Routh," said the young man bitterly; "but does that make it any lighter120 for her to bear, or any better for me to reflect upon? There are hundreds of vagabond sons in England at this moment, I dare say, outcasts--sources of shame and degradation121 to their mothers, utterly useless to any one. I swear, when I think of what my mother must have gone through to raise this money, when I think of the purpose for which it is required, I thoroughly122 loathe123 myself, and feel inclined to put a pistol to my head or a razor to my throat. However, once free, I--there--that's the old cant124 again!"
As the young man said these words, he rose from his chair, and fell to pacing the room with long strides. Stewart Routh looked up sternly at him from under his bent125 brows, and was about to speak; but Harriet held up a finger deprecatingly, and when George Dallas seated himself again, and, with his face on his hands, remained moodily gazing at the table, she stole behind him and laid her hand on his shoulder.
"I know you would not intentionally127 wound me, Mr. Dallas," she said. "I say, you would not intentionally wound me," she repeated, apparently in answer to his turning sharply round and staring at her in surprise; "but you seem to forget that it was I who counselled your recent visit to your mother, and suggested your asking her for this sum of money, which you were bound in honour to pay, and without the payment of which you--who have always represented yourself as most dear to her--would have been compromised for ever. I am sorry I did so, now that I see my intentions were misunderstood, and I say so frankly129."
"I swear to you, Har--Mrs. Routh--I had not the slightest idea of casting the least imputation130 on your motives; I was only thinking--You know I'm a little hot on the subject of my mother, not without reason, perhaps, for she's been a perfect angel to me, and--one can't expect other people to enter into these things, and, of course, it was very absurd. But you must forget it, please, Mrs. Routh, and you too, Stewart. If I spoke sharply or peevishly131, don't mind it, old fellow!"
"I?" said Routh, with a crisp laugh. "I don't mind it; and I dare say I was very provoking; but you see I never knew what it was to have a mother, and I'm not much indebted to my other parent. As to the money, George--these are hard times, but if the payment of it is to drive a worthy lady to distress105, or is to promote discord132 between you and me, why, in friendship's name, keep it, I say!"
"You're a good fellow, Stewart," said Dallas, putting out his hand; "and you, Mrs. Routh, have forgiven me?" Though she only bowed her head slightly, she looked down into his face with a long, steady, earnest gaze. "There's an end of it, then, I trust," he continued; "we never have had words here, and I hope we're not going to begin now. As for the money, that must be paid. Whatever my mother has had to do is as good as done, and need not be whined133 over. Besides, I know you want the money, Stewart."
"That's simply to say that I am in my normal state. I always want money, my dear George."
"You shall have this, at all events. And now I must be off, as I have some work to do for the paper. See you very soon again. Good-bye, Stewart. The cloud has quite passed away, Mrs. Routh?"
She said "Quite," as she gave him her hand, and their eyes met. There was eager inquiry in his glance; there was calm, steadfast134 earnestness in hers. Then he shook hands with Routh, and left the room.
The moment the door closed behind him; the smile faded away from Routh's face, and the stern look which it always wore when he was preoccupied and thoughtful settled down upon it For a few minutes he was silent; then he said in a low voice: "Harriet, for the first time in your life, I suppose, you very nearly mismanaged a bit of business I intrusted to you."
His wife looked at him with wonder-lifted brows. "I, Stewart? Not intentionally, I need not tell you. But how?"
"I mean this business of George's. Did not you advise him to go down and see his mother?"
"I did. I told him he must get the money from her."
"A mistake, Harry135, a mistake!" said Routh, petulantly136. "Getting the money means paying us; paying us means breaking with us?"
"Breaking with us?"
"Nothing less. Did you not hear him when the remorseful137 fit was on him just now? And don't you know that he's wonderfully young, considering all things, and has kept the bloom on his feelings in a very extraordinary manner? Did you not hear him mutter something about 'once free'? I did not like that, Harry."
"Yes, I heard him say those words," replied Harriet. "It was my hearing them that made me go up to him and speak as I did."
"That was quite right, and had its effect. One does not know what he might have done if he had turned rusty138 just then. And it is essential that there should not be a rupture139 between us now."
"George Dallas shall not dream of breaking with us; at least, he shall not carry out any such idea; I will take care of that," said Harriet, "though I think you overrate his usefulness to us."
"Do I? I flatter myself there is no man in London forced to gain his bread by his wits who has a better eye for a tool than myself. And I tell you, Harry, that during all the time we have been leading this shifty life together, we have never had any one so suitable to our purposes as George Dallas."
"Amenable? He is a good deal more than that; he is devoted141. You know whose doing that is, Harry, and so do I. Why, when you laid your hand on his shoulder I saw him shiver like a leaf, and the first few words from you stilled what I thought was going to be a heavy storm."
She looked up anxiously into his face, but the smile had returned to his lips, and his brow was unclouded. Not perfectly142 satisfied, she suffered her eyes to drop again.
"I know perfectly well," pursued Routh, "that the manner in which Dallas has stuck to us has been owing entirely to the influence you have over him, and which is natural enough. He is a bright young fellow, impressionable as we all are----" again her eyes were raised to his face, "--at his age; and though from the scrapes he has got into, and his own natural love of play (more developed in him than in any other man I ever met), though these things keep him down, he is innately143 a gentleman. You are the only woman of refinement144 and education to whose society he has access, and as, at the same time, you have a sweet face and an enormous power of will, it is not extraordinary that he should be completely under your influence."
"Don't you overrate that same influence, Stewart?" she asked with a faint smile.
"No man knows better how to appraise145 the value of his own goods--and you are my goods, are you not, Harry, and out and away, the best of all my goods? Not that that's saying much. No; I understand these things, and I understand you, and having perfect confidence and trust in you, I stand by and watch the game."
"And you're never jealous, Stewart?" she asked, with a half-laugh, but with the old expression of anxious interest in her eyes.
"Jealous, Harry? Not I, my love! I tell you, I have perfect trust and confidence in you, and I know your thorough devotion to our affairs. Let us get back to what we were talking about at first--what was it exactly?"
Her eyes had dropped again at the commencement of his reply, but she raised them as he finished speaking, and said, "We were discussing the amount of George Dallas's usefulness to us."
"Exactly. His usefulness is greater than it seems. There is nothing so useful in a life like ours as the outward semblance146 of position. I don't mean the mere get up; that most fools can manage; but the certain something which proclaims to his fellows and his inferiors that a man has had education and been decently bred. There are very few among our precious acquaintances who could not win Dallas's coat off his back, at cards, or billiards147, or betting, but there is not one whom I could present to any young fellow of the smallest appreciation148 whom I might pick up. Even if their frightful149 appearance were not sufficiently against them--and it is--they would say or do something in the first few minutes which would awake suspicion, whereas Dallas, even in his poverty-stricken clothes of the last few weeks, looks like a gentleman, and talks and behaves like one."
"Yes," said Harriet, reflecting, "he certainly does; and that's a great consideration, Stewart?"
"Incalculable! Besides, though he is a thorough gambler at heart, he has some other visible profession. His 'connection with the press,' as he calls it, seems really to be a fact; he could earn a decent salary if he stuck to it. From a letter he showed me, I make out that they seem to think well of him at the newspaper office; and mind you, Harriet, he might be uncommonly150 useful to us some day in getting things kept out of the papers, or flying a few rumours151 which would take effect in the money-market or at Tattersall's. Do you see all that, Harry?"
"I see it," she replied; "I suppose you're right."
"Eight? Of course I am! George Dallas is the best ally--and the cheapest--we have ever had, and he must be kept with us."
"I am. I feel convinced, from that little outburst to-night, that he is touched by this unexplained sacrifice on the part of his mother, and that in his present frame of mind he would give anything to send us adrift and get back into decent life. I feel this so strongly, Harriet," continued Routh, rising from his seat, crossing to the mantelshelf, and taking a cigar, "that I think even your influence would be powerless to restrain him, unless--"
"Unless what? Why do you pause?" she asked, looking up at him with a clear steadfast gaze.
"Unless," said Routh, slowly puffing152 at his newly-lighted cigar, "unless we get a fresh and a firm hold on him. He will pay that hundred and forty pounds. Once paid that hold is gone, and with it goes our ally!"
"I see what you mean," said Harriet, after a pause, with a short mirthless laugh. "He must be what they call in the East 'compromised.' We are plague-stricken. George Dallas must be seen to brush shoulders with us. His garments must be known to have touched ours. Then the uninfected will cast him out, and he will be reduced to herd153 with us."
"You are figurative, Harry, but forcible: you have hit my meaning exactly. But the main point still remains--how is he to be 'compromised'?"
"It is impossible to settle that hurriedly," she replied, pushing her hair back from her forehead. "But it must be done effectually, and the step which he is led to take, and which is to bind154 him firmly to us, must be irrevocable. Hush155! Come in!"
These last words were in reply to a knock at the room door. A dirty servant-girl put her tangled156 head into the room, and announced "Mr. Deane" as waiting down-stairs. This statement was apparently incorrect, for the girl had scarcely made it before she disappeared, as though pulled back, and a man stepped past her, and made one stride into the middle of the room, where he stood looking round him with a suspicious leer.
He was a young man, apparently not more than two or three and twenty, judging by his figure and his light active movements; but cunning and deceit had stamped such wrinkles round his eyes, and graven such lines round his mouth, as are seldom to be seen in youth. His eyes, of a greenish-gray hue157, were small and deeply sunk in his head; his cheek-bones were high, his cheeks fringed by a very small scrap71 of whisker running into a dirt-coloured tuft of hair growing underneath158 his chin. His figure was tall and; angular, his arms and legs long and awkward, his hands and feet large and ill-shaped. He wore a large thick overcoat with broad fur collar and cuffs159, and a hood160 (also fur-lined) hanging back on his shoulders. With the exception of a very slight strip of ribbon, he had no cravat161 underneath his long limp turnover162 collar, but stuck into his shirt-front was a large and handsome diamond pin.
"Why, what the 'tarnal," he commenced, placing his arms a-kimbo and without removing his hat--"what the 'tarnal, as they say down west, is the meaning of this little game? I come here pretty smart often, don't I? I come in gen'lly right way, don't I? Why does that gal163 go totin' up in front of me to-day to see if you would see me, now?"
"Some mistake, eh?"
"Not a bit of it! Gal was all right, gal was. What I want to know is, what was up? Was you a practisin' any of your little hankey-pankeys with the pasteboards? Was you a bitin' in a double set of scrip of the new company to do your own riggin' of the market? Or was it a little bit of quiet con-nubiality with the mar-darm here in which you didn't want to be disturbed?"
Stewart Routh's face had been growing darker and darker as this speech proceeded, and at the allusion27 to his wife his lips began to move; but they were stopped by a warning pressure underneath the table from Harriet's foot.
"You're a queer fellow, Deane!" he said, in a subdued164 voice. "The fact is, we have a new servant here, and she did not recognize you as l'ami de la maison, and so stood on the proprieties165, I suppose."
"O, that's it, eh? I don't know about the proprieties; but when the gal knows more of me, she'll guess I'm one of 'em. Nothing improper166 about me--no loafin' rowdy ways, such as some of your friends have. Pay my way as I go, ask no favours, and don't expect none." He gave his trousers pockets a ringing slap as he spoke, and looked round with a sneering167 laugh.
"There, there! It's all right; now sit down, and have a glass of wine, and tell us the news."
"No," he said, "thank'ee. I've been liquoring up in the City, where I've been doin' a little business--realizing some of them Lake Eries and Michigans as I told you on. Spanking168 investments they were, and have turned up trumps169."
"I hope you're in the hands of an honest broker," said Routh. "I could introduce you to one who--"
"Thank'ee, I have a great man to broke for me, recommended to me from t'other side by his cousin who leads Wall-street, New York City. I have given him the writings, and am going to see him on Tuesday, at two, when I shall trouser the dollars to the tune22 of fifteen thousand and odd, if markets hold up, I reckon."
"And you'll bring some of that to us in Tokenhouse-yard," said Routh eagerly. "You recollect6 what I showed you, that I--"
"O yes!" said Deane, again with the sinister170 smile. "You could talk a 'coon's hind126 leg off, you could, Routh. But I shall just keep my dollars in my desk for a few days. Tokenhouse-yard can wait a little, can't it? just to see how things eventuate, you know."
"As you please," said Routh. "One thing is certain, Deane; you need no Mentor171 in your business, whatever you may do in your pleasures."
"Flatter myself, need none in neither," said the young man, with a baleful grin. "Eh, look here, now: talking of pleasures, come and dine with me on Tuesday at Barton's, at five. I've asked Dallas, and we'll have a night of it. Tuesday, the 17th, mind. Sorry to take your husband away, Mrs. R., but I'll make up for it, some day. Perhaps you'll come and dine with me some day, Mis R., without R.?"
"Not I, Mr. Deane," said Harriet, with a laugh. "You're by far too dangerous a man."
Mr. Deane was gone; and again Stewart Routh sat over the table, scribbling172 figures on his blotting-pad.
"What are you doing, Stewart?"
"Five dollars to the pound--fifteen thousand," he said, "three thousand pounds! When did he say he would draw it?"
"On Tuesday, the--the day you dine with him."
"The day I dine with him! Keep it in his desk, he said, for a few days! He has grown very shy about Tokenhouse-yard. He hasn't been there for a week. The day I dine with him!" He had dropped his pen, and was slowly passing his hand over his chin.
"Stewart," said Harriet, going behind him and putting her arm round his neck--"Stewart, I know what thought you're busy with, but--"
"Do you, Harry?" said he, disengaging himself, but not unkindly--"do you? Then keep it to yourself, my girl, and get to bed. We must have that, Harry, in one way or another; we must have it."
She took up a candle, pressed her lips to his forehead, and went to her room without a word. But for full ten minutes she remained standing before the dressing-table buried in thought, and again she muttered to herself: "A great risk! A great risk!"
点击收听单词发音
1 sanguine | |
adj.充满希望的,乐观的,血红色的 | |
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2 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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3 temperaments | |
性格( temperament的名词复数 ); (人或动物的)气质; 易冲动; (性情)暴躁 | |
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4 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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5 flicker | |
vi./n.闪烁,摇曳,闪现 | |
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6 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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7 adage | |
n.格言,古训 | |
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8 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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9 reigned | |
vi.当政,统治(reign的过去式形式) | |
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10 paramount | |
a.最重要的,最高权力的 | |
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11 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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12 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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13 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14 finesse | |
n.精密技巧,灵巧,手腕 | |
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15 paltry | |
adj.无价值的,微不足道的 | |
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16 harassed | |
adj. 疲倦的,厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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17 creditors | |
n.债权人,债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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18 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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19 preoccupied | |
adj.全神贯注的,入神的;被抢先占有的;心事重重的v.占据(某人)思想,使对…全神贯注,使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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20 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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21 glamour | |
n.魔力,魅力;vt.迷住 | |
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22 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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23 dexterity | |
n.(手的)灵巧,灵活 | |
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24 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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25 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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26 contingencies | |
n.偶然发生的事故,意外事故( contingency的名词复数 );以备万一 | |
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27 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
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28 allusions | |
暗指,间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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29 diligently | |
ad.industriously;carefully | |
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30 undertaking | |
n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
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31 vivacious | |
adj.活泼的,快活的 | |
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32 consummate | |
adj.完美的;v.成婚;使完美 [反]baffle | |
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33 besieged | |
包围,围困,围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34 brokers | |
n.(股票、外币等)经纪人( broker的名词复数 );中间人;代理商;(订合同的)中人v.做掮客(或中人等)( broker的第三人称单数 );作为权力经纪人进行谈判;以中间人等身份安排… | |
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35 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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36 crook | |
v.使弯曲;n.小偷,骗子,贼;弯曲(处) | |
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37 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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38 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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39 imminent | |
adj.即将发生的,临近的,逼近的 | |
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40 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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41 desultory | |
adj.散漫的,无方法的 | |
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42 aspirations | |
强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 ); 志向; 发送气音; 发 h 音 | |
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43 incurably | |
ad.治不好地 | |
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44 impulsive | |
adj.冲动的,刺激的;有推动力的 | |
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45 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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46 potent | |
adj.强有力的,有权势的;有效力的 | |
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47 proprietors | |
n.所有人,业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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48 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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49 sensuousness | |
n.知觉 | |
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50 nonchalance | |
n.冷淡,漠不关心 | |
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51 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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52 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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53 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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54 deterioration | |
n.退化;恶化;变坏 | |
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55 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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56 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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57 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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58 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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59 precluded | |
v.阻止( preclude的过去式和过去分词 );排除;妨碍;使…行不通 | |
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60 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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61 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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62 den | |
n.兽穴;秘密地方;安静的小房间,私室 | |
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63 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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64 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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65 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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66 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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67 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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68 apprehend | |
vt.理解,领悟,逮捕,拘捕,忧虑 | |
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69 lodgings | |
n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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70 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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71 scrap | |
n.碎片;废料;v.废弃,报废 | |
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72 spoke | |
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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73 landlady | |
n.女房东,女地主 | |
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74 hampered | |
妨碍,束缚,限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75 despondent | |
adj.失望的,沮丧的,泄气的 | |
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76 sitting-room | |
n.(BrE)客厅,起居室 | |
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77 ingenuity | |
n.别出心裁;善于发明创造 | |
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78 contrive | |
vt.谋划,策划;设法做到;设计,想出 | |
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79 aperture | |
n.孔,隙,窄的缺口 | |
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80 disconsolately | |
adv.悲伤地,愁闷地;哭丧着脸 | |
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81 blistered | |
adj.水疮状的,泡状的v.(使)起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 );(使表皮等)涨破,爆裂 | |
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82 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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83 suspense | |
n.(对可能发生的事)紧张感,担心,挂虑 | |
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84 procuring | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的现在分词 );拉皮条 | |
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85 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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86 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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87 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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88 bereavement | |
n.亲人丧亡,丧失亲人,丧亲之痛 | |
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89 effaced | |
v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 );抹去;超越;使黯然失色 | |
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90 abhorrent | |
adj.可恶的,可恨的,讨厌的 | |
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91 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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92 humiliation | |
n.羞辱 | |
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93 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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94 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
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95 procured | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 );拉皮条 | |
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96 expedient | |
adj.有用的,有利的;n.紧急的办法,权宜之计 | |
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97 solicitor | |
n.初级律师,事务律师 | |
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98 laborious | |
adj.吃力的,努力的,不流畅 | |
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99 deception | |
n.欺骗,欺诈;骗局,诡计 | |
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100 callous | |
adj.无情的,冷淡的,硬结的,起老茧的 | |
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101 radical | |
n.激进份子,原子团,根号;adj.根本的,激进的,彻底的 | |
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102 pecuniary | |
adj.金钱的;金钱上的 | |
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103 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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104 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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105 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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106 expedients | |
n.应急有效的,权宜之计的( expedient的名词复数 ) | |
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107 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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108 falter | |
vi.(嗓音)颤抖,结巴地说;犹豫;蹒跚 | |
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109 delusive | |
adj.欺骗的,妄想的 | |
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110 contemplate | |
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
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111 dingy | |
adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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112 mused | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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113 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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114 cogitation | |
n.仔细思考,计划,设计 | |
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115 moodily | |
adv.喜怒无常地;情绪多变地;心情不稳地;易生气地 | |
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116 fleeting | |
adj.短暂的,飞逝的 | |
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117 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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118 feigned | |
a.假装的,不真诚的 | |
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119 provincial | |
adj.省的,地方的;n.外省人,乡下人 | |
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120 lighter | |
n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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121 degradation | |
n.降级;低落;退化;陵削;降解;衰变 | |
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122 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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123 loathe | |
v.厌恶,嫌恶 | |
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124 cant | |
n.斜穿,黑话,猛扔 | |
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125 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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126 hind | |
adj.后面的,后部的 | |
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127 intentionally | |
ad.故意地,有意地 | |
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128 harp | |
n.竖琴;天琴座 | |
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129 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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130 imputation | |
n.归罪,责难 | |
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131 peevishly | |
adv.暴躁地 | |
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132 discord | |
n.不和,意见不合,争论,(音乐)不和谐 | |
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133 whined | |
v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 );哀诉,诉怨 | |
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134 steadfast | |
adj.固定的,不变的,不动摇的;忠实的;坚贞不移的 | |
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135 harry | |
vt.掠夺,蹂躏,使苦恼 | |
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136 petulantly | |
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137 remorseful | |
adj.悔恨的 | |
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138 rusty | |
adj.生锈的;锈色的;荒废了的 | |
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139 rupture | |
n.破裂;(关系的)决裂;v.(使)破裂 | |
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140 amenable | |
adj.经得起检验的;顺从的;对负有义务的 | |
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141 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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142 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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143 innately | |
adv.天赋地;内在地,固有地 | |
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144 refinement | |
n.文雅;高尚;精美;精制;精炼 | |
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145 appraise | |
v.估价,评价,鉴定 | |
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146 semblance | |
n.外貌,外表 | |
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147 billiards | |
n.台球 | |
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148 appreciation | |
n.评价;欣赏;感谢;领会,理解;价格上涨 | |
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149 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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150 uncommonly | |
adv. 稀罕(极,非常) | |
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151 rumours | |
n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 );风闻;谣言;谣传 | |
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152 puffing | |
v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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153 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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154 bind | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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155 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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156 tangled | |
adj. 纠缠的,紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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157 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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158 underneath | |
adj.在...下面,在...底下;adv.在下面 | |
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159 cuffs | |
n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打,拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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160 hood | |
n.头巾,兜帽,覆盖;v.罩上,以头巾覆盖 | |
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161 cravat | |
n.领巾,领结;v.使穿有领结的服装,使结领结 | |
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162 turnover | |
n.人员流动率,人事变动率;营业额,成交量 | |
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163 gal | |
n.姑娘,少女 | |
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164 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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165 proprieties | |
n.礼仪,礼节;礼貌( propriety的名词复数 );规矩;正当;合适 | |
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166 improper | |
adj.不适当的,不合适的,不正确的,不合礼仪的 | |
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167 sneering | |
嘲笑的,轻蔑的 | |
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168 spanking | |
adj.强烈的,疾行的;n.打屁股 | |
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169 trumps | |
abbr.trumpets 喇叭;小号;喇叭形状的东西;喇叭筒v.(牌戏)出王牌赢(一牌或一墩)( trump的过去式 );吹号公告,吹号庆祝;吹喇叭;捏造 | |
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170 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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171 mentor | |
n.指导者,良师益友;v.指导 | |
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172 scribbling | |
n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 );乱画;草草地写;匆匆记下 | |
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