But let it whistle as it will,
We'll keep our Christmas merry still."—Scott.
"
Lor! Lor! what a night it is any way. Since I was first born, and that's thirty-five—no, forty-five years come next June, I never heern sich win' as that there, fit to tear the roof off! Well, this is Christmas Eve, and we ginerally do hev a spell o' weather 'bout1 this time. Here you Fly! Fly! you little black imp2 you! if you don't stop that falling asleep over the fire, and stir your lazy stumps3, I'll tie you up and give you such a switchin' as you never had in all your born days. Ar-r-r-r! there I vow4 to Sam if that derned old tabby cat hain't got her nose stuck into the apple sass! Scat! you hussy! Fly-y-y! you ugly little black ace-o'-spades! will you wake up afore I twist your neck for you?"
And the speaker of this spirited address—a tall, thin,[Pg 8] pasteboard female, as erect5 as a ramrod and as flat as a shingle6, with a hard, uncompromising face, and a hawk-like gray eye, caught hold of the drowsy7 little darkey nodding in the chimney-corner, and shook her as if she had been a flourishing little fruit tree in harvest time.
"P-please, Miss Jerry, 'scuse me—I didn't go for to do it," stammered8 Fly, with a very wide-awake and startled face. "I wasn't asleep, old Mist—"
"Oh! you wasn't asleep, old Mist—wasn't you," sneered9 Miss Jerusha Glory Ann Skamp, the sonorous10 and high-sounding title claimed by the antiquated11 maiden12 lady as her rightful property; "you wasn't asleep wasn't you? Oh, no! in course you wasn't! You never sleep at all, do you? Betsey Periwinkle never runs off with the meat, and the cold vittals, or drinks the milk, or pokes14 her nose into the apple sass, or punkin slap-jack, while you're a snoozin' in the corner, does she? Ain't you 'shamed o' yourself, you nasty little black image, to stand up there and talk to one as has been a mother to you year in and year out, like that? Ar Lor'! there ain't nothin' but ungratytood in this 'ere world. Betsey Periwinkle, you ugly brute15! I see you a lookin' at the apple sass, but just let me ketch you at it agin, that's all! Oh, my stars and thingumbobs! the way I'm afflicted16 with that lazy little nigger and that thievin' cat, and me a poor lone17 woman too! If it ain't enough to make a body go and do something to themselves I should admire to know what is. Here, you Fly! jump up and fry the pancakes for supper, and put the tea to draw, and set that johnny-cake in the oven, and then set the table, and don't be lazin' around like a singed18 cat all the time."
And having delivered herself of these commands all in[Pg 9] a breath, with the air of a Napoleon in petticoats, Miss Jerusha marched, with the tramp of a grenadier, out of the kitchen into the "best room," drew several yards of stocking from an apparently19 bottomless pocket, deposited herself gingerly in the embraces of a cushioned rocking-chair, the only sort of embrace Miss Jerusha had any faith in, and began knitting away as if the fate of nations depended on it.
And while she sits there, straight, rigid20, and erect as a church steeple, let me describe her and the house itself more minutely.
A New England "best room!" Who does not know what it looks like? The shining, yellow-painted floor, whereon no sacrilegious speck21 of dust ever rests; the six stiff-backed, cane-seated chairs, standing22 around like grim sentinels on duty, in the exact position to an inch wherein they have stood ever since they were chairs; the huge black chest of drawers that looms23 up dark and ominous24 between the two front windows, those windows themselves glittering, shining, flashing, perfect jewels of cleanliness, protected from flies and other "noxious25 insects" by stiff, rustling26 green paper blinds; the table opposite the fireplace, whereon lies, in solemn, solitary27 grandeur28, a large family Bible, Fox's Book of Martyrs29, the Pilgrim's Progress, and Robinson Crusoe.
Miss Jerusha, being frightfully sensible, as ladies of a certain age always are, looked upon all works of fiction with a steady contempt too intense for words; and therefore Robinson Crusoe had remained as unmolested on the table as he had in his sea-girt island from the day a deluded31 friend had presented it to her until the present hour. In fact, Miss Jerusha Skamp did not affect literature of any[Pg 10] kind much, and looked upon reading as a downright waste of time and patience. On Sundays, it is true, she considered it a religious duty to spell through a chapter in the Bible, beginning at the first of Genesis, and marching right through, in spite of all obstacles, to the end of Revelations—a feat32 she had once performed in her life, and was now half way through again. The hard words and proper names in the Old Testament33 were a serious trial to Miss Jerusha, and, combined with the laziness of her little negro maid Fly, and the dishonest propensities34 of her cat Periwinkle, were the chief troubles and tribulations35 of her life. Miss Jerusha's opinion was that it would have been just as easy for the children of Israel to have been born John Smith or Peter Jones as Shadrack, Meshach and Abednego, and a great deal easier for posterity36. Next to the Bible, Fox's "Book of Martyrs" was a work wherein Miss Jerusha's soul delighted, and wonderful was her appreciation37 and approval of the ghastly pictures which embellished38 that saintly volume. "The Pilgrim's Progress" she passed over with silent contempt as a book "nobody could see the pint39 of."
Besides the best room, Miss Jerusha's cottage contained a kitchen about the size of a well grown bandbox, and overhead there were two sleeping apartments, one occupied by that ancient vestal herself, and the other used as a store-room and lumber-room generally.
Fly and Betsey Periwinkle sought their repose40 and shakedown before the kitchen fire, being enjoined41 each night before she left them by Miss Jerusha to "keep an eye on the house and things;" but as Fly generally snored from the moment the last flutter of Miss Jerusha's dress disappeared until a sound shaking from that lady awoke[Pg 11] her next morning, and Betsey Periwinkle, after indulging in a series of short naps, amused herself with reconnoitering the premises42 and feloniously purloining43 everything she could lay her paws on that seemed to be good and eatable, it is to be supposed the admonitions were not very rigidly44 attended to. There was not much danger of robbers, however, for the cottage was situated45 nearly two miles from any other habitation, on the very outskirts46 of the flourishing township of Burnfield, a spot lonely and isolated47 enough to suit even the hermit-like taste of Miss Jerusha.
The back windows of the cottage commanded a view of the sea, spreading away and away until lost in the horizon beyond. From the front was seen the forest path lonely and silent, with the dark pine woods bounding the vision and extending away for miles. In the rear of the house was a small garden, filled in summer with vegetables of all sorts, and the product of this garden formed the principal source of Miss Jerusha's income. The old maid was not rich by any means, but with the vegetables and poultry48 she raised herself, the stockings she knit, the cloth she wove, the wool she dyed, the candy she made and sold to the Burnfield grocers, and the sewing she "took in" she managed to live comfortably enough and "lay up something," as she said herself, "for a rainy day"—a figure of speech which was popularly supposed to refer to times of adversity and old age.
A strong-minded, clear-headed, sharp-tongued, wide-awake, uncompromising specimen50 of femaledom "away down east" was Miss Jerusha. Never since the time she had first donned pantalettes, and had "swopped" her rag doll for Mary Ann Brown's china mug, could that respectable individual, the oldest inhabitant, recollect51 any occasion[Pg 12] wherein Miss Jerusha had not got the best of the bargain, whatever that bargain might be. Though never remarkable52 at any time for her personal beauty, yet tradition averred53 that her thriftiness54 and smartness had on one or two occasions so far captivated certain Jonathans of her district, that they had gallantly55 tendered their heart, hand and brand new swallow-tails. But looking upon mankind as an inferior race of animals, made more for ornament56 than use, Miss Jerusha had contemptuously refused them, and had marched on with grim determination through the vale of years in her single blessedness up to her present mature age of five-and-forty.
The personal appearance of the lady could hardly be called prepossessing at first sight, or at second sight either, for that matter. Unusually tall, and unusually thin, Miss Jerusha looked not unlike a female hop-pole, and her figure was not to say improved by her dress, which never could be persuaded to approach her ankles, and was so narrow that a long step seemed rather a hazardous57 experiment. Her hair, which was of a neutral tint58 between red and orange, a vague hue59 commonly known as "carroty," was disfigured by no cap or other sort of headgear, but tethered into a tight knot behind, and then forcibly secured. Her face looked not unlike that of a yellow parchment image as she there sat knitting in the red firelight, rocking herself back and forward in a rheumatic old chair that kept up a horrible crechy-crawchy as she squeaked60 back and forth61.
The night was Christmas Eve, and unusually wild and stormy, even for that season. The wind blew in terrible gusts62, shrieking64 wildly through the bare arms of the pines, drifting the snow into great hills, and driving the piercing sleet65 clamorously against the windows. Miss Jerusha[Pg 13] drew closer to the fire, with a shiver, and paused for a moment to listen to the wild winter storm.
"My gracious! what a blast o' win' that there was. Ef the old Satin ain't been let loose to-night my name's not Jerusha Skamp. Go out and bring in some more wood, Fly, and don't let Betsey Periwinkle eat the tea things while you're gone. My-y-y conscience! how it blows—getting worse and worse every minute too. If there's any ships on the river to-night the first land they make will be the bottom, or I'm no judge. And I oughter be, I think," said Miss Jerusha, administering a kick to Betsey Periwinkle, as that amiable67 quadruped began some friendly advances toward her ball of stocking yarn68, "seein' I've lived here since I was born, and that's forty-five years come next June. I should not wonder now if some shiftless, good-for-nothing vagabones was to 'low themselves for to get ketched in the storm and come to me to let 'em in and keep 'em all night. Well, Miss Jerusha, don't you think you see yourself a-doing of it though! People seems to think I was made specially69 by Providence70 to 'tend onto 'em and make yarb tea for them to swaller as is sick, and look arter them as is well, whenever they get ketched in a storm, or a nightmare, or anything. Humph! I guess nobody never seen any small sand, commonly called mite71 stones, in my eyes, and never will if I can help it. What on airth keeps that there little black viper72 now, I wonder. You, Fly!"
"Yes, old Mist, here I is," answered Fly, coming blustering73 in like a sable74 goddess of the wind, loaded down with wood. "An' oh, Miss Jerry, all de ghosts as eber was is ober in dat ar inferally ole house 'long the road."
"Ghosts! ugh!" said Miss Jerusha, with a contemptu[Pg 14]ous snarl75, for the worthy76 spinster despised "spirits from the vasty deep" as profoundly as she did mankind. "Don't make a greater fool o' yourself, you misfortunate little nat'ral you, than the Lord himself made you. Put some wood on the fire, and be off and hurry up supper."
"Miss Jerry, I 'clear I seed it own bressed self," protested Fly, with horror-stricken eyes. "I jes did, as plain as I see you now, an' if as how you doesn't believe me, Miss Jerry, go and look for yourself."
"Lord bless the child! what is she talking about?" said Miss Jerusha, turning around so sharply that little Fly jumped back in alarm.
"Ghosts, Miss Jerry," whimpered the poor little darkey.
"Ghosts! Fly, look here! You want me to switch you within an inch o' your life," said Miss Jerusha, laying down her knitting and compressing her lips.
"Miss Jerry, I can't help it; I jes can't. Ef you're to kill me, I did see 'em, too, and you can see 'em yerself ef you'll only look out ob de winder," sobbed77 Fly, digging her knuckles78 into her eyes.
Miss Jerusha, with sternly shut-up lips, glared upon the unhappy little negress for a moment in ominous silence, and then getting up, went to the window and looked out.
But the window was thickly covered with frost, and nothing was to be seen from it.
"Ef you'd only come to de door, Miss Jerry," wept Fly, taking her knuckles out of one eye, where they had been firmly imbedded.
With the tramp of an iron-shod dragon, Miss Jerusha walked to the kitchen door, opened it, and looked out.
A blinding drift of snow, a piercing blast of wind, a[Pg 15] cutting shower of sleet, met her in the face, and for one moment forced her back.
Only for a moment, for Miss Jerusha was not one to yield to trifles, and then, shading her eyes with her hands, she strove to pierce the darkness made white by the falling snow. No ghost met her gaze, however, but something that startled her quite as much—a long line of red light streaming along the lonesome, deserted79 road. There was no one living save herself all along the way for two miles, and no house of any kind save the ruins of an old cottage, long since deserted, and popularly supposed to be haunted.
"Great Jemima!" exclaimed Miss Jerusha, as, after her first start of astonishment80, she came in, closed and locked the door, "who can be in the old house? Somebody's bin30 caught in the storm, and went in there for shelter. Well, lors! I hope they won't come bothering me. If they do, I'll pack them off agin with a flea81 in their ear. You, Fly! ain't them pancakes fried yet? Oh, you lazy, shif'less, idle, good-for-nothing little reptyle! Ef you don't ketch particler fits afore ever you sleep this night! And I 'clare to man the kittle ain't even biled, much less the tea adrawin'! You, Fly!"
Fly came rushing frantically82 out, and dodged83 Miss Jerusha's uplifted hand, which came down with a stunning84 force on the table. With a suppressed howl of pain, the enraged85 spinster shook her tingling86 fingers, and was about to pounce87 bodily upon her unlucky little servitor, when, in a lull88 of the storm, a knock at the door arrested the descending89 blow.
Both mistress and maid paused and held their breath to listen.
The wind and sleet came driving in fierce gusts against[Pg 16] the house, shaking the doors and rattling90 the windows; then came a lull, and then the knock was repeated, this time more loudly.
"Oh, Miss Jerry, it's a ghos'! Oh, Miss Jerry, it's a ghos'! an' 'deed a' 'deed I don't want for to go!" shrieked91 the terrified Fly, clinging wildly to Miss Jerusha's dress.
With a vigorous shake the spinster shook off the clinging hands of poor little Fly, and laid her sprawling92 on the floor. Then approaching the door, she called, loudly and threateningly:
"Who's there?"
Another knock, but no reply.
"Who's there?" repeated Miss Jerusha, sharply.
"It's only me—please let me in," answered a faint voice.
To Miss Jerusha it sounded like the voice of a child, but still suspicious of her visitor, she only called:
"What do you want?"
"Oh, please open the door—I'm so cold!" was the answer, in a faint, shivering voice that was drowned in another shriek63 of the storm.
Miss Jerusha was no coward; so, first arming herself with a pair of tongs93, having some vague idea she might find them useful, she pulled open the door, admitting a wild drift of wind, and snow, and sleet, and, blown in with it, the small, slight figure of a child—no one else.
Miss Jerusha closed the door, folded her arms, and looked at her unexpected visitor. Little Fly, too, so far recovered from her terror as to lift her woolly head and favor the new-comer with an open mouth and eyes astare.
It was a boy of some thirteen or fourteen years of age, wretchedly clad, but so white with the drifting snow that[Pg 17] it was impossible to tell what he wore. His face was thin, pinched, and purple with the cold, his fingers red and benumbed, his teeth chattering94 either with fear or cold.
As Miss Jerusha continued to stare at him in severest silence, he lifted a pair of large, dark, melancholy95 eyes wistfully, pleadingly, to her hard, grim face.
"Well," said the spinster, at last, drawing a deep breath, and surveying him from head to foot—"well, young man, what do you want, if a body may ask?"
"Please ma'am, I want you to come and see mother—she's sick," said the child, dropping his eyes under the stern gaze bent96 upon him.
"Oh, you do? I hain't the least doubt of it!" said Miss Jerusha, sarcastically97. "Should hev bin 'sprised if you hadn't. I was jest a sayin' I 'spected to see somebody comin' for me to see their mother or something. Nobody could die, of course, unless I trudged98 through the snow and storm to see 'em off. Of course, it wouldn't do to let a particerlerly stormy night come without bringing me out through it, giving me the rheumatiz in all my bones and a misery99 in the rest o' my limbs. Oh, no, in course it wouldn't. And who may your mother happen to be, young man?" concluded Miss Jerusha, changing with startling abruptness100 from the intensely ironical101 to the most searching severity.
"Why, she's mother," said the boy, simply, lifting his dark, earnest eyes again to that set, rigid face; "she is in that old house over there, and she—is going to die."
His lip quivered, his eyes filled and saddened, and he drew a long, shivering breath, and swallowed very fast to keep back his tears. Brave little heart! hiding his own[Pg 18] grief lest it might offend that sour-looking gorgon102 and keep her from visiting "mother."
Miss Jerusha's face did not relax a muscle as she kept her steely eyes fixed103 unwinkingly on that sad, downcast young face. It was a handsome face, too, in spite of its pinched, famished104 look; and Miss Jerusha, to use her own expression, "couldn't abide105" handsome people.
"And what brings your mother to that old house that ain't fit for a well-brought-up dog to die in, let alone, a 'sponsible member o' society?" asked Miss Jerusha, sharply.
"Please, ma'am, we hadn't any place else to go."
"Oh, you hadn't! I thought all along that was the sort of folks you was!" sneered the old lady; "there allers is tramps about, dropping down and dying in the most unheard-of places. There, be off with you now! I make a pint o' never encouraging beggars or shif'less char-ak-ters. I hain't got nothin' for your mother, and I ain't a public nuss, though people seems for to think I'm paid by the corporation for seein' sick folks out of the world. There! go!"
"Oh! please come and see mother! indeed, indeed we ain't beggars, but mother was so tired and sick she could not go any farther, and now she is dying there all alone with only sis. Oh, please do come," and the childish voice grew sharp and wild in its pleading agony.
The heart beating within Miss Jerusha's vestal corset was touched for a moment, and then arose thoughts of vagrants106, impostors, and "shif'less" characters generally, and the heart was stilled again; the voice that answered his pleading cry was high and angry.
"I won't, you little limb! Be off! It's my opinion your mother ain't no better than she ought to be, or she wouldn't[Pg 19] come a dying round promiscuously107 in such a way. There! March!"
With an angry jerk, the door was pulled open, and the long, lean finger of the spinster pointed108 out.
Without a word he turned to go, but as he passed from the inhospitable threshold the large dark, solemn eyes were lifted to hers with a long look of unutterable reproach; then the door was closed after him with a sharp bang, and securely bolted.
"Shif'less vagabones," muttered Miss Jerusha; "ought to be whipped as long as they can stand! Well, he's gone, and he didn't get much out of me anyway."
Yes, Miss Jerusha, he has gone, but when will the haunting memory of that last look of unspeakable reproach go too? It rose like a remorseful109 ghost before her as she stood moodily111 gazing on the red spot that glowed like an eye of flame on the top of the hot little kitchen stove—that furnished sorrowful childish face—those dark, sad, pitiful eyes—that silent reproach, far keener than any words.
Miss Jerusha strove to still the rebellious112 voice of conscience and persuade herself she had done exactly right, but never in all her life had she felt so dissatisfied with her own conduct before. As usual, when people are irritated with themselves, she felt doubly irritated with everybody else; so, by way of relieving her mind, she boxed Fly's ears, and kicked Betsey Periwinkle, who came purring affectionately around her, to the other end of the room. And then, with her temper no way sweetened by those little marks of endearment113, she tramped back to the best room, and dropped sullenly114 into a comfortable seat by the fire.[Pg 20]
But owing to some cause or another, the seat was comfortable no longer. Miss Jerusha turned and twisted, and jerked herself round into every possible position, and "pooh'd" and "pshaw'd," and listened to Fly, who, out in the kitchen, had lifted up her voice and wept, and ordered her fiercely to bring in tea and hold her tongue. And poor little ill-used Fly brought it in, dropping tears into the sugar-bowl, and cream-jug, and "apple sass," and snuffling in great mental and bodily distress115. And then Miss Jerusha sat down to supper, and great and mighty116 was the eating thereof; but still the canker within grew sorer and sorer, and would not be forgotten. Do what she would, turn which way she might, that sorrowful, childish face would rise before her like a waking nightmare. Conscience, that "still, small voice," would persist in making itself heard, until at last Miss Jerusha turned ferociously117 round and told conscience to mind his own business, that "she wasn't going to be fooled by no baby-faced little vagabones." And then, resuming her work, she sat down with grim determination, and knit and knit, and still the steam within got up to a high pressure, until Miss Jerusha got into a state of mind, between remorse110 and conscience and the heat of the fire, threatening spontaneous combustion118.
Woe119 to the man, woman, or child who would have presumed to cross Miss Jerusha in her present mood! Safer would it have been to
The Douglas in his hall,"
than the young tornado120 pent up within the hermetically[Pg 21] sealed lips of Miss Jerusha Glory Ann Skamp at that moment.
But all would not do. Louder and louder that clamorous66 voice arose, until the aged49 spinster bounded up in a rage, flung her knitting across the room, and, striding across to the hall, returned with an immense gray woolen121 mantle122, a thick black silk quilted hood123, a red woolen comforter, and a pair of men's strong calf-skin boots. Flinging herself into a seat, Miss Jerusha, with two or three savage124 pulls, jerked these on, and having by this means got rid of some of the superfluous125 steam, burst out into the following complimentary126 strain to herself:
"Jerusha Glory Ann Skamp, it's my opinion you're a nat'ral born fool, and nothin' shorter! Ain't you ashamed of yourself in your 'spectable old age o' life to go trampin' and vanderblowsin' through the streets at sich onchristian hours of the night to look arter wagrets as ought for to look arter theirselves? I'm 'shamed of you, Jerusha Skamp, and you ought to be 'shamed o' yourself, going on with sich reg'lar downright, ondecent conduct. Don't tell me bout that there little fellar's looks! He's an impostor like the rest, and has done you brown beautifully, Miss Jerusha, as you'll soon find out. 'A fool o' forty 'll never be wise!' To think that Jerusha Skamp should be took in by a boy's looks at your age o' life! His looks! fudge! stuff! nonsense! You're nothing but a old simpleton—that there's what you are, Miss Jerusha! Here you, Fly! you derned little black monkey you!"
Thus pathetically adjured127, Fly, in a very limp state of mind and body, caused probably by the showers of tears so lately shed, appeared in the door-way, her eyes full of tears and her mouth full of corn-cake.[Pg 22]
"Here, you Fly, I'm going out, and you and Betsey Periwinkle has got for to sit up for me. Give Betsey her supper, and see that you don't fall asleep and set the house afire."
"Yes'm," said Fly, in a nearly inaudible voice, as she returned to her supper.
Then Miss Jerusha, putting a small flask128 of currant wine in her pocket, wrapped her thick, warm mantle around her, and her hood closely over her face, and resolutely129 stepped out into the wild, angry storm.
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收听单词发音
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1
bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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imp
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| n.顽童 | |
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stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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4
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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6
shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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7
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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8
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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pokes
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| v.伸出( poke的第三人称单数 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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singed
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| v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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looms
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| n.织布机( loom的名词复数 )v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的第三人称单数 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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noxious
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| adj.有害的，有毒的；使道德败坏的，讨厌的 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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28
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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30
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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31
deluded
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| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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33
testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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34
propensities
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| n.倾向，习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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35
tribulations
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| n.苦难( tribulation的名词复数 )；艰难；苦难的缘由；痛苦 | |
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36
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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37
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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38
embellished
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| v.美化( embellish的过去式和过去分词 )；装饰；修饰；润色 | |
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39
pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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40
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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41
enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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43
purloining
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| v.偷窃( purloin的现在分词 ) | |
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44
rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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45
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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46
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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47
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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48
poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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49
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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50
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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51
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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52
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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53
averred
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| v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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54
thriftiness
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| 节俭，节约 | |
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55
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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56
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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57
hazardous
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| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
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58
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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59
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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60
squeaked
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的过去式和过去分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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61
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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62
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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63
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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64
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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65
sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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66
clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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67
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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68
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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69
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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70
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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71
mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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72
viper
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| n.毒蛇；危险的人 | |
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73
blustering
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| adj.狂风大作的，狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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74
sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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75
snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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76
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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77
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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78
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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79
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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80
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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81
flea
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| n.跳蚤 | |
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82
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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83
dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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84
stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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85
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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86
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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87
pounce
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| n.猛扑；v.猛扑，突然袭击，欣然同意 | |
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88
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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89
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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90
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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91
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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93
tongs
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| n.钳；夹子 | |
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94
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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95
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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96
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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97
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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98
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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99
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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100
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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101
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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102
gorgon
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| n.丑陋女人，蛇发女怪 | |
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103
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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104
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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105
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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106
vagrants
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| 流浪者( vagrant的名词复数 )； 无业游民； 乞丐； 无赖 | |
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107
promiscuously
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| adv.杂乱地，混杂地 | |
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108
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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109
remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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110
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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111
moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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112
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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113
endearment
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| n.表示亲爱的行为 | |
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114
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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115
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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116
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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117
ferociously
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| 野蛮地，残忍地 | |
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118
combustion
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| n.燃烧；氧化；骚动 | |
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119
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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120
tornado
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| n.飓风，龙卷风 | |
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121
woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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122
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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123
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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124
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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125
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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126
complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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127
adjured
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| v.（以起誓或诅咒等形式）命令要求( adjure的过去式和过去分词 )；祈求；恳求 | |
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128
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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129
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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