In the autumn of 1917 the war entered into an
autumn, or late middle-age, of its own. "Your young men," we are told, "shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams." The same with whole armies. But middle-aged1 armies or men may not have the mists of either morning or evening to charm them. So they may feel like Corot, when he had painted away, in a trance of delight, till the last vapour of dawn was dried up by the sun; then he said, "You can see everything now. Nothing is left," and knocked off work for the day. There was no knocking off for the army. But that feeling had come. A high time was over, a great light was out; our eyes had lost the use of something, either an odd penetration2 that they had had for a while, or else an odd web that had been woven across them, shutting only ugliness out.
The feeling was apt to come on pretty strong if you lived at the time on the top of the little hill of Cassel, west of Ypres. The Second Army's Headquarters were there. You might, as some Staff duty blew you about the war zone, be watching at daybreak one of that autumn's many dour3 bouts4 of attrition under the Passchendale Ridge5, in the mud, and come back, the same afternoon, to sit in an ancient garden hung on the slope of the hill, where a great many pears were yellowing on the wall and sunflowers gazing fixedly6 into the sun that was now failing them. All the corn of French Flanders lay cut on the brown plain under your eyes, from Dunkirk, with its shimmering7 dunes8 and the glare on the sea, to the forested hills north of Arras. Everywhere lustre9, reverie, stillness; the sinking hum of old bees, successful in life and now rather tired; the many windmills fallen motionless, the aureate light musing10 over the aureate harvest; out in the east the broken white stalks of Poperinghe's towers pensive11 in haze12; and, behind and about you, the tiny hill city, itself in its distant youth the name-giver and prize of three mighty13 battles that do not matter much now. All these images or seats of outlived ardour, mellowed14 now with the acquiescence15 of time in the slowing down of some passionate16 stir in the sap of a plant or the spirit of insects or men, joined to work on you quietly. There, where the earth and the year were taking so calmly the end of all the grand racket that they had made in their prime, why not come off the high horse that we, too, in that ingenuous18 season, had ridden so hard? It was not now as it had been of yore. And why pretend that it was?
II
One leaf that had gone pretty yellow by now was the hope of perfect victory—swift, unsoured, unruinous, knightly19: St. George's over the dragon, David's over Goliath. Some people at home seem to be still clinging hard to that first pretty vision of us as a gifted, lithe20, wise little Jack21 fighting down an unwieldy, dastardly giant. But troops in the field become realists. Ours had seen their side visibly swelling22 for more than two years, till Jack had become a heavier weight than the giant and yet could not finish him off. We knew that our allies and we outnumbered the Germans and theirs. We knew we were just as well armed. We had seen Germans advancing under our fire and made no mistake about what they were worth. Our first vision of victory had gone the way of its frail23 sister dream of a perfect Allied24 comradeship. French soldiers sneered25 at British now, and British at French. Both had the same derisive26 note in the voice when they named the "Brav' Belges." Canadians and Australians had almost ceased to take the pains to break it to us gently that they were the "storm troops," the men who had to be sent for to do the tough jobs; that, out of all us sorry home troops, only the Guards Division, two kilted divisions and three English ones could be said to know how to fight. "The English let us down again"; "The Tommies gave us a bad flank, as usual"—these were the stirring things you would hear if you called upon an Australian division a few hours after a battle in which the lion had fought by the side of his whelps. Chilly27, autumnal things; while you listened, the war was apparelled no longer in the celestial28 light of its spring.
An old Regular colonel, a man who had done all his work upon the Staff, said, at the time, that "the war was settling down to peace conditions." He meant no bitter epigram. He was indeed unfeignedly glad. The war was ceasing to be, like a fire or shipwreck29, a leveller of ranks which, he felt, ought not to be levelled. Those whom God had put asunder30 it was less recklessly joining together. The first wild generosities31 were cooling off. Not many peers and heirs-apparent to great wealth were becoming hospital orderlies now. Since the first earthquake and tidal wave the disturbed social waters had pretty well found their old seemly levels again; under conscription the sons of the poor were now making privates; the sons of the well-to-do were making officers; sanity32 was returning. The Regular had faced and disarmed33 the invading hordes34 of 1914. No small feat35 of audacity36, either. Think what the shock must have been—what it would be for any profession, just at the golden prime of rich opportunity and searching test, to be overrun of a sudden by hosts of keen amateurs, many of them quick-witted, possibly critical, some of them the best brains of the country, most of them vulgarly void of the old professional habits of mind, almost indecently ready to use new and outlandish means to the new ends of to-day.
But now the stir and the peril37 were over. The Old Army had won. It had scarcely surrendered a single strong point or good billet; Territorials38 and New Army toiled39 at the coolie jobs of its household. It had not even been forced, like kings in times of revolution, to make apparent concessions40, to water down the pure milk of the word. It had become only the more intensely itself; never in any war had commands been retained so triumphantly41 in the hands of the cavalry42 and the Guards, the leaders and symbols of the Old Army resistance to every inroad of mere43 professional ardour and knowledge and strong, eager brains. When Sir Francis Lloyd relinquished44 the London District Command a highly composite mess in France discussed possible successors. "Of course," said a Guards colonel gravely—and he was a guest in the Mess—"the first point is—he must be a Guardsman." Peace conditions returning, you see; the peace frame of mind; the higher commands restored to their ancient status as property, "livings," perquisites45, the bread of the children, not to be given to dogs. At home, too, peace conditions were taking heart to return. The scattered46 coveys of profiteers and job-hunters, almost alarmed by the first shots of the war, had long since met in security; "depredations47 as usual" was the word; and the mutual48 scalping and knifing of politicians had ceased to be shamefaced; who could fairly expect an old Regular Army to practise a more austere49 virtue50 than merchant princes and statesmen?
III
Even in trenches52 and near them, where most of the health was, time had begun to embrown the verdant53 soul of the army. "Kitchener's Army" was changing. Like every volunteer army, his had sifted54 itself, at its birth, with the only sieve55 that will riddle56 out, even roughly, the best men to be near in a fight. Till the first of the pressed men arrived at our front, a sergeant57 there, when he posted a sentry58 and left him alone in the dark, could feel about as complete a moral certitude as there is on the earth that the post would not be let down. For, whatever might happen, nothing inside the man could start whispering to him "You never asked to be here! if you do fail, it isn't your doing."
Nine out of ten of the conscripts were equally sound. For they would have been volunteers if they could. The tenth was the problem; the more so because there was nothing to tell you which was the tenth and which were the nine. For all that you knew, any man who came out on a draft, from then on, might be the exception, the literal-minded Christian59 who thought it wicked to kill in a war; or an anti-nationalist zealot who thought us all equally fools, the Germans and us, to be out there pasturing lice, instead of busy at home taking the hide off the bourgeois61; or one of those drift wisps of loveless critical mind, attached to no place or people more than another, and just as likely as not to think that the war was our fault and that we ought to be beaten. Riant avenir! as a French sergeant said when, in an hour of ease, we were talking over the nature of man, and he told me, in illustration of its diversity, how a section of his had just been enriched with a draft of neurasthenic burglars.
These vulgar considerations of military expediency63 never seemed to cross the outer rim17 of the consciousness of many worthies64 who were engaged at home in shooing the reluctant into the army. If a recalcitrant65 seemed to be lazy, spiritless, nerveless, if there was every sign of his making a specially66 worthless and troublesome consumer of rations62 in a trench51, then a burning zeal60 to inflict67 this nuisance and danger on some unoffending platoon in France seemed to invade the ordinary military tribunal. Report said that the satisfaction of this impulse was called, by the possessed68 persons, "giving Haig the men," and sometimes, with a more pungent69 irony70, "supporting our fellows in the trenches." Non tali auxilio nec defensoribus istis. Australia's fellows in the trenches were suffered to vote themselves out of the risk of getting any support of the kind. Australia is a democracy. Ours were not asked whether they wanted to see their trenches employed as a penal71 settlement to which middle-aged moralists in England might deport72, among other persons, those whom they felt to be morally the least beautiful of their juniors. So nothing impeded73 the pious74 practice of "larning toads75 to be toads." For the shirker, the "kicker," the "lawyer," for all the types of undesirables76 that contribute most liberally to the wrinkled appearance of sergeants77, those pious men had the nose of collectors. Wherever there was a spare fifty yards of British front to be held, they, if anyone, could find a man likely to go to sleep there on guard, or, in some cyclonic78 disturbance79 of spirit, to throw down his rifle and light out for the coast, across country.
Such episodes were reasonably few. The inveterate80 mercy that guards drunken sailors preserved from the worst disaster the cranks who had made a virtue of giving their country every bad soldier they could. And the abounding81 mercy of most courts-martial rendered few of the episodes fatal to individual conscripts. Nor, indeed, was the growth in their frequency after conscription wholly due to the more fantastic tricks played before high Heaven by some of the Falstaffs who dealt with the Mouldies, Shadows and Bull-calves. Conscription, in any case, must be dilution82. You may get your water more quickly by throwing the filter away, but don't hope to keep the quality what it was. And the finer a New Army unit had been, to begin with, the swifter the autumnal change. Every first-rate battalion83 fighting in France or Belgium lost its whole original numbers over and over again. First, because in action it spared itself less than the poor ones; secondly84, because the best divisions rightly got the hard jobs. Going out in the late autumn of 1915, a good battalion with normal luck might have nearly half its original volunteer strength left after the Battle of the Somme. Drafts of conscripts would fill up the gap, each draft with a listless or enigmatic one-tenth that volunteering had formerly85 kept at a distance. The Battle of Arras next spring might leave only twenty per cent of the first volunteers, and the autumn battles in Flanders would pretty well finish their business. Seasons returned, but not to that battalion returned the spirit of delight in which it had first learnt to soldier together and set foot together in France and first marched through darkness and ruined villages towards the flaring86 fair-ground of the front. While a New Army battalion was still very young, and fully87 convinced that no crowd of men so good to be with had ever been brought together before, it used to be always saying how it would keep things up after the war. No such genial88 reunions had ever been held as these were to be. But now the few odd men that are left only write to each other at long intervals89, feeling almost as if they were raising their voices in an empty church. One of them asks another has he any idea what the battalion was like after Oppy, or Bourlon Wood, or wherever their own knock-out came. Like any other battalion, no doubt—a mere G.C.M. of all conscript battalions90; conscription filed down all special features and characters.
Quick waste and renewal91 are said to be good for the body; the faster you burn up old tissues, by good sweaty work, the better your health; fresh and superior tissue is added unto you all the more merrily. Capital, too, the economists92 say, must be swiftly used up and reborn, over and over again, to do the most good that it can. And then there is the case of the phoenix—in fact, of all the birds and all the beasts too, for all evolution would seem to be just the dying of something worse, as fast as it can, in order that something better may live in its place. No need for delay in turning your anthropoid93 apes into Shakespeares and Newtons.
But what if you found, after all your hard work, that not all the deceased cells of your flesh were replaced by new cells of the sort you would like? If some of your good golden pounds should have perished only that inconvertible paper might live? If out of your phoenix's ashes only a common-place rooster should spring? If evolution were guyed and bedevilled into retrovolution, a process by which the fittest must more and more dwindle94 away and the less fit survive them, and species be not multiplied but made fewer? Something, perhaps, of the sort may go on in the body in its old age, or in roses in autumn. It must go on in a volunteer army when it is becoming an army of conscripts during a war that is highly lethal95.
IV
The fall of the leaf had brought, too, a sad shortage of heroes—of highly-placed ones, for, of course, every company had its own, authenticated96 beyond any proof that crosses or medals could give. A few very old Regular privates would say, "Ah! if we had Buller here!" Sir Redvers Buller has always remained, in lofty disregard of conclusive97 disproof, the C?sar or Hannibal of the old Regular private, who sets little store by such heroes of Whitehall and Fleet Street as Roberts and Kitchener. But the chiefs of to-day left men cold, at the best. The name of at least one was a by-word. Haig was a name and no more, though a name immune in a mysterious degree from the general scoffing98 surmise99 about the demerits of higher commands. Few subalterns or men had seen him. No one knew what he was doing or leaving undone100. But some power, not ourselves, making for charity, seemed to recommend him to mercy in everyone's judgement; as if, from wherever he was, nameless waves of some sort rippled101 out through an uncharted ether, conveying some virtue exhaled102 by that winning incarnation of honour, courage, and kindness who, seen and heard in the flesh, made you wish to find in him all other excellent qualities too. The front line gave him all the benefit of every doubt. God only knew, it said, whether he or somebody else would have to answer for Bullecourt and Serre. It might not be he who had left the door lying open, unentered, for two nights and days, when the lions had won the battle of Arras that spring, and the asses103 had let the victory slip till the Germans crept back in the dark to the fields east of Vimy from which they had fled in despair. But slowness to judge can hardly be called hero-worship: at most, a somewhat sere104 October phase of that vernal religion.
One of the heavenly things on which the New Army had almost counted, in its green faith, was that our higher commands would have genius. Of course, we had no right to do it. No X has any right to ask of Y that Y shall be Alexander the Great or Bach or Rembrandt or Garrick, or any kind of demonic first-rater. As reasonably send precepts105 to the Leviathan to come ashore106. Yet we had indulged that insane expectation, just as we had taken it for granted that this time the nation would be as one man, and nobody "out to do a bit for himself on the quiet." And now behold107 the falling leaf and no Leviathan coming ashore in response to our May-Day desires.
Certainly other things, highly respectable, came. The Second Army Staff's direction of that autumn's almost continuous battles was of a competence108 passing all British precedents109. Leap-frogging waves of assault, box barrages110, creeping barrages, actions, interactions, and counter-actions were timed and concerted as no Staff of ours had done it before. The intricate dance which has to go on behind a crowded battle front, so that columns moving east and west and columns moving north and south shall not coincide at cross roads, was danced with the circumstantial precision of the best ballets. An officer cast away somewhere in charge of a wayside smithy for patching up chipped guns felt that there was a power perched on the top of the hill at Cassel which smelt111 out a bit of good work, or of bad, wherever anyone did it. Sense, keenness, sympathy, resolution, exactness—all the good things abode112 in that eyrie which have to be in attendance before genius can bring off its marvels113; every chamber114 swept and garnished115, and yet—.
Foch tells us what he thinks Napoleon might have said to the Allied commands if he could have risen in our black times from the dead. "What cards you people have!" he would have said, "and how little you do with them! Look!" And then, Foch thinks, within a month or two he "would have rearranged everything, gone about it all in some new way, thrown out the enemy's plans and quite crushed him." That "some new way" was not fated to come. The spark refused to fall, the divine accident would not happen. How could it? you ask with some reason. Had not trench warfare116 reached an impasse117? Yes; there is always an impasse before genius shows a way through. Music on keyboards had reached an impasse before a person of genius thought of using his thumb as well as his fingers. Well, that was an obvious dodge118, you may say, but in Flanders what way through could there have been? The dodge found by genius is always an obvious dodge, afterwards. Till it is found it can as little be stated by us common people as can the words of the poems that Keats might have written if he had lived longer. You would have to become a Keats to do that, and a Napoleon to say how Napoleon would have got through to Bruges in the autumn that seemed so autumnal to us. All that the army knew, as it decreased in the mud, was that no such uncovenanted mercy came to transmute119 its casualties into the swiftly and richly fruitful ones of a Napoleon, the incidental expenses of some miraculous120 draught121 of victory.
Nothing to grouse122 at in that. The winds of inspiration have to blow the best way they can. Prospero himself could not raise them; how could the likes of us hope to? And yet there had been that illogical hope, almost reliance—part of the high unreason of faith that could move mountains in 1914 and seems to be scarcely able to shift an ant-hill to-day.
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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dour
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| adj.冷酷的，严厉的；（岩石）嶙峋的；顽强不屈 | |
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bouts
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| n.拳击（或摔跤）比赛( bout的名词复数 )；一段（工作）；（尤指坏事的）一通；（疾病的）发作 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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dunes
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lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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mellowed
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| （使）成熟( mellow的过去式和过去分词 )； 使色彩更加柔和，使酒更加醇香 | |
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acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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knightly
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| adj. 骑士般的 adv. 骑士般地 | |
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lithe
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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swelling
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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allied
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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shipwreck
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| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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generosities
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| n.慷慨( generosity的名词复数 )；大方；宽容；慷慨或宽容的行为 | |
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sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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hordes
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feat
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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territorials
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| n.（常大写）地方自卫队士兵( territorial的名词复数 ) | |
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toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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relinquished
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 )； 放弃 | |
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perquisites
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| n.（工资以外的）财务补贴( perquisite的名词复数 )；额外收入；（随职位而得到的）好处；利益 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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depredations
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| n.劫掠，毁坏( depredation的名词复数 ) | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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sieve
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| n.筛，滤器，漏勺 | |
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56
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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57
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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58
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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59
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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60
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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61
bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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62
rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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63
expediency
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| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
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64
worthies
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| 应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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65
recalcitrant
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| adj.倔强的 | |
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66
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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67
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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68
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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69
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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71
penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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72
deport
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| vt.驱逐出境 | |
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73
impeded
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| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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75
toads
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆( toad的名词复数 ) | |
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76
undesirables
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| 不受欢迎的人，不良分子( undesirable的名词复数 ) | |
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77
sergeants
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| 警官( sergeant的名词复数 )； （美国警察）警佐； （英国警察）巡佐； 陆军（或空军）中士 | |
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cyclonic
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| adj.气旋的，飓风的 | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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81
abounding
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| adj.丰富的，大量的v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的现在分词 ) | |
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82
dilution
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| n.稀释，淡化 | |
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83
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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85
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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86
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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battalions
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| n.（陆军的）一营（大约有一千兵士）( battalion的名词复数 )；协同作战的部队；军队；（组织在一起工作的）队伍 | |
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91
renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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economists
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| n.经济学家，经济专家( economist的名词复数 ) | |
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93
anthropoid
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| adj.像人类的，类人猿的；n.类人猿；像猿的人 | |
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dwindle
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| v.逐渐变小（或减少） | |
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lethal
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| adj.致死的；毁灭性的 | |
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authenticated
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| v.证明是真实的、可靠的或有效的( authenticate的过去式和过去分词 )；鉴定，使生效 | |
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conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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scoffing
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| n. 嘲笑, 笑柄, 愚弄 v. 嘲笑, 嘲弄, 愚弄, 狼吞虎咽 | |
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99
surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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100
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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101
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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102
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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103
asses
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| n. 驴，愚蠢的人，臀部 adv. (常用作后置)用于贬损或骂人 | |
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104
sere
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| adj.干枯的；n.演替系列 | |
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105
precepts
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| n.规诫，戒律，箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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106
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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107
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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108
competence
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| n.能力，胜任，称职 | |
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109
precedents
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| 引用单元； 范例( precedent的名词复数 )； 先前出现的事例； 前例； 先例 | |
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110
barrages
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| n.弹幕射击( barrage的名词复数 )；火力网；猛烈炮火；河上的堰坝v.火力攻击（或阻击）( barrage的第三人称单数 )；以密集火力攻击（或阻击） | |
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111
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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112
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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113
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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114
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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115
garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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117
impasse
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| n.僵局；死路 | |
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118
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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119
transmute
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| vt.使变化，使改变 | |
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120
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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121
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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122
grouse
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| n.松鸡；v.牢骚，诉苦 | |
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