The tale of these successive misfortunes can only be briefly6 narrated7; for to examine in detail the train of circumstances which led up to them, and the intricate nexus8 of human motive9 in which they were complicated would be foreign to the purpose of this chronicle. Except passively or negatively, perhaps, Quixtus had no hand in their happening. As in the case of Job the thunderbolts fell from a cloudless sky. His moral character was blameless, his position as assured, his life as happy as the patriarch’s. He had done no man harm all his days, and he had no cause to fear evil from any quarter. A tithe10 or more of his goods he gave in generous charity; and not only did he not proclaim the fact aloud like the Pharisee, but never mentioned the matter to himself—for the simple reason that keeping no accounts of his expenditure11 he had not the remotest notion of the amount of his eleemosynary expenses. You would have far to go to meet a man more free from petty-mindedness or vanity than Ephraim Quixtus. He was mild, urbane12, and for all his scholarly reading, pal13?olithic knowledge, and wide travel, singularly modest. If you contradicted him, instead of asserting himself, as most men do, with increased vigour14, he forthwith put back to find, if possible, the flaw in his own argument. When complimented on his undoubted attainments16, he always sought to depreciate17 them. The achievement of others, even in his own special department of learning, moved his generous admiration18. Yet he had one extraordinary vanity—which made him fall short of the perfection of his prototype in the land of Uz—the doctorial title which he possessed19 by virtue20 of his Ph.D. degree from the University of Heidelberg. Through signing his articles in learned publications “Ephraim Quixtus, Ph.D.,” his brethren among the learned who rent him respectfully to pieces in other learned publications, invariably alluded21 to him as Dr. Quixtus. Through being thus styled by his brethren both in print and conversation, he began to give his name as Dr. Quixtus to the stentorian22 functionary23 at the doors of banquets and receptions of the learned, and derived24 infinite gratification from hearing it loudly proclaimed to all assembled. From that to announcing himself as “Dr. Quixtus” to the parlour-maid or butler in the homes of the worldly was but a step.
Now it may be questioned whether on the rolls kept by the Incorporated Law Society there is a solicitor25 who would style himself Doctor. It would be as foreign to the ordinary solicitor’s notions of professional propriety26 as to interview his clients in a surplice. The title does not suggest a solicitor—any more than Quixtus himself did in person. He was a stranger, an anomaly, a changeling in the Corporation. He ought never to have been a solicitor. He was a very bad solicitor—and that was what the judge said, among other things of a devastating27 nature, when he was giving evidence at a certain memorable28 trial, which took place not long after he had re-entered the stormy horizon of Clementina Wing, and his portrait had been hung above the presidential chair of the Anthropological29 Society.
It is but justice to say that Quixtus was a solicitor not by choice but by inheritance and filial affection. His father had an old-fashioned lucrative30 family practice, into which, as it was his father’s earnest desire, his kindly31 nature allowed him to drift. When his father died suddenly, almost as soon as his articles were completed and he was admitted into partnership32, he stared in dismay at the prospect33 before him. He could no more draw up a conveyance34 of land, or administer a bankrupt estate, or prepare a brief for a barrister, than he could have steered35 an Atlantic liner into New York Harbour. And he had not the faintest desire to know how to draw up a conveyance or administer an estate. Beyond acquiring from text-books the bare information requisite36 for the passing of his examinations, he had never attempted to probe deeper into the machinery37 of the law. His mind attributed far greater importance to the sharp flint instruments wherewith primitive38 men settled their quarrels by whanging each other over the head than to the miserable39 instruments on parchment which adjusted the sordid40 wrangles41 of the present generation. By entering the profession he had merely gratified a paternal42 whim43. There had been a “Quixtus and Son” in Lincoln’s Inn for a hundred years, and it was the dearest wish of the old man’s heart that “Quixtus and Son” should remain there in s?cula s?culorum. While his father was alive Ephraim had scarcely thought of this desirable continuity. But his father dead, it behoved him to see piously44 to its establishment.
The irksome part of the matter was that he had no financial reason for proceeding45 with an abominated46 profession. As hunger drives the wolves abroad, according to Fran?ois Villon, so might hunger have driven him from his pal?olithic forest. But there was no chance of his being hungry. Not only did his father and his mother each leave him a comfortable fortune, but he was the declared heir of an uncle, his father’s elder brother, who possessed large estates in Devonshire, and had impressed Ephraim from his boyhood up as one in advanced and palsied old age.
Yet “Quixtus and Son” had to be carried on. How? He consulted the confidential47 clerk, Marrable, who had been in the office since boyhood. Marrable at once suggested a solution of the difficulty which almost caused Ephraim to throw himself into his arms for joy. It was wonderful! It was immense! Quixtus welcomed it as Henry VIII. welcomed Cromwell’s suggestion for getting rid of Queen Katherine. The solution was nothing less than that Ephraim should take him into partnership on generous terms. The deed of partnership was drawn48 up and signed, and Quixtus entered upon a series of happy and prosperous years. He attended the office occasionally, signed letters and interviewed old family clients, whom he entertained with instructive though irrelevant49 gossip until they went away comforted. When they insisted on business advice instead of comfort, he rang the bell, and Marrable appeared like a djinn out of a bottle. Nothing could be simpler, nothing could work more satisfactorily. Not only did clients find their affairs thoroughly50 looked after, but they were flattered at having bestowed51 upon them the concentrated legal acumen52 and experience of the firm. You may say that, as a solicitor, Quixtus was a humbug53; that he ought never to have accepted the position. But show me a man who has never done that which he ought not to have done, and you will show me either an irresponsible idiot or an angel masquerading in mortal vesture. I have my doubts whether Job himself before his trials was quite as perfect as he is made out to be. Quixtus was neither idiot nor angel. At the most he was a scholarly ineffectual gentleman of comfortable means, forced by filial tenderness into a distasteful and bewildering pursuit. He had neither the hard-heartedness to kill the one, nor the strength of will to devote himself to the mastery of the other. He compromised, you may say, with the devil. Well, the devil is notoriously insidious54, and Quixtus was entirely55 unconscious of subscribing56 to a bargain. At any rate, the devil had a hand in his undoing57 and appointed a zealous58 agent of iniquity59 in the person of Mr. Samuel Marrable.
When Quixtus went to Lincoln’s Inn Fields one morning and found, instead of his partner, a letter from him stating that he had gone abroad and would remain there without an address for an indefinite time, Quixtus was surprised. When he had summoned the managing clerk and together they had opened Marrable’s safe, both he and the clerk were bewildered; and after he had spent an hour or two with a chartered accountant, for whom he had hurriedly telephoned, he grew sick from horror and amazement60. Later in the day he heard through the police that a warrant was out for Samuel Marrable’s arrest. In the course of time he learned that Samuel Marrable had done everything that a solicitor should not do. He had misappropriated trust-funds; he had made away with bearer-bonds; he had falsified accounts; he had forged transfers; he had speculated in wild-cat concerns; he had become the dupe of a gang of company promoters known throughout the City as “Gehenna Unlimited61.” He had robbed the widow; he had robbed the orphan62; he had robbed the firm; he had robbed with impunity63 for many years; but when, in desperation, he had tried to rob “Gehenna Unlimited,” they were too much for him. So Samuel Marrable had fled the country.
Thus fell the first thunderbolt. Quixtus saw the fair repute of “Quixtus and Son” shattered in an instant, his own name tarnished64, himself—and this was the most cruel part of the matter—betrayed and fooled by the man in whom he had placed his boundless65 trust. Marrable, whom he had known since he was a child of five; with whom he had gone to pantomimes, exhibitions, and such like junketings when he was a boy; who had first guided his reluctant feet through the mazes66 of the law; who had stood with him by his father’s death-bed; who was bound to him by all the intimacies67 of a lifetime; on whose devotion he had counted as unquestioningly as a child on his mother’s love—Marrable to be a rogue68 and a rascal69, not a man at his wits’ end yielding to a sudden temptation, but a deliberate, systematic70 villain—it was all but unthinkable. Yet here were irrefragable proofs, as the law took its course. And all through the nightmare time that followed until the trial—for the poor fugitive71 was soon hunted down and haled back to London—when his days were spent in helpless examination of confusing figures and bewildering transactions, the insoluble human problem was uppermost in his mind. How could the man have done these things? Marrable had sobbed72 over his father’s grave and had put his arm affectionately round his shoulders and led him away to the mourning coach. Marrable had stood with him by another open grave, that of his dead wife, and had comforted him with affectionate sympathy. To the very end not a sinister73 look had appeared in his honest, capable eyes. On the very day of his flight he had lunched with Quixtus in the Savoy grill-room. He had laughed and jested and told Quixtus a funny story or two. When they parted:
“Shall I see you at the office this afternoon? No? Well good-bye, Ephraim. God bless you.”
He had smiled and waved a cheery hand. How could a man shower upon another his tears, his sympathy, his laughter, his implied loyalty74, his blessings75, and all the time be a treacherous76 scoundrel working his ruin? All his knowledge of Prehistoric77 Man would not answer the question.
“I wonder whether there are many people in the world like Marrable?” he questioned.
And from that moment he began to look at all clear-eyed honest folk and speculate, in a dreary78 way, whether they were like Marrable.
The family honour being imperilled, duty summoned him to an interview with Matthew Quixtus, his father’s elder brother, the head of the family, and owner of a large estate at Croxton, in Devonshire, and other vast possessions. He paid him a week-end visit. The old man, nearly ninety, received him with every mark of courtesy. He went out of his way to pay deference79 to him as a man of high position in the learned world. Instead of the “Mr. Ephraim,” which had been his designation in the house ever since the “Master Ephraim” had been dropped in the dim past, it was pointedly80 as “Dr. Quixtus” that butler and coachman and the rest of the household heard him referred to. Quixtus, who had always regarded his uncle as a fiery81 ancient, hot with family pride and quick to quarrel on the point of honour, was greatly relieved by his unexpected suavity82 of demeanour. He listened to his nephew’s account of the great betrayal with a kindly smile, and wasted upon him bottles of the precious ‘54 port which the butler, with appropriate ritual, only brought up for the Inner Brotherhood83 of Dionysus. On all previous occasions, Ephraim, at whose deplorably uncultivated palate the old man had shrugged84 pitying shoulders, had been treated to an unconsidered vintage put upon the table after dinner rather as a convention than (in the host’s opinion) as a liquid fit for human throttle85. He was sympathetic over the disaster and alluded to Marrable in picturesquely86 old-world terms of depreciation87.
“It’ll cost you a pretty penny, one way or the other,” said he.
“I shall have to make good the losses. I dare say I can make arrangements extending over a period of years.”
“Fly kites, eh? Well, I shan’t live for ever. But I’m not dead yet. By George, sir, no!” and his poor old hand shook pitifully as he raised his glass to his lips. “My grandfather—your great grandfather lived to be a hundred and four.”
“It will be a matter of pride and delight to all who know you,” said Quixtus smiling and bowing, glass in hand, across the table, “if you champion the modern world and surpass him in longevity88.”
“The property will come in very handy though, won’t it?” asked the old man.
“I confess,” said Quixtus, “that, if I pay the liabilities out of my own resources, I may be somewhat embarrassed.”
“And what will you do with yourself when you’ve shut up the shop?”
“I shall devote myself more closely to my favourite pursuits.”
The old man nodded and finished his glass of port.
“A damned gentlemanly occupation,” said he, “without any confounded modern commercialism about it.”
Quixtus was pleased. Hitherto his uncle had not regarded his anthropological studies with too sympathetic an eye. He had lived, all his life, a country gentleman, looking shrewdly after his estates, building cottages, draining fields, riding to hounds and shooting all things that were to be shot in their season. In science and scholarship he took no interest. It was therefore all the more gratifying to Quixtus to hear his studious scheme of life so heartily89 commended. The end of the visit was marked by the same amenity90 as the beginning, and Quixtus returned to town somewhat strengthened for the ordeal91 that lay before him.
Up to the time of the trial he had met with nothing but the kindly sympathy of friends and the courteous92 addressing of those with whom he came into business relations. His first battering93 against the sharp and merciless edges of the world took place in open court. He stood in the witness-box a lone94, piteous spectacle, a Saint Sebastian among witnesses, unsaved by miraculous95 interposition, like the lucky Sebastian, from personal discomfort96. That he was an upright sensitive gentleman mattered nothing to judge and counsel; just as the fact of Sebastian’s being a goodly and gallant97 youth did not affect his would-be executioners. At every barb98 shot at him by judge and counsel he quivered visibly. They were within their rights. In their opinion, he deserved to quiver. At the back of their legal minds they were all kindly gentlemen, and out of court had human minds like yours and mine—but in their legal minds, Judge, Counsel for the Prosecution99, Counsel for the Defence, all considered Quixtus a fortunate man in being in the witness-box at all; he ought to have been in the dock. There had never been such fantastically culpable100 negligence101. He did not know this; he had not inquired into that; such a transaction he had just been aware of but never understood; he had not examined the documents in question. Everything brought him by Marrable for signature, he signed as a matter of course, without looking at it.
“If Mr. Marrable had brought you a cheque for ￡20,000 drawn in his favour on your own private bankers, would you have signed it?” asked Counsel.
“Certainly,” said Quixtus.
“Why?”
“I should not have looked at it.”
“But supposing the writing on the cheque had, as it were, leaped to your eyes?”
“I should have taken it for granted that it had to do with the legitimate102 business of the firm.”
“If that is the case,” remarked the judge, “I don’t think that men like you ought to be allowed to go about loose.”
Whereat there arose laughter in court, and sudden, hellish hatred103 of judges in the heart of Quixtus.
“Can you give the court any reason why you drifted into such criminal carelessness?” asked Counsel.
“It never entered my head to doubt my partner’s integrity.”
“Do you carry this childlike faith in human nature into all departments of life?”
“Up to now I have had no reason to distrust my fellow creatures.”
“I congratulate you as a solicitor on having had a unique experience,” said the judge acidly.
Counsel continued. “I put it to you—suppose two or three plausible104 strangers told you a glittering tale, and one asked you to entrust105 him with a hundred pounds to show your confidence in him—would you do it?”
“I am not in the habit of consorting106 with vulgar strangers,” retorted Quixtus, with twitching107 lip.
“Which means that you are too learned and lofty a person to deal with the common clay of this low world?”
“I cannot deal with you,” said Quixtus.
Counsel grew red and angry, as there was laughter in which the judge joined.
“The witness,” said the latter, “is not quite such a fool as he would give us to imagine, Mr. Smithers.”
Thus the only blow that Quixtus could give was turned against him. Also, Counsel, smarting under the hit, mishandled him severely108, so that at the end of his examination he stepped down from the witness-box, less a man than a sentient109 bruise110. He remained in court till the very end, deathly pale, pain in his eyes, and his mouth drawn into the lines of that of a child about to cry. The trial proceeded. There was no doubt of the guilt111 of the miserable wretch112 in the dock. The judge summed up, and it was then that he said the devastating things about Quixtus that inflamed113 his newly born hatred of judges to such an extent that it thenceforth blackened his candid114 and benevolent115 soul. The jury gave their verdict without retiring, and Marrable, at the age of sixty, was condemned116 to seven years’ penal117 servitude.
Quixtus left the court dazed and broken. He was met in the corridor by Tommy, who gripped him by the arm, led him down into the street and put him into a cab. He had not been in court, being a boy of delicate feelings.
“You must buck118 up, you know,” he said to the silent, grey-faced man beside him. “It will all come right. What you want now is a jolly stiff brandy-and-soda.”
Quixtus smiled faintly. “I think I do,” said he.
A few minutes later Tommy superintended the taking of his prescription119 in the dining-room in Russell Square, and eyed Quixtus triumphantly120 as he set down the empty glass.
“There! That’ll set you straight. There’s nothing like it.”
Quixtus held out his hand. “You’re a good boy, Tommy. Thanks for taking care of me. I’ll be all right now.”
“Don’t you think I might be of some use if I stayed? It’s a bit lonesome here.”
“I have a big box of stuff from the valley of the Dordogne, which I haven’t opened yet,” said Quixtus. “I was saving it up for this evening, so I shan’t be lonesome.”
“Well be sure to have a good dinner and a bottle of fizz,” said Tommy. After which sage121 counsel he went reluctantly away.
Just as Clementina was sitting down to dinner Tommy rushed in with a crumpled122 evening newspaper in his hand, incoherent with rage. Had she seen the full report? What did she think of it? How dared they say such things of a high-minded honourable123 gentleman? Counsel on both sides were a disgrace to the bar, the judge a blot124 on the bench. They ought not to be allowed to cumber125 the earth. They ought to be shot on sight. Out West they would never have left the court alive. Had he lived in a simpler age, or in a more primitive society, the young Paladin would have gone forth15 and slaughtered126 them in the bosom127 of their families. Fortunately, all he could do by way of wreaking128 his vengeance129 was to tear the newspaper in half, throw it on the floor, and stamp on it.
“Feel better?” asked Clementina, who had listened to his heroics rather sourly. “If so, sit down and have some food.”
But Tommy declined nourishment130. He was too sore to eat. His young spirit revolted against the injustice131 of the world. It clamoured for sympathy.
“Say you think it damnable.”
“Anything to do with the law is always damnable,” said Clementina. “You shouldn’t put yourself within its clutches. Please pass me the potatoes.”
Tommy handed her the dish. “I believe you’re as hard as nails, Clementina.”
“All right, believe it,” she replied grimly. And she would not say more, for in what she thought was her heart she agreed with the judge.
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1
eschewed
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| v.（尤指为道德或实际理由而）习惯性避开，回避( eschew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nexus
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| n.联系；关系 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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tithe
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| n.十分之一税；v.课什一税，缴什一税 | |
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expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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urbane
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| adj.温文尔雅的，懂礼的 | |
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pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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attainments
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| 成就，造诣； 获得( attainment的名词复数 )； 达到； 造诣； 成就 | |
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depreciate
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| v.降价，贬值，折旧 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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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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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stentorian
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| adj.大声的，响亮的 | |
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functionary
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| n.官员；公职人员 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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anthropological
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| adj.人类学的 | |
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lucrative
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| adj.赚钱的，可获利的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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wrangles
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| n.（尤指长时间的）激烈争吵，口角，吵嘴( wrangle的名词复数 )v.争吵，争论，口角( wrangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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piously
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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abominated
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| v.憎恶，厌恶，不喜欢( abominate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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51
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
acumen
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| n.敏锐，聪明 | |
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53
humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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54
insidious
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| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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55
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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56
subscribing
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| v.捐助( subscribe的现在分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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57
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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58
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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59
iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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60
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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61
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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62
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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63
impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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64
tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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65
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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66
mazes
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| 迷宫( maze的名词复数 )； 纷繁复杂的规则； 复杂难懂的细节； 迷宫图 | |
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67
intimacies
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| 亲密( intimacy的名词复数 )； 密切； 亲昵的言行； 性行为 | |
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68
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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69
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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70
systematic
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| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
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71
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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72
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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73
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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74
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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75
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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76
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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77
prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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79
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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81
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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82
suavity
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| n.温和；殷勤 | |
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83
brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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84
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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85
throttle
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| n.节流阀，节气阀，喉咙；v.扼喉咙，使窒息，压 | |
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86
picturesquely
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87
depreciation
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| n.价值低落，贬值，蔑视，贬低 | |
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88
longevity
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| n.长命；长寿 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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90
amenity
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| n.pl.生活福利设施，文娱康乐场所；（不可数）愉快，适意 | |
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91
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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93
battering
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| n.用坏，损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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94
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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95
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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96
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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97
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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98
barb
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| n.（鱼钩等的）倒钩，倒刺 | |
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99
prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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100
culpable
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| adj.有罪的，该受谴责的 | |
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101
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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102
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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103
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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104
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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105
entrust
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| v.信赖，信托，交托 | |
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106
consorting
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| v.结伴( consort的现在分词 )；交往；相称；调和 | |
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107
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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108
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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109
sentient
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| adj.有知觉的，知悉的；adv.有感觉能力地 | |
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110
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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111
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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112
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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113
inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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115
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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116
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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117
penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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118
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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119
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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120
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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121
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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122
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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123
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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124
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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125
cumber
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| v.拖累，妨碍；n.妨害；拖累 | |
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126
slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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128
wreaking
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| 诉诸（武力），施行（暴力），发（脾气）( wreak的现在分词 ) | |
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129
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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130
nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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131
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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