At first there was one feature of the race-course which fascinated Quixtus—the ring. Then he imagined he had come into contact with incarnate21 evil. Those coarse animal faces, swollen22 with the effort of bawling23 the odds24, those hard greedy eyes bulging25 from purple cheeks, those voices raucous26, inhuman27, suggested to his mild fancy a peculiarly depraved corner of Tophet. But what practical evil resulted from this Masque of Hades was not quite apparent. Nobody seemed any the worse. The bookmaker smiled widely on those who won, and those who lost smiled on the world with undaunted cheerfulness. So, in the course of time, Quixtus began to regard the bookmakers with feelings of disappointment, which gave place after a while to indifference28, and eventually to weariness and irritation29.
Even Old Joe Jenks, thick-necked, fishy-eyed villain30, to whom Billiter personally introduced him, proved himself, in all his dealings, to be a scrupulously32 honest man. The turf, in spite of its depressing ugliness, appeared but a man?uvring ground for the dull virtues33. Where was its wickedness? He complained, at length, to Billiter.
“I don’t see what fault you can find with racing. You’re making a very good thing out of it.”
Which was true. Fortune, who had played him such scurvy36 tricks, was now turning on him her sunniest smile. He was winning prodigiously37, fantastically. Billiter selected the horses which he was to back, he backed them to the amount advised by Billiter, and in most instances the horses won.
“If you think the mere7 gaining of money gives me any pleasure, my dear Billiter,” said he, “you’re very much mistaken. I have sufficient means of my own to satisfy my modest requirements, and to accept large sums of money from your friend, Mr. Jenks, is humiliating and repulsive38.”
“If that’s the matter, you can turn them over to me,” said Billiter, “I don’t get much out of the business.”
They were walking about the paddock, between the races. Quixtus halted and regarded his morose39 companion with cold inquiry40.
“You gave me to understand that you were betting on the same horses as I was.”
Billiter cursed himself for an incautious fool.
“What is the dismal42 quadruped I am betting on for this next race?” asked Quixtus looking at his card.
“Punchinello. Forty-five to one. Dead cert.”
“Then,” said Quixtus, “here are five pounds. Put them on Punchinello and if he wins you will have two hundred and twenty-five.”
Billiter left him, made his way out of the paddock to that part of the race-course where the outside bookmakers have their habitation. Old Joe Jenks in the flaming check suit and a white hat adorned43 with his name and quality stood on a stool shouting the odds, taking bets and giving directions to the clerk at his side. Business for a moment was slack.
“Another fiver for the governor on Punchinello,” said Billiter.
Old Joe Jenks jumped from his stool and took Billiter aside.
“Look here, old friend,” said he, “chuck it. Come off it. I’m not playing any more. I poured a couple of quarts of champagne44 over your head because you told me you had got hold of a mug, and instead of the mug you bring up a ruddy miracle who backs every wrong ‘un at a hundred to one—and romps45 in. And thinking you straight, Mr. Billiter, sir, I’ve stretched out the odds—to oblige you. And you’ve damn well landed me. It’s getting monotonous46. See? I’m tired.”
“It’s not my fault, Joe,” said Billiter, humbly47. “Look. Just an extra fiver on Punchinello. He’s got no earthly—you know that as well as I do.”
“Do I?” growled48 the bookmaker angrily, convinced that Billiter was over-reaching him. “How do I know what you know? You want to have it both ways, do you? Well you won’t get it out of me.”
“I swear to God, Joe,” said Billiter, earnestly, “that I’m straight. So little did I expect him to win that I’ve not asked a penny commission.”
“Then ask it now, and be hanged to you,” cried the angry bookmaker, and leaping back to his stool, he resumed his brazen-throated trade.
Billiter kept his five-pound note, unwilling49 to risk it with another bookmaker on the laughing-stock of a Punchinello, and sauntered away moodily50. He was a most injured man. Old Joe Jenks doubted his good faith. Now, was there a single horse selected for his patron to back upon which any student of racing outside a lunatic asylum51 would have staked money? Not one. He could lay his hand on his honest heart and swear it. And had he staked a penny on his selections? No. He could swear to that, too. He had not (fool that he was) asked Quixtus for a commission. Through his honourable52 dealing31 he was a poor man. The thought was bitter. He had run straight with Jenks. It was not his fault if the devil had got into the horses so that every shocking outsider, backed by Quixtus, revealed ultra-equine capacities. What could a horse do against the superhorse? Nothing. What could Billiter himself do? Nothing. Except have a drink. In the circumstances it was the only thing to do. He went into the bar of the grand stand and ordered a whisky and soda53. It sizzled gratefully down a throat burning with a sense of wrong. His moral tone restored, he determined54 to live in poverty no more for the sake of a quixotic principle, and, proceeding55 to a ready-money bookmaker of his acquaintance, pulled out his five-pound note and backed Rosemary, a certain winner (such was his private and infallible information) at eight to one. This duty to himself accomplished56, he went to the grand stand to view the race, leaving Quixtus to do that which seemed best to him.
The bell rang, the course was cleared, the numbers put up; the horses cantered gaily57 past. At the sight of Rosemary, a shiny bay in beautiful condition, Billiter’s heart warmed; at the sight of Punchinello, a scraggy crock who had never won a race in his inglorious life, Billiter sniffed58 scornfully. If Old Joe Jenks was such a fool as to refuse a free gift of two pounds ten—they had agreed to halve59 the spoils—the folly60 thereof lay entirely61 on Old Joe Jenks’s head.
The start was made. For a long time the horses ran in a bunch. Then Rosemary crept ahead. Billiter’s moustache beneath the levelled field-glasses betrayed a happy smile. Rosemary increased her lead. At the turn into the straight, something happened. She swerved62 and lost her stride. Three others dashed by, among them the despised Punchinello. They passed the post in a flash, Punchinello first. Billiter murmured things at which the world, had it heard them, would have grown pale, and again sought the bar. Emerging thence he went in quest of his patron. He had not far to go. Quixtus sat on a wooden chair at the back of the grand stand reading a vellum covered Elzevir duodecimo edition of Saint Augustine’s Confessions64. When Billiter approached he rose and thrust the volume into the tail pocket of his frock-coat.
“Was that a race?” he asked.
“Race. Of course it was. The race. Didn’t you see it?”
“Thank goodness, no,” said Quixtus. “Did any horse win?”
The sodden65 and simple wit of Billiter rose like a salmon66 at this gaudy67 fly of irony68. He lost his temper.
“Your damned, spavined, bow-legged, mule-be-gotten crock of a Punchinello won.”
“Then, my dear Billiter,” said he, “I have won nine hundred pounds, which, in view of my opinion of the turf, based on experience, I think I shall hand over to the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel to be earmarked for the conversion70 of the Mahommedans in Mecca. As for you, Billiter, you have won two hundred and twenty-five pounds”—Billiter quivered with sub-aspirate anathema—“which ought to satisfy the momentary71 cupidity72 of any man. Let us go. The more I see of it the more am I convinced that the race-course is no place for me. It is too good.”
Billiter glanced at him with wrathful suspicion. Was he speaking in childish simplicity73 or in mordant74 sarcasm75? The grave, unsmiling face, the expressionless blue eyes gave him no clue.
Thus, however, ended Quixtus’s career on the Turf. To stand about wearily in all weathers in order to witness what, to his fastidious mind was merely a dull and vulgar spectacle, was an act of self-sacrifice from which he derived76 no compensating77 thrill. The injured Billiter having patched up a peace with Old Joe Jenks, convincing him of his own ingenuousness78 and of the inevitable79 change in his patron’s luck, in vain persuaded Quixtus to resume his investigations80. He offered to introduce him to a fraternity of so-called commission agents and touts81, in whose company he could saturate82 himself with vileness83.
“I have no taste for disgusting society,” said Quixtus.
“I thought that was just what you were trying to be.”
In spite of his confessed belief in the altruistic89 purity of the turf, he regarded as unspeakable defilement90 the cheques which he had received from Old Joe Jenks. He had kept them in his drawer, and the more he looked at them the more did the bestial91 face of Old Joe Jenks obtrude92 itself before his eyes, and the more repugnant did it become to his now abnormal fastidiousness to pay them into his own banking93 account. To destroy them, as was his first impulse, merely signified a benefit conferred on the odious94 Jenks, who would be only too glad to repocket his filthy95 money. What should he do? At last a malignant96 idea occurred to his morbidly97 and curiously98 working mind. He would cast all this pitch and defilement upon another’s head. Some one else should shiver with the disgust of it. But who? The inspiration came from Tartarus. He endorsed99 the cheques to the value of nearly two thousand pounds, and paid them into the banking account of his nephew Tommy Burgrave.
He would be as diabolically100 and defiledly wicked as you please, but the intermediary pitch he would not touch.
That was his attitude towards all the suggestions for wickedness laid before him by his three counsellors. They, for their part, although they recognised great advantage in fostering the gloomy humour of their mad patron, began to be weary in evil-doing. After they had taxed their invention for an attractive scheme of villainy, they found that it either came within the tabooed category of crime or, by its lack of refinement102, failed to commend itself to the sensitive scholar. They were at their wits’ end. The only one to whose proposal Quixtus turned an attentive103 ear was Huckaby, who had suggested the heart-breaking expedition through the fashionable resorts of Europe. And, to the credit of Huckaby, be it here mentioned that, beyond certain fantastical and mocking suggestions, such as the devastation104 of old women’s wards101 in workhouses by means of an anonymous105 Christmas gifts of nitroglycerine plum-puddings, this was the only serious proposal he submitted. Anxious, however, lest the idea should lose its attraction, he urged Quixtus to start immediately. It is not every day that a down-at-heel wastrel106 has the opportunity of luxurious107 foreign travel, to say nothing of the humorous object of this particular excursion. But Quixtus, very sensibly, pointed108 out to his eager follower109 that the fashionable resorts of Europe, save the great capitals, are empty during the months of May and June, and that it would be much better to postpone110 their journey until August filled them with the thousand women waiting to have their hearts broken.
Vandermeer, unemployed111 since his embassy to Tommy Burgrave, unsuccessful in his suggestions and envious112 of Billiter and Huckaby, at last hit upon an ingenious idea. He brought Quixtus a dirty letter. It ran:
“Dear Mr. Vandermeer,—You, who were an old friend of my husband’s in our better days and know how valiantly113 I have struggled to keep the home together, can’t you help me now? I am ill in bed, my children are starving. The little ones are lying now even too weak to cry out for bread. It would break a wolf’s heart to see them. If you can’t help me, for I know how things are with you, can’t you bring my case before your rich friend, Mr. Quixtus, of whose kindness and generosity114 you have so often spoken? . . .
“Yours sincerely,
“Emily Wellgood.”
It bore the address “2, Transiter Street, Clerkenwell Road, N.W.”
“What do you bring me this for?” asked Quixtus as soon as he had read it.
“I am satisfying my own conscience as far as Mrs. Wellgood is concerned,” replied Vandermeer, “and at the same time giving you an opportunity of being wicked. It’s a genuine case. You can let them die of starvation.”
Quixtus leaned back in his chair and gave the matter his consideration. Vandermeer had interrupted him in the midst of a paper which he was writing to controvert116 a new theory as to the juxtaposition117 of the pal63?olithic and neolithic118 tombs at Solutré, and he required time to fetch back his mind from the quaternary age to the present day. The prospect119 of a whole family perishing of hunger by an act; as it were, of his will, pleased his fancy.
“Very good. Very good, Vandermeer. Let them starve,” said he. “Let them starve,” he murmured to himself, as he took up his pen.
Vandermeer, hanging about, hinted at payment for the service rendered. Quixtus met his crafty120 eyes with equal cunning.
“You would be too soft-hearted—you would give them some of the money. Wait till some of them are dead.” He rolled the last words delectably121 round his tongue. “And now, my dear Vandermeer, I’m very busy. Many thanks and good-bye.”
Vandermeer left reluctantly and Quixtus resumed his work.
“The bizygomatic transverse diameter,” he wrote, putting down the beginning of the sentence that was in his head when Vandermeer was announced. He paused. He had lost the thread of his ideas. It was a subtle argument depending on the comparative measurements of newly discovered skulls122. He threw down his pen impatiently, and in mild and gentlemanly language anathematised Vandermeer. He attacked the bizygomatic transverse diameter again; but the starving family occupied his thoughts. Presently he abandoned work for the morning and gave himself up to the relish124 of his wickedness. It had a delicious flavour. Practically he was slaying125 mother and babes, while he stood outside the ordinary repulsive and sordid126 circumstances of murder. Vandermeer should have his reward. After lunch, he felt impelled127 to visit them. A force stronger than a strong inclination128 to return to his paper led him out of the front-door and into a taxi-cab summoned from the neighbouring rank. He promised himself the thrill of gloating over the sufferings of his victims. Besides, the letter contained a challenge. “It would break a wolf’s heart to see them.” He would show the writer that his heart was harder than any wolf’s. Instinctively129 his hand sought the waistcoat pocket in which he kept his loose gold. Yes; there were three sovereigns. He smiled. It would be the finished craft of devildom to lay them out on a table before the woman’s hungering and ravished eyes and then, with a merciless chuckle130, to pocket them again and walk out of the house.
“I will not be a fool,” he asserted, as the taxi-cab entered the Clerkenwell Road.
The taxi-cab driver signed that he wished to communicate with his fare. Quixtus leaned forward over the door.
“Do you know where Transiter Street is, Sir?”
Quixtus did not. Does any easy London gentleman know the mean streets in the purlieus of Clerkenwell? But, oddly enough, a milkman of the locality knew not Transiter Street either. Nor did a policeman on duty. Nor did a postman. Perplexed131, Quixtus drove to the nearest District Post Office and made inquiries132. There was no such street in Clerkenwell at all. He consulted the Post Office London Directory. There was no such street as Transiter Street in London.
Quixtus drove home in an angry mood. Once more he had been deceived. Vandermeer had invented the emaciated133 family for the sake of the fee. Did the earth hold a more abandoned villain? He grimly set about devising some punishment for his disingenuous134 counsellor. Nothing adequate occurred to him till some days afterwards when Vandermeer sent him another forged letter announcing the demise135, in horrible torment136, of the youngest child. He took up his pen and wrote as follows:
“My Dear Vandermeer,—I am sending Mrs. Wellgood the burial expenses. I have also enclosed a cheque for yourself. Will you kindly137 go to Transiter Street and claim it. For the present I have no further need of you.
“Yours sincerely,
“Ephraim Quixtus.”
He posted the letter himself on his way to lunch at the club where Wonnacott remarked on his high good humour.
Since the discontinuance of the Tuesday dinners (for they were not resumed after the establishment of the new relations), Huckaby, Billiter, and Vandermeer had contracted the habit of meeting once a week in the bar-parlour of a quiet tavern138 for a companionable fuddle. There they exchanged views on religion and alcohol, and related unveracious (and uncredited) anecdotes139 of their former high estate. Jealous of each other, however, they spoke115 little of Quixtus, and then only in general terms. The poor gentleman was still distraught. It was a sad case, causing them to wag their heads sorrowfully and order another round of whisky.
But one evening of depression, Quixtus having for some time refused their ministrations, and pockets having become woefully empty, they talked with greater freedom of their respective dealings with their patron. Vandermeer related the practical joke he had played upon him; Billiter described his astounding140 luck, and his crazy reason for retiring from the turf; and Huckaby, by way of illustrating141 the unbalanced state of Quixtus’s mind, confided142 to them the project of breaking a woman’s heart.
“What are you going to get out of it?” asked Vandermeer brutally143, for the first time breaking through the pretence144 that they were three devoted145 friends banded together to protect the poor mad gentleman’s interests.
Huckaby raised a protesting hand. “My dear Van!”
“Oh, drop it,” cried Vandermeer. “You make me tired.” He repeated the question.
“Simply amusement. What else?” said Huckaby.
They wrangled146 foolishly for a while. At last Billiter, who had remained silent, brought his fist down, with a bang, on the table.
“I’ve got an idea,” said he. “Have you any particular woman in view?”
“Lord, no,” said Huckaby.
“I can put you on to one,” said Billiter. “No need to go abroad. She’s here in London.”
Huckaby called him uncomplimentary names. The Continental147 trip, as far as he was concerned, was the essence of the suggestion; the capture of the wild goose a remote consideration.
“Besides, old man,” said he, “this is my show.”
Billiter looked glum148. After all, the idea was of no great value. Vandermeer’s cunning brain began to work. He asked Billiter for a description of the lady.
“She’s the widow of an old pal of mine,” replied Billiter. “Lady and all that sort of thing. Her husband, poor old chap, came to grief—Dragoon Guards—in the running for a title—went it too hot, you know—died leaving her with nothing at all. She has pulled through, somehow—lives in devilish good style, dresses expensively, and has the cleverness to hang on to her social position. Damned nice woman—but as for her heart, you could go at it with a pickaxe without risk of breaking it. I thought she would just suit the case.”
“Where does the money come from to live in good style and dress expensively?” asked Huckaby.
“Billiter thinks it might just as well come from Quixtus as from any one else. Don’t you, Billiter?”
“And then we’d all stand in,” cried Vandermeer.
“That may be all very well in its way,” said Huckaby, “but I’m not going to give up my one chance of getting abroad.”
“Go abroad then,” retorted Vandermeer. “If the lady is of the kind I take her to be, she won’t mind crossing the Channel when she knows there’s a golden feathered coot in Boulogne just dying to moult in her hand.”
“You are crude and vulgar in your ideas, Van,” said Huckaby. “Gentlemen of Quixtus’s position no more go to Boulogne for a holiday than they frequent Ramsgate boarding-houses. And they don’t give large sums of money to expensively dressed ladies with conjecturable150 means of support.”
“He’s such a fool that he would never guess anything,” argued Vandermeer.
“Hold on,” said Billiter, “you’re on the wrong tack123 altogether. I told you she was a lady.” His manner changed subtly, the moribund151 instinct of birth crackling suddening into a tiny flame. “I don’t know if you two quite realise what that means, but to Quixtus it would mean everything.”
“Then you must have met a lady connected with somebody in your damned Academy,” said Billiter, who had been sent down from Oxford153.
“The University of Cambridge isn’t an Academy,” said Huckaby, waxing quarrelsome.
“And a woman who subsists154 on gifts from her gentlemen friends can’t be a real lady,” said Vandermeer.
“Oh go to blazes, both of you!” cried Billiter, angrily.
He clapped on his hat and rose. But as he had been sitting in the corner of the divan155, between Huckaby and Vandermeer, with the table in front of him, a dignified156 exit was impracticable. Indeed, he was immediately plumped down again on his seat by a tug34 on each side of his coat, and adjured157 in the vernacular158 not to stray from the paths of wisdom.
“What’s the use of quarrelling?” asked Huckaby. “She’s a lady if you say so.”
“Of course, old man,” Vandermeer agreed. “Have a drink?”
Billiter being mollified, and the refinement of the Dragoon Guardsman’s widow being accepted as indisputable, a long and confidential159 conference took place, the conspirators160 speaking in whispers, with heads close together, although they happened to be alone in the saloon-bar. It was the first time they had contemplated161 concerted action, the first time they had discussed anything of real interest; so, for the first time they forgot to get fuddled. The plot was simple. Billiter was to approach Mrs. Fontaine (at last he disclosed the lady’s identity) with all the delicacy162 such a mission demanded, and lay the proposal before her. If she fell in with it she would hold herself in readiness to repair to whatever Continental resort might be indicated, and then having made herself known to Huckaby, would be introduced by him to Quixtus. The rest would follow, as the night the day.
“The part I don’t like about it,” objected Vandermeer, “is not only letting a fourth into our own private concern, but giving her the lion’s share. We’re not a syndicate of philanthropists.”
“I’m by way of thinking it won’t be our concern much longer,” replied Billiter.
“And nobody asked you to come in,” said Huckaby. “You can stand out if you like.”
An ugly look overspread Vandermeer’s foxy face.
“Oh can I? You see what happens if you try that game on.”
“Besides,” continued Billiter, disregarding the snarl163, “it will be to our advantage. Which of us is going to touch our demented friend for a hundred pounds? We didn’t do it in former days; much less now. But I’ll back Mrs. Fontaine to get at least three thousand out of him. Thirty per cent, is our commission without which we don’t play, and that gives us three hundred each. I could do with three hundred myself very nicely.”
“How are we to know what she gets?”
“That’s easily managed,” said Huckaby, pulling his ragged164 beard. “She’ll make her returns to Billiter and I’ll undertake to get the figures out of Quixtus.”
“But where do I come in?” asked Vandermeer. “How shall I know if you two are playing straight?”
“You’ll have your damned head punched in a minute,” said Billiter, looking fierce. “To hear you one would think we were a set of crooks165.”
“If we aren’t, what the devil are we, then?” muttered Vandermeer bitterly.
But Billiter had turned his broad back on him and did not catch the words, whereby possibly he escaped a broken head. Billiter was sometimes sensitive on the point of honour. He had sunk to lower depths of meanness and petty villainy than the other two in whom the moral sense still lingered. He would acknowledge himself to be a “wrong ‘un” because that vague term connoted in his mind merely a gentleman of broken fortune who was put to shifts (such as his disastrous167 bargain with Old Joe Jenks and the present conspiracy) for his living; but a crook166 was a common thief or swindler, a member of the criminal classes, of a confraternity to which he, Billiter, deemed it impossible that he could belong, especially during a period like the present, when he found himself, after many years of dingy168 linen169, apparelled in the gorgeous raiment of his gentlemanly days. He had sunk below the line of self-realisation. But the others had not. Vandermeer, who hitherto had merely snapped like a jackal at passing food to satisfy his hunger, did not deceive himself as to what he had become. Cynical170, he felt no remorse171. On the other hand, Huckaby, who went to bed that night sober, had a bad attack of conscience during the small hours and woke up next morning with a headache. Whereupon he upbraided172 himself for his folly; first, in confiding173 to his companions the project of his whimsical adventure; secondly174, in allowing it to drift into such a despicable entanglement175; thirdly, in associating himself with a scarlet176 crustacean177 of Billiter’s claw-power; and fourthly, in not getting drunk.
Huckaby was nearer Quixtus than the others in education and point of view. Though willing to accept any alms thrown to him he was not rapacious178; he had not regarded his mad and wealthy patron entirely as a pigeon to be plucked; and beneath all the corruption179 of his nature there burnt a spark of affection for the kindly man who had befriended him and whose trust he had betrayed. He spent most of the ineffectual day in shaping a resolution to withdraw from the discreditable compact. But by the last post in the evening he received a laconic180 postcard from Billiter: “The Fountain plays.”
The sapped will-power gave way before the march of practical events. With a shrug181 he accepted the message as a decree of destiny, and wandered forth182 into congenial haunts, where, in one respect at least, he did not repeat the folly of the previous evening.
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arbiter
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| n.仲裁人，公断人 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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extravagantly
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| adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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cumbersome
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| adj.笨重的，不便携带的 | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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trickles
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| n.细流( trickle的名词复数 )；稀稀疏疏缓慢来往的东西v.滴( trickle的第三人称单数 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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percolate
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| v.过滤，渗透 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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specks
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| n.眼镜；斑点，微粒，污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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futility
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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purblind
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| adj.半盲的；愚笨的 | |
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incarnate
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| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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raucous
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| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
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inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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31
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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34
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
scurvy
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| adj.下流的，卑鄙的，无礼的；n.坏血病 | |
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prodigiously
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| adv.异常地，惊人地，巨大地 | |
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38
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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39
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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40
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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41
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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43
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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44
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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45
romps
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| n.无忧无虑，快活( romp的名词复数 )v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的第三人称单数 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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46
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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47
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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48
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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49
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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50
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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51
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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52
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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53
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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54
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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55
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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56
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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57
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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58
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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59
halve
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| vt.分成两半，平分；减少到一半 | |
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60
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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61
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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62
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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64
confessions
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| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
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65
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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66
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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67
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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68
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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69
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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71
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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72
cupidity
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| n.贪心，贪财 | |
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73
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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74
mordant
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| adj.讽刺的；尖酸的 | |
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75
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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76
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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77
compensating
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| 补偿，补助，修正 | |
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78
ingenuousness
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| n.率直；正直；老实 | |
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79
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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80
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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81
touts
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| n.招徕( tout的名词复数 )；（音乐会、体育比赛等的）卖高价票的人；侦查者；探听赛马的情报v.兜售( tout的第三人称单数 )；招揽；侦查；探听赛马情报 | |
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82
saturate
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| vt.使湿透，浸透；使充满，使饱和 | |
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83
vileness
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| n.讨厌，卑劣 | |
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84
fume
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| n.(usu pl.)(浓烈或难闻的)烟，气，汽 | |
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85
defiled
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| v.玷污( defile的过去式和过去分词 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
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86
musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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87
loathe
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| v.厌恶，嫌恶 | |
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88
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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89
altruistic
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| adj.无私的，为他人着想的 | |
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90
defilement
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| n.弄脏，污辱，污秽 | |
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91
bestial
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| adj.残忍的；野蛮的 | |
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92
obtrude
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| v.闯入；侵入；打扰 | |
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93
banking
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| n.银行业，银行学，金融业 | |
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94
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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95
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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96
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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97
morbidly
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| adv.病态地 | |
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98
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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99
endorsed
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| vt.& vi.endorse的过去式或过去分词形式v.赞同( endorse的过去式和过去分词 )；在（尤指支票的）背面签字；在（文件的）背面写评论；在广告上说本人使用并赞同某产品 | |
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100
diabolically
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101
wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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102
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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103
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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104
devastation
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| n.毁坏；荒废；极度震惊或悲伤 | |
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105
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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106
wastrel
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| n.浪费者；废物 | |
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107
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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108
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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109
follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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110
postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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111
unemployed
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| adj.失业的，没有工作的；未动用的，闲置的 | |
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112
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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113
valiantly
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| adv.勇敢地，英勇地；雄赳赳 | |
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114
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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115
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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116
controvert
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| v.否定；否认 | |
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117
juxtaposition
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| n.毗邻，并置，并列 | |
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118
neolithic
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| adj.新石器时代的 | |
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119
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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120
crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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121
delectably
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| 令人愉快的，让人喜爱的 | |
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122
skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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123
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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124
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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125
slaying
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| 杀戮。 | |
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126
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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127
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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129
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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130
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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131
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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132
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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133
emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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134
disingenuous
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| adj.不诚恳的，虚伪的 | |
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135
demise
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| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
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136
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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137
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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138
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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139
anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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140
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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141
illustrating
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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142
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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143
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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144
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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145
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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146
wrangled
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| v.争吵，争论，口角( wrangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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147
continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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148
glum
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| adj.闷闷不乐的，阴郁的 | |
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149
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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150
conjecturable
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| 可推测的，可猜想的 | |
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151
moribund
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| adj.即将结束的，垂死的 | |
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152
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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153
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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154
subsists
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的第三人称单数 ) | |
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155
divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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156
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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157
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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158
vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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159
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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160
conspirators
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| n.共谋者，阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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161
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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162
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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163
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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164
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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165
crooks
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| n.骗子( crook的名词复数 )；罪犯；弯曲部分；（牧羊人或主教用的）弯拐杖v.弯成钩形( crook的第三人称单数 ) | |
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166
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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167
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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168
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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169
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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170
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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171
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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172
upbraided
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| v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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173
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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174
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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175
entanglement
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| n.纠缠，牵累 | |
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176
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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177
crustacean
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| n.甲壳动物；adj.甲壳纲的 | |
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178
rapacious
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| adj.贪婪的，强夺的 | |
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179
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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180
laconic
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| adj.简洁的；精练的 | |
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181
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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182
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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