“I’m proud of you! My God, I’m proud of you! You and I will make our name famous again, as it was in the days of Admiral de Coligny. We’ll do things. We’ll make this rocking old Europe hum.” He laughed, and fire leaped into his eyes. “It’s good to be alive these days!”
“It is. It’s glorious!” replied Godfrey.
“I hope I may be allowed to offer you my sincere congratulations,” said he. “Although I do not see eye to eye with you in your prognostication of a recrudescence of warfare5 after the pacification6 of this present upheaval7, yet——”
“That’s all right, you dear old image. When you get your Fellowship, I’ll say the same to you.”
“My dear boy,” cried Baltazar, darting10 to the bell, “haven’t you lunched? You must have a proper meal.”
Godfrey restrained him. No. He hadn’t time. He must leave London that afternoon, for a day or two, and the next two or three hours would be a mad rush. A shade of disappointment passed over Baltazar’s face.
“I was hoping we might have a little dinner to-night to celebrate your appointment—just ourselves, with Marcelle—and Lady Edna, if she could come.”
“Dreadfully sorry, sir,” said he. “I’m not my own master. Anyhow, I know Lady Edna’s engaged. But my last night—yes, if you will. I’d love it.”
As soon as he had bolted food and drink, he rushed out. He must throw some things into a bag, said he. Presently he returned and took hurried leave. Baltazar gripped him by the hand and God-blessed him. At the door Godfrey nodded to Quong Ho.
“Just a word, old chap.”
Quong Ho followed him into the hall.
Baltazar went to the open dining-room window, and presently saw Godfrey clamber into his little two-seater. He waved a hand.
“Good luck!”
“See you on Friday, sir.”
The car drove off. Quong Ho returned to the dining-room.
“I think, sir,” said he, “that we have just parted from a happy young man.”
“If a man’s not happy when he gets his heart’s desire at twenty-one,” said Baltazar, “he had better apply for transference to another planet. I threw mine away,” he added in a tone of reminiscence. “Wilfully. I ought to have been Senior Wrangler13. But I was a fool. I was always taking false steps. That’s the wonderful thing about Godfrey, Quong Ho, as doubtless you’ve noticed—he always takes the right steps. A marvellously well-balanced mind.” He smiled in a meditative14 way, thanking Heaven for sparing Godfrey those storms of temperament15 in which he had so often suffered shipwreck16. A steady chap, disciplined, not to be turned out of his course. “Well, well,” said he, “now from refreshment17 to labour. Come upstairs and let us get on with the work.”
It was the long vacation, and Quong Ho, tireless and devoted18, was replacing Baltazar’s secretary absent on a much-needed holiday. A busy afternoon lay before them. That evening the week’s number of The New Universe must go to press; the final proofs be passed, modifying footnotes added to bring statements and arguments up to the hour’s date, so swift were the kaleidoscopic19 variations in the confused world-condition; and Baltazar’s own editional summary, the dynamo of the powerful periodical, had to be finished.
They sat in Baltazar’s library, at the orderly piled writing-table, very much as they had sat, a year ago, in the scholarly room at Spendale Farm. But now no longer as master and humorously treated pupil. The years of training had borne excellent fruit, and Quong Ho proved himself to be an invaluable20 colleague; so much so that Baltazar, at times, cursed the University of Cambridge for depriving him, for the greater part of the year, of one of the most subtle brains in the kingdom. Quong Ho could point unerringly to a fallacy in an argument; he seemed to be infallible on questions of fact in war politics; and such a meticulously22 accurate proof-corrector had never been born. In such a light at least did his rara avis appear to Baltazar. They worked in silence. Baltazar furiously inditing23 his article, Quong Ho, pen in hand, intent on the proofs. The open window admitted the London sounds of the warm summer afternoon. Presently Baltazar rose and cast off coat and waistcoat, and with a sigh of relief at the coolness of shirt-sleeves, sat down again.
“Why don’t you do the same?”
Quong Ho, impeccably attired24 in a dark suit and a high stiff collar, replied that he did not feel the heat.
“I believe it would hurt you not to be prim25 and precise,” said Baltazar. “I wonder what would happen if you really ever let yourself go?”
Quong Ho smiled blandly26. “I have been taught, sir, that self-discipline is the foundation of all virtue27.”
Baltazar laughed. “You’re young. Stick to it. I’ve had as much as is good for me at my time of life. I’m going to end my days, thank God, in delightful28 lack of restraint. I’m going to let myself go, my friend, over this new job, like a runaway29 horse. At last I’ve bullied30 them into giving me a free hand. It’s a change from a year ago, isn’t it?”
“I agree that the change has been most beneficent,” said Quong Ho.
“Yes, by Jove!” cried Baltazar. “Then we were just a couple of grubby bookworms doing nothing for ourselves or our fellow-creatures. Now—here you are dealing31 with thoughts that shake the world; and I—by Jove!—one of the leading men in England. I should like to see the bomb that would knock us out this time.”
He hitched32 up his shirt-cuffs and plunged33 again into his article. He had scarcely written a sentence, when the door opened and Marcelle appeared on the threshold. He pushed back his chair and rose, and advanced to her with both hands outstretched.
“Hello! Hello! What has blown you in at this time of day?”
She looked up at him as she took his hand, and he saw there was trouble in her eyes.
“I know I’m disturbing you, but I can’t help it,” she said quickly. “I must speak to you.”
“Perhaps you would like to speak with Mr. Baltazar in private,” said Quong Ho.
“Indeed I should, Mr. Ho. Please forgive me.”
“Godfrey.”
“My God!” he cried. “Not an accident? He’s not hurt?”
Baltazar breathed relief. “I believe if anything happened to him now, it would break me,” he said.
“He came round to see me an hour or so ago.”
“After he left here. To tell you of his appointment. Aren’t you glad?”
“Of course I am. But I should be more glad if that had been all.”
“What’s up?” he asked, frowning. “Tell me straight.”
“Ought I to tell you?” she asked rather piteously. “It’s betraying his confidence shamefully37. I know I’m to blame. I ought never to have given him my promise. But I can’t see him go and ruin everything without making some sacrifice.”
“My dearest Marcelle, you’re talking in riddles38. For Heaven’s sake give me the word of the enigma39.”
“It’s Lady Edna Donnithorpe.”
“Well. What about her?”
“I wish he had never set eyes on the woman,” she cried passionately40.
“If he’s in love with her, he’ll have to get over it,” said Baltazar. “France will cure him. And, as I told you the other evening, the lady’s perfectly41 callous42. So my dear, go along and don’t worry.”
“You don’t seem to understand me, John dear,” she said urgently. “The woman is in love with him. It has been going on for months. He has told me all about it. She gets up and goes out driving with him in the car at eight o’clock in the morning.”
“Silly or not, she wouldn’t do it if she didn’t care for him. Not Lady Edna Donnithorpe. They meet whenever they can. He comes to me and pours out everything. I ought to have told you. But I couldn’t break my word. They’re lovers——”
“Lovers? What do you mean?” he asked, bending his heavy brows.
“Not yet. Not in that sense, I’m sure. But they soon will be.” She looked at him anxiously. “I know I’m going to forfeit44 Godfrey’s affection, and perhaps your respect—but I can’t do otherwise.” She paused, then burst out desperately45: “She’s going to run away with him this afternoon.”
“The devil she is!” cried Baltazar. He strode about the room and threw up his hands. “Oh, the damned young fool!” He wheeled round on Marcelle. “Why on earth didn’t you stop it?”
She pleaded helplessness. How could she? Naturally she had used every argument, moral and worldly. As it was, he had dashed off in a fume46, calling her unsympathetic and narrow-minded, regretting that he had ever given her his confidence. He had promised long ago to let her know everything. Now that he had kept his word she turned against him. She had been powerless.
“He’s old enough to look after his own morals,” said Baltazar, “and I’m not the silly hypocrite to hold up my hands in horror. But to go and run away with the most notorious society woman in London and play the devil with his career is another matter. Oh, the damned young fool!—That rat Edgar Donnithorpe will get on to it at once. He’s just the man to stick at nothing.—A filthy47 divorce case.—The boy’ll have to resign, if he doesn’t get chucked—then marry the woman five years older than himself. Where’s the happiness going to be?”
He resumed his striding about the room, in his impetuous way, and Marcelle followed him timidly with her eyes. “Oh, damnation!” said he. He had just been lecturing Quong Ho on Godfrey’s steadiness and balance. Why, he himself had never done such a scatter-brained thing.
“Where are the precious pair going?”
A remote week-end cottage, she said, belonging to a complaisant48 friend of Lady Edna’s. Five miles from station, post office or shop. A lonely Eden in the wilderness49. Whether it was north, east, south or west of London she did not know. An old woman in charge would look after them.
“I suppose they’re well on their way by now,” said he.
“I don’t know. Possibly not. He said he had to rush about town to order his kit50. Besides,” she added hopelessly, “what does it matter when they start?”
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t give for it not to have happened,” he exclaimed. “I suppose I was a fool. You warned me. And it was I who, like an ass11, encouraged them. I could kick myself!”
“Of course I don’t blame you. You thought it boyish folly53. . . . What’s the good of talking about it?”
They did talk, however, in a helpless way.
“They had no intention of doing anything desperate,” she said, “until this morning. If he had remained in London, they might have gone on indefinitely. The prospect54 of endless months in France set the whole thing ablaze55. . . . When I put the moral side before him, he retorted with a tu quoque.”
“What did he mean?”
“That I was ready, at his age, to run away with a married man.”
“Were you?” he asked.
“I suppose so,” she replied with a weary little smile.
“Not from the moral point of view.”
“Oh, damn morals,” said he.
She laughed in spite of her distress57. It was so characteristic of the man. If anything got in his way, he just damned it, and regarded it as non-existent.
He moved restlessly about; then, catching58 sight of his discarded coat and waistcoat, plunged savagely59 into them, as though he were going in pursuit of the erring21 pair.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, abandoning half-way the furious buttoning of his waistcoat. “That’s the devil of it, there’s nothing to be done.”
At that moment Quong Ho discreetly60 appeared at the door.
“Will you have particular need of my services for the next hour?”
“Yes, of course I shall. Look there!” Baltazar flung a hand towards the paper-strewn table. “We go to press this evening.”
Quong Ho consulted his watch. “I am sorry then, for I don’t know how I shall proceed. I promised Captain Godfrey to take his bag to the railway station at five o’clock.”
Smiles wreathed Baltazar’s face of annoyance61, and he exchanged a quick glance with Marcelle. “What railway station?”
“Waterloo.”
“I thought he had taken his kit with him in the car.”
“He explained, sir, when he called me into the hall before he left, that he couldn’t garage the car at Waterloo station.”
“I see,” said Baltazar.
“Therefore I am to seek it in his bedroom and convey it by taxi to Waterloo.”
Baltazar nodded approvingly, and the humorous light appeared in his eyes which Quong Ho could never interpret.
“It’s very lucky you’ve told me, Quong Ho. I want particularly to say a word or two to Godfrey before he leaves London. I’ll take his bag. You get on with the work. Perhaps you’ll send somebody out for a taxi.”
“I’ll fetch one myself,” said Quong Ho, and bowing as usual politely to Marcelle, left the room.
Baltazar clutched her arms with both hands and lifted her from her seat and, laughing exultantly62, kissed her a hearty63, unintelligible64 kiss—the first for twenty years—leaving her utterly65 bewildered.
“The Lord has delivered them into my hands!” he cried. “The stars in their courses fight for the House of Baltazar.”
“What in the world are you going to do?” she asked.
“Play hell,” said he.
Ten minutes afterwards Baltazar was speeding eastwards66, grimly smiling. By skilful67 contrivance he had despatched the helpful Quong Ho upstairs to Marcelle at the last moment, and had pitched Godfrey’s kit into the dining-room and had driven off without it. If the infatuated youth would not listen to reason or the lady to the plainest of speech, he should go off to his love in a cottage unromantically destitute68 of toothbrush and pyjamas69. Ridicule70 kills. The boy would hate him for the moment; but would assuredly live to bless him. Once in France, he would have no time for folly. The imperious man’s thoughts flew fast. The lady herself should cure the boy. He would see to that. If he couldn’t break an Edna Donnithorpe, bring her to heel, he was not John Baltazar. In his jealousy71 for the boy’s honourable72 career he swept the woman’s possible emotions into the limbo73 of inconsiderable things. What kind of a woman was she, anyhow, to have married a rat like Donnithorpe? He read her in rough intolerance. Just a freak of thwarted74 sex. That was it. If nothing was discovered, she would return to her normal life and, sizing up the episode in her cold intellectual way, would discover that the game was not worth the candles supplied by the old woman in the remote cottage, and would send Godfrey packing to any kind of Byronic despair. If the intrigue75 came out and there was a divorce and subsequent marriage, there would be the devil to pay.
The taxi clattered76 through the gloomy archway approaches at Waterloo and drew up at the end of the long line of cabs at the entrance to the station. The summer exodus77 from London was just beginning, and the outside platform was a-bustle with porters, trucks, passengers and luggage. Baltazar, after paying his fare, lingered for a moment at the great door of the Booking Hall, and then entered and passed through it into the hurrying station. A queue stood at the suburban78 ticket office. He scanned it, but no Godfrey. He walked the length of the platform entrances, through the crowds of passengers and their dumps of luggage and knots of soldiers, some about to entrain, sitting on the ground with their packs around them, others, newly arrived on leave: Australians with their soft hats, wiry Cockneys still encased in the clay of the trenches79, officers of all grades and of all arms. Presently at the central bookstall, turning away, his arms full of periodicals, Godfrey came into view. Baltazar approached smiling. His son’s face darkened. “I didn’t expect to see you here, sir.”
“If you want to study the ways of a country, there’s nothing like its great railway stations. They’re a favourite haunt of mine.”
“I don’t mind it, my boy,” replied Baltazar cheerfully. “But it’s lucky I hit upon Waterloo. I shall be able to see you off. By the way, where are you going?”
“Somewhere Southampton way, sir,” said Godfrey stiffly.
“Lot of light literature,” remarked Baltazar, motioning to the periodicals.
“Quite a debauch,” said Godfrey.
Baltazar’s quick eyes picked out the board by the Southampton platform.
“Your train, I see, goes at 5.45. You’re a bit early.”
“Yes, sir. It’s such a long time till the train starts that I couldn’t think of asking you to wait.”
“That doesn’t matter a bit, my dear boy. Time is no object.”
“I’m very sorry to be rude, sir—but as a matter of fact I have an appointment,” said Godfrey desperately. “An important appointment.”
“Oh!” said Baltazar.
“And, if you don’t mind, I must wait outside the station. Quong Ho is bringing my suit-case. I shouldn’t like to miss him.”
He made a step forward, but an ironic81 glitter in his father’s searching eyes arrested the movement.
“Quong Ho isn’t bringing your suit-case. I’ve come instead.”
Godfrey drew himself up haughtily82. “I don’t understand. Have you been kind enough to bring my luggage?”
“No,” replied Baltazar calmly. “It’s on the floor of the dining-room.”
“Your interference with my arrangements, sir, is unwarrantable,” said the boy, pale with anger.
“Possibly. Unless we adopt the Jesuitical principle of the end justifying83 the means.”
“And what is the end, might I ask?”
“To prevent you from making an infernal fool of yourself.”
The young man regarded him inimically. Baltazar felt a throb84 of pride in his attitude. A lad of spirit.
“I suppose Marcelle came straight to you with my confidence. In giving it to her I made a fool of myself, I admit. As for what I propose to do, I fail to see that it’s any concern of yours.”
Baltazar’s heart yearned85 over the boy. He said in a softened86 tone: “It is ruin to your career and a mess up of your whole life. And your future means so much to me that I’d sacrifice anything—honour, decency87, even your affection which I thought I had gained—to see you off at any rate to France with a clean sheet.”
But Godfrey in cold wrath88 did not heed89 the pleading note. He had been betrayed and tricked. Only his soldier’s training kept him outwardly calm. To the casual glances of the preoccupied90 crowd passing by them nothing in the demeanour of either man gave occasion for special interest. They stood, too, in a little islet of space apart from the general stream of traffic. Baltazar went on with his parable91. He had not the heart to hint his projected gibe92 at the unromantic lack of tooth-brushes. Things ran too deep.
“I admit none of your arguments,” said Godfrey at last. “Besides, I am my own master. I owe you a debt for many kindnesses; your affection—I don’t undervalue it. But there things end. After all, we met a year ago as strangers. I’ve run my life as I chose, and I mean to run it as I choose. I expect Lady Edna to arrive at any minute. In common delicacy93 I must ask you to let me go my own ways.”
“All right, go,” said Baltazar. “But I’ll go with you.”
Godfrey’s eyes flamed.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“My dear fellow,” said Baltazar, “I don’t think there’s a damned thing in the world that I wouldn’t dare. Haven’t you found that out?”
So they stood there for a while longer, talking in their islet beneath the glass roof of the busy station, and the boy’s heart was filled with anger and wild hatred94 of the thick-shouldered, smiling man, with the powerful face and infernal dancing eyes.
Then suddenly Baltazar strode away at a great pace, and Godfrey, turning, saw that he was cutting off Lady Edna, who had entered, preceded by a porter wheeling her luggage. Before he had time to overtake him, Baltazar was already taking off his hat to an amazed lady and had imperiously checked the porter.
“Lady Edna,” said he, “I’m here to prevent Godfrey and yourself from committing the insanity95 of your lives.”
She said, mistress of herself, “I don’t understand you, Mr. Baltazar. You seem to be taking an outrageous96 liberty. I am going to stay at the house of a friend who has asked Godfrey to be my fellow-guest.”
Before Baltazar could reply, Godfrey came hurrying up with his slight limp and plunged into angry explanations. She looked at the clock.
“If you telephone home now,” she said coolly, “a servant will have ample time to bring your things.”
“By God, yes!” said Godfrey, angrily depositing the sheaf of periodicals on her luggage.
“Have you got the tickets?”
“Of course.”
He marched away across the station.
“Porter——” said Lady Edna.
But no porter was there, for, unperceived by either of the lovers, Baltazar had slipped five shillings into the man’s hand and told him to come back later.
“There’s heaps of time,” said Baltazar. “Now, my dearest lady, what is the good of make-believe? Cards on the table. You’re going to make a bolt with Godfrey and throw your cap over the windmills. There’s a nice little cottage in a wood—in the depths of the New Forest, I presume, lent you by a friend who is represented by one solitary97 old woman.”
“How do you know that?” she asked, her soft eyes hardening in their characteristic way. “Godfrey has surely not been such a——“—she paused for a word—“well—such an imbecile as to tell you?”
“Godfrey has told me nothing. You may be certain of that. His fury against me is sufficiently98 obvious.”
“Then how do you know?”
“That’s my affair,” smiled Baltazar. “Lady Edna,” said he, “don’t you think that my coming the heavy father like this puts you into rather an absurd position?”
She replied, white-lipped: “I’ll never forgive you till I’m dead!”
“I’ve naturally counted on the consequences of your resentment,” said Baltazar.
“What do you propose to do?”
“If you persist, to thrust upon you the displeasure of my company, without luggage—just like Godfrey.”
“You——” she began indignantly. And then suddenly: “Oh, my God!” and clutched him by the arm.
He followed her stare across the station, and there, in the archway of the Booking Hall, peering from right to left in his rat-like way, stood Edgar Donnithorpe.
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收听单词发音
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1
maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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frightfulness
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| 可怕； 丑恶； 讨厌； 恐怖政策 | |
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urbane
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| adj.温文尔雅的，懂礼的 | |
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warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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pacification
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| n. 讲和，绥靖，平定 | |
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upheaval
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| n.胀起，(地壳)的隆起；剧变，动乱 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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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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wrangler
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| n.口角者，争论者；牧马者 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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shipwreck
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| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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kaleidoscopic
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| adj.千变万化的 | |
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invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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erring
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| 做错事的，错误的 | |
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meticulously
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| adv.过细地，异常细致地；无微不至；精心 | |
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inditing
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| v.写（文章，信等）创作，赋诗，创作( indite的现在分词 ) | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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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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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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bullied
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| adj.被欺负了v.恐吓，威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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reassurance
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| n.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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shamefully
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| 可耻地； 丢脸地； 不体面地； 羞耻地 | |
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38
riddles
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| n.谜（语）( riddle的名词复数 )；猜不透的难题，难解之谜 | |
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enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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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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forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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fume
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| n.(usu pl.)(浓烈或难闻的)烟，气，汽 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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complaisant
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| adj.顺从的，讨好的 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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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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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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exultantly
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| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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eastwards
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| adj.向东方（的），朝东（的）；n.向东的方向 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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pyjamas
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| n.（宽大的）睡衣裤 | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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limbo
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| n.地狱的边缘；监狱 | |
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thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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exodus
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| v.大批离去，成群外出 | |
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suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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justifying
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| 证明…有理( justify的现在分词 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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parable
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| n.寓言，比喻 | |
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gibe
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| n.讥笑；嘲弄 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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97
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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