She could not let all this pass into vulgar hands. The vague plan of letting the house furnished, which had hitherto not been unattractive, now became monstrously21 definite. She hated the sacrilegious and intrusive22 Major Olifant. He would bring down a dowdy23 wife and a cartload of children to the profanation24 of these her household gods. She went in search of Myra and found her dusting her own prim25 little bedroom.
“I’m going out. When Major Olifant calls, tell him I’ve changed my mind and the house is not to let.”
Then she put on hat and coat and went downstairs to take the air of the sleepy midday High Street. But as she opened the front door she ran into a man getting out of a two-seater car driven by a chauffeur26. He raised his hat.
“I beg your pardon,” said he, “but is this ‘The Towers’?”
“It is,” she replied. “I suppose you’ve—you’ve come with an order to view from Messrs. Trivett and Gale27.”
“Quite so,” said he pleasantly. “I have an appointment with Miss Gale.”
“I’m Miss Gale,” said Olivia.
“And my name’s Olifant. Major Olifant.”
She had pictured quite a different would-be intruder, a red-faced, obese29, and pushing fellow. Instead, she saw a well-bred, spare man of medium height wearing a stained service Burberry the empty left sleeve of which was pinned in front; a man in his middle thirties, with crisp light brown hair, long, broad forehead characterized by curious bumps over the brows, a very long, straight nose and attractive dark blue eyes which keenly and smilingly held hers without touch of offence.
The smile vanished from his eyes. “I’m sorry,” said he stiffly. “I was given to understand——”
“Yes, I know,” she said quickly. Her conscience getting hold of the missing arm smote32 her. “Where have you come from?”
“Oxford.”
“Ninety-four.”
“But you must be perishing with cold,” she cried. “Do come in and get warm, at any rate. Perhaps I can explain. And your man, too.” She pointed34. “Round that way you’ll find a garage. I’ll send the maid. Please come in, Major Olifant. Oh—but you must!”
She entered the house, leaving him no option but to follow. To divest35 himself of his Burberry he made curious writhing36 movements with his shoulders, and swerved37 aside politely when she offered assistance.
And, as he said it, he got clear and threw the mackintosh on the oak chest. He rubbed the knuckle39 of his right hand against the side of his rough tweed jacket.
She showed him into the drawing-room, thanked goodness there was a showy wood-fire burning, and went out after Myra.
“I thought the house wasn’t to be let,” said the latter after receiving many instructions.
“The letting of the house has nothing to do with two cold and hungry men who have motored here on a raw November morning for hundreds of miles on false pretences41.”
She re-entered the drawing-room with a tray bearing whisky decanter, siphon, and glass, which she set on a side table.
“I’m alone in the world now, Major Olifant,” she said, “but I’ve lived nearly all my life with men—my father and two brothers——” She felt that the explanation was essential. “Please help yourself.”
He met her eyes, which, though defiant43, held the menace of tears. He made the vaguest, most delicate of gestures with his right hand—his empty sleeve, the air. She moved an assenting44 head; then swiftly she grasped the decanter.
“Say when.”
“Just that.”
She squirted the siphon.
“So?”
“Perfect. A thousand thanks.”
He took the glass from her and deferentially45 awaited her next movement. Tricksy memory flashed across her mind the picture of the Anglo-Indian colonel of her mother’s pathetic little confidence. For a moment or two she stood confused, flushed, self-conscious, suddenly hating herself for not knowing instinctly what to do. In desperation she cried.
He laughed, made a little bow, and drank.
“Now do sit down near the fire. I’m dreadfully sorry,” she continued when they were settled. “Dreadfully sorry you should have had all this journey for nothing. As a matter of fact, I wanted to let the house and only changed my mind an hour ago.”
“You have lived here all your life?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Please say no more about it,” said he courteously47.
She burst at once into explanations. Father, brothers, mother—all the dear ghosts, at the last moment, had held out their barring hands. He smiled at her pretty dark-eyed earnestness.
“There are few houses nowadays without ghosts. But there might be a stranger now and then who would have the tact48 and understanding to win their confidence.”
This was at the end of a talk which had lasted she knew not how long. The little silence which ensued was broken by the shrill50 clang of the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece striking one. She sprang to her feet.
“One o’clock. Why, you must be famished51. Seven o’clock breakfast at latest. There’ll be something to eat, whatever it is.”
“But, my dear Miss Gale,” cried Major Olifant, rising in protest, “I couldn’t dream of it—there must be an hotel——”
“There isn’t,” cried Olivia unveraciously, and vanished.
Major Olifant, too late to open the door for her, retraced52 his steps and stood, back to fire, idly evoking53, as a man does, the human purposes that had gone to the making of the room, and he was puzzled. Some delicate spirit had chosen the old gold curtains which harmonized with the cushions on the plain upholstered settee and with the early Chippendale armchairs and with the Chippendale bookcase filled with odds54 and ends of good china, old Chelsea, Coalport, a bit or two of Sèvres and Dresden. Some green chrysanthemums55 bowed, in dainty raggedness56, over the edge of a fine cut crystal vase. An exquisite6 water-colour over the piano attracted his attention. He crossed the room to examine it and drew a little breath of surprise to read the signature of Bonington—a thing beyond price. On a table by the French window, which led into a conservatory57 and thence into the little garden, stood a box of Persian lacquer. But there, throwing into confusion the charm of all this, a great Victorian mirror in a heavy florid gold frame blared like a German band from over the mantelpiece, and on the opposite wall two huge companion pictures representing in violent colours scenes of smug domestic life, also in gold frames, with a slip of wood let in bearing the legend “Exhibited at the Royal Academy, 1888,” screamed like an orchestrion.
He was looking round for further evidence of obvious conflict of individualities, when Myra appeared to take him to get rid of the dust of the journey. When he returned to the drawing-room he found Olivia.
“I can’t help feeling an inconscionable intruder,” said he.
“My only concern is that I’ll be able to give you something fit to eat.”
He laughed. “The man who has come out of France and Mesopotamia finikin in his food is a fraud.”
“Still,” she objected, “I don’t want to send you back to Mrs. Olifant racked with indigestion.”
“Mrs. Olifant?” He wore a look of humorous puzzlement.
“I suppose you have a wife and family?”
“Good heavens, no!” he cried, with an air of horror. “I’m a bachelor.”
“But what on earth does a bachelor want with a great big house—with ten bedrooms?”
“Has it got ten bedrooms?”
“I presume Mr. Trivett sent you the particulars: ‘Desirable Residence, standing49 in own grounds, three acres. Ten bedrooms, three reception rooms. Bath H. and C.,’ and so forth59?”
“The Bath H. and C. was all I worried about.”
They both laughed. Myra announced luncheon60. They went into the dining-room. By the side of Major Olifant’s plate was a leather case. He flashed on her a look of enquiry, at which the blood rose into her pale cheeks.
“I’ve been interviewing your man,” she said rather defiantly61. “He produced that from the pocket of the car.”
“You overwhelm me with your kindness, Miss Gale,” said he. “I should never have had the courage to ask for it.”
The case contained the one-armed man’s patent combination knife and fork.
“Courage is such a funny thing,” said Olivia. “A man will walk up to a machine-gun in action and knock the gunner out with the butt62 end of a rifle; but if he’s sitting in a draught63 in a woman’s drawing-room and catching64 his death of cold, he daren’t get up and shut the window. These are real eggs, although they’re camouflaged65 in a Chinese scramble66. One faithful hen is still doing her one minute day. The others are on strike.”
She felt curiously67 exhilarated on this first actual occasion of asserting her independence. Only once before had she entertained guests at her own table, and these were her uncle and aunt from Clapham, the Edward Gales68, who came to her mother’s funeral. They were colourless suburban69 folk who were pained by her polite rejection70 of their proposal to make her home with them on a paying footing, and reproached her for extravagance in giving them butter (of which, nevertheless, they ate greedily) instead of margarine. Her uncle was a pallid71 pharmaceutical72 chemist and lived above the shop, and his wife, a thin-lipped, negative blonde, had few interests in life outside the Nonconformist Communion into which she had dragged him. Olivia had seen them only once before, also at a funeral, that of a younger brother who had died at the age of three. Her robustious country-loving, horse-loving, dog-loving, pig-loving father had never got on with his bloodless brother. A staunch supporter of the Church of England to the extent of renting a pew in the Parish Church in which, in spite of the best intentions, he had never found time to sit, he confessedly hated dissent73 and all its works, especially those undertaken by Mrs. Edward. His vice30 of generosity74 did not accord with their parsimonious75 virtues76. Once, Olivia remembered, he had dined with them at Clapham and returned complaining of starvation. “One kidney between the three of us,” he declared. “And they gave me the middle gristly bit!” So Olivia felt no call of the blood to Clapham. And, for all her inherited hospitable77 impulses, she had been glad when, having critically picked the funeral baked meats to the last bone, they had gone off in sorrow over her wicked prodigality78 and lack of true Christian79 feeling. But for their dreary80 and passing shadows she had eaten alone—she caught her breath to think of it—ever since her father’s last leave—shortly before he died at Etaples—eighteen months ago. Her hostess-ship at the present moment was a bubbling joy. Only her sense of values restrained her from ordering up a bottle of champagne81. She contented82 herself with a bottle of old Corton—her father had been a judge of full red wines, burgundy and port, and had stocked a small but well-selected cellar, and had taught Olivia what is good that a girl should know concerning them.
She watched her guest’s first sip42, as her father had been wont83 to watch, and flushed with pleasure when he paused, as though taken aback, sniffed84, sipped85 again, and said:
“Either new conditions are making me take all sorts of geese for swans, or you’re giving me a remarkable86 wine.”
She burst out radiantly: “How lovely of you to spot it! It’s a Corton, 1887.”
“But forgive me for saying so,” he remarked. “It’s not a wine you should spill on any casual tramp. Oh, of course,” he protested in anticipation87. “Your politeness will assure me that I’m not a casual tramp. But I am.”
“I owed you something for bringing you on a fool’s errand. Besides, I wanted to show you what Todger’s could do when it liked!”
“Todger’s is wonderful,” he smiled. “And how you could ever have thought of leaving Todger’s is more than I can understand.”
“Oh, I’m going to leave it, right enough,” she answered. “What on earth do you think a girl all by herself wants with a great big house with ten bedrooms, three reception rooms, bath h. and c., etc., etc.?”
“It’s your home, anyhow.”
“That’s why I don’t like to let it.”
“Then why go away from it? If it is not an impertinent question, what are you going to do?”
She met his clear blue eyes and laughed.
“I’m going out into the world to seek adventure. There!”
“And I,” said he, “want to get out of the world and never have another adventure as long as I live. I’ve had more than enough for one lifetime.”
“But still,” she retorted, conscious of his bearing and vigour88 and other conjectured89 qualities, “you can’t contemplate90 fossilizing here till the end of time.”
She felt the reaction of bitter disappointment. A man like him had no right to throw up the sponge. The sudden blankness of her face betrayed her thoughts. He smiled.
“I said literally, you know. Fossilizing in the literal and practical sense. Once upon a time I was a geologist92. I specialized93 in certain fossils.”
“Oh,” gasped Olivia. “I beg your pardon.”
“Very fascinating little fossils,” he went on without reference to her apology, for which Olivia was grateful. “They’re called foraminifera. Do you know what they are?” Olivia shook a frankly94 ignorant head. “They’re little tiny weeny shells, and the things once inside them belonged to the protozoa, or first forms of life. They’re one of the starting-points to the solution of the riddle95 of existence. I was dragged away from them to fool about with other kinds of shells, millions of times bigger and millions of times less important. I’ve got what I think are some new ideas about them, and other things connected with them—it’s a vast subject—and so I’m looking for a quiet place where I can carry on my work.”
“That’s awfully interesting,” said Olivia. “But—forgive me—who pays you for it?”
“Possibly mankind two hundred years hence,” he laughed. “But, if I stick it long enough, they may make me a Fellow of the Royal Society when I’m—say—seventy-three.”
“I wish you’d tell me some more about these forami—funny little things I’ve never heard of,” said Olivia.
But he answered: “No. If once I began, I would bore you so stiff that you would curse the hour you allowed me to cross your threshold. There are other things just as vital as foraminifera. I’ve made my confession96, Miss Gale. Now, won’t you make yours? What are you keen on?”
At the direct question, Olivia passed in review the aims and interests and pleasures of her past young life, and was abashed97 to find them a row of an?mic little phantoms98. For years her head had been too full of duties. She regarded him for a moment or two in dismay, then she laughed in young defiance99.
“I suppose I’m keen on real live human beings. That’s my starting-point to the solution of the riddle of existence.”
“We’ll see who gets there first,” said he.
When the meal was over, she stood by the door which he held open for her and hesitated for a moment.
“I wonder whether you would care to look over the house?”
“I should immensely. But—if you’re not going to let it——”
“You’ll be able, at any rate, to tell Mr. Trivett that he had no business to send you to such an old rabbit warren,” she replied, with some demureness100.
“I’m at your orders,” smiled Olifant.
She played cicerone with her little business-like air of dignity, spoke2 in a learned fashion of water supply, flues, and boilers101. Olifant looked wisely at the kitchen range, while Myra stood at impassive attention and the cook took refuge in the scullery.
“These holes are to put saucepans on, I presume,” said he.
“You’ve hit it exactly,” said Olivia.
They went upstairs. On the threshold of the best bedroom he paused and cried, in some astonishment102: “What an exquisite room!”
“It was my mother’s,” said Olivia. “You can come in. It has a pleasant view over the garden.”
Then Olifant, who had inspected the study, solved the puzzle of the drawing-room. There the man and woman had compromised. She had suffered him to hang his Victorian mirror and his screaming pictures in the midst of her delicate scheme. But here her taste reigned103 absolute. It was all so simple, so exquisite: a few bits of Chippendale and Sheraton, a few water-colours on the walls, a general impression for curtains and upholstery of faded rose brocade. On a table by the bed-head stood a little row of books in an inlaid stand. With the instinct of a bookish man, Olifant bent104 over to look at their backs, but first turned to Olivia.
“May I?”
“Of course.” Then she added, with a vague longing105 to impress on a stranger the wonder and beauty of the spirit that had created these surroundings: “My mother knew them all by heart, I think. Naturally she used to read other things and I used to read aloud to her—she was interested in everything till the day of her death—but these books were part of her life.”
There were: Marcus Aurelius, Lord Herbert of Cherbury, The Imitation of Christ, Christina Rossetti, the almost forgotten early seventeenth century Arthur Warwick (“Spare Minutes; or, Resolved Meditation106 and Premeditated Resolutions”), Crabbe . . . a dozen volumes or so. Olifant picked out one.
“And this, too? The Pensées de Pascal?”
“She loved it best,” said Olivia.
“It is strange,” said he. “My father spent most of his life on a monumental work on Pascal. He was a Professor of Divinity at a Scotch107 University, but died long before the monument could be completed. I’ve got his manuscripts. They’re in an awful mess, and it would take another lifetime to get them into order. Anyhow, he took good care that I should remember Pascal as long as I lived.”
“How?”
“He had me christened Blaise.”
“Blaise Olifant,” she repeated critically. She laughed. “He might have done worse.”
He turned over the pages. “There’s one thing here that my father was always drumming into me. Yes, here it is. It’s marked in blue pencil.”
“Then it must have been drummed into me, too,” said Olivia.
“?‘On ne consulte que l’oreille, parce qu’on manque de c?ur. La règle est l’honnêteté.′”
“Yes,” she said, with a sigh.
He replaced the book. They went in silence out to the landing. After a few seconds of embarrassment108 they turned and descended109 to the hall.
“I can more than understand, Miss Gale, why you feel you can’t let the house. But I’m sorry.”
“It was the idea of a pack of people, the British Family in all its self-centredness and selfishness, coming in here that I couldn’t stand,” she confessed.
“Then is there a chance for me?” he asked, his face brightening. “Look. I’m open to a bargain. The house is just what I want. I’m not a recluse111. I’m quite human. I should like to have a place where I can put up a man or so for a week-end, and I’ve a married sister, none too happy, who now and then might like to find a refuge with me. There’s also a friend, rather a distinguished112 fellow, who wants to join me for a few months’ quiet and hard work. So, suppose I give you my promise to hold that room sacred, to keep it just as it is and allow no one to go into it except a servant to dust and so forth—what would you say? Not now. Think it over and write to me at your convenience.”
His sympathy and comprehension had won her over. He was big and kind and brotherly. Somehow she felt that her mother would have liked him, accepting him without question as one of her own caste, and would have smiled on him as High Priest in charge of the Household Gods. She reflected for a while, then, meeting his eyes:
“You can have the house, Major Olifant,” she said seriously.
He bowed. “I’m sure you will not regret it,” said he. “I ought to remind you, however,” he added after a pause, “that I may have a stable companion for a few months. The distinguished fellow I mentioned. I wonder whether you’ve heard of Alexis Triona.”
“The man who wrote Through Blood and Snow?”
“Have you read it?”
“Of course I have,” cried Olivia. “What do you think I do here all day? Twiddle my thumbs or tell my fortune by cards?”
“I hope you think it’s a great book,” he said, with a smile.
“An amazing book. And you’re going to bring him to live here? What’s he like?”
“It would take days to tell you.”
“Well, compress it into a sort of emergency ration,” said Olivia.
So he sat by her side on the oak settle, near the anthracite stove in the hall, and told her what he knew of Alexis Triona.
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1
tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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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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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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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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ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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heterogeneously
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| adj.多种多样的，混杂的；不均匀；非均匀；错杂 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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fluted
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| a.有凹槽的 | |
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smoker
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| n.吸烟者，吸烟车厢，吸烟室 | |
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mouldering
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| v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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vowing
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的现在分词形式） | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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monstrously
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intrusive
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| adj.打搅的；侵扰的 | |
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dowdy
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| adj.不整洁的；过旧的 | |
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profanation
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| n.亵渎 | |
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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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chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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obese
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| adj.过度肥胖的，肥大的 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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divest
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| v.脱去，剥除 | |
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writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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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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stunts
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| n.惊人的表演( stunt的名词复数 )；（广告中）引人注目的花招；愚蠢行为；危险举动v.阻碍…发育[生长]，抑制，妨碍( stunt的第三人称单数 ) | |
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knuckle
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| n.指节；vi.开始努力工作；屈服，认输 | |
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trespass
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| n./v.侵犯，闯入私人领地 | |
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pretences
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| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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assenting
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| 同意，赞成( assent的现在分词 ) | |
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45
deferentially
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| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
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46
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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48
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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51
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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52
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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evoking
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| 产生，引起，唤起( evoke的现在分词 ) | |
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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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55
chrysanthemums
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| n.菊花( chrysanthemum的名词复数 ) | |
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56
raggedness
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| 破烂，粗糙 | |
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conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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58
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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60
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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camouflaged
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| v.隐蔽( camouflage的过去式和过去分词 )；掩盖；伪装，掩饰 | |
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scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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gales
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| 龙猫 | |
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suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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pharmaceutical
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| adj.药学的，药物的；药用的，药剂师的 | |
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dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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parsimonious
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| adj.吝啬的，质量低劣的 | |
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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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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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prodigality
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| n.浪费，挥霍 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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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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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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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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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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geologist
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| n.地质学家 | |
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specialized
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| adj.专门的，专业化的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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99
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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100
demureness
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| n.demure（拘谨的，端庄的）的变形 | |
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101
boilers
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| 锅炉，烧水器，水壶( boiler的名词复数 ) | |
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102
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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103
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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104
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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105
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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106
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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107
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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108
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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109
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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110
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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111
recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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112
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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