He was declaiming now; not merely across the dinner table to his own friends, but to the whole restaurant. For at the first reverberating5 lines of his latest, “The Conquistador,” there had been a startled turning of heads, a craning of necks from every corner of the room. The people who came to this Soho restaurant because it was, notoriously, so ‘artistic,’ looked at one another significantly and nodded; they were getting their money’s worth, this time. And Lypiatt, with a fine air of rapt unconsciousness, went on with his recitation.
“Look down on Mexico, Conquistador”—that was the refrain.
The Conquistador, Lypiatt had made it clear, was the Artist, and the Vale of Mexico on which he looked down, 52the towered cities of Tlacopan and Chalco, of Tenochtitlan and Iztapalapan symbolized—well, it was difficult to say precisely6 what. The universe, perhaps?
“Look down,” cried Lypiatt, with a quivering voice.
“Look down, Conquistador!
There on the valley’s broad green floor,
There lies the lake; the jewelled cities gleam;
Chalco and Tlacopan
Awaiting the coming Man.
Look down on Mexico, Conquistador,
Land of your golden dream.”
“Not ‘dream,’” said Gumbril, putting down the glass from which he had been profoundly drinking. “You can’t possibly say ‘dream,’ you know.”
“Why do you interrupt me?” Lypiatt turned on him angrily. His wide mouth twitched7 at the corners, his whole long face worked with excitement. “Why don’t you let me finish?” He allowed his hand, which had hung awkwardly in the air above him, suspended, as it were, at the top of a gesture, to sink slowly to the table. “Imbecile!” he said, and once more picked up his knife and fork.
“But really,” Gumbril insisted, “you can’t say ‘dream.’ Can you now, seriously?” He had drunk the best part of a bottle of Burgundy and he felt good-humoured, obstinate8 and a little bellicose9.
“And why not?” Lypiatt asked.
“Oh, because one simply can’t.” Gumbril leaned back in his chair, smiled and caressed10 his drooping11 blond moustache. “Not in this year of grace, nineteen twenty-two.”
53“But why?” Lypiatt repeated, with exasperation12.
“Because it’s altogether too late in the day,” declared precious Mr. Mercaptan, rushing up to his emphasis with flutes13 and roaring, like a true Conquistador, to fall back, however, at the end of the sentence rather ignominiously14 into a breathless confusion. He was a sleek15, comfortable young man with smooth brown hair parted in the centre and conducted in a pair of flowing curves across the temples, to be looped in damp curls behind his ears. His face ought to have been rather more exquisite16, rather more refinedly dix-huitième than it actually was. It had a rather gross, snouty look, which was sadly out of harmony with Mr. Mercaptan’s inimitably graceful17 style. For Mr. Mercaptan had a style and used it, delightfully19, in his middle articles for the literary weeklies. His most precious work, however, was that little volume of essays, prose poems, vignettes and paradoxes20, in which he had so brilliantly illustrated21 his favourite theme—the pettiness, the simian22 limitations, the insignificance23 and the absurd pretentiousness24 of Homo soi-disant Sapiens. Those who met Mr. Mercaptan personally often came away with the feeling that perhaps, after all, he was right in judging so severely25 of humanity.
“Too late in the day,” he repeated. “Times have changed. Sunt lacrym? rerum, nos et mutamur in illis.” He laughed his own applause.
“Quot homines, tot disputandum est,” said Gumbril, taking another sip26 of his Beaune Supérieure. At the moment, he was all for Mercaptan.
“But why is it too late?” Lypiatt insisted.
Mr. Mercaptan made a delicate gesture. “?a se sent, mon cher ami,” he said, “?a ne s’explique pas.” Satan, it is said, carries hell in his heart; so it was with Mr. 54Mercaptan—wherever he was, it was Paris. “Dreams in nineteen twenty-two....” He shrugged27 his shoulders.
“After you’ve accepted the war, swallowed the Russian famine,” said Gumbril. “Dreams!”
“They belonged to the Rostand epoch,” said Mr. Mercaptan, with a little titter. “Le Rève—ah!”
Lypiatt dropped his knife and fork with a clatter28 and leaned forward, eager for battle. “Now I have you,” he said, “now I have you on the hip29. You’ve given yourselves away. You’ve given away the secret of your spiritual poverty, your weakness and pettiness and impotence....”
Shearwater ponderously31 stirred. He had been silent all this time, sitting with hunched32 shoulders, his elbows on the table, his big round head bent33 forward, absorbed, apparently34, in the slow meticulous35 crumbling36 of a piece of bread. Sometimes he put a piece of crust in his mouth and under the bushy brown moustache his jaw37 moved slowly, ruminatively38, with a sideways motion, like a cow’s. He nudged Gumbril with his elbow. “Ass,” he said, “be quiet.”
Lypiatt went on torrentially. “You’re afraid of ideals, that’s what it is. You daren’t admit to having dreams. Oh, I call them dreams,” he added parenthetically. “I don’t mind being thought a fool and old-fashioned. The word’s shorter and more English. Besides, it rhymes with gleams. Ha, ha!” And Lypiatt laughed his loud Titan’s laugh, the laugh of cynicism which seems to belie39, but which, for those who have understanding, reveals the high, positive spirit within. “Ideals—they’re not sufficiently41 genteel for you civilized42 young men. You’ve quite outgrown43 that sort of thing. No dream, no religion, no morality.”
55“I glory in the name of earwig,” said Gumbril. He was pleased with that little invention. It was felicitous44; it was well chosen. “One’s an earwig in sheer self-protection,” he explained.
But Mr. Mercaptan refused to accept the name of earwig at any price. “What there is to be ashamed of in being civilized, I really don’t know,” he said, in a voice that was now the bull’s, now the piping robin’s. “No, if I glory in anything, it’s in my little rococo45 boudoir, and the conversations across the polished mahogany, and the delicate, lascivious46, witty47 little flirtations on ample sofas inhabited by the soul of Crebillon Fils. We needn’t all be Russians, I hope. These revolting Dostoievskys.” Mr. Mercaptan spoke48 with a profound feeling. “Nor all Utopians. Homo au naturel——” Mr. Mercaptan applied49 his thumb and forefinger50 to his, alas51! too snout-like nose, “?a pue. And as for Homo à la H. G. Wells—?a ne pue pas assez. What I glory in is the civilized, middle way between stink52 and asepsis. Give me a little musk53, a little intoxicating54 feminine exhalation, the bouquet55 of old wine and strawberries, a lavender bag under every pillow and pot-pourri in the corners of the drawing-room. Readable books, amusing conversation, civilized women, graceful art and dry vintage, music, with a quiet life and reasonable comfort—that’s all I ask for.”
“Talking about comfort,” Gumbril put in, before Lypiatt had time to fling his answering thunders, “I must tell you about my new invention. Pneumatic trousers,” he explained. “Blow them up. Perfect comfort. You see the idea? You’re a sedentary man, Mercaptan. Let me put you down for a couple of pairs.”
Mr. Mercaptan shook his head. “Too Wellsian,” he 56said. “Too horribly Utopian. They’d be ludicrously out of place in my boudoir. And besides, my sofa is well enough sprung already, thank you.”
“But what about Tolstoy?” shouted Lypiatt, letting out his impatience56 in a violent blast.
Mr. Mercaptan waved his hand. “Russian,” he said, “Russian.”
“And Michelangelo?”
“Alberti,” said Gumbril, very seriously, giving them all a piece of his father’s mind—“Alberti was much the better architect, I assure you.”
“And pretentiousness for pretentiousness,” said Mr. Mercaptan, “I prefer old Borromini and the baroque.”
“What about Beethoven?” went on Lypiatt. “What about Blake? Where do they come in under your scheme of things?”
Mr. Mercaptan shrugged his shoulders. “They stay in the hall,” he said. “I don’t let them into the boudoir.”
“You disgust me,” said Lypiatt, with rising indignation, and making wider gestures. “You disgust me—you and your odious57 little sham4 eighteenth-century civilization; your piddling little poetry; your art for art’s sake instead of for God’s sake; your nauseating58 little copulations without love or passion; your hoggish59 materialism60; your bestial61 indifference62 to all that’s unhappy and your yelping63 hatred64 of all that’s great.”
“Charming, charming,” murmured Mr. Mercaptan, who was pouring oil on his salad.
“How can you ever hope to achieve anything decent or solid, when you don’t even believe in decency65 or solidity? I look about me,” and Lypiatt cast his eyes wildly round the crowded room, “and I find myself alone, spiritually 57alone. I strive on by myself, by myself.” He struck his breast, a giant, a solitary66 giant. “I have set myself to restore painting and poetry to their rightful position among the great moral forces. They have been amusements, they have been mere1 games for too long. I am giving my life for that. My life.” His voice trembled a little. “People mock me, hate me, stone me, deride67 me. But I go on, I go on. For I know I’m right. And in the end they too will recognize that I’ve been right.” It was a loud soliloquy. One could fancy that Lypiatt had been engaged in recognizing himself.
“All the same,” said Gumbril with a cheerful stubbornness, “I persist that the word ‘dreams’ is inadmissible.”
“Inadmissible,” repeated Mr. Mercaptan, imparting to the word an additional significance by giving it its French pronunciation. “In the age of Rostand, well and good. But now....”
“Now,” said Gumbril, “the word merely connotes Freud.”
“No,” said Lypiatt, with emphasis, “thank God, I haven’t. I have no tact of any kind. I do things straightforwardly69, frankly70, as the spirit moves me. I don’t like compromises.”
He struck the table. The gesture startlingly let loose a peal71 of cracked and diabolic laughter. Gumbril and Lypiatt and Mr. Mercaptan looked quickly up; even Shearwater lifted his great spherical72 head and turned towards the sound the large disk of his face. A young man with a blond, fan-shaped beard stood by the table, looking down at them through a pair of bright blue eyes and smiling 58equivocally and disquietingly as though his mind were full of some nameless and fantastic malice73.
“Come sta la Sua Terribiltà?” he asked; and, taking off his preposterous74 bowler75 hat, he bowed profoundly to Lypiatt. “How I recognize my Buonarotti!” he added affectionately.
Lypiatt laughed, rather uncomfortably, and no longer on the Titanic76 scale. “How I recognize my Coleman!” he echoed, rather feebly.
“On the contrary,” Gumbril corrected, “how almost completely I fail to recognize. This beard”—he pointed77 to the blond fan—“why, may I ask?”
“More Russianism,” said Mr. Mercaptan, and shook his head.
“Ah, why indeed?” Coleman lowered his voice to a confidential78 whisper. “For religious reasons,” he said, and made the sign of the cross.
“Christlike in my behaviour,
Like every good believer,
There be beavers81 which have made themselves beavers for the kingdom of heaven’s sake. But there are some beavers, on the other hand, which were so born from their mother’s womb.” He burst into a fit of outrageous82 laughter which stopped as suddenly and as voluntarily as it had begun.
Lypiatt shook his head. “Hideous,” he said, “hideous.”
“Moreover,” Coleman went on, without paying any attention, “I have other and, alas! less holy reasons for this change of face. It enables one to make such delightful18 59acquaintances in the street. You hear some one saying, ‘Beaver,’ as you pass, and you immediately have the right to rush up and get into conversation. I owe to this dear symbol,” and he caressed the golden beard tenderly with the palm of his hand, “the most admirably dangerous relations.”
“Magnificent,” said Gumbril, drinking his own health. “I shall stop shaving at once.”
Shearwater looked round the table with raised eyebrows83 and a wrinkled forehead. “This conversation is rather beyond me,” he said gravely. Under the formidable moustache, under the thick, tufted eyebrows, the mouth was small and ingenuous84, the mild grey eyes full of an almost childish inquiry85. “What does the word ‘beaver’ signify in this context? You don’t refer, I suppose, to the rodent86, Castor fiber87?”
“But this is a very great man,” said Coleman, raising his bowler. “Tell me who he is?”
“Our friend Shearwater,” said Gumbril, “the physiologist88.”
Coleman bowed. “Physiological Shearwater,” he said. “Accept my homage89. To one who doesn’t know what a beaver is, I resign all my claims to superiority. There’s nothing else but beavers in all the papers. Tell me, do you never read the Daily Express?”
“No.”
“Nor the Daily Mail?”
Shearwater shook his head.
“Nor the Mirror? nor the Sketch90? nor the Graphic91? nor even (for I was forgetting that physiologists92 must surely have Liberal opinions)—even the Daily News?”
Shearwater continued to shake his large spherical head.
60“Nor any of the evening papers?”
“No.”
Coleman once more lifted his hat. “O eloquent93, just and mighty94 Death!” he exclaimed, and replaced it on his head. “You never read any papers at all—not even our friend Mercaptan’s delicious little middles in the weeklies? How is your delicious little middle, by the way?” Coleman turned to Mr. Mercaptan and with the point of his huge stick gave him a little prod95 in the stomach. “?a marche—les tripes? Hein?” He turned back to Shearwater. “Not even those?” he asked.
“Never,” said Shearwater. “I have more serious things to think about than newspapers.”
“And what serious thing, may I ask?”
“Well, at the present moment,” said Shearwater, “I am chiefly preoccupied96 with the kidneys.”
“The kidneys!” In an ecstasy97 of delight, Coleman thumped98 the floor with the ferrule of his stick. “The kidneys! Tell me all about kidneys. This is of the first importance. This is really life. And I shall sit down at your table without asking permission of Buonarotti here, and in the teeth of Mercaptan, and without so much as thinking about this species of Gumbril, who might as well not be there at all. I shall sit down and——”
“Talking of sitting,” said Gumbril, “I wish I could persuade you to order a pair of my patent pneumatic trousers. They will——”
Coleman waved him away. “Not now, not now,” he said. “I shall sit down and listen to the physiologue talking about runions, while I myself actually eat them—sautés. Sautés, mark my words.”
Laying his hat and stick on the floor beside him, he sat 61down at the end of the table, between Lypiatt and Shearwater.
“Two believers,” he said, laying his hand for a moment on Lypiatt’s arm, “and three black-hearted unbelievers—confronted. Eh, Buonarotti? You and I are both croyants et pratiquants, as Mercaptan would say. I believe in one devil, father quasi-almighty, Samael and his wife, the Woman of Whoredom. Ha, ha!” He laughed his ferocious99, artificial laugh.
“Here’s an end to any civilized conversation,” Mr. Mercaptan complained, hissing100 on the c, labiating lingeringly on the v of ‘civilized’ and giving the first two i’s their fullest value. The word, in his mouth, seemed to take on a special and a richer significance.
Coleman ignored him. “Tell me, you physiologue,” he went on, “tell me about the physiology101 of the Archetypal Man. This is most important; Buonarotti shares my opinion about this, I know. Has the Archetypal Man a boyau rectum, as Mercaptan would say again, or not? Everything depends on this, as Voltaire realized ages ago. ‘His feet,’ as we know already on inspired authority, ‘were straight feet; and the sole of his feet were like the sole of a calf’s foot.’ But the viscera, you must tell us something about the viscera. Mustn’t he, Buonarotti? And where are my rognons sautés?” he shouted at the waiter.
“You revolt me,” said Lypiatt.
“Not mortually, I ’ope?” Coleman turned with solicitude102 to his neighbour; then shook his head. “Mortually I fear. Kiss me ’Ardy, and I die happy.” He blew a kiss into the air. “But why is the physiologue so slow? Up, pachyderm, up! Answer. You hold the key to everything. The key, I tell you, the key. I remember, when 62I used to hang about the biological laboratories at school, eviscerating103 frogs—crucified with pins, they were, belly104 upwards105, like little green Christs—I remember once, when I was sitting there, quietly poring over the entrails, in came the laboratory boy and said to the stinks106 usher107: ‘Please, sir, may I have the key of the Absolute?’ And, would you believe it, that usher calmly put his hand in his trouser pocket and fished out a small Yale key and gave it him without a word. What a gesture! The key of the Absolute. But it was only the absolute alcohol the urchin108 wanted—to pickle109 some loathsome110 f?tus in, I suppose. God rot his soul in peace! And now, Castor Fiber, out with your key. Tell us about the Archetypal Man, tell us about the primordial111 Adam. Tell us all about the boyau rectum.”
Ponderously, Shearwater moved his clumsy frame; leaning back in his chair he scrutinized112 Coleman with a large, benevolent113 curiosity. The eyes under the savage114 eyebrows were mild and gentle; behind the fearful disguise of the moustache he smiled poutingly115, like a baby who sees the approaching bottle. The broad, domed116 forehead was serene117. He ran his hand through his thick brown hair, scratched his head meditatively118 and then, when he had thoroughly119 examined, had comprehended and duly classified the strange phenomenon of Coleman, opened his mouth and uttered a little good-natured laugh of amusement.
“Voltaire’s question,” he said at last, in his slow, deep voice, “seemed at the time he asked it an unanswerable piece of irony120. It would have seemed almost equally ironic121 to his contemporaries, if he had asked whether God had a pair of kidneys. We know a little more about the kidneys nowadays. If he had asked me, I should answer: why not? The kidneys are so beautifully organized; 63they do their work of regulation with such a miraculous—it’s hard to find another word—such a positively122 divine precision, such knowledge and wisdom, that there’s no reason why your archetypal man, whoever he is, or any one else, for that matter, should be ashamed of owning a pair.”
Coleman clapped his hands. “The key,” he cried, “the key. Out of the trouser pocket of babes and sucklings it comes. The genuine, the unique Yale. How right I was to come here to-night! But, holy Sephiroth, there’s my trollop.”
He picked up his stick, jumped from his chair and threaded his way between the tables. A woman was standing40 near the door. Coleman came up to her, pointed without speaking to the table, and returned, driving her along in front of him, tapping her gently over the haunches with his stick, as one might drive a docile123 animal to the slaughter124.
“Allow me to introduce,” said Coleman. “The sharer of my joys and sorrows. La compagne de mes nuits blanches125 et de mes jours plut?t sales. In a word, Zoe. Qui ne comprend pas le fran?ais, qui me déteste avec une passion égale à la mienne, et qui mangera, ma foi, des rognons pour faire honneur au physiologue.”
Zoe nodded and pushed forward her glass. She was dark-haired, had a pale skin and eyes like round blackberries. Her mouth was small and floridly curved. She was dressed, rather depressingly, like a picture by Augustus John, in blue and orange. Her expression was sullen127 and ferocious, and she looked about her with an air of profound contempt.
“Shearwater’s no better than a mystic,” fluted128 Mr. 64Mercaptan. “A mystical scientist; really, one hadn’t reckoned on that.”
“Like a Liberal Pope,” said Gumbril. “Poor Metternich, you remember? Pio Nono.” And he burst into a fit of esoteric laughter. “Of less than average intelligence,” he murmured delightedly, and refilled his glass.
“It’s only the deliberately129 blind who wouldn’t reckon on the combination,” Lypiatt put in, indignantly. “What are science and art, what are religion and philosophy but so many expressions in human terms of some reality more than human? Newton and Boehme and Michelangelo—what are they doing but expressing, in different ways, different aspects of the same thing?”
“Alberti, I beg you,” said Gumbril. “I assure you he was the better architect.”
“Fi donc!” said Mr. Mercaptan. “San Carlo alle Quatro Fontane——” But he got no further. Lypiatt abolished him with a gesture.
“One reality,” he cried, “there is only one reality.”
“One reality,” Coleman reached out a hand across the table and caressed Zoe’s bare white arm, “and that is callipygous.” Zoe jabbed at his hand with her fork.
“We are all trying to talk about it,” continued Lypiatt. “The physicists130 have formulated131 their laws, which are after all no more than stammering132 provisional theories about a part of it. The physiologists are penetrating133 into the secrets of life, psychologists into the mind. And we artists are trying to say what is revealed to us about the moral nature, the personality of that reality, which is the universe.”
Mr. Mercaptan threw up his hands in affected134 horror. “Oh, barbaridad, barbaridad!” Nothing less than the pure 65Castilian would relieve his feelings. “But all this is meaningless.”
“Quite right about the chemists and physicists,” said Shearwater. “They’re always trying to pretend that they’re nearer the truth than we are. They take their crude theories as facts and try to make us accept them when we’re dealing135 with life. Oh, they are sacred, their theories. Laws of Nature they call them; and they talk about their known truths and our romantic biological fancies. What a fuss they make when we talk about life! Bloody136 fools!” said Shearwater, mild and crushing. “Nobody but a fool could talk of mechanism137 in face of the kidneys. And there are actually imbeciles who talk about the mechanism of heredity and reproduction.”
“All the same,” began Mr. Mercaptan very earnestly, anxious to deny his own life, “there are eminent138 authorities. I can only quote what they say, of course. I can’t pretend to know anything about it myself. But——”
“Reproduction, reproduction,” Coleman murmured the word to himself ecstatically. “Delightful and horrifying139 to think they all come to that, even the most virginal; that they were all made for that, little she-dogs, in spite of their china blue eyes. What sort of a mandrake shall we produce, Zoe and I?” he asked, turning to Shearwater. “How I should like to have a child,” he went on without waiting for an answer. “I shouldn’t teach it anything; no language, nothing at all. Just a child of nature. I believe it would really be the devil. And then what fun it would be if it suddenly started to say ‘Bekkos,’ like the children in Herodotus. And Buonarotti here would paint an allegorical picture of it and write an epic140 called ‘The Ignoble141 Savage.’ And Castor Fiber would come and sound its 66kidneys and investigate its sexual instincts. And Mercaptan would write one of his inimitable middle articles about it. And Gumbril would make it a pair of patent trousers. And Zoe and I would look parentally on and fairly swell142 with pride. Shouldn’t we, Zoe?” Zoe preserved her expression of sullen, unchanging contempt and did not deign143 to answer. “Ah, how delightful it would be! I long for posterity144. I live in hopes. I stope against Stopes. I——”
Zoe threw a piece of bread, which caught him on the cheek, a little below the eye. Coleman leaned back and laughed and laughed till the tears rolled down his face.
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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auditors
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| n.审计员，稽核员( auditor的名词复数 )；（大学课程的）旁听生 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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reverberating
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| 回响，回荡( reverberate的现在分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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bellicose
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caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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exasperation
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flutes
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| 长笛( flute的名词复数 )； 细长香槟杯（形似长笛） | |
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ignominiously
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| adv.耻辱地，屈辱地，丢脸地 | |
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sleek
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exquisite
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graceful
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delightful
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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paradoxes
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| n.似非而是的隽语，看似矛盾而实际却可能正确的说法( paradox的名词复数 )；用于语言文学中的上述隽语；有矛盾特点的人[事物，情况] | |
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illustrated
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simian
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insignificance
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pretentiousness
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| n.矫饰；炫耀；自负；狂妄 | |
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severely
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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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shrugged
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clatter
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hip
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30
malign
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| adj.有害的；恶性的；恶意的；v.诽谤，诬蔑 | |
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ponderously
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32
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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33
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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34
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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35
meticulous
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| adj.极其仔细的，一丝不苟的 | |
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36
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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37
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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38
ruminatively
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| adv.沉思默想地，反复思考地 | |
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39
belie
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| v.掩饰，证明为假 | |
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40
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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41
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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42
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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43
outgrown
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| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去分词 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
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44
felicitous
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| adj.恰当的，巧妙的；n.恰当，贴切 | |
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45
rococo
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| n.洛可可；adj.过分修饰的 | |
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46
lascivious
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| adj.淫荡的，好色的 | |
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47
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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48
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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49
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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50
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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51
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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52
stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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53
musk
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| n.麝香, 能发出麝香的各种各样的植物，香猫 | |
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54
intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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55
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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56
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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57
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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58
nauseating
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| adj.令人恶心的，使人厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的现在分词 ) | |
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59
hoggish
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| adj.贪婪的 | |
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60
materialism
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| n.［哲］唯物主义，唯物论；物质至上 | |
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61
bestial
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| adj.残忍的；野蛮的 | |
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62
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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63
yelping
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
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64
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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65
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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66
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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67
deride
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| v.嘲弄，愚弄 | |
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68
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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69
straightforwardly
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| adv.正直地 | |
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70
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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71
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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72
spherical
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| adj.球形的；球面的 | |
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73
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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74
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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75
bowler
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| n.打保龄球的人，（板球的）投（球）手 | |
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76
titanic
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| adj.巨人的，庞大的，强大的 | |
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77
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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78
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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79
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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80
beaver
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| n.海狸，河狸 | |
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81
beavers
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| 海狸( beaver的名词复数 )； 海狸皮毛； 棕灰色； 拼命工作的人 | |
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82
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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83
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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84
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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85
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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86
rodent
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| n.啮齿动物；adj.啮齿目的 | |
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87
fiber
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| n.纤维，纤维质 | |
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88
physiologist
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| n.生理学家 | |
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89
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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90
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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91
graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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92
physiologists
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| n.生理学者( physiologist的名词复数 )；生理学( physiology的名词复数 )；生理机能 | |
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93
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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94
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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95
prod
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| vt.戳，刺；刺激，激励 | |
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96
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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97
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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98
thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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100
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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101
physiology
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| n.生理学，生理机能 | |
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102
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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103
eviscerating
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| v.切除…的内脏( eviscerate的现在分词 ) | |
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104
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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105
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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106
stinks
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| v.散发出恶臭( stink的第三人称单数 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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107
usher
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| n.带位员，招待员；vt.引导，护送；vi.做招待，担任引座员 | |
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108
urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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109
pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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110
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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111
primordial
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| adj.原始的；最初的 | |
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112
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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114
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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115
poutingly
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| adv.撅嘴 | |
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116
domed
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| adj. 圆屋顶的, 半球形的, 拱曲的 动词dome的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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117
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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118
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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119
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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120
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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121
ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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122
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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123
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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124
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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125
blanches
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| v.使变白( blanch的第三人称单数 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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126
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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128
fluted
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| a.有凹槽的 | |
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129
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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130
physicists
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| 物理学家( physicist的名词复数 ) | |
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131
formulated
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| v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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132
stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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133
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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134
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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135
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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136
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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137
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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138
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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139
horrifying
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| a.令人震惊的，使人毛骨悚然的 | |
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140
epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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141
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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142
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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143
deign
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| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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144
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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