“There’s money in it,” he said.
Mr. Boldero was a small dark man of about forty-five, active as a bird and with a bird’s brown, beady eyes, a bird’s sharp nose. He was always busy, always had twenty different irons in the fire at once, was always fresh, clearheaded, never tired. He was also always unpunctual, always untidy. He had no sense of time or of order. But he got away with it, as he liked to say. He delivered the goods—or rather the goods, in the convenient form of cash, delivered themselves, almost miraculously1 it always seemed, to him.
He was like a bird in appearance. But in mind, Gumbril found, after having seen him once or twice, he was like a caterpillar2: he ate all that was put before him, he consumed a hundred times his own mental weight every day. Other people’s ideas, other people’s knowledge—they were his food. He devoured3 them and they were at once his own. All that belonged to other people he annexed4 without a scruple6 or a second thought, quite naturally, as though it were already his own. And he absorbed it so rapidly and completely, he laid public claim to it so promptly7 that he sometimes deceived people into believing that he had really anticipated them in their ideas, that he had 146known for years and years the things they had just been telling him, and which he would at once airily repeat to them with the perfect assurance of one who knows—knows by instinct, as it were, by inheritance.
At their first luncheon8 he had asked Gumbril to tell him all about modern painting. Gumbril had given him a brief lecture; before the savoury had appeared on the table, Mr. Boldero was talking with perfect familiarity of Picasso and Derain. He almost made it understood that he had a fine collection of their works in his drawing-room at home. Being a trifle deaf, however, he was not very good at names, and Gumbril’s all-too-tactful corrections were lost on him. He could not be induced to abandon his Bacosso in favour of any other version of the Spaniard’s name. Bacosso—why, he had known all about Bacosso since he was a schoolboy! Bacosso was an old master, already.
Mr. Boldero was very severe with the waiters and knew so well how things ought to be done at a good restaurant, that Gumbril felt sure he must recently have lunched with some meticulous9 gormandizer of the old school. And when the waiter made as though to serve them with brandy in small glasses, Mr. Boldero was so passionately10 indignant that he sent for the manager.
“Do you mean to tell me,” he shouted in a perfect frenzy11 of righteous anger, “that you don’t yet know how brandy ought to be drunk?”
Perhaps it was only last week that he himself, Gumbril reflected, had learned to aerate12 his cognac in Gargantuan13 beakers.
Meanwhile, of course, the Patent Small-Clothes were not neglected. As soon as he had been told about the 147things, Mr. Boldero began speaking of them with a perfect and practised familiarity. They were already his, mentally his. And it was only Mr. Boldero’s generosity14 that prevented him from making the Small-Clothes more effectively his own.
“If it weren’t for the friendship and respect which I feel for your father, Mr. Gumbril,” he said, twinkling genially15 over the brandy, “I’d just annex5 your Small-Clothes. Bag and baggage. Just annex them.”
“Ah, but they’re my patent,” said Gumbril. “Or at least they’re in process of being patented. The agents are at work.”
Mr. Boldero laughed. “Do you suppose that would trouble me if I wanted to be unscrupulous? I’d just take the idea and manufacture the article. You’d bring an action. I’d have it defended with all the professional erudition that could be brought. You’d find yourself let in for a case that might cost thousands. And how would you pay for it? You’d be forced to come to an agreement out of court, Mr. Gumbril. That’s what you’d have to do. And a damned bad agreement it would be for you, I can tell you.” Mr. Boldero laughed very cheerfully at the thought of the badness of this agreement. “But don’t be alarmed,” he said. “I shan’t do it, you know.”
Gumbril was not wholly reassured16. Tactfully, he tried to find out what terms Mr. Boldero was prepared to offer. Mr. Boldero was nebulously vague.
They met again in Gumbril’s rooms. The contemporary drawings on the walls reminded Mr. Boldero that he was now an art expert. He told Gumbril all about it—in Gumbril’s own words. Every now and then, it was true, Mr. Boldero made a little slip. Bacosso, for example, 148remained unshakably Bacosso. But on the whole the performance was most impressive. It made Gumbril feel very uncomfortable, however, while it lasted. For he recognized in this characteristic of Mr. Boldero a horrible caricature of himself. He too was an assimilator; more discriminating17, no doubt, more tactful, knowing better than Mr. Boldero how to turn the assimilated experience into something new and truly his own; but still a caterpillar, definitely a caterpillar. He began studying Mr. Boldero with a close and disgustful attention, as one might pore over some repulsive18 memento19 mori.
It was a relief when Mr. Boldero stopped talking art and consented to get down to business. Gumbril was wearing for the occasion the sample pair of Small-Clothes which Mr. Bojanus had made for him. For Mr. Boldero’s benefit he put them, so to speak, through their paces. He allowed himself to drop with a bump on to the floor—arriving there bruiseless and unjarred. He sat in complete comfort for minutes at a stretch on the edge of the ornamental20 iron fender. In the intervals21 he paraded up and down before Mr. Boldero like a mannequin. “A trifle bulgy,” said Mr. Boldero. “But still....” He was, taking it all round, favourably22 impressed. It was time, he said, to begin thinking of details. They would have to begin by making experiments with the bladders to discover a model combining, as Mr. Boldero put it, ‘maximum efficiency with minimum bulge23.’ When they had found the right thing, they would have it made in suitable quantities by any good rubber firm. As for the trousers themselves, they could rely for those on sweated female labour in the East End. “Cheap and good,” said Mr. Boldero.
“It sounds ideal,” said Gumbril.
149“And then,” said Mr. Boldero, “there’s our advertising24 campaign. On that I may say,” he went on with a certain solemnity, “will depend the failure or success of our enterprise. I consider it of the first importance.”
“Quite,” said Gumbril, nodding importantly and with intelligence.
“We must set to work,” said Mr. Boldero, “sci—en—tifically.” Gumbril nodded again.
“We have to appeal,” Mr. Boldero went on so glibly25 that Gumbril felt sure he must be quoting somebody else’s words, “to the great instincts and feelings of humanity.... They are the sources of action. They spend the money, if I may put it like that.”
“That’s all very well,” said Gumbril. “But how do you propose to appeal to the most important of the instincts? I refer, as you may well imagine, to sex.”
“I was just going to come to that,” said Mr. Boldero, raising his hand as though to ask for a patient hearing. “Alas! we can’t. I don’t see any way of hanging our Small-Clothes on the sexual peg26.”
“Then we are undone,” said Gumbril, too dramatically.
“No, no.” Mr. Boldero was reassuring27. “You make the error of the Viennese. You exaggerate the importance of sex. After all, my dear Mr. Gumbril, there is also the instinct of self-preservation; there is also,” he leaned forward, wagging his finger, “the social instinct, the instinct of the herd28.”
“True.”
“Both of them as powerful as sex. What are the Professor’s famous Censors29 but forbidding suggestions from the herd without, made powerful and entrenched30 by the social instinct within?”
150Gumbril had no answer; Mr. Boldero continued, smiling:
“So that we shall be all right if we stick to self-preservation and the herd. Rub in the comfort and the utility, the hygienic virtues31 of our Small-Clothes; that will catch their self-preservatory feelings. Aim at their dread32 of public opinion, at their ambition to be one better than their fellows and their terror of being different—at all the ludicrous weaknesses a well-developed social instinct exposes them to. We shall get them, if we set to work scientifically.” Mr. Boldero’s bird-like eyes twinkled very brightly. “We shall get them,” he repeated, and he laughed a happy little laugh, full of such a childlike diabolism, such an innocent gay malignity33 that it seemed as though a little leprechaun had suddenly taken the financier’s place in Gumbril’s best arm-chair.
Gumbril laughed too; for this leprechaunish mirth was infectious. “We shall get them,” he echoed. “Oh, I’m sure we shall, if you set about it, Mr. Boldero.”
Mr. Boldero acknowledged the compliment with a smile that expressed no false humility34. It was his due, and he knew it.
“I’ll give you some of my ideas about the advertising campaign,” he said. “Just to give you a notion. You can think them over, quietly, and make suggestions.”
“Yes, yes,” said Gumbril, nodding.
Mr. Boldero cleared his throat. “We shall begin,” he said, “by making the most simple elementary appeal to their instinct of self-preservation: we shall point out that the Patent Small-Clothes are comfortable; that to wear them is to avoid pain. A few striking slogans about comfort—that’s all we want. Very simple indeed. It doesn’t take much to persuade a man that it’s pleasanter to sit on air 151than on wood. But while we’re on the subject of hard seats we shall have to glide35 off subtly at a tangent to make a flank attack on the social instincts.” And joining the tip of his forefinger36 to the tip of his thumb, Mr. Boldero moved his hand delicately sideways, as though he were sliding it along a smooth brass37 rail. “We shall have to speak about the glories and the trials of sedentary labour. We must exalt38 its spiritual dignity and at the same time condemn39 its physical discomforts40. ‘The seat of honour,’ don’t you know. We could talk about that. ‘The Seats of the Mighty41.’ ‘The seat that rules the office rocks the world.’ All those lines might be made something of. And then we could have little historical chats about thrones; how dignified42, but how uncomfortable they’ve been. We must make the bank clerk and the civil servant feel proud of being what they are and at the same time feel ashamed that, being such splendid people, they should have to submit to the indignity43 of having blistered44 hind-quarters. In modern advertising you must flatter your public—not in the oily, abject45, tradesmanlike style of the old advertisers, crawling before clients who were their social superiors; that’s all over now. It’s we who are the social superiors—because we’ve got more money than the bank clerks and the civil servants. Our modern flattery must be manly46, straightforward47, sincere, the admiration48 of equal for equal—all the more flattering as we aren’t equals.” Mr. Boldero laid a finger to his nose. “They’re dirt and we’re capitalists....” He laughed.
Gumbril laughed too. It was the first time that he had ever thought of himself as a capitalist, and the thought was exhilarating.
“We flatter them,” went on Mr. Boldero. “We say 152that honest work is glorious and ennobling—which it isn’t; it’s merely dull and cretinizing. And then we go on to suggest that it would be finer still, more ennobling, because less uncomfortable, if they wore Gumbril’s Patent Small-Clothes. You see the line?”
Gumbril saw the line.
“After that,” said Mr. Boldero, “we get on to the medical side of the matter. The medical side, Mr. Gumbril—that’s most important. Nobody feels really well nowadays—at any rate, nobody who lives in a big town and does the kind of loathsome50 work that the people we’re catering51 for does. Keeping this fact before our eyes, we have to make it clear that only those can expect to be healthy who wear pneumatic trousers.”
“That will be a little difficult, won’t it?” questioned Gumbril.
“Not a bit of it!” Mr. Boldero laughed with an infectious confidence. “All we have to do is to talk about the great nerve centres of the spine52: the shocks they get when you sit down too hard; the wearing exhaustion53 to which long-protracted sitting on unpadded seats subjects them. We’ll have to talk very scientifically about the great lumbar ganglia—if there are such things, which I really don’t pretend to know. We’ll even talk almost mystically about the ganglia. You know that sort of ganglion philosophy?” Mr. Boldero went on parenthetically. “Very interesting it is, sometimes, I think. We could put in a lot about the dark, powerful sense-life, sex-life, instinct-life which is controlled by the lumbar ganglion. How important it is that that shouldn’t be damaged. That already our modern conditions of civilization tend unduly54 to develop the intellect and the thoracic ganglia controlling 153the higher emotions. That we’re wearing out, growing feeble, losing our balance in consequence. And that the only cure—if we are to continue our present mode of civilized55 life—is to be found in Gumbril’s Patent Small-Clothes.” Mr. Boldero brought his hand with an emphatic56 smack57 on to the table as he spoke58, as he fairly shouted, these last words.
“Magnificent,” said Gumbril, with genuine admiration.
“This sort of medical and philosophical59 dope,” Mr. Boldero went on, “is always very effective, if it’s properly used. The public to whom we are making our appeal is, of course, almost absolutely ignorant on these, or, indeed, on almost all other subjects. It is therefore very much impressed by the unfamiliar60 words; particularly if they have such a good juicy sound as the word ‘ganglia.’”
“There was a young man of East Anglia, whose loins were a tangle61 of ganglia,” murmured Gumbril, improvisatore.
“Precisely,” said Mr. Boldero. “Precisely. You see how juicy it is? Well, as I say, they’re impressed. And they’re also grateful. They’re grateful to us for having given them a piece of abstruse63, unlikely information which they can pass on to their wives, or to such friends as they know don’t read the paper in which our advertisement appears—can pass on airily, don’t you know, with easy erudition, as though they’d known all about ganglia from their childhood. And they’ll feel such a flow of superiority as they hand on the metaphysics and the pathology, that they’ll always think of us with affection. They’ll buy our breeks and they’ll get other people to buy. That’s why,” Mr. Boldero went off again on an instructive tangent, “that’s why the day of secret patent medicines is really over. It’s no good saying you have rediscovered some secret 154known only, in the past, to the Egyptians. People don’t know anything about Egyptology; but they have an inkling that such a science exists. And that if it does exist, it’s unlikely that patent medicine makers64 should have found out facts unknown to the professors at the universities. And it’s much the same even with secrets that don’t come from Egypt. People know there’s such a thing as medical science and they again feel it’s improbable that manufacturers should know things ignored by the doctors. The modern democratic advertiser is entirely65 above-board. He tells you all about it. He explains that the digestive juices acting66 on bismuth give rise to a disinfectant acid. He points out that lactic67 ferment68 gets destroyed before it reaches the large intestine69, so that Metchnikoff’s cure generally won’t work. And he goes on to explain that the only way of getting the ferment there is to mix it with starch70 and paraffin: starch to feed the ferment on, paraffin to prevent the starch being digested before it gets to the intestine. And in consequence, he convinces you that a mixture of starch, paraffin and ferment is the only thing that’s any good at all. Consequently you buy it; which you would never have done without the explanation. In the same way, Mr. Gumbril, we mustn’t ask people to take our trousers on trust. We must explain scientifically why these trousers will be good for their health. And by means of the ganglia, as I’ve pointed71 out, we can even show that the trousers will be good for their souls and the whole human race at large. And as you probably know, Mr. Gumbril, there’s nothing like a spiritual message to make things go. Combine spirituality with practicality and you’ve fairly got them. Got them, I may say, on toast. And that’s what we can do with our trousers; we can put a message 155into them, a big, spiritual message. Decidedly,” he concluded, “we shall have to work those ganglia all we can.”
“I’ll undertake to do that,” said Gumbril, who felt very buoyant and self-assured. Mr. Boldero’s hydrogenous conversation had blown him up like a balloon.
“And I’m sure you’ll do it well,” said Mr. Boldero encouragingly. “There is no better training for modern commerce than a literary education. As a practical business man, I always uphold the ancient universities, especially in their teaching of the Humanities.”
Gumbril was much flattered. At the moment, it seemed supremely72 satisfying to be told that he was likely to make a good business man. The business man took on a radiance, began to glow, as it were, with a phosphorescent splendour.
“Then it’s very important,” continued Mr. Boldero, “to play on their snobbism73; to exploit that painful sense of inferiority which the ignorant and ingenuous74 always feel in the presence of the knowing. We’ve got to make our trousers the Thing—socially right as well as merely personally comfortable. We’ve got to imply somehow that it’s bad form not to wear them. We’ve got to make those who don’t wear them feel rather uncomfortable. Like that film of Charlie Chaplin’s, where he’s the absent-minded young man about town who dresses for dinner immaculately, from the waist up—white waistcoat, tail coat, stiff shirt, top-hat—and only discovers, when he gets down into the hall of the hotel, that he’s forgotten to put on his trousers. We’ve got to make them feel like that. That’s always very successful. You know those excellent American advertisements about young ladies whose engagements are broken off because they perspire76 too freely or have an unpleasant breath? How horribly uncomfortable those 156make you feel! We’ve got to do something of the same sort for our trousers. Or more immediately applicable would be those tailor’s advertisements about correct clothes. ‘Good clothes make you feel good.’ You know the sort of line. And then those grave warning sentences in which you’re told that a correctly cut suit may make the difference between an appointment gained and an appointment lost, an interview granted and an interview refused. But the most masterly examples I can think of,” Mr. Boldero went on with growing enthusiasm, “are those American advertisements of spectacles, in which the manufacturers first assume the existence of a social law about goggles77, and then proceed to invoke78 all the sanctions which fall on the head of the committer of a solecism upon those who break it. It’s masterly. For sport or relaxation79, they tell you, as though it was a social axiom, you must wear spectacles of pure tortoiseshell. For business, tortoiseshell rims80 and nickel ear-pieces lend incisive81 poise82—incisive poise, we must remember that for our ads, Mr. Gumbril. ‘Gumbril’s Patent Small-Clothes lend incisive poise to business men.’ For semi-evening dress, shell rims with gold ear-pieces and gold nose-bridge. And for full dress, gold-mounted rimless83 pince-nez are refinement84 itself, and absolutely correct. Thus we see, a social law has been created, according to which every self-respecting myope or astigmat must have four distinct pairs of glasses. Think if he should wear the all-shell sports model with full dress! Revolting solecism! The people who read advertisements like that begin to feel uncomfortable; they have only one pair of glasses, they are afraid of being laughed at, thought low-class and ignorant and suburban85. And since there are few who would not rather be taken in adultery than in provincialism, they rush 157out to buy four new pairs of spectacles. And the manufacturer gets rich, Mr. Gumbril. Now, we must do something of the kind with our trousers. Imply somehow that they’re correct, that you’re undressed without, that you’re fiancée would break off the engagement if she saw you sitting down to dinner on anything but air.” Mr. Boldero shrugged86 his shoulders, vaguely87 waved his hand.
“It may be rather difficult,” said Gumbril, shaking his head.
“It may,” Mr. Boldero agreed. “But difficulties are made to be overcome. We must pull the string of snobbery88 and shame: it’s essential. We must find out methods for bringing the weight of public opinion to bear mockingly on those who do not wear our trousers. It is difficult at the moment to see how it can be done. But it will have to be done, it will have to be done,” Mr. Boldero repeated emphatically. “We might even find a way of invoking89 patriotism90 to our aid. ‘English trousers filled with English air, for English men.’ A little far-fetched, perhaps. But there might be something in it.”
Gumbril shook his head doubtfully.
“Well, it’s one of the things we’ve got to think about in any case,” said Mr. Boldero. “We can’t afford to neglect such powerful social emotions as these. Sex, as we’ve seen, is almost entirely out of the question. We must run the rest, therefore, as hard as we can. For instance, there’s the novelty business. People feel superior if they possess something new which their neighbours haven’t got. The mere49 fact of newness is an intoxication91. We must encourage that sense of superiority, brew92 up that intoxication. The most absurd and futile93 objects can be sold because they’re new. Not long ago I sold four million patent soap-dishes 158of a new and peculiar94 kind. The point was that you didn’t screw the fixture95 into the bathroom wall; you made a hole in the wall and built the soap-dish into a niche96, like a holy water stoup. My soap-dishes possessed97 no advantages over other kinds of soap-dishes, and they cost a fantastic amount to instal. But I managed to put them across, simply because they were new. Four million of them.” Mr. Boldero smiled with satisfaction at the recollection. “We shall do the same, I hope, with our trousers. People may be shy of being the first to appear in them; but the shyness will be compensated98 for by the sense of superiority and elation99 produced by the consciousness of the newness of the things.”
“Quite so,” said Gumbril.
“And then, of course, there’s the economy slogan. ‘One pair of Gumbril’s Patent Small-Clothes will outlast100 six pairs of ordinary trousers.’ That’s easy enough. So easy that it’s really uninteresting.” Mr. Boldero waved it away.
“We shall have to have pictures,” said Gumbril, parenthetically. He had an idea.
“Oh, of course.”
“I believe I know of the very man to do them,” Gumbril went on. “His name’s Lypiatt. A painter. You’ve probably heard of him.”
“Heard of him!” exclaimed Mr. Boldero. He laughed. “But who hasn’t heard of Lydgate.”
“Lypiatt.”
“Lypgate, I mean, of course.”
“I think he’d be the very man,” said Gumbril.
Gumbril was pleased with himself. He felt he had done 159some one a good turn. Poor old Lypiatt; be glad of the money. Gumbril remembered also his own fiver. And remembering his own fiver, he also remembered that Mr. Boldero had as yet made no concrete suggestion about terms. He nerved himself at last to suggest to Mr. Boldero that it was time to think of this little matter. Ah, how he hated talking about money! He found it so hard to be firm in asserting his rights. He was ashamed of showing himself grasping. He always thought with consideration of the other person’s point of view—poor devil, could he afford to pay? And he was always swindled and always conscious of the fact. Lord, how he hated life on these occasions! Mr. Boldero was still evasive.
“I’ll write you a letter about it,” he said at last.
Gumbril was delighted. “Yes, do,” he said enthusiastically, “do.” He knew how to cope with letters all right. He was a devil with the fountain pen. It was these personal, hand-to-hand combats that he couldn’t manage. He could have been, he always felt, such a ruthless critic and satirist101, such a violent, unscrupulous polemical writer. And if ever he committed his autobiography102 to paper, how breath-takingly intimate, how naked—naked without so much as a healthy sunburn to colour the whiteness—how quiveringly a sensitive jelly it would be! All the things he had never told any one would be in it. Confession103 at long range—if anything, it would be rather agreeable.
“Yes, do write me a letter,” he repeated. “Do.”
Mr. Boldero’s letter came at last, and the proposals it contained were derisory. A hundred pounds down and five pounds a week when the business should be started. Five pounds a week—and for that he was to act as a managing director, writer of advertisements and promoter of foreign 160sales. Gumbril felt thankful that Mr. Boldero had put the terms in a letter. If they had been offered point-blank across the luncheon table, he would probably have accepted them without a murmur62. He wrote a few neat, sharp phrases saying that he could not consider less than five hundred pounds down and a thousand a year. Mr. Boldero’s reply was amiable104; would Mr. Gumbril come and see him?
See him? Well, of course, it was inevitable105. He would have to see him again some time. But he would send the Complete Man to deal with the fellow. A Complete Man matched with a leprechaun—there could be no doubt as to the issue.
“Dear Mr. Boldero,” he wrote back, “I should have come to talk over matters before this. But I have been engaged during the last days in growing a beard and until this has come to maturity106, I cannot, as you will easily be able to understand, leave the house. By the day after to-morrow, however, I hope to be completely presentable and shall come to see you at your office at about three o’clock, if that is convenient to you. I hope we shall be able to arrange matters satisfactorily.—Believe me, dear Mr. Boldero, yours very truly,
Theodore Gumbril, Jr.”
The day after to-morrow became in due course to-day; splendidly bearded and Rabelaisianly broad in his whipcord toga, Gumbril presented himself at Mr. Boldero’s office in Queen Victoria Street.
“I should hardly have recognized you,” exclaimed Mr. Boldero as he shook hands. “How it does alter you, to be sure!”
161“Won’t you take off your coat?”
“No, thanks,” said Gumbril. “I’ll keep it on.”
“Well,” said the leprechaun, leaning back in his chair and twinkling, bird-like, across the table.
“Well,” repeated Gumbril on a different tone from behind the stooks of his corn-like beard. He smiled, feeling serenely108 strong and safe.
“I’m sorry we should have disagreed,” said Mr. Boldero.
“So am I,” the Complete Man replied. “But we shan’t disagree for long,” he added, with significance; and as he spoke the words he brought down his fist with such a bang, that the inkpots on Mr. Boldero’s very solid mahogany writing-table trembled and the pens danced, while Mr. Boldero himself started with a genuine alarm. He had not expected them. And now he came to look at him more closely, this young Gumbril was a great, hulking, dangerous-looking fellow. He had thought he would be easy to manage. How could he have made such a mistake?
Gumbril left the office with Mr. Boldero’s cheque for three hundred and fifty pounds in his pocket and an annual income of eight hundred. His bruised109 right hand was extremely tender to the touch. He was thankful that a single blow had been enough.
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miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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caterpillar
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| n.毛虫，蝴蝶的幼虫 | |
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devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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annexed
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annex
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| vt.兼并，吞并；n.附属建筑物 | |
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scruple
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promptly
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luncheon
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meticulous
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passionately
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frenzy
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aerate
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gargantuan
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generosity
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genially
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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discriminating
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repulsive
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memento
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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21
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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22
favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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23
bulge
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| n.突出，膨胀，激增；vt.突出，膨胀 | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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glibly
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| adv.流利地，流畅地；满口 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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27
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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28
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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29
censors
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| 删剪（书籍、电影等中被认为犯忌、违反道德或政治上危险的内容）( censor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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30
entrenched
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| adj.确立的，不容易改的(风俗习惯) | |
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31
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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32
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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33
malignity
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| n.极度的恶意，恶毒；（病的）恶性 | |
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34
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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35
glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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36
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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37
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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38
exalt
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| v.赞扬，歌颂，晋升，提升 | |
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39
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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41
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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42
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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43
indignity
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| n.侮辱，伤害尊严，轻蔑 | |
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44
blistered
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| adj.水疮状的，泡状的v.（使）起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 )；（使表皮等）涨破，爆裂 | |
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45
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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46
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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47
straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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48
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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49
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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50
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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51
catering
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| n. 给养 | |
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52
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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55
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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58
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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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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abstruse
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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65
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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66
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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lactic
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| adj.乳汁的 | |
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68
ferment
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| vt.使发酵；n./vt.（使）激动，（使）动乱 | |
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69
intestine
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| adj.内部的；国内的；n.肠 | |
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70
starch
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| n.淀粉；vt.给...上浆 | |
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71
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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73
snobbism
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| 势利 | |
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74
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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75
whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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76
perspire
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| vi.出汗，流汗 | |
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77
goggles
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| n.护目镜 | |
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78
invoke
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| v.求助于(神、法律)；恳求，乞求 | |
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79
relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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80
rims
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| n.（圆形物体的）边( rim的名词复数 )；缘；轮辋；轮圈 | |
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81
incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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82
poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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83
rimless
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| adj.无边的 | |
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84
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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85
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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86
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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87
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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88
snobbery
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| n. 充绅士气派, 俗不可耐的性格 | |
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89
invoking
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| v.援引( invoke的现在分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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90
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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91
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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92
brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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93
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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94
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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fixture
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| n.固定设备；预定日期；比赛时间；定期存款 | |
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96
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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97
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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98
compensated
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| 补偿，报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 )； 给（某人）赔偿（或赔款） | |
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99
elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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100
outlast
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| v.较…耐久 | |
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101
satirist
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| n.讽刺诗作者，讽刺家，爱挖苦别人的人 | |
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102
autobiography
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| n.自传 | |
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103
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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104
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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105
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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106
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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107
joviality
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| n.快活 | |
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108
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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109
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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