His father had gone out to dine, and Gumbril had eaten his rump steak and drunk his bottle of stout2 alone. He was sitting now in front of the open French windows which led from his father’s workroom on to the balcony, with a block on his knee and a fountain-pen in his hand, composing advertisements for the Patent Small-Clothes. Outside, in the plane trees of the square, the birds had gone through their nightly performance. But Gumbril had paid no attention to them. He sat there, smoking, sometimes writing a word or two—sunk in the quagmire3 of his own drowsy4 and comfortable body. The flawless weather of the day had darkened into a blue May evening. It was agreeable merely to be alive.
He sketched5 out two or three advertisements in the grand idealistic transatlantic style. He imagined one in particular with a picture of Nelson at the head of the page and ‘England expects ...’ printed large beneath it. “England ... Duty ... these are solemn words.” That was how it would begin. “These are solemn words, and we use them solemnly as men who realize what Duty is, and who do 163all that in them lies to perform it as Englishmen should. The Manufacturer’s is a sacred trust. The guide and ruler of the modern world, he has, like the Monarch7 of other days, responsibilities towards his people; he has a Duty to fulfil. He rules, but he must also serve. We realize our responsibilities, we take them seriously. Gumbril’s Patent Small-Clothes have been brought into the world that they may serve. Our Duty towards you is a Duty of Service. Our proud boast is that we perform it. But besides his Duty towards Others, every man has a duty towards Himself. What is that Duty? It is to keep himself in the highest possible state of physical and spiritual fitness. Gumbril’s Patent Small-Clothes protect the lumbar ganglia....” After that it would be plain medical and mystical sailing.
As soon as he got to the ganglia, Gumbril stopped writing. He put down the block, sheathed8 his pen, and abandoned himself to the pleasures of pure idleness. He sat, he smoked his cigar. In the basement, two floors down, the cook and the house-parlourmaid were reading—one the Daily Mirror, the other the Daily Sketch6. For them, Her Majesty9 the Queen spoke10 kindly11 words to crippled female orphans12; the jockeys tumbled at the jumps; Cupid was busy in Society, and the murderers who had disembowelled their mistresses were at large. Above him was the city of models, was a bedroom, a servant’s bedroom, an attic13 of tanks and ancient dirt, the roof and, after that, two or three hundred light-years away, a star of the fourth magnitude. On the other side of the party-wall on his right, a teeming14 family of Jews led their dark, compact, Jewish lives with a prodigious15 intensity16. At this moment they were all passionately17 quarrelling. Beyond the wall on the left lived the young journalist and his wife. To-night it was he who had 164cooked the supper. The young wife lay on the sofa, feeling horribly sick; she was going to have a baby, there could be no doubt about it now. They had meant not to have one; it was horrible. And, outside, the birds were sleeping in the trees, the invading children from the slum tumbled and squealed20. Ships meanwhile were walloping across the Atlantic freighted with more cigars. Rosie at this moment was probably mending Shearwater’s socks. Gumbril sat and smoked, and the universe arranged itself in a pattern about him, like iron filings round a magnet.
The door opened, and the house-parlourmaid intruded21 Shearwater upon his lazy felicity, abruptly22, in her unceremonious old way, and hurried back to the Daily Sketch.
Clumsily, filling the space that two ordinary men would occupy, Shearwater came zigzagging24 and lurching across the room, bumped against the work-table and the sofa as he passed, and finally sat down in the indicated chair.
It suddenly occurred to Gumbril that this was Rosie’s husband: he had not thought of that before. Could it be in the marital25 capacity that he presented himself so unexpectedly now? After this afternoon.... He had come home; Rosie had confessed all.... Ah! but then she didn’t know who he was. He smiled to himself at the thought. What a joke! Perhaps Shearwater had come to complain to him of the unknown Complete Man—to him! It was delightful26. Anon—the author of all those ballads27 in the Oxford28 Book of English Verse: the famous Italian painter—Ignoto. Gumbril was quite disappointed when his visitor began to talk of other themes than Rosie. Sunk in the quagmire of his own comfortable guts29, he felt 165good-humouredly obscene. The dramatic scabrousness30 of the situation would have charmed him in his present mood. Good old Shearwater—but what an ox of a man! If he, Gumbril, took the trouble to marry a wife, he would at least take some interest in her.
Shearwater had begun to talk in general terms about life. What could he be getting at, Gumbril wondered? What particulars were ambushed31 behind these generalizations32? There were silences. Shearwater looked, he thought, very gloomy. Under his thick moustache the small, pouting33, babyish mouth did not smile. The candid34 eyes had a puzzled, tired expression in them.
“People are queer,” he said after one of his silences. “Very queer. One has no idea how queer they are.”
Gumbril laughed. “But I have a very clear idea of their queerness,” he said. “Every one’s queer, and the ordinary, respectable, bourgeois35 people are the queerest of the lot. How do they manage to live like that? It’s astonishing. When I think of all my aunts and uncles....” He shook his head.
“Perhaps it’s because I’m rather incurious,” said Shearwater. “One ought to be curious, I think. I’ve come to feel lately that I’ve not been curious enough about people.” The particulars began to peep, alive and individual, out of the vagueness, like rabbits; Gumbril saw them in his fancy, at the fringe of a wood.
“Quite,” he said encouragingly. “Quite.”
“I think too much of my work,” Shearwater went on, frowning. “Too much physiology36. There’s also psychology37. People’s minds as well as their bodies.... One shouldn’t be limited. Not too much, at any rate. People’s minds....” He was silent for a moment. “I 166can imagine,” he went on at last, as in the tone of one who puts a very hypothetical case, “I can imagine one’s getting so much absorbed in somebody else’s psychology that one could really think of nothing else.” The rabbits seemed ready to come out into the open.
“That’s a process,” said Gumbril, with middle-aged38 jocularity, speaking out of his private warm morass39, “that’s commonly called falling in love.”
There was another silence. Shearwater broke it to begin talking about Mrs. Viveash. He had lunched with her three or four days running. He wanted Gumbril to tell him what she was really like. “She seems to me a very extraordinary woman,” he said.
“Like everybody else,” said Gumbril irritatingly. It amused him to see the rabbits scampering40 about at last.
“I’ve never known a woman like that before.”
Gumbril laughed. “You’d say that of any woman you happened to be interested in,” he said. “You’ve never known any women at all.” He knew much more about Rosie, already, than Shearwater did, or probably ever would.
Shearwater meditated41. He thought of Mrs. Viveash, her cool, pale, critical eyes; her laughter, faint and mocking; her words that pierced into the mind, goading43 it into thinking unprecedented44 thoughts.
“She interests me,” he repeated. “I want you to tell me what she’s really like.” He emphasized the word really, as though there must, in the nature of things, be a vast difference between the apparent and the real Mrs. Viveash.
Most lovers, Gumbril reflected, picture to themselves, in their mistresses, a secret reality, beyond and different from what they see every day. They are in love with somebody else—their own invention. And sometimes there is a secret 167reality; and sometimes reality and appearance are the same. The discovery, in either case, is likely to cause a shock. “I don’t know,” he said. “How should I know? You must find out for yourself.”
“But you knew her, you know her well,” said Shearwater, almost with anxiety in his voice.
“Not so well as all that.”
Shearwater sighed profoundly, like a whale in the night. He felt restless, incapable45 of concentrating. His mind was full of a horrible confusion. A violent eruptive bubbling up from below had shaken its calm clarity to pieces. All this absurd business of passion—he had always thought it nonsense, unnecessary. With a little strength of will one could shut it out. Women—only for half an hour out of the twenty-four. But she had laughed, and his quiet, his security had vanished. “I can imagine,” he had said to her yesterday, “I can imagine myself giving up everything, work and all, to go running round after you.” “And do you suppose I should enjoy that?” Mrs. Viveash had asked. “It would be ridiculous,” he said, “it would be almost shameful46.” And she had thanked him for the compliment. “And at the same time,” he went on, “I feel that it might be worth it. It might be the only thing.” His mind was confused, full of new thoughts. “It’s difficult,” he said after a pause, “arranging things. Very difficult. I thought I had arranged them so well....”
“I never arrange anything,” said Gumbril, very much the practical philosopher. “I take things as they come.” And as he spoke the words, suddenly he became rather disgusted with himself. He shook himself; he climbed up out of his own morass. “It would be better, perhaps, if I arranged things more,” he added.
168“Render therefore unto C?sar the things which are C?sar’s,” said Shearwater, as though to himself; “and to God, and to sex, and to work.... There must be a working arrangement.” He sighed again. “Everything in proportion. In proportion,” he repeated, as though the word were magical and had power. “In proportion.”
“Who’s talking about proportion?” They turned round. In the doorway47 Gumbril Senior was standing48, smoothing his ruffled49 hair and tugging50 at his beard. His eyes twinkled cheerfully behind his spectacles. “Poaching on my architectural ground?” he said.
“This is Shearwater,” Gumbril Junior put in, and explained who he was.
The old gentleman sat down. “Proportion,” he said—“I was just thinking about it, now, as I was walking back. You can’t help thinking about it in these London streets, where it doesn’t exist. You can’t help pining for it. There are some streets ... oh, my God!” And Gumbril Senior threw up his hands in horror. “It’s like listening to a symphony of cats to walk along them. Senseless discords53 and a horrible disorder54 all the way. And the one street that was really like a symphony by Mozart—how busily and gleefully they’re pulling it down now! Another year and there’ll be nothing left of Regent Street. There’ll only be a jumble55 of huge, hideous56 buildings at three-quarters of a million apiece. A concert of Brobdingnagian cats. Order has been turned into a disgusting chaos57. We need no barbarians58 from outside; they’re on the premises59, all the time.”
The old man paused and pulled his beard meditatively60. Gumbril Junior sat in silence, smoking; and in silence 169Shearwater revolved61 within the walls of his great round head his agonizing62 thoughts of Mrs. Viveash.
“It has always struck me as very curious,” Gumbril Senior went on, “that people are so little affected63 by the vile64 and discordant65 architecture around them. Suppose, now, that all these brass66 bands of unemployed67 ex-soldiers that blow so mournfully at all the street corners were suddenly to play nothing but a series of senseless and devilish discords—why, the first policeman would move them on, and the second would put them under arrest, and the passers-by would try to lynch them on their way to the police station. There would be a real spontaneous outcry of indignation. But when at these same street corners the contractors68 run up enormous palaces of steel and stone that are every bit as stupid and ignoble69 and inharmonious as ten brass bandsmen each playing a different tune71 in a different key, there is no outcry. The police don’t arrest the architect; the passing pedestrians72 don’t throw stones at the workmen. They don’t notice that anything’s wrong. It’s odd,” said Gumbril Senior. “It’s very odd.”
“Very odd,” Gumbril Junior echoed.
“The fact is, I suppose,” Gumbril Senior went on, smiling with a certain air of personal triumph, “the fact is that architecture is a more difficult and intellectual art than music. Music—that’s just a faculty73 you’re born with, as you might be born with a snub nose. But the sense of plastic beauty—though that’s, of course, also an inborn74 faculty—is something that has to be developed and intellectually ripened75. It’s an affair of the mind; experience and thought have to draw it out. There are infant prodigies76 in music; but there are no infant prodigies in architecture.” Gumbril Senior chuckled77 with a real satisfaction. 170“A man can be an excellent musician and a perfect imbecile. But a good architect must also be a man of sense, a man who knows how to think and to profit by experience. Now, as almost none of the people who pass along the streets in London, or any other city of the world, do know how to think or to profit by experience, it follows that they cannot appreciate architecture. The innate78 faculty is strong enough in them to make them dislike discord52 in music; but they haven’t the wits to develop that other innate faculty—the sense of plastic beauty—which would enable them to see and disapprove79 of the same barbarism in architecture. Come with me,” Gumbril Senior added, getting up from his chair, “and I’ll show you something that will illustrate80 what I’ve been saying. Something you’ll enjoy, too. Nobody’s seen it yet,” he said mysteriously as he led the way upstairs. “It’s only just finished—after months and years. It’ll cause a stir when they see it—when I let them see it, if ever I do, that is. The dirty devils!” Gumbril Senior added good-humouredly.
On the landing of the next floor he paused, felt in his pocket, took out a key and unlocked the door of what should have been the second best bedroom. Gumbril Junior wondered, without very much curiosity, what the new toy would turn out to be. Shearwater wondered only how he could possess Mrs. Viveash.
“Come on,” called Gumbril Senior from inside the room. He turned on the light. They entered.
It was a big room; but almost the whole of the floor was covered by an enormous model, twenty feet long by ten or twelve wide, of a complete city traversed from end to end by a winding81 river and dominated at its central point by a great dome82. Gumbril Junior looked at it with surprise 171and pleasure. Even Shearwater was roused from his bitter ruminations of desire to look at the charming city spread out at his feet.
“It’s exquisite,” said Gumbril Junior. “What is it? The capital of Utopia, or what?”
Delighted, Gumbril Senior laughed. “Don’t you see something rather familiar in the dome?” he asked.
“Well, I had thought ...” Gumbril Junior hesitated, afraid that he might be going to say something stupid. He bent83 down to look more closely at the dome. “I had thought it looked rather like St. Paul’s—and now I see that it is St. Paul’s.”
“Quite right,” said his father. “And this is London.”
“I wish it were,” Gumbril Junior laughed.
“It’s London as it might have been if they’d allowed Wren84 to carry out his plans of rebuilding after the Great Fire.”
“And why didn’t they allow him to?” Shearwater asked.
“Chiefly,” said Gumbril Senior, “because, as I’ve said before, they didn’t know how to think or profit by experience. Wren offered them open spaces and broad streets; he offered them sunlight and air and cleanliness; he offered them beauty, order and grandeur85. He offered to build for the imagination and the ambitious spirit of man, so that even the most bestial86, vaguely87 and remotely, as they walked those streets, might feel that they were of the same race—or very nearly—as Michelangelo; that they too might feel themselves, in spirit at least, magnificent, strong and free. He offered them all these things; he drew a plan for them, walking in peril88 among the still smouldering ruins. But they preferred to re-erect the old intricate squalor; they 172preferred the medi?val darkness and crookedness89 and beastly irregular quaintness90; they preferred holes and crannies and winding tunnels; they preferred foul91 smells, sunless, stagnant92 air, phthisis and rickets93; they preferred ugliness and pettiness and dirt; they preferred the wretched human scale, the scale of the sickly body, not of the mind. Miserable94 fools! But I suppose,” the old man continued, shaking his head, “we can’t blame them.” His hair had blown loose from its insecure anchorage; with a gesture of resignation he brushed it back into place. “We can’t blame them. We should have done the same in the circumstances—undoubtedly. People offer us reason and beauty; but we will have none of them, because they don’t happen to square with the notions that were grafted95 into our souls in youth, that have grown there and become a part of us. Experientia docet—nothing falser, so far as most of us are concerned, was ever said. You, no doubt, my dear Theodore, have often in the past made a fool of yourself with women....”
Gumbril Junior made an embarrassed gesture that half denied, half admitted the soft impeachment96. Shearwater turned away, painfully reminded of what, for a moment, he had half forgotten. Gumbril Senior swept on.
“Will that prevent you from making as great a fool of yourself again to-morrow? It will not. It will most assuredly not.” Gumbril Senior shook his head. “The inconveniences and horrors of the pox are perfectly97 well known to every one; but still the disease flourishes and spreads. Several million people were killed in a recent war and half the world ruined; but we all busily go on in courses that make another event of the same sort inevitable98. Experientia docet? Experientia doesn’t. And that is 173why we must not be too hard on these honest citizens of London who, fully51 appreciating the inconveniences of darkness, disorder and dirt, manfully resisted any attempt to alter conditions which they had been taught from childhood onwards to consider as necessary, right and belonging inevitably99 to the order of things. We must not be too hard. We are doing something even worse ourselves. Knowing by a century of experience how beautiful, how graceful100, how soothing101 to the mind is an ordered piece of town-planning, we pull down almost the only specimen102 of it we possess and put up in its place a chaos of Portland stone that is an offence against civilization. But let us forget about these old citizens and the labyrinth103 of ugliness and inconvenience which we have inherited from them, and which is called London. Let us forget the contemporaries who are making it still worse than it was. Come for a walk with me through this ideal city. Look.”
And Gumbril Senior began expounding104 it to them.
In the middle, there, of that great elliptical Piazza105 at the eastern end of the new City, stands, four-square, the Royal Exchange. Pierced only with small dark windows, and built of rough ashlars of the silvery Portland stone, the ground floor serves as a massy foundation for the huge pilasters that slide up, between base and capital, past three tiers of pedimented windows. Upon them rest the cornice, the attic and the balustrade, and on every pier42 of the balustrade a statue holds up its symbol against the sky. Four great portals, rich with allegory, admit to the courtyard with its double tier of coupled columns, its cloister106 and its gallery. The statue of Charles the Martyr107 rides triumphantly108 in the midst, and within the windows one 174guesses the great rooms, rich with heavy garlands of plaster, panelled with carved wood.
Ten streets give on to the Piazza, and at either end of its ellipse the water of sumptuous109 fountains ceaselessly blows aloft and falls. Commerce, in that to the north of the Exchange, holds up her cornucopia110, and from the midst of its grapes and apples the master jet leaps up; from the teats of all the ten Useful Arts, grouped with their symbols about the central figure, there spouts111 a score of fine subsidiary streams. The dolphins, the sea-horses and the Tritons sport in the basin below. To the south, the ten principal cities of the Kingdom stand in a family round the Mother London, who pours from her urn19 an inexhaustible Thames.
Ranged round the Piazza are the Goldsmiths’ Hall, the Office of Excise113, the Mint, the Post Office. Their flanks are curved to the curve of the ellipse. Between pilasters, their windows look out on to the Exchange, and the sister statues on the balustrades beckon114 to one another across the intervening space.
Two master roads of ninety feet from wall to wall run westwards from the Exchange. New Gate ends the more northern vista116 with an Arch of Triumph, whose three openings are deep, shadowy and solemn as the entries of caverns117. The Guildhall and the halls of the twelve City Companies in their livery of rose-red brick, with their lacings of white stone at the coigns and round the windows, lend to the street an air of domestic and comfortable splendour. And every two or three hundred paces the line of the houses is broken, and in the indentation of a square recess118 there rises, conspicuous119 and insular120, the fantastic tower of a parish church. Spire121 out of dome; octagon on octagon diminishing 175upwards; cylinder122 on cylinder; round lanterns, lanterns of many sides; towers with airy pinnacles123; clusters of pillars linked by incurving cornices, and above them, four more clusters and above once more; square towers pierced with pointed windows; spires124 uplifted on flying buttresses125; spires bulbous at the base—the multitude of them beckons126, familiar and friendly, on the sky. From the other shore, or sliding along the quiet river, you see them all, you tell over their names; and the great dome swells127 up in the midst overtopping them all.
The dome of St. Paul’s.
The other master street that goes westward115 from the Piazza of the Exchange slants128 down towards it. The houses are of brick, plain-faced and square, arcaded129 at the base, so that the shops stand back from the street and the pedestrian walks dry-shod under the harmonious70 succession of the vaultings. And there at the end of the street, at the base of a triangular130 space formed by the coming together of this with another master street that runs eastwards132 to Tower Hill, there stands the Cathedral. To the north of it is the Deanery and under the arcades133 are the booksellers’ shops.
From St. Paul’s the main road slopes down under the swaggering Italianate arches of Ludgate, past the wide lime-planted boulevards that run north and south within and without the city wall, to the edge of the Fleet Ditch—widened now into a noble canal, on whose paved banks the barges134 unload their freights of country stuff—leaps it on a single flying arch to climb again to a round circus, a little to the east of Temple Bar, from which, in a pair of diagonally superimposed crosses, eight roads radiate: three northwards towards Holborn, three from the opposite arc towards 176the river, one eastward131 to the City, and one past Lincoln’s Inn Fields to the west. The piazza is all of brick and the houses that compose it are continuous above the ground-floor level; for the roads lead out under archways. To one who stands in the centre at the foot of the obelisk135 that commemorates136 the victory over the Dutch, it seems a smooth well of brickwork pierced by eight arched conduits at the base and diversified137 above by the three tiers of plain, unornamented windows.
Who shall describe all the fountains in the open places, all the statues and monuments? In the circus north of London Bridge, where the four roads come together, stands a pyramid of nymphs and Tritons—river goddesses of Polyolbion, sea-gods of the island beaches—bathing in a ceaseless tumble of white water. And here the city griffon spouts from its beak138, the royal lion from between its jaws139. St. George at the foot of the Cathedral rides down a dragon whose nostrils140 spout112, not fire, but the clear water of the New River. In front of the India House, four elephants of black marble, endorsed141 with towers of white, blow through their upturned trunks the copious142 symbol of Eastern wealth. In the gardens of the Tower sits Charles the Second, enthroned among a troop of Muses143, Cardinal144 Virtues145, Graces and Hours. The tower of the Customs-House is a pharos. A great water-gate, the symbol of naval146 triumph, spans the Fleet at its junction147 with the Thames. The river is embanked from Blackfriars to the Tower, and at every twenty paces a grave stone angel looks out from the piers148 of the balustrade across the water....
Gumbril Senior expounded149 his city with passion. He pointed to the model on the ground, he lifted his arms and turned up his eyes to suggest the size and splendour of his 177edifices. His hair blew wispily loose and fell into his eyes, and had to be brushed impatiently back again. He pulled at his beard; his spectacles flashed, as though they were living eyes. Looking at him, Gumbril Junior could imagine that he saw before him the passionate18 and gesticulating silhouette150 of one of those old shepherds who stand at the base of Piranesi’s ruins demonstrating obscurely the prodigious grandeur and the abjection151 of the human race.
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fatigued
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quagmire
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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sheathed
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| adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的；覆盖的；铠装的；装鞘了的v.将（刀、剑等）插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 )；包，覆盖 | |
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majesty
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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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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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prodigious
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intensity
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passionately
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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urn
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| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
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squealed
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intruded
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abruptly
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pointed
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zigzagging
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| v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的现在分词 )；盘陀 | |
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marital
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| adj.婚姻的，夫妻的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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scabrousness
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| Scabrousness | |
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ambushed
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| v.埋伏( ambush的过去式和过去分词 )；埋伏着 | |
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generalizations
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| 一般化( generalization的名词复数 )； 普通化； 归纳； 概论 | |
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33
pouting
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的现在分词 ) | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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36
physiology
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| n.生理学，生理机能 | |
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37
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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38
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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39
morass
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| n.沼泽，困境 | |
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40
scampering
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
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41
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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42
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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43
goading
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| v.刺激( goad的现在分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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44
unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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45
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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46
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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47
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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48
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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49
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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50
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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51
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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52
discord
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| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
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53
discords
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| 不和（discord的复数形式） | |
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54
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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55
jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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56
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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57
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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58
barbarians
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| n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 )；外国人；粗野的人；无教养的人 | |
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59
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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60
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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61
revolved
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
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62
agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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63
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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64
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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65
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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66
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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67
unemployed
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| adj.失业的，没有工作的；未动用的，闲置的 | |
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68
contractors
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| n.（建筑、监造中的）承包人( contractor的名词复数 ) | |
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69
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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70
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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71
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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72
pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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73
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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74
inborn
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| adj.天生的，生来的，先天的 | |
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75
ripened
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
prodigies
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| n.奇才，天才（尤指神童）( prodigy的名词复数 ) | |
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77
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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79
disapprove
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| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
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80
illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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81
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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82
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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83
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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84
wren
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| n.鹪鹩；英国皇家海军女子服务队成员 | |
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85
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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86
bestial
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| adj.残忍的；野蛮的 | |
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87
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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88
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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89
crookedness
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| [医]弯曲 | |
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90
quaintness
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| n.离奇有趣，古怪的事物 | |
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91
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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92
stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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93
rickets
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| n.软骨病，佝偻病，驼背 | |
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94
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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95
grafted
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| 移植( graft的过去式和过去分词 )； 嫁接； 使（思想、制度等）成为（…的一部份）； 植根 | |
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96
impeachment
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| n.弹劾；控告；怀疑 | |
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97
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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98
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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99
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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100
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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101
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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102
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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103
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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104
expounding
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| 论述，详细讲解( expound的现在分词 ) | |
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105
piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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106
cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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107
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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108
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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109
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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110
cornucopia
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| n.象征丰收的羊角 | |
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111
spouts
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| n.管口( spout的名词复数 )；（喷出的）水柱；（容器的）嘴；在困难中v.（指液体）喷出( spout的第三人称单数 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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112
spout
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| v.喷出，涌出；滔滔不绝地讲；n.喷管；水柱 | |
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113
excise
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| n.(国产)货物税；vt.切除，删去 | |
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114
beckon
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| v.(以点头或打手势)向...示意，召唤 | |
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115
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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116
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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117
caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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118
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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119
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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120
insular
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| adj.岛屿的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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121
spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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122
cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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123
pinnacles
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| 顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 )； 顶点； 尖顶； 小尖塔 | |
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124
spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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125
buttresses
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| n.扶壁，扶垛( buttress的名词复数 )v.用扶壁支撑，加固( buttress的第三人称单数 ) | |
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126
beckons
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的第三人称单数 ) | |
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127
swells
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| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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128
slants
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| （使）倾斜，歪斜( slant的第三人称单数 )； 有倾向性地编写或报道 | |
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129
arcaded
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| adj.成为拱廊街道的，有列拱的 | |
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130
triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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131
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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132
eastwards
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| adj.向东方（的），朝东（的）；n.向东的方向 | |
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133
arcades
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| n.商场( arcade的名词复数 )；拱形走道（两旁有商店或娱乐设施）；连拱廊；拱形建筑物 | |
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134
barges
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| 驳船( barge的名词复数 ) | |
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135
obelisk
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| n.方尖塔 | |
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136
commemorates
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| n.纪念，庆祝( commemorate的名词复数 )v.纪念，庆祝( commemorate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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137
diversified
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| adj.多样化的，多种经营的v.使多样化，多样化( diversify的过去式和过去分词 )；进入新的商业领域 | |
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138
beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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139
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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140
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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141
endorsed
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| vt.& vi.endorse的过去式或过去分词形式v.赞同( endorse的过去式和过去分词 )；在（尤指支票的）背面签字；在（文件的）背面写评论；在广告上说本人使用并赞同某产品 | |
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142
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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143
muses
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的第三人称单数 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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144
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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145
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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146
naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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147
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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148
piers
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| n.水上平台( pier的名词复数 )；（常设有娱乐场所的）突堤；柱子；墙墩 | |
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149
expounded
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| 论述，详细讲解( expound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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150
silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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151
abjection
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| n. 卑鄙, 落魄 | |
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