“Well, my last crime was a Christmas crime, a cheery, cosy5, English middle-class crime; a crime of Charles Dickens. I did it in a good old middle-class house near Putney, a house with a crescent of carriage drive, a house with a stable by the side of it, a house with the name on the two outer gates, a house with a monkey tree. Enough, you know the species. I really think my imitation of Dickens’s style was dexterous6 and literary. It seems almost a pity I repented7 the same evening.”
Flambeau would then proceed to tell the story from the inside; and even from the inside it was odd. Seen from the outside it was perfectly8 incomprehensible, and it is from the outside that the stranger must study it. From this standpoint the drama may be said to have begun when the front doors of the house with the stable opened on the garden with the monkey tree, and a young girl came out with bread to feed the birds on the afternoon of Boxing Day. She had a pretty face, with brave brown eyes; but her figure was beyond conjecture9, for she was so wrapped up in brown furs that it was hard to say which was hair and which was fur. But for the attractive face she might have been a small toddling10 bear.
The winter afternoon was reddening towards evening, and already a ruby11 light was rolled over the bloomless beds, filling them, as it were, with the ghosts of the dead roses. On one side of the house stood the stable, on the other an alley12 or cloister13 of laurels14 led to the larger garden behind. The young lady, having scattered15 bread for the birds (for the fourth or fifth time that day, because the dog ate it), passed unobtrusively down the lane of laurels and into a glimmering16 plantation17 of evergreens18 behind. Here she gave an exclamation19 of wonder, real or ritual, and looking up at the high garden wall above her, beheld20 it fantastically bestridden by a somewhat fantastic figure.
The individual riding the party wall like an aerial horse was a tall, angular young man, with dark hair sticking up like a hair brush, intelligent and even distinguished22 lineaments, but a sallow and almost alien complexion23. This showed the more plainly because he wore an aggressive red tie, the only part of his costume of which he seemed to take any care. Perhaps it was a symbol. He took no notice of the girl’s alarmed adjuration24, but leapt like a grasshopper25 to the ground beside her, where he might very well have broken his legs.
“I think I was meant to be a burglar,” he said placidly26, “and I have no doubt I should have been if I hadn’t happened to be born in that nice house next door. I can’t see any harm in it, anyhow.”
“How can you say such things!” she remonstrated27.
“Well,” said the young man, “if you’re born on the wrong side of the wall, I can’t see that it’s wrong to climb over it.”
“I never know what you will say or do next,” she said.
“I don’t often know myself,” replied Mr. Crook; “but then I am on the right side of the wall now.”
“And which is the right side of the wall?” asked the young lady, smiling.
“Whichever side you are on,” said the young man named Crook.
As they went together through the laurels towards the front garden a motor horn sounded thrice, coming nearer and nearer, and a car of splendid speed, great elegance28, and a pale green colour swept up to the front doors like a bird and stood throbbing29.
“Hullo, hullo!” said the young man with the red tie, “here’s somebody born on the right side, anyhow. I didn’t know, Miss Adams, that your Santa Claus was so modern as this.”
“Oh, that’s my godfather, Sir Leopold Fischer. He always comes on Boxing Day.”
Then, after an innocent pause, which unconsciously betrayed some lack of enthusiasm, Ruby Adams added:
“He is very kind.”
John Crook, journalist, had heard of that eminent30 City magnate; and it was not his fault if the City magnate had not heard of him; for in certain articles in The Clarion31 or The New Age Sir Leopold had been dealt with austerely32. But he said nothing and grimly watched the unloading of the motor-car, which was rather a long process. A large, neat chauffeur33 in green got out from the front, and a small, neat manservant in grey got out from the back, and between them they deposited Sir Leopold on the doorstep and began to unpack34 him, like some very carefully protected parcel. Rugs enough to stock a bazaar35, furs of all the beasts of the forest, and scarves of all the colours of the rainbow were unwrapped one by one, till they revealed something resembling the human form; the form of a friendly, but foreign-looking old gentleman, with a grey goat-like beard and a beaming smile, who rubbed his big fur gloves together.
Long before this revelation was complete the two big doors of the porch had opened in the middle, and Colonel Adams (father of the furry36 young lady) had come out himself to invite his eminent guest inside. He was a tall, sunburnt, and very silent man, who wore a red smoking-cap like a fez, making him look like one of the English Sirdars or Pashas in Egypt. With him was his brother-in-law, lately come from Canada, a big and rather boisterous37 young gentleman-farmer, with a yellow beard, by name James Blount. With him also was the more insignificant38 figure of the priest from the neighbouring Roman Church; for the colonel’s late wife had been a Catholic, and the children, as is common in such cases, had been trained to follow her. Everything seemed undistinguished about the priest, even down to his name, which was Brown; yet the colonel had always found something companionable about him, and frequently asked him to such family gatherings39.
In the large entrance hall of the house there was ample room even for Sir Leopold and the removal of his wraps. Porch and vestibule, indeed, were unduly41 large in proportion to the house, and formed, as it were, a big room with the front door at one end, and the bottom of the staircase at the other. In front of the large hall fire, over which hung the colonel’s sword, the process was completed and the company, including the saturnine42 Crook, presented to Sir Leopold Fischer. That venerable financier, however, still seemed struggling with portions of his well-lined attire43, and at length produced from a very interior tail-coat pocket, a black oval case which he radiantly explained to be his Christmas present for his god-daughter. With an unaffected vain-glory that had something disarming44 about it he held out the case before them all; it flew open at a touch and half-blinded them. It was just as if a crystal fountain had spurted45 in their eyes. In a nest of orange velvet46 lay like three eggs, three white and vivid diamonds that seemed to set the very air on fire all round them. Fischer stood beaming benevolently47 and drinking deep of the astonishment48 and ecstasy49 of the girl, the grim admiration50 and gruff thanks of the colonel, the wonder of the whole group.
“I’ll put ‘em back now, my dear,” said Fischer, returning the case to the tails of his coat. “I had to be careful of ‘em coming down. They’re the three great African diamonds called ‘The Flying Stars,’ because they’ve been stolen so often. All the big criminals are on the track; but even the rough men about in the streets and hotels could hardly have kept their hands off them. I might have lost them on the road here. It was quite possible.”
“Quite natural, I should say,” growled51 the man in the red tie. “I shouldn’t blame ‘em if they had taken ‘em. When they ask for bread, and you don’t even give them a stone, I think they might take the stone for themselves.”
“I won’t have you talking like that,” cried the girl, who was in a curious glow. “You’ve only talked like that since you became a horrid52 what’s-his-name. You know what I mean. What do you call a man who wants to embrace the chimney-sweep?”
“A saint,” said Father Brown.
“A radical55 does not mean a man who lives on radishes,” remarked Crook, with some impatience56; “and a Conservative does not mean a man who preserves jam. Neither, I assure you, does a Socialist mean a man who desires a social evening with the chimney-sweep. A Socialist means a man who wants all the chimneys swept and all the chimney-sweeps paid for it.”
Crook looked at him with an eye of interest and even respect. “Does one want to own soot?” he asked.
“One might,” answered Brown, with speculation58 in his eye. “I’ve heard that gardeners use it. And I once made six children happy at Christmas when the conjuror59 didn’t come, entirely60 with soot—applied externally.”
“Oh, splendid,” cried Ruby. “Oh, I wish you’d do it to this company.”
The boisterous Canadian, Mr. Blount, was lifting his loud voice in applause, and the astonished financier his (in some considerable deprecation), when a knock sounded at the double front doors. The priest opened them, and they showed again the front garden of evergreens, monkey-tree and all, now gathering40 gloom against a gorgeous violet sunset. The scene thus framed was so coloured and quaint61, like a back scene in a play, that they forgot a moment the insignificant figure standing62 in the door. He was dusty-looking and in a frayed63 coat, evidently a common messenger. “Any of you gentlemen Mr. Blount?” he asked, and held forward a letter doubtfully. Mr. Blount started, and stopped in his shout of assent64. Ripping up the envelope with evident astonishment he read it; his face clouded a little, and then cleared, and he turned to his brother-in-law and host.
“I’m sick at being such a nuisance, colonel,” he said, with the cheery colonial conventions; “but would it upset you if an old acquaintance called on me here tonight on business? In point of fact it’s Florian, that famous French acrobat65 and comic actor; I knew him years ago out West (he was a French-Canadian by birth), and he seems to have business for me, though I hardly guess what.”
“Of course, of course,” replied the colonel carelessly—“My dear chap, any friend of yours. No doubt he will prove an acquisition.”
“He’ll black his face, if that’s what you mean,” cried Blount, laughing. “I don’t doubt he’d black everyone else’s eyes. I don’t care; I’m not refined. I like the jolly old pantomime where a man sits on his top hat.”
“Not on mine, please,” said Sir Leopold Fischer, with dignity.
“Well, well,” observed Crook, airily, “don’t let’s quarrel. There are lower jokes than sitting on a top hat.”
Dislike of the red-tied youth, born of his predatory opinions and evident intimacy66 with the pretty godchild, led Fischer to say, in his most sarcastic67, magisterial68 manner: “No doubt you have found something much lower than sitting on a top hat. What is it, pray?”
“Letting a top hat sit on you, for instance,” said the Socialist.
“Now, now, now,” cried the Canadian farmer with his barbarian69 benevolence70, “don’t let’s spoil a jolly evening. What I say is, let’s do something for the company tonight. Not blacking faces or sitting on hats, if you don’t like those—but something of the sort. Why couldn’t we have a proper old English pantomime—clown, columbine, and so on. I saw one when I left England at twelve years old, and it’s blazed in my brain like a bonfire ever since. I came back to the old country only last year, and I find the thing’s extinct. Nothing but a lot of snivelling fairy plays. I want a hot poker71 and a policeman made into sausages, and they give me princesses moralising by moonlight, Blue Birds, or something. Blue Beard’s more in my line, and him I like best when he turned into the pantaloon.”
“I’m all for making a policeman into sausages,” said John Crook. “It’s a better definition of Socialism than some recently given. But surely the get-up would be too big a business.”
“Not a scrap,” cried Blount, quite carried away. “A harlequinade’s the quickest thing we can do, for two reasons. First, one can gag to any degree; and, second, all the objects are household things—tables and towel-horses and washing baskets, and things like that.”
“That’s true,” admitted Crook, nodding eagerly and walking about. “But I’m afraid I can’t have my policeman’s uniform? Haven’t killed a policeman lately.”
Blount frowned thoughtfully a space, and then smote72 his thigh73. “Yes, we can!” he cried. “I’ve got Florian’s address here, and he knows every costumier in London. I’ll phone him to bring a police dress when he comes.” And he went bounding away to the telephone.
“Oh, it’s glorious, godfather,” cried Ruby, almost dancing. “I’ll be columbine and you shall be pantaloon.”
The millionaire held himself stiff with a sort of heathen solemnity. “I think, my dear,” he said, “you must get someone else for pantaloon.”
“I will be pantaloon, if you like,” said Colonel Adams, taking his cigar out of his mouth, and speaking for the first and last time.
“You ought to have a statue,” cried the Canadian, as he came back, radiant, from the telephone. “There, we are all fitted. Mr. Crook shall be clown; he’s a journalist and knows all the oldest jokes. I can be harlequin, that only wants long legs and jumping about. My friend Florian ‘phones he’s bringing the police costume; he’s changing on the way. We can act it in this very hall, the audience sitting on those broad stairs opposite, one row above another. These front doors can be the back scene, either open or shut. Shut, you see an English interior. Open, a moonlit garden. It all goes by magic.” And snatching a chance piece of billiard chalk from his pocket, he ran it across the hall floor, half-way between the front door and the staircase, to mark the line of the footlights.
How even such a banquet of bosh was got ready in the time remained a riddle74. But they went at it with that mixture of recklessness and industry that lives when youth is in a house; and youth was in that house that night, though not all may have isolated75 the two faces and hearts from which it flamed. As always happens, the invention grew wilder and wilder through the very tameness of the bourgeois76 conventions from which it had to create. The columbine looked charming in an outstanding skirt that strangely resembled the large lamp-shade in the drawing-room. The clown and pantaloon made themselves white with flour from the cook, and red with rouge77 from some other domestic, who remained (like all true Christian78 benefactors) anonymous79. The harlequin, already clad in silver paper out of cigar boxes, was, with difficulty, prevented from smashing the old Victorian lustre80 chandeliers, that he might cover himself with resplendent crystals. In fact he would certainly have done so, had not Ruby unearthed81 some old pantomime paste jewels she had worn at a fancy dress party as the Queen of Diamonds. Indeed, her uncle, James Blount, was getting almost out of hand in his excitement; he was like a schoolboy. He put a paper donkey’s head unexpectedly on Father Brown, who bore it patiently, and even found some private manner of moving his ears. He even essayed to put the paper donkey’s tail to the coat-tails of Sir Leopold Fischer. This, however, was frowned down. “Uncle is too absurd,” cried Ruby to Crook, round whose shoulders she had seriously placed a string of sausages. “Why is he so wild?”
“He is harlequin to your columbine,” said Crook. “I am only the clown who makes the old jokes.”
“I wish you were the harlequin,” she said, and left the string of sausages swinging.
Father Brown, though he knew every detail done behind the scenes, and had even evoked82 applause by his transformation83 of a pillow into a pantomime baby, went round to the front and sat among the audience with all the solemn expectation of a child at his first matinee. The spectators were few, relations, one or two local friends, and the servants; Sir Leopold sat in the front seat, his full and still fur-collared figure largely obscuring the view of the little cleric behind him; but it has never been settled by artistic84 authorities whether the cleric lost much. The pantomime was utterly85 chaotic86, yet not contemptible87; there ran through it a rage of improvisation88 which came chiefly from Crook the clown. Commonly he was a clever man, and he was inspired tonight with a wild omniscience89, a folly90 wiser than the world, that which comes to a young man who has seen for an instant a particular expression on a particular face. He was supposed to be the clown, but he was really almost everything else, the author (so far as there was an author), the prompter, the scene-painter, the scene-shifter, and, above all, the orchestra. At abrupt91 intervals92 in the outrageous93 performance he would hurl94 himself in full costume at the piano and bang out some popular music equally absurd and appropriate.
The climax95 of this, as of all else, was the moment when the two front doors at the back of the scene flew open, showing the lovely moonlit garden, but showing more prominently the famous professional guest; the great Florian, dressed up as a policeman. The clown at the piano played the constabulary chorus in the “Pirates of Penzance,” but it was drowned in the deafening96 applause, for every gesture of the great comic actor was an admirable though restrained version of the carriage and manner of the police. The harlequin leapt upon him and hit him over the helmet; the pianist playing “Where did you get that hat?” he faced about in admirably simulated astonishment, and then the leaping harlequin hit him again (the pianist suggesting a few bars of “Then we had another one”). Then the harlequin rushed right into the arms of the policeman and fell on top of him, amid a roar of applause. Then it was that the strange actor gave that celebrated97 imitation of a dead man, of which the fame still lingers round Putney. It was almost impossible to believe that a living person could appear so limp.
The athletic98 harlequin swung him about like a sack or twisted or tossed him like an Indian club; all the time to the most maddeningly ludicrous tunes99 from the piano. When the harlequin heaved the comic constable100 heavily off the floor the clown played “I arise from dreams of thee.” When he shuffled101 him across his back, “With my bundle on my shoulder,” and when the harlequin finally let fall the policeman with a most convincing thud, the lunatic at the instrument struck into a jingling102 measure with some words which are still believed to have been, “I sent a letter to my love and on the way I dropped it.”
At about this limit of mental anarchy103 Father Brown’s view was obscured altogether; for the City magnate in front of him rose to his full height and thrust his hands savagely104 into all his pockets. Then he sat down nervously105, still fumbling106, and then stood up again. For an instant it seemed seriously likely that he would stride across the footlights; then he turned a glare at the clown playing the piano; and then he burst in silence out of the room.
The priest had only watched for a few more minutes the absurd but not inelegant dance of the amateur harlequin over his splendidly unconscious foe107. With real though rude art, the harlequin danced slowly backwards108 out of the door into the garden, which was full of moonlight and stillness. The vamped dress of silver paper and paste, which had been too glaring in the footlights, looked more and more magical and silvery as it danced away under a brilliant moon. The audience was closing in with a cataract109 of applause, when Brown felt his arm abruptly110 touched, and he was asked in a whisper to come into the colonel’s study.
He followed his summoner with increasing doubt, which was not dispelled111 by a solemn comicality in the scene of the study. There sat Colonel Adams, still unaffectedly dressed as a pantaloon, with the knobbed whalebone nodding above his brow, but with his poor old eyes sad enough to have sobered a Saturnalia. Sir Leopold Fischer was leaning against the mantelpiece and heaving with all the importance of panic.
“This is a very painful matter, Father Brown,” said Adams. “The truth is, those diamonds we all saw this afternoon seem to have vanished from my friend’s tail-coat pocket. And as you—”
“As I,” supplemented Father Brown, with a broad grin, “was sitting just behind him—”
“Nothing of the sort shall be suggested,” said Colonel Adams, with a firm look at Fischer, which rather implied that some such thing had been suggested. “I only ask you to give me the assistance that any gentleman might give.”
“Which is turning out his pockets,” said Father Brown, and proceeded to do so, displaying seven and sixpence, a return ticket, a small silver crucifix, a small breviary, and a stick of chocolate.
The colonel looked at him long, and then said, “Do you know, I should like to see the inside of your head more than the inside of your pockets. My daughter is one of your people, I know; well, she has lately—” and he stopped.
“She has lately,” cried out old Fischer, “opened her father’s house to a cut-throat Socialist, who says openly he would steal anything from a richer man. This is the end of it. Here is the richer man—and none the richer.”
“If you want the inside of my head you can have it,” said Brown rather wearily. “What it’s worth you can say afterwards. But the first thing I find in that disused pocket is this: that men who mean to steal diamonds don’t talk Socialism. They are more likely,” he added demurely112, “to denounce it.”
Both the others shifted sharply and the priest went on:
“You see, we know these people, more or less. That Socialist would no more steal a diamond than a Pyramid. We ought to look at once to the one man we don’t know. The fellow acting113 the policeman—Florian. Where is he exactly at this minute, I wonder.”
The pantaloon sprang erect114 and strode out of the room. An interlude ensued, during which the millionaire stared at the priest, and the priest at his breviary; then the pantaloon returned and said, with staccato gravity, “The policeman is still lying on the stage. The curtain has gone up and down six times; he is still lying there.”
Father Brown dropped his book and stood staring with a look of blank mental ruin. Very slowly a light began to creep in his grey eyes, and then he made the scarcely obvious answer.
“Please forgive me, colonel, but when did your wife die?”
“Wife!” replied the staring soldier, “she died this year two months. Her brother James arrived just a week too late to see her.”
The little priest bounded like a rabbit shot. “Come on!” he cried in quite unusual excitement. “Come on! We’ve got to go and look at that policeman!”
They rushed on to the now curtained stage, breaking rudely past the columbine and clown (who seemed whispering quite contentedly), and Father Brown bent115 over the prostrate116 comic policeman.
“Chloroform,” he said as he rose; “I only guessed it just now.”
There was a startled stillness, and then the colonel said slowly, “Please say seriously what all this means.”
Father Brown suddenly shouted with laughter, then stopped, and only struggled with it for instants during the rest of his speech. “Gentlemen,” he gasped117, “there’s not much time to talk. I must run after the criminal. But this great French actor who played the policeman—this clever corpse118 the harlequin waltzed with and dandled and threw about—he was—” His voice again failed him, and he turned his back to run.
“He was?” called Fischer inquiringly.
“A real policeman,” said Father Brown, and ran away into the dark.
There were hollows and bowers119 at the extreme end of that leafy garden, in which the laurels and other immortal120 shrubs121 showed against sapphire122 sky and silver moon, even in that midwinter, warm colours as of the south. The green gaiety of the waving laurels, the rich purple indigo123 of the night, the moon like a monstrous124 crystal, make an almost irresponsible romantic picture; and among the top branches of the garden trees a strange figure is climbing, who looks not so much romantic as impossible. He sparkles from head to heel, as if clad in ten million moons; the real moon catches him at every movement and sets a new inch of him on fire. But he swings, flashing and successful, from the short tree in this garden to the tall, rambling125 tree in the other, and only stops there because a shade has slid under the smaller tree and has unmistakably called up to him.
“Well, Flambeau,” says the voice, “you really look like a Flying Star; but that always means a Falling Star at last.”
The silver, sparkling figure above seems to lean forward in the laurels and, confident of escape, listens to the little figure below.
“You never did anything better, Flambeau. It was clever to come from Canada (with a Paris ticket, I suppose) just a week after Mrs. Adams died, when no one was in a mood to ask questions. It was cleverer to have marked down the Flying Stars and the very day of Fischer’s coming. But there’s no cleverness, but mere126 genius, in what followed. Stealing the stones, I suppose, was nothing to you. You could have done it by sleight127 of hand in a hundred other ways besides that pretence128 of putting a paper donkey’s tail to Fischer’s coat. But in the rest you eclipsed yourself.”
The silvery figure among the green leaves seems to linger as if hypnotised, though his escape is easy behind him; he is staring at the man below.
“Oh, yes,” says the man below, “I know all about it. I know you not only forced the pantomime, but put it to a double use. You were going to steal the stones quietly; news came by an accomplice129 that you were already suspected, and a capable police officer was coming to rout130 you up that very night. A common thief would have been thankful for the warning and fled; but you are a poet. You already had the clever notion of hiding the jewels in a blaze of false stage jewellery. Now, you saw that if the dress were a harlequin’s the appearance of a policeman would be quite in keeping. The worthy131 officer started from Putney police station to find you, and walked into the queerest trap ever set in this world. When the front door opened he walked straight on to the stage of a Christmas pantomime, where he could be kicked, clubbed, stunned132 and drugged by the dancing harlequin, amid roars of laughter from all the most respectable people in Putney. Oh, you will never do anything better. And now, by the way, you might give me back those diamonds.”
The green branch on which the glittering figure swung, rustled133 as if in astonishment; but the voice went on:
“I want you to give them back, Flambeau, and I want you to give up this life. There is still youth and honour and humour in you; don’t fancy they will last in that trade. Men may keep a sort of level of good, but no man has ever been able to keep on one level of evil. That road goes down and down. The kind man drinks and turns cruel; the frank man kills and lies about it. Many a man I’ve known started like you to be an honest outlaw134, a merry robber of the rich, and ended stamped into slime. Maurice Blum started out as an anarchist135 of principle, a father of the poor; he ended a greasy136 spy and tale-bearer that both sides used and despised. Harry137 Burke started his free money movement sincerely enough; now he’s sponging on a half-starved sister for endless brandies and sodas138. Lord Amber139 went into wild society in a sort of chivalry140; now he’s paying blackmail141 to the lowest vultures in London. Captain Barillon was the great gentleman-apache before your time; he died in a madhouse, screaming with fear of the “narks” and receivers that had betrayed him and hunted him down. I know the woods look very free behind you, Flambeau; I know that in a flash you could melt into them like a monkey. But some day you will be an old grey monkey, Flambeau. You will sit up in your free forest cold at heart and close to death, and the tree-tops will be very bare.”
Everything continued still, as if the small man below held the other in the tree in some long invisible leash142; and he went on:
“Your downward steps have begun. You used to boast of doing nothing mean, but you are doing something mean tonight. You are leaving suspicion on an honest boy with a good deal against him already; you are separating him from the woman he loves and who loves him. But you will do meaner things than that before you die.”
Three flashing diamonds fell from the tree to the turf. The small man stooped to pick them up, and when he looked up again the green cage of the tree was emptied of its silver bird.
The restoration of the gems143 (accidentally picked up by Father Brown, of all people) ended the evening in uproarious triumph; and Sir Leopold, in his height of good humour, even told the priest that though he himself had broader views, he could respect those whose creed144 required them to be cloistered145 and ignorant of this world.
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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millet
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| n.小米，谷子 | |
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cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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dexterous
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| adj.灵敏的；灵巧的 | |
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repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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conjecture
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toddling
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| v.（幼儿等）东倒西歪地走( toddle的现在分词 )；蹒跚行走；溜达；散步 | |
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ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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laurels
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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plantation
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evergreens
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| n.常青树，常绿植物，万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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20
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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21
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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22
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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23
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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24
adjuration
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| n.祈求，命令 | |
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25
grasshopper
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| n.蚱蜢，蝗虫，蚂蚱 | |
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26
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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27
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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28
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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29
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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30
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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31
clarion
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| n.尖音小号声；尖音小号 | |
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32
austerely
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| adv.严格地，朴质地 | |
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33
chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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34
unpack
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| vt.打开包裹（或行李），卸货 | |
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35
bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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36
furry
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| adj.毛皮的；似毛皮的；毛皮制的 | |
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37
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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38
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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39
gatherings
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| 聚集( gathering的名词复数 )； 收集； 采集； 搜集 | |
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40
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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41
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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42
saturnine
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| adj.忧郁的，沉默寡言的，阴沉的，感染铅毒的 | |
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43
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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44
disarming
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| adj.消除敌意的，使人消气的v.裁军( disarm的现在分词 )；使息怒 | |
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45
spurted
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的过去式和过去分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺 | |
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46
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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47
benevolently
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| adv.仁慈地，行善地 | |
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48
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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49
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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50
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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51
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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52
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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53
supercilious
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| adj.目中无人的，高傲的；adv.高傲地；n.高傲 | |
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54
socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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55
radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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56
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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57
soot
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| n.煤烟，烟尘；vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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58
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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59
conjuror
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| n.魔术师，变戏法者 | |
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60
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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61
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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62
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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63
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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65
acrobat
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| n.特技演员，杂技演员 | |
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66
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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67
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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68
magisterial
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| adj.威风的，有权威的；adv.威严地 | |
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69
barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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70
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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71
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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72
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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73
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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74
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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75
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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76
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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77
rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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78
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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79
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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80
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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81
unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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82
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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83
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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84
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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85
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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86
chaotic
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| adj.混沌的，一片混乱的，一团糟的 | |
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87
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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88
improvisation
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| n.即席演奏(或演唱)；即兴创作 | |
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89
omniscience
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| n.全知，全知者，上帝 | |
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90
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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91
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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92
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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93
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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94
hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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95
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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96
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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97
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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98
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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99
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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100
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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101
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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102
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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103
anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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104
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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105
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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106
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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107
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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108
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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109
cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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110
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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111
dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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113
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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114
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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115
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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116
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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117
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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118
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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119
bowers
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| n.（女子的）卧室( bower的名词复数 )；船首锚；阴凉处；鞠躬的人 | |
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120
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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121
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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122
sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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123
indigo
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| n.靛青，靛蓝 | |
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124
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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125
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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126
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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127
sleight
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| n.技巧，花招 | |
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128
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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129
accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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130
rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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131
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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132
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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133
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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134
outlaw
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| n.歹徒，亡命之徒；vt.宣布…为不合法 | |
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135
anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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136
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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137
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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138
sodas
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| n.苏打( soda的名词复数 )；碱；苏打水；汽水 | |
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139
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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140
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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141
blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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142
leash
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| n.牵狗的皮带，束缚；v.用皮带系住 | |
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143
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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144
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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145
cloistered
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| adj.隐居的，躲开尘世纷争的v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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