But even here we failed, partly. Liquor was sold to men in uniform. And men in uniform wanted it, and found many ways to obtain it. The forbidden apple is always the sweetest; and the more we restrict and preach and restrain, the more eager certain natures will always be to achieve the very thing we decry8 and withhold9.
The war, of course, was responsible for many upheavals10. We could not enter such a fiery11 conflict without feeling its bitter after effects, any more than one can drink immoderately and not feel ill the next morning. That we fought to make a weary world safe for democracy is now nothing but a joke—a Gilbert and Sullivan joke worthy12 of a deathless lyric13. Indeed, a short time ago, had a librettist14 put into a comic opera some of the happenings between 1914 and 1918—only some of them, mind you—his book would have been hissed15 off the stage.
There are some things that are true to life, but not true to fiction. For instance, think of the irony16 of our boys being sent across the seas to shoot guns at the Prussians and begging them to free themselves28 from an autocratic Kaiser, and, during their necessary absence, being deprived of a glass of beer when they came back home.
It would be the most laughable farce18 comedy were it not the deepest tragedy. I can conceive of a brilliant first act, wherein some doughboys, parched19 and thirsty, arrive in a German village and for the first time in their lives taste real Münchner beer—the beer of their enemy—learn to like it, decently enough, get the recipe, and decide to take back to their home town the one good and harmless thing the enemy country gave them. Then, as a climax20, they arrive, wounded and depressed21, a tatterdemalion battalion22, glad that the filthy23 war is over and done, and ready now to drop back into calm, blissful citizenship25, with their young wives and families.
But no, say a delegation26 of legislators on the pier27 (a charming comic chorus this!), with palms extended upright,
“You are all wrong, bo,
And you really ought to know,
That we’ve rearranged the show,
And it’s bone-dry you will go,
For we’ve put one over on you—
Pro-hi-bi-tion!”
(Curtain, amid general consternation30.)
Now, if a libretto31 with this plot development had been offered to a Broadway manager six years ago,29 it would have been turned down at once as impossible. I can see the first reader’s report:
“A great deal of whimsical imagination is shown by the author; but the American people are very sensible, and even Barrie and Gilbert could not be allowed to take such liberties with life as it is. Isn’t it too bad that writers do not know the public better? What a pity it is that they cannot evolve plots that will be a revelation of life as it is, not as it might be in a mad, whirligig world of fancy? This is not good, even as satire32, for the situation could not exist, even in a realm of dreams.”
But see what has happened! This plot would have proved a prophecy and made several fortunes for the author and the manager.
“What!” I hear some character saying in the course of the first act, just before the curtain descends33, “do you mean to say that the boys who fought for this democracy stuff had no voice in the passing of the law that made it a crime to sip34 a glass of good beer?” And the answer would be, “Of course not! How behind the times you are! America is a free country, you know. The people who dwell in it boast of their superiority of intellect, and rejoice in their form of self-government—though they abrogate36 their votes to a pack of politicians who are—well, to put it bluntly, dishonest. For they drink themselves, while they bow to lobbyists who don’t believe in drink—for the other fellow. America, my good sir, is the land of the spree no longer; it is the home of the grave.” (Business of laughter.30 Solemn music is heard, and the entire chorus of legislators pass with stately steps to the Capitol, dressed in heavy mourning.)
But nothing is being done about anything. The American people, whipped into obedience37, as Prussians were never whipped, take their medicine (from which all but one-half of one per cent of alcohol has been extracted—and why this modicum38 should be permitted to remain is only another joker in the whole stupid business) and obey the law.
Only, they don’t. They go out and break it to bits, as I have shown; and our legislators wonder why they have so many bad children on their hands, and isn’t it a strange world, and why is it that folks won’t be good and do as they are told, and what are laws for, anyhow, and this disrespect of the law is awful and must be punished, and someone has got to go to jail, and why is Bolshevism growing when we are all so happy?
Ah! there is the answer in one word! We are not happy—every one is decidedly, unequivocally, wretchedly, miserably39, gloomily, stonily40, fearfully, terribly unhappy!
And why? Because one has to fight so hard for his fun nowadays. A lot of laws have been passed, and more are threatened, which blast one’s hopes of the simplest kind of good times. These laws are based on a complete misunderstanding of poor old human nature, which needs, every now and then, say what you will, an escape from the dreariness42, the31 tedium43 of life. The harmless diversions which in childhood take the form of playing ball and cricket and tennis experience a metamorphosis as we grow older—a perfectly natural metamorphosis; and we crave44 just a tinge45 of excitement after the harsh, unyielding day’s work. Most Americans work hard—there is no doubt of that. Except for a Cause. But, seriously, American business is a strenuous46, glorious thing—a delightful47 game, if you will; but it is also a serious note in the scale of our national consciousness.
We need relaxation48 after eight or nine hours at a desk; and the lights of a great city are the lure49 that lead us forth—not to get drunk, God knows, but to get just that fillip the weary body and brain need when an honest day’s work is done.
The people who don’t understand this, and who are trying to rule and run America, are in a class with those who fail to understand the psychology50 of Coney Island, or any other simple pleasure resort; who are unable to distinguish between a happy sobriety and filthy gutter51 intoxication52; who never heard Stevenson’s line about Shelley, “God, give me the young man with brains enough to make a fool of himself.”
How a glass of light wine or beer is going to hurt a fellow is more than I, for the life of me, can see; and if he takes his wife along, as he usually does, or wishes to do, there is precious little danger that one will ever fall over the terrible precipice53 of intoxication32 and go down into the bottomless pit of complete disaster.
One might say to the reformers that for the most part our ancestors imbibed55 a bit; and here we are, thank you, and doing very nicely.
There has never been a particle of evidence presented to prove that teetotalers live longer than moderate drinkers; indeed, one doubts if they live as long. And it is well known that those races which refuse absolutely to drink do not produce anything of importance in the way of art; and surely they contribute nothing to the cause of science. Take the Mohammedans. Name one great artist among them, if you can, known to you and me.
Had Americans been a race of drunkards, I could understand this sudden drastic legislation against booze. But we were far from that. Drink was beautifully taking care of itself. It was infra dig to consume too much; and the young business man who made it a practice to indulge in even one glass of beer at luncheon56, lost caste with his employer—yes, and with his fellow workers. He soon discovered the error of his ways, and no longer found it expedient57 to feel sleepy in the afternoon, when others were alert and thoroughly58 alive. It was only honest to give to the concern for which he worked the flower of his brain and heart; and so he passed up the casual glass, with little if any reluctance59, and joined that great army of temperate60 men—and women. He did not wish to be left behind in the33 race for glory; and where he had taken, without a qualm, four cocktails61 before a dinner-party, now he took only one, and sometimes left a drop or two of that in the glass.
I can recall the time, not so many years ago, when everyone drank like a glutton62. Country clubs were but excuses for dissipation, locker-rooms were nothing but bars, with waiters running in and out with trays of refreshing63 drinks. (Alas! they are worse than that now, thanks to our reformers!) But this brief era passed—through the common sense of the people themselves. We did not require legislation to cause us to see whither we were drifting. Out of our own consciousness we knew—all but a few congenital drunkards—that “that way madness lies.” And so we quit, of our own volition64, this heavy and stupid drinking. The “society fellow,” worthless from the beginning, was cut out; the man of sterling65 qualities and action took his place. The “lounge lizard” became a deservedly abhorrent66 creature, unfit for the companionship of decent men. We came, as I see it—and I have observed American life in many spheres—to a sense of our own foolishness.
Big Business didn’t want the toper. Big Business scorned the young clerk who followed the gay lights along the gay White Way—the fool who sat up all night, taking chorus-girls to lobster67 palaces. With that alertness for which the American is famed, our young men realized that, to succeed in the realm of business, they would have to turn over a new leaf.
34 And they did it. I ask the reformers to deny this if they can. There has been no menace from drink in this country for many and many a year. We never drank as the English laboring68 man drinks—or even as the Germans consume beer. We were, as the whole world is aware, a race of moderate drinkers—omitting always those few and necessary exceptions which only serve to prove the rule.
Yet, as a nation, we were indicted69, held up to ridicule70 and scorn. We were told that we could not control our appetites, and so our benevolent71 Government would control them for us. And this in the face of the fact that we had learned to control them.
I can likewise recall the time, not so long ago, when crowds of children would follow some forlorn drunkard being hauled to the station-house. Even though the corner-saloon continued to flourish long after you and I grew up, how many years is it, I ask anyone, since we have seen this sorry spectacle? And as for seeing a man lying prone72 in the gutter—that seems a prehistoric73 incident to me. Yet such incidents ceased long before national Prohibition became an outrageous74 fact.
Taking care of ourselves, still we had to be taken care of! Ah! in our frenzy75 to become too pure, let us remember the dangers of benevolent autocracies76. The State has one definite function, the Church another. The mingling77 of Church and State—is not that one of the pitfalls78 we have long sought to avoid? If the former looks after our souls, the latter should35 be satisfied to see to our bodies—and that would be duty enough.
Let us do a little figuring.
There are, approximately, 110,000,000 people in the United States of America. Of these, let us say that 40,000,000 are men and 40,000,000 women. Of minors79 there are perhaps 30,000,000 more. Among the last named there would be very little drinking. I imagine that of the male population, a considerable number do not imbibe54 at all. I would rather err41, giving the opposition80 the benefit of the doubt; and so I will say that 20,000,000 males drink in moderation, and that 10,000,000 females do the same. This gives us, out of a total population of 110,000,000, only 30,000,000 people who care anything at all about liquor. Of that number, how many, do you think, are what might be called immoderate drinkers? Five million? That, it seems to me, would be a fair estimate—more than fair. But let us be generous to a fault.
Of that five million, how many are congenital drunkards? A million? Perhaps; though I doubt that even that number have sunk so low. But let us say that two million have done so.
Then it has become necessary to deprive 30,000,000 people of a simple form of pleasure because 2,000,000 do not know how to manage their souls and bodies. It would be equally ridiculous to put an end to connubial81 bliss24 because there are a few libertines82 in the world.
36 I remember, as a boy, an unjust teacher who kept the whole class in because one pupil whispered—and she could not discover the culprit. I never could understand her perverted83 sense of justice. We were guilty along with the disloyal little rascal84 who had violated a rule. We must suffer because he would not declare himself.
But drunkards cannot conceal85 their wickedness. We know them. We spot them. They are obvious in any community. “The town drunkard” was as well known as the town pump. It has always been on our statutes86 that intoxication in public constituted a misdemeanor. The penalty for a misdemeanor is arrest, trial, and, if found guilty, imprisonment88 or the payment of a fine.
Few would get drunk if they knew they would be arrested. We had that law; we failed to enforce it. Hence the present inelastic laws—heaps of them—which only complicate90 matters, and make public morals no better than they were before.
No better? Worse. For drunkenness is rampant91 in the land, as it never has been. Prohibition does everything but prohibit. The very thing it sets out to do it fails to do. That is as self-evident as the misery92 in crowded tenement93 districts in great cities. There is no denying it. People who never drank before, drink now—in enormous numbers.
Why is this? Because it is perfectly human to wish to do what one is told not to do. You know the story of the woman who, just before leaving the37 house, said solemnly to her children, “Now, my dears, while I am gone do not play with the matches.” When she came back the house was on fire.
All the emphasis having been placed on not drinking, people are thinking of nothing but drinking. Public bars have been transferred to public coat-rooms, and we have the spectacle of numerous “souses” before a banquet, premature94 roisterers who become so tight that they can hardly get through a course dinner. It is disgraceful, but I fear it will never stop. For impositions breed contempt for all law and order.
Passive content finally breeds active rebellion. Our lawmakers should have the wit, the vision, the common sense to realize that. For a whole nation to be forced to be moral by statute87 and mandate95 is so ridiculous that it must make the gods laugh—particularly the goddess Hebe when she brings in the flowing bowl. She must almost spill the contents of her famous cup which she has been carrying these many cycles.
There is always a reaction against enforced goodness—against enforced anything. But no sour-visaged sarsaparilla drinker ever realizes that. He puts over his “reform” and imagines that all is well. He cannot hear the shuffling96 of feet, the movement of armies in the dim distance. If he does, he mistakes it for applause.
The fact that Americans were taking care of themselves,38 so far as the drink question was concerned, makes the sudden appearance of the fanatics97 all the more non-understandable. They came upon us with gusto. They are pathological—any doctor will tell you that. And the American people, who believe, I am told, in life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, permit themselves to be governed by a pack of pathological cases who, themselves, should be in wards98, if not in padded cells.
And they are not content with this initial victory. As the Irishman put it, “If this is Prohibition, why didn’t we have it long ago?” And a visiting Englishman exclaimed, looking our country over, “Prohibition?—When does it start?”
They are going after our tobacco, our golf and motoring on the Sabbath; and they are going to dip into our cellars and rob us of that which we used to keep there, oh, so seldom, but now have in great and wise abundance.
It never occurred to any of us in the old, halcyon99 days when one could loll on the back platform of a horse-car or trolley100 with the glorious multitude, and smoke there, to keep a supply of liquor in our homes. If we were giving a dinner, and wished to oil the social wheels just a bit to start the machine going, we may have sent to the corner and bought a bottle of gin and a little vermouth, and perhaps a quart of simple California claret, and let it go at that. No one disgraced himself. It was all very quiet and serene101 and sane102 and nice. We hurt no one; we did39 ourselves no injury (any physician will tell you that; he needs whiskey in his practice, if he is the right kind of physician), and a pleasant time was had by all, as the country newspapers say.
But from that undramatic drinking what, because of Mr. Longface, have we leaped to? To the hip-flask103, the sly treating in coat-rooms—and other places I need hardly mention—long before dinner begins, so that one may be sure of a sensation which no decent man should care to experience.
A nervous tension is in the air, putting us all back twenty years. I assure the reader that never once in my life did I carry a flask of brandy, even when I was going on a long and dusty and tedious journey; yet my dear mother was as certain that I should take one as that I should wear rubbers when it rained; and I let her believe I did both, for the sake of her peace of mind.
Was my mother a criminal, for her quiet advice? Not then; but she would be considered so now, with Mr. Volstead’s act on the records of my beloved land. Actually, I am a criminal if I take a sip outside my home—in my club, in my travels. If I transport a little of that whimsical stuff of which poets have sung so beautifully and often, I can be dragged to jail—if I am caught. Boo! What a mockery of personal freedom it all is!
I heard a fine citizen say not long ago—a man of wealth and position, a publicist, a man of affairs (I am using the word in its proper sense!), a man who40 loved, very definitely, the great America that used to be—that for the first time in his life he had the despicable thought that he would like to withhold something, if he could, on his income tax. He felt little compunction for the base thought. Why should he hand his hard-earned money over to a Government which deprived him of so much of his personal liberty and held over his head the dire7 threat of further deprivations104?
What was this man getting out of America? he asked me. Just a dull time, to be truthful105. He was but one more waffle from the great national waffle-iron. When he wanted diversion he must pack up and fare to other lands, where living is still living, crave a passport, swear that he had paid last year’s tax, produce a receipt he had never received, and promise to pay this year’s, and either not stay away too long or see to it that his lawyer attended to it for him.
Everyone is ticketed, docketed, labeled, put in a card-index. This tabulation106 of citizens—how we smiled at it when the Prussians carried it to the extremes they did! Poor creatures, we said of them, to stand for such arrant107 nonsense.
A jolly state of affairs! It makes one feel so loving toward one’s Government, doesn’t it? We are all children, and Uncle Sam is no longer a symbolical108 old figure, but an avuncular109 autocrat17 who goes about, nosing everywhere, almost invading the sanctity of our homes (ah! he may do it yet!) in41 his senseless quest for this and that. But just as Santa Claus could never get down every chimney in the world, one feels certain that Uncle Sam cannot pry110 into every wine-cellar, and examine, if he had all eternity111, every tiny bank balance. Moreover, my friend will not cheat on his income tax. He, at least, is decent.
Let us not delude112 ourselves that we are living in a democracy any longer. Laws were passed from time to time in the history of our great country, without the people’s vote; but they were laws that served our best interests and did not interfere113 with our personal liberty. When our rights as citizens were molested114, we got up on our hind35 legs and yelled. “What is this?” we naturally inquired. “Why, it is what has always been done,” came the answer from the bar of injustice115. And that was literally116 true. Only we didn’t know it. “You can’t break the Constitution,” was a further argument. “Once a Federal Amendment, always a Federal Amendment, you know.”
And why, pray? If the good old iron Constitution cannot be tampered117 with, it is high time that it was. If our forefathers118 who framed it meant it to be an utterly119 inelastic document, they didn’t count on the elastic89 minds of the American people. “New occasions teach new duties, time makes ancient good uncouth,” said the wise James Russell Lowell once; and nothing is more certain than the fact that the moment has come when the people should be42 heard, and not a handful of legislators, who rushed madly to lay in a stock of wine and spirits when they saw which way the wind was blowing their straws.
It grieved me, as a good American, to hear an Englishman say the other evening before a lot of my fellow-countrymen that his idea of a complete life would be to spend nine months of the year in England as a British citizen and three months in the United States as an American subject. There was much mirth; but somehow I could not laugh and I hope these Constitutional Amendments120, coming so thick and fast, are not causing me to lose my sense of humor.
It was a statement in which so much of truth was compressed that I shuddered121; and I thought of all the forms of verboten that have lately been foisted122 upon us. I recalled how, ten years ago, a friend of mine had returned from Germany and told me, laughingly, how the poor subjects of the Kaiser were eternally forbidden to do this and that. It was verboten, verboten, verboten everywhere the eye turned—in the parks, in restaurants, in the galleries, in the theaters—everywhere. Always some petty restriction123, some tyrannical interference with the masses. And he said then how contrary to the broad American spirit was this constant stress on “Thou shalt not.” We both smiled over it, and pitied the much-ruled and controlled Germans. “What a glorious land we live in,” we said, in unison,43 lifting our glasses, “and how proud we are of our freedom.”
But could we honestly say that now? Do not let us be hypocrites. Before foreigners, we bravely and loyally uphold our form of Government, because one does not like to cleanse124 his soiled linen125 in public or reveal a family quarrel; but deep down in our hearts—I hear it discussed everywhere I go—is a feeling of apprehension126; and the everlasting127 question is being asked, “Whither are we, as a people, being led?”
If the political machinery128 is being clogged129 with too many foolish and unnecessary laws that are merely jokers and venemous restrictions130, why do we not speak out in meeting, call together groups of citizens, as we are privileged to do under the Constitution (unless another Amendment has been added since this was written), and protest against this extravagant131 misuse132 of power?
The reason England has always been such a comfortable country to live in is because of the spirit of constructive133 criticism that has filtered through the nation. If a Londoner does not like the service on the tram roads, he writes to the Times about it, and the matter is adjusted. He has the backing of all his neighbors—and ten to one they have written, too. But how many Americans, insulted in the subway or by some public servant, will sit down and write a letter of complaint?
We stand meekly134 like droves of cattle behind44 tapes in motion-picture “palaces,” pressed by eager little ushers135 endowed with a momentary136 authority, until released and permitted to fumble137 our way down dark aisles138 to such seats as we can find. We allow grand head-waiters to hold us in check when we enter a smart restaurant, not indeed behind tape, but behind a silken cord—which does not mitigate139 the insult, however; and we humbly140 beg them to see if they can get us a table—and some of us slip them a greenback to gain their august favor.
We allow ticket speculators to buy up all the best places in our theaters, adding what profit they demand, and say nothing—though there is a statute forbidding such extortion. “Ah, we’re here for a good time, and we don’t care what it costs us,” is the answer of the average visitor to the metropolis141 when he is asked why he does not protest against such unjust measures. I have known only one rich man to refuse rooms at a fine hotel, simply because he felt it wrong to pay seventeen dollars a day, no matter what his bank balance. It is people like that who help the rest of us to a return to normal conditions. He thinks of someone but himself.
Yet we talk of Prohibition as though we were manfully trying to save the next generation from the perils142 of drink! We are doing nothing of the sort. We are merely bowing our craven heads to a mandate because we have neither the courage nor the energy to speak loudly against a stupid law foisted45 upon us by an organized minority. Our altruistic143 purpose is not apparent, for it never existed.
“Ah, but,” someone whispers, “the majority want this and that; so we must give in to them.”
Even so, why should we give in to them? The majority of people prefer flashy, meaningless movies and Pollyanna and Harold Bell Wright and chewing-gum and cheap jewelry144 and Gopher Prairie and slapstick humor and loud laughter and a crowded beach on Sunday, and hideous145 neckties and shirts and summer furs, and a hundred and one other things entirely146 foreign to my desires; why, then, should I walk in their path, jump over the hurdles147 that the multitude puts in front of me?
Arnold Bennett once said that the classics were kept alive, not by the man in the street, but by the passionate148 few. He was dead right. In the words of your beloved majority, he said a mouthful. Now, because my neighbor and my neighbor’s neighbor have a weakness for the best-sellers (not the best cellars), and find a robust149 pleasure in never thinking of anything beyond baseball, I do not see why I should be forced to indulge in a stupid Pollyanna optimism and forget and neglect my Keats and Shakespeare.
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1 amendment | |
n.改正,修正,改善,修正案 | |
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adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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3 prohibition | |
n.禁止;禁令,禁律 | |
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4 intoxicated | |
喝醉的,极其兴奋的 | |
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5 glamour | |
n.魔力,魅力;vt.迷住 | |
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6 hardier | |
能吃苦耐劳的,坚强的( hardy的比较级 ); (植物等)耐寒的 | |
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7 dire | |
adj.可怕的,悲惨的,阴惨的,极端的 | |
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8 decry | |
v.危难,谴责 | |
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9 withhold | |
v.拒绝,不给;使停止,阻挡 | |
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10 upheavals | |
突然的巨变( upheaval的名词复数 ); 大动荡; 大变动; 胀起 | |
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11 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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12 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 ); 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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n.反语,冷嘲;具有讽刺意味的事,嘲弄 | |
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17 autocrat | |
n.独裁者;专横的人 | |
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18 farce | |
n.闹剧,笑剧,滑稽戏;胡闹 | |
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adj.焦干的;极渴的;v.(使)焦干 | |
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n.营;部队;大队(的人) | |
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24 bliss | |
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25 citizenship | |
n.市民权,公民权,国民的义务(身份) | |
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28 bestow | |
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29 alas | |
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30 consternation | |
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32 satire | |
n.讽刺,讽刺文学,讽刺作品 | |
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38 modicum | |
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39 miserably | |
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42 dreariness | |
沉寂,可怕,凄凉 | |
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43 tedium | |
n.单调;烦闷 | |
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44 crave | |
vt.渴望得到,迫切需要,恳求,请求 | |
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45 tinge | |
vt.(较淡)着色于,染色;使带有…气息;n.淡淡色彩,些微的气息 | |
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46 strenuous | |
adj.奋发的,使劲的;紧张的;热烈的,狂热的 | |
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47 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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48 relaxation | |
n.松弛,放松;休息;消遣;娱乐 | |
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49 lure | |
n.吸引人的东西,诱惑物;vt.引诱,吸引 | |
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50 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
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51 gutter | |
n.沟,街沟,水槽,檐槽,贫民窟 | |
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52 intoxication | |
n.wild excitement;drunkenness;poisoning | |
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53 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
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54 imbibe | |
v.喝,饮;吸入,吸收 | |
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55 imbibed | |
v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 );喝;吸取;吸气 | |
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56 luncheon | |
n.午宴,午餐,便宴 | |
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57 expedient | |
adj.有用的,有利的;n.紧急的办法,权宜之计 | |
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58 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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59 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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60 temperate | |
adj.温和的,温带的,自我克制的,不过分的 | |
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61 cocktails | |
n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 );餐前开胃菜;混合物 | |
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62 glutton | |
n.贪食者,好食者 | |
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63 refreshing | |
adj.使精神振作的,使人清爽的,使人喜欢的 | |
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64 volition | |
n.意志;决意 | |
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65 sterling | |
adj.英币的(纯粹的,货真价实的);n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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66 abhorrent | |
adj.可恶的,可恨的,讨厌的 | |
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67 lobster | |
n.龙虾,龙虾肉 | |
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68 laboring | |
n.劳动,操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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69 indicted | |
控告,起诉( indict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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71 benevolent | |
adj.仁慈的,乐善好施的 | |
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72 prone | |
adj.(to)易于…的,很可能…的;俯卧的 | |
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73 prehistoric | |
adj.(有记载的)历史以前的,史前的,古老的 | |
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74 outrageous | |
adj.无理的,令人不能容忍的 | |
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75 frenzy | |
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
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76 autocracies | |
n.独裁( autocracy的名词复数 );独裁统治;独裁政体;独裁政府 | |
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77 mingling | |
adj.混合的 | |
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78 pitfalls | |
(捕猎野兽用的)陷阱( pitfall的名词复数 ); 意想不到的困难,易犯的错误 | |
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79 minors | |
n.未成年人( minor的名词复数 );副修科目;小公司;[逻辑学]小前提v.[主美国英语]副修,选修,兼修( minor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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80 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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81 connubial | |
adj.婚姻的,夫妇的 | |
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82 libertines | |
n.放荡不羁的人,淫荡的人( libertine的名词复数 ) | |
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83 perverted | |
adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 );腐蚀;败坏;使堕落 | |
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84 rascal | |
n.流氓;不诚实的人 | |
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85 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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86 statutes | |
成文法( statute的名词复数 ); 法令; 法规; 章程 | |
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87 statute | |
n.成文法,法令,法规;章程,规则,条例 | |
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88 imprisonment | |
n.关押,监禁,坐牢 | |
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89 elastic | |
n.橡皮圈,松紧带;adj.有弹性的;灵活的 | |
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90 complicate | |
vt.使复杂化,使混乱,使难懂 | |
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91 rampant | |
adj.(植物)蔓生的;狂暴的,无约束的 | |
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92 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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93 tenement | |
n.公寓;房屋 | |
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94 premature | |
adj.比预期时间早的;不成熟的,仓促的 | |
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95 mandate | |
n.托管地;命令,指示 | |
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96 shuffling | |
adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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97 fanatics | |
狂热者,入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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98 wards | |
区( ward的名词复数 ); 病房; 受监护的未成年者; 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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99 halcyon | |
n.平静的,愉快的 | |
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100 trolley | |
n.手推车,台车;无轨电车;有轨电车 | |
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101 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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102 sane | |
adj.心智健全的,神志清醒的,明智的,稳健的 | |
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103 flask | |
n.瓶,火药筒,砂箱 | |
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104 deprivations | |
剥夺( deprivation的名词复数 ); 被夺去; 缺乏; 匮乏 | |
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105 truthful | |
adj.真实的,说实话的,诚实的 | |
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106 tabulation | |
作表,表格; 表列结果; 列表; 造表 | |
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107 arrant | |
adj.极端的;最大的 | |
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108 symbolical | |
a.象征性的 | |
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109 avuncular | |
adj.叔伯般的,慈祥的 | |
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110 pry | |
vi.窥(刺)探,打听;vt.撬动(开,起) | |
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111 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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112 delude | |
vt.欺骗;哄骗 | |
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113 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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114 molested | |
v.骚扰( molest的过去式和过去分词 );干扰;调戏;猥亵 | |
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115 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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116 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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117 tampered | |
v.窜改( tamper的过去式 );篡改;(用不正当手段)影响;瞎摆弄 | |
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118 forefathers | |
n.祖先,先人;祖先,祖宗( forefather的名词复数 );列祖列宗;前人 | |
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119 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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120 amendments | |
(法律、文件的)改动( amendment的名词复数 ); 修正案; 修改; (美国宪法的)修正案 | |
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121 shuddered | |
v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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122 foisted | |
强迫接受,把…强加于( foist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123 restriction | |
n.限制,约束 | |
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124 cleanse | |
vt.使清洁,使纯洁,清洗 | |
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125 linen | |
n.亚麻布,亚麻线,亚麻制品;adj.亚麻布制的,亚麻的 | |
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126 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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127 everlasting | |
adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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128 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
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129 clogged | |
(使)阻碍( clog的过去式和过去分词 ); 淤滞 | |
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130 restrictions | |
约束( restriction的名词复数 ); 管制; 制约因素; 带限制性的条件(或规则) | |
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131 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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132 misuse | |
n.误用,滥用;vt.误用,滥用 | |
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133 constructive | |
adj.建设的,建设性的 | |
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134 meekly | |
adv.温顺地,逆来顺受地 | |
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135 ushers | |
n.引座员( usher的名词复数 );招待员;门房;助理教员v.引,领,陪同( usher的第三人称单数 ) | |
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136 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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137 fumble | |
vi.笨拙地用手摸、弄、接等,摸索 | |
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138 aisles | |
n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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139 mitigate | |
vt.(使)减轻,(使)缓和 | |
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140 humbly | |
adv. 恭顺地,谦卑地 | |
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141 metropolis | |
n.首府;大城市 | |
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142 perils | |
极大危险( peril的名词复数 ); 危险的事(或环境) | |
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143 altruistic | |
adj.无私的,为他人着想的 | |
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144 jewelry | |
n.(jewllery)(总称)珠宝 | |
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145 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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146 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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147 hurdles | |
n.障碍( hurdle的名词复数 );跳栏;(供人或马跳跃的)栏架;跨栏赛 | |
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148 passionate | |
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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149 robust | |
adj.强壮的,强健的,粗野的,需要体力的,浓的 | |
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