The fact of the matter was that the estate was growing more and more valuable every day. The town had already begun—to Peter’s great joy—to encroach upon a part of Ekbacken. Now it began to stretch its arms around Selambshof. And like old King Midas it changed all it touched into gold.
Yes, it was extraordinarily2 pleasant to sit there and feel how you were growing richer and richer every moment. And then they had to look after their interests, keep an eye on each other, and especially on the honourable3 director of Selambshof Limited.
It was curious to watch the Selambs when they were together. They quarrelled terribly, but stuck together all the same—just like the Bonaparte family. None believed another. They laid mines and countermines. They tricked one another until they got even, so that in the end a sort of rough natural justice prevailed. Peter the Boss now sat in the prisoner’s dock as a result of a too bare-faced falsification of the accounts of Maj?ngen and Solberget Ltd. Laura unhesitatingly accused him, in the clearest and most spirited terms of being a false old thief. Stellan’s sword play was more skilful4 and he got in a whole series of neat little thrusts, each one of which would have been a sufficient indictment5 in a prosecution6 for misrepresentation and misappropriation. Peter smiled complacently7 186at these accusations8, which he regarded as so many pleasant expressions of recognition of his merit. He lied with a certain heavy grace to this assembly of expert connoisseurs9. Behind all his lies lay all the same the truth that he had really done great things for Selambshof. And he realised that in their inmost hearts his sisters and brothers knew they must look up to him, Peter the Boss, as the eldest10 and the head of the family. And after all the whole quarrel was sunk in the great and glorious consciousness of the daily increasing value of Selambshof.
But towards the spring these meetings were not quite as agreeable as usual. That was the fault of Tord. Yes, the despised, neglected, almost forgotten Tord down there in The Rookery began to cause the high family council very serious anxiety. He had dismissed the bohemian painter who had been a parasite11 on him for several years and instead he had returned with a woman, a slovenly12 person who spoke13 a sort of Norwegian and who was a very dubious14 person. Well, that might have passed if Tord had not got the mad idea of marrying her. The Selambs had had a terrible shock when they saw in the paper the reading of the banns. And now a fortnight later they were sitting by a big wood fire in the icy hall of Selambshof and knew no more than that Tord had driven to town with the woman that morning. They might already be married by now, though the sisters and brothers had been told nothing. Really it was extraordinary behaviour....
Let us now see how Tord Selamb had come to do this most unexpected thing: arranging for the banns to be read and going to church to be married.
The story really begins with the severing15 of Tr?sk?ngen and the Quarry16. Peter had in some way tricked Tord into being absent at the meeting when the sale was decided17 on. This put him into a fury which increased in violence when Tord saw the secret retreat of his youth defiled18 by boundary posts, trenches19, blasting and disgusting hordes20 of insolent21 187intruders. His protracted22 fury finally resulted in some immoderate and indignant articles in the yellow press. Tord was not, of course, indignant that people should be tricked into living on a marsh23 and on a refuse dump. No, he was furious because of this encroachment24 upon his dominion25 of boxes of lizards26 and frogs. He tried to enlist27 science in his cause by clamouring about some rare marsh flowers and an unique diving bug28. It was a vehement29 defence of the wilderness30 and an infuriated battle cry against the town. And the whole concluded with some mixed reflections of a hermit’s spleen, pseudo-science, artist’s slang and bad nature-lyrics.
The articles were of course anonymous31. But Peter recognised the author from certain attacks and exposures. He was not ungrateful for this valuable free advertisement of Maj?ngen and Solberget, which must now appear to the uninitiated as a glorious paradise in the wilderness. But for the sake of order he made certain representations to his youngest brother, which resulted in a quarrel, during which Tord gave vent32 to his excitement by letting off his gun, into the air it is true, but still a gunshot.
Filled with a new indignation, Tord continued his articles and painted on the wall the devil of capitalistic greed despoiling33 nature, with features which resembled those of Peter the Boss to a nicety. He began to develop a taste for writing. He suddenly felt that he was meant to be a writer, and was at once seized with a violent contempt for the art of painting. It is true that all he wrote, except those violent articles of propaganda, was cast into the editor’s waste paper basket, but that only increased his irritation34 without in any way convincing him of his incapacity. After a quarrel with his old painter-friend over the relative values of the two arts he without further ado kicked out the disgusting parasite who had tricked him into wasting the most beautiful years of his youth with such rubbish as the crayon and the paint brush.
188The painter was gone. Libations with Peter were over. Tord was alone, quite alone with his foxes and crows and mice in the gruesome Rookery.
He got into the habit of making long excursions into the town—the detestable town. Nothing like it had happened to him since he had slipped out there as a boy in profound secrecy35 for some devilment. At that time he had had a strange, secret partnership36 with some unknown vagabond in whose company he had pilfered37 in the market place and cut holes in sacks of flour down by Skeppsbron. He remembered the latter especially because of the strange, soothing38 satisfaction it afforded him to stand there in the twilight39 and feel the cool, velvety40 flour running through his fingers into the mud. He had already begun to revel41 in destruction, perhaps from a precocious42, instinctive43 hatred44 of all the culture on which society is based.
Tord hated the town, but not in the same way as Herman, to whom it meant lawsuits45 and a bad conscience. Tord did not suffer from his conscience. No, he had an instinctive hatred of all the adaptability46, refinement47, co-operation and methodical work for which it stood. He detested48 the great complex machine in which men are only cogs. It was the complex purposefulness and relative common sense of teeming49 civic50 life which tormented51 him.
But Stockholm was becoming a great city and as such it had another side. It was a jungle, a wilderness of stone, the home of the thronging53 masses and of cold emptiness by night. But the town began to exert a certain fascination54 over Tord. He was going to be a writer, as we know, and those who can do nothing else can always explore the special vices55 of the imagination. He discovered that loneliness in a crowd has many joys for a fastidious individualist. The masses are necessary, so that we may look down on them. In the crush of humanity we dream so easily of the lofty heights from which all below look like creeping things. It is always so with the dreams of sterile57 189genius. It would begin at the top, forgetful of all that lies below.
So much for Tord and the throng52. But he did not hold out long. He soon relapsed into restless despair. He was frightened by the very masses over which he had just triumphed, and fled, full of loathing58, home to The Rookery.
No, it was better in the emptiness and the cold stony59 landscape. To stroll about in the deserted60 outskirts61 of the town in the uncertain spring twilight when the masses of houses rise up like huge banks of darkness in the waning62 light and the street lamps look like giant submarine lilies which have collected all the cold phosphorescent light. To drift about on still summer’s nights when the lamps are out and everything sleeps at the bottom of a green sea, where the desires of our dreams move silently like great fishes. The town in storm and darkness when the lonely wanderer, stimulated63 by drink, imagines himself lord of this brooding deserted world of stone! The town as landscape, as nature, as the hunting ground of all the wild instincts. The narrow back street defiles64, the dark ambushes65 of the doorways66, the snares68 of the public house and the bordel. Hazard, adventure, vice56, women! Yes, every evening the town was a great wild jungle where the chase of women was permitted. Tord pursued this chase with a restless and obstinate69 interest. He had the lonely man’s long vision for a woman’s shadow. He could follow one after the other for hours but without being able to approach one. He was consumed by an envious70 hatred of the enterprise of others more bold. He returned home dead tired, embittered71 and lonely, lonely....
Nevertheless it was in this hunting ground that Tord Selamb at last met his fate. It was one dark, rainy, icy cold evening in March. Hot and cold, heedless and obstinate he followed a woman. But it did not end as usual. The dark shadow would not allow itself to be caught; it 190did not suddenly vanish in a doorway67. The figure in front of him only walked on and on, against the wind, restlessly, without goal or purpose, it seemed, but sharply dismissing all who accosted72 it. Now and then it dived into a dark back street or crept into a gateway73, but more from caprice than to escape its pursuers. The purposelessness of its roving movements fascinated Tord in quite a peculiar74 way. It was like a beast of the forest, he thought. He had not yet seen its face but its step was young and springy. This was really no idle loitering. It walked with the conscious energy of one who is angry and mumbles75 disjointed phrases to himself. Then it walked towards the southern heights of the town. Then steps and a square with melancholy76 sighing trees, and then a cobbled back street with a few yellow flickering77 lamps on posts at the corners of the ramshackle old houses. It was a cul-de-sac, terminating in a big wooden barrier. Below glimmered78 the rough wet sides of the hill, lit up by the lights along a flight of steps on the other side of a deep, dark, shaft-like yard. The woman did not appear to notice Tord. She took something out of her pocket and hurled80 it down into the depths. It struck the stone with a faint metallic81 sound. Tord was now standing82 beside her. What had she thrown down? The question burnt his lips but he remained mute in spite of himself. She turned round and was about to resume her progress, when a sound was heard from the black bag she carried in her hand. She suddenly pulled out a little grey kitten and kissed it:
The kitten was Tord’s fate, it broke for a moment the spell of his dumbness:
“What did you throw down?” he asked suddenly.
She carefully put the kitten back again and answered without looking at him, straight into the chilly84 darkness, but in a tone of triumph and determination:
“It was the key.”
191“What key?”
“To the studio, of course. Beastly, disgusting creature! Now that’s done with at last!”
And then came her story, disingenuous85, straightforward86, unblushing, and with a strong appeal. She had been living with a sculptor87 who had recently returned from Paris. She had been with him the whole winter. Oh, how she had spoilt the beast! Cooked his food and been his model all the day. She was posing as the young witch. “And everybody said I was a splendid witch,” she exclaimed, whilst an angry little smile flashed beneath the dripping brim of her hat. But what had this beast of a sculptor done when his lump of clay was ready? He had gone to an uncle in Kalmar to get some money. He would be back in a few days, he said. But no, not a sign of life for a fortnight. She had been sitting there cold and starving in company with the witch under her damp cover. But now that was over. Now she had stuck a knife and fork into the witch’s hands and an empty breadbasket on her head and the sculptor’s old pipe in her mouth. And now she had left and only taken Kirre with her. And down there lay the key and it was impossible to find it again.
“So now you will have to get food for me and the cat and a roof over our heads,” she said quickly to Tord.
Tord asked for nothing better. For once he did not feel anxious or suspicious. She seemed to him like a hunted animal. She was like the fox he had freed from the trap and taken home.
He took her home to The Rookery. Not until the following morning did he think of asking her name. She was called Dagmar Bru and was the daughter of a Norwegian musician in Copenhagen, she said. Probably some dissolute fiddler who scraped in some low-class restaurant. Her mother she could not remember. She had worked at a lace curtain factory before she came to the 192sculptor. Tord could get no more out of her and he did not press her. He loved hearing how she had hated the mill. There was style about her. Something wild and free. A beautiful witch! She had fair hair, plentiful88, luxuriant, rough hair. A real mane. It was rather uneven89, for she had simply cut it off where it was entangled90. Any jewellery she could find she put on just like a savage91.
Dagmar stayed at The Rookery. Tord would not let her go. He loved her with a love that consisted largely of scolding and sulking, and which was therefore sincere. He needed her. At whom otherwise could he hurl79 his bitter reflections on Woman. Once when he had been worse than usual she threatened to go back to her father, the musician. Then he felt how terribly empty it would be not to have her as a butt92 for his reproaches. He became frightened, frightened to the bottom of his heart lest she should throw away the key of The Rookery as she had done that of the studio. And then he suddenly did something that he had never dreamed of before. He asked her to become his wife.
Dagmar said that marriage would be something quite new—one might always try it.
So they had the banns read and drove to church on the same day as the great family council met at Selambshof.
Laura was warming her toes on the fender and quickly swallowed a third cup of coffee:
“Tord is an egoist,” she exclaimed in a tone of moral indignation. “He is an awful egoist. He has no regard for others.”
All agreed. Stellan’s ever watchful93 irony94 seemed to have vanished. He found nothing ridiculous in such words on Laura’s lips. He felt with a queer sort of bitterness that in Tord the Selamb egoism had declined from the high plane on which it was assured of success in the world. He was dangerous, Tord, he did not hide 193what ought to be hidden, he unmasked them all; he was a caricature of them.
Peter stood watching in the window. He made a sign. A cab came driving up the avenue. It was Tord and that woman. No doubt about it. Tord wore a white tie. It was the first time they had ever seen him in a white tie. And the woman had a bouquet95 of flowers in her hand. They had come from church....
Stellan stamped on the floor:
“Damn him! He must get out of this. I can’t have him within five miles’ distance of my mess and my club!”
“We ought to have let the police take that woman,” fumed96 Laura. “And Tord ought to be in some kind of home. Hasn’t he even tried to shoot Peter?”
Peter had kept silent the whole time and looked very mysterious. Now he thought the right moment had arrived:
“I was out duck shooting a week or two ago,” he grunted97. “It was at a place called J?rn? which lies far out at sea. A fine island. And it is for sale. Fancy if we put Tord in a boat and took him out there....”
At that moment somebody stepped into the hall. It was Mrs. Dagmar Selamb in an open fur coat, white silk frock and somewhat down-at-heel shoes. She did not look at all nervous or anxious. There was something light-hearted, something irrepressibly carefree about her:
“How do you do,” she said. “I thought I would call whilst I still had some decent clothes!”
She was greeted by amazed, icy silence.
Dagmar shook her fair mane with a little flash of impatience98:
“Perhaps it seems strange that I haven’t brought him with me. He is playing with his Japanese mice, poor fellow, and in his new black evening dress, too! We must excuse him. ‘I won’t go up to those bourgeois99!’ he screamed. ‘But I am going,’ I said. ‘They have done 194nothing to me,’ I said. Well, and here I am. The whole family is assembled, I see....”
Again a few moments of the same silence. Dagmar’s features were at last overshadowed by a certain doubt as to whether she was welcome.
Then Peter suddenly stepped up to her and took her hand:
“Congratulations,” he said, “congratulations.”
And suddenly all of them smiled, struck by the same thought as Peter. They were splendid, those Selambs. They realised at once that it was important to gain an ally.
“You can’t be very comfortable down in The Rookery,” said Laura.
Dagmar threw her coat on a chair and sat down by the fire:
“Oh, it’s good enough for us.”
Peter followed Laura:
“But how would it be to have your own place?”
Dagmar laughed:
“I see, you want to get rid of us!”
“It is for Tord’s sake,” continued Stellan. “We had thought it would be a little surprise. He is such a lover of nature....”
“I suppose it is somewhere at the end of the world,” asked Dagmar.
“Not at all,” Peter cut in. “It is out in the skerries by the sea. You couldn’t have a finer view. And such lots of game, sea birds and capercailzie and hares and foxes. That would be something for Tord. Fancy to be one’s own master and live exactly as one likes....”
Dagmar’s eyes suddenly lit up:
“The sea, you say. And do you think I could go out every morning and lie down quite naked in the sunshine?”
“Of course, that’s just what I mean.”
Dagmar was too absorbed in her thoughts to hear Laura snigger.
“Good, then we agree.”
“Yes, I like your proposal very much. But how shall we manage to get Selamb to agree? He is so crazy sometimes, poor fellow. You simply can’t imagine.”
“Oh! be careful in the beginning” said Peter. “Flatter him a bit. Tell him that he has money enough to buy his own estate. That he ought to free himself from that cursed fellow, Peter the Boss. But our little sister-in-law will know better than I what to say.”
Dagmar rose smiling, pleased with the cunning which she would display.
“Good, there’s my hand. I shall be like a snake. Good-bye, all of you. He must have something to eat. I think you are jolly nice, all of you!”
With that Mrs. Dagmar Selamb went out in her shabby shoes—not without a certain savage grace.
The solemn family council laughed and laughed. Laura writhed102:—“Lying quite naked in the sun,” she screamed. “I am mad on lying absolutely naked in the sun.”
The laughter was soon followed by a quarrel, one of the sharpest in the history of the family council. And of course it was on a question of money. Tord had nothing but his shares in Selambshof, no ready money. There was first a keen debate as to who ought to collect the purchase money. Peter sat silent and let the others talk. Yes, Peter the Boss had suddenly become strangely indifferent. His cigar seemed to absorb him completely. This was a mock battle that he did not mind them fighting. He knew very well that he was the only one who had ready money. At last he said quietly that perhaps he could manage to scrape together a little.
The others suddenly grew suspicious of Peter’s indifference103.
196“You have been arranging the whole thing beforehand. You think you are going to earn money by this. You are going to cheat Tord,” they cried.
Peter defended himself like a bear amongst a swarm104 of bees, half conscious of his guilt105 and half pleased, but without feeling their stings very much. He blinked his eyes, grunted and beat them off with both his hands.
“Good, don’t let us talk any more about it. I am not a member of any smart clubs. I don’t entertain. I like my whiskey and soda106 with Tord even though he does shoot at me occasionally.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” Stellan cut in. “What conditions have you thought of?”
“A moment ago I was really prepared to buy some of Tord’s shares,” Peter said reproachfully.
“At par,” grunted Peter. And it was as if he had torn this offer out of his bleeding heart.
His sister and brother laughed ironically, pitilessly. It would be very nice indeed to be able to buy the shares at that price. No, at least double. They were consumed by a noble indignation. They were full of fight in the cause of poor Tord. Peter was laid on the rack and was mercilessly compelled to offer more and more. He pulled faces, puffed108, swore, writhed, but it was all of no use. Selamb against Selamb, diamond cut diamond. Finally they set to work coolly and keenly without the aid of lies. Things went so far that there were threats of dismissing the manager from his post. They all thought they had been cheated by Peter. Now was the opportunity for revenge. He was forced to give a binding109 guarantee of one hundred thousand crowns for half of Tord’s shares and not to take any commission on the purchase of J?rn?.
Thus unconsciously Tord did a good stroke of business whilst he sat there feeding his Japanese mice—thanks to the envy of his brothers and sisters.
197As things turned out there was no need to handle Tord delicately. He agreed at once when he heard of an island full of living creatures. And the sea! That would be something for his poetic110 bent111. And when Peter, who had done all he possibly could in the matter, came and put the sixty thousand crowns that were left after the purchase of J?rn? into his hands, he was so astounded112 that he forgot his suspicions for a whole week. Then for the first time he began to tell Dagmar that that cursed Peter had of course cheated him, though he could not say exactly how.
He was, as a matter of fact, right. Peter had at the last moment got J?rn? five thousand crowns cheaper than his sisters and brothers were told. So he earned a little on the business all the same.
Thus Tord moved out to J?rn? with a lot of cages. He had a whole menagerie. And Dagmar looked rather like a tamer of wild animals.
The old dilapidated dwelling113 house lay in a little garden among the small patches of cultivated ground below the rocks in the southern part of the island. Tord could not live there. It was too tame—too close to his tenant’s little red cottage. No, they must build a log hut of coarse timber on the highest cliff, a real eagle’s eyrie with a view over his estate of stones and water!
Here we shall find him later on, just as before in the old Rookery by the muddy bay of Lake M?lare—but all the same as if grown greater by the sea and the winter loneliness.
END OF PART ONE
END OF PART ONE
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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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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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indictment
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| n.起诉；诉状 | |
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prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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connoisseurs
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| n.鉴赏家，鉴定家，行家( connoisseur的名词复数 ) | |
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eldest
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parasite
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| n.寄生虫；寄生菌；食客 | |
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slovenly
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| adj.懒散的，不整齐的，邋遢的 | |
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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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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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severing
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的现在分词 )；断，裂 | |
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quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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defiled
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| v.玷污( defile的过去式和过去分词 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
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trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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hordes
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insolent
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protracted
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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encroachment
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dominion
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lizards
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enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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bug
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| n.虫子；故障；窃听器；vt.纠缠；装窃听器 | |
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vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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wilderness
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anonymous
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vent
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despoiling
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irritation
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secrecy
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partnership
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pilfered
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| v.偷窃（小东西），小偷( pilfer的过去式和过去分词 )；偷窃（一般指小偷小摸） | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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twilight
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velvety
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| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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41
revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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42
precocious
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| adj.早熟的；较早显出的 | |
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43
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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44
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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45
lawsuits
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| n.诉讼( lawsuit的名词复数 ) | |
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46
adaptability
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| n.适应性 | |
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47
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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48
detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
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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50
civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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51
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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52
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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53
thronging
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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54
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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55
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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56
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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57
sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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58
loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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59
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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60
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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61
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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62
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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63
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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64
defiles
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| v.玷污( defile的第三人称单数 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
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65
ambushes
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| n.埋伏( ambush的名词复数 )；伏击；埋伏着的人；设埋伏点v.埋伏( ambush的第三人称单数 )；埋伏着 | |
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66
doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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67
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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68
snares
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| n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 )；圈套；诱人遭受失败（丢脸、损失等）的东西；诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
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69
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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70
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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71
embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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73
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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74
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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75
mumbles
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| 含糊的话或声音，咕哝( mumble的名词复数 ) | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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78
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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81
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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82
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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83
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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85
disingenuous
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| adj.不诚恳的，虚伪的 | |
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86
straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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87
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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88
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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89
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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90
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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92
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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93
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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94
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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95
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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96
fumed
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| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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97
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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98
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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99
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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100
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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101
bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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102
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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104
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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105
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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106
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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107
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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108
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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109
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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110
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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111
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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112
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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113
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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