Stellan wore mourning crepe round his arm. His father-in-law had moved down to the aristocracy in the sepulchral7 vault8 at Trefvinge half a year ago, not without having first immortalized his memory by a donation to the House of Nobles and in this way gaining posthumous9 admittance.
Stellan had arranged to meet Laura at the bank. He felt quite comfortable in banks nowadays, since he no longer had any bills to meet on their due date. He had waited more than a quarter of an hour without showing any special signs of impatience10. He enjoyed the quiet hum, the hushed murmur11 of voices, as in a temple. And indeed the big vaulted12 hall supported on its massive polished stone pillars was like a temple above his shining silk hat. Behind the counter the bank clerks solemnly officiated at the high altar of capital, to the accompaniment of rustling13 bank-notes, ringing coins and the rattling14 of the calculating machines that reminded you of eternally revolving15 prayer wheels.
318It was a temple raised to the real State religion. Above its high copper16 doors there ought to have stood in thin gold letters the one great word: “Possess!”
Here in the bank Stellan almost seemed to grow reconciled to the thought of his new brother-in-law. At first he had felt a pronounced discomfort17 when the news of Laura’s marriage in Petersburg suddenly tumbled down on him at Trefvinge. Her husband, Count Alexis von Borgk, was a Finnish senator of the Bobrikov régime and was a very well-known instrument of Tzarism in Finland. And Laura had written that they meant to move over to Sweden. Stellan did not need to see his wife screw up her face to feel anxious concerning the reception of the couple in society.
But Count von Borgk was rich, very rich, it was said. And here in the bank Stellan felt, as I said before, a little calmer.
At last Laura appeared through the swingdoors, smiling light-heartedly, just pleasantly plump, perhaps a shade more blonde than before. She was dressed in white, dazzling white, from the silk ribbon in her hat to the tips of her shoes below the rich folds of her skirt.
“Good-morning, Laura dear! Congratulations. It was a surprise!”
“For me too,” said Laura and smiled her most innocent smile. “I had positively18 no idea I was going to get married. But why does Your Highness give audience here and not at Trefvinge?”
“Oh, I wanted to meet you alone the first time.”
“I see—and Elvira detests19 banks, doesn’t she...?” Laura looked round and turned up her nose a little: “Well, so here we are back in this gossipping hole. And I who felt so happy in Petersburg! Asia, that’s the place for me!”
319“Why did you not stay in—Asia, then, my dear Laura?”
“I can understand that it would have saved Elvira some worry. But Alexis has altogether withdrawn22 from politics. And he does not feel at home in either Finland or Russia. He is just selling his estates there. ‘I have saved them from one revolution,’ he says, ‘but I should not succeed in the next.’ He longs for the peace of Sweden. It was the last negotiations23 that unexpectedly detained him. He is coming next week....”
The bank began to fill up with people. Stellan proposed that they should go down into the safe deposit where he had some papers to look through.
It was quiet and cool down in the crypt of the Mammon temple. The electric lights hung more heavily and more motionless there than anywhere else in this catacomb of wealth, where deeds of mortgages, receipts and share certificates slept their sleep in hundreds and hundreds of polished steel boxes in the walls, and where there were discreet24 and comfortable little compartments26 for the devotions of the worshippers.
Sister and brother sat down in one compartment25.
“So this is your refuge nowadays,” said Laura. “Well, but what about your Aeronautic27 Society and your ballooning? I have looked in the papers but have never seen your name.”
“No, I have given it up.”
“Yes, it is easier to go up with a hundred thousand in debts than with double the amount in income. But you still gamble in this little town, I suppose?”
“I’ve given that up, too,” he muttered.
“But what in God’s name do you do then?”
“I cut off coupons29 and look after my malaria5. But it was not of me we were speaking, but of you. Where do you intend to settle?”
320“Well, not in the country, that is certain,” exclaimed Laura, and one could see in her face that this point had been the subject of discussions.
“So your husband wants to settle on an estate.”
“Yes, he imagines he does.”
“What if you should make a compromise and take Selambshof.”
“Why not? The big house stands quite unoccupied. Repaired and restored it might make a splendid home. And then it would be useful to keep an eye on Peter. He is getting too awful. There are always stories about him in the papers.”
Laura looked at her brother coldly:
“The master of Trefvinge is afraid of the papers. And so he wants to put me in as a lovely guardian31 for Peter.”
Stellan lowered his voice:
“There are other reasons too. Peter is, as a matter of fact, beginning to go down hill. He is yellow and flabby in the face and he doesn’t take care of himself. If I am not mistaken something may soon happen. We have great interests to guard.”
Laura suddenly became thoughtful. She swung the gold knob of her white sunshade and looked as if she were making calculations. She always did this when she was serious.
Stellan had got his papers and the steel lid of his safe closed with a bang:
“You needn’t say anything definite now,” he said. “I will arrange a family dinner out there when your husband comes. My man will have to clean up a little, as best he can. And on a fine summer evening Selambshof doesn’t look so bad.... Well, we shall see.”
Laura nodded silently. As a matter of fact over there in the East she had boasted a little of her social relations. 321Count von Borgk had perhaps partly married her in order to be introduced to the aristocratic circles of Sweden. And that is why she wanted Selambshof to appear as attractive as possible.
They left the vault.
Up in the bank they met Levy32 with a black portfolio33 under his arm and surrounded by a crowd of business friends. He was pale, handsome, and still wore his old exquisitely34 ironical36 expression. He hurried up and bowed to Laura.
“Congratulations, Countess von Borgk! Is it true what people say, that you won your husband at roulette?”
Levy was his old self.
Laura tapped him on the shoulders with her sunshade and laughed unconcernedly. But Stellan looked stiffly after the Jew as he disappeared in eager discussion with his company.
Sister and brother stopped for a moment at the corner before they said good-bye:
“That fellow Levy is making up to Hedvig, I think,” Stellan mumbled37. “The winding-up of the estate took an enormous time. They say he still appears out there at Liding?n.”
“Hedvig? Poor fellow!”
“It would not be exactly pleasant to have Levy in the family, don’t you think so?”
Laura stood there in shining white and without a trace of a flush.
“No ... perhaps not....”
“It would be best to give Hedvig a hint—tactfully—that Levy is—second hand....”
“Nonsense, just frighten her and tell her that Levy wants her money. That will have more effect!”
Then they separated.
322“Ugh,” Laura mumbled as she walked about in the sunshine outside the Grand Hotel, “ugh, how moral Stellan has grown.”
From which you can see that everything is relative in this world.
Peter stalked home from his tailor. It was Stellan who had forced him to order a new suit of evening clothes for the family dinner.
Peter had at first obstinately39 refused. It seemed to him a matter of honour not to betray his greasy40 old evening coat. Not till Stellan had promised to pay the bill did he give in.
“Tell the tailor you have won the suit as a bet,” Stellan hissed41 out. “It is unnecessary to show people what a mean beggar you are!”
Peter took his revenge by ordering the most expensive things he could get hold of.
He was walking homewards one sultry August night, yellow in the face, bent42 and heavy. His head, which had always been a little askew43, had sunk between his shoulders. He walked on the edge of the foot path, staring at the paving stones, and carefully avoided stepping on the joints44, so that sometimes he took gigantic steps and sometimes proceeded with a ridiculous strut45. It was always so when Peter went pondering over business.
Twice he stole into small bars and had a glass. The further he came out towards the suburb—his suburb—the more slowly he walked. He stopped at a row of houses that were being built in a blocked up suburban46 street that was under repair and from which you could see the tops of the masts in the Ekbacken shipyard away in the background. These houses lay silent and deserted47. Their uneven48 brick walls glowed in the last rays of the sun high up above the chasm49 of the street. But in the empty window-holes the heavy twilight50 floated and he visualized51 323all the struggles and mean worries that would soon be housed there. Peter stood in the raw chilly52 draught53 from the gaps in the walls and thoughtfully stirred a big trough of mortar54 with his stick. His expression was at the same time one of disapproval55 and contempt. “Don’t build,” he muttered, “don’t build! Buy from those who have built beyond their means. Houses are worst for those who have them first. Quite different from girls, ha, ha! But then they are good, damned good. No shares and such rubbish for me. What is it they say about a thief? Yes, he is one who has not had time to promote a company, ha, ha! No, land and bricks are better. Both real bricks and those that have engraved56 on them ‘robur et securitas.’”
After this monologue57 Peter stalked on in the twilight. He then came to a rather wild and queer patch of stony58 ground which most resembled the scene of a devastating59 battle. It was here that the country and town skirmished with each other on a battlefield that was never cleared, full of blown-up rocks, rubbish heaps, bottomless fragments of road and fields brown and intersected with a deep trench60. The town had pushed forward its apparatus61 of siege: stone-cutters’ sheds, metal-crushers and dynamite62 boxes. The country obstinately defended its retreat by guerilla troops of creeping nettles63 and dock leaves, whilst one or two dried-up dusty pines represented the remnants of the main army in retreat.
But Peter was the marauder in this war. From each onward65 push of the town he would creep home with fresh booty of war. He strolled among the rubbish and interposed his coarse signature between those of the buyer and seller. And woe66 to him who had ventured too far in the heat of the moment. They were his victims at once.
Peter struggled panting up a mountain of road metal. 324He stood up dark against the red evening sky, a grinning and spying evil spirit on a pedestal of millions of broken fragments of stones. He looked out over the masses of houses of the town. They were enveloped67 in smoke, smouldering like a weary brain after a long working day. The very air around them seem used up and tired. Yes, there the stupid town lay and sweated and converted Peter’s rocks into gold. It paid dearly for its work. And still there was no gratitude68 in his glance as he looked down upon it from the macadam mountain, but rather something resembling inveterate69 distrust and aversion. The town, the community, and the public were there to be cheated and that was all. This was the doom70 pronounced on the honest old granite71 rocks and it made them less safe, less suited for human habitation.
Then Peter turned on his heel and glanced at his own domains72. Then he saw the grey ribbon of a new road stretched past red fences and high piles of wood, long and straight as an arrow it stretched with neat, well measured plots of building land on either side. Yes, it was like following the columns of a cash book with safe entries and solid credits. All the way to the big sandpit all was well. But there Maj?ngen began, Peter’s sore spot. He fell in his own estimation as half involuntarily he stared at that miserable73 agglomeration74 of cottages above which even the sunset glow seemed sullied and decayed.
Peter was afraid of Maj?ngen. For several years he had not dared to set foot there. And his fear was shared by all his neighbours and, as a matter of fact, by the whole town. Yes, Maj?ngen was a name of terror. Peter’s own policy had long ago driven away all decent, honest people, and now only the worst rabble75 lived there. In the twilight they swarmed76 out of their holes, the Maj?ngen roughs, thin, pale, with their hands deep in the pockets of their wide trousers and caps pulled down over their eyes. They had a new style. Their slang and their types quickly took 325possession of the comic papers, so that Peter and his like soon began to talk the simple but expressive77 language of their mortal enemies.
These youths conducted a bitter war against Selambshof. They pulled down fences, broke windows, trampled78 on garden beds. Their numerous thefts testified to their activity, against which he tried in vain to defend himself with fierce dogs and barbed wire. Safe in their immunity79 from punishment and intoxicated80 with their success, the hooligans of Maj?ngen extended their raids to the outskirts81 of the town, where epidemics82 of theft and brawling84 broke out. But it was not enough that hooliganism, prostitution, theft, damage to property and brawls85 issued from Maj?ngen as from an open sore, worst of all were the epidemics. Diphtheria, scarlet86 fever and typhus succeeded each other out there in the cottages and were a constant menace both to Selambshof and to the town. These were Peter’s epidemics. There were no drains, and in his greed he had not given a hand’s breadth of land to those who wanted to supply water and light to the community. It was a terrible blunder that was to become both costly87 and dangerous both to him and to the town. Now in the dog days there raged again a terrible typhus epidemic83 which had caused the loss of several human lives in the immediate88 neighbourhood of Selambshof.
Peter crawled down from the heap of road metal as if the very sight of the seat of plague were dangerous. As usual, he returned by way of Ekbacken.
Slowly he walked past the fine house, where old Hermansson had lived, and which was now used as a public-house and for working men’s tenements89. Down in the shipyard he stopped below an old ghost of a brig that raised its blackened rigging towards the empty space above and whose riven sides disclosed serious rot. Here, as usual, his temper improved. Why did Peter really like to walk about among the tarred shavings or to sit and ponder over 326the rough weathered logs on the stack? Why did he continue this business, which, even if it did not quite run at a loss, was still of no importance? Did he perhaps after all enjoy the shadow of honest and productive work that lifted its languishing90 head here on his fine shore property—which increased in value from year to year? Or did he keep the yard going from a pious91 memory of Herman and his first good stroke of business?
Then he came down to the pier92, the long rotting, shaking, pier which still, as if by miracle, held together. Out there on the seat two figures were visible against the dark smooth water, one bent and huddled93 up and the other thin like a boy, with straight back. One was, of course, Lundbom, the old fixture94 Lundbom, who was still able to keep the books. But the other? It was funny how he reminded you of poor old Herman! But it must be Georg, Laura’s Georg! It was not the first time Peter had seen the tall lad wandering about here on the quay95, talking to the workmen and old Lundbom. “Let me see,” thought Peter, “what if the fellow is planning some trouble for Laura.” And this thought brought him a certain satisfaction. For his own part he did not feel any remorse96 or the least unpleasantness at the sight of Georg out here. It simply did not occur to him that he had once wronged his father. He thought rather with a certain phantom-like return of sentimentality of the twenty thousand that Herman had with him when he left. “Well, yes, I saved the slam for him anyhow, I saved the slam.”
Of Herman’s fate in America he had during all these years never heard a sound, he did not even know if he was alive....
At last Peter reached the avenue leading up to Selambshof. He now walked slowly and half reluctantly. The evenings had grown very long in the bailiff’s wing. And he did not dare to call in the coachman now when Stellan’s cursed butler was there in the main building....
327It was very dark under the dense97 old elms. Just over his head Peter saw a narrow strip of sky and some faint, twinkling stars. Then he heard steps and whispers in the garden. Holding his stick tight and feeling quite revived, he crept behind a scraggy tree trunk.
The old fence creaked and suddenly several boys came jumping over the ditch beside Peter. He got hold of the nearest whilst the others disappeared quick as lightning in the dark. Aha! Apple thieves! The boy had his pockets full of unripe98 fruit.
A long, terrible, shrill101 scream rent the close air. And then Peter suddenly felt the pain of a bite in his arm. He did not let go, but puffing102 and blowing he dragged the boy with him into the office, where he locked the door and lit the lamp.
“Here nobody will hear if you yell,” he mumbled.
But when Peter came up to the boy again with the stick, he was startled at something in his pale dirty face, distorted with crying:
“Where do you come from?” he mumbled.
“Maj?ngen.”
“Who are your parents?”
“Mother washes....”
“What’s her name?”
“Frida ?berg!”
Then the boy suddenly stopped sobbing104 and stared Peter boldly in the face with an impudent105, horribly precocious106 look that seemed to indicate that he knew all.
Peter had the sensation of horrid107 nakedness, of bare shivering flesh. It was as when in a nightmare you suddenly find you have forgotten your trousers. But at the same time he was afraid to betray himself by a hint of 328weakness. So he seized the boy firmly by the ear and led him to the door:
“Don’t ever steal apples again,” he muttered. “It’s ugly to steal. I won’t thrash you any more this time.”
Quick as a flash the boy disappeared from his grip and was swallowed up in the shadows of the trees. But from the thick silent darkness Peter at once heard a shrill, sharp voice, mad with fury but at the same time pitiful and terrible:
“You damned carcase. I’ll pay you out for that, you damned old carcase!”
Peter closed the shutters108. He had long ago had shutters put up. Then he sat down under the lamp and examined the bite in his arm. And he was frightened, frightened as a mouse, of infection from Maj?ngen.
Then the day of the great family dinner arrived.
Between resplendent footmen the carriages and the motor cars drove up over the newly-weeded and freshly-raked sand-covered ground in front of the house. For many reasons they had avoided the daylight and chosen the twilight, which concealed109 the worst neglect.
Peter had received strict orders to behave decently. He stood in the hall underneath110 an improvised111 decoration of antelopes’ heads and negro weapons—trophies from Stellan’s African shooting trip—and received the guests. In his new evening dress he felt like a foot that has gone to sleep in a tight boot. He had pins and needles in his whole body. The thought that he would eat and drink as much as he liked quite free of charge could not overcome his fear of Count von Borgk, whom after all these magnificent preparations he imagined to be some sort of wonderful superman, so covered with orders that any other poor devil would feel quite naked in the region of the left lapel. But Peter calmed down when the newly married couple arrived at last and the Count proved to be a gentleman whom Laura 329could have hidden away in her décolletage. Yes, he was a little dark gentleman with soft eyes, that avoided looking into other people’s eyes, and with an expression round the mouth that was both suffering and sensual. He had thin, hairy hands which seemed to melt away when you shook hands. He spoke112 a low, sing-song Finnish-Swedish with a certain admixture of Slavonic softness and suppleness113. And his dress coat was bare, quite bare over his heart.
It was strange to think that this was the hated and feared Count Alexis von Borgk, accused by exiled Finns of a perverse114 betrayal of his country and of coarse political sadism. Was he one of those neurasthenics of authority who are only able to breathe amid the cold momentous115 gusts116 of world politics? Was he one of those strange heraldic beings who are irresistibly117 attracted by the austere118 magnificence of a throne; who are linked to the forces of reaction by emblems119 and ceremonies? Or was he perhaps a weak dreamer who had fallen a victim to the mystery of panslavism and who had nothing but the grey spleen left for anything so mean as a Grand Duchy with a few million souls? Anyhow he was now a man who could no longer retain the post he had chosen, but had retired120, having all the same suffered and sacrificed something. A son by a previous marriage with a Russian had fallen in the Russian-Japanese war just after he had been commissioned lieutenant121.
But Laura was not in the least affected122 by this. She took her husband playfully. The Countess had really escaped from the skirmishes of life with surprising ease. Her smile had kept its impertinent freshness. She still continued to look as if she had just got out of bed, and had a little of the warmth of the bed left. And her skin was in some strange way more naked than that of other ladies. This evening a lot of jewellery with some cold green stones shimmered123 on it, but no pearls. Pearls did not suit her, 330she thought. Did she perhaps realize that their soft roundness and mellow124 sheen are symbols of quite a different sort of womanliness?
Among those who did not know her, Laura always created a sensation by having Georg with her. They had not seen him for years and had almost forgotten his existence. And now he suddenly appeared on the scene, a tall, well grown lad of sixteen, dressed up in his first dress shirt and dress coat and still quite shy and confused by this unexpected promotion125 after years of oblivion and neglect. He was really very like his father, Georg, so like that one was almost startled. There was something open, honest, straight-backed, that the Selambs regarded as stupidity, but with a new admixture of grit126 and determination that made all except Laura think. She seemed to be merely content with her new possession. Imagine that that overgrown schoolboy in his ridiculous knickers and worn sailor’s blouse should turn out so presentable. Yes, these last days Georg had been paraded, introduced, boasted of, and spoilt. She went with him everywhere just as in the recklessness of love you would show off a new lover. Perhaps it may, as a matter of fact, have been a whimsical motherly falling in love. Perhaps something reserved, even hostile in her son had awakened127 her feminine desire for conquest. Or was it only secret anxiety born of the glance of shy, uncomprehending fear that Georg first cast upon his new stepfather?
They went in to dinner.
Stellan and his butler had really worked marvels128. The shabby old dining-room at Selambshof was impossible to recognize, thanks to a soft wine-red carpet, expensive sconces, handsome high backed chairs, exquisite35 table silver, and plenty of white orchids130.
But it looked all the same as if it was going to be a silent dinner. They were mute after the first nervous talk. They stared at the batteries of untouched glasses in front of each 331chair as if they signified a troublesome journey with many hardships. Mrs. Elvira sat cool and thin in her armour131 of jet and black silk and breathed reserve from every fibre of her body. And Hedvig Hill seemed a monument of silence. Words seemed to shrink and freeze away in her neighbourhood. Everybody seemed to be afraid of the wine going down the wrong throat after Peter’s awkward speech of welcome during the soup. All except Laura. She continued, apparently132 unconcerned and gay, her little flirtation133 with Georg.
“Your health, Georg dear!”
Georg obeyed again. Laura threw a kiss to him: “Just look how sweet the boy looks!”
Georg grew purple in the face and looked at his plate. Laura clapped her hands:
“And he blushes like a little girl!”
Count Alexis followed this flirtation with languid eyes and a little tired smile:
“Well, that is something our good Georg has not inherited from you.”
Evidently the Count had no illusions.
Then there was a new silence, only interrupted by the almost inimical ringing of glasses and knives. But Laura did not give in. She looked about her with bright defiant135 eyes. Then she suddenly turned to Hedvig and began to talk of Levy. It was really deliciously impudent of her to start just that topic. Laura teased Hedvig a little about her lawyer, warned her in playful phrases against his business genius and then said a few malevolent136 little truths about Jews in general.
“You see Alexis is an anti-Semite and I’ve caught it from him,” she ended up with a soft smile.
Hedvig answered nothing. She only turned white in the 332face. Even her perfect bare shoulders grew whiter and seemed to radiate a chill through the dark velvet137 of her dress. But her black eyes stared with a shy irresolute138 hatred139 into her sister’s restless eyes.
Stellan was afraid lest Hedvig should suddenly tell Laura some awful truth; he was so afraid that his glass jingled140 against the plate as he raised it. But Laura had already noticed a haughty expression of disgust on Elvira’s face and turned at once to her sister-in-law. She began innocently far far away in Africa, on the Nile, during Stellan’s and Elvira’s famous wedding trip. From there she went over to the little panther cubs141 that they had brought home and which she had seen during her call at Trefvinge. Yes, they were too sweet, those little panther cubs, though she for her own part would never have dared to take them in her arms and play with them now that they had grown so big. But Elvira had been like a mother to them from the beginning. It was really delightful142 to see her with her little twins, so one could imagine worse results from a wedding trip....
That was one for Elvira. If Laura had torn off her clothes and pointed143 at the scars after the operation knife it could not have been more obvious. But the lady of Trefvinge Castle did not move a muscle. She only muttered quite low—so low that only those nearest to her could hear:
“My dear Laura, now you have stayed long enough in Africa. It would perhaps be good for you to think of a cooler place—say Siberia for instance.”
Laura did not trouble to catch the whisper. After her last bravado144 she settled down and seemed determined145 to be bored too.
Count Alexis seemed absent-minded during the last part of the conversation. Now his soft and musical voice was heard:
333“I wonder if I might have some water.... No thank you, not soda,—ordinary water....”
“Yes, thank you, if you have spring water.”
“Yes, certainly, ha, ha. There is certainly spring water!”
The Count filled a champagne148 glass, sipped149 it a little and leant slightly back with half-closed eyes:
“Water is so pleasant,” he mumbled. “It taste of nothing, absolutely nothing.... And everything is so calm in Sweden. You shoot so surprisingly seldom indoors or in the streets. It is like a sanatorium. And all the ladies look like nurses, charming nurses—except Laura of course....”
Then Count Alexis’ glance fell upon Old Enoch, who hung over the green sofa opposite him. He started as if a real live person had suddenly stood up, as if there were a hitherto unnoticed guest in the room.
“Whom does this excellent portrait represent?”
“It is our grandfather,” Stellan hastened to answer. “Enoch Selamb, a landed proprietor. He was a clever agriculturist in his day.”
The time was past when Stellan indulged in any playful truths about his ancestors.
Peter had already in secret found time to drink a good deal, and looked somewhat bloated.
“He was a damned rascal,” he cut in contentedly150, “a real old rascal. You couldn’t cheat him....”
He stopped when Stellan trampled on his feet and turned back to his bird and his wine. But Laura skittishly151 made the sign of the cross before her ancestor.
“Old Enoch is our patron saint,” she explained to her husband. “He ought always to have a candle burning 334before his picture—as before an ikon. Thanks to him no Selamb can do really bad business.”
The Count’s glance travelled searchingly round the table and then back to the portrait.
There was a pause again and everybody felt old Enoch’s looks directed towards him, even those who had their backs turned to the portrait.
Peter ate and drank for the whole company. The dress coat did not pinch him any more. By Jove, he began to feel at home amongst the guinea-hens and the golden pheasants. Yes this was not a bad show. “May I be damned if I ever sat down with so much money before,” he thought, “Here is Hedvig the Tragedy, who is worth at least three millions. She is lost in her pile of notes as big as herself, and there are Stellan and Elvira who are also expensive creatures, even more expensive than Hedvig, at least five millions if we count Trefvinge as worth three. And Laura, the little minx, weighs as much, if it is true that the Count has sold three big estates in Finland and Esthonia.” And then there was himself, Peter the Boss ... with Ekbacken and Kolsn?s and a big slice of Selambshof and all his building land and houses. He was the worst of them all, not less than eight millions. And that was calculating absurdly low, almost as if for income tax returns. He scarcely dared to confess to himself how much he owned. And if he added it all together it came to more than twenty millions. Or perhaps more correctly thirty. Thirty millions. Peter rolled the figure in his mouth, chewed it with the fowl153, swallowed it with the wine. Thirty millions, thirty millions....
He was not at all like King Midas. The gold agreed with him splendidly.
But just opposite sat Stellan, thin, straight, scrupulously154 elegant, with the set face of the retired gambler. He sat looking at the row of untouched glasses in front of his 335wife. All those fine vintages! An exquisite harmony in colour from the golden green mist over the light sparkling sunshine of the champagne and the glowing burgundy down to the heavy brown dash of colour in the Malvoisier! And all of it untouched, disdained155. Oh what sort of a creature had he bound himself to, thin, cold, fastidious, sterile156, incapable157 of life! Not even Africa had for a moment raised her temperature above zero. Even her capricious love of sport had suddenly been blown away when she noticed that he had expected something of it. She seemed nowadays to be exclusively occupied in being bored. It seemed as if the staff of servants at the Castle had gradually assumed all her functions of life. Stellan sometimes felt a sort of fear of her, as of a lingering disease, a dangerous languor158. Yes, the disease of wealth is infectious. He was already infected. And still he could think of nothing but collecting more money, and more money. He was afraid when he thought of anything else than money.
Stellan started. By Jove, they had already reached the dessert. He absolutely must stand up and make a speech. But how difficult it was to get out of the chair today! “Supposing I refuse to tell a lot of lies about Laura and the damned Russian,” he thought suddenly. “Supposing instead I rise and propose a toast to—absent friends! To poor Manne von Strelert who happened to shoot a hole through his head. And to that decent fellow, Herman Hermansson, who took a little trip to America. And to Percy Hill, who died in beauty. And to von Borgk’s boarders in the Peter-Paul fortress159 and in Siberia. And to all the people we have kicked over and climbed up on. Supposing I raise up Banquo’s ghost! That would be exciting!”
Compassion160 was not one of Stellan’s frailties162. He regretted nothing, felt no remorse. He only felt stiff, isolated163, frozen, paralysed by melancholy164 irony165. And when he looked round the silent circles the others seemed to 336him frozen also. It seemed as if they were all sitting frozen in a gigantic block of ice, and only imagined that they could reach each other with their thoughts, words and gestures. That they breathed and moved was probably only imagination. Really they were all dead, except Peter. Nothing affected him. He belonged to those organisms low down in the scale that can stand any amount of cold....
Yes, it was a ghost-dinner. The great ghost dinner at Selambshof. And from the wall old Enoch’s eyes stared, stared, and stung. “That’s right, my children,” they seemed to say, “now you are ready. Now I’ve got you. Now you are inside my magic circle. And none of you will escape, none....”
Stellan felt an emptiness in his head, paralysed, sick. His glance wandered from one face to the other in the circle. He scorned them, he saw through them, but still he begged them for help. “If only I can get up out of this cursed chair. If only I could get up out of this cursed chair!”
Then his wandering glance suddenly fell on Georg. Georg sat in his corner and looked lost and unhappy. An honest young face. “Bah, you know nothing yet,” Stellan thought, shrugging his shoulders. “What is straight will be crooked166, my young friend, and what is warm will grow cold.” And he felt his lips move in a pitying smile. But still he could not look away from the boy’s face. It was as if he had suspected that here was something like a crack in the wall of ice, a break in the magic circle. Yes, deep down he felt a strange relief to see him, to notice his timid protest against his stepfather, his anxious wonder at his mother, and all reflected in a face that knew nothing of dissimulation167.
At last Stellan got up and made his well-balanced speech to the newly married couple with a certain military briskness168 in his delivery.
337After all even lies have nothing but truth to live on. And even the coldest egoism must in the end draw breath beside whatever honour and goodness is left in the world. Otherwise it would die of suffocation169....
Two days after the dinner at Selambshof, Count von Borgk got typhus and was taken to a nursing home. At the same time not less than three of the servants on the estate fell ill, amongst them Peter’s housekeeper170.
Peter was in deadly fear, and could think of no other way out than to sail away immediately from all this misery171. He was already on his way down to his boat—Herman’s old “Laura,”—which still lay at her buoy172 in the bay where the bathing box was. But when he passed the well on the slope below the terrace, he saw that the cotter pin was not in its place in the little trap door at the foot of the pump. Peter lifted the lid of the well and peeped down. It was a shallow well and was now almost dried up from the long drought of the dog days. He saw at once that the bottom was covered with newspapers, dirty rags and unspeakable filth173.
Peter got up dizzy and sick. “Maj?ngen!” he thought. “The apple thief! Frida ?berg’s boy. That was what the Count got for drinking water! That’s what he got for his sanatorium!”
With a groan174 and a push of his massive body, Peter seized the pump and pump-house in a mighty175 grip and threw it down so that all might see that the well was poisoned. Then he fled head over heels down the hill to his boat and out towards the bays of Lake M?lare.
Count von Borgk’s condition did not at first cause much anxiety. His temperature was comparatively low and his strength seemed to hold out.
Laura felt normal again by and by after her own terror of infection had passed. She telephoned each day to the nursing home and sent flowers and little notes.
338But as the time passed she found it more and more difficult to find anything to write. She began to feel out of sorts, listless, bitter. She had looked forward to some pleasant weeks at the seaside and now she had to sit here and be baked at the Grand Hotel in the midst of the summer heat and the dead season.
That Count Alexis should immediately fall ill was not a part of the marriage contract.
Laura consoled herself as far as possible with Georg. During her long stay abroad he had been boarded out in the family of a bank cashier. There he had a tiny room about as big as a wardrobe, which just held his bed and school books. The cashier and his wife were cold, silent, nervous people who made a face if you talked aloud or banged the door, but who otherwise left Georg completely alone. Nobody during the last two years had asked how he was doing at school. But this very forlornness had awakened in him a defiant ambition that had kept him up to the mark.
Now he moved to his mother at the hotel and they had their meals in the big dining-room. It was an immense change. Laura had to force him to help himself to the fine food. He writhed176 on his chair and it looked as if he were eating with a bad conscience.
Laura stayed in bed late in the mornings. Usually she heard no sound from Georg until he came home breathless for lunch. He had been out for a walk, he said. Laura became curious. One morning she awoke early, at eight o’clock, and stole into Georg’s room. It was empty. And he did not return before twelve. When his mother pressed him with questions, he suddenly looked her straight in the eyes and answered vehemently177 that he had been at Ekbacken....
Laura smiled a tart103 little smile and pulled together her kimono which had opened and showed her silk stockings:
“Oh! are you so mad on boats?” she said.
339The following day whilst Laura still lay in bed the telephone on her night table rang. It was from the nursing home. The nurse who spoke sounded very serious. The Count was worse and incessantly178 expressed his wish that the Countess should come to see him.
Laura felt a violent discomfort. She grew cold all over. The thought of the nursing home made her sick. She had not yet been there. She was afraid, mortally afraid of long corridors, temperature curves, the smell of disinfectants, groans179, biers. Every fibre of her body shrank back from the serious danger of infection and the nearness of death. But all of a sudden she felt relief, a wonderful relief. Georg! Yes Georg would probably go! With trembling fingers she seized the receiver again:
“Oh! nurse, I should like to come. But I can’t, not today. I am ill in bed myself. I feel most awfully180 dizzy. But I will send my son.”
After which Laura tied a damp towel round her head and waited for Georg.
When he came in she lay writhing on her pillows and really looked rather ill. She caught hold of his hand and pressed it violently:
“Georg dear, they have rung up from the nursing home. He wants to see me. But I can’t trail myself there. I feel so awfully bad. Will you go there and give him my love, tell him how ill I am.”
Georg stood pale, hating the thought of going to the sick bed of this feared and secretly detested181 stranger. But he drew himself up. It did not enter his head to say “no” on an occasion like this.
After some hours Georg came back. He had not been able to give any message as the patient was unconscious.
Laura put no questions about the nursing home, what the doctor had said, or how the patient looked. She only heaped her gratitude on Georg and fawned182 on him like a dog.
340She probably felt she might need him again.
The next day the Count was still unconscious and then Laura ventured to be a little bit better and to get up. It was boring to stay in bed, and besides she had a superstitious183 fear of pretending to be ill—she might really become ill.
On the whole, she thought extraordinarily184 little of the man whose name she bore. It seemed as if his illness had obliterated185 all her memories, from the earliest society ones to the latest exquisitely sensual; it seemed as if it had made of him a remote half-hostile stranger.
Several days passed. There was no talk of any visit to the invalid186. He could speak to nobody, periods of unconsciousness interchanged with periods of delirium187. Laura could no longer keep quiet or sit alone. She had at last made some acquaintances in the hotel, a secretary of the Danish Legation and a young widow whom she had met at the seaside. They in their turn had introduced her to a Russian musician who was passing through. So they were able to have a little game of bridge up in Laura’s sitting room in the evening.
“How is your husband getting on?” said the lady between the bids.
“Oh, I was there today ... he is much better....”
Georg heard these words through the half open door.
Then the telephone in Laura’s bedroom rang. With a sigh she dropped her cards and went in, carefully closing the door to the sitting room. The Russian did not play bridge, but was improvising188 on the piano.
“The Count is conscious again. He only mumbles190 your name. He must speak to you. He can’t have long to live. You won’t let him die quite alone....”
341“Good God ... I ... I told you, nurse, that I was ill myself ... that I am in bed ... that the doctor has forbidden me.... But I will try to send somebody....”
She rushed in to Georg. She was pale, very much décolletée, dressed in black rustling silk and covered with jewels. She did not notice how her son quickly hid a parcel under the table. She stroked him on his arm and hand quickly and nervously.
“Dear little Georg, you must go to the nursing home again! Alexis has become worse. I can’t bear to see him suffer. My nerves are quite exhausted192. Yes, it would quite finish me. I have some friends here but they must leave, they must leave at once.... I am simply done....”
Georg turned away. Her perfume enveloped him. As she bent forward he saw with a shudder193 her dazzling white breasts move below her low-cut frock. He suddenly felt a strange sickening shame that she should be his mother, that he had sprung from her body. He jumped out of his chair:
“No, mamma, you go yourself!” he exclaimed.
But she clung to him, moaned, begged, caressed194, kissed him. Yes, in her miserable panic she seemed to have forgotten that he was her son and she was prepared to employ all the artifices195 that a frightened woman can employ in order to move a man.
Georg jumped up and pushed her away from him:
“Leave me alone!” he said, “I don’t want you to touch me!”
Merely from anxiety and in order to get away from her he at last rushed out for the second time to the sick man.
Laura stood at the table with a rigid smile on her lips. The danger she had escaped seemed to have numbed196 every limb in her body. She pulled her shawl over her bare shoulders. Her son’s contempt passed like a chill shiver 342over her skin. Your own flesh and blood! Bah! The boy was like wax in her hands.
She went into the sitting room. She walked slowly and carefully. It seemed as if there were something cold, frail161 and motionless within her, something that could not bear a shock.
Laura excused herself to her guests:
“My husband is worse and I must go to him,” she said, quietly and solemnly.
Appearances must, of course, be saved.
They said good-bye with many regrets and expressions of sympathy. The young Russian musician had a refined and a very sensitive face. He meant to kiss his hostess’s hand but stopped half way and turned a little pale. As he bent over this beautiful and robust197 woman’s body it seemed as if he had suddenly been startled as before something dead, before the stench of a dead soul.
Laura hurried to bed, took a sleeping draught and pulled the bed cover over her head.
Early the next morning she was awakened by the message of the death of her husband. She first felt a strange creepy sensation of relief. Now he would never call for her again. Now she no longer need go and see him. Now she could escape the nursing home....
But then she was seized by a bitter ague. Her nerves at least had not forgotten him. A cold breath chilled certain of her more intimate memories and the cold bony fingers of death groped too close to her own spine198. It was like a poisoning of the senses.
Laura felt so out of sorts and so sick that she quite believed she was mourning her dead husband and felt keenly sorry for herself. She dressed in her plainest black frock and sank down into an easy chair.
Then a tall thin man in a black frock coat, carefully buttoned, and dismal folds on his forehead appeared ghostlike 343on the scene. He was the undertaker. Laura told him with a tired, an infinitely199 tired gesture, and in a few monosyllables to address himself to her brothers at Selambshof and Trefvinge. After which the gloomy looking figure withdrew bowing solemnly.
Laura sank together. “I am an old woman,” she thought. “Everything inside me feels so frozen and dead. I am an old, broken, lonely woman. My life is finished.”
Then she suddenly thought of Georg. Good God, Georg! She had forgotten Georg. Of course, she had Georg. She was not alone. Her life was not finished. She had her son, a big, handsome, clever, brave boy.
A glow of warmth surged once more through Laura’s veins200. A certain remorse for her previous indifference201 and neglect stirred inside her. For once she really suspected something of a mother’s feelings.
She flew into Georg’s room.
It was empty.
She sat down to wait. She sat on the edge of his bed, fingering his pillow and his night shirt and got out her watch every second minute. Never before in her life had she really waited for any human being.
She called the chambermaid. She inquired of the waiter and the hall porter. No, nobody had seen the young gentleman. And still he had been sleeping in his bed, you could see that.
Laura worked herself up into a state of nervous, shivering, whining202 anxiety. Towards dinner time the hall porter sent up a letter that had been left by a messenger boy. It was from Georg and read as follows:—
To my mother,
I am writing to say good-bye. We shall not see each other again. I had not meant to leave like this, but what happened yesterday was too cowardly. I can’t stay any longer. I am going to sign on as soon as I get a chance 344and sail to America to find father. It is no good trying to find me because I am sixteen years of age and I am not coming back to you. I know all about how you and Uncle Peter behaved to father. I know it through old Lundbom and Sara, who was a maid at Ekbacken. She is married to a workman in the yard now. Old Lundbom believed in you at first but he was sorry when he understood how everything had happened. Two years ago he received a letter from father that was to be given to me when I was sixteen. In it is his address and everything. He is in a big office and has a rather good job, though it was not so easy at first. He is a noble man, I know that. It is for his sake I have been working so hard at school because you have never cared for me before. So now I am going. All the money I have got from you is in the right hand drawer of the table, because I don’t want to use it to run away with. Good-bye now. And you must forgive me, for I cannot do anything else.
Good-bye!
Georg Hermansson.
P. S.
If anybody does any harm to old Lundbom because of this, they will hear from me when I come back!
Laura did not faint after reading this letter. She had no attack of nerves, made no scene, did not stir up heaven and earth to get her son back. She only suddenly felt empty, quite empty. She no longer felt anxious for Georg. She could not as a matter of fact understand her former anxiety and eagerness for him.
She washed her face in cold water, powdered it, and drove out to order mourning clothes.
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收听单词发音
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1
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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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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malaria
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| n.疟疾 | |
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malarial
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| 患疟疾的，毒气的 | |
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7
sepulchral
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| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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posthumous
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| adj.遗腹的；父亡后出生的；死后的，身后的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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13
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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14
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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15
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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16
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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17
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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19
detests
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的第三人称单数 ) | |
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20
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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21
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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22
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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23
negotiations
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| 协商( negotiation的名词复数 )； 谈判； 完成（难事）； 通过 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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compartments
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| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
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27
aeronautic
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| adj.航空（学）的 | |
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28
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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29
coupons
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| n.礼券( coupon的名词复数 )；优惠券；订货单；参赛表 | |
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30
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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31
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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32
levy
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| n.征收税或其他款项，征收额 | |
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portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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34
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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35
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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36
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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37
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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38
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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41
hissed
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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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42
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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43
askew
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| adv.斜地；adj.歪斜的 | |
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44
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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45
strut
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| v.肿胀，鼓起；大摇大摆地走；炫耀；支撑；撑开；n.高视阔步；支柱，撑杆 | |
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46
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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47
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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48
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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49
chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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50
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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51
visualized
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| 直观的，直视的 | |
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52
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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53
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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54
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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55
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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56
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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57
monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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58
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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59
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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60
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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61
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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62
dynamite
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| n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
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63
nettles
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| n.荨麻( nettle的名词复数 ) | |
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64
ravens
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| n.低质煤；渡鸦( raven的名词复数 ) | |
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65
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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66
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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67
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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69
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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70
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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71
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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72
domains
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| n.范围( domain的名词复数 )；领域；版图；地产 | |
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73
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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74
agglomeration
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| n.结聚，一堆 | |
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75
rabble
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| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
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76
swarmed
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|
| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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77
expressive
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|
| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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78
trampled
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|
| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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79
immunity
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| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
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80
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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81
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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82
epidemics
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| n．流行病 | |
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83
epidemic
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|
| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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84
brawling
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|
| n.争吵，喧嚷 | |
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85
brawls
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| 吵架，打架( brawl的名词复数 ) | |
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86
scarlet
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|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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87
costly
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|
| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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88
immediate
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|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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89
tenements
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| n.房屋，住户，租房子( tenement的名词复数 ) | |
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90
languishing
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|
| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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91
pious
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|
| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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92
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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93
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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94
fixture
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| n.固定设备；预定日期；比赛时间；定期存款 | |
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95
quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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96
remorse
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|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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97
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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98
unripe
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|
| adj.未成熟的；n.未成熟 | |
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99
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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100
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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101
shrill
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|
| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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102
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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103
tart
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|
| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
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104
sobbing
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|
| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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105
impudent
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|
| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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106
precocious
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|
| adj.早熟的；较早显出的 | |
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107
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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108
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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109
concealed
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|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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110
underneath
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|
| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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111
improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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112
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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113
suppleness
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| 柔软； 灵活； 易弯曲； 顺从 | |
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114
perverse
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|
| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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115
momentous
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|
| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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116
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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117
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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118
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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119
emblems
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| n.象征，标记( emblem的名词复数 ) | |
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120
retired
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|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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121
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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122
affected
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|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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123
shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
mellow
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|
| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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125
promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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126
grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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127
awakened
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|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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128
marvels
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|
| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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129
orchid
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| n.兰花，淡紫色 | |
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130
orchids
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|
| n.兰花( orchid的名词复数 ) | |
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131
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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132
apparently
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|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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133
flirtation
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|
| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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134
attentively
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|
| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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135
defiant
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|
| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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136
malevolent
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|
| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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137
velvet
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|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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138
irresolute
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|
| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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139
hatred
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|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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140
jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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141
cubs
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|
| n.幼小的兽，不懂规矩的年轻人( cub的名词复数 ) | |
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142
delightful
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|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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143
pointed
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|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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144
bravado
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|
| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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145
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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146
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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147
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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148
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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149
sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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150
contentedly
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|
| adv.心满意足地 | |
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151
skittishly
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152
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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153
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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154
scrupulously
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|
| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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155
disdained
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|
| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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156
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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157
incapable
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|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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158
languor
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|
| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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159
fortress
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|
| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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160
compassion
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|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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161
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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162
frailties
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|
| n.脆弱( frailty的名词复数 )；虚弱；（性格或行为上的）弱点；缺点 | |
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163
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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164
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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165
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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166
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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167
dissimulation
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| n.掩饰，虚伪，装糊涂 | |
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168
briskness
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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169
suffocation
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| n.窒息 | |
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170
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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171
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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172
buoy
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| n.浮标；救生圈；v.支持，鼓励 | |
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173
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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174
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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175
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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176
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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177
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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178
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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179
groans
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|
| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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180
awfully
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|
| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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181
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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182
fawned
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|
| v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的过去式和过去分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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183
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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184
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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185
obliterated
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|
| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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186
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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187
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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188
improvising
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| 即兴创作（improvise的现在分词形式） | |
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189
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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190
mumbles
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| 含糊的话或声音，咕哝( mumble的名词复数 ) | |
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191
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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192
exhausted
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|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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193
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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194
caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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195
artifices
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|
| n.灵巧( artifice的名词复数 )；诡计；巧妙办法；虚伪行为 | |
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196
numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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197
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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198
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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199
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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200
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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201
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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202
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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