Enoch Gib impressed him deeply. They understood each other at sight.
Persuaded by omens7 and discoveries that New Damascus was the place, Mitchell moved himself there, together with all his means and chattels8 and a daughter named Esther. He was an important addition to the community. He gave it the prestige of having one of the first banks west of Philadelphia. To Gib and[37] Breakspeare he was very helpful. Not only did he discount their bills and effect payments on their account at distant points in a manner then new and miraculous9; he also advanced them considerable sums of credit and capital. He was anxious to make a permanent investment in the business, and Enoch was willing that he should. Aaron objected, as he had a right to do, and although both Enoch and Mitchell were disappointed, there was no open feeling about it.
Esther Mitchell was twenty-four. Since the death of her mother five years before she had lived alone with her father, who took it each day for granted that she should be content to manage his household until whatever it is that happens to women happened to her. They never spoke10 of it and nothing happened. So time wore on. Once in a while he said to himself, “I wonder why Esther never has a beau,” and then put it out of his mind. They behaved toward each other like two married people who run in parallel grooves11 and never touch.
When at the death of his wife the daughter returned to him from a convent school he hardly knew her. She was still, after five years, as much a stranger to him as on the day she voluntarily assumed the responsibilities of her mother. He never had been able to penetrate13 her reserve. When he tried, as he did at first, he had a sense of trespassing14 and guiltily retired16. She had a way of looking at things, at people, at him, with steady, wide-open eyes that never betrayed what she was thinking. Sometimes a troubled expression would[38] appear in them, like the shadow of a cloud on the surface of a still blue pool. They talked very little. What there was of it was friendly. He had no idea what she did with her own time, if she had any, and never asked.
As a housekeeper17 she was faultless. As the female adjunct of an elderly, selfish engrossed18 man she had all the merits and none of the liabilities of a perfect wife; besides she was in youth and sweet to the eye. As a fellow human being she was a riddle19. In that light he knew hardly more than her name. Her castle was invisible. There was no straight way to it. The outermost20 signs were all misleading.
The partners were frequent visitors in the Mitchell household. The atmosphere was social. The subject was business. They seldom talked of anything else. Business of course has many facets21. It was not merely the affairs of Gib and Breakspeare they discussed. They debated the future of iron, metallurgical processes, the blundering stupidity of Congress.
The feud22 between politics and business was never new. An economic truth more obvious than daylight to the industrial founders23 was even then a tangle24 of obscurities to Congress. What statesmen could not see clearly, once for all, was that without high tariff25 protection the American iron industry would live at the mercy of foreign competitors. On that text Enoch said always the last word, which was his own, and became a famous slogan among the ironmongers of that generation. It was this:
[39]
“War or tariff.”
That now sounds cryptic26. Then it was clear enough. Everybody knew or could remember that there was no iron working in this land before the war of Independence. The mother country forbade it. What she wanted from the American colonists27 was the raw material to be worked up in her own iron mills with her own skilled labor28, for if the colonists produced iron manufactures for themselves English exports to the New World would suffer. An act of the British Crown decreed that “no mill or other engine for slitting29 or rolling of iron, no plating forge to work with a tilthammer and no furnace for making steel” should be erected30 “in any of His Majesty’s Colonies in America.” Mills already existing were declared a public nuisance and abated31 as such.
So the colonists, forbidden to work their own iron, were obliged to sell their raw materials to England and buy it back from British merchants in the form of manufactures. The war cut the colonies off from these British manufactures. They were thereupon obliged by necessity to found a native iron working industry. After the war the British sent their products to the United States at prices with which the new American industrialists32 could not successfully compete, hence the demand that British iron be excluded, or at least that the importation of it be penalized33 by high tariff. This was the historic experience that caused the prosperity, in fact the life, of the early American iron industry to be associated with war and tariff. They were in results[40] the same. War had all the effects of a high tariff. It kept the foreign stuff out.
“And nobody wants war,” Enoch would add.
Another topic endlessly debated was the railroad. It had just come within range of practical vision. What were its possibilities? Would it supplement or supersede34 canals? Enoch could not imagine that the railroad would ever take the place of canals. Aaron thought it would. Mitchell thought with Aaron, and Enoch for that reason was more rigid35 in his opinion.
Once Aaron broke all precedent36 in this private chamber37 of commerce by saying suddenly to Esther:
“What do you think?”
He had been observing her for some time. Through all their interminable repetitious dinner table talk she maintained an air of rapt attention, with her gaze on the one who was speaking, and never uttered a word. He wondered if she were listening or merely watching them. Both her father and Enoch were surprised that anyone should address her with that kind of question. She was not startled.
“I wonder which will make the world happier,” she said.
In the way she said it there was a kind of disbelieving that referred neither to canals nor railroads but to something represented by the discussion. The effect was strange. All three men were disturbed in their sense of importance. They attacked her in concert, with a condescending38 manner, Enoch leading. How like a woman to think that way! What had happiness[41] got to do with it? The question was economic. Which would be the more efficient means of transportation? But anyhow—this was Enoch—anyhow, was it not obvious that whatever increased the wealth of the world increased also the sum of human happiness?
“Is it?” said Esther.
They could get nothing more out of her. She declined to be argued with and smiled at them from a great distance. Her smile was impassable.
Several times after that Aaron tried to involve her in their conversations, at dinner, or in the drawing room where she sat apart with her needlework, but never again with any success. She would look at him with a bothered expression, and either recognize his effort by no other sign or slowly shake her head. This he took for disapproval39 and thereafter ignored her, as the others did, except now and then to scrutinize40 her in a surreptitious manner. When she surprised him at that she returned his gaze with distant, impersonal41 curiosity, until he was the first to turn away.
A change took place gradually in the partners’ relations with the Mitchell menage. Aaron’s visits were no less recurring42, but Enoch’s became more frequent and regular. It was the only household in New Damascus in which he felt wholly at ease with himself and properly esteemed43. He seldom went anywhere else. Very soon the women people were saying they knew what the attraction was. A certain expectation began to crystallize. Enoch became aware of it, not knowing how. Mitchell cultivated it adroitly44. Since[42] his offer to invest capital in the business of Gib and Breakspeare had been declined the idea of marrying Esther to one of the firm took possession of his thoughts. His preference was for Enoch because more securely through him than through Aaron would the Mitchell chariot be hitched45 to the star of iron. He talked of both of them to Esther, with an air of being impartial46, as if giving her his intimate, unguarded impressions. As he understood women, their minds worked on these matters in a contrary manner. To disparage47 Aaron might be prejudicial to his ends. He never did that. Nevertheless, Enoch came off by every comparison as much the superior person. Esther listened attentively48 and said nothing.
“Do you ever think of getting married?” he asked her. “I sometimes wonder.”
“No,” she said. “I never have. Why do you ask it?”
“But you may,” he said.
“Have you some one in view for me?” In her voice was a certain elusive49 tone, unresolved between doubt and irony50, that he knew and hated. It made him uneasy. Sometimes it made him feel small.
“Seriously, I have,” he replied. “That is to say, I have hoped you might become interested that way in Enoch Gib. You know what I think of him. He will be a great man in this country if nothing happens.”
“Does it much concern your happiness?” she asked. There was that tone again.
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” he said. “I am thinking[43] of your future. It would give me a sense of great comfort.”
This was at dinner’s end one evening when they were alone. As he talked, with his eyes down, he traced a figure on the table cloth with a spoon, making it deeper and deeper as his unease increased. He felt all the time that she was regarding him with a wide, impenetrable expression.
He started and looked at her furtively52. She was regarding him freely. There was in her expression the trace of an ambiguous, amused smile. He blushed and rose from the table.
Expectations increased. More marriages take place under the tyranny of expectation than Heaven imagines. New Damascus society became tensely expectant.
Enoch proposed, as Esther expected, with an air of bestowing53 himself where he was sure to be appreciated. She took some time about it and then accepted him.
Aaron was apparently54 the only person in New Damascus who had not foreseen it. He was deeply astonished. Why? It was not an improbable consummation. Yet it seemed to him strange and unnatural55.
He first heard of it at dinner with the Mitchells. Enoch was present. Mitchell announced it as if Aaron were a large party of friends. He responded as such. There was a false note in his felicitations. He was aware of it; so was Esther. But in trying to cancel the impression he made it worse. Enoch was protected[44] as by wool with a sense of proprietorship56 and self-satisfaction. Mitchell was insensitive.
Esther kept looking at Aaron. There was a troubled, startled expression in her eyes. He misread it for distaste. He had long imagined she disliked him. Several times that evening she was brief with him, almost curt57, and this had never happened before.
His visits to the Mitchell house thereafter were formal and less frequent. Enoch’s manner of making himself paramount58 affected59 him disagreeably. And Esther’s behaviour perplexed60 him. She was at one time much more friendly than he expected and at another so deliberately61 indifferent that he could only conclude that she meant to estrange62 him.
Yet now a fatality63 began to operate. By a law of coincidence that we do not understand, and may not exist, they began to meet outside the household, purely64, as it seemed in each case, by accident,—in unexpected places, on the street again and again, once at night in a crowd at an open air Punch and Judy show in which neither of them was at all interested, once in Philadelphia where he was transacting65 business and she was shopping with her maid, and once in a memorable66 way on a path through the woods to Throne Rock, a natural seat on the mountain summit from which the view of the valley was exciting.
It was a Sunday afternoon in early May. He was going; she was returning. They were at first surprised, then embarrassed, and became absurdly self-conscious. She wore a wide-brim hat, pulled down on both sides[45] and tied under her chin. She was hot and tired; her color was high. Her dress was torn. He noticed it.
“I was after these,” she said, catching67 his glance. She held out a bunch of dogwood blossoms, with a gesture to share them. He admired them and there was nothing else to say. So they stood, she looking at him and holding out the dogwood flowers, he looking fixedly68 at them, until her arm dropped and she turned to go on. He let her go and went his way up the path. But he looked back. She had stopped and was seated on a fallen tree trunk. He returned. She did not look up.
“I’d like to give you a farewell party,” he said. “Will you come?”
“A farewell party?”
“There ought to be a better name for it,” he said. “A sour grape party, then. I’ve always wanted to give you a dinner at the mansion69. Will you come?”
“Yes,” she said.
And again there was nothing else to say. She rose and he walked with her toward the town.
“If Enoch won’t mind,” he said.
“Why should he mind?” she asked.
“Perhaps he won’t,” said Aaron.
This thought, as to whether Enoch should mind, had far and separate projections70 in each of their minds and kept them silent until at the natural parting of their ways she turned to face him and held out her hand. It was a gesture of dismissal. He bowed and left her.
The dinner party took place just two weeks before[46] her wedding day. It was perhaps too elaborate. It contained every preparable element of success. Aaron did his best to save it, and yet nobody enjoyed it. Esther was visibly depressed71. Enoch sulked. The guests rallied them until it was seen to be hopeless and then let them alone. They simply could not react with gaiety.
Aaron as host had special rights in the guest of honor and took them. Enoch grew steadily72 worse. Opinion upon him was divided. Some thought it was the natural gloom of his nature and were full of foreboding for Esther. Others said they did believe the man was jealous.
After a dance Esther and Aaron walked on the terrace.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I have spoiled the party.”
“No,” he said. “It’s my fault. I knew better. Yet I couldn’t resist it. And it is in a sense a farewell party.”
“What does that mean?”
“After your wedding I may not see you again for a long time. I’m only waiting on Enoch’s account. Then I shall be going to Europe for a year, perhaps more.”
“On business?”
“Y-e-s,” he answered slowly.
They took several more turns without speaking.
“What are your plans?” he asked.
“None that I know of,” she said.
She had stopped. He saw that her gaze was directed[47] at Enoch’s ancestral iron-stone house below. The fitful glare of the blast furnaces, lower down, lighted its sombre nakedness and gave it a relentless73, sinister74 aspect. The windows, which were small and unsoftened by copings, were like cruel, ferocious75 eyes in a powerful, short-haired, suspicious animal.
“Shall you live there?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, giving him a frowning, startled look, as if he had surprised her at a disadvantage. She added: “Enoch took me through it yesterday. The room where he was born,—that will be mine. The room where his father died is just as it was then. He thinks we shouldn’t touch it.”
She shivered. He asked her if she was cold. She wasn’t, but on the next turn past the door she turned and they went in.
Enoch’s idea of marriage was inherited. You take a wife from the church to the ancestral abode76 and become jointly77 responsible with God for her past, present, future and hereafter, for her body, her mind, her way with the neighbors, for everything about her save the separate flame of her individuality. That is vanity. The house is yours, therefore she must accept it. It was yours before she had any rights in it, therefore she must get used to it, as she must get used to you. And why not? If Aaron married would he not take his wife to the Woolwine Mansion just as it was? Well, what was Aaron’s was like Aaron and what was Enoch’s was like Enoch, and what a woman married was what she got.
[48]
Enoch rode home with Esther that night in her father’s carriage. Mitchell had gone home earlier and sent the carriage back. As they were passing the iron-stone house—fatally then—Enoch asked:
“What do you and Aaron find to talk about?”
“Nothing,” she said.
That was literally78 the truth. It was with extreme difficulty that they found anything to say to each other. Never had they carried on an intimate, self-revealing conversation. There was too much constraint79 on both sides. But Enoch could hardly believe that Aaron was under any circumstances inarticulate, like himself. Or was it that he knew instinctively80 if what Esther said was true there lay in that very truth a deep significance?
Her answer made him seethingly81 angry. An ungovernable feeling rose up in him spirally. It was as an adder83 stinging him in the dark. He could not seize it, for he knew not what or where it was. He could not escape from it. The pain was horrible.
Esther knew nothing of these violent emotions. She had no more intuition of him than he had of her. That sense by which natures attuned84 exchange thoughts without words was impossible between them. Between Esther and Aaron it already existed: it always had. But it was unacknowledged.
Enoch passed three days without seeing Esther, hoping she might send for him. On the fourth day he went to dinner and she treated him as if nothing were the matter. She hardly knew there was. That made it much worse. Then he flourished the wound[49] by pretending heroically to conceal85 it. That method will work only provided the woman cares and loves the child in her man. Esther did not care. She refused to discover the hurt. The man’s last recourse is to injure the woman, to ease himself by hurting her. Enoch became oppressive. He began to mention the things that should be rendered unto C?sar, categorically, gratuitously87; he revealed the laws of Gib; he appointed how the concavities of her life should correspond to the convexities of his; he spoke of penalties, forfeits88 and consequences, and of the ancient legal principle that ignorance of the statutes89 is no defence provided the statutes have been duly published. She listened with wide-open eyes. He believed he inspired her with admiration90 for the stern stuff he was made of, and thus blindly sought his fate.
So his hurt was revenged but in no wise healed.
On the eve of their wedding day, at dinner, Aaron’s name was pronounced. The invisible circumstances were tragic91. Enoch happened at that instant to be regarding Esther with a sensation that was new to him and very disturbing. He knew not what to do with it. Suddenly he had been seized with a great longing92 for her, a yearning93 of the heart toward the fact of her being that was savage94, tender and desolate95. He wondered that Esther and her father both were not aware of this singular and dramatic occurrence. It shook him like an earth tremor96. An impulse to speak, to shout, to cry out words of fantastic meaning, to rise and touch her, became almost uncontrollable,—almost. It occurred to him for the first time, like a blow, that[50] he had never discovered her nature, her true self. He had not tried. The importance of doing so, the possibility of it, had not been thought of. But he would. He would begin all over again to get acquainted with her.
In that moment he loved her.
And it was then,—just then,—that he heard the sound of Aaron’s name. He could not say which one of them uttered it. The sound was all he knew. Instantly the hideous97, stinging adder upraised from his depths and began striking at the walls of his breast. Vividly98, stereoptically, as a series of pictures, there flashed across his mental vision every situation in which he had seen Aaron and Esther together.
He had been able to control the impulse of love to vent12 its untimely ecstasy99; his rage he could not govern.
To Esther’s and her father’s amazement100 he began, with no apparent provocation101 whatever, to utter against Aaron defamations of an extreme and irrevocable character. His manner contradicted the violence of his feelings. It was self-possessed, one would almost say restrained; that was his way under stress of emotional excitement. At no point did he become incoherent. His words were chilled and came to him easily. One might have thought he was thinking out loud, very earnestly, in solitude102. On his face was that singular Gib expression, never witnessed before in the Mitchell household,—the mouth contortion103 one mistook for a smile. So far as Esther and Mitchell could see the performance was gratuitous86 and premeditated. It had gone far before they realized that his state was[51] one of passion. But that discovery had no mitigating104 value. They made no effort to stop him. He spoke of things that are supposed to be unmentionable, and of his private intentions, and closed abruptly105 with the declaration that Aaron should never be received in his house as a guest.
“Let that be understood,” he said to Esther. Then he rose from the table and departed.
Mitchell was stupefied. He looked slowly at Esther. Her face was a perfect mask.
“Do you know what it means?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“What? What?”
“It’s the only way Mr. Gib has of paying your daughter a compliment,” she said.
And now Bruno Mitchell suffered another shock. For the first time in her life Esther rose from the table and left him there.
She went to her room, sent her maid to bed, and sat for a long time perfectly106 still, at the core of a maelstrom107, her emotions whirling and seething82 around her. They were her emotions. She recognized them as such. Only, they were outside of her. This had always been true. Even before she understood what it meant, her mother, a stoic108, began to say: “Don’t give way to your feelings. They will swallow you up. Watch them. If you can see them they cannot hurt you.” So she had watched them fearfully. To do that she had to put them outside. She had seen them grow, change and rise until they engulfed109 her, and then the only way she could save herself was to give them that whirling[52] motion, which caused them to incline from her, as the waters of the whirlpool incline from the center. But it was harder and harder to keep them whirling and she dared not stop, for if she did they would swallow her up.
The spectacle became awesome110 and fascinating, as a maelstrom is, and there were moments when the perverse111 impulse to stop, surrender, cast herself headlong away, was almost irresistible112. She thought of this as equivalent to suicide. And she had for a long time secretly supposed it would ultimately happen. Now she was terrified and thrilled by a premonition that it was imminent113. Never had the waters been so mad, so giddy, so nearly ungovernable, so excitingly desirable.
That is all she was thinking of,—if it may be called thinking,—as she started up, drew on walking boots, took a shawl and descended114 the stairs. In the hallway she met her father. He looked at her with surprise.
“Are you going out?”
“For a walk,” she said.
“But Esther! ... at this hour ... alone. I—”
“Yes,” she said, waiting. “Do you forbid it?”
There was a note in her voice he had never heard before. She wished him to say yes, he forbade it. That was why she asked the question. And if he had said that the whirling flood would have collapsed115 at once. That again was all she was thinking. It was a wild, liberating116 thought. But instead he took a step toward her and scrutinized117 her face.
“Esther, what has happened to you?”
[53]
“On the eve of my wedding, for the first and last time, for an hour perhaps, I shall be Esther herself, alone,” she said.
Since the unprecedented118 uproar119 of the inclined waters had begun an hour before she had not once thought of her wedding. The word of it, as now it came to her lips, seemed strange and fantastic, and yet she had made no resolve against it.
Her father stood aside and she passed out.
Half an hour later the knocker sounded and Mitchell himself went to the door, expecting to receive Esther. There was Enoch. He asked to see her.
“She has gone for a walk,” said Mitchell. “Won’t you come in and wait? She can’t be long returning.”
Enoch hesitated and turned away, saying he might have the good luck to meet her.
He had come to mend the impression he was conscious of having left behind him. At least that was the ostensible120 reason. That was what he would have said. The fact was that the adder had suddenly slunk away, and once more came that feeling for Esther which was so new and irrational121 and caused his heart to stagger back and forth122. It was stronger than before,—stronger than pride. He could scarcely breathe for the ache of wanting to see her again that night....
Esther turned first toward the river path, changed her direction aimlessly, walked for some distance toward the limestone123 quarry124, then suddenly swung around, passed the blast furnaces, and presently, only her feet aware of how they came there, she was high on the mountain path to Throne Rock. She had been[54] walking too fast. Her breath began to fail. She sat on a log to rest. The moon came up. The log was the same fallen tree trunk on which she sat with her dogwood flowers the day Aaron turned round, came back, and invited her to a farewell dinner party. She knew it all the time. The scene restored itself, with all the feelings it had evoked125, and she did not push them back. They detached themselves from the whirling mass and touched her. There was a moment in which she could not remember anything that had happened since; and in that moment, as an integral part of it, the figure of Aaron appeared, walking toward her from above, exactly as before.
She sat so still he might almost have passed her. He did not start. For a long time he stood looking at her. She did not move. He could not see her face. Then without speaking he sat beside her, at a little distance, on the log. The tree frogs informed on one another—peep-ing—peep-ing. A dry twig126 falling made a crashing sound. Far away below, at regular intervals127, shrill128 whistle blasts denoted stages in the ring of smelting129 alchemies.
Aaron spoke.
“What day is tomorrow?”
“I don’t know,” said Esther.
They were silent until the whistle blew again.
“At ten o’clock,” said Aaron.
“At ten o’clock,” said Esther.
The exchange of wordless thoughts went on and on, and Aaron was expecting what she said.
“I do not love him.”
[55]
“He loves you,” said Aaron.
“Does that so much oblige the woman?” Esther asked.
“The woman is obliged,” he said, “she is ... unless——” He stopped.
“Aaron,” she said, “tell me this. How do friends regard each other’s wives and sweethearts?”
“Sweethearts almost the same as wives,” he said.
“So that if one loved the sweetheart of a friend he could not tell her that?”
“No, he could not.”
“Not even if he knew the sweetheart did not love the friend?”
“No,” said Aaron.
“Then should the woman tell?”
“Tell whom?” asked Aaron, trembling.
“The friend ... the other man,” said Esther.
Aaron slowly dropped his head between his hands. She could feel his body shake. A roaring blackness filled her eyes. She rose and would have gone, but he enfolded her, with arms that touched her lightly, almost not at all at first, then tightened130, tightened, tightened, until her life was crushed to his, and all the waters fell.
He put her off at arm’s length to see her better.
“Through all consequences ... forever ... to finality,” he said.
And she was satisfied.
How long they stood so, either thus or as it was, gazing one upon the other, with no words to say,—how[56] long they never knew. A sound of footsteps very near broke their ecstasy, and there stood Enoch.
Enoch stood there looking at them. Aaron moved, drawing Esther’s form behind him.
At that Enoch turned away and laughed.
Twenty paces on his way he laughed again.
When he was out of sight he laughed.
At intervals all the way down the mountain he stopped to laugh.
The sound of his laughter reverberated131, echoed, swirled132, went and returned, filled the whole valley, blasting the night. Then when he was far off he uttered a piercing scream. It rose on the air like a rocket, hissed133, burst with a soft splash and pitched off into space, and the world for a moment was deathly still. The tree frogs were the first to recover and began frantically134 to fill up the void.
Aaron touched Esther. They descended. She inquired of him nothing; he informed her of nothing. They did not speak again for hours. They walked to the Woolwine mansion. He called for horses, a light vehicle, and wraps. And all that night they drove, past the setting moon, into the darkness, through the dawn, toward Wilkes-Barre.
Next day at noon they were married.
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prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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banking
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| n.银行业，银行学，金融业 | |
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avaricious
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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quaintness
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mitigated
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prematurely
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chattels
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miraculous
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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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grooves
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vent
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penetrate
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trespassing
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guilt
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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housekeeper
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engrossed
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riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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outermost
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| adj.最外面的，远离中心的 | |
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facets
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| n.（宝石或首饰的）小平面( facet的名词复数 )；（事物的）面；方面 | |
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22
feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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founders
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| n.创始人( founder的名词复数 ) | |
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24
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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tariff
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| n.关税，税率；(旅馆、饭店等)价目表，收费表 | |
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cryptic
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| adj.秘密的，神秘的，含义模糊的 | |
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colonists
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| n.殖民地开拓者，移民，殖民地居民( colonist的名词复数 ) | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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29
slitting
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| n.纵裂（缝）v.切开，撕开( slit的现在分词 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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30
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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31
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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32
industrialists
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| n.工业家，实业家( industrialist的名词复数 ) | |
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33
penalized
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| 对…予以惩罚( penalize的过去式和过去分词 )； 使处于不利地位 | |
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34
supersede
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| v.替代；充任 | |
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35
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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36
precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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37
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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38
condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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39
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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40
scrutinize
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| n.详细检查，细读 | |
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41
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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42
recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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43
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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44
adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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45
hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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46
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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47
disparage
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| v.贬抑，轻蔑 | |
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48
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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49
elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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51
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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52
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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53
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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54
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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55
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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56
proprietorship
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| n.所有（权）；所有权 | |
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57
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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58
paramount
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| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
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59
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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60
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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61
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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62
estrange
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| v.使疏远，离间，使离开 | |
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63
fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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64
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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65
transacting
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的现在分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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67
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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68
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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69
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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70
projections
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| 预测( projection的名词复数 )； 投影； 投掷； 突起物 | |
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71
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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73
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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74
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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75
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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76
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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77
jointly
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| ad.联合地，共同地 | |
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78
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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79
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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80
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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81
seethingly
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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82
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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83
adder
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| n.蝰蛇；小毒蛇 | |
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84
attuned
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| v.使协调( attune的过去式和过去分词 )；调音 | |
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85
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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86
gratuitous
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| adj.无偿的，免费的；无缘无故的，不必要的 | |
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87
gratuitously
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| 平白 | |
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88
forfeits
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| 罚物游戏 | |
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89
statutes
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| 成文法( statute的名词复数 )； 法令； 法规； 章程 | |
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90
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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91
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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92
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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93
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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94
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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95
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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96
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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97
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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98
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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99
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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100
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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101
provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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102
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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103
contortion
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| n.扭弯，扭歪，曲解 | |
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104
mitigating
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| v.减轻，缓和( mitigate的现在分词 ) | |
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105
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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106
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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107
maelstrom
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| n.大乱动；大漩涡 | |
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108
stoic
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| n.坚忍克己之人，禁欲主义者 | |
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109
engulfed
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| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
awesome
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| adj.令人惊叹的，难得吓人的，很好的 | |
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111
perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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112
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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113
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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114
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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115
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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116
liberating
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| 解放，释放( liberate的现在分词 ) | |
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117
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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119
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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120
ostensible
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| adj.(指理由)表面的，假装的 | |
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121
irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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122
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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123
limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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124
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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125
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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126
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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127
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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128
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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129
smelting
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| n.熔炼v.熔炼，提炼（矿石）( smelt的现在分词 ) | |
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130
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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131
reverberated
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| 回响，回荡( reverberate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
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132
swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133
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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134
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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