Snow Hill! What kind of place can the quiet townspeople who see the words emblazoned, in all the legibility of gilt1 letters and dark shading, on the north-country coaches, take Snow Hill to be? All people have some undefined and shadowy notion of a place whose name is frequently before their eyes, or often in their ears. What a vast number of random2 ideas there must be perpetually floating about, regarding this same Snow Hill. The name is such a good one. Snow Hill—Snow Hill too, coupled with a Saracen’s Head: picturing to us by a double association of ideas, something stern and rugged3! A bleak4 desolate5 tract6 of country, open to piercing blasts and fierce wintry storms—a dark, cold, gloomy heath, lonely by day, and scarcely to be thought of by honest folks at night—a place which solitary7 wayfarers8 shun9, and where desperate robbers congregate;—this, or something like this, should be the prevalent notion of Snow Hill, in those remote and rustic10 parts, through which the Saracen’s Head, like some grim apparition11, rushes each day and night with mysterious and ghost-like punctuality; holding its swift and headlong course in all weathers, and seeming to bid defiance12 to the very elements themselves.
The reality is rather different, but by no means to be despised notwithstanding. There, at the very core of London, in the heart of its business and animation14, in the midst of a whirl of noise and motion: stemming as it were the giant currents of life that flow ceaselessly on from different quarters, and meet beneath its walls: stands Newgate; and in that crowded street on which it frowns so darkly—within a few feet of the squalid tottering15 houses—upon the very spot on which the vendors16 of soup and fish and damaged fruit are now plying17 their trades—scores of human beings, amidst a roar of sounds to which even the tumult18 of a great city is as nothing, four, six, or eight strong men at a time, have been hurried violently and swiftly from the world, when the scene has been rendered frightful19 with excess of human life; when curious eyes have glared from casement20 and house-top, and wall and pillar; and when, in the mass of white and upturned faces, the dying wretch21, in his all-comprehensive look of agony, has met not one—not one—that bore the impress of pity or compassion22.
Near to the jail, and by consequence near to Smithfield also, and the Compter, and the bustle23 and noise of the city; and just on that particular part of Snow Hill where omnibus horses going eastward24 seriously think of falling down on purpose, and where horses in hackney cabriolets going westward25 not unfrequently fall by accident, is the coach-yard of the Saracen’s Head Inn; its portal guarded by two Saracens’ heads and shoulders, which it was once the pride and glory of the choice spirits of this metropolis26 to pull down at night, but which have for some time remained in undisturbed tranquillity27; possibly because this species of humour is now confined to St James’s parish, where door knockers are preferred as being more portable, and bell-wires esteemed28 as convenient toothpicks. Whether this be the reason or not, there they are, frowning upon you from each side of the gateway29. The inn itself garnished30 with another Saracen’s Head, frowns upon you from the top of the yard; while from the door of the hind31 boot of all the red coaches that are standing13 therein, there glares a small Saracen’s Head, with a twin expression to the large Saracens’ Heads below, so that the general appearance of the pile is decidedly of the Saracenic order.
When you walk up this yard, you will see the booking-office on your left, and the tower of St Sepulchre’s church, darting33 abruptly34 up into the sky, on your right, and a gallery of bedrooms on both sides. Just before you, you will observe a long window with the words ‘coffee-room’ legibly painted above it; and looking out of that window, you would have seen in addition, if you had gone at the right time, Mr. Wackford Squeers with his hands in his pockets.
Mr. Squeers’s appearance was not prepossessing. He had but one eye, and the popular prejudice runs in favour of two. The eye he had, was unquestionably useful, but decidedly not ornamental35: being of a greenish grey, and in shape resembling the fan-light of a street door. The blank side of his face was much wrinkled and puckered36 up, which gave him a very sinister37 appearance, especially when he smiled, at which times his expression bordered closely on the villainous. His hair was very flat and shiny, save at the ends, where it was brushed stiffly up from a low protruding38 forehead, which assorted39 well with his harsh voice and coarse manner. He was about two or three and fifty, and a trifle below the middle size; he wore a white neckerchief with long ends, and a suit of scholastic40 black; but his coat sleeves being a great deal too long, and his trousers a great deal too short, he appeared ill at ease in his clothes, and as if he were in a perpetual state of astonishment41 at finding himself so respectable.
Mr. Squeers was standing in a box by one of the coffee-room fire-places, fitted with one such table as is usually seen in coffee-rooms, and two of extraordinary shapes and dimensions made to suit the angles of the partition. In a corner of the seat, was a very small deal trunk, tied round with a scanty42 piece of cord; and on the trunk was perched—his lace-up half-boots and corduroy trousers dangling43 in the air—a diminutive44 boy, with his shoulders drawn45 up to his ears, and his hands planted on his knees, who glanced timidly at the schoolmaster, from time to time, with evident dread46 and apprehension47.
‘Half-past three,’ muttered Mr. Squeers, turning from the window, and looking sulkily at the coffee-room clock. ‘There will be nobody here today.’
Much vexed48 by this reflection, Mr. Squeers looked at the little boy to see whether he was doing anything he could beat him for. As he happened not to be doing anything at all, he merely boxed his ears, and told him not to do it again.
‘At Midsummer,’ muttered Mr. Squeers, resuming his complaint, ‘I took down ten boys; ten twenties is two hundred pound. I go back at eight o’clock tomorrow morning, and have got only three—three oughts is an ought—three twos is six—sixty pound. What’s come of all the boys? what’s parents got in their heads? what does it all mean?’
Here the little boy on the top of the trunk gave a violent sneeze.
‘Nothing, please sir,’ replied the little boy.
‘Nothing, sir!’ exclaimed Mr. Squeers.
‘Please sir, I sneezed,’ rejoined the boy, trembling till the little trunk shook under him.
‘Oh! sneezed, did you?’ retorted Mr. Squeers. ‘Then what did you say “nothing” for, sir?’
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In default of a better answer to this question, the little boy screwed a couple of knuckles51 into each of his eyes and began to cry, wherefore Mr Squeers knocked him off the trunk with a blow on one side of the face, and knocked him on again with a blow on the other.
‘Wait till I get you down into Yorkshire, my young gentleman,’ said Mr Squeers, ‘and then I’ll give you the rest. Will you hold that noise, sir?’
‘Ye—ye—yes,’ sobbed52 the little boy, rubbing his face very hard with the Beggar’s Petition in printed calico.
‘Then do so at once, sir,’ said Squeers. ‘Do you hear?’
As this admonition was accompanied with a threatening gesture, and uttered with a savage53 aspect, the little boy rubbed his face harder, as if to keep the tears back; and, beyond alternately sniffing54 and choking, gave no further vent55 to his emotions.
‘Mr. Squeers,’ said the waiter, looking in at this juncture56; ‘here’s a gentleman asking for you at the bar.’
‘Show the gentleman in, Richard,’ replied Mr. Squeers, in a soft voice. ‘Put your handkerchief in your pocket, you little scoundrel, or I’ll murder you when the gentleman goes.’
The schoolmaster had scarcely uttered these words in a fierce whisper, when the stranger entered. Affecting not to see him, Mr. Squeers feigned57 to be intent upon mending a pen, and offering benevolent58 advice to his youthful pupil.
‘My dear child,’ said Mr. Squeers, ‘all people have their trials. This early trial of yours that is fit to make your little heart burst, and your very eyes come out of your head with crying, what is it? Nothing; less than nothing. You are leaving your friends, but you will have a father in me, my dear, and a mother in Mrs. Squeers. At the delightful59 village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire, where youth are boarded, clothed, booked, washed, furnished with pocket-money, provided with all necessaries—’
‘It is the gentleman,’ observed the stranger, stopping the schoolmaster in the rehearsal60 of his advertisement. ‘Mr. Squeers, I believe, sir?’
‘The same, sir,’ said Mr. Squeers, with an assumption of extreme surprise.
‘The gentleman,’ said the stranger, ‘that advertised in the Times newspaper?’
‘—Morning Post, Chronicle, Herald61, and Advertiser, regarding the Academy called Dotheboys Hall at the delightful village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire,’ added Mr. Squeers. ‘You come on business, sir. I see by my young friends. How do you do, my little gentleman? and how do you do, sir?’ With this salutation Mr. Squeers patted the heads of two hollow-eyed, small-boned little boys, whom the applicant62 had brought with him, and waited for further communications.
‘I am in the oil and colour way. My name is Snawley, sir,’ said the stranger.
Squeers inclined his head as much as to say, ‘And a remarkably63 pretty name, too.’
The stranger continued. ‘I have been thinking, Mr. Squeers, of placing my two boys at your school.’
‘It is not for me to say so, sir,’ replied Mr. Squeers, ‘but I don’t think you could possibly do a better thing.’
‘Hem!’ said the other. ‘Twenty pounds per annewum, I believe, Mr. Squeers?’
‘Guineas,’ rejoined the schoolmaster, with a persuasive64 smile.
‘Pounds for two, I think, Mr. Squeers,’ said Mr. Snawley, solemnly.
‘I don’t think it could be done, sir,’ replied Squeers, as if he had never considered the proposition before. ‘Let me see; four fives is twenty, double that, and deduct65 the—well, a pound either way shall not stand betwixt us. You must recommend me to your connection, sir, and make it up that way.’
‘They are not great eaters,’ said Mr. Snawley.
‘Oh! that doesn’t matter at all,’ replied Squeers. ‘We don’t consider the boys’ appetites at our establishment.’ This was strictly66 true; they did not.
‘Every wholesome67 luxury, sir, that Yorkshire can afford,’ continued Squeers; ‘every beautiful moral that Mrs. Squeers can instil68; every—in short, every comfort of a home that a boy could wish for, will be theirs, Mr. Snawley.’
‘I should wish their morals to be particularly attended to,’ said Mr Snawley.
‘I am glad of that, sir,’ replied the schoolmaster, drawing himself up. ‘They have come to the right shop for morals, sir.’
‘You are a moral man yourself,’ said Mr. Snawley.
‘I rather believe I am, sir,’ replied Squeers.
‘I have the satisfaction to know you are, sir,’ said Mr. Snawley. ‘I asked one of your references, and he said you were pious69.’
‘Well, sir, I hope I am a little in that line,’ replied Squeers.
‘I hope I am also,’ rejoined the other. ‘Could I say a few words with you in the next box?’
‘By all means,’ rejoined Squeers with a grin. ‘My dears, will you speak to your new playfellow a minute or two? That is one of my boys, sir. Belling his name is,—a Taunton boy that, sir.’
‘Is he, indeed?’ rejoined Mr. Snawley, looking at the poor little urchin70 as if he were some extraordinary natural curiosity.
‘He goes down with me tomorrow, sir,’ said Squeers. ‘That’s his luggage that he is a sitting upon now. Each boy is required to bring, sir, two suits of clothes, six shirts, six pair of stockings, two nightcaps, two pocket-handkerchiefs, two pair of shoes, two hats, and a razor.’
‘A razor!’ exclaimed Mr. Snawley, as they walked into the next box. ‘What for?’
‘To shave with,’ replied Squeers, in a slow and measured tone.
There was not much in these three words, but there must have been something in the manner in which they were said, to attract attention; for the schoolmaster and his companion looked steadily71 at each other for a few seconds, and then exchanged a very meaning smile. Snawley was a sleek72, flat-nosed man, clad in sombre garments, and long black gaiters, and bearing in his countenance73 an expression of much mortification74 and sanctity; so, his smiling without any obvious reason was the more remarkable75.
‘Up to what age do you keep boys at your school then?’ he asked at length.
‘Just as long as their friends make the quarterly payments to my agent in town, or until such time as they run away,’ replied Squeers. ‘Let us understand each other; I see we may safely do so. What are these boys;—natural children?’
‘No,’ rejoined Snawley, meeting the gaze of the schoolmaster’s one eye. ‘They ain’t.’
‘I thought they might be,’ said Squeers, coolly. ‘We have a good many of them; that boy’s one.’
‘Him in the next box?’ said Snawley.
Squeers nodded in the affirmative; his companion took another peep at the little boy on the trunk, and, turning round again, looked as if he were quite disappointed to see him so much like other boys, and said he should hardly have thought it.
‘He is,’ cried Squeers. ‘But about these boys of yours; you wanted to speak to me?’
‘Yes,’ replied Snawley. ‘The fact is, I am not their father, Mr. Squeers. I’m only their father-in-law.’
‘Oh! Is that it?’ said the schoolmaster. ‘That explains it at once. I was wondering what the devil you were going to send them to Yorkshire for. Ha! ha! Oh, I understand now.’
‘You see I have married the mother,’ pursued Snawley; ‘it’s expensive keeping boys at home, and as she has a little money in her own right, I am afraid (women are so very foolish, Mr. Squeers) that she might be led to squander76 it on them, which would be their ruin, you know.’
‘I see,’ returned Squeers, throwing himself back in his chair, and waving his hand.
‘And this,’ resumed Snawley, ‘has made me anxious to put them to some school a good distance off, where there are no holidays—none of those ill-judged coming home twice a year that unsettle children’s minds so—and where they may rough it a little—you comprehend?’
‘The payments regular, and no questions asked,’ said Squeers, nodding his head.
‘That’s it, exactly,’ rejoined the other. ‘Morals strictly attended to, though.’
‘Strictly,’ said Squeers.
‘Not too much writing home allowed, I suppose?’ said the father-in-law, hesitating.
‘None, except a circular at Christmas, to say they never were so happy, and hope they may never be sent for,’ rejoined Squeers.
‘Nothing could be better,’ said the father-in-law, rubbing his hands.
‘Then, as we understand each other,’ said Squeers, ‘will you allow me to ask you whether you consider me a highly virtuous77, exemplary, and well-conducted man in private life; and whether, as a person whose business it is to take charge of youth, you place the strongest confidence in my unimpeachable78 integrity, liberality, religious principles, and ability?’
‘Certainly I do,’ replied the father-in-law, reciprocating79 the schoolmaster’s grin.
‘Perhaps you won’t object to say that, if I make you a reference?’
‘Not the least in the world.’
‘That’s your sort!’ said Squeers, taking up a pen; ‘this is doing business, and that’s what I like.’
Having entered Mr. Snawley’s address, the schoolmaster had next to perform the still more agreeable office of entering the receipt of the first quarter’s payment in advance, which he had scarcely completed, when another voice was heard inquiring for Mr. Squeers.
‘Here he is,’ replied the schoolmaster; ‘what is it?’
‘Only a matter of business, sir,’ said Ralph Nickleby, presenting himself, closely followed by Nicholas. ‘There was an advertisement of yours in the papers this morning?’
‘There was, sir. This way, if you please,’ said Squeers, who had by this time got back to the box by the fire-place. ‘Won’t you be seated?’
‘Why, I think I will,’ replied Ralph, suiting the action to the word, and placing his hat on the table before him. ‘This is my nephew, sir, Mr Nicholas Nickleby.’
‘How do you do, sir?’ said Squeers.
Nicholas bowed, said he was very well, and seemed very much astonished at the outward appearance of the proprietor80 of Dotheboys Hall: as indeed he was.
‘You paid me a small account at each of my half-yearly visits to town, for some years, I think, sir,’ replied Squeers.
‘I did,’ rejoined Ralph.
‘For the parents of a boy named Dorker, who unfortunately—’
‘—unfortunately died at Dotheboys Hall,’ said Ralph, finishing the sentence.
‘I remember very well, sir,’ rejoined Squeers. ‘Ah! Mrs. Squeers, sir, was as partial to that lad as if he had been her own; the attention, sir, that was bestowed82 upon that boy in his illness! Dry toast and warm tea offered him every night and morning when he couldn’t swallow anything—a candle in his bedroom on the very night he died—the best dictionary sent up for him to lay his head upon—I don’t regret it though. It is a pleasant thing to reflect that one did one’s duty by him.’
Ralph smiled, as if he meant anything but smiling, and looked round at the strangers present.
‘These are only some pupils of mine,’ said Wackford Squeers, pointing to the little boy on the trunk and the two little boys on the floor, who had been staring at each other without uttering a word, and writhing83 their bodies into most remarkable contortions84, according to the custom of little boys when they first become acquainted. ‘This gentleman, sir, is a parent who is kind enough to compliment me upon the course of education adopted at Dotheboys Hall, which is situated85, sir, at the delightful village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire, where youth are boarded, clothed, booked, washed, furnished with pocket-money—’
‘You are very right, sir; it is in the advertisement,’ replied Squeers.
‘And in the matter of fact besides,’ interrupted Mr. Snawley. ‘I feel bound to assure you, sir, and I am proud to have this opportunity of assuring you, that I consider Mr. Squeers a gentleman highly virtuous, exemplary, well conducted, and—’
‘I make no doubt of it, sir,’ interrupted Ralph, checking the torrent87 of recommendation; ‘no doubt of it at all. Suppose we come to business?’
‘With all my heart, sir,’ rejoined Squeers. ‘“Never postpone88 business,” is the very first lesson we instil into our commercial pupils. Master Belling, my dear, always remember that; do you hear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ repeated Master Belling.
‘He recollects89 what it is, does he?’ said Ralph.
‘Tell the gentleman,’ said Squeers.
‘“Never,”’ repeated Master Belling.
‘Very good,’ said Squeers; ‘go on.’
‘Never,’ repeated Master Belling again.
‘Very good indeed,’ said Squeers. ‘Yes.’
‘P,’ suggested Nicholas, good-naturedly.
‘Perform—business!’ said Master Belling. ‘Never—perform—business!’
‘Very well, sir,’ said Squeers, darting a withering90 look at the culprit. ‘You and I will perform a little business on our private account by-and-by.’
‘If you please,’ said Squeers.
‘Well,’ resumed Ralph, ‘it’s brief enough; soon broached92; and I hope easily concluded. You have advertised for an able assistant, sir?’
‘Precisely so,’ said Squeers.
‘And you really want one?’
‘Certainly,’ answered Squeers.
‘Here he is!’ said Ralph. ‘My nephew Nicholas, hot from school, with everything he learnt there, fermenting93 in his head, and nothing fermenting in his pocket, is just the man you want.’
‘I am afraid,’ said Squeers, perplexed94 with such an application from a youth of Nicholas’s figure, ‘I am afraid the young man won’t suit me.’
‘Yes, he will,’ said Ralph; ‘I know better. Don’t be cast down, sir; you will be teaching all the young noblemen in Dotheboys Hall in less than a week’s time, unless this gentleman is more obstinate95 than I take him to be.’
‘I fear, sir,’ said Nicholas, addressing Mr. Squeers, ‘that you object to my youth, and to my not being a Master of Arts?’
‘The absence of a college degree is an objection,’ replied Squeers, looking as grave as he could, and considerably96 puzzled, no less by the contrast between the simplicity97 of the nephew and the worldly manner of the uncle, than by the incomprehensible allusion98 to the young noblemen under his tuition.
‘Look here, sir,’ said Ralph; ‘I’ll put this matter in its true light in two seconds.’
‘If you’ll have the goodness,’ rejoined Squeers.
‘This is a boy, or a youth, or a lad, or a young man, or a hobbledehoy, or whatever you like to call him, of eighteen or nineteen, or thereabouts,’ said Ralph.
‘That I see,’ observed the schoolmaster.
‘So do I,’ said Mr. Snawley, thinking it as well to back his new friend occasionally.
‘His father is dead, he is wholly ignorant of the world, has no resources whatever, and wants something to do,’ said Ralph. ‘I recommend him to this splendid establishment of yours, as an opening which will lead him to fortune if he turns it to proper account. Do you see that?’
‘Everybody must see that,’ replied Squeers, half imitating the sneer99 with which the old gentleman was regarding his unconscious relative.
‘I do, of course,’ said Nicholas, eagerly.
‘He does, of course, you observe,’ said Ralph, in the same dry, hard manner. ‘If any caprice of temper should induce him to cast aside this golden opportunity before he has brought it to perfection, I consider myself absolved100 from extending any assistance to his mother and sister. Look at him, and think of the use he may be to you in half-a-dozen ways! Now, the question is, whether, for some time to come at all events, he won’t serve your purpose better than twenty of the kind of people you would get under ordinary circumstances. Isn’t that a question for consideration?’
‘Yes, it is,’ said Squeers, answering a nod of Ralph’s head with a nod of his own.
‘Good,’ rejoined Ralph. ‘Let me have two words with you.’
The two words were had apart; in a couple of minutes Mr. Wackford Squeers announced that Mr. Nicholas Nickleby was, from that moment, thoroughly101 nominated to, and installed in, the office of first assistant master at Dotheboys Hall.
‘Your uncle’s recommendation has done it, Mr. Nickleby,’ said Wackford Squeers.
Nicholas, overjoyed at his success, shook his uncle’s hand warmly, and could almost have worshipped Squeers upon the spot.
‘He is an odd-looking man,’ thought Nicholas. ‘What of that? Porson was an odd-looking man, and so was Doctor Johnson; all these bookworms are.’
‘At eight o’clock tomorrow morning, Mr. Nickleby,’ said Squeers, ‘the coach starts. You must be here at a quarter before, as we take these boys with us.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ said Nicholas.
‘And your fare down, I have paid,’ growled Ralph. ‘So, you’ll have nothing to do but keep yourself warm.’
Here was another instance of his uncle’s generosity102! Nicholas felt his unexpected kindness so much, that he could scarcely find words to thank him; indeed, he had not found half enough, when they took leave of the schoolmaster, and emerged from the Saracen’s Head gateway.
‘Thank you, sir,’ replied Nicholas; ‘I never shall forget this kindness.’
‘Take care you don’t,’ replied his uncle. ‘You had better go home now, and pack up what you have got to pack. Do you think you could find your way to Golden Square first?’
‘Certainly,’ said Nicholas. ‘I can easily inquire.’
‘Leave these papers with my clerk, then,’ said Ralph, producing a small parcel, ‘and tell him to wait till I come home.’
Nicholas cheerfully undertook the errand, and bidding his worthy104 uncle an affectionate farewell, which that warm-hearted old gentleman acknowledged by a growl49, hastened away to execute his commission.
He found Golden Square in due course; Mr. Noggs, who had stepped out for a minute or so to the public-house, was opening the door with a latch-key, as he reached the steps.
‘What’s that?’ inquired Noggs, pointing to the parcel.
‘Papers from my uncle,’ replied Nicholas; ‘and you’re to have the goodness to wait till he comes home, if you please.’
‘Uncle!’ cried Noggs.
‘Mr. Nickleby,’ said Nicholas in explanation.
‘Come in,’ said Newman.
Without another word he led Nicholas into the passage, and thence into the official pantry at the end of it, where he thrust him into a chair, and mounting upon his high stool, sat, with his arms hanging, straight down by his sides, gazing fixedly105 upon him, as from a tower of observation.
‘There is no answer,’ said Nicholas, laying the parcel on a table beside him.
Newman said nothing, but folding his arms, and thrusting his head forward so as to obtain a nearer view of Nicholas’s face, scanned his features closely.
‘No answer,’ said Nicholas, speaking very loud, under the impression that Newman Noggs was deaf.
Newman placed his hands upon his knees, and, without uttering a syllable106, continued the same close scrutiny107 of his companion’s face.
This was such a very singular proceeding108 on the part of an utter stranger, and his appearance was so extremely peculiar109, that Nicholas, who had a sufficiently110 keen sense of the ridiculous, could not refrain from breaking into a smile as he inquired whether Mr. Noggs had any commands for him.
Noggs shook his head and sighed; upon which Nicholas rose, and remarking that he required no rest, bade him good-morning.
It was a great exertion111 for Newman Noggs, and nobody knows to this day how he ever came to make it, the other party being wholly unknown to him, but he drew a long breath and actually said, out loud, without once stopping, that if the young gentleman did not object to tell, he should like to know what his uncle was going to do for him.
Nicholas had not the least objection in the world, but on the contrary was rather pleased to have an opportunity of talking on the subject which occupied his thoughts; so, he sat down again, and (his sanguine112 imagination warming as he spoke) entered into a fervent113 and glowing description of all the honours and advantages to be derived114 from his appointment at that seat of learning, Dotheboys Hall.
‘But, what’s the matter—are you ill?’ said Nicholas, suddenly breaking off, as his companion, after throwing himself into a variety of uncouth115 attitudes, thrust his hands under the stool, and cracked his finger-joints as if he were snapping all the bones in his hands.
Newman Noggs made no reply, but went on shrugging his shoulders and cracking his finger-joints; smiling horribly all the time, and looking steadfastly116 at nothing, out of the tops of his eyes, in a most ghastly manner.
At first, Nicholas thought the mysterious man was in a fit, but, on further consideration, decided32 that he was in liquor, under which circumstances he deemed it prudent117 to make off at once. He looked back when he had got the street-door open. Newman Noggs was still indulging in the same extraordinary gestures, and the cracking of his fingers sounded louder that ever.
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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rugged
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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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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tract
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solitary
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wayfarers
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shun
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rustic
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apparition
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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standing
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animation
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tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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vendors
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| n.摊贩( vendor的名词复数 )；小贩；（房屋等的）卖主；卖方 | |
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plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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18
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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19
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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20
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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21
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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22
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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23
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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24
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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25
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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26
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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27
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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28
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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29
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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30
garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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32
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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33
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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34
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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35
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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36
puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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38
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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39
assorted
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| adj.各种各样的，各色俱备的 | |
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40
scholastic
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| adj.学校的，学院的，学术上的 | |
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41
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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42
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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43
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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44
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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45
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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46
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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47
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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49
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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50
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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51
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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52
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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53
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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54
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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56
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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57
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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58
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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59
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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60
rehearsal
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| n.排练，排演；练习 | |
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61
herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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62
applicant
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| n.申请人，求职者，请求者 | |
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63
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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64
persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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65
deduct
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| vt.扣除，减去 | |
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66
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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67
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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68
instil
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| v.逐渐灌输 | |
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69
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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70
urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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71
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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72
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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73
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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74
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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75
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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76
squander
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| v.浪费，挥霍 | |
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77
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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78
unimpeachable
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| adj.无可指责的；adv.无可怀疑地 | |
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79
reciprocating
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| adj.往复的；来回的；交替的；摆动的v.报答，酬答( reciprocate的现在分词 )；（机器的部件）直线往复运动 | |
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80
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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81
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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82
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
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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84
contortions
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| n.扭歪，弯曲；扭曲，弄歪，歪曲( contortion的名词复数 ) | |
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85
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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86
testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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87
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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88
postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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89
recollects
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的第三人称单数 ) | |
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90
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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91
transact
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| v.处理；做交易；谈判 | |
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92
broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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93
fermenting
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| v.（使）发酵( ferment的现在分词 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
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94
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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95
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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96
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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97
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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98
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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99
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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100
absolved
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| 宣告…无罪，赦免…的罪行，宽恕…的罪行( absolve的过去式和过去分词 )； 不受责难，免除责任 [义务] ,开脱（罪责） | |
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101
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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102
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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103
skulking
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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104
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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105
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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106
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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107
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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108
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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109
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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110
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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111
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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112
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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113
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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114
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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115
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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116
steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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117
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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