“My compliments to Messrs. Bagshot and Buffle!” exclaimed the tall young man with the monocle angrily; “I shall certainly call round and see them in the morning. Good evening!”
Little Simpkins explained that Bagshot and Buffle were not in need of compliments, their business being to sell boots and to receive payment for them. Two of the jolly young gentlemen proposed to throw him down the stairs, and were only persuaded not to by the third jolly young gentleman, who much preferred to throw him out of the window. Whereupon Simpkins politely hinted that he would be compelled to interview the college dean and await developments in his chambers13. Simpkins made it quite clear that, whatever happened, he was going to wait somewhere until he got the money. The three jolly young gentlemen then told little Simpkins exactly what they thought of him, exactly, omitting no shade of denunciation, fine or emphatic14. They told him where he ought to be at the very moment, where he would quickly be unless he took himself off; in short, they told him a lot of prophetic things which, as is the way of prophecy, invited a climax15 of catastrophic horror.
“What is your name? Who the devil are you?”
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“My name is Simpkins.”
Then the three jolly young gentlemen took counsel together in whispers, and at last Mr. Evans-Antrobus said: “Well if you insist upon waiting, Mr. Simpkins, I must get the money for you. I can borrow it, I suppose, boys, from Fazz, can’t I?”
Again they consulted in whispers, after which two of the young gents said they ought to be going, and so they went.
“Wait here for me,” said Mr. Evans-Antrobus, “I shall not be five minutes.”
But Mr. Simpkins was so firmly opposed to this course that the other relented. “Damn you! come along with me, then; I must go and see Fazz.” So off they went to some rooms higher up the same flight of stairs, beyond a door that was marked “F. A. Zealander.” When they entered Fazz sat moping in front of the fire; he was wrapped as deeply as an Esquimaux in some plaid travelling rugs girt with the pink rope of a dressing-gown that lay across his knees. The fire was good, but the hearth16 was full of ashes. The end of the fender was ornamented17 with the strange little iron face of a man whose eyes were shut but whose knobby cheeks fondly glowed. Fazz’s eyes were not shut, they were covered by dim glasses, and his cheeks had no more glow than a sponge.
“Hullo, Fazz. You better to-day?”
“No, dearie, I am not conscious of any improvement. This influenza’s a thug; I am being deprived of my vitality18 as completely as a fried rasher.”
“Oh, by the by,” said his friend, “you don’t know each other: Mr. Simpkins—Mr. Zealander.”
65
The former bowed awkwardly and unexpectedly shook Mr. Zealander’s hot limp hand. At that moment a man hurried in, exclaiming: “Mr. Evans-Antrobus, sir, the Dean wants to see you in his rooms at once, sir!”
“That is deuced awkward,” said that gentleman blandly19. “Just excuse me for a moment or two, Fazz.”
He hurried out, leaving Simpkins confronting Mr. Zealander in some confusion. Fazz poked20 his flaming coal. “This fire! Did you ever see such a morbid21 conflagration22?”
“Rather nice, I thought,” replied Simpkins affably; “quite cool to-night, outside, rather.”
The host peered at him through those dim glasses. “There’s a foggy humidity about everything, like the inside of a cream tart23. But sit down,” said Fazz, With the geniality24 of a man who was about to be hung and was rather glad that he was no longer to be exposed to the fraudulent excess of life, “and tell me a bawdy25 story.”
Simpkins sank into an armchair and was silent.
“Perhaps you don’t care for bawdy stories?” continued Fazz. “I do, I do. I love vulgarity; there is certainly a niche26 in life for vulgarity. If ever I possess a house of my own I will arrange—I will, upon my soul—one augustly vulgar room, divinely vulgar, upholstered in sallow pigskin. Do tell me something. You haven’t got a spanner on you, I suppose? There is something the matter with my bed. Once it was full of goose feathers, but now I sleep, as it were, on the bulge27 of a barrel; I must do66 something to it with a spanner. I hate spanners—such dreadful democratic tools; they terrify me, they gape28 at you as if they wanted to bite you. Spanners are made of iron, and this is a funny world, for it is full of things like spanners.”
Simpkins timidly rose up through the waves of this discourse29 and asked if he could “do” anything. He was mystified, amused, and impressed by this person; he didn’t often meet people like that, he didn’t often meet anybody; he rather liked him. On each side of the invalid30 there were tables and bottles of medicine.
“I am just going to take my temperature,” said Fazz. “Do have a cigarette, dearie, or a cigar. Can you see the matches? Yes; now do you mind surrounding me with my medicines? They give such a hopeful air to the occasion. There’s a phial of sodium31 salicylate tabloids32, I must take six of them in a minute or two. Then there are the quinine capsules; the formalin, yes; those lozenges I suck—have one?—they are so comforting, and that depressing laxative; surround me with them. Oh, glorious, benignant, isn’t it? Now I shall take my temperature; I shall be as stolid33 as the sphinx for three minutes, so do tell me that story. Where is my thermometer, oh!” He popped the thermometer into his mouth, but pulled it out again. “Do you know L. G.? He’s a blithe34 little fellow, oh, very blithe. He was in Jacobsen’s rooms the other day—Jacobsen’s a bit of an art connoisseur35, you know, and draws and paints, and Jacobsen drew attention to the portrait of a lady that was hanging on the wall.67 ‘Oh, dear,’ said L. G., ‘what a hag! Where did you get that thing?’ just like that. Such a perfect fool, L. G. ‘It’s my mother,’ says Jacobsen. ‘Oh, of course,’ explained L. G., ‘I didn’t mean that, of course, my dear fellow; I referred to the horrible treatment, entirely36 to the horrible treatment; it is a wretched daub.’ ‘I did it myself!’ said Jacobsen. You don’t know L. G.? Oh, he is very blithe. What were you going to tell me? I am just going to take my temperature; yesterday it was ninety odd point something. I do hope it is different now. I can’t bear those points, they seem so equivocal.”
Fazz sat with the tube of the thermometer projecting from his mouth. At the end of the test he regarded it very earnestly before returning it disconsolately37 to the table. Then he addressed his visitor with considerable gloom.
“Pardon me, I did not catch your name.”
“Simpkins.”
“Simpkins!” repeated Fazz, with a dubious38 drawl. “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t like Simpkins, it sounds so minuscular39. What are you taking?”
“I won’t take anything, sir, thank you,” replied Simpkins.
“I mean, what schools are you taking?”
“Oh, no school at all.”
Fazz was mystified: “What college are you?”
“I’m not at a college,” confessed the other. “I came to see Mr. Evans-Antrobus with a note. I’m waiting for an answer.”
68
“Where do you come from?”
“Hump, you are very young to make bespoke boots, aren’t you, Simpkins, surely? Are you an Agnostic? Have a cigar? You must, you’ve been very good, and I am so interested in your career; but tell me now what it exactly is that you are sitting in my room for?”
Simpkins told him all he could.
“It’s interesting, most fascinating,” declared Fazz, “but it is a little beyond me all the same. I am afraid, Simpkins, that you have been deposited with me as if I were a bank and you were something not negotiable, as you really are, I fear. But you mustn’t tell the Dean about Evans-Antrobus, no, you mustn’t, it’s never done. Tell me, why do you make bespoke boots? It’s an unusual taste to display. Wouldn’t you rather come to college, for instance, and study ... er ... anthropology42—nothing at all about boots in anthropology?”
“No,” said Simpkins. He shuffled43 in his chair and felt uneasy. “I’d be out of my depth.” Fazz glared at him, and Simpkins repeated: “Out of my depth, that would be, sure.”
“This is very shameful,” commented the other, “but it’s interesting, most fascinating. You brazenly44 maintain that you would rather study boots than ... than books and brains!”
“A cobbler must stick to his last,” replied Simpkins, recalling a phrase of his father’s.
“Bravo!” cried Fazz,69 “but not to an everlasting45 last!”
“And I don’t know anything about all this; there’s nothing about it I’d want to know, it wouldn’t be any good to me. It’s no use mixing things, and there’s a lot to be learnt about boots—you’d be surprised. You got to keep yourself to yourself and not get out of your depth—take a steady line and stick to it, and not get out of your depth.”
“But, dearie, you don’t sleep with a lifebelt girt about your loins, do you now? I’m not out of my depth; I shouldn’t be even if I started to make boots....”
“Oh, wouldn’t you?” shouted Simpkins.
“I should find it rather a shallow occupation; mere46 business is the very devil of a business; business would be a funny sort of life.”
“Life’s a funny business; you look after your business and that will look after you.”
“But what in the world are we in the world at all for, Simpkins? Isn’t it surely to do just the things we most intensely want to do? And you do boots and boots and boots. Don’t you ever get out and about?—theatres—girls—sport—or do you insist on boot, the whole boot, and nothing but boot?”
“No, none of them,” replied Simpkins. “Don’t care for theatres, I’ve never been. Don’t care for girls, I like a quiet life. I keep myself to myself—it’s safer, don’t get out of your depth then. I do go and have a look at the football match sometimes, but it’s only because we make the boots for some of your crack players, and you want to know what you are making them for. Work doesn’t trouble me, nothing troubles me, and I got money in the bank.”
70
“Damme, Simpkins, you have a terrible conviction about you; if I listen to you much longer I shall bind47 myself apprentice48 to you. I feel sure that you make nice, soft, watertight, everlasting boots, and then we should rise in the profession together. Discourse, Simpkins; you enchant49 mine ears—both of them.”
“What I say is,” concluded Simpkins, “you can’t understand everything. I shouldn’t want to; I’m all right as it is.”
“Of course you are, you’re simply too true. This is a place flowing with afternoon tea, tutors, and clap-trap. It’s a city in which everything is set upon a bill. You’re simply too true, if we are not out of our depth we are in up to our ears—I am. It’s most fascinating.”
Soon afterwards Simpkins left him. Descending50 the stairs to the rooms of Evans-Antrobus he switched on the light. It was very quiet and snug51 in those rooms, with the soft elegant couch, the reading-lamp with the delicious violet shade, the decanter with whiskey, the box of chocolate biscuits, and the gramophone. He sat down by the fire, waiting and waiting. Simpkins waited so long that he got used to the room, he even stole a sip52 of whiskey and some of the chocolate biscuits. Then to show his independence, his contempt for Mr. Evans-Antrobus and his trickery, he took still more of the whiskey—a drink he had never tasted before—he really took quite a lot. He heaped coal upon the fire, and stalked about the room with his hands in his pockets or examined the books, most of which were71 about something called Jurisprudence, and suchlike. Simpkins liked books; he began reading:
That the Pleuronectid? are admirably adapted by their flattened53 and asymmetrical54 structure for their habits of life, is manifest from several species, such as soles and flounders, etc., being extremely common.
He did not care much for science; he opened another:
It is difficult indeed to imagine that anything can oscillate so rapidly as to strike the retina of the eye 831,479,000,000,000 in one second, as must be the case with violet light according to this hypothesis.
Simpkins looked at the light and blinked his eyes. That had a violet shade. He really did not care for science, and he had an inclination55 to put the book down as his head seemed to be swaying, but he continued to turn the pages.
Snowdon is the highest mountain in England or Wales. Snowdon is not so high as Ben Nevis.
Therefore the highest mountain in England or Wales is not so high as Ben Nevis.
Water must be either warm or not warm, but it does not follow that it must be warm or cold.
Simpkins felt giddy. He dropped the book, and tottered57 to the couch. Immediately the room spun58 round and something in his head began to hum, to roar like an aeroplane a long way up in the sky. He felt that he ought to get out of the room, quickly, and get some water, either not or cold warm—he did72n’t mind which! He clapped on his hat and, slipping into his overcoat, he reached a door. It opened into a bedroom, very bare indeed compared with this other room, but Simpkins rolled in; the door slammed behind him, and in the darkness he fell upon a bed, with queer sensations that seemed to be dividing and subtracting in him.
When he awoke later—oh, it seemed much later—he felt quite well again. He had forgotten where he was. It was a strange place he was in, utterly59 dark; but there was a great noise sounding quite close to him—a gramophone, people shouting choruses and dancing about in the adjoining room. He could hear a lady’s voice too. Then he remembered that he ought not to be in that room at all; it was, why, yes, it was criminal; he might be taken for a burglar or something! He slid from the bed, groped in the darkness until he found his hat, unbuttoned his coat, for he was fearfully hot, and stood at the bedroom door trembling in the darkness, waiting and listening to that tremendous row. He had been a fool to come in there! How was he to get out—how the deuce was he to get out? The gramophone stopped. He could hear the voices more plainly. He grew silently panic-stricken; it was awful, they’d be coming in to him perhaps, and find him sneaking60 there like a thief—he must get out, he must, he must get out; yes, but how?
The singing began again. The men kept calling out “Lulu! Lulu!” and a lady’s gay voice would reply to a Charley or a George, and so on, when all at once there came a peremptory61 knock at the outer73 door. The noise within stopped immediately. Deep silence. Simpkins could hear whispering. The people in there were startled; he could almost feel them staring at each other with uneasiness. The lady laughed out startlingly shrill62. “Sh-s-s-sh!” the others cried. The loud knocking began again, emphatic, terrible. Simpkins’ already quaking heart began to beat ecstatically. Why, oh why, didn’t they open that door?—open it! open it! There was shuffling63 in the room, and when the knocking was repeated for the third time the outer door was apparently64 unlocked.
“Fazz! Oh, Fazz, you brute65!” cried the relieved voices in the room. “You fool, Fazz! Come in, damn you, and shut the door.”
“Good gracious!” exclaimed the apparently deliberating Fazz, “what is that?”
“Hullo, Rob Roy!” cried the lady, “it’s me.”
“Charmed to meet you, madame. How interesting, most fascinating; yes, I am quite charmed, but I wish somebody would kindly66 give me the loose end of it all. I’m suffering, as you see, dearies, and I don’t understand all this, I’m quite out of my depth. The noise you’ve been making is just crushing me.”
Several voices began to explain at once: “We captured her, Fazz, yes—Rape of the Sabines, what!—from the Vaudeville67. Had a rag, glorious—corralled all the attendants and scene-shifters—rushed the stage—we did! we did!—everybody chased somebody, and we chased Lulu—we did! we did!”
“Oh, shut up, everybody!” cried out Fazz.
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“Yes, listen,” cried the voice of Evans-Antrobus. “This is how it happened: they chased the eight Sisters Victoria off the stage, and we spied dear little Lulu—she was one of those eight Victorias—bolting down a passage to the stage entrance. She fled into the street just as she was—isn’t she a duck? There was a taxi standing68 there, and Lulu, wise woman, jumped in—and we jumped in too. (We did! We did!) ‘Where for?’ says taximan. ‘Saviour’s College,’ say we, and here you are—Lulu—what do you think of her?”
“Charming, utterly charming,” replied Fazz. “The details are most clarifying; but how did you manage to usher69 her into the college?”
“My overcoat on,” explained one voice.
“And my hat,” cried another.
“And we dazzled the porter,” said a third. There were lots of other jolly things to explain: Lulu had not resisted at all, she had enjoyed it; it was a lark70!
“Oh, beautiful! Most fascinating!” agreed Fazz. “But how you propose to get her out of the college I have no more notion than Satan has of sanctity—it’s rather late, isn’t it?”
Simpkins, in his dark room, could hear someone rushing up the stairs with flying leaps that ceased at the outer door. Then a breathless voice hissed71 out: “You fellows, scat, scat! Police are in the lodge with the proctors and that taximan!”
In a moment Evans-Antrobus began to groan72. “Oh, my God, what can we do with her? We must get her out at once—over the wall, eh, at once, quick! Johnstone, quick, go and find a rope, quick, a rope.”
75
And Fazz said: “It does begin to look a little foolish. Oh, I am feeling so damn bad—but you can’t blame a fool for anything it does, can you? But I am bad; I am going to bed instantly, I feel quite out of my depth here. Oh, that young friend of yours, that Simpkins, charming young person! Very blithe he was, dear Evans-Antrobus!”
Everybody now seemed to rush away from the room except the girl Lulu and Evans-Antrobus. He was evidently very agitated73 and in a bad humour. He clumped74 about the room exclaiming, “Oh, damnation, do hurry up, somebody. What am I to do with her, boozy little pig! Do hurry up!”
“You can’t go like that!” he cried; “you can’t, you mustn’t. Don’t be a fool, Lulu! Lulu! Now, isn’t this a fearful mess?”
“I’m not going to stop here with you, ugly thing! I don’t like it; I’m going now, let go.”
“But you can’t go, I tell you, in these things, not like that. Let me think, let me think, can’t you! Why don’t you let me think, you little fool! Put something on you, my overcoat; cover yourself up. I shall be ruined, damn you! Why the devil did you come here, you ...!”
“And who brought me here, Mr. Antibus? Oh yes, I know you; I shall have something to say to the vicar, or whoever it is you’re afraid of, baby-face! Let me go; I don’t want to be left here alone with you!” she yelled. Simpkins heard an awful scuffle. He could wait no longer; he flung open76 the door, rushed into the room, and caught up a syphon, the first handy weapon. They saw him at once, and stood apart amazed.
“Fine game!” said the trembling Simpkins to the man, with all the sternness at his command. As nobody spoke41 he repeated, quite contemptuously: “Fine game!”
Lulu was breathing hard, with her hands resting upon her bosom76. Her appearance was so startling to the boy that he nearly dropped the syphon. He continued to face her, hugging it with both hands against his body. She was clad in pink tights—they were of silk, they glistened77 in the sharper light from under the violet shade—a soft white tarlatan skirt that spread around her like a carnation78, and a rose-coloured bodice. She was dainty, with a little round head and a little round face like a briar rose; but he guessed she was strong, though her beauty had apparently all the fragility of a flower. Her hair, of dull dark gold, hung in loose tidiness without pin or braid, the locks cut short to her neck, where they curved in to brush the white skin; a deep straight fringe of it was combed upon the childish brow. Grey were her surprised eyes, and wide the pouting79 lips. Her lovely naked arms—oh, he could scarcely bear to look at them. She stood now, with one hand upon her hip80 and the other lying against her cheek, staring at Simpkins. Then she danced delightfully81 up to him and took the syphon away.
“Look here,” said Evans-Antrobus to Lulu—he had recovered his nerve, and did not express any astonishment82 at Simpkins’ sudden appearance77—“he is just your size, you dress up in his clothes, quick, then it’s simple.”
“No,” said the girl.
“And no for me,” said Simpkins fiercely—almost.
Just then the door was thrust partly open and a rope was flung into the room. The bringer of it darted83 away downstairs again.
“Hi! here!” called Evans-Antrobus, rushing to the door; but nobody stayed for him, nobody answered him. He came back and picked up the rope.
“Put on that coat,” he commanded Lulu, “and that hat. Now, look here, not a word, not a giggle84 even, or we are done, and I might just as well screw your blessed neck!”
“Would you?” snorted Simpkins, with not a little animosity.
“Yes, would you!” chimed Lulu, but nevertheless she obeyed and followed him down the stairs. When she turned and beckoned85, Simpkins followed too. They crossed a dark quadrangle, passed down a passage that was utter darkness, through another quad5, another passage, and halted in a gloomy yard behind the chapel86, where Evans-Antrobus struck a match, and where empty boxes, bottles, and other rubbish had accumulated under a wall about ten feet high.
“You first, and quiet, quiet,” growled87 Evans-Antrobus to Simpkins. No one spoke again. Night was thickly dark, the stars were dim, the air moist and chill. Simpkins, assisted by the other man, clambered over rickety boxes and straddled the high thick wall. The rope was hungover, too, and when the big man had jumped to earth again, dragging his78 weight against it, Simpkins slid down on the other side. He was now in a narrow street, with a dim lamp at one end that cast no gleam to the spot where he had descended88. There were dark high-browed buildings looming89 high around him. He stood holding the end of the rope and looking up at the stars—very faint they were. The wall was much higher on this side, looked like a mountain, and he thought of Ben Nevis again. This was out of your depth, if you like, out of your depth entirely. It was all wrong somehow, or, at any rate, it was not all right; it couldn’t be right. Never again would he mess about with a lot of lunatics. He hadn’t done any good, he hadn’t even got the money—he had forgotten it. He had not got anything at all except a headache.
“Keep your rotten coat!” She slipped it off and flung it down from the wall. “And your rotten hat, too, spider-face!” She flung that down from the wall, and spat91 into the darkness. Turning to the other side, she whispered: “I’m coming,” and scrambled92 down, sliding into Simpkins’ arms. And somehow he stood holding her so, embracing her quite tightly. She was all softness and perfume, he could not let her go; she had scarcely anything on—he would not let her go. It was marvellous and beautiful to him; the glimmer93 of her white face was mysterious and tender in the darkness. She put her arms around his neck:
“Oh ... I rather love you,” she said.
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inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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quad
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| n.四方院；四胞胎之一；v.在…填补空铅 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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privily
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| adv.暗中，秘密地 | |
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harp
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quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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inexplicably
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| adv.无法说明地，难以理解地，令人难以理解的是 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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climax
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hearth
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ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vitality
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blandly
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poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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morbid
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conflagration
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tart
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geniality
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bawdy
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niche
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bulge
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gape
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discourse
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invalid
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sodium
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tabloids
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| n.小报，通俗小报（版面通常比大报小一半，文章短，图片多，经常报道名人佚事）( tabloid的名词复数 )；药片 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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minuscular
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| n.微小的 | |
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bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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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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anthropology
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| n.人类学 | |
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shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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brazenly
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| adv.厚颜无耻地；厚脸皮地肆无忌惮地 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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enchant
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| vt.使陶醉，使入迷；使着魔，用妖术迷惑 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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asymmetrical
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| adj.不均匀的，不对称的 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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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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tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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vaudeville
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| n.歌舞杂耍表演 | |
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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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usher
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| n.带位员，招待员；vt.引导，护送；vi.做招待，担任引座员 | |
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lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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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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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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clumped
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| adj.[医]成群的v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的过去式和过去分词 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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shrilled
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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carnation
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| n.康乃馨（一种花） | |
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pouting
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的现在分词 ) | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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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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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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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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spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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