THE JACKSON JUNIOR LEAGUE Annual Ball and Benefit is known simply as “the Benefit” to anyone who lives within a ten-mile radius1 of town. At seven o’clock on a cool November night, guests will arrive at the Robert E. Lee Hotel bar for the cocktail2 hour. At eight o’clock, the doors from the lounge will open to the ballroom3. Swags of green velvet4 have been hung around the windows, adorned5 with bouquets6 of real holly7 berries.
Along the windows stand tables with auction8 lists and the prizes. The goods have been donated by members and local shops, and the auction is expected to generate more than six thousand dollars this year, five hundred more dollars than last year. The proceeds will go to the Poor Starving Children of Africa.
In the center of the room, beneath a gigantic chandelier, twenty-eight tables are dressed and ready for the sit-down dinner to be served at nine. A dance floor and bandstand are off to the side, opposite the podium where Hilly Holbrook will give her speech.
After the dinner, there will be dancing. Some of the husbands will get drunk, but never the member wives. Every member there considers herself a hostess and will be heard asking one another, “Is it going alright? Has Hilly said anything?” Everyone knows it is Hilly’s night.
At seven on the dot, couples begin drifting through the front doors, handing their furs and overcoats to the colored men in gray morning suits. Hilly, who’s been there since six o’clock sharp, wears a long taffeta maroon-colored dress. Ruffles10 clutch at her throat, swathes of material hide her body. Tight-fitted sleeves run all the way down her arms. The only genuine parts of Hilly you can see are her fingers and her face.
Some women wear slightly saucier11 evening gowns, with bare shoulders here and there, but long kid-leather gloves ensure they don’t have more than a few inches of epidermis12 exposed. Of course, every year some guest will show up with a hint of leg or a shadow of cleavage. Not much is said, though. They aren’t members, those kind.
Celia Foote and Johnny arrive later than they’d planned, at seven twenty-five. When Johnny came home from work, he stopped in the doorway13 of the bedroom, squinted14 at his wife, briefcase15 still in his hand. “Celia, you think that dress might be a little bit too . . . um . . . open at the top?”
Celia had pushed him toward the bathroom. “Oh Johnny, you men don’t know the first thing about fashion. Now hurry up and get ready.”
Johnny gave up before he even tried to change Celia’s mind. They were already late as it was.
They walk in behind Doctor and Missus Ball. The Balls step left, Johnny steps right, and for a moment, it is just Celia, standing17 under the holly berries in her sparkling hot pink gown.
In the lounge, the air seems to still. Husbands drinking their whiskeys stop in mid-sip18, spotting this pink thing at the door. It takes a second for the image to register. They stare, but don’t see, not yet. But as it turns real—real skin, real cleavage, perhaps not-so-real blond hair—their faces slowly light up. They all seem to be thinking the same thing—Finally... But then, feeling the fingernails of their wives, also staring, digging into their arms, their foreheads wrinkle. Their eyes hint remorse19, as marriages are scorned (she never lets me do anything fun), youth is remembered (why didn’t I go to California that summer?), first loves are recalled (Roxanne . . .). All of this happens in a span of about five seconds and then it is over and they are left just staring.
William Holbrook tips half his gin martini onto a pair of patent-leather shoes. The shoes are attached to the feet of his biggest campaign contributor.
“Oh, Claiborne, forgive my clumsy husband,” says Hilly. “William, get him a handkerchief!” But neither man moves. Neither, frankly20, really cares to do more than just stare.
Hilly’s eyes follow the trail of gazes and finally land on Celia. The inch of skin showing on Hilly’s neck grows taut21.
“Look at the chest on that one,” an old geezer says. “Feel like I’m not a year over seventy-five looking at those things.”
The geezer’s wife, Eleanor Causwell, an original founder22 of the League, frowns. “Bosoms23,” she announces, with a hand to her own, “are for bedrooms and breastfeeding. Not for occasions with dignity.”
“Well, what do you want her to do, Eleanor? Leave them at home?”
“I want her to cover. Them. Up.”
Celia grabs for Johnny’s arm as they make their way into the room. She teeters a bit as she walks, but it’s not clear if it’s from alcohol or the high heels. They drift around, talking to other couples. Or at least Johnny talks; Celia just smiles. A few times she blushes, looks down at herself. “Johnny, do you think I might’ve overdressed a little for this thing? The invitation said formal, but these girls here all look like they’re dressed for church.”
Johnny gives her a sympathetic smile. He’d never tell her “I told you so,” and instead whispers, “You look gorgeous. But if you’re cold, you can put my jacket on.”
“I can’t wear a man’s jacket with a ball gown.” She rolls her eyes at him, sighs. “But thanks, honey.”
Johnny squeezes her hand, gets her another drink from the bar, her fifth, although he doesn’t know this. “Try and make some friends. I’ll be right back.” He heads for the men’s room.
Celia is left standing alone. She tugs24 a little at the neckline of her dress, shimmies down deeper into the waist.
“. . . there’s a hole in the buck-et dear Liza, dear Liza . . .” Celia sings an old county fair song softly to herself, tapping her foot, looking around the room for somebody she recognizes. She stands on tiptoe and waves over the crowd. “Hey Hilly, yoo-hoo.”
Hilly looks up from her conversation a few couples away. She smiles, gives a wave, but as Celia comes toward her, Hilly heads off into the crowd.
Celia stops where she is, takes another sip of her drink. All around her, tight little groups have formed, talking and laughing, she guesses, about all those things people talk and laugh about at parties.
“Oh, hey there, Julia,” Celia calls. They’d met at one of the few parties Celia and Johnny attended when they first got married.
Julia Fenway smiles, glances around.
“It’s Celia. Celia Foote. How are you? Oh, I just love that dress. Where’d you get that? Over at the Jewel Taylor Shoppe?”
“No, Warren and I were in New Orleans a few months ago . . .” Julia looks around, but there is no one near enough to save her. “And you look very... glamorous25 tonight.”
Celia leans closer. “Well, I asked Johnny, but you know how men are. Do you think I’m a tad overdressed?”
Julia laughs, but not once does she look Celia in the eye. “Oh no. You’re just perfect.”
A fellow Leaguer squeezes Julia on the forearm. “Julia, we need you over here a second, excuse us.” They walk away, heads leaned close together, and Celia is alone again.
Five minutes later, the doors to the dining room slide open. The crowd moves forward. Guests find their tables using the tiny cards in their hands as oohs and aahs come from the bidding tables along the walls. They are full of silver pieces and hand-sewn daygowns for infants, cotton handkerchiefs, monogrammed hand towels, a child’s tea set imported from Germany.
Minny is at a table in the back polishing glasses. “Aibileen,” she whispers. “There she is.”
Aibileen looks up, spots the woman who knocked on Miss Leefolt’s door a month ago. “Ladies better hold on to they husbands tonight,” she says.
Minny jerks the cloth around the rim26 of a glass. “Let me know if you see her talking to Miss Hilly.”
“I will. I been doing a super power prayer for you all day.”
“Look, there Miss Walters. Old bat. And there Miss Skeeter.”
Skeeter has on a long-sleeved black velvet dress, scooped27 at the neck, setting off her blond hair, her red lipstick28. She has come alone and stands in a pocket of emptiness. She scans the room, looking bored, then spots Aibileen and Minny. They all look away at once.
One of the other colored helpers, Clara, moves to their table, picks up a glass. “Aibileen,” she whispers, but keeps her eyes on her polishing. “That the one?”
“One what?”
“One who taking down the stories bout16 the colored help. What she doing it for? Why she interested? I hear she been coming over to your house ever week.”
Aibileen lowers her chin. “Now look, we got to keep her a secret.”
Minny looks away. No one outside the group knows she’s part of this. They only know about Aibileen.
Clara nods. “Don’t worry, I ain’t telling nobody nothing.”
Skeeter jots29 a few words on her pad, notes for the newsletter article about the Benefit. She looks around the room, taking in the swags of green, the holly berries, red roses and dried magnolia leaves set as centerpieces on all the tables. Then her eyes land on Elizabeth, a few feet away, ticking through her handbag. She looks exhausted30, having had her baby only a month ago. Skeeter watches as Celia Foote approaches Elizabeth. When Elizabeth looks up and sees who she’s been surrounded by, she coughs, draws her hand up to her throat as if she’s shielding herself from some kind of attack.
“Not sure which way to turn, Elizabeth?” asks Skeeter.
“What? Oh, Skeeter, how are you?” Elizabeth offers a quick, wide smile. “I was . . . feeling so warm in here. I think I need some fresh air.”
Skeeter watches Elizabeth rush away, at Celia Foote rattling31 after Elizabeth in her awful dress. That’s the real story, Skeeter thinks. Not the flower arrangements or how many pleats are around the rear end of Hilly’s dress. This year, it’s all about The Celia Foote Fashion Catastrophe32.
Moments later, dinner is announced and everyone settles into their assigned seats. Celia and Johnny have been seated with a handful of out-of-town couples, friends of friends who aren’t really friends of anyone at all. Skeeter is seated with a few local couples, not President Hilly or even Secretary Elizabeth this year. The room is full of chatter33, praise for the party, praise for the Chateaubriand. After the main course, Hilly stands behind the podium. There is a round of applause and she smiles at the crowd.
“Good evening. I sure do thank y’all for coming tonight. Everybody enjoying their dinner?”
There are nods and rumbles34 of consent.
“Before we start the announcements, I’d like to go ahead and thank the people who are making tonight such a success.” Without turning her head from the audience, Hilly gestures to her left, where two dozen colored women have lined up, dressed in their white uniforms. A dozen colored men are behind them, in gray-and-white tuxedos35.
“Let’s give a special round of applause to the help, for all the wonderful food they cooked and served, and for the desserts they made for the auction.” Here, Hilly picks up a card and reads, “In their own way, they are helping36 the League reach its goal to feed the Poor Starving Children of Africa, a cause, I’m sure, dear to their own hearts as well.”
The white people at the tables clap for the maids and servers. Some of the servers smile back. Many, though, stare at the empty air just above the crowd’s heads.
“Next we’d like to thank those nonmembers in this room who have given their time and help, for it’s you who made our job that much easier.”
There is light applause, some cold smiles and nods between members and nonmembers. Such a pity, the members seem to be thinking. Such a shame you girls haven’t the gentility to join our club. Hilly goes on, thanking and recognizing in a musical, patriotic37 voice. Coffee is served and the husbands drink theirs, but most of the women keep rapt attention on Hilly. “. . . thanks to Boone Hardware . . . let us not forget Ben Franklin’s dime38 store . . .” She concludes the list with, “And of course we thank our anonymous39 contributor of, ahem, supplies, for the Home Help Sanitation40 Initiative.”
A few people laugh nervously41, but most turn their heads to see if Skeeter has had the gall42 to show up.
“I just wish instead of being so shy, you’d step up and accept our gratitude43. We honestly couldn’t have accomplished44 so many installations without you.”
Skeeter keeps her eyes on the podium, her face stoic45 and unyielding. Hilly gives a quick, brilliant smile. “And finally, a special thanks to my husband, William Holbrook, for donating a weekend at his deer camp.” She smiles down at her husband, adds in a lower tone, “And don’t forget, voters. Holbrook for State Senate.”
The guests offer an amicable46 laugh at Hilly’s plug.
“What’s that, Virginia?” Hilly cups her ear, then straightens. “No, I’m not running with him. But congressmen with us tonight, if you don’t straighten this thing out with the separate schools, don’t think I won’t come down there and do it myself.”
There is more laughter at this. Senator and Missus Whitworth, seated at a table in the front, nod and smile. At her table in the back, Skeeter looks down at her lap. They spoke47 earlier, during the cocktail hour. Missus Whitworth steered48 the Senator away from Skeeter before he could give her a second hug. Stuart didn’t come.
Once the dinner and the speech have ended, people get up to dance, husbands head for the bar. There is a scurry49 to the auction tables for last-minute bids. Two grandmothers are in a bidding war over the child’s antique tea set. Someone started the rumor50 that it had belonged to royalty51 and had been smuggled52 out via donkey cart across Germany until it eventually wound up in the Magnolia Antique Store on Fairview Street. The price shot up from fifteen dollars to eighty-five in no time.
In the corner by the bar, Johnny yawns. Celia’s brow is scrunched53 together. “I can’t believe what she said about nonmembers helping. She told me they didn’t need any help this year.”
“Well, you can help out next year,” Johnny says.
Celia spots Hilly. For the moment, Hilly has only a few people around her.
“Johnny, I’ll be right back,” Celia says.
“And then let’s get the hell out of here. I’m sick of this monkey suit.”
Richard Cross, who’s a member of Johnny’s duck camp, slaps Johnny’s back. They say something, then laugh. Their gazes sweep across the crowd.
Celia almost makes it to Hilly this time, only to have Hilly slip behind the podium table. Celia backs away, as if she’s afraid to approach Hilly where she’d seemed so powerful a few minutes ago.
As soon as Celia disappears into the ladies room, Hilly heads for the corner.
“Why Johnny Foote,” Hilly says. “I’m surprised to see you here. Everybody knows you can’t stand big parties like this.” She squeezes the crook54 of his arm.
Johnny sighs. “You are aware that doe season opens tomorrow?”
Hilly gives him an auburn-lipsticked smile. The color matches her dress so perfectly55, it must have been searched out for days.
“I am so tired of hearing that from everybody. You can miss one day of hunting season, Johnny Foote. You used to for me.”
Johnny rolls his eyes. “Celia wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”
“Where is that wife of yours?” she asks. Hilly’s still got her hand tucked in the crook of Johnny’s arm and she gives it another pull. “Not at the LSU game serving hot dogs, is she?”
Johnny frowns down at her, even though it’s true, that’s how they met.
“Oh, now you know I’m just teasing you. We dated long enough to where I can do that, can’t I?”
Before Johnny can answer, Hilly’s shoulder is tapped and she glides56 over to the next couple, laughing. Johnny sighs when he sees Celia headed toward him. “Good,” he says to Richard, “we can go home. I’m getting up in,” he looks at his watch, “five hours.”
Richard keeps his eyes locked on Celia as she strides toward them. She stops and bends down to retrieve57 her dropped napkin, offering a generous view of her bosoms. “Going from Hilly to Celia must’ve been quite the change, Johnny.”
Johnny shakes his head. “Like living in Antarctica all my life and one day moving to Hawaii.”
Richard laughs. “Like going to bed in seminary and waking up at Ole Miss,” Richard says, and they both laugh.
Then Richard adds in a lower voice, “Like a kid eating ice cream for the very first time.”
Johnny gives him a look. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”
“Sorry, Johnny,” Richard says, lowering his eyes. “No harm meant.”
Celia walks up, sighs with a disappointed smile.
“Hey Celia, how are you?” Richard says. “You sure are looking nice tonight.”
“Thanks, Richard.” Celia lets out a loud hiccup58 and she frowns, covers her mouth with a tissue.
“You getting tipsy?” asks Johnny.
“She’s just having fun, aren’t you, Celia?” Richard says. “In fact, I’m fixing to get you a drink you’re gonna love. It’s called an Alabama Slammer.”
Johnny rolls his eyes at his friend. “And then we’re going home.” Three Alabama Slammers later, the winners of the silent auction are announced. Susie Pernell stands behind the podium while people mill about drinking or smoking at the tables, dancing to Glenn Miller59 and Frankie Valli songs, talking over the din9 of the microphone. As names are read, items are received with the excitement of someone winning a real contest, as if the booty were free and not paid for at three, four, or five times the store value. Tablecloths60 and nightgowns with the lace tatted by hand bring in high bids. Odd sterling61 servers are popular, for spooning out deviled eggs, removing pimentos from olives, cracking quail62 legs. Then there are the desserts: cakes, slabs63 of pralines, divinity fudge. And of course, Minny’s pie.
“ . . . and the winner of Minny Jackson’s world-famous chocolate custard pie is . . . Hilly Holbrook!”
There is a little more applause for this one, not just because Minny’s known for her treats, but because the name Hilly elicits64 applause on any occasion.
Hilly turns from her conversation. “What? Was that my name? I didn’t bid on anything.”
She never does, Skeeter thinks, sitting alone, a table away.
“Hilly, you just won Minny Jackson’s pie! Congratulations,” says the woman to her left.
Hilly scans the room, eyes narrowed.
Minny, having heard her name called in the same sentence as Hilly’s, is suddenly very alert. She is holding a dirty coffee cup in one hand, a heavy silver tray in the other. But she stands stock-still.
Hilly spots her, but doesn’t move either, just smiles very slightly. “Well. Wasn’t that sweet? Someone must’ve signed me up for that pie.”
She doesn’t take her eyes off Minny and Minny can feel it. She stacks the rest of the cups on the tray, and heads for the kitchen as fast as she can.
“Why congratulations, Hilly. I didn’t know you were such a fan of Minny’s pies!” Celia’s voice is shrill65. She’s come up from behind without Hilly noticing. As she trots66 toward Hilly, Celia stumbles over a chair leg. There are sideline giggles67.
Hilly stands very still, watching her approach. “Celia, is this some kind of joke?”
Skeeter moves in closer too. She’s bored to death by this predictable evening. Tired of seeing embarrassed faces of old friends too scared to come and speak to her. Celia’s the only interesting thing to happen all night.
“Hilly,” Celia says, grasping Hilly’s arm, “I’ve been trying to talk to you all night. I think there’s been some kind of miscommunication between us and I just think if I explained . . .”
“What have you done? Let me go—” Hilly says between gritted68 teeth. She shakes her head, tries to walk off.
But Celia clutches Hilly’s long sleeve. “No, wait! Hang on, you got to listen—”
Hilly pulls away, but still Celia doesn’t let go. There’s a moment of determination between them—Hilly trying to escape, Celia holding on, and then a ripping sound cuts through the air.
Celia stares at the red material in her fingers. She’s torn the auburn cuff69 clear off Hilly’s arm.
Hilly looks down, touches her exposed wrist. “What are you trying to do to me?” she says in a low growl70. “Did that Nigra maid put you up to this? Because whatever she told you and whatever you’ve blabbed to anyone else here—”
Several more people have gathered around them, listening, all looking at Hilly with frowns of concern.
“Blabbed? I don’t know what you—”
Hilly grabs Celia’s arm. “Who did you tell?” she snarls71.
“Minny told me. I know why you don’t want to be friends with me.” Susie Pernell’s voice over the microphone announcing the winners grows louder, forcing Celia to raise her own voice. “I know you think me and Johnny went behind your back,” she yells, and there is laughter from the front of the room over some comment, and more applause. Just as Susie Pernell pauses over the microphone to look at her notes, Celia yells, “—but I got pregnant after you broke up.” The room echoes with the words. All is silent for a few long seconds.
The women around them wrinkle their noses, some start to laugh. “Johnny’s wife is d-r-u-n-k,” someone says.
Celia looks around her. She wipes at the sweat that’s beading on her makeuped forehead. “I don’t blame you for not liking72 me, not if you thought Johnny cheated on you with me.”
“Johnny never would’ve—”
“—and I’m sorry I said that, I thought you’d be tickled73 you won that pie.”
Hilly bends over, snatches her pearl button from the floor. She leans closer to Celia so no one else can hear. “You tell your Nigra maid if she tells anybody about that pie, I will make her suffer. You think you’re real cute signing me up for that auction, don’t you? What, you think you can blackmail74 your way into the League?”
“What?”
“You tell me right this minute who else you’ve told ab—”
“I didn’t tell nobody nothing about a pie, I—”
“You liar75,” Hilly says, but she straightens quickly and smiles. “There’s Johnny. Johnny, I think your wife needs your attention.” Hilly flashes her eyes at the girls around them, as if they’re all in on a joke.
“Celia, what’s wrong?” Johnny says.
Celia scowls76 at him, then scowls at Hilly. “She’s not making sense, she called me a—a liar, and now she’s accusing me of signing her name on that pie and . . .” Celia stops, looks around like she recognizes no one around her. She has tears in her eyes. Then she groans77 and convulses. Vomit78 splatters onto the carpet.
“Oh shit!” Johnny says, pulling her back.
Celia pushes Johnny’s arm off her. She runs for the bathroom and he follows her.
Hilly’s hands are in fists. Her face is crimson79, nearly the color of her dress. She marches over and grabs a waiter’s arm. “Get that cleaned up before it starts to smell.”
And then Hilly is surrounded by women, faces upturned, asking questions, arms out like they are trying to protect her.
“I heard Celia’s been battling with drinking, but this problem with lying now?” Hilly tells one of the Susies. It’s a rumor she’d intended to spread about Minny, in case the pie story ever got out. “What do they call that?”
“A compulsive liar?”
“That’s it, a compulsive liar.” Hilly walks off with the women. “Celia trapped him into that marriage, telling him she was pregnant. I guess she was a compulsive liar even back then.”
After Celia and Johnny leave, the party winds down quickly. Member wives look exhausted and tired of smiling. There is talk of the auction, of babysitters to get home to, but mostly of Celia Foote retching in the middle of it all.
When the room is nearly empty, at midnight, Hilly stands at the podium. She flips80 through the sheets of silent bids. Her lips move as she calculates. But she keeps looking off, shaking her head. Then she looks back down and curses because she has to start all over again.
“Hilly, I’m headed on back to your house.”
Hilly looks up from tallying81. It is her mother, Missus Walters, looking even frailer82 than usual in her formalwear. She wears a floor-length gown, sky blue and beaded, from 1943. A white orchid83 wilts84 at her clavicle. A colored woman in a white uniform is attached to her side.
“Now, Mama, don’t you get in that refrigerator tonight. I won’t have you keeping me up all night with your indigestion. You go right to bed, you hear?”
“I can’t even have some of Minny’s pie?”
Hilly narrows her eyes at her mother. “That pie is in the garbage.”
“Well, why’d you throw it out? I won it just for you.”
Hilly is still a moment, letting this sink in. “You? You signed me up?”
“I may not remember my name or what country I live in, but you and that pie is something I will never forget.”
“You—you old, useless . . .” Hilly throws down the papers she’s holding, scattering85 them everywhere.
Missus Walters turns and hobbles toward the door, the colored nurse in tow. “Well, call the papers, Bessie,” she says. “My daughter’s mad at me again.”
收听单词发音 |
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radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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bouquets
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| n.花束( bouquet的名词复数 )；（酒的）芳香 | |
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holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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din
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ruffles
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| 褶裥花边( ruffle的名词复数 ) | |
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saucier
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| n.调味汁厨师adj.粗鲁的( saucy的比较级 )；粗俗的；不雅的；开色情玩笑的 | |
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epidermis
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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briefcase
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| n.手提箱，公事皮包 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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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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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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frankly
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taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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Founder
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bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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tugs
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| n.猛拉( tug的名词复数 )；猛拖；拖船v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的第三人称单数 ) | |
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glamorous
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| adj.富有魅力的；美丽动人的；令人向往的 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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lipstick
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| n.口红，唇膏 | |
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jots
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| v.匆忙记下( jot的第三人称单数 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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rumbles
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| 隆隆声，辘辘声( rumble的名词复数 ) | |
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tuxedos
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| n.餐服，无尾晚礼服( tuxedo的名词复数 ) | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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dime
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| n.（指美国、加拿大的钱币）一角 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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sanitation
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| n.公共卫生，环境卫生，卫生设备 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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gall
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| v.使烦恼，使焦躁，难堪；n.磨难 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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stoic
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| n.坚忍克己之人，禁欲主义者 | |
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amicable
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| adj.和平的，友好的；友善的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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scurry
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| vi.急匆匆地走；使急赶；催促；n.快步急跑，疾走；仓皇奔跑声；骤雨，骤雪；短距离赛马 | |
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rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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scrunched
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| v.发出喀嚓声( scrunch的过去式和过去分词 )；蜷缩；压；挤压 | |
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crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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glides
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| n.滑行( glide的名词复数 )；滑音；音渡；过渡音v.滑动( glide的第三人称单数 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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hiccup
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| n.打嗝 | |
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miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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tablecloths
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| n.桌布，台布( tablecloth的名词复数 ) | |
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sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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elicits
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| 引出，探出( elicit的第三人称单数 ) | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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trots
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| 小跑，急走( trot的名词复数 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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giggles
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| n.咯咯的笑( giggle的名词复数 )；傻笑；玩笑；the giggles 止不住的格格笑v.咯咯地笑( giggle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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gritted
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| v.以沙砾覆盖（某物），撒沙砾于( grit的过去式和过去分词 )；咬紧牙关 | |
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cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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snarls
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| n.（动物的）龇牙低吼( snarl的名词复数 )；愤怒叫嚷（声）；咆哮（声）；疼痛叫声v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的第三人称单数 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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scowls
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| 不悦之色，怒容( scowl的名词复数 ) | |
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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vomit
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| v.呕吐，作呕；n.呕吐物，吐出物 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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flips
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| 轻弹( flip的第三人称单数 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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tallying
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| v.计算，清点( tally的现在分词 )；加标签（或标记）于；（使）符合；（使）吻合 | |
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82
frailer
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| 脆弱的( frail的比较级 )； 易损的； 易碎的 | |
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83
orchid
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| n.兰花，淡紫色 | |
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84
wilts
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| （使）凋谢，枯萎( wilt的第三人称单数 ) | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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