After a minute's pause he turned to the little crowd, and said in a quiet, business-like way, 'Just four of you lift this poor gentleman's body, two at the head and two at the feet, and carry it over to the tavern7 I see on the other side of the road.--Gibson,' to the coachman, 'you go with them and pay them for their trouble. See it properly placed on a bed or sofa somewhere, and have the door locked, and tell the landlord he will be properly paid, and that a hearse will come out and fetch it away this evening.'
When Gibson returned and reported that all these directions had
been properly obeyed, he mounted his box again, and the gentlemen,
re-entering the carriage, drove off swiftly towards London, leaving the little crowd in the road gazing after them.
The gentlemen inside the brougham composed themselves comfortably, each in his corner, looking out of the window, and waiting for the other to speak. Each was most anxious to hear all that the other
might have to tell him, but both knew the professional etiquette8 of caution so well that neither liked to be the first to commence the conversation. At length Mr. Broadbent, who was a year or two younger, and considerably9 more impulsive10 than his friend, broke the silence by saying, in a casual manner, and as though the subject had but little interest for him, 'Odd that I should have been talking to you about that man this morning, and that we should have come upon him just now, wasn't it?'
'Very odd; very odd indeed,' said Doctor Haughton; 'quite a coincidence! Odd thing, too, his going under two names. Mr. Calverley certainly could not be called an eccentric man.'
'Nor could Mr. Claxton, so far as I have seen of him at least,' said Mr. Broadbent; 'a thoroughly11 steady-going man of business, I should say.'
'Ah!' said Doctor Haughton. And then there was a pause, broken by the doctor's saying, as he looked straight out of the window before him, 'No need of asking what made the man adopt this mystery and this alias12, eh? A woman, of course?'
'Well, there certainly is a Mrs. Claxton,' said Mr. Broadbent, 'and a very pretty woman too.'
'Poor creature, poor creature!' said Doctor Haughton; 'such things as these always fall hardest upon them.'
'Yes, it's a bad thing for her losing her husband,' said Mr. Broadbent.
'Her husband!' echoed Doctor Haughton. 'I--I--I suppose every one at Hendon thought she was Calverley's wife?'
'Thought she was!' cried Mr. Broadbent; 'do you mean to say she wasn't?'
'Why, my good friend,' said Doctor Haughton, pushing his hat on the back of his head and staring at his companion, 'there's a Mrs. Calverley at home in Great Walpole-street, whither we are now going, to whom Calverley has been married for the last ten or fifteen years.'
'Good Heaven!' cried Mr. Broadbent; 'then that poor girl at Rose Cottage is--ah, poor child, poor child!' And he sighed and shook his head very sorrowfully. He knew at that moment that so soon as the story got wind he would have to brave his wife's anger, and the virtuous13 indignation of all his neighbours, who would be furious at having him in their spotless domiciles after his attendance on such a 'creature;' but his first emotions were pity for the girl, however erring14 she might be.
'Very distressing15 indeed,' said Doctor Haughton, blowing his nose loudly. 'It is a most extraordinary thing that men who are liable to a cardiac affection are not more careful in such matters. And the girl is pretty too, you say?'
'Ah!' commented Dr. Haughton; 'doesn't resemble Mrs. Calverley much, as you will say when you see her. No doubt poor Calverley--however, that's neither here nor there. Do you know this is a remarkably17 unpleasant business, Broadbent?'
'It is indeed,' said Mr. Broadbent, 'and for both the families.'
'Yes, and for us, my good friend,' said Doctor Haughton, 'for us, who have to break the news to one of them within the next half hour. Where on earth can we say we found the man? I suppose he was living out at this box of his, wasn't he?'
'Yes, he has been there for the last few days. He was in the habit of passing a week or ten days there, and then going off, as Mrs. Claxton told me, on business journeys connected with the firm of which he was a partner.'
'That exactly tallies18 with Calverley's own life. He was absent from his home about every fortnight to look after, as he said, some ironworks in the North. It is very little wonder that a man leading a double life of such enormous excitement should bring upon himself a cardiac attack. Such a steady sobersides as he looked too! Gad19, Broadbent, I shouldn't be surprised if you were to turn out a Don Juan next!
'No fear of that,' said Mr. Broadbent, with a half smile; 'but really this is a most unpleasant position for us. Where can we say we found the poor fellow? We cannot possibly tell Mrs. Calverley we picked him up on the roadside, as he was probably supposed by her to be travelling in the North. And yet she must know the truth some day.'
'Yes, but not yet,' said Doctor Haughton, 'nor need we take upon ourselves the trouble and anxiety of telling her. We can say to Mrs. Calverley that this poor man was found dead in a railway carriage, which she would be ready to believe, imagining him to be on his return from the ironworks. Mr. Gurwood, a clergyman, her son by her former husband, who happens to be stopping in the house, how the matter really stands, and get him to explain it to her on some future occasion.'
Mr. Broadbent agreed to this mechanically; indeed he was but little concerned about Mrs. Calverley, and was wondering what would become of the poor little woman at Rose Cottage when she should hear the fearful news.
'And I'll tell you what, my dear Broadbent,' continued Doctor Haughton, after a pause, 'if you don't mind my giving you a little advice. I should let this young woman up at Hendon find out this news by herself--I mean to say, I shouldn't tell her. No one knows that you know anything about it; and it is as well for a professional man to mix himself up in such matters under such circumstances as little as possible.'
Mr. Broadbent again signified his assent20. He was a kindly-hearted man, but he knew that from a worldly point of view his companion's advice was sound, and he determined21 to act upon it, remembering Mrs. Broadbent's tongue.
So the two gentlemen journeyed on until the carriage pulled up in front of the dull, grim, respectable house in Great Walpole-street, and there, feeling very nervous despite their professional training, they alighted.
There was no need to give their names, for the butler recognised Doctor Haughton at once, and ushered22 the gentlemen into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Calverley was seated alone, with the eternal Berlin-wool frame in front of her. She looked up at the butler's announcement, rose from her seat, and stood with her hands crossed primly23 before her, waiting to receive her visitors.
Doctor Haughton advanced, and taking one of her cold flat hands shook it in a purely24 professional manner, and then let it drop. Nor could Mrs. Calverley, however acute she might have been, have gleaned25 any intelligence from the doctor's look, which was also purely professional, and met her steely blue eyes as though it were inspecting her tongue. But Mrs. Calverley was not acute, and she merely said, 'How do you do, Doctor Haughton?' in her thin acid voice, and stared blankly at Mr. Broadbent, as though wondering how he came there.
'This is Mr. Broadbent, an old friend of mine, and a medical man of great experience, whose company I was fortunate enough to have on this very melancholy26 occasion.'
Doctor Haughton laid great stress upon the last words; but Mrs. Calverley took them very calmly, merely saying 'Yes;' and rubbing the palms of her silk mittens27 softly together.
'I am afraid I have not succeeded in making you understand, Mrs. Calverley, that a great misfortune has befallen you.'
'The Swartmoor Ironworks,' said Mrs. Calverley, suddenly brightening up. 'I always said--but how could you know about them?'
'The calamity28 to which I am alluding29 is, I regret to say, much more serious than any mere4 business loss,' replied Doctor Houghton gravely. 'Mr. Calverley has been out of town for some little time, I believe?'
'Yes,' said Mrs. Calverley, becoming rigid30 with rage; 'he is away carrying out some of those ridiculous schemes in which he wastes our money and--'
'Do not speak harshly, my dear madam,' said the doctor, laying his hand upon her arm. 'I am sure you will regret it. Mr. Calverley is very ill, dangerously ill.'
Mrs. Calverley looked up sharply into his face. 'Stop one minute, Doctor Houghton, if you please; I should wish my son, the Reverend Martin Gurwood, to be present at any communication you have to make to me respecting Mr. Calverley. He is somewhere in the house, I know. I will send for him.' And she rang the bell.
'By all means,' said Doctor Haughton, looking helplessly at Mr. Broadbent, and feeling how very much more difficult it would be to tell his white lie, prompted though it was by merciful consideration, in the presence of a clergyman.
In a few minutes Martin Gurwood entered the room. He knew Doctor Houghton, and shook hands with him; bowing to Mr. Broadbent, to whom he was introduced.
'Doctor Houghton was beginning to make some communication to me about Mr. Calverley,' said Mrs. Calverley, and I thought it better, Martin, that you should be present.'
Martin Gurwood bowed, and looked inquiringly at the doctor.
'It is, I regret to say, a very painful communication,' said Doctor Haughton, in answer to this mute appeal. Mr. Calverley was found this afternoon in a very critical state in a--in a railway carriage on
the--on the Great Northern line,' said the doctor, with some little hesitation31, feeling himself grow hot all over.
Mr. Broadbent, feeling the actual responsibility thus lifted from his shoulders, preserved a perfectly32 unruffled demeanour, and nodded his head in solemn corroboration33.
'May I ask how you came to hear of this, Doctor Haughton?' said Martin.
'It so happened,' said the doctor, that I had been called in consultation34 to a case at--a short distance from town'--it would never do to name the exact place while this woman is present, he thought to himself--'and we were returning in the train when the discovery was made, and we at once offered our services, little thinking that the unfortunate sufferer would prove to be an acquaintance of mine.'
'Some one must go to him at once,' said Martin, looking hard at his mother.
'It is a great pity that Madame Du Tertre is not in the way just now when she is wanted,' said Mrs. Calverley, quietly;. 'this seems exactly one of the occasions--'
'There is no necessity for anyone to go,' interrupted Doctor Haughton; 'all that it is possible to do has been done.'
'Do you consider Mr. Calverley to be in danger?' asked Martin, anxiously.
'In extreme danger,' replied the doctor; and then catching35 Mr. Gurwood's eye, he endeavoured by the action of his mouth to frame the word dead.' But Mrs. Calverley's steely eyes were upon him at the same moment, and she guessed his meaning.
'You are endeavouring to deceive me, Doctor Haughton,' said she with her stoniest36 manner; 'Mr. Calverley is dead.'
'My dear mother,' said Martin, leaving his chair, and putting his arms round her.
'I can bear it, Martin,' said Mrs. Calverley coldly; 'this is not the first time I have known suffering. My life has been one long martyrdom.'
'Is this true?' asked Martin, turning to the doctor.
'I regret to say it is,' said Doctor Haughton. 'Out of consideration for Mrs. Calverley's feelings, I endeavoured to break the news as gently as possible, but it is better that she should know the truth as she does now.'
'It is some consolation37 for me to think,' said Mrs. Calverley, in measured tones, 'that I never failed to utter my protest against these reckless journeys, and that if Mr. Calverley had not obstinately38 persisted in ignoring my advice, on that as on every other point, he might have been here at this moment.'
'What was the immediate39 cause of death?' asked Martin Gurwood hurriedly, for his mother's tone and manner jarred harshly on his ear.
'It is impossible to say without--without an examination,' said the doctor, lowering his voice; 'but I should say, from the mere cursory40 glance we had, that death probably arose from pericarditis--what you would know as disease of the heart.'
'And that might be brought on by what?'
'It would probably be the remnant of some attack of rheumatic fever under which the deceased had suffered at some period of his life. But it has probably been accelerated or increased by excess of mental excitement or bodily fatigue41.'
'There need have been no question of excitement or fatigue either, if my advice had been followed,' said Mrs. Calverley, with a defiant42 sniff43; 'if Mr. Calverley had been more in his home--'
'Yes, mother; this is scarcely the time to enter into such questions,' said Martin Gurwood severely44, for he was ashamed of his mother's peevish45 nagging46. 'What arrangements have you made, doctor, in regard to the body of our poor friend?'
'None whatever at present,' said the doctor; 'we did the best we could temporarily, but this is a matter in which I thought it would be better to speak with you--alone,' he added, after a pause, glancing at Mrs. Calverley.
But that lady sat perfectly unmoved. 'Will there be an inquest?' she asked.
'I trust not, madam,' said the doctor dryly; for he was much scandalised at Mrs. Calverley's hardness and composure. I shall use all the influence I have to prevent any such inquiry47, for the sake of the poor gentleman who is dead, and whom I always found a kind-hearted liberal man.'
'I know nothing about his liberality,' said Mrs. Calverley, only exhibiting her appreciation48 of the doctor's tone by a slight increase in the rigidity49 of her back; 'but I know that, like most of his other virtues50, it was never exhibited towards me, or in his own home.'
'I never saw Mr. Calverley except in this house,' remarked the doctor angrily. Then turning to Martin, he said, 'These arrangements that we spoke51 of had we not better go into them?'
' think so,' said Martin. Then turning to Mrs. Calverley, he added, 'My dear mother, I must have a little business-talk with Doctor Haughton about some matters in connexion with this melancholy affair which it might perhaps be painful for you to listen to, and at which there is happily no necessity for your presence. Shall we go into the drawing-room or--'
'Pray don't trouble yourself; I will relieve you of my company at once,' said Mrs. Calverley. And with a very slight inclination52 to the visitors she rose and creaked out of the room.
The usual pallor of Martin Gurwood's face was covered by a burning flush. 'You must excuse my mother, Doctor Haughton, and you too, if you please, sir,' turning to Mr. Broadbent. 'Her sphere in life has been very narrow, and I am constrained53 to admit that her manner is harsh and forbidding. But it is manner, and nothing more.'
'Some persons are in the habit of disguising the acuteness of their feelings under a rough exterior,' said the doctor; 'Mrs. Calverley may belong to that class. At all events, subjects of this kind are better discussed without women, and we have a communication to make to you which it is absolutely necessary she should know nothing of, at least for the present.'
Martin Gurwood rose from his chair and walked to the mantelpiece, where he stood for a moment, his head resting on his hand. When he turned round his face had resumed its usual pallor, was, indeed, whiter than usual, as he said: 'I have guessed from the first that you had something to say to me, and I have a fearful idea that I guess its purport54. Mr. Calverley has committed suicide?'
'No, I think not; I certainly think not,' said the doctor. 'What do you say, Broadbent?'
'Most decidedly not,' said Mr. Broadbent.
'When I saw him yesterday, even in the cursory examination which I was able to make, I satisfied myself that there were symptoms of pericarditis, and I will stake my professional reputation it was that that killed him.'
'When you saw him yesterday?' repeated Martin Gurwood, looking blankly at the surgeon. 'Why, yesterday he must have been in the North. It was on his return journey, thence, as I understood, that he died in train.'
'Yes, exactly,' said Doctor Haughton, 'this is just the point where a little explanation is necessary. The fact is, my dear sir, that our poor friend did not die in the train at all, but .on the public road, the high road leading to Hendon, where he lived.'
'Where he lived!' cried Martin Gurwood. 'You are speaking in riddles55, which it is impossible for me to understand. I must ask you to be more explicit56, if you wish me to comprehend you.'
'Well, then, the fact of the matter is, that our poor friend for some years past has led a kind of double life. Here and in Mincing-lane he was, of course, Mr. Calverley; but at Hendon, where, as I said before, he sometimes lived, having a very pretty place there, he passed as Mr. Claxton.'
'Claxton!' cried Martin; it is the name of one of the firm.'
'Yes,' said the doctor; 'I have always understood that Mr. Claxton was a sleeping partner in the firm. Our friend here,' pointing to Mr. Broadbent, 'thought so, as well as many others. No doubt the suggestion originated with the poor man himself; who thought that some day his connexion with the firm might crop up, and that this would prove a not ineffectual blind.'
'What an extraordinary idea!' said Martin Gurwood. 'And he took this house at Hendon, and lived there, you say, from time to time.'
'Exactly,' said Doctor Houghton, looking hard at him.
'As an occasional retreat, doubtless, to which he could retire from the worries of business and--other things. You are a man of the world, Doctor Houghton, and though you have not been much at this house, you must have remarked that my mother is somewhat exacting57, and scarcely calculated to make a comfortable home for a man of poor Mr. Calverley's cheerful temperament58. I can understand his not telling his wife of the existence of this little retreat.'
'Yes--why--he,' said Doctor Houghton dryly; 'there was another reason why he did not mention its existence to Mrs. Calverley. The fact is, that this little retreat had another occupant.' And the doctor paused and looked at Martin with a serio-comic expression.
'I am at a loss again,' said the clergyman; 'I do not understand you.'
'My good sir,' said Doctor Houghton, 'your parish must lie a long way out of the world. Don't you comprehend? Mr. Calverley did not live alone at Hendon; there was a young woman there.'
'What!' cried Martin Gurwood, staggering back against the mantelpiece; 'do you mean to say that this man, so looked up to and respected, has been living for years in open crime?'
'Scarcely in open crime, my good sir,' said the doctor, 'as is proved by the fact that it has been kept quiet so long. Moreover, he is gone, poor fellow; and though there can be no question of his guilt59, there may have been what the lawyers call extenuating60 circumstances. I fancy, from what I saw of him, That Mr. Calverley was of all men inclined to be happy in his home, had matters run smoothly61.'
'I think you are very right, sir,' said Martin Gurwood; 'and it is not for me to judge him, Heaven knows, nor,' he added, seeing the doctor's eyes firmly fixed62 on him, 'nor any other sinful man. You have so astonished me by your revelation that I feel myself almost incapable63 of any farther action at present. You did perfectly right in concealing64 this dreadful story from my mother; she must be kept in ignorance of it as long as possible. Now, what else is there to be said?'
'Nothing, after you have given me the address of the undertakers you wish to employ.'
'I know none in London, nor, I am sure, does my mother. You will be more accustomed to such matters, and I should be obliged to you to act for us.'
'Very well,' said Doctor Haughton. 'I will give orders that the body be fetched from the tavern, where it is now lying, and brought here to-night. I will see you in a day or two; and I think you may trust to me for arranging the business without any unpleasant legal inquiry, under which the facts might possibly come to light.'
Martin Gurwood shook hands with his retiring visitors, and followed them to the door, which he closed behind them and carefully locked. Then returning to the chair which he had occupied he fell on his knees beside it, and prayed long and fervently65. He must have felt strong love for the man whose death and whose crime had just been revealed to him; the story just narrated66 must have struck deeply into his soul; for when he lifted his face from between his hands where it had been buried, it was strained, and seared, and tear-blurred.
What was to be done? The dreadful news must be kept from Mrs. Calverley as long as possible; not, as Martin well enough knew, that her feelings towards the dead man would be wounded as almost any other woman's feelings would be wounded by the disclosure; not that in her case it would involve any shattering of the idol67, any revulsion of love long concentrated on one earthly object, and at the last finding itself betrayed; but in fear lest the woman's ungovernable temper should break forth68 and blurt69 out to the whole world the story of her wrongs, and of her husband's dishonour70.
There was the other woman too, the poor wretch71 who had been the sharer of that dishonour, who had been living with a man on whom she had no moral or legal claim, and who even now was all unconscious of the blow which had fallen upon him, cutting him off in the midst of his wickedness, and leaving her to the scorn and reprobation72 of the world. Martin Gurwood's large-souled pity had time to turn even to this outcast. As he thought of her, he pictured to himself the desolation which would fall upon that little home, and could not help contrasting it with the proper and conventional display of mourning which had already commenced to reign73 in the house in which he sat.
Yes! Mourning as understood by undertakers and at maisons de deuil;--which is a very different thing from grief as displayed in red eyelids74 and swollen75 cheeks, in numbed76 feelings and dumb carelessness as to all that may happen--had begun to reign in the mansion77 in Great Walpole-street. The blinds had all been drawn78 down, and the servants stole about noiselessly on tip-toe. It was felt to be a time when people required keeping up, and the butler had opened a bottle of John Calverley's particular Madeira, and the cook had announced her intention of adding something special to the ordinary supper fare. Mrs. Calverley had retired79 to her bed-room, and announced that she would see no one save Madame Du Tertre, who was to be shown up directly she returned. And about seven o'clock in the murky80 autumnal evening, there was a noise of wheels and a low knock, and It arrived, and was borne in its shell on men's shoulders up the creaking stairs to an unused room on the second-floor, where It was left alone. There It lay deserted81 by all; It that had been young John Calverley the worshipped treasure of the old mother long since passed away; It that had been the revered82 head of the great City house of Calverley and Company of world-wide fame and never-tarnished renown83; It that had been 'dear old John,' so passionately84 loved by Alice Claxton, who was even now looking out into the dark night from her cottage-porch, and wondering whether her husband had gone off on business or whether he would return.
Long before It was brought there, Mr. Jeffreys had arrived from the City; and had an interview with Mr. Gurwood, in which he learned of his principal's sudden death. As Mr. Jeffreys came down the steps he met a lady going up; a lady in a state of great excitement, and who asked the footman standing85 at the hall-door what had happened.
The footman was concise86 in his reply. Mr. Calverley is dead, mum,' he said. And Mrs. Calverley wished to see Madame Doo Turt as soon as possible.'
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1
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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erring
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| 做错事的，错误的 | |
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distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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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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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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tallies
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| n.账( tally的名词复数 )；符合；（计数的）签；标签v.计算，清点( tally的第三人称单数 )；加标签（或标记）于；（使）符合；（使）吻合 | |
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gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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primly
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| adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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gleaned
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| v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的过去式和过去分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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mittens
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| 不分指手套 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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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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corroboration
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| n.进一步的证实，进一步的证据 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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stoniest
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| 多石头的( stony的最高级 )； 冷酷的，无情的 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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cursory
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| adj.粗略的；草率的；匆促的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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peevish
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| adj.易怒的，坏脾气的 | |
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nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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rigidity
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| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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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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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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riddles
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| n.谜（语）( riddle的名词复数 )；猜不透的难题，难解之谜 | |
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explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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extenuating
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| adj.使减轻的，情有可原的v.（用偏袒的辩解或借口）减轻( extenuate的现在分词 )；低估，藐视 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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blurt
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| vt.突然说出，脱口说出 | |
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dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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reprobation
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| n.斥责 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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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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concise
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| adj.简洁的，简明的 | |
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