Surely there never was, in any other borough1, city, or hamlet in the world, such a singular sort of a place as Todgers’s. And surely London, to judge from that part of it which hemmed2 Todgers’s round and hustled3 it, and crushed it, and stuck its brick-and-mortar elbows into it, and kept the air from it, and stood perpetually between it and the light, was worthy4 of Todgers’s, and qualified5 to be on terms of close relationship and alliance with hundreds and thousands of the odd family to which Todgers’s belonged.
You couldn’t walk about Todgers’s neighbourhood, as you could in any other neighbourhood. You groped your way for an hour through lanes and byways, and court-yards, and passages; and you never once emerged upon anything that might be reasonably called a street. A kind of resigned distraction7 came over the stranger as he trod those devious8 mazes9, and, giving himself up for lost, went in and out and round about and quietly turned back again when he came to a dead wall or was stopped by an iron railing, and felt that the means of escape might possibly present themselves in their own good time, but that to anticipate them was hopeless. Instances were known of people who, being asked to dine at Todgers’s, had travelled round and round for a weary time, with its very chimney-pots in view; and finding it, at last, impossible of attainment10, had gone home again with a gentle melancholy11 on their spirits, tranquil12 and uncomplaining. Nobody had ever found Todgers’s on a verbal direction, though given within a few minutes’ walk of it. Cautious emigrants13 from Scotland or the North of England had been known to reach it safely, by impressing a charity-boy, town-bred, and bringing him along with them; or by clinging tenaciously14 to the postman; but these were rare exceptions, and only went to prove the rule that Todgers’s was in a labyrinth15, whereof the mystery was known but to a chosen few.
Several fruit-brokers had their marts near Todgers’s; and one of the first impressions wrought16 upon the stranger’s senses was of oranges—of damaged oranges—with blue and green bruises18 on them, festering in boxes, or mouldering19 away in cellars. All day long, a stream of porters from the wharves20 beside the river, each bearing on his back a bursting chest of oranges, poured slowly through the narrow passages; while underneath21 the archway by the public-house, the knots of those who rested and regaled within, were piled from morning until night. Strange solitary22 pumps were found near Todgers’s hiding themselves for the most part in blind alleys23, and keeping company with fire-ladders. There were churches also by dozens, with many a ghostly little churchyard, all overgrown with such straggling vegetation as springs up spontaneously from damp, and graves, and rubbish. In some of these dingy24 resting-places which bore much the same analogy to green churchyards, as the pots of earth for mignonette and wall-flower in the windows overlooking them did to rustic25 gardens, there were trees; tall trees; still putting forth26 their leaves in each succeeding year, with such a languishing27 remembrance of their kind (so one might fancy, looking on their sickly boughs) as birds in cages have of theirs. Here, paralysed old watchmen guarded the bodies of the dead at night, year after year, until at last they joined that solemn brotherhood28; and, saving that they slept below the ground a sounder sleep than even they had ever known above it, and were shut up in another kind of box, their condition can hardly be said to have undergone any material change when they, in turn, were watched themselves.
Among the narrow thoroughfares at hand, there lingered, here and there, an ancient doorway29 of carved oak, from which, of old, the sounds of revelry and feasting often came; but now these mansions31, only used for storehouses, were dark and dull, and, being filled with wool, and cotton, and the like—such heavy merchandise as stifles32 sound and stops the throat of echo—had an air of palpable deadness about them which, added to their silence and desertion, made them very grim. In like manner, there were gloomy courtyards in these parts, into which few but belated wayfarers33 ever strayed, and where vast bags and packs of goods, upward or downward bound, were for ever dangling35 between heaven and earth from lofty cranes There were more trucks near Todgers’s than you would suppose whole city could ever need; not active trucks, but a vagabond race, for ever lounging in the narrow lanes before their masters’ doors and stopping up the pass; so that when a stray hackney-coach or lumbering36 waggon37 came that way, they were the cause of such an uproar38 as enlivened the whole neighbourhood, and made the bells in the next churchtower vibrate again. In the throats and maws of dark no-thoroughfares near Todgers’s, individual wine-merchants and wholesale39 dealers40 in grocery-ware had perfect little towns of their own; and, deep among the foundations of these buildings, the ground was undermined and burrowed41 out into stables, where cart-horses, troubled by rats, might be heard on a quiet Sunday rattling42 their halters, as disturbed spirits in tales of haunted houses are said to clank their chains.
To tell of half the queer old taverns43 that had a drowsy44 and secret existence near Todgers’s, would fill a goodly book; while a second volume no less capacious might be devoted45 to an account of the quaint46 old guests who frequented their dimly lighted parlours. These were, in general, ancient inhabitants of that region; born, and bred there from boyhood, who had long since become wheezy and asthmatical, and short of breath, except in the article of story-telling; in which respect they were still marvellously long-winded. These gentry47 were much opposed to steam and all new-fangled ways, and held ballooning to be sinful, and deplored48 the degeneracy of the times; which that particular member of each little club who kept the keys of the nearest church, professionally, always attributed to the prevalence of dissent49 and irreligion; though the major part of the company inclined to the belief that virtue50 went out with hair-powder, and that Old England’s greatness had decayed amain with barbers.
As to Todgers’s itself—speaking of it only as a house in that neighbourhood, and making no reference to its merits as a commercial boarding establishment—it was worthy to stand where it did. There was one staircase-window in it, at the side of the house, on the ground floor; which tradition said had not been opened for a hundred years at least, and which, abutting51 on an always dirty lane, was so begrimed and coated with a century’s mud, that no one pane52 of glass could possibly fall out, though all were cracked and broken twenty times. But the grand mystery of Todgers’s was the cellarage, approachable only by a little back door and a rusty53 grating; which cellarage within the memory of man had had no connection with the house, but had always been the freehold property of somebody else, and was reported to be full of wealth; though in what shape—whether in silver, brass54, or gold, or butts55 of wine, or casks of gun-powder—was matter of profound uncertainty56 and supreme57 indifference58 to Todgers’s and all its inmates59.
The top of the house was worthy of notice. There was a sort of terrace on the roof, with posts and fragments of rotten lines, once intended to dry clothes upon; and there were two or three tea-chests out there, full of earth, with forgotten plants in them, like old walking-sticks. Whoever climbed to this observatory60, was stunned61 at first from having knocked his head against the little door in coming out; and after that, was for the moment choked from having looked perforce, straight down the kitchen chimney; but these two stages over, there were things to gaze at from the top of Todgers’s, well worth your seeing too. For first and foremost, if the day were bright, you observed upon the house-tops, stretching far away, a long dark path; the shadow of the Monument; and turning round, the tall original was close beside you, with every hair erect62 upon his golden head, as if the doings of the city frightened him. Then there were steeples, towers, belfries, shining vanes, and masts of ships; a very forest. Gables, housetops, garret-windows, wilderness63 upon wilderness. Smoke and noise enough for all the world at once.
After the first glance, there were slight features in the midst of this crowd of objects, which sprung out from the mass without any reason, as it were, and took hold of the attention whether the spectator would or no. Thus, the revolving65 chimney-pots on one great stack of buildings seemed to be turning gravely to each other every now and then, and whispering the result of their separate observation of what was going on below. Others, of a crook-backed shape, appeared to be maliciously67 holding themselves askew68, that they might shut the prospect69 out and baffle Todgers’s. The man who was mending a pen at an upper window over the way, became of paramount70 importance in the scene, and made a blank in it, ridiculously disproportionate in its extent, when he retired71. The gambols72 of a piece of cloth upon the dyer’s pole had far more interest for the moment than all the changing motion of the crowd. Yet even while the looker-on felt angry with himself for this, and wondered how it was, the tumult73 swelled74 into a roar; the hosts of objects seemed to thicken and expand a hundredfold, and after gazing round him, quite scared, he turned into Todgers’s again, much more rapidly than he came out; and ten to one he told M. Todgers afterwards that if he hadn’t done so, he would certainly have come into the street by the shortest cut; that is to say, head-foremost.
So said the two Miss Pecksniffs, when they retired with Mrs Todgers from this place of espial, leaving the youthful porter to close the door and follow them downstairs; who, being of a playful temperament75, and contemplating76 with a delight peculiar77 to his sex and time of life, any chance of dashing himself into small fragments, lingered behind to walk upon the parapet.
It being the second day of their stay in London, the Miss Pecksniffs and Mrs Todgers were by this time highly confidential78, insomuch that the last-named lady had already communicated the particulars of three early disappointments of a tender nature; and had furthermore possessed79 her young friends with a general summary of the life, conduct, and character of Mr Todgers. Who, it seemed, had cut his matrimonial career rather short, by unlawfully running away from his happiness, and establishing himself in foreign countries as a bachelor.
‘Your pa was once a little particular in his attentions, my dears,’ said Mrs Todgers, ‘but to be your ma was too much happiness denied me. You’d hardly know who this was done for, perhaps?’
She called their attention to an oval miniature, like a little blister80, which was tacked81 up over the kettle-holder, and in which there was a dreamy shadowing forth of her own visage.
‘It was considered so once,’ said Mrs Todgers, warming herself in a gentlemanly manner at the fire; ‘but I hardly thought you would have known it, my loves.’
They would have known it anywhere. If they could have met with it in the street, or seen it in a shop window, they would have cried ‘Good gracious! Mrs Todgers!’
‘Presiding over an establishment like this, makes sad havoc83 with the features, my dear Miss Pecksniffs,’ said Mrs Todgers. ‘The gravy84 alone, is enough to add twenty years to one’s age, I do assure you.’
‘Lor’!’ cried the two Miss Pecksniffs.
‘The anxiety of that one item, my dears,’ said Mrs Todgers, ‘keeps the mind continually upon the stretch. There is no such passion in human nature, as the passion for gravy among commercial gentlemen. It’s nothing to say a joint85 won’t yield—a whole animal wouldn’t yield—the amount of gravy they expect each day at dinner. And what I have undergone in consequence,’ cried Mrs Todgers, raising her eyes and shaking her head, ‘no one would believe!’
‘Just like Mr Pinch, Merry!’ said Charity. ‘We have always noticed it in him, you remember?’
‘You, my dears, having to deal with your pa’s pupils who can’t help themselves, are able to take your own way,’ said Mrs Todgers; ‘but in a commercial establishment, where any gentleman may say any Saturday evening, “Mrs Todgers, this day week we part, in consequence of the cheese,” it is not so easy to preserve a pleasant understanding. Your pa was kind enough,’ added the good lady, ‘to invite me to take a ride with you to-day; and I think he mentioned that you were going to call upon Miss Pinch. Any relation to the gentleman you were speaking of just now, Miss Pecksniff?’
‘For goodness sake, Mrs Todgers,’ interposed the lively Merry, ‘don’t call him a gentleman. My dear Cherry, Pinch a gentleman! The idea!’
‘What a wicked girl you are!’ cried Mrs Todgers, embracing her with great affection. ‘You are quite a quiz, I do declare! My dear Miss Pecksniff, what a happiness your sister’s spirits must be to your pa and self!’
‘He’s the most hideous88, goggle-eyed creature, Mrs Todgers, in existence,’ resumed Merry: ‘quite an ogre. The ugliest, awkwardest frightfullest being, you can imagine. This is his sister, so I leave you to suppose what she is. I shall be obliged to laugh outright89, I know I shall!’ cried the charming girl, ‘I never shall be able to keep my countenance90. The notion of a Miss Pinch presuming to exist at all is sufficient to kill one, but to see her—oh my stars!’
Mrs Todgers laughed immensely at the dear love’s humour, and declared she was quite afraid of her, that she was. She was so very severe.
‘Who is severe?’ cried a voice at the door. ‘There is no such thing as severity in our family, I hope!’ And then Mr Pecksniff peeped smilingly into the room, and said, ‘May I come in, Mrs Todgers?’
Mrs Todgers almost screamed, for the little door of communication between that room and the inner one being wide open, there was a full disclosure of the sofa bedstead in all its monstrous91 impropriety. But she had the presence of mind to close this portal in the twinkling of an eye; and having done so, said, though not without confusion, ‘Oh yes, Mr Pecksniff, you can come in, if you please.’
‘How are we to-day,’ said Mr Pecksniff, jocosely92, ‘and what are our plans? Are we ready to go and see Tom Pinch’s sister? Ha, ha, ha! Poor Thomas Pinch!’
‘Are we ready,’ returned Mrs Todgers, nodding her head with mysterious intelligence, ‘to send a favourable93 reply to Mr Jinkins’s round-robin94? That’s the first question, Mr Pecksniff.’
‘Why Mr Jinkins’s robin, my dear madam?’ asked Mr Pecksniff, putting one arm round Mercy, and the other round Mrs Todgers, whom he seemed, in the abstraction of the moment, to mistake for Charity. ‘Why Mr Jinkins’s?’
‘Because he began to get it up, and indeed always takes the lead in the house,’ said Mrs Todgers, playfully. ‘That’s why, sir.’
‘Jinkins is a man of superior talents,’ observed Mr Pecksniff. ‘I have conceived a great regard for Jinkins. I take Jinkins’s desire to pay polite attention to my daughters, as an additional proof of the friendly feeling of Jinkins, Mrs Todgers.’
‘Well now,’ returned that lady, ‘having said so much, you must say the rest, Mr Pecksniff; so tell the dear young ladies all about it.’
With these words she gently eluded95 Mr Pecksniff’s grasp, and took Miss Charity into her own embrace; though whether she was impelled96 to this proceeding97 solely98 by the irrepressible affection she had conceived for that young lady, or whether it had any reference to a lowering, not to say distinctly spiteful expression which had been visible in her face for some moments, has never been exactly ascertained99. Be this as it may, Mr Pecksniff went on to inform his daughters of the purport100 and history of the round-robin aforesaid, which was in brief, that the commercial gentlemen who helped to make up the sum and substance of that noun of multitude signifying many, called Todgers’s, desired the honour of their presence at the general table, so long as they remained in the house, and besought101 that they would grace the board at dinner-time next day, the same being Sunday. He further said, that Mrs Todgers being a consenting party to this invitation, he was willing, for his part, to accept it; and so left them that he might write his gracious answer, the while they armed themselves with their best bonnets102 for the utter defeat and overthrow103 of Miss Pinch.
Tom Pinch’s sister was governess in a family, a lofty family; perhaps the wealthiest brass and copper104 founders’ family known to mankind. They lived at Camberwell; in a house so big and fierce, that its mere105 outside, like the outside of a giant’s castle, struck terror into vulgar minds and made bold persons quail106. There was a great front gate; with a great bell, whose handle was in itself a note of admiration107; and a great lodge108; which being close to the house, rather spoilt the look-out certainly but made the look-in tremendous. At this entry, a great porter kept constant watch and ward34; and when he gave the visitor high leave to pass, he rang a second great bell, responsive to whose note a great footman appeared in due time at the great halldoor, with such great tags upon his liveried shoulder that he was perpetually entangling109 and hooking himself among the chairs and tables, and led a life of torment110 which could scarcely have been surpassed, if he had been a blue-bottle in a world of cobwebs.
To this mansion30 Mr Pecksniff, accompanied by his daughters and Mrs Todgers, drove gallantly111 in a one-horse fly. The foregoing ceremonies having been all performed, they were ushered112 into the house; and so, by degrees, they got at last into a small room with books in it, where Mr Pinch’s sister was at that moment instructing her eldest113 pupil; to wit, a premature114 little woman of thirteen years old, who had already arrived at such a pitch of whalebone and education that she had nothing girlish about her, which was a source of great rejoicing to all her relations and friends.
‘Visitors for Miss Pinch!’ said the footman. He must have been an ingenious young man, for he said it very cleverly; with a nice discrimination between the cold respect with which he would have announced visitors to the family, and the warm personal interest with which he would have announced visitors to the cook.
‘Visitors for Miss Pinch!’
Miss Pinch rose hastily; with such tokens of agitation115 as plainly declared that her list of callers was not numerous. At the same time, the little pupil became alarmingly upright, and prepared herself to take mental notes of all that might be said and done. For the lady of the establishment was curious in the natural history and habits of the animal called Governess, and encouraged her daughters to report thereon whenever occasion served; which was, in reference to all parties concerned, very laudable, improving, and pleasant.
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It is a melancholy fact; but it must be related, that Mr Pinch’s sister was not at all ugly. On the contrary, she had a good face; a very mild and prepossessing face; and a pretty little figure—slight and short, but remarkable116 for its neatness. There was something of her brother, much of him indeed, in a certain gentleness of manner, and in her look of timid trustfulness; but she was so far from being a fright, or a dowdy117, or a horror, or anything else, predicted by the two Miss Pecksniffs, that those young ladies naturally regarded her with great indignation, feeling that this was by no means what they had come to see.
Miss Mercy, as having the larger share of gaiety, bore up the best against this disappointment, and carried it off, in outward show at least, with a titter; but her sister, not caring to hide her disdain118, expressed it pretty openly in her looks. As to Mrs Todgers, she leaned on Mr Pecksniff’s arm and preserved a kind of genteel grimness, suitable to any state of mind, and involving any shade of opinion.
‘Don’t be alarmed, Miss Pinch,’ said Mr Pecksniff, taking her hand condescendingly in one of his, and patting it with the other. ‘I have called to see you, in pursuance of a promise given to your brother, Thomas Pinch. My name—compose yourself, Miss Pinch—is Pecksniff.’
The good man emphasised these words as though he would have said, ‘You see in me, young person, the benefactor119 of your race; the patron of your house; the preserver of your brother, who is fed with manna daily from my table; and in right of whom there is a considerable balance in my favour at present standing87 in the books beyond the sky. But I have no pride, for I can afford to do without it!’
The poor girl felt it all as if it had been Gospel truth. Her brother writing in the fullness of his simple heart, had often told her so, and how much more! As Mr Pecksniff ceased to speak, she hung her head, and dropped a tear upon his hand.
‘Oh very well, Miss Pinch!’ thought the sharp pupil, ‘crying before strangers, as if you didn’t like the situation!’
‘Thomas is well,’ said Mr Pecksniff; ‘and sends his love and this letter. I cannot say, poor fellow, that he will ever be distinguished120 in our profession; but he has the will to do well, which is the next thing to having the power; and, therefore, we must bear with him. Eh?’
‘I know he has the will, sir,’ said Tom Pinch’s sister, ‘and I know how kindly121 and considerately you cherish it, for which neither he nor I can ever be grateful enough, as we very often say in writing to each other. The young ladies too,’ she added, glancing gratefully at his two daughters, ‘I know how much we owe to them.’
‘My dears,’ said Mr Pecksniff, turning to them with a smile: ‘Thomas’s sister is saying something you will be glad to hear, I think.’
‘We can’t take any merit to ourselves, papa!’ cried Cherry, as they both apprised122 Tom Pinch’s sister, with a curtsey, that they would feel obliged if she would keep her distance. ‘Mr Pinch’s being so well provided for is owing to you alone, and we can only say how glad we are to hear that he is as grateful as he ought to be.’
‘Oh very well, Miss Pinch!’ thought the pupil again. ‘Got a grateful brother, living on other people’s kindness!’
‘It was very kind of you,’ said Tom Pinch’s sister, with Tom’s own simplicity123 and Tom’s own smile, ‘to come here; very kind indeed; though how great a kindness you have done me in gratifying my wish to see you, and to thank you with my own lips, you, who make so light of benefits conferred, can scarcely think.’
‘Very grateful; very pleasant; very proper,’ murmured Mr Pecksniff.
‘It makes me happy too,’ said Ruth Pinch, who now that her first surprise was over, had a chatty, cheerful way with her, and a single-hearted desire to look upon the best side of everything, which was the very moral and image of Tom; ‘very happy to think that you will be able to tell him how more than comfortably I am situated124 here, and how unnecessary it is that he should ever waste a regret on my being cast upon my own resources. Dear me! So long as I heard that he was happy, and he heard that I was,’ said Tom’s sister, ‘we could both bear, without one impatient or complaining thought, a great deal more than ever we have had to endure, I am very certain.’ And if ever the plain truth were spoken on this occasionally false earth, Tom’s sister spoke125 it when she said that.
‘Ah!’ cried Mr Pecksniff whose eyes had in the meantime wandered to the pupil; ‘certainly. And how do you do, my very interesting child?’
‘Quite well, I thank you, sir,’ replied that frosty innocent.
‘A sweet face this, my dears,’ said Mr Pecksniff, turning to his daughters. ‘A charming manner!’
Both young ladies had been in ecstasies126 with the scion127 of a wealthy house (through whom the nearest road and shortest cut to her parents might be supposed to lie) from the first. Mrs Todgers vowed128 that anything one quarter so angelic she had never seen. ‘She wanted but a pair of wings, a dear,’ said that good woman, ‘to be a young syrup’—meaning, possibly, young sylph, or seraph129.
‘If you will give that to your distinguished parents, my amiable130 little friend,’ said Mr Pecksniff, producing one of his professional cards, ‘and will say that I and my daughters—’
‘And Mrs Todgers, pa,’ said Merry.
‘And Mrs Todgers, of London,’ added Mr Pecksniff; ‘that I, and my daughters, and Mrs Todgers, of London, did not intrude131 upon them, as our object simply was to take some notice of Miss Pinch, whose brother is a young man in my employment; but that I could not leave this very chaste132 mansion, without adding my humble133 tribute, as an Architect, to the correctness and elegance134 of the owner’s taste, and to his just appreciation135 of that beautiful art to the cultivation136 of which I have devoted a life, and to the promotion137 of whose glory and advancement138 I have sacrified a—a fortune—I shall be very much obliged to you.’
‘Missis’s compliments to Miss Pinch,’ said the footman, suddenly appearing, and speaking in exactly the same key as before, ‘and begs to know wot my young lady is a-learning of just now.’
‘Oh!’ said Mr Pecksniff, ‘Here is the young man. he will take the card. With my compliments, if you please, young man. My dears, we are interrupting the studies. Let us go.’
Some confusion was occasioned for an instant by Mrs Todgers’s unstrapping her little flat hand-basket, and hurriedly entrusting139 the ‘young man’ with one of her own cards, which, in addition to certain detailed140 information relative to the terms of the commercial establishment, bore a foot-note to the effect that M. T. took that opportunity of thanking those gentlemen who had honoured her with their favours, and begged they would have the goodness, if satisfied with the table, to recommend her to their friends. But Mr Pecksniff, with admirable presence of mind, recovered this document, and buttoned it up in his own pocket.
Then he said to Miss Pinch—with more condescension141 and kindness than ever, for it was desirable the footman should expressly understand that they were not friends of hers, but patrons:
‘Good morning. Good-bye. God bless you! You may depend upon my continued protection of your brother Thomas. Keep your mind quite at ease, Miss Pinch!’
‘Not at all,’ he retorted, patting her gently on the head. ‘Don’t mention it. You will make me angry if you do. My sweet child’—to the pupil—‘farewell! That fairy creature,’ said Mr Pecksniff, looking in his pensive143 mood hard at the footman, as if he meant him, ‘has shed a vision on my path, refulgent144 in its nature, and not easily to be obliterated145. My dears, are you ready?’
They were not quite ready yet, for they were still caressing146 the pupil. But they tore themselves away at length; and sweeping147 past Miss Pinch with each a haughty148 inclination149 of the head and a curtsey strangled in its birth, flounced into the passage.
The young man had rather a long job in showing them out; for Mr Pecksniff’s delight in the tastefulness of the house was such that he could not help often stopping (particularly when they were near the parlour door) and giving it expression, in a loud voice and very learned terms. Indeed, he delivered, between the study and the hall, a familiar exposition of the whole science of architecture as applied150 to dwelling-houses, and was yet in the freshness of his eloquence151 when they reached the garden.
‘If you look,’ said Mr Pecksniff, backing from the steps, with his head on one side and his eyes half-shut that he might the better take in the proportions of the exterior152: ‘If you look, my dears, at the cornice which supports the roof, and observe the airiness of its construction, especially where it sweeps the southern angle of the building, you will feel with me—How do you do, sir? I hope you’re well?’
Interrupting himself with these words, he very politely bowed to a middle-aged17 gentleman at an upper window, to whom he spoke—not because the gentleman could hear him (for he certainly could not), but as an appropriate accompaniment to his salutation.
‘I have no doubt, my dears,’ said Mr Pecksniff, feigning154 to point out other beauties with his hand, ‘that this is the proprietor155. I should be glad to know him. It might lead to something. Is he looking this way, Charity?’
‘He is opening the window pa!’
‘Ha, ha!’ cried Mr Pecksniff softly. ‘All right! He has found I’m professional. He heard me inside just now, I have no doubt. Don’t look! With regard to the fluted156 pillars in the portico157, my dears—’
‘Hallo!’ cried the gentleman.
‘Sir, your servant!’ said Mr Pecksniff, taking off his hat. ‘I am proud to make your acquaintance.’
‘Come off the grass, will you!’ roared the gentleman.
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Mr Pecksniff, doubtful of his having heard aright. ‘Did you—?’
‘Come off the grass!’ repeated the gentleman, warmly.
‘But you are intruding159,’ returned the other, ‘unwarrantably intruding. Trespassing160. You see a gravel66 walk, don’t you? What do you think it’s meant for? Open the gate there! Show that party out!’
With that he clapped down the window again, and disappeared.
Mr Pecksniff put on his hat, and walked with great deliberation and in profound silence to the fly, gazing at the clouds as he went, with great interest. After helping161 his daughters and Mrs Todgers into that conveyance162, he stood looking at it for some moments, as if he were not quite certain whether it was a carriage or a temple; but having settled this point in his mind, he got into his place, spread his hands out on his knees, and smiled upon the three beholders.
But his daughters, less tranquil-minded, burst into a torrent163 of indignation. This came, they said, of cherishing such creatures as the Pinches. This came of lowering themselves to their level. This came of putting themselves in the humiliating position of seeming to know such bold, audacious, cunning, dreadful girls as that. They had expected this. They had predicted it to Mrs Todgers, as she (Todgers) could depone, that very morning. To this, they added, that the owner of the house, supposing them to be Miss Pinch’s friends, had acted, in their opinion, quite correctly, and had done no more than, under such circumstances, might reasonably have been expected. To that they added (with a trifling164 inconsistency), that he was a brute165 and a bear; and then they merged6 into a flood of tears, which swept away all wandering epithets166 before it.
Perhaps Miss Pinch was scarcely so much to blame in the matter as the Seraph, who, immediately on the withdrawal167 of the visitors, had hastened to report them at head-quarters, with a full account of their having presumptuously168 charged her with the delivery of a message afterwards consigned169 to the footman; which outrage170, taken in conjunction with Mr Pecksniff’s unobtrusive remarks on the establishment, might possibly have had some share in their dismissal. Poor Miss Pinch, however, had to bear the brunt of it with both parties; being so severely171 taken to task by the Seraph’s mother for having such vulgar acquaintances, that she was fain to retire to her own room in tears, which her natural cheerfulness and submission172, and the delight of having seen Mr Pecksniff, and having received a letter from her brother, were at first insufficient173 to repress.
As to Mr Pecksniff, he told them in the fly, that a good action was its own reward; and rather gave them to understand, that if he could have been kicked in such a cause, he would have liked it all the better. But this was no comfort to the young ladies, who scolded violently the whole way back, and even exhibited, more than once, a keen desire to attack the devoted Mrs Todgers; on whose personal appearance, but particularly on whose offending card and hand-basket, they were secretly inclined to lay the blame of half their failure.
Todgers’s was in a great bustle174 that evening, partly owing to some additional domestic preparations for the morrow, and partly to the excitement always inseparable in that house from Saturday night, when every gentleman’s linen175 arrived at a different hour in its own little bundle, with his private account pinned on the outside. There was always a great clinking of pattens downstairs, too, until midnight or so, on Saturdays; together with a frequent gleaming of mysterious lights in the area; much working at the pump; and a constant jangling of the iron handle of the pail. Shrill176 altercations177 from time to time arose between Mrs Todgers and unknown females in remote back kitchens; and sounds were occasionally heard, indicative of small articles of iron mongery and hardware being thrown at the boy. It was the custom of that youth on Saturdays, to roll up his shirt sleeves to his shoulders, and pervade178 all parts of the house in an apron179 of coarse green baize; moreover, he was more strongly tempted180 on Saturdays than on other days (it being a busy time), to make excursive bolts into the neighbouring alleys when he answered the door, and there to play at leap-frog and other sports with vagrant181 lads, until pursued and brought back by the hair of his head or the lobe182 of his ear; thus he was quite a conspicuous183 feature among the peculiar incidents of the last day in the week at Todgers’s.
He was especially so on this particular Saturday evening, and honoured the Miss Pecksniffs with a deal of notice; seldom passing the door of Mrs Todgers’s private room, where they sat alone before the fire, working by the light of a solitary candle, without putting in his head and greeting them with some such compliments as, ‘There you are agin!’ ‘An’t it nice?’—and similar humorous attentions.
‘I say,’ he whispered, stopping in one of his journeys to and fro, ‘young ladies, there’s soup to-morrow. She’s a-making it now. An’t she a-putting in the water? Oh! not at all neither!’
In the course of answering another knock, he thrust in his head again.
Presently he called through the key-hole:
‘There’s a fish to-morrow. Just come. Don’t eat none of him!’ And, with this special warning, vanished again.
By-and-bye, he returned to lay the cloth for supper; it having been arranged between Mrs Todgers and the young ladies, that they should partake of an exclusive veal185-cutlet together in the privacy of that apartment. He entertained them on this occasion by thrusting the lighted candle into his mouth, and exhibiting his face in a state of transparency; after the performance of which feat64, he went on with his professional duties; brightening every knife as he laid it on the table, by breathing on the blade and afterwards polishing the same on the apron already mentioned. When he had completed his preparations, he grinned at the sisters, and expressed his belief that the approaching collation186 would be of ‘rather a spicy187 sort.’
‘Will it be long, before it’s ready, Bailey?’ asked Mercy.
‘No,’ said Bailey, ‘it is cooked. When I come up, she was dodging188 among the tender pieces with a fork, and eating of ‘em.’
But he had scarcely achieved the utterance189 of these words, when he received a manual compliment on the head, which sent him staggering against the wall; and Mrs Todgers, dish in hand, stood indignantly before him.
‘No worse than yerself,’ retorted Bailey, guarding his head, on a principle invented by Mr Thomas Cribb. ‘Ah! Come now! Do that again, will yer?’
‘He’s the most dreadful child,’ said Mrs Todgers, setting down the dish, ‘I ever had to deal with. The gentlemen spoil him to that extent, and teach him such things, that I’m afraid nothing but hanging will ever do him any good.’
‘Won’t it!’ cried Bailey. ‘Oh! Yes! Wot do you go a-lowerin the table-beer for then, and destroying my constitooshun?’
‘Go downstairs, you vicious boy,’ said Mrs Todgers, holding the door open. ‘Do you hear me? Go along!’
After two or three dexterous191 feints, he went, and was seen no more that night, save once, when he brought up some tumblers and hot water, and much disturbed the two Miss Pecksniffs by squinting192 hideously193 behind the back of the unconscious Mrs Todgers. Having done this justice to his wounded feelings, he retired underground; where, in company with a swarm194 of black beetles195 and a kitchen candle, he employed his faculties196 in cleaning boots and brushing clothes until the night was far advanced.
Benjamin was supposed to be the real name of this young retainer but he was known by a great variety of names. Benjamin, for instance, had been converted into Uncle Ben, and that again had been corrupted197 into Uncle; which, by an easy transition, had again passed into Barnwell, in memory of the celebrated198 relative in that degree who was shot by his nephew George, while meditating199 in his garden at Camberwell. The gentlemen at Todgers’s had a merry habit, too, of bestowing200 upon him, for the time being, the name of any notorious malefactor201 or minister; and sometimes when current events were flat they even sought the pages of history for these distinctions; as Mr Pitt, Young Brownrigg, and the like. At the period of which we write, he was generally known among the gentlemen as Bailey junior; a name bestowed202 upon him in contradistinction, perhaps, to Old Bailey; and possibly as involving the recollection of an unfortunate lady of the same name, who perished by her own hand early in life, and has been immortalised in a ballad203.
The usual Sunday dinner-hour at Todgers’s was two o’clock—a suitable time, it was considered for all parties; convenient to Mrs Todgers, on account of the bakers204; and convenient to the gentlemen with reference to their afternoon engagements. But on the Sunday which was to introduce the two Miss Pecksniffs to a full knowledge of Todgers’s and its society, the dinner was postponed205 until five, in order that everything might be as genteel as the occasion demanded.
When the hour drew nigh, Bailey junior, testifying great excitement, appeared in a complete suit of cast-off clothes several sizes too large for him, and in particular, mounted a clean shirt of such extraordinary magnitude, that one of the gentlemen (remarkable for his ready wit) called him ‘collars’ on the spot. At about a quarter before five, a deputation, consisting of Mr Jinkins, and another gentleman, whose name was Gander, knocked at the door of Mrs Todgers’s room, and, being formally introduced to the two Miss Pecksniffs by their parent who was in waiting, besought the honour of conducting them upstairs.
The drawing-room at Todgers’s was out of the common style; so much so indeed, that you would hardly have taken it to be a drawingroom, unless you were told so by somebody who was in the secret. It was floor-clothed all over; and the ceiling, including a great beam in the middle, was papered. Besides the three little windows, with seats in them, commanding the opposite archway, there was another window looking point blank, without any compromise at all about it into Jinkins’s bedroom; and high up, all along one side of the wall was a strip of panes206 of glass, two-deep, giving light to the staircase. There were the oddest closets possible, with little casements207 in them like eight-day clocks, lurking208 in the wainscot and taking the shape of the stairs; and the very door itself (which was painted black) had two great glass eyes in its forehead, with an inquisitive209 green pupil in the middle of each.
Here the gentlemen were all assembled. There was a general cry of ‘Hear, hear!’ and ‘Bravo Jink!’ when Mr Jinkins appeared with Charity on his arm; which became quite rapturous as Mr Gander followed, escorting Mercy, and Mr Pecksniff brought up the rear with Mrs Todgers.
Then the presentations took place. They included a gentleman of a sporting turn, who propounded210 questions on jockey subjects to the editors of Sunday papers, which were regarded by his friends as rather stiff things to answer; and they included a gentleman of a theatrical211 turn, who had once entertained serious thoughts of ‘coming out,’ but had been kept in by the wickedness of human nature; and they included a gentleman of a debating turn, who was strong at speech-making; and a gentleman of a literary turn, who wrote squibs upon the rest, and knew the weak side of everybody’s character but his own. There was a gentleman of a vocal212 turn, and a gentleman of a smoking turn, and a gentleman of a convivial213 turn; some of the gentlemen had a turn for whist, and a large proportion of the gentlemen had a strong turn for billiards214 and betting. They had all, it may be presumed, a turn for business; being all commercially employed in one way or other; and had, every one in his own way, a decided215 turn for pleasure to boot. Mr Jinkins was of a fashionable turn; being a regular frequenter of the Parks on Sundays, and knowing a great many carriages by sight. He spoke mysteriously, too, of splendid women, and was suspected of having once committed himself with a Countess. Mr Gander was of a witty216 turn being indeed the gentleman who had originated the sally about ‘collars;’ which sparkling pleasantry was now retailed217 from mouth to mouth, under the title of Gander’s Last, and was received in all parts of the room with great applause. Mr Jinkins it may be added, was much the oldest of the party; being a fish-salesman’s book-keeper, aged forty. He was the oldest boarder also; and in right of his double seniority, took the lead in the house, as Mrs Todgers had already said.
There was considerable delay in the production of dinner, and poor Mrs Todgers, being reproached in confidence by Jinkins, slipped in and out, at least twenty times to see about it; always coming back as though she had no such thing upon her mind, and hadn’t been out at all. But there was no hitch218 in the conversation nevertheless; for one gentleman, who travelled in the perfumery line, exhibited an interesting nick-nack, in the way of a remarkable cake of shaving soap which he had lately met with in Germany; and the gentleman of a literary turn repeated (by desire) some sarcastic219 stanzas220 he had recently produced on the freezing of the tank at the back of the house. These amusements, with the miscellaneous conversation arising out of them, passed the time splendidly, until dinner was announced by Bailey junior in these terms:
‘The wittles is up!’
On which notice they immediately descended221 to the banquet-hall; some of the more facetious222 spirits in the rear taking down gentlemen as if they were ladies, in imitation of the fortunate possessors of the two Miss Pecksniffs.
Mr Pecksniff said grace—a short and pious223 grace, involving a blessing224 on the appetites of those present, and committing all persons who had nothing to eat, to the care of Providence225; whose business (so said the grace, in effect) it clearly was, to look after them. This done, they fell to with less ceremony than appetite; the table groaning226 beneath the weight, not only of the delicacies227 whereof the Miss Pecksniffs had been previously228 forewarned, but of boiled beef, roast veal, bacon, pies and abundance of such heavy vegetables as are favourably229 known to housekeepers230 for their satisfying qualities. Besides which, there were bottles of stout231, bottles of wine, bottles of ale, and divers232 other strong drinks, native and foreign.
All this was highly agreeable to the two Miss Pecksniffs, who were in immense request; sitting one on either hand of Mr Jinkins at the bottom of the table; and who were called upon to take wine with some new admirer every minute. They had hardly ever felt so pleasant, and so full of conversation, in their lives; Mercy, in particular, was uncommonly233 brilliant, and said so many good things in the way of lively repartee234 that she was looked upon as a prodigy235. ‘In short,’ as that young lady observed, ‘they felt now, indeed, that they were in London, and for the first time too.’
Their young friend Bailey sympathized in these feelings to the fullest extent, and, abating236 nothing of his patronage237, gave them every encouragement in his power; favouring them, when the general attention was diverted from his proceedings238, with many nods and winks239 and other tokens of recognition, and occasionally touching240 his nose with a corkscrew, as if to express the Bacchanalian241 character of the meeting. In truth, perhaps even the spirits of the two Miss Pecksniffs, and the hungry watchfulness242 of Mrs Todgers, were less worthy of note than the proceedings of this remarkable boy, whom nothing disconcerted or put out of his way. If any piece of crockery, a dish or otherwise, chanced to slip through his hands (which happened once or twice), he let it go with perfect good breeding, and never added to the painful emotions of the company by exhibiting the least regret. Nor did he, by hurrying to and fro, disturb the repose243 of the assembly, as many well-trained servants do; on the contrary, feeling the hopelessness of waiting upon so large a party, he left the gentlemen to help themselves to what they wanted, and seldom stirred from behind Mr Jinkins’s chair, where, with his hands in his pockets, and his legs planted pretty wide apart, he led the laughter, and enjoyed the conversation.
The dessert was splendid. No waiting either. The pudding-plates had been washed in a little tub outside the door while cheese was on, and though they were moist and warm with friction244, still there they were again, up to the mark, and true to time. Quarts of almonds; dozens of oranges; pounds of raisins245; stacks of biffins; soup-plates full of nuts.—Oh, Todgers’s could do it when it chose! mind that.
Then more wine came on; red wines and white wines; and a large china bowl of punch, brewed246 by the gentleman of a convivial turn, who adjured247 the Miss Pecksniffs not to be despondent248 on account of its dimensions, as there were materials in the house for the decoction of half a dozen more of the same size. Good gracious, how they laughed! How they coughed when they sipped249 it, because it was so strong; and how they laughed again when somebody vowed that but for its colour it might have been mistaken, in regard of its innocuous qualities, for new milk! What a shout of ‘No!’ burst from the gentlemen when they pathetically implored250 Mr Jinkins to suffer them to qualify it with hot water; and how blushingly, by little and little, did each of them drink her whole glassful, down to its very dregs!
Now comes the trying time. The sun, as Mr Jinkins says (gentlemanly creature, Jinkins—never at a loss!), is about to leave the firmament251. ‘Miss Pecksniff!’ says Mrs Todgers, softly, ‘will you—?’ ‘Oh dear, no more, Mrs Todgers.’ Mrs Todgers rises; the two Miss Pecksniffs rise; all rise. Miss Mercy Pecksniff looks downward for her scarf. Where is it? Dear me, where can it be? Sweet girl, she has it on; not on her fair neck, but loose upon her flowing figure. A dozen hands assist her. She is all confusion. The youngest gentleman in company thirsts to murder Jinkins. She skips and joins her sister at the door. Her sister has her arm about the waist of Mrs Todgers. She winds her arm around her sister. Diana, what a picture! The last things visible are a shape and a skip. ‘Gentlemen, let us drink the ladies!’
The enthusiasm is tremendous. The gentleman of a debating turn rises in the midst, and suddenly lets loose a tide of eloquence which bears down everything before it. He is reminded of a toast—a toast to which they will respond. There is an individual present; he has him in his eye; to whom they owe a debt of gratitude252. He repeats it—a debt of gratitude. Their rugged253 natures have been softened254 and ameliorated that day, by the society of lovely woman. There is a gentleman in company whom two accomplished255 and delightful256 females regard with veneration257, as the fountain of their existence. Yes, when yet the two Miss Pecksniffs lisped in language scarce intelligible258, they called that individual ‘Father!’ There is great applause. He gives them ‘Mr Pecksniff, and God bless him!’ They all shake hands with Mr Pecksniff, as they drink the toast. The youngest gentleman in company does so with a thrill; for he feels that a mysterious influence pervades259 the man who claims that being in the pink scarf for his daughter.
What saith Mr Pecksniff in reply? Or rather let the question be, What leaves he unsaid? Nothing. More punch is called for, and produced, and drunk. Enthusiasm mounts still higher. Every man comes out freely in his own character. The gentleman of a theatrical turn recites. The vocal gentleman regales them with a song. Gander leaves the Gander of all former feasts whole leagues behind. he rises to propose a toast. It is, The Father of Todgers’s. It is their common friend Jink—it is old Jink, if he may call him by that familiar and endearing appellation260. The youngest gentleman in company utters a frantic261 negative. He won’t have it—he can’t bear it—it mustn’t be. But his depth of feeling is misunderstood. He is supposed to be a little elevated; and nobody heeds262 him.
Mr Jinkins thanks them from his heart. It is, by many degrees, the proudest day in his humble career. When he looks around him on the present occasion, he feels that he wants words in which to express his gratitude. One thing he will say. He hopes it has been shown that Todgers’s can be true to itself; and that, an opportunity arising, it can come out quite as strong as its neighbours—perhaps stronger. He reminds them, amidst thunders of encouragement, that they have heard of a somewhat similar establishment in Cannon263 Street; and that they have heard it praised. He wishes to draw no invidious comparisons; he would be the last man to do it; but when that Cannon Street establishment shall be able to produce such a combination of wit and beauty as has graced that board that day, and shall be able to serve up (all things considered) such a dinner as that of which they have just partaken, he will be happy to talk to it. Until then, gentlemen, he will stick to Todgers’s.
More punch, more enthusiasm, more speeches. Everybody’s health is drunk, saving the youngest gentleman’s in company. He sits apart, with his elbow on the back of a vacant chair, and glares disdainfully at Jinkins. Gander, in a convulsing speech, gives them the health of Bailey junior; hiccups264 are heard; and a glass is broken. Mr Jinkins feels that it is time to join the ladies. He proposes, as a final sentiment, Mrs Todgers. She is worthy to be remembered separately. Hear, hear. So she is; no doubt of it. They all find fault with her at other times; but every man feels now, that he could die in her defence.
They go upstairs, where they are not expected so soon; for Mrs Todgers is asleep, Miss Charity is adjusting her hair, and Mercy, who has made a sofa of one of the window-seats is in a gracefully266 recumbent attitude. She is rising hastily, when Mr Jinkins implores267 her, for all their sakes, not to stir; she looks too graceful265 and too lovely, he remarks, to be disturbed. She laughs, and yields, and fans herself, and drops her fan, and there is a rush to pick it up. Being now installed, by one consent, as the beauty of the party, she is cruel and capricious, and sends gentlemen on messages to other gentlemen, and forgets all about them before they can return with the answer, and invents a thousand tortures, rending268 their hearts to pieces. Bailey brings up the tea and coffee. There is a small cluster of admirers round Charity; but they are only those who cannot get near her sister. The youngest gentleman in company is pale, but collected, and still sits apart; for his spirit loves to hold communion with itself, and his soul recoils269 from noisy revellers. She has a consciousness of his presence and adoration270. He sees it flashing sometimes in the corner of her eye. Have a care, Jinkins, ere you provoke a desperate man to frenzy271!
Mr Pecksniff had followed his younger friends upstairs, and taken a chair at the side of Mrs Todgers. He had also spilt a cup of coffee over his legs without appearing to be aware of the circumstance; nor did he seem to know that there was muffin on his knee.
‘And how have they used you downstairs, sir?’ asked the hostess.
‘Their conduct has been such, my dear madam,’ said Mr Pecksniff, ‘as I can never think of without emotion, or remember without a tear. Oh, Mrs Todgers!’
‘My goodness!’ exclaimed that lady. ‘How low you are in your spirits, sir!’
‘I am a man, my dear madam,’ said Mr Pecksniff, shedding tears and speaking with an imperfect articulation272, ‘but I am also a father. I am also a widower273. My feelings, Mrs Todgers, will not consent to be entirely274 smothered275, like the young children in the Tower. They are grown up, and the more I press the bolster276 on them, the more they look round the corner of it.’
He suddenly became conscious of the bit of muffin, and stared at it intently; shaking his head the while, in a forlorn and imbecile manner, as if he regarded it as his evil genius, and mildly reproached it.
‘She was beautiful, Mrs Todgers,’ he said, turning his glazed277 eye again upon her, without the least preliminary notice. ‘She had a small property.’
‘So I have heard,’ cried Mrs Todgers with great sympathy.
‘Those are her daughters,’ said Mr Pecksniff, pointing out the young ladies, with increased emotion.
Mrs Todgers had no doubt about it.
‘Mercy and Charity,’ said Mr Pecksniff, ‘Charity and Mercy. Not unholy names, I hope?’
‘Mr Pecksniff!’ cried Mrs Todgers. ‘What a ghastly smile! Are you ill, sir?’
‘Cholic?’ cried the frightened Mrs Todgers.
‘Chron-ic,’ he repeated with some difficulty. ‘Chron-ic. A chronic disorder279. I have been its victim from childhood. It is carrying me to my grave.’
‘Heaven forbid!’ cried Mrs Todgers.
‘Yes, it is,’ said Mr Pecksniff, reckless with despair. ‘I am rather glad of it, upon the whole. You are like her, Mrs Todgers.’
‘Don’t squeeze me so tight, pray, Mr Pecksniff. If any of the gentlemen should notice us.’
‘For her sake,’ said Mr Pecksniff. ‘Permit me—in honour of her memory. For the sake of a voice from the tomb. You are very like her Mrs Todgers! What a world this is!’
‘Ah! Indeed you may say that!’ cried Mrs Todgers.
‘I’m afraid it is a vain and thoughtless world,’ said Mr Pecksniff, overflowing280 with despondency. ‘These young people about us. Oh! what sense have they of their responsibilities? None. Give me your other hand, Mrs Todgers.’
The lady hesitated, and said ‘she didn’t like.’
‘Has a voice from the grave no influence?’ said Mr Pecksniff, with, dismal281 tenderness. ‘This is irreligious! My dear creature.’
‘Hush!’ urged Mrs Todgers. ‘Really you mustn’t.’
‘It’s not me,’ said Mr Pecksniff. ‘Don’t suppose it’s me; it’s the voice; it’s her voice.’
Mrs Pecksniff deceased, must have had an unusually thick and husky voice for a lady, and rather a stuttering voice, and to say the truth somewhat of a drunken voice, if it had ever borne much resemblance to that in which Mr Pecksniff spoke just then. But perhaps this was delusion282 on his part.
‘It has been a day of enjoyment283, Mrs Todgers, but still it has been a day of torture. It has reminded me of my loneliness. What am I in the world?’
‘An excellent gentleman, Mr Pecksniff,’ said Mrs Todgers.
‘There is consolation284 in that too,’ cried Mr Pecksniff. ‘Am I?’
‘There is no better man living,’ said Mrs Todgers, ‘I am sure.’
Mr Pecksniff smiled through his tears, and slightly shook his head. ‘You are very good,’ he said, ‘thank you. It is a great happiness to me, Mrs Todgers, to make young people happy. The happiness of my pupils is my chief object. I dote upon ‘em. They dote upon me too—sometimes.’
‘Always,’ said Mrs Todgers.
‘When they say they haven’t improved, ma’am,’ whispered Mr Pecksniff, looking at her with profound mystery, and motioning to her to advance her ear a little closer to his mouth. ‘When they say they haven’t improved, ma’am, and the premium285 was too high, they lie! I shouldn’t wish it to be mentioned; you will understand me; but I say to you as to an old friend, they lie.’
‘Madam,’ said Mr Pecksniff, ‘you are right. I respect you for that observation. A word in your ear. To Parents and Guardians287. This is in confidence, Mrs Todgers?’
‘The strictest, of course!’ cried that lady.
‘To Parents and Guardians,’ repeated Mr Pecksniff. ‘An eligible289 opportunity now offers, which unites the advantages of the best practical architectural education with the comforts of a home, and the constant association with some, who, however humble their sphere and limited their capacity—observe!—are not unmindful of their moral responsibilities.’
Mrs Todgers looked a little puzzled to know what this might mean, as well she might; for it was, as the reader may perchance remember, Mr Pecksniff’s usual form of advertisement when he wanted a pupil; and seemed to have no particular reference, at present, to anything. But Mr Pecksniff held up his finger as a caution to her not to interrupt him.
‘Do you know any parent or guardian288, Mrs Todgers,’ said Mr Pecksniff, ‘who desires to avail himself of such an opportunity for a young gentleman? An orphan290 would be preferred. Do you know of any orphan with three or four hundred pound?’
Mrs Todgers reflected, and shook her head.
‘When you hear of an orphan with three or four hundred pound,’ said Mr Pecksniff, ‘let that dear orphan’s friends apply, by letter post-paid, to S. P., Post Office, Salisbury. I don’t know who he is exactly. Don’t be alarmed, Mrs Todgers,’ said Mr Pecksniff, falling heavily against her; ‘Chronic—chronic! Let’s have a little drop of something to drink.’
‘Bless my life, Miss Pecksniffs!’ cried Mrs Todgers, aloud, ‘your dear pa’s took very poorly!’
Mr Pecksniff straightened himself by a surprising effort, as every one turned hastily towards him; and standing on his feet, regarded the assembly with a look of ineffable291 wisdom. Gradually it gave place to a smile; a feeble, helpless, melancholy smile; bland292, almost to sickliness. ‘Do not repine, my friends,’ said Mr Pecksniff, tenderly. ‘Do not weep for me. It is chronic.’ And with these words, after making a futile293 attempt to pull off his shoes, he fell into the fireplace.
The youngest gentleman in company had him out in a second. Yes, before a hair upon his head was singed294, he had him on the hearth-rug—her father!
She was almost beside herself. So was her sister. Jinkins consoled them both. They all consoled them. Everybody had something to say, except the youngest gentleman in company, who with a noble self-devotion did the heavy work, and held up Mr Pecksniff’s head without being taken notice of by anybody. At last they gathered round, and agreed to carry him upstairs to bed. The youngest gentleman in company was rebuked295 by Jinkins for tearing Mr Pecksniff’s coat! Ha, ha! But no matter.
They carried him upstairs, and crushed the youngest gentleman at every step. His bedroom was at the top of the house, and it was a long way; but they got him there in course of time. He asked them frequently on the road for a little drop of something to drink. It seemed an idiosyncrasy. The youngest gentleman in company proposed a draught296 of water. Mr Pecksniff called him opprobious names for the suggestion.
Jinkins and Gander took the rest upon themselves, and made him as comfortable as they could, on the outside of his bed; and when he seemed disposed to sleep, they left him. But before they had all gained the bottom of the staircase, a vision of Mr Pecksniff, strangely attired297, was seen to flutter on the top landing. He desired to collect their sentiments, it seemed, upon the nature of human life.
‘My friends,’ cried Mr Pecksniff, looking over the banisters, ‘let us improve our minds by mutual298 inquiry299 and discussion. Let us be moral. Let us contemplate300 existence. Where is Jinkins?’
‘Here,’ cried that gentleman. ‘Go to bed again’
‘To bed!’ said Mr Pecksniff. ‘Bed! ‘Tis the voice of the sluggard301, I hear him complain, you have woke me too soon, I must slumber302 again. If any young orphan will repeat the remainder of that simple piece from Doctor Watts’s collection, an eligible opportunity now offers.’
Nobody volunteered.
‘This is very soothing,’ said Mr Pecksniff, after a pause. ‘Extremely so. Cool and refreshing303; particularly to the legs! The legs of the human subject, my friends, are a beautiful production. Compare them with wooden legs, and observe the difference between the anatomy304 of nature and the anatomy of art. Do you know,’ said Mr Pecksniff, leaning over the banisters, with an odd recollection of his familiar manner among new pupils at home, ‘that I should very much like to see Mrs Todgers’s notion of a wooden leg, if perfectly305 agreeable to herself!’
As it appeared impossible to entertain any reasonable hopes of him after this speech, Mr Jinkins and Mr Gander went upstairs again, and once more got him into bed. But they had not descended to the second floor before he was out again; nor, when they had repeated the process, had they descended the first flight, before he was out again. In a word, as often as he was shut up in his own room, he darted306 out afresh, charged with some new moral sentiment, which he continually repeated over the banisters, with extraordinary relish307, and an irrepressible desire for the improvement of his fellow creatures that nothing could subdue308.
Under these circumstances, when they had got him into bed for the thirtieth time or so, Mr Jinkins held him, while his companion went downstairs in search of Bailey junior, with whom he presently returned. That youth having been apprised of the service required of him, was in great spirits, and brought up a stool, a candle, and his supper; to the end that he might keep watch outside the bedroom door with tolerable comfort.
When he had completed his arrangements, they locked Mr Pecksniff in, and left the key on the outside; charging the young page to listen attentively309 for symptoms of an apoplectic310 nature, with which the patient might be troubled, and, in case of any such presenting themselves, to summon them without delay. To which Mr Bailey modestly replied that ‘he hoped he knowed wot o’clock it wos in gineral, and didn’t date his letters to his friends from Todgers’s for nothing.’
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7 distraction | |
n.精神涣散,精神不集中,消遣,娱乐 | |
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8 devious | |
adj.不坦率的,狡猾的;迂回的,曲折的 | |
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9 mazes | |
迷宫( maze的名词复数 ); 纷繁复杂的规则; 复杂难懂的细节; 迷宫图 | |
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10 attainment | |
n.达到,到达;[常pl.]成就,造诣 | |
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11 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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12 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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13 emigrants | |
n.(从本国移往他国的)移民( emigrant的名词复数 ) | |
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14 tenaciously | |
坚持地 | |
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15 labyrinth | |
n.迷宫;难解的事物;迷路 | |
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16 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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17 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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18 bruises | |
n.瘀伤,伤痕,擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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19 mouldering | |
v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 );腐烂,崩塌 | |
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20 wharves | |
n.码头,停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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21 underneath | |
adj.在...下面,在...底下;adv.在下面 | |
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22 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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23 alleys | |
胡同,小巷( alley的名词复数 ); 小径 | |
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24 dingy | |
adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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25 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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26 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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27 languishing | |
a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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28 brotherhood | |
n.兄弟般的关系,手中情谊 | |
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29 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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30 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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31 mansions | |
n.宅第,公馆,大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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32 stifles | |
(使)窒息, (使)窒闷( stifle的第三人称单数 ); 镇压,遏制 | |
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33 wayfarers | |
n.旅人,(尤指)徒步旅行者( wayfarer的名词复数 ) | |
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34 ward | |
n.守卫,监护,病房,行政区,由监护人或法院保护的人(尤指儿童);vt.守护,躲开 | |
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35 dangling | |
悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 ); 摆动不定; 用某事物诱惑…; 吊胃口 | |
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36 lumbering | |
n.采伐林木 | |
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37 waggon | |
n.运货马车,运货车;敞篷车箱 | |
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38 uproar | |
n.骚动,喧嚣,鼎沸 | |
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39 wholesale | |
n.批发;adv.以批发方式;vt.批发,成批出售 | |
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40 dealers | |
n.商人( dealer的名词复数 );贩毒者;毒品贩子;发牌者 | |
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41 burrowed | |
v.挖掘(洞穴),挖洞( burrow的过去式和过去分词 );翻寻 | |
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42 rattling | |
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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43 taverns | |
n.小旅馆,客栈,酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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44 drowsy | |
adj.昏昏欲睡的,令人发困的 | |
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45 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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46 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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47 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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48 deplored | |
v.悲叹,痛惜,强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49 dissent | |
n./v.不同意,持异议 | |
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50 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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51 abutting | |
adj.邻接的v.(与…)邻接( abut的现在分词 );(与…)毗连;接触;倚靠 | |
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52 pane | |
n.窗格玻璃,长方块 | |
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53 rusty | |
adj.生锈的;锈色的;荒废了的 | |
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54 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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55 butts | |
笑柄( butt的名词复数 ); (武器或工具的)粗大的一端; 屁股; 烟蒂 | |
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56 uncertainty | |
n.易变,靠不住,不确知,不确定的事物 | |
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57 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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58 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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59 inmates | |
n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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60 observatory | |
n.天文台,气象台,瞭望台,观测台 | |
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61 stunned | |
adj. 震惊的,惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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62 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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63 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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64 feat | |
n.功绩;武艺,技艺;adj.灵巧的,漂亮的,合适的 | |
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65 revolving | |
adj.旋转的,轮转式的;循环的v.(使)旋转( revolve的现在分词 );细想 | |
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66 gravel | |
n.砂跞;砂砾层;结石 | |
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67 maliciously | |
adv.有敌意地 | |
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68 askew | |
adv.斜地;adj.歪斜的 | |
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69 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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70 paramount | |
a.最重要的,最高权力的 | |
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71 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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72 gambols | |
v.蹦跳,跳跃,嬉戏( gambol的第三人称单数 ) | |
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73 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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74 swelled | |
增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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75 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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76 contemplating | |
深思,细想,仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 ); 注视,凝视; 考虑接受(发生某事的可能性); 深思熟虑,沉思,苦思冥想 | |
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77 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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78 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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79 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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80 blister | |
n.水疱;(油漆等的)气泡;v.(使)起泡 | |
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81 tacked | |
用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 ); 附加,增补; 帆船抢风行驶,用粗线脚缝 | |
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82 likeness | |
n.相像,相似(之处) | |
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83 havoc | |
n.大破坏,浩劫,大混乱,大杂乱 | |
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84 gravy | |
n.肉汁;轻易得来的钱,外快 | |
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85 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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86 giggled | |
v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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88 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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89 outright | |
adv.坦率地;彻底地;立即;adj.无疑的;彻底的 | |
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90 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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91 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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92 jocosely | |
adv.说玩笑地,诙谐地 | |
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93 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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94 robin | |
n.知更鸟,红襟鸟 | |
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95 eluded | |
v.(尤指机敏地)避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 );逃避;躲避;使达不到 | |
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96 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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98 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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99 ascertained | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100 purport | |
n.意义,要旨,大要;v.意味著,做为...要旨,要领是... | |
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101 besought | |
v.恳求,乞求(某事物)( beseech的过去式和过去分词 );(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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102 bonnets | |
n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 );(烟囱等的)覆盖物;(苏格兰男子的)无边呢帽;(女子戴的)任何一种帽子 | |
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103 overthrow | |
v.推翻,打倒,颠覆;n.推翻,瓦解,颠覆 | |
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104 copper | |
n.铜;铜币;铜器;adj.铜(制)的;(紫)铜色的 | |
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105 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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106 quail | |
n.鹌鹑;vi.畏惧,颤抖 | |
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107 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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108 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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109 entangling | |
v.使某人(某物/自己)缠绕,纠缠于(某物中),使某人(自己)陷入(困难或复杂的环境中)( entangle的现在分词 ) | |
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110 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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111 gallantly | |
adv. 漂亮地,勇敢地,献殷勤地 | |
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112 ushered | |
v.引,领,陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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114 premature | |
adj.比预期时间早的;不成熟的,仓促的 | |
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115 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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116 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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117 dowdy | |
adj.不整洁的;过旧的 | |
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118 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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119 benefactor | |
n. 恩人,行善的人,捐助人 | |
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120 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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121 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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122 apprised | |
v.告知,通知( apprise的过去式和过去分词 );评价 | |
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123 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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124 situated | |
adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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125 spoke | |
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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126 ecstasies | |
狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 ); 出神; 入迷; 迷幻药 | |
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127 scion | |
n.嫩芽,子孙 | |
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128 vowed | |
起誓,发誓(vow的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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129 seraph | |
n.六翼天使 | |
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130 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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131 intrude | |
vi.闯入;侵入;打扰,侵扰 | |
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132 chaste | |
adj.贞洁的;有道德的;善良的;简朴的 | |
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133 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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134 elegance | |
n.优雅;优美,雅致;精致,巧妙 | |
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135 appreciation | |
n.评价;欣赏;感谢;领会,理解;价格上涨 | |
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136 cultivation | |
n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
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137 promotion | |
n.提升,晋级;促销,宣传 | |
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138 advancement | |
n.前进,促进,提升 | |
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139 entrusting | |
v.委托,托付( entrust的现在分词 ) | |
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140 detailed | |
adj.详细的,详尽的,极注意细节的,完全的 | |
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141 condescension | |
n.自以为高人一等,贬低(别人) | |
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142 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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143 pensive | |
a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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144 refulgent | |
adj.辉煌的,灿烂的 | |
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145 obliterated | |
v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 );涂去;擦掉;彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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146 caressing | |
爱抚的,表现爱情的,亲切的 | |
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147 sweeping | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
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148 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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149 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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150 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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151 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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152 exterior | |
adj.外部的,外在的;表面的 | |
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153 middle-aged | |
adj.中年的 | |
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154 feigning | |
假装,伪装( feign的现在分词 ); 捏造(借口、理由等) | |
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155 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
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156 fluted | |
a.有凹槽的 | |
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157 portico | |
n.柱廊,门廊 | |
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158 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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159 intruding | |
v.侵入,侵扰,打扰( intrude的现在分词);把…强加于 | |
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160 trespassing | |
[法]非法入侵 | |
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161 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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162 conveyance | |
n.(不动产等的)转让,让与;转让证书;传送;运送;表达;(正)运输工具 | |
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163 torrent | |
n.激流,洪流;爆发,(话语等的)连发 | |
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164 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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165 brute | |
n.野兽,兽性 | |
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166 epithets | |
n.(表示性质、特征等的)词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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167 withdrawal | |
n.取回,提款;撤退,撤军;收回,撤销 | |
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168 presumptuously | |
adv.自以为是地,专横地,冒失地 | |
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169 consigned | |
v.把…置于(令人不快的境地)( consign的过去式和过去分词 );把…托付给;把…托人代售;丟弃 | |
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170 outrage | |
n.暴行,侮辱,愤怒;vt.凌辱,激怒 | |
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171 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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172 submission | |
n.服从,投降;温顺,谦虚;提出 | |
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173 insufficient | |
adj.(for,of)不足的,不够的 | |
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174 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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175 linen | |
n.亚麻布,亚麻线,亚麻制品;adj.亚麻布制的,亚麻的 | |
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176 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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177 altercations | |
n.争辩,争吵( altercation的名词复数 ) | |
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178 pervade | |
v.弥漫,遍及,充满,渗透,漫延 | |
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179 apron | |
n.围裙;工作裙 | |
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180 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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181 vagrant | |
n.流浪者,游民;adj.流浪的,漂泊不定的 | |
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182 lobe | |
n.耳垂,(肺,肝等的)叶 | |
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183 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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184 fowls | |
鸟( fowl的名词复数 ); 禽肉; 既不是这; 非驴非马 | |
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185 veal | |
n.小牛肉 | |
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186 collation | |
n.便餐;整理 | |
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187 spicy | |
adj.加香料的;辛辣的,有风味的 | |
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188 dodging | |
n.避开,闪过,音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 );回避 | |
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189 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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190 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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191 dexterous | |
adj.灵敏的;灵巧的 | |
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192 squinting | |
斜视( squint的现在分词 ); 眯着眼睛; 瞟; 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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193 hideously | |
adv.可怕地,非常讨厌地 | |
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194 swarm | |
n.(昆虫)等一大群;vi.成群飞舞;蜂拥而入 | |
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195 beetles | |
n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
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196 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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197 corrupted | |
(使)败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)腐化; 引起(计算机文件等的)错误; 破坏 | |
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198 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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199 meditating | |
a.沉思的,冥想的 | |
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200 bestowing | |
砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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201 malefactor | |
n.罪犯 | |
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202 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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203 ballad | |
n.歌谣,民谣,流行爱情歌曲 | |
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204 bakers | |
n.面包师( baker的名词复数 );面包店;面包店店主;十三 | |
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205 postponed | |
vt.& vi.延期,缓办,(使)延迟vt.把…放在次要地位;[语]把…放在后面(或句尾)vi.(疟疾等)延缓发作(或复发) | |
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206 panes | |
窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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207 casements | |
n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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208 lurking | |
潜在 | |
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209 inquisitive | |
adj.求知欲强的,好奇的,好寻根究底的 | |
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210 propounded | |
v.提出(问题、计划等)供考虑[讨论],提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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211 theatrical | |
adj.剧场的,演戏的;做戏似的,做作的 | |
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212 vocal | |
adj.直言不讳的;嗓音的;n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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213 convivial | |
adj.狂欢的,欢乐的 | |
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214 billiards | |
n.台球 | |
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215 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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216 witty | |
adj.机智的,风趣的 | |
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217 retailed | |
vt.零售(retail的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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218 hitch | |
v.免费搭(车旅行);系住;急提;n.故障;急拉 | |
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219 sarcastic | |
adj.讥讽的,讽刺的,嘲弄的 | |
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220 stanzas | |
节,段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
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221 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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222 facetious | |
adj.轻浮的,好开玩笑的 | |
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223 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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224 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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225 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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226 groaning | |
adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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227 delicacies | |
n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 );精致;精美的食物;周到 | |
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228 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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229 favourably | |
adv. 善意地,赞成地 =favorably | |
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230 housekeepers | |
n.(女)管家( housekeeper的名词复数 ) | |
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232 divers | |
adj.不同的;种种的 | |
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233 uncommonly | |
adv. 稀罕(极,非常) | |
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234 repartee | |
n.机敏的应答 | |
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235 prodigy | |
n.惊人的事物,奇迹,神童,天才,预兆 | |
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236 abating | |
减少( abate的现在分词 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
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237 patronage | |
n.赞助,支援,援助;光顾,捧场 | |
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238 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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239 winks | |
v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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240 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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241 bacchanalian | |
adj.闹酒狂饮的;n.发酒疯的人 | |
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242 watchfulness | |
警惕,留心; 警觉(性) | |
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243 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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244 friction | |
n.摩擦,摩擦力 | |
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245 raisins | |
n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
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246 brewed | |
调制( brew的过去式和过去分词 ); 酝酿; 沏(茶); 煮(咖啡) | |
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247 adjured | |
v.(以起誓或诅咒等形式)命令要求( adjure的过去式和过去分词 );祈求;恳求 | |
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248 despondent | |
adj.失望的,沮丧的,泄气的 | |
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249 sipped | |
v.小口喝,呷,抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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250 implored | |
恳求或乞求(某人)( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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251 firmament | |
n.苍穹;最高层 | |
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252 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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253 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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254 softened | |
(使)变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
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255 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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256 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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257 veneration | |
n.尊敬,崇拜 | |
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258 intelligible | |
adj.可理解的,明白易懂的,清楚的 | |
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259 pervades | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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260 appellation | |
n.名称,称呼 | |
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261 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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262 heeds | |
n.留心,注意,听从( heed的名词复数 )v.听某人的劝告,听从( heed的第三人称单数 ) | |
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263 cannon | |
n.大炮,火炮;飞机上的机关炮 | |
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264 hiccups | |
n.嗝( hiccup的名词复数 );连续地打嗝;暂时性的小问题;短暂的停顿v.嗝( hiccup的第三人称单数 );连续地打嗝;暂时性的小问题;短暂的停顿 | |
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265 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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266 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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267 implores | |
恳求或乞求(某人)( implore的第三人称单数 ) | |
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268 rending | |
v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 );分裂;(因愤怒、痛苦等而)揪扯(衣服或头发等);(声音等)刺破 | |
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269 recoils | |
n.(尤指枪炮的)反冲,后坐力( recoil的名词复数 )v.畏缩( recoil的第三人称单数 );退缩;报应;返回 | |
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270 adoration | |
n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
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271 frenzy | |
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
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272 articulation | |
n.(清楚的)发音;清晰度,咬合 | |
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273 widower | |
n.鳏夫 | |
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274 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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275 smothered | |
(使)窒息, (使)透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 ); 覆盖; 忍住; 抑制 | |
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276 bolster | |
n.枕垫;v.支持,鼓励 | |
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277 glazed | |
adj.光滑的,像玻璃的;上过釉的;呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式);上釉于,上光;(目光)变得呆滞无神 | |
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278 chronic | |
adj.(疾病)长期未愈的,慢性的;极坏的 | |
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279 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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280 overflowing | |
n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的,充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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281 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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282 delusion | |
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
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283 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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284 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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285 premium | |
n.加付款;赠品;adj.高级的;售价高的 | |
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286 wretches | |
n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 );可怜的人;恶棍;坏蛋 | |
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287 guardians | |
监护人( guardian的名词复数 ); 保护者,维护者 | |
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288 guardian | |
n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
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289 eligible | |
adj.有条件被选中的;(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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290 orphan | |
n.孤儿;adj.无父母的 | |
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291 ineffable | |
adj.无法表达的,不可言喻的 | |
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292 bland | |
adj.淡而无味的,温和的,无刺激性的 | |
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293 futile | |
adj.无效的,无用的,无希望的 | |
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294 singed | |
v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 );(毛发)燎,烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
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295 rebuked | |
责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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296 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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297 attired | |
adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服,使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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298 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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299 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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300 contemplate | |
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
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301 sluggard | |
n.懒人;adj.懒惰的 | |
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302 slumber | |
n.睡眠,沉睡状态 | |
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303 refreshing | |
adj.使精神振作的,使人清爽的,使人喜欢的 | |
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304 anatomy | |
n.解剖学,解剖;功能,结构,组织 | |
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305 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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306 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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307 relish | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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308 subdue | |
vt.制服,使顺从,征服;抑制,克制 | |
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309 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
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310 apoplectic | |
adj.中风的;愤怒的;n.中风患者 | |
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