A month after they were settled in their new apartment, Christmas came, and, as there were holidays in all the schools, the baroness2 went to fetch her daughter at the Sacred Heart, returning with her in a carriage.
Ni?a Chucha undertook to inform Manuel about the baroness’s daughter, and give him full details.
Manuel knew her, but he was not sure whether she would recall him. During the years since he had seen her she had grown into a winsome4 girl. She did not resemble her mother, though, like her, she was blonde; she must rather take after her father. She was pale, with correct features, clear blue eyes, golden eyebrows6 and lashes7, and fair hair that lacked lustre8, yet was quite alluring9.
When the schoolgirl arrived, Ni?a Chucha outdid herself in demonstrations10 of affection; the newcomer recognized Manuel, and this filled him with a deep satisfaction.
The baroness’s daughter was called Catalina, her relations from Antwerp called her Kate, but the[84] baroness generally referred to her as La Nena,—the baby.
With the arrival of Kate the habits of the household underwent a marked change; the baroness abandoned her nocturnal excursions and put a check upon her loose tongue. At table with a sad smile, she gave ear to the school tales that her daughter related, without the slightest interest in what she heard.
There was no harmony between the two characters. Kate was slow of understanding, but deep; her mother, on the other hand, was gifted with the subtlety11 and cleverness of the moment. The baroness, at times, grew impatient as Kate spoke12 on, and would say, with mingled13 kindliness14 and boredom15:
“Oh, what a simpleton of a baby I have!”
Since Kate’s coming, Ni?a Chucha and Manuel ceased keeping the baroness company in the dining-room. This did not trouble Manuel in the least, but the mulattress was quite put out, and she attributed this arrangement to Kate, whom she considered a pale, proud doll, cold and heartless. Manuel, who had no reason for disliking Kate, found her very simple, very likeable, although lacking vivacity16.
During the Christmas holidays mother and daughter often went out together on shopping tours; they were accompanied by Manuel, who returned loaded with bundles.
One day, shortly after the New Year, when the baroness, Kate and Manuel had gone to the Apolo[85] Theatre to see “Captain Grant’s Nephews,” Manuel caught sight of Roberto Hasting following them at a certain distance. As they left the theatre, Roberto shadowed them; the girl pretended she had noticed nothing.
The next day, it was snowing. Manuel noticed Roberto walking across the Plaza17 del Oriente, seemingly very much engrossed18.
“Are you in her house?” he asked hurriedly.
“Yes.”
“You must deliver a letter to her.”
“Certainly.”
“I’ll bring it to you this afternoon. Give it to her and tell me how she receives it. She’ll not answer me, I know she’ll not answer me. But you’ll hand it to her, won’t you?”
“Of course. Don’t worry.”
Surely enough, that very afternoon Roberto walked again through the falling snow, Manuel ran down, took the letter and dashed back into the house.
At that moment Kate was amusing herself with her wardrobe. She had a thousand gew-gaws stored in a number of little boxes; in some, medallions; in others, small prints, chromographs, gifts from her schoolmates or the family. Her prayer books were filled with little pictures and souvenirs.
Manuel, with Roberto’s missive in his pocket, drew near to the girl like a criminal. La Nena exhibited all her wealth to him; he swelled20 with pride. Manuel scarcely dared to touch the medallions, the[86] jewels, the thousand things that Kate had treasured up.
“My uncle gave me this chain,” said the schoolgirl. “This ring comes from my grandfather. This pansy I picked in Hyde Park, when I was at my uncle’s in London.”
Manuel listened to her without a word, ashamed to have the letter in his pocket. La Nena continued showing new things to him. She still preserved her childhood playthings; in her wardrobe everything was classified with the utmost precision; each article had its place. In some of the books she pressed pansies and other flowers, afterwards copying them and filling in the sketch22 with water-colours.
Manuel made two or three attempts to bring the conversation round to Roberto, but his courage failed him.
“D-do you know ...?”
“What?”
“Roberto ... that fair student who used to board at the other house ... the fellow who was at the theatre yesterday ... he gave me a letter for you.”
“For me?” And Kate’s cheeks flushed pink, while her eyes sparkled with much more than their usual vivaciousness25.
“Yes.”
“Give it to me.”
“Here it is.”
[87]
Manuel handed over the letter and Kate quickly thrust it into her bosom26. She finished arranging her wardrobe and soon afterward21 locked herself in her room. Two days later Kate sent Manuel off with a note for Roberto, who responded at once with another for Kate.
One day Kate went with Manuel to his school, where they were giving a Nativity play, and she was accompanied both ways by Roberto. They both were very talkative. The student expatiated27 upon his plans. It struck Manuel that this love business was rather queer. As far as he could see, Roberto did not say a thing worth hearing, and yet Kate listened to him with her soul hanging upon every word.
Roberto, to Kate, was the paragon28 of respectability. She spoke to him with calm solemnity, making no attempt to appear gay or clever; she was very attentive29 to all he said.
Manuel became the confidant of Roberto and Kate. The girl was of immaculate candor30 and innocence31, and extraordinarily32 ignorant in matters of guile33. Manuel felt a genuine submissiveness before that aristocratic, elegant nature; he was filled with a feeling of inferiority that in no wise troubled him.
La Nena recounted to Manuel all the things she had seen in Paris, Brussels, Ghent; she told him about the parks of London, much to his amazement34. In return, Manuel enlightened Kate as to life in the underworld of Madrid, filling her in turn with the utmost astonishment35: the cellars, the taverns36, the[88] tramps; he described to her the urchins37 who ran away from home and slept in the nooks and crannies of the churches; he spoke to her of the ragamuffins who pilfer38 in the laundries; he told her what the shelters were like....
Manuel possessed39 a certain gift for imparting his impressions; he would exaggerate and fill in with figments of his imagination the gaps left by reality. La Nena would listen to him in a rapture40 of interest.
“Oh, how frightful41!” she would say. And the mere24 thought that this wretched rabble42 of which Manuel spoke might rub elbows with her made her tremble.
The maiden43 felt a deep repugnance44 for the common people; she would not go out on Sundays, so as to avoid mingling45 with soldiers and men in labourers’ smocks. It seemed to her that common folk must be inherently wicked. As soon as the street lamps were lighted she preferred to be indoors.
They used to hold their conversations at nightfall in a room that looked out on to the street, whence could be seen the Plaza de Oriente, like a wood, and the Royal Palace, to whose cornices hundreds of pigeons repaired after winging about all day in flocks. As a background there was the Casa del Campo and the horizon which reddened with the approach of dusk....
After Epiphany, Kate returned to school, whereupon the old habits were re-established in the household and the customary disorder46 reigned47.
The first nocturnal sally that the baroness made[89] was to her Cuban friend, in the company of Manuel. The baroness and Manuel left after supper. The Cuban lady lived in the Calle Ancha. They knocked; a diminutive48 lackey49 in blue livery and gold braid opened the door, and they passed through a corridor into a lavishly50 lighted drawing-room, decorated in cheap, loud taste. In the centre stood an electric lamp with a cluster of seven or eight globes; there was a huge sofa upholstered in a very flowery stuff; two gilt51 chairs shone beside a fire-place, upon the marble mantelpiece of which sat a clock in the form of a ball, a barometer52 fashioned like a hammer, a thermometer that represented a dagger53, and sundry54 other things in the most absurd shapes. Photographs hung on every wall.
Only a few disreputable looking women were present; they humbly55 rose. The baroness took a seat, and shortly after, the Cuban entered,—a very common, brutal56 woman, dressed in an exceedingly loud costume, and wearing thick diamonds in her ears and on her fingers. She took the baroness’s hand and sat down on a sofa beside her. It could easily be seen that she desired to flatter her visitor. The Colonel’s wife was more than a common woman; she was bestial57. She had a prominent jaw58, tiny black eyes and a mouth that bespoke59 cruelty. Her features betrayed a certain disturbing, menacing lubricity; one imagined that such a woman must be the prey60 to strange vices,—that she was capable of crime.
Manuel, from his place in a corner, busied himself[90] with the examination of a photograph album that he discovered upon a night table.
The wife of the colonel, whom the baroness had known as a sergeant62 in Cuba, said that she thought her younger girl, Lulu, would make her début as a dancer in a certain Salon63; she was giving her the final lessons.
“Really?” asked the baroness.
“Oh, yes, indeed. Mingote got her the contract and has taken charge of the finishing touches, as he puts it. Ah, what an accomplished64 fellow! He’s in the dining-room now, with some friends. He’ll be right in. Mingote brought a poet along who has written a monologue65 for the dear, clever little girl. It’s called “Snap-shots.” That’s a modernistic name, isn’t it?”
“I should say.”
“It’s supposed to be a girl who goes out into the streets to take photographs and she meets with a young blade who approaches her and suggests that she make him a reproduction or a group, and she replies: ‘Hey there, don’t you dare touch my chassis66!’ Now, isn’t that clever?”
“Exquisite,” declared the baroness, eyeing Manuel and laughing.
The other women,—distinguished kitchen-maids to judge from their appearance,—nodded their heads in token of assent67, and smiled sadly.
“Have you many guests in your room?” asked the baroness.
“As yet no one has come. In the meantime, suppose[91] the child dances a little and lets you see what she can do.”
The Colonel’s wife shouted into the corridor, whereupon Lulu appeared, attired68 in a skirt covered with spangles, and wearing curly bobbed hair. She was all put out because she had not been able to find a wrist-watch, and was shrilling69 in her thin, rasping voice.
“Let the people inside know,” said the Colonel’s wife, “that you’ll be here.”
The girl left with the message, and within a short while the colonel himself appeared,—a respectable gentleman, with a white beard, who was lame70 and leaned upon Mingote’s arm. Behind these two came a slender young man with fair moustaches and red cheeks; this was, as the baroness gathered, the poet. Then followed a long-haired personage, the piano instructor71, on whose arm nestled the elder daughter of the house,—a fair, buxom72 wench who seemed to have escaped from a painting by Rubens.
“Well, which shall we have first?” asked the Colonel’s wife. “The monologue or the dance?”
“The monologue, the monologue,” was the general chorus.
“Let’s see, then. Silence.”
The poet, who, to judge from the glitter in his eyes and the colour of his cheeks, was quite drunk, smiled amiably73.
The little girl began to recite very badly, in the voice of a hoarse74 rooster, a heap of coarse banalities in doggerel75 that would have brought a blush to the[92] tanned and weather-beaten cheeks of a coast-guard. And every one of these banalities wound up with the refrain
Don’t you dare touch my chassis!
At the conclusion the colonel offered the opinion that the verses struck him somewhat ... somewhat,—oh,—just a wee bit free, and he looked from one face to another for corroboration76. The point was heatedly discussed. The head of the house presented his arguments, but Mingote’s rebuttal was conclusive77.
“No, my dear Colonel,” ended the ex-loan shark excitedly. “The fact is that you feel military honour too keenly. You regard this from the standpoint of a soldier.”
The baroness stared at Mingote in amazement, and could not contain her laughter.
The colonel explained in confidence to Mingote the reason why the military conception of honour must perforce be more rigid78 than that of civilians79. There was the necessity of discipline, there was order, and the uniform.
After the monologue, the personage with the flowing hair sat down to the piano and the little girl began to dance the tango. In this, too, there was something that required elucidation80, and the Colonel’s wife was eager to have it settled at the very moment. Of such vital importance was it. There is a genuinely solemn, transcendental part to the tango: that hip-movement which the public[93] scientifically calls “the hinge.” “Now,” asked the Colonel’s wife, “how is Lulu to perform this part of the tango,—that is, the hinge? Is she to play it to the limit, or cover it up a trifle?”
The baroness did not think that the tango should be so highly accentuated81; a little of that movement would not be so bad. The Colonel’s wife and Mingote protested, affirming that the public always prefers the “hinge,” as it is more exciting.
The colonel, despite his military honour, was of the opinion that the public really did prefer “the hinge,” but that a little more or less of wiggling was a minor82 matter.
Whereupon Mingote, in order to show the little girl how to do that movement, arose and began to wiggle his hips83 in the most grotesque84 fashion.
The girl imitated his example smilingly, but without the least enthusiasm. At this juncture85 the Colonel’s wife whispered into the baroness’s ear that only a man could teach a woman the grace and charm of that movement. The baroness smiled discreetly86.
The diminutive gold-braided lackey entered with the announcement that Se?or Fernández had arrived. This Fernández must have been a person of some importance, for the Colonel’s wife arose at once and prepared to leave.
“Hurry, start the roulette,” said the colonel to his wife. “And have the lights put on in the large room. What do you say?” he went on, turning to the baroness. “Shall we go into the game as partners?”
[94]
“We’ll see later, my dear Colonel. At first I’ll try my luck alone.”
“Very well.”
Lula danced another tango and after a brief while the Colonel’s wife returned.
“You may come in,” she said.
The old kitchen-maids got up from their chairs and, crossing the corridor, entered a large room with three balcony windows. There were two tables, one of them with a roulette wheel and the other bare.
The three old women, the baroness, the colonel and his two daughters sat down before the roulette table, where the banker and the two payers were already seated.
The white sphere danced around the wheel and before it came to a stop the croupier pronounced:
“Rien ne va plus!”
The two payers placed their rakes upon the cloth to prevent the laying of any further bets. “No more bets,” they repeated, at the same time, in a monotonous88 voice.
Gradually the room was filling with people, and the seats around the table were taken.
Beside the baroness a man of about forty had taken a chair. He was tall, robust89, broad-shouldered, with black, kinky hair and white teeth.
“Why, my boy, you here?” exclaimed the baroness.
“And how about you?” he retorted.
[95]
He was a second or third cousin of the baroness; his name was Horacio.
“It’s only an accident that I came here. It’s the first time.”
“Bah.”
“I assure you it is. Shall we go in it together?”
“That is not a bad idea.”
They pooled their money and continued playing. Horacio played according to the baroness’s directions. They were lucky and won. Gradually the parlor91 became thronged92 with a variegated93, exotic crowd. There were two well-known members of the aristocracy, a bull-fighter, soldiers. Several women and their daughters were pressed closely around the tables.
Manuel caught sight of Irene, Do?a Violante’s granddaughter, beside an old gentleman with his hair pasted down. The man was playing heavily. His fingers were fairly concealed94 by rings set with huge stones.
Seated upon a divan95 near Manuel, a very pale and emaciated96 old gentleman with a white beard was conversing97 with a beardless youth who looked bored.
“Yes. I withdrew because my money ran out. Otherwise I’d have kept on playing until they found me lying dead across the green cloth. To me, this is the only life. I’m like La Valiente. She knows[96] me, and she says to me now and then: ‘Let’s go in it together, Marquis?’—‘I won’t bring you bad luck,’ is my answer.”
“Who is La Valiente?”
“You’ll see her soon, when the baccarat begins.”
A light was turned on over the table.
An old man with moustaches like a musketeer’s arose with a deck of cards in his hands and leaned against the edge of the table.
“Who deals?” asked the old man.
“Fifty duros,” murmured one.
“Sixty.”
“A hundred.”
“A hundred and fifty duros.”
“That’s La Valiente,” said the marquis.
Manuel contemplated100 her with curiosity. She was between thirty and forty; she wore a tailor-made costume and a Frégoli hat. She was very dark, with an olive complexion101 and beautiful black eyes. She would gamble until she could hardly see, and then go out into the corridors for a smoke. She brimmed over with energy and intelligence. They said she carried a revolver. She had no use for men and fell passionately102 in love with women. Her most recent conquest had been the colonel’s elder daughter, the buxom blonde, whom she dominated. At times she was favored by the most unbelievable luck, and to assuage103 her pangs104 of passion, she played and won in most insolent105 fashion.
“And that fellow who never plays, yet is always[97] here,—who is he?” asked the young man, pointing to a coarse looking old fellow of about seventy, with dyed moustaches.
“He’s a moneylender who, I believe, is the partner of the Colonel’s wife. When I was Governor of La Coru?a he was waiting trial for some piece of smuggling106 or other that he had perpetrated at the Customs House. They removed him from office, and then gave him a commission in the Philippines.”
“As a reward?”
“My dear man, everybody has to live,” replied the marquis. “I don’t know what he did in the Philippines, but he was in court several times, and when he was free they gave him a position in Cuba.”
“They wanted him to make a study of the Spanish colonial régime,” suggested the youth.
“Doubtless. He got into a few scrapes over there, too, until he returned and went into the money-lending business. They say now that he is worth not less than a million pesetas.”
“The deuce, he is!”
“He’s a serious, modest fellow. Up to a few years ago he lived with a certain Paca, who was the proprietress of a dyer’s shop on the Calle de Hortaleza, and on Sundays they’d both go out to the suburbs like a poor couple. This Paca died, and now he lives alone. He’s shy and humble107; many a time he himself goes out and does the buying, and then cooks his own meal. His old secretary is a really interesting chap. When it comes to forgery108 he can’t be beaten.”
[98]
Manuel listened most attentively109.
“That’s what you really can call a man,” said the marquis, eyeing the secretary closely.
The man they were watching,—a person with a red, pointed110 beard and a mocking air, turned around and saluted111 the speaker affably.
“Hello, there, Master,” said the marquis to him.
“You call him Master?” asked the young man.
“That’s what everybody calls him.”
Lulu, the colonel’s daughter, and two girl friends of hers passed by the marquis and his young companion.
“How pretty they are,” commented the marquis.
The place took on the mixed appearance of a brothel and a high-class den5 of vice61. There was here neither the anxious silence of the gambling-house nor the confused clamour of a brothel: people gambled and loved with discretion112. As the Colonel’s wife put it, this was a very modernistic gathering113.
On the divans114 the girls were conversing very animatedly115 with the men; they were discussing and studying out combinations for the game....
“All this delights me,” said the marquis with his pale smile.
“I’m off. Will you come along with me, Horacio?” she asked of her cousin.
“Certainly. I’ll accompany you.”
The baroness arose, then Horacio; Manuel joined them.
[99]
“What a mob of creatures, eh?” said the baroness with that peculiar117, ingenuous118 laugh of hers, once they were in the street.
“That’s amorality, as they say nowadays,” replied Horacio. “We Spaniards aren’t immoral119. The fact is that we simply have no notion of morality. When I got up to take a little air, the colonel said to me, ‘You see, you see, they’ve cut down my pay: reduced it from eighty to seventy. So clearly enough I have to find other sources of income. That’s why soldiers’ daughters have to become dancers ... and all the rest.’”
“What? Does that shock you? Not me. It’s just a natural and necessary consequence of our race. We’ve degenerated121. We are a race of the lowest class.”
“Why?”
“Because we are. All you’ve got to do is look around you. Did you see the head on the colonel’s shoulders?”
“No. Has he anything in his head?” asked the baroness jokingly.
“Not a thing. The brains of a Papuan. Morality is found only in superior races. The English say that Wellington is superior to Napoleon because Wellington fought through a sense of duty and Napoleon for glory. The idea of duty never penetrates122 into craniums like the colonel’s. Talk to a Mandingo of duty. Nothing doing. Oh, anthropology123 is a most instructive science. I explain everything by anthropological laws.”
[100]
They were passing by the Café de Varela.
“Shall we go in here?” asked her cousin.
“Let’s go.”
The three sat down around a table, each asked for a favourite drink and the baroness’s cousin continued his speech.
The man was a queer type; he spoke an almost incomprehensible Andalusian dialect, with a guttural h; he had enough money to subsist124 upon and with this, and a minor position in a ministry125, he managed to get along. He dwelt in a very carefully regulated disorder, reading Spencer in English and changing his mode of life at certain seasons.
Like the whimsical fellow he was, he had been sunk for the past four or five years in the swampy126 fields of sociology and anthropology. He was convinced that intellectually he was an Anglo-Saxon, who need not be occupied with questions pertaining127 to Spain or to any other nation of the South.
“Yes, indeed,” continued Horacio as he filled his glass with beer, “I explain everything, down to the tiniest detail, by social or biological laws. This morning, as I was getting up, I heard my landlady128 conversing with the baker129 about the rise in the cost of bread. ‘Why has bread gone up?’ she asked him. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘They say that the harvest is good.’ ‘Well, then?’ ‘I don’t know.’ I went off to the office at the precise hour, with English punctuality; there was nobody there; that’s the Spanish custom. So I asked myself, How does it happen that bread goes up if there’s a good[101] harvest? And I hit upon the explanation which I think will convince you. You know that there are tiny cells in the brain.”
“How should I know anything about that?” retorted the baroness, dipping a biscuit into her chocolate.
“Well, take my word for it, there are cells, and, according to the opinion of the physiologists130, each cell has its own particular function; one serves for one thing, another for another. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Now just recall that in Spain there are some thirteen millions of inhabitants who can neither read nor write. Do you follow me?”
“Certainly. Of course.”
“Very well. That cell which in educated persons is employed in attempts at understanding and thinking, is here left unemployed131 by thirteen millions of the population. That energy which they should expend132 in discussion, they waste in bestial instincts. As a consequence, crime increases, so does sexual appetite, and with the increase of sexual appetite comes an increase in the consumption of food, whereupon bread goes up.”
The baroness could not help bursting into laughter at her cousin’s explanation.
“That’s no mere fancy,” replied Horacio, “it’s the God’s honest truth.”
“Indeed I don’t doubt it, but the news strikes me funny.” Manuel, too, had to laugh.
“Where did you pick up this kid?”
[102]
“He’s the son of a woman we knew. What does your science tell you of him?”
“Let’s see. Remove your cap.”
Manuel removed his cap.
“He’s a Celt,” proclaimed Horacio. “Fine race. Facial angle open; broad forehead; not much jaw....”
“In the final analysis, nothing. Have you any money?”
“I? Not a button.”
“Then let me tell you this: since you have no money, and aren’t a man of prey, and can’t use your intelligence, even though you may have some, which I believe is the case, you’ll probably die in a hospital.”
“How rude!” exclaimed the baroness. “Don’t talk like that to the boy.”
Manuel greeted the prognostication with laughter; it seemed very comical to him.
“On the other hand, I,” went on Horacio, “have no fear of dying in a hospital. Look at my head; see that jaw; tokens of a most brutal instinct of acquisitiveness. I’m a Berber by race,—a Euro-African. And fortunately, I may add, I have been influenced by the ideas of Lord Bacon’s pragmatic philosophy. If it weren’t for that, I’d now be dancing tangoes in Cuba or Puerto Rico.”
“Relatively civilized. I don’t pretend to compare myself to an Englishman. Can I be certain[103] that I’m an Aryan? Am I, perhaps, a Celt or Saxon? I don’t deceive myself. I am of an inferior race. What am I going to do about it? I wasn’t born in Manchester, but in Camagüey, and I was brought up in Málaga. Just imagine that!”
“And what has that to do with the case?”
“Everything, my dear. Civilization comes with rainfall. It is in the moist, rainy countries that the most civilized types are nurtured135, and the most beautiful as well. Types such as your daughter, with those blue eyes of hers, her fair complexion and her blond hair.”
“And how about me? What am I?” asked the baroness. “A little of what you said before?”
“A tiny bit Berber, you mean?”
“Yes. I think that was it. A tiny bit Berber, eh?”
“In character, perhaps, but not in type. You’re pure Aryan; your ancestors must have come from India, from the meseta of Pamir or the valley of Cabul, but they did not pass through Africa. You may rest easy on that score.”
The baroness eyed her cousin with a somewhat enigmatical expression. After a short while the cousins and Manuel left the café.
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anthropological
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| adj.人类学的 | |
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baroness
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| n.男爵夫人，女男爵 | |
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insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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winsome
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| n.迷人的，漂亮的 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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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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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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plaza
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| n.广场，市场 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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pretext
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swelled
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| 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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21
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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22
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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23
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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25
vivaciousness
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| 活泼的性格 | |
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26
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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expatiated
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| v.详述，细说( expatiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28
paragon
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| n.模范，典型 | |
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29
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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30
candor
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| n.坦白，率真 | |
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31
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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32
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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33
guile
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| n.诈术 | |
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34
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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35
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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36
taverns
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| n.小旅馆，客栈，酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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37
urchins
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| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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38
pilfer
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| v.盗，偷，窃 | |
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39
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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40
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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41
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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42
rabble
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| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
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43
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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44
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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45
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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46
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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47
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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48
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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49
lackey
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| n.侍从；跟班 | |
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50
lavishly
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| adv.慷慨地，大方地 | |
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51
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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52
barometer
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| n.气压表，睛雨表，反应指标 | |
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53
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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54
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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55
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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56
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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57
bestial
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| adj.残忍的；野蛮的 | |
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58
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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59
bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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60
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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61
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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62
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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63
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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64
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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65
monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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66
chassis
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| n.汽车等之底盘；（飞机的）起落架；炮底架 | |
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67
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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68
attired
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| 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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69
shrilling
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的现在分词 )； 凄厉 | |
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70
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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71
instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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72
buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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73
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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74
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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75
doggerel
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| n.拙劣的诗，打油诗 | |
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76
corroboration
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| n.进一步的证实，进一步的证据 | |
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77
conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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78
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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79
civilians
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| 平民，百姓( civilian的名词复数 )； 老百姓 | |
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80
elucidation
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| n.说明，阐明 | |
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81
accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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82
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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83
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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84
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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85
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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86
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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87
automaton
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| n.自动机器，机器人 | |
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88
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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89
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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90
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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91
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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92
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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94
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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95
divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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96
emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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97
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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98
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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99
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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101
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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102
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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103
assuage
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| v.缓和，减轻，镇定 | |
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104
pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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105
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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106
smuggling
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| n.走私 | |
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107
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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108
forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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109
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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110
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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111
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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112
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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113
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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114
divans
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| n.（可作床用的）矮沙发( divan的名词复数 )；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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115
animatedly
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| adv.栩栩如生地，活跃地 | |
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116
nauseated
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| adj.作呕的，厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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118
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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119
immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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120
barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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121
degenerated
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
penetrates
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| v.穿过( penetrate的第三人称单数 )；刺入；了解；渗透 | |
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123
anthropology
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| n.人类学 | |
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124
subsist
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| vi.生存，存在，供养 | |
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125
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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126
swampy
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| adj.沼泽的，湿地的 | |
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127
pertaining
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| 与…有关系的，附属…的，为…固有的(to) | |
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128
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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129
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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130
physiologists
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| n.生理学者( physiologist的名词复数 )；生理学( physiology的名词复数 )；生理机能 | |
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131
unemployed
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| adj.失业的，没有工作的；未动用的，闲置的 | |
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132
expend
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| vt.花费，消费，消耗 | |
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133
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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134
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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135
nurtured
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| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
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