Gradually they steadied upon a certain spot—the Bottomless Pit according to missionaries, but he had never regarded it as more than a dimple. Yes, he did want to spend an evening with some girls, singing and all that, the vague jollity that would culminate11 in voluptuousness12. Yes, that was what he did want. How could it be managed? If Major Callendar had been an Indian, he would have remembered what young men are, and granted two or three days’ leave to Calcutta without asking questions. But the Major assumed either that his subordinates were made of ice, or that they repaired to the Chandrapore bazaars—disgusting ideas both. It was only Mr. Fielding who——
“Hassan!”
The servant came running.
“Look at those flies, brother;” and he pointed14 to the horrible mass that hung from the ceiling. The nucleus15 was a wire which had been inserted as a homage16 to electricity. Electricity had paid no attention, and a colony of eye-flies had come instead and blackened the coils with their bodies.
“Huzoor, those are flies.”
“Good, good, they are, excellent, but why have I called you?”
“To drive them elsewhere,” said Hassan, after painful thought.
“Driven elsewhere, they always return.”
“Huzoor.”
“You must make some arrangement against flies; that is why you are my servant,” said Aziz gently.
Hassan would call the little boy to borrow the step-ladder from Mahmoud Ali’s house; he would order the cook to light the Primus stove and heat water; he would personally ascend17 the steps with a bucket in his arms, and dip the end of the coil into it.
“Good, very good. Now what have you to do?”
“Kill flies.”
“Good. Do it.”
Hassan withdrew, the plan almost lodged18 in his head, and began to look for the little boy. Not finding him, his steps grew slower, and he stole back to his post on the verandah, but did not go on testing his rupees, in case his master heard them clink. On twittered the Sunday bells; the East had returned to the East via the suburbs of England, and had become ridiculous during the detour19.
Aziz continued to think about beautiful women.
His mind here was hard and direct, though not brutal20. He had learnt all he needed concerning his own constitution many years ago, thanks to the social order into which he had been born, and when he came to study medicine he was repelled21 by the pedantry22 and fuss with which Europe tabulates23 the facts of sex. Science seemed to discuss everything from the wrong end. It didn’t interpret his experiences when he found them in a German manual, because by being there they ceased to be his experiences. What he had been told by his father or mother or had picked up from servants—it was information of that sort that he found useful, and handed on as occasion offered to others.
But he must not bring any disgrace on his children by some silly escapade. Imagine if it got about that he was not respectable! His professional position too must be considered, whatever Major Callendar thought. Aziz upheld the proprieties24, though he did not invest them with any moral halo, and it was here that he chiefly differed from an Englishman. His conventions were social. There is no harm in deceiving society as long as she does not find you out, because it is only when she finds you out that you have harmed her; she is not like a friend or God, who are injured by the mere25 existence of unfaithfulness. Quite clear about this, he meditated26 what type of lie he should tell to get away to Calcutta, and had thought of a man there who could be trusted to send him a wire and a letter that he could show to Major Callendar, when the noise of wheels was heard in his compound. Someone had called to enquire27. The thought of sympathy increased his fever, and with a sincere groan3 he wrapped himself in his quilt.
“Aziz, my dear fellow, we are greatly concerned,” said Hamidullah’s voice. One, two, three, four bumps, as people sat down upon his bed.
“When a doctor falls ill it is a serious matter,” said the voice of Mr. Syed Mohammed, the assistant engineer.
“When an engineer falls ill, it is equally important,” said the voice of Mr. Haq, a police inspector28.
“Oh yes, we are all jolly important, our salaries prove it.”
“Dr. Aziz took tea with our Principal last Thursday afternoon,” piped Rafi, the engineer’s nephew. “Professor Godbole, who also attended, has sickened too, which seems rather a curious thing, sir, does it not?”
Flames of suspicion leapt up in the breast of each man.
“Humbug29!” exclaimed Hamidullah, in authoritative30 tones, quenching31 them.
“Humbug, most certainly,” echoed the others, ashamed of themselves. The wicked schoolboy, having failed to start a scandal, lost confidence and stood up with his back to the wall.
“Is Professor Godbole ill?” enquired33 Aziz, penetrated34 by the news. “I am sincerely sorry.” Intelligent and compassionate35, his face peeped out of the bright crimson36 folds of the quilt. “How do you do, Mr. Syed Mohammed, Mr. Haq? How very kind of you to enquire after my health! How do you do, Hamidullah? But you bring me bad news. What is wrong with him, the excellent fellow?”
“Why don’t you answer, Rafi? You’re the great authority,” said his uncle.
“Yes, Rafi’s the great man,” said Hamidullah, rubbing it in. “Rafi is the Sherlock Holmes of Chandrapore. Speak up, Rafi.”
Less than the dust, the schoolboy murmured the word “Diarrhœa,” but took courage as soon as it had been uttered, for it improved his position. Flames of suspicion shot up again in the breasts of his elders, though in a different direction. Could what was called diarrhœa really be an early case of cholera37?
“If this is so, this is a very serious thing: this is scarcely the end of March. Why have I not been informed?” cried Aziz.
“Dr. Panna Lal attends him, sir.”
“Oh yes, both Hindus; there we have it; they hang together like flies and keep everything dark. Rafi, come here. Sit down. Tell me all the details. Is there vomiting38 also?”
“Oh yes indeed, sir, and the serious pains.”
“That settles it. In twenty-four hours he will be dead.”
Everybody looked and felt shocked, but Professor Godbole had diminished his appeal by linking himself with a co-religionist. He moved them less than when he had appeared as a suffering individual. Before long they began to condemn39 him as a source of infection. “All illness proceeds from Hindus,” Mr. Haq said. Mr. Syed Mohammed had visited religious fairs, at Allahabad and at Ujjain, and described them with biting scorn. At Allahabad there was flowing water, which carried impurities40 away, but at Ujjain the little river Sipra was banked up, and thousands of bathers deposited their germs in the pool. He spoke41 with disgust of the hot sun, the cow-dung and marigold flowers, and the encampment of saddhus, some of whom strode stark42 naked through the streets. Asked what was the name of the chief idol43 at Ujjain, he replied that he did not know, he had disdained44 to enquire, he really could not waste his time over such trivialities. His outburst took some time, and in his excitement he fell into Punjabi (he came from that side) and was unintelligible45.
Aziz liked to hear his religion praised. It soothed46 the surface of his mind, and allowed beautiful images to form beneath. When the engineer’s noisy tirade47 was finished, he said, “That is exactly my own view.” He held up his hand, palm outward, his eyes began to glow, his heart to fill with tenderness. Issuing still farther from his quilt, he recited a poem by Ghalib. It had no connection with anything that had gone before, but it came from his heart and spoke to theirs. They were overwhelmed by its pathos48; pathos, they agreed, is the highest quality in art; a poem should touch the hearer with a sense of his own weakness, and should institute some comparison between mankind and flowers. The squalid bedroom grew quiet; the silly intrigues49, the gossip, the shallow discontent were stilled, while words accepted as immortal50 filled the indifferent air. Not as a call to battle, but as a calm assurance came the feeling that India was one; Moslem51; always had been; an assurance that lasted until they looked out of the door. Whatever Ghalib had felt, he had anyhow lived in India, and this consolidated53 it for them: he had gone with his own tulips and roses, but tulips and roses do not go. And the sister kingdoms of the north—Arabia, Persia, Ferghana, Turkestan—stretched out their hands as he sang, sadly, because all beauty is sad, and greeted ridiculous Chandrapore, where every street and house was divided against itself, and told her that she was a continent and a unity54.
Of the company, only Hamidullah had any comprehension of poetry. The minds of the others were inferior and rough. Yet they listened with pleasure, because literature had not been divorced from their civilization. The police inspector, for instance, did not feel that Aziz had degraded himself by reciting, nor break into the cheery guffaw55 with which an Englishman averts56 the infection of beauty. He just sat with his mind empty, and when his thoughts, which were mainly ignoble57, flowed back into it they had a pleasant freshness. The poem had done no “good” to anyone, but it was a passing reminder58, a breath from the divine lips of beauty, a nightingale between two worlds of dust. Less explicit59 than the call to Krishna, it voiced our loneliness nevertheless, our isolation60, our need for the Friend who never comes yet is not entirely61 disproved. Aziz it left thinking about women again, but in a different way: less definite, more intense. Sometimes poetry had this effect on him, sometimes it only increased his local desires, and he never knew beforehand which effect would ensue: he could discover no rule for this or for anything else in life.
Hamidullah had called in on his way to a worrying committee of notables, nationalist in tendency, where Hindus, Moslems, two Sikhs, two Parsis, a Jain, and a Native Christian62 tried to like one another more than came natural to them. As long as someone abused the English, all went well, but nothing constructive63 had been achieved, and if the English were to leave India, the committee would vanish also. He was glad that Aziz, whom he loved and whose family was connected with his own, took no interest in politics, which ruin the character and career, yet nothing can be achieved without them. He thought of Cambridge—sadly, as of another poem that had ended. How happy he had been there, twenty years ago! Politics had not mattered in Mr. and Mrs. Bannister’s rectory. There, games, work, and pleasant society had interwoven, and appeared to be sufficient substructure for a national life. Here all was wire-pulling and fear. Messrs. Syed Mohammed and Haq—he couldn’t even trust them, although they had come in his carriage, and the schoolboy was a scorpion64. Bending down, he said, “Aziz, Aziz, my dear boy, we must be going, we are already late. Get well quickly, for I do not know what our little circle would do without you.”
“I shall not forget those affectionate words,” replied Aziz.
“Add mine to them,” said the engineer.
“Thank you, Mr. Syed Mohammed, I will.”
“And mine,” “And, sir, accept mine,” cried the others, stirred each according to his capacity towards goodwill65. Little ineffectual unquenchable flames! The company continued to sit on the bed and to chew sugarcane, which Hassan had run for into the bazaar13, and Aziz drank a cup of spiced milk. Presently there was the sound of another carriage. Dr. Panna Lal had arrived, driven by horrid67 Mr. Ram68 Chand. The atmosphere of a sick-room was at once re-established, and the invalid69 retired70 under his quilt.
“Gentlemen, you will excuse, I have come to enquire by Major Callendar’s orders,” said the Hindu, nervous of the den32 of fanatics71 into which his curiosity had called him.
“Here he lies,” said Hamidullah, indicating the prostrate72 form.
“Dr. Aziz, Dr, Aziz, I come to enquire.”
Aziz presented an expressionless face to the thermometer.
“Your hand also, please.” He took it, gazed at the flies on the ceiling, and finally announced “Some temperature.”
“I think not much,” said Ram Chand, desirous of fomenting73 trouble.
“Some; he should remain in bed,” repeated Dr. Panna Lal, and shook the thermometer down, so that its altitude remained for ever unknown. He loathed74 his young colleague since the disasters with Dapple, and he would have liked to do him a bad turn and report to Major Callendar that he was shamming75. But he might want a day in bed himself soon,—besides, though Major Callendar always believed the worst of natives, he never believed them when they carried tales about one another. Sympathy seemed the safer course. “How is stomach?” he enquired, “how head?” And catching76 sight of the empty cup, he recommended a milk diet.
“This is a great relief to us, it is very good of you to call, Doctor Sahib,” Said Hamidullah, buttering him up a bit.
“It is only my duty.”
“We know how busy you are.”
“Yes, that is true.”
“And how much illness there is in the city.”
The doctor suspected a trap in this remark; if he admitted that there was or was not illness, either statement might be used against him. “There is always illness,” he replied, “and I am always busy—it is a doctor’s nature.”
“He has not a minute, he is due double sharp at Government College now,” said Ram Chand.
“You attend Professor Godbole there perhaps?”
The doctor looked professional and was silent.
“We hope his diarrhœa is ceasing.”
“He progresses, but not from diarrhœa.”
“We are in some anxiety over him—he and Dr. Aziz are great friends. If you could tell us the name of his complaint we should be grateful to you.”
After a cautious pause he said, “Hæmorrhoids.”
“And so much, my dear Rafi, for your cholera,” hooted77 Aziz, unable to restrain himself.
“Cholera, cholera, what next, what now?” cried the doctor, greatly fussed. “Who spreads such untrue reports about my patients?”
Hamidullah pointed to the culprit.
“I hear cholera, I hear bubonic plague, I hear every species of lie. Where will it end, I ask myself sometimes. This city is full of misstatements, and the originators of them ought to be discovered and punished authoritatively78.”
“Rafi, do you hear that? Now why do you stuff us up with all this humbug?”
The schoolboy murmured that another boy had told him, also that the bad English grammar the Government obliged them to use often gave the wrong meaning for words, and so led scholars into mistakes.
“That is no reason you should bring a charge against a doctor,” said Ram Chand.
“Exactly, exactly,” agreed Hamidullah, anxious to avoid an unpleasantness. Quarrels spread so quickly and so far, and Messrs. Syed Mohammed and Haq looked cross, and ready to fly out. “You must apologize properly, Rafi, I can see your uncle wishes it,” he said. “You have not yet said that you are sorry for the trouble you have caused this gentleman by your carelessness.”
“It is only a boy,” said Dr. Panna Lal, appeased79.
“Even boys must learn,” said Ram Chand.
“Your own son failing to pass the lowest standard, I think,” said Syed Mohammed suddenly.
“Oh, indeed? Oh yes, perhaps. He has not the advantage of a relative in the Prosperity Printing Press.”
“Nor you the advantage of conducting their cases in the Courts any longer.”
Their voices rose. They attacked one another with obscure allusions80 and had a silly quarrel. Hamidullah and the doctor tried to make peace between them. In the midst of the din2 someone said, “I say! Is he ill or isn’t he ill?” Mr. Fielding had entered unobserved. All rose to their feet, and Hassan, to do an Englishman honour, struck with a sugar-cane66 at the coil of flies.
Aziz said, “Sit down,” coldly. What a room! What a meeting! Squalor and ugly talk, the floor strewn with fragments of cane and nuts, and spotted81 with ink, the pictures crooked82 upon the dirty walls, no punkah! He hadn’t meant to live like this or among these third-rate people. And in his confusion he thought only of the insignificant83 Rafi, whom he had laughed at, and allowed to be teased. The boy must be sent away happy, or hospitality would have failed, along the whole line.
“It is good of Mr. Fielding to condescend84 to visit our friend,” said the police inspector. “We are touched by this great kindness.”
“Don’t talk to him like that, he doesn’t want it, and he doesn’t want three chairs; he’s not three Englishmen,” he flashed. “Rafi, come here. Sit down again. I’m delighted you could come with Mr. Hamidullah, my dear boy; it will help me to recover, seeing you.”
“Forgive my mistakes,” said Rafi, to consolidate52 himself.
“Well, are you ill, Aziz, or aren’t you?” Fielding repeated.
“No doubt Major Callendar has told you that I am shamming.”
“Well, are you?” The company laughed, friendly and pleased. “An Englishman at his best,” they thought; “so genial85.”
“Enquire from Dr. Panna Lal.”
“You’re sure I don’t tire you by stopping?”
“Why, no! There are six people present in my small room already. Please remain seated, if you will excuse the informality.” He turned away and continued to address Rafi, who was terrified at the arrival of his Principal, remembered that he had tried to spread slander86 about him, and yearned87 to get away.
“He is ill and he is not ill,” said Hamidullah, offering a cigarette. “And I suppose that most of us are in that same case.”
Fielding agreed; he and the pleasant sensitive barrister got on well. They were fairly intimate and beginning to trust each other.
“The whole world looks to be dying, still it doesn’t die, so we must assume the existence of a beneficent Providence88.”
“Oh, that is true, how true!” said the policeman, thinking religion had been praised.
“Does Mr. Fielding think it’s true?.”
“Think which true? The world isn’t dying. I’m certain of that!”
“No, no—the existence of Providence.”
“Well, I don’t believe in Providence.”
“But how then can you believe in God?” asked Syed Mohammed.
“I don’t believe in God.”
A tiny movement as of “I told you so!” passed round the company, and Aziz looked up for an instant, scandalized. “Is it correct that most are atheists in England now?” Hamidullah enquired.
“The educated thoughtful people? I should say so, though they don’t like the name. The truth is that the West doesn’t bother much over belief and disbelief in these days. Fifty years ago, or even when you and I were young, much more fuss was made.”
“And does not morality also decline?”
“It depends what you call—yes, yes, I suppose morality does decline.”
“Excuse the question, but if this is the case, how is England justified89 in holding India?”
There they were! Politics again. “It’s a question I can’t get my mind on to,” he replied. “I’m out here personally because I needed a job. I cannot tell you why England is here or whether she ought to be here. It’s beyond me.”
“Well-qualified Indians also need jobs in the educational.”
“I guess they do; I got in first,” said Fielding, smiling.
“Then excuse me again—is it fair an Englishman should occupy one when Indians are available? Of course I mean nothing personally. Personally we are delighted you should be here, and we benefit greatly by this frank talk.”
There is only one answer to a conversation of this type: “England holds India for her good.” Yet Fielding was disinclined to give it. The zeal90 for honesty had eaten him up. He said, “I’m delighted to be here too—that’s my answer, there’s my only excuse. I can’t tell you anything about fairness. It mayn’t have been fair I should have been born. I take up some other fellow’s air, don’t I, whenever I breathe? Still, I’m glad it’s happened, and I’m glad I’m out here. However big a badmash one is—if one’s happy in consequence, that is some justification91.”
The Indians were bewildered. The line of thought was not alien to them, but the words were too definite and bleak92. Unless a sentence paid a few compliments to Justice and Morality in passing, its grammar wounded their ears and paralysed their minds. What they said and what they felt were (except in the case of affection) seldom the same. They had numerous mental conventions and when these were flouted93 they found it very difficult to function. Hamidullah bore up best. “And those Englishmen who are not delighted to be in India—have they no excuse?” he asked.
“None. Chuck ’em out.”
“It may be difficult to separate them from the rest,” he laughed.
“Worse than difficult, wrong,” said Mr. Ram Chand. “No Indian gentleman approves chucking out as a proper thing. Here we differ from those other nations. We are so spiritual.”
“Oh that is true, how true!” said the police inspector.
“Is it true, Mr. Haq? I don’t consider us spiritual. We can’t co-ordinate, we can’t co-ordinate, it only comes to that. We can’t keep engagements, we can’t catch trains. What more than this is the so-called spirituality of India? You and I ought to be at the Committee of Notables, we’re not; our friend Dr. Lal ought to be with his patients, he isn’t. So we go on, and so we shall continue to go, I think, until the end of time.”
“It is not the end of time, it is scarcely ten-thirty, ha, ha!” cried Dr. Panna Lal, who was again in confident mood. “Gentlemen, if I may be allowed to say a few words, what an interesting talk, also thankfulness and gratitude94 to Mr. Fielding in the first place teaches our sons and gives them all the great benefits of his experience and judgment——”
“Dr. Lal!”
“Dr. Aziz?”
“You sit on my leg.”
“I beg pardon, but some might say your leg kicks.”
“Come along, we tire the invalid in either case,” said Fielding, and they filed out—four Mohammedans, two Hindus and the Englishman. They stood on the verandah while their conveyances95 were summoned out of various patches of shade.
“Aziz has a high opinion of you, he only did not speak because of his illness.”
“I quite understand,” said Fielding, who was rather disappointed with his call. The Club comment, “making himself cheap as usual,” passed through his mind. He couldn’t even get his horse brought up. He had liked Aziz so much at their first meeting, and had hoped for developments.
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bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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inefficiency
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| n.无效率，无能；无效率事例 | |
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aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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culminate
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| v.到绝顶，达于极点，达到高潮 | |
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voluptuousness
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| n.风骚，体态丰满 | |
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bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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nucleus
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| n.核，核心，原子核 | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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detour
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| n.绕行的路，迂回路；v.迂回，绕道 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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pedantry
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| n.迂腐，卖弄学问 | |
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tabulates
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| 把（数字、事实）列成表( tabulate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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proprieties
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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enquire
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| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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authoritative
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quenching
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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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enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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penetrated
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compassionate
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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cholera
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vomiting
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| 吐 | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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impurities
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| 不纯( impurity的名词复数 )； 不洁； 淫秽； 杂质 | |
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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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stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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disdained
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| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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47
tirade
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| n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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50
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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Moslem
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| n.回教徒，穆罕默德信徒；adj.回教徒的，回教的 | |
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52
consolidate
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| v.使加固，使加强；(把...)联为一体，合并 | |
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consolidated
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| a.联合的 | |
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unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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guffaw
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| n.哄笑；突然的大笑 | |
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averts
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| 防止，避免( avert的第三人称单数 )； 转移 | |
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ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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constructive
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| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
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scorpion
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| n.蝎子，心黑的人，蝎子鞭 | |
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goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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ram
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| (random access memory)随机存取存储器 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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fanatics
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| 狂热者，入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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fomenting
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| v.激起，煽动（麻烦等）( foment的现在分词 ) | |
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loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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shamming
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| 假装，冒充( sham的现在分词 ) | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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hooted
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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authoritatively
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| 命令式地，有权威地，可信地 | |
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appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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92
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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flouted
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| v.藐视，轻视( flout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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95
conveyances
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| n.传送( conveyance的名词复数 )；运送；表达；运输工具 | |
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