Luckily the questions raised that day died out like a false alarm. With no further mention of the Whitelaw baby, he graduated from the Latin School, passed his exams at Harvard, and spent the summer as second in command of a boys' camp in a part of New Hampshire remote from the inn-club and the Ansleys. October found him a freshman1. The new life was beginning.
He had slept his first night in his bedroom in Gore2 Hall, where his quarters had been appointed. He had met the three fellow-freshmen4 with whom he was to share a sitting room. The sitting room was on the ground floor in a corner, looking out on the Embankment and the Charles. Never having had, since he left the Quidmores, a place in which to work better than the narrow squalid room at the end of a narrow squalid hall, his joy in this new decency5 of living was naïve to the point of childishness. He spent in that retreat, during the first twenty-four hours, every minute not occupied with duties. Because he was glad of the task, his colleagues had left to him as much of the job of arranging the furniture as he would assume.
On the second day of his residence he was on his knees, behind his desk, pulling at a rug that had been wrinkled up. His zeal6 could bear nothing not neat, straight, adjusted. The desk was heavy, the rug
[Pg 285]
stubborn. When a rap sounded on the door he called out, "Come in!" looking up above the edge of the desk only when the door had been opened and closed.
A lady, dignified7, a little portly, was stepping into the room, with the brisk air of one who had a right there. As she had been motoring, she was wreathed in a dark green veil, which partially8 hid her features. Peeling off a gauntlet, she glanced round the room, after a first glance at Tom.
"I'm sorry to be late, Tad. That stupid Patterson lost his way. He's a very good driver, but he's no sense of direction. Why, where's the picture? You said you had had it hung."
Her tone was crisp and staccato. In her breath there was the syncopated halt which he afterward9 came to associate with the actress, Mrs. Fiske. She might be nervous; or she might suffer from the heart.
For the first few seconds he was too agitated10 to know exactly what to do. He had been looked at and called Tad again, this time probably by Tad's mother. He rose to his height of six feet two. The lady started back.
"Why, what have you been doing to yourself? What are you standing11 on? What makes you so tall?"
"I'm afraid there's some mistake, ma'am."
She broke in with a kind of petulance12. "Oh, Tad, no nonsense! I'm tired. I'm not in the mood for it."
Both gauntlets peeled off, she flung them on the desk. With a motion as rapid as her speech she stepped toward a window and looked out over the Embankment.
[Pg 286]
"It's going to be noisy and dusty for you here. The stream of cars is incessant13."
Being now beyond the desk, she caught the fullness of his stature14. Her left hand went up with a startled movement. She gave a little gasp15.
"Oh! You frightened me. You're not standing on anything."
"No, ma'am, I...."
"I asked for Mr. Whitelaw's room. They told me to come to number twenty-eight."
Making her way out, she kept looking back at him in terror. When he hurried to open the door for her, she waved him away. Everything she did and said was rapid, staccato, and peremptory16.
"You've forgotten your gloves, ma'am."
He reached them with a stretch of his arm. Taking them from him, she still kept her eyes on his face.
"No! You don't look like him. I thought you did. I was wrong. It's only the—the eyes—and the eyebrows17."
She was gone. He closed the door upon her. Dropping into an armchair by the window, he stared out on a wide low landscape, with a double procession of motor cars in the foreground, and a river in the middle distance.
So this was the woman who had lived through the agony of a stolen child! He tried to recall what Honey had told him of the tragedy. He remembered the house which five years earlier Honey had taken him to see; he remembered the dell with the benches and the lilacs. This woman's child had been wheeled out there one morning—and had vanished. She had
[Pg 287]
had to bear being told of the fact. She had gone through the minutes when the mind couldn't credit it. She had known fear, frenzy18, hope, suspense19, disappointment, discouragement, despair, and lassitude. In self-defense, in sheer inability of the human spirit to endure more than it has endured, she had thrown round her a hard little shell of refusal to hear of it again. She resented the reminder20. She was pricked21 to a frantic22 excitement by a mere23 chance resemblance to the image of what the lost little boy might have become.
A chance resemblance! He underscored the words. It was all there was. He himself was the son of Theodore and Lucy Whitelaw. At least he thought her name was Lucy. Not till he had been required to give the names of his parents for some school record did it occur to him that he didn't positively24 know. She had always been "Mudda." He hadn't needed another name. After she had gone there had been no one to supply him with the facts he had not learned before. Even the Theodore would have escaped him had it not been for that last poignant25 scene, when she stood before the officer and gave a name—Mrs. Theodore Whitelaw! Why not? There were more Whitelaws than one. There was no monopoly of the name in the family that had lost the child.
He didn't often consciously think of her nowadays. The memory was not merely too painful; it was too destructive of the things he was trying to cherish. He had impulses rather than ideals, in that impulses form themselves more spontaneously; and all his im
[Pg 288]
pulses were toward rectitude. It was not a chosen standard; neither was it imposed upon him from without, unless it was in some vague general direction of the spirit received while at the Tollivants. He didn't really think of it. He took it as a matter of course. He couldn't be anything but what he was, and there was an end of it. But all his attempts to get a working concept of himself led him back to this beginning, where the fountain of life was befouled.
So he rarely went back that far. He would go back to the Quidmores, to the Tollivants, to Mrs. Crewdson; but he stopped there. There he hung up a great curtain, soft and dim and pitiful, the veil of an immense tenderness. Rarely, very rarely, did he go behind it. He would not have done it on this afternoon had not the woman who had just gone out—dressed, as anyone could see, with the expensive easy-going roughness which only rich women can afford—neurotic, imperious, unhappy—had not this woman sent him there. She was a great lady whose tragic26 story haunted him; but she turned his mind backward, as it hardly ever turned, to the foolish and misguided soul who had loved him. No one since that time, no one whatever in the life he could remember, had loved him at all, unless it were Honey, and Honey denied that he did. How could he forsake27 ...? And then it came to him what it was that pleaded within him not to be forsaken28.
He had slept his first night in his bedroom in Gore2 Hall, where his quarters had been appointed. He had met the three fellow-freshmen4 with whom he was to share a sitting room. The sitting room was on the ground floor in a corner, looking out on the Embankment and the Charles. Never having had, since he left the Quidmores, a place in which to work better than the narrow squalid room at the end of a narrow squalid hall, his joy in this new decency5 of living was naïve to the point of childishness. He spent in that retreat, during the first twenty-four hours, every minute not occupied with duties. Because he was glad of the task, his colleagues had left to him as much of the job of arranging the furniture as he would assume.
On the second day of his residence he was on his knees, behind his desk, pulling at a rug that had been wrinkled up. His zeal6 could bear nothing not neat, straight, adjusted. The desk was heavy, the rug
[Pg 285]
stubborn. When a rap sounded on the door he called out, "Come in!" looking up above the edge of the desk only when the door had been opened and closed.
A lady, dignified7, a little portly, was stepping into the room, with the brisk air of one who had a right there. As she had been motoring, she was wreathed in a dark green veil, which partially8 hid her features. Peeling off a gauntlet, she glanced round the room, after a first glance at Tom.
"I'm sorry to be late, Tad. That stupid Patterson lost his way. He's a very good driver, but he's no sense of direction. Why, where's the picture? You said you had had it hung."
Her tone was crisp and staccato. In her breath there was the syncopated halt which he afterward9 came to associate with the actress, Mrs. Fiske. She might be nervous; or she might suffer from the heart.
For the first few seconds he was too agitated10 to know exactly what to do. He had been looked at and called Tad again, this time probably by Tad's mother. He rose to his height of six feet two. The lady started back.
"Why, what have you been doing to yourself? What are you standing11 on? What makes you so tall?"
"I'm afraid there's some mistake, ma'am."
She broke in with a kind of petulance12. "Oh, Tad, no nonsense! I'm tired. I'm not in the mood for it."
Both gauntlets peeled off, she flung them on the desk. With a motion as rapid as her speech she stepped toward a window and looked out over the Embankment.
[Pg 286]
"It's going to be noisy and dusty for you here. The stream of cars is incessant13."
Being now beyond the desk, she caught the fullness of his stature14. Her left hand went up with a startled movement. She gave a little gasp15.
"Oh! You frightened me. You're not standing on anything."
"No, ma'am, I...."
"I asked for Mr. Whitelaw's room. They told me to come to number twenty-eight."
Making her way out, she kept looking back at him in terror. When he hurried to open the door for her, she waved him away. Everything she did and said was rapid, staccato, and peremptory16.
"You've forgotten your gloves, ma'am."
He reached them with a stretch of his arm. Taking them from him, she still kept her eyes on his face.
"No! You don't look like him. I thought you did. I was wrong. It's only the—the eyes—and the eyebrows17."
She was gone. He closed the door upon her. Dropping into an armchair by the window, he stared out on a wide low landscape, with a double procession of motor cars in the foreground, and a river in the middle distance.
So this was the woman who had lived through the agony of a stolen child! He tried to recall what Honey had told him of the tragedy. He remembered the house which five years earlier Honey had taken him to see; he remembered the dell with the benches and the lilacs. This woman's child had been wheeled out there one morning—and had vanished. She had
[Pg 287]
had to bear being told of the fact. She had gone through the minutes when the mind couldn't credit it. She had known fear, frenzy18, hope, suspense19, disappointment, discouragement, despair, and lassitude. In self-defense, in sheer inability of the human spirit to endure more than it has endured, she had thrown round her a hard little shell of refusal to hear of it again. She resented the reminder20. She was pricked21 to a frantic22 excitement by a mere23 chance resemblance to the image of what the lost little boy might have become.
A chance resemblance! He underscored the words. It was all there was. He himself was the son of Theodore and Lucy Whitelaw. At least he thought her name was Lucy. Not till he had been required to give the names of his parents for some school record did it occur to him that he didn't positively24 know. She had always been "Mudda." He hadn't needed another name. After she had gone there had been no one to supply him with the facts he had not learned before. Even the Theodore would have escaped him had it not been for that last poignant25 scene, when she stood before the officer and gave a name—Mrs. Theodore Whitelaw! Why not? There were more Whitelaws than one. There was no monopoly of the name in the family that had lost the child.
He didn't often consciously think of her nowadays. The memory was not merely too painful; it was too destructive of the things he was trying to cherish. He had impulses rather than ideals, in that impulses form themselves more spontaneously; and all his im
[Pg 288]
pulses were toward rectitude. It was not a chosen standard; neither was it imposed upon him from without, unless it was in some vague general direction of the spirit received while at the Tollivants. He didn't really think of it. He took it as a matter of course. He couldn't be anything but what he was, and there was an end of it. But all his attempts to get a working concept of himself led him back to this beginning, where the fountain of life was befouled.
So he rarely went back that far. He would go back to the Quidmores, to the Tollivants, to Mrs. Crewdson; but he stopped there. There he hung up a great curtain, soft and dim and pitiful, the veil of an immense tenderness. Rarely, very rarely, did he go behind it. He would not have done it on this afternoon had not the woman who had just gone out—dressed, as anyone could see, with the expensive easy-going roughness which only rich women can afford—neurotic, imperious, unhappy—had not this woman sent him there. She was a great lady whose tragic26 story haunted him; but she turned his mind backward, as it hardly ever turned, to the foolish and misguided soul who had loved him. No one since that time, no one whatever in the life he could remember, had loved him at all, unless it were Honey, and Honey denied that he did. How could he forsake27 ...? And then it came to him what it was that pleaded within him not to be forsaken28.
The lecture was over. It was one of the first Tom had attended. The men, some hundred odd in number, were shuffling29 their papers, preparatory to getting up.
[Pg 289]
Seated in an amphitheater, they filled the first seven or eight semicircles outward from the stage. The arrangement being alphabetical30, Tom, as a W, was in the most distant row.
The lecturer, who was also putting his papers together as they lay on a table beside him, looked up casually31 to call out,
"If Mr. Whitelaw is here I should like to speak to him."
Tom shot from his seat and stood up. The man on his left did the same. Occupied with taking notes on the little table attached to the right arm—the only arm—of his chair, Tom had not turned to the left at all. He was surprised now at the ripple32 of laughter that ran among the men beginning to get up from their seats or to file out into the corridor. The professor smiled too.
"You're brothers?"
Tom looked at his neighbor; his neighbor looked at Tom. Except for the difference in height the resemblance was startling or amusing, as you chose to take it. To the men going by it was amusing.
It was the neighbor, however, who called out, in a shocked voice: "Oh, no, no! No connection."
"Then it's to Mr. Theodore Whitelaw that I wish to speak."
Mr. Theodore Whitelaw made his way toward the platform, taking no further notice of Tom.
For this lack of the friendly freemasonry general among young men, general among freshmen especially, Tom thought he saw a reason. The outward appearance which enabled him to "place" Tad would
[Pg 290]
enable Tad to "place" him. On the one there was the stamp of wealth; on the other there must be that of poverty. He might have met Tad Whitelaw anywhere in the world, and he would have known him at a glance as a fellow nursed on money since he first lay in a cradle. It wasn't merely a matter of dress, though dress counted for something. It was a matter of the personality. It was in the eyes, in the skin, in the look, in the carriage, in the voice. It was not in refinement33, or cultivation34, or cleverness, or use of opportunity; it was in something subtler than these, a cast of mind, a habit of thought, an acceptance, a self-confidence, which seeped35 through every outlet36 of expression. Tad Whitelaw embodied37 wealth, position, the easy use of whatever was best in whatever was material. You couldn't help seeing it.
On the other hand, he, Tom Whitelaw, probably bore the other kind of stamp. He had not thought of that before. In as far as he had thought of it, it was to suppose that the stamp could be rubbed off, or covered up. Clothes would do something toward that, and in clothes he had been extravagant38. He had come to Harvard with two new suits, made to his order by the Jew tailor next door to Mrs. Danker's. But in contrast with the young New Yorker his extravagance had been futile39. He found for himself the most opprobrious40 word in all the American language—cheap.
Very well! He probably couldn't help looking cheap. But if cheap he would be big. He wouldn't resent. He would keep his mouth shut and live. Things would right themselves by and by.
[Pg 291]
They righted themselves soon. The three men with whom he shared the sitting room, having passed him as "a good scout," admitted him to full and easy comradeship. In the common-room, in the classroom, he held his own, and made a few friends. Guy Ansley, urged in part by a real liking41, and in part by the glory of having this big handsome fellow in tow, was generous of recognition. He was standing one day with a group of his peers from Doolittle and Pray's when Tom chanced to pass at a distance. Guy called out to him.
"Hello, you old sinner! Where you been this ever so long?" With a word to his friends, he puffed42 after Tom, and dragged him toward the group. "This is the guy they call the Whitelaw Baby. See how much he looks like Tad?"
"Tad'll give you Whitelaw Baby," came from one of the group. "Hates the name of it. Don't blame him, do you, when he's heard everyone gassing about the kid all through his life?"
But that he was going in Harvard by this nickname disturbed Tom not a little. Considering the legend in the Whitelaw family, and the resemblance between himself and Tad, it was natural enough. But should Tad hear of it....
With Tad he had no acquaintance. As the weeks passed by he came to understand that with certain freshmen acquaintance would be difficult. They themselves didn't want it. It was a discovery to Tom that it didn't follow that you knew a man, or that a man knew you, because you had been introduced to him. Guy Ansley had introduced him that day to the little
[Pg 292]
group from Doolittle and Pray's; but when he ran into them again none of them remembered him.
So Tad Whitelaw did not remember him after having met him accidentally at Guy's. The meeting had been casual, hurried, but it was a meeting. The two had been named to each other. Each had made an inarticulate grunt43. But when later that same afternoon they passed in a corridor Tad went by as if he had never seen him.
He continued to live and keep his mouth shut. If he was hurt there was nothing to be gained by saying so. Then an incident occurred which threw them together in a manner which couldn't be ignored inwardly, even if outward conditions remained the same.
Little by little the Harvard student, following the general sobering down which makes it harder for people in the twentieth century to laugh than it was to those who lived fifty years ago, was becoming less frolicsome44. Pranks45 were still played, especially by freshmen, but neither so many nor so wild. The humor had gone out of them.
But in every large company of young men there are a few whose high spirits carry them away. Where they have money to spend and no cares as to the future on their minds, the new sense of freedom naturally runs to roistering. In passing Tad Whitelaw's rooms, which were also in Gore Hall, Tom often heard the banging of the piano, and those shouts of song and laughter which are likely to disturb the proctor. Guy, who was often the one at the piano, now and then gave him a report of a party, telling him who was at it, and what they had had to drink.
[Pg 293]
In the course of the winter his relations with Guy took on a somewhat different tinge46. In Guy's circle, commonly called a gang or a bunch, he was Guy's eccentricity47. The Doolittle and Pray spirit allowed of an eccentricity, if it wasn't paraded too much. Guy knew, too, that it helped to make him popular, which was not an easy task, to be known as loyal to a boyhood's chum, when he might be expected to desert him.
But behind this patronage48 the fat boy found in Tom what he had always found, a source of strength. Not much more than at school did he escape at Harvard his destiny as a butt49.
"Same old spiel, damn it," he lamented50 to Tom, "just because I'm fat. What difference does that make, when you're a sport all right? Doesn't keep me from going with the gang, not any more than Tad Whitelaw's big eyebrows, or Spit Castle's long nose."
On occasions when he was left out of "good things" which he would gladly have been in he made Tom come round to his room in the evening for confidence and comfort. Tom never made game of him. There was no one else to whom he could turn with the certainty of being understood. Having an apartment to himself, he could be free in his complaints without fear of interruption.
It was late at night. The two young men had been "yarning," as they called it, and smoking for the past two hours. Tom was getting up to go back to his room, when a sound of running along the corridor caught their attention.
"What in blazes is that?"
[Pg 294]
By the time the footsteps reached Guy's door smothered51 explosions of laughter could be heard outside. With a first preliminary pound on the panels the door was flung open, Spit Castle and Tad Whitelaw hurling52 themselves in. Though they would have passed as sober, some of their excess of merriment might have been due to a few drinks.
Tad carried a big iron door-key which he threw with a rattle53 on the table. His hat had been knocked to the back of his head; his necktie was an inch off-center; his person in general disordered by flight. Spit Castle, a weedy youth with a nose like a tapir's, was in much the same state. Neither could tell what the joke was, because the joke choked them. Guy, flattered that they should come first of all to him, stood in the middle of the floor, grinning expectantly. Tom, quietly smoking, kept in the background, sitting on the arm of the chair from which he had just been getting up. As each of the newcomers tried to tell the tale he was broken in on by the other.
"Came out from town by subway...."
"Walking through Brattle Square...."
"Not so much as a damn cat about...."
"Saw little old johnny come abreast54 of little old bootstore...."
"Took out a key—opened the door—went into the shop in the dark—left the key in the keyhole to lock up when he comes outside again—just in for something he'd forgot."
"And damned if Tad didn't turn the key—quick as that—and lock the old beggar in."
[Pg 295]
"Last we heard of him he was poundin' and squealin' to beat all blazes."
Yellin', 'Pull-ice!—pull-ice!'—whacking his leg, Spit gave an imitation of the prisoner—"and he's in there yet."
To Guy the situation was as droll56 as it was to his two friends. An old fellow trapped in his own shop! He was a Dago, Spit thought, which made the situation funnier. They laughed till, wearied with laughter, they threw themselves into armchairs, and lit their cigarettes.
Tom, who had laughed a little not at their joke but at them, felt obliged, in his own phrase, to butt in. He waited till a few puffs57 of tobacco had soothed58 them.
"Say, boys, don't you think the fun's gone far enough?"
The two guests turned and stared as if he had been a talking piece of furniture. Tad took his cigarette from his lips.
"What the hell business is it of yours?"
Tom kept his seat on the arm of the chair, speaking peaceably. "I suppose it isn't my business—except for the old man."
"What have you got to do with him? Is he your father?"
"He's probably somebody's father, and somebody's husband. You can't leave him there all night."
Spit challenged this. "Why can't we?"
"Because you can't. Fellows like you don't do that sort of thing."
It looked as if Tad Whitelaw had some special
[Pg 296]
animosity against him, when he sprang from his chair to say insolently59, "And fellows like you don't hang round where they're not wanted."
"Oh, Tom didn't mean anything—" Guy began to interpose.
"Then let him keep his mouth shut, or—" he nodded toward the door—"or get out."
Tom kept his temper, waiting till Tad dropped back into his chair again. "You see, it's this way. The old chap has a home, and if he doesn't come back to it in the course of, let us say, half an hour his family'll get scared. If they hunt him up at the shop, and find he's been locked in, they'll make a row at the police station just across the street. If the police get in on the business they're sure to find out who did it."
"Well, it won't be you, will it?" Tad sneered60 again.
"No, it won't be me, but even you don't want to be...."
Tad turned languidly to Guy. "Say, Guy! Awful pity isn't it about little Jennie Halligan! Cutest little dancer in the show, and she's fallen and broken her leg."
Tom got up, walked quietly to the table, picked up the key, and at the same even pace was making for the door, when Tad sprang in front of him.
"Damn you! Where do you think you're going?"
"I'm going to let the old fellow out."
"drop that key."
"Get out of my way."
"Like hell I'll get out of your way."
"Don't let us make a row here."
"drop that key. Do you hear me?"
[Pg 297]
The rage in Tad's face was at being disobeyed. He was not afraid of this fellow two inches taller than himself. He hated him. Ever since coming to Harvard the swine had had the impertinence to be called by the same name, and to look like him. He knew as well as anyone else the nickname by which the bounder was going, and knew that he, the bounder, encouraged it. It advertised him. It made him feel big. He, the brother of the Whitelaw Baby, had been longing61 to get at the fellow and give him a whack55 on the jaw62. He would never have a better opportunity.
The lift of his hand and the grasp with which Tom caught the wrist were simultaneous. Slipping the key into his pocket, Tom brought his other hand into play, throwing the lighter63-built fellow out of his path with a toss which sent him back against the desk. Maddened by this insult to his person, Tad picked up the inkstand on the desk, hurling it at Tom's head. The inkstand grazed his ear, but went smash against the wall, spattering the new wallpaper with a great blob of ink. Guy groaned64, with some wild objurgation. To escape from the room Tom had turned his back, when a blow from an uplifted chair caught him between the shoulders. Wheeling, he wrenched66 the chair from the hands of Spit Castle, chucked it aside and dealt the young man a stinger that brought the blood from the tapir nose. All blind rage by this time, he caught the weedy youth's head under his right arm, pounding the face with his left fist till he felt the body sagging67 from his hold. He let it go. Spit fell on the sofa, which was spattered with blood,
[Pg 298]
as the wallpaper with ink. Startled at the sight of the limp form, he stood for a second looking down at it, when his skull68 seemed crashed from behind. Staggering back, he thought he was going to faint, but the sight of Tad aiming another thump69 at him, straight between the eyes, revived him to berserker fury. He sprang like a lion on an antelope70.
Strong and agile71 on his side, Tad was stiff to resistance. Before the sheer weight of Tom's body he yielded an inch or two, but not more. Freeing his left hand, as he bent72 backward, he dealt Tom a bruising73 blow on the temple. Tom disregarded it, pinning Tad's left arm as he had already pinned the right. His object now was to get the boy down, to force him to his knees. It was a contest of brutal74 strength. When it came to brutal strength the advantage was with the bigger frame, the muscles toughened by work. The fight was silent now, nearly motionless. Slowly, slowly, as iron gives way to the man with the force to bend it, Tad was coming down. His feet were twisted under him, with no power to right themselves. Two pairs of eyes, strangely alike, glared at each other, like the eyes of frenzied75 wild animals. Tad gave a quick little groan65.
"O God, my leg's breaking."
Tom was not touched. "Damn you, let it break!"
Pressed, pressed, pressed downward, Tad was sinking by a fraction of an inch each minute. The strength above him was pitiless. Except for the running of water in the bathroom, where Guy had dragged Spit Castle to wash his nose, there was no sound in the room but the long hard pantings, now
[Pg 299]
from Tad's side, now from Tom's. In the intervals76 neither seemed to breathe.
"GET UP, I TELL YOU"
Suddenly Tad collapsed77, and went down. Tom came on top of him. The heavier having the lighter fastened by arms and legs, the two lay like two stones. The faces were so near together that they could have kissed. Their long protruding78 eyebrows brushed each other's foreheads. The weight of Tom's bulk squeezed the breath from his foe79, as a bear squeezes it with a hug. Nothing was left to Tad but resistance of the will. Of that, too, Tom meant to get the better.
The words were whispered from one mouth into the other. "Do you know what I'm going to do with you?"
There was no answer.
"I'm going to take you back with me to let that old man out of his shop."
There was still no answer. Tom sprang suddenly off Tad's body, but with his fingers under the collar.
"Get up!"
He pulled with all his might. The collar gave way. Tad fell back. "Damned if I will," was all he could say by way of defiance80.
Tom gave him a kick. "Get up, I tell you. If you don't I'll kick the stuffing out of you."
The kick hurt nothing but Tad's pride; but it hurt that badly. It hurt it so badly that he got up, with no further show of opposition81. He dusted his clothes mechanically with his hands; he tried to adjust his torn collar. His tone was almost commonplace.
[Pg 300]
"This has got to be settled some other time. What do you want me to do?"
Tom pointed3 to the door. "What I want you to do is to march. Keep ahead of me. And mind you if you try to bolt I'll wring82 your neck as if you were a cur. You—you—" He sought a word which would hit where blows had not carried—"you—coward!"
The flash of Tad's eyes was like that of Tom's own. "We'll see."
He went out the door, Tom close behind him.
It was a March night, with snow on the ground, but thawing83. They were without overcoats, and bare-headed. A few motor cars were passing, but not many pedestrians84.
"Run," Tom commanded.
He ran. They both ran. The distance being short, they were soon in Brattle Square. Tad stopped at a little shop, showing a faint light. There was too much in the way of window display to allow of the passer-by, who didn't give himself some trouble, to see anything within.
At first they heard nothing. Then came a whimpering, like that of a little dog, shut in and lonely, tired out with yelping85. Putting his ear to the door, Tom heard a desolate86, "Tam! Tam!" It was the only utterance87.
"Here's the key! Unlock the door."
Tad did as he was bidden. Inside the "Tam! Tam!" ceased.
"Now go in, and say you're sorry."
As Tad hesitated Tom gave him a push. The door
[Pg 301]
being now ajar the culprit went sprawling88 into the presence of his victim.
There was a spring like that of a cat. There was also a snarl89 like a cat's snarl. "You tam Harvard student!"
Feeling he had done and said enough, Tom took to his heels; but as someone else was taking to his heels, and running close behind him, he judged that Tad had escaped.
Back in his room, Tom felt spent. In his bed he was in emotional revolt against his victory. He loathed90 it. He loathed everything that had led up to it. The eyes that had stared into his, when the two had lain together on the floor, were like those of something he had murdered. What was it? What was the thing that deep down within him, rooted in the primal91 impulses that must have been there before there was a world—what was the thing that had been devastated92, outraged93? Once more, he didn't know.
[Pg 289]
Seated in an amphitheater, they filled the first seven or eight semicircles outward from the stage. The arrangement being alphabetical30, Tom, as a W, was in the most distant row.
The lecturer, who was also putting his papers together as they lay on a table beside him, looked up casually31 to call out,
"If Mr. Whitelaw is here I should like to speak to him."
Tom shot from his seat and stood up. The man on his left did the same. Occupied with taking notes on the little table attached to the right arm—the only arm—of his chair, Tom had not turned to the left at all. He was surprised now at the ripple32 of laughter that ran among the men beginning to get up from their seats or to file out into the corridor. The professor smiled too.
"You're brothers?"
Tom looked at his neighbor; his neighbor looked at Tom. Except for the difference in height the resemblance was startling or amusing, as you chose to take it. To the men going by it was amusing.
It was the neighbor, however, who called out, in a shocked voice: "Oh, no, no! No connection."
"Then it's to Mr. Theodore Whitelaw that I wish to speak."
Mr. Theodore Whitelaw made his way toward the platform, taking no further notice of Tom.
For this lack of the friendly freemasonry general among young men, general among freshmen especially, Tom thought he saw a reason. The outward appearance which enabled him to "place" Tad would
[Pg 290]
enable Tad to "place" him. On the one there was the stamp of wealth; on the other there must be that of poverty. He might have met Tad Whitelaw anywhere in the world, and he would have known him at a glance as a fellow nursed on money since he first lay in a cradle. It wasn't merely a matter of dress, though dress counted for something. It was a matter of the personality. It was in the eyes, in the skin, in the look, in the carriage, in the voice. It was not in refinement33, or cultivation34, or cleverness, or use of opportunity; it was in something subtler than these, a cast of mind, a habit of thought, an acceptance, a self-confidence, which seeped35 through every outlet36 of expression. Tad Whitelaw embodied37 wealth, position, the easy use of whatever was best in whatever was material. You couldn't help seeing it.
On the other hand, he, Tom Whitelaw, probably bore the other kind of stamp. He had not thought of that before. In as far as he had thought of it, it was to suppose that the stamp could be rubbed off, or covered up. Clothes would do something toward that, and in clothes he had been extravagant38. He had come to Harvard with two new suits, made to his order by the Jew tailor next door to Mrs. Danker's. But in contrast with the young New Yorker his extravagance had been futile39. He found for himself the most opprobrious40 word in all the American language—cheap.
Very well! He probably couldn't help looking cheap. But if cheap he would be big. He wouldn't resent. He would keep his mouth shut and live. Things would right themselves by and by.
[Pg 291]
They righted themselves soon. The three men with whom he shared the sitting room, having passed him as "a good scout," admitted him to full and easy comradeship. In the common-room, in the classroom, he held his own, and made a few friends. Guy Ansley, urged in part by a real liking41, and in part by the glory of having this big handsome fellow in tow, was generous of recognition. He was standing one day with a group of his peers from Doolittle and Pray's when Tom chanced to pass at a distance. Guy called out to him.
"Hello, you old sinner! Where you been this ever so long?" With a word to his friends, he puffed42 after Tom, and dragged him toward the group. "This is the guy they call the Whitelaw Baby. See how much he looks like Tad?"
"Tad'll give you Whitelaw Baby," came from one of the group. "Hates the name of it. Don't blame him, do you, when he's heard everyone gassing about the kid all through his life?"
But that he was going in Harvard by this nickname disturbed Tom not a little. Considering the legend in the Whitelaw family, and the resemblance between himself and Tad, it was natural enough. But should Tad hear of it....
With Tad he had no acquaintance. As the weeks passed by he came to understand that with certain freshmen acquaintance would be difficult. They themselves didn't want it. It was a discovery to Tom that it didn't follow that you knew a man, or that a man knew you, because you had been introduced to him. Guy Ansley had introduced him that day to the little
[Pg 292]
group from Doolittle and Pray's; but when he ran into them again none of them remembered him.
So Tad Whitelaw did not remember him after having met him accidentally at Guy's. The meeting had been casual, hurried, but it was a meeting. The two had been named to each other. Each had made an inarticulate grunt43. But when later that same afternoon they passed in a corridor Tad went by as if he had never seen him.
He continued to live and keep his mouth shut. If he was hurt there was nothing to be gained by saying so. Then an incident occurred which threw them together in a manner which couldn't be ignored inwardly, even if outward conditions remained the same.
Little by little the Harvard student, following the general sobering down which makes it harder for people in the twentieth century to laugh than it was to those who lived fifty years ago, was becoming less frolicsome44. Pranks45 were still played, especially by freshmen, but neither so many nor so wild. The humor had gone out of them.
But in every large company of young men there are a few whose high spirits carry them away. Where they have money to spend and no cares as to the future on their minds, the new sense of freedom naturally runs to roistering. In passing Tad Whitelaw's rooms, which were also in Gore Hall, Tom often heard the banging of the piano, and those shouts of song and laughter which are likely to disturb the proctor. Guy, who was often the one at the piano, now and then gave him a report of a party, telling him who was at it, and what they had had to drink.
[Pg 293]
In the course of the winter his relations with Guy took on a somewhat different tinge46. In Guy's circle, commonly called a gang or a bunch, he was Guy's eccentricity47. The Doolittle and Pray spirit allowed of an eccentricity, if it wasn't paraded too much. Guy knew, too, that it helped to make him popular, which was not an easy task, to be known as loyal to a boyhood's chum, when he might be expected to desert him.
But behind this patronage48 the fat boy found in Tom what he had always found, a source of strength. Not much more than at school did he escape at Harvard his destiny as a butt49.
"Same old spiel, damn it," he lamented50 to Tom, "just because I'm fat. What difference does that make, when you're a sport all right? Doesn't keep me from going with the gang, not any more than Tad Whitelaw's big eyebrows, or Spit Castle's long nose."
On occasions when he was left out of "good things" which he would gladly have been in he made Tom come round to his room in the evening for confidence and comfort. Tom never made game of him. There was no one else to whom he could turn with the certainty of being understood. Having an apartment to himself, he could be free in his complaints without fear of interruption.
It was late at night. The two young men had been "yarning," as they called it, and smoking for the past two hours. Tom was getting up to go back to his room, when a sound of running along the corridor caught their attention.
"What in blazes is that?"
[Pg 294]
By the time the footsteps reached Guy's door smothered51 explosions of laughter could be heard outside. With a first preliminary pound on the panels the door was flung open, Spit Castle and Tad Whitelaw hurling52 themselves in. Though they would have passed as sober, some of their excess of merriment might have been due to a few drinks.
Tad carried a big iron door-key which he threw with a rattle53 on the table. His hat had been knocked to the back of his head; his necktie was an inch off-center; his person in general disordered by flight. Spit Castle, a weedy youth with a nose like a tapir's, was in much the same state. Neither could tell what the joke was, because the joke choked them. Guy, flattered that they should come first of all to him, stood in the middle of the floor, grinning expectantly. Tom, quietly smoking, kept in the background, sitting on the arm of the chair from which he had just been getting up. As each of the newcomers tried to tell the tale he was broken in on by the other.
"Came out from town by subway...."
"Walking through Brattle Square...."
"Not so much as a damn cat about...."
"Saw little old johnny come abreast54 of little old bootstore...."
"Took out a key—opened the door—went into the shop in the dark—left the key in the keyhole to lock up when he comes outside again—just in for something he'd forgot."
"And damned if Tad didn't turn the key—quick as that—and lock the old beggar in."
[Pg 295]
"Last we heard of him he was poundin' and squealin' to beat all blazes."
Yellin', 'Pull-ice!—pull-ice!'—whacking his leg, Spit gave an imitation of the prisoner—"and he's in there yet."
To Guy the situation was as droll56 as it was to his two friends. An old fellow trapped in his own shop! He was a Dago, Spit thought, which made the situation funnier. They laughed till, wearied with laughter, they threw themselves into armchairs, and lit their cigarettes.
Tom, who had laughed a little not at their joke but at them, felt obliged, in his own phrase, to butt in. He waited till a few puffs57 of tobacco had soothed58 them.
"Say, boys, don't you think the fun's gone far enough?"
The two guests turned and stared as if he had been a talking piece of furniture. Tad took his cigarette from his lips.
"What the hell business is it of yours?"
Tom kept his seat on the arm of the chair, speaking peaceably. "I suppose it isn't my business—except for the old man."
"What have you got to do with him? Is he your father?"
"He's probably somebody's father, and somebody's husband. You can't leave him there all night."
Spit challenged this. "Why can't we?"
"Because you can't. Fellows like you don't do that sort of thing."
It looked as if Tad Whitelaw had some special
[Pg 296]
animosity against him, when he sprang from his chair to say insolently59, "And fellows like you don't hang round where they're not wanted."
"Oh, Tom didn't mean anything—" Guy began to interpose.
"Then let him keep his mouth shut, or—" he nodded toward the door—"or get out."
Tom kept his temper, waiting till Tad dropped back into his chair again. "You see, it's this way. The old chap has a home, and if he doesn't come back to it in the course of, let us say, half an hour his family'll get scared. If they hunt him up at the shop, and find he's been locked in, they'll make a row at the police station just across the street. If the police get in on the business they're sure to find out who did it."
"Well, it won't be you, will it?" Tad sneered60 again.
"No, it won't be me, but even you don't want to be...."
Tad turned languidly to Guy. "Say, Guy! Awful pity isn't it about little Jennie Halligan! Cutest little dancer in the show, and she's fallen and broken her leg."
Tom got up, walked quietly to the table, picked up the key, and at the same even pace was making for the door, when Tad sprang in front of him.
"Damn you! Where do you think you're going?"
"I'm going to let the old fellow out."
"drop that key."
"Get out of my way."
"Like hell I'll get out of your way."
"Don't let us make a row here."
"drop that key. Do you hear me?"
[Pg 297]
The rage in Tad's face was at being disobeyed. He was not afraid of this fellow two inches taller than himself. He hated him. Ever since coming to Harvard the swine had had the impertinence to be called by the same name, and to look like him. He knew as well as anyone else the nickname by which the bounder was going, and knew that he, the bounder, encouraged it. It advertised him. It made him feel big. He, the brother of the Whitelaw Baby, had been longing61 to get at the fellow and give him a whack55 on the jaw62. He would never have a better opportunity.
The lift of his hand and the grasp with which Tom caught the wrist were simultaneous. Slipping the key into his pocket, Tom brought his other hand into play, throwing the lighter63-built fellow out of his path with a toss which sent him back against the desk. Maddened by this insult to his person, Tad picked up the inkstand on the desk, hurling it at Tom's head. The inkstand grazed his ear, but went smash against the wall, spattering the new wallpaper with a great blob of ink. Guy groaned64, with some wild objurgation. To escape from the room Tom had turned his back, when a blow from an uplifted chair caught him between the shoulders. Wheeling, he wrenched66 the chair from the hands of Spit Castle, chucked it aside and dealt the young man a stinger that brought the blood from the tapir nose. All blind rage by this time, he caught the weedy youth's head under his right arm, pounding the face with his left fist till he felt the body sagging67 from his hold. He let it go. Spit fell on the sofa, which was spattered with blood,
[Pg 298]
as the wallpaper with ink. Startled at the sight of the limp form, he stood for a second looking down at it, when his skull68 seemed crashed from behind. Staggering back, he thought he was going to faint, but the sight of Tad aiming another thump69 at him, straight between the eyes, revived him to berserker fury. He sprang like a lion on an antelope70.
Strong and agile71 on his side, Tad was stiff to resistance. Before the sheer weight of Tom's body he yielded an inch or two, but not more. Freeing his left hand, as he bent72 backward, he dealt Tom a bruising73 blow on the temple. Tom disregarded it, pinning Tad's left arm as he had already pinned the right. His object now was to get the boy down, to force him to his knees. It was a contest of brutal74 strength. When it came to brutal strength the advantage was with the bigger frame, the muscles toughened by work. The fight was silent now, nearly motionless. Slowly, slowly, as iron gives way to the man with the force to bend it, Tad was coming down. His feet were twisted under him, with no power to right themselves. Two pairs of eyes, strangely alike, glared at each other, like the eyes of frenzied75 wild animals. Tad gave a quick little groan65.
"O God, my leg's breaking."
Tom was not touched. "Damn you, let it break!"
Pressed, pressed, pressed downward, Tad was sinking by a fraction of an inch each minute. The strength above him was pitiless. Except for the running of water in the bathroom, where Guy had dragged Spit Castle to wash his nose, there was no sound in the room but the long hard pantings, now
[Pg 299]
from Tad's side, now from Tom's. In the intervals76 neither seemed to breathe.
"GET UP, I TELL YOU"
Suddenly Tad collapsed77, and went down. Tom came on top of him. The heavier having the lighter fastened by arms and legs, the two lay like two stones. The faces were so near together that they could have kissed. Their long protruding78 eyebrows brushed each other's foreheads. The weight of Tom's bulk squeezed the breath from his foe79, as a bear squeezes it with a hug. Nothing was left to Tad but resistance of the will. Of that, too, Tom meant to get the better.
The words were whispered from one mouth into the other. "Do you know what I'm going to do with you?"
There was no answer.
"I'm going to take you back with me to let that old man out of his shop."
There was still no answer. Tom sprang suddenly off Tad's body, but with his fingers under the collar.
"Get up!"
He pulled with all his might. The collar gave way. Tad fell back. "Damned if I will," was all he could say by way of defiance80.
Tom gave him a kick. "Get up, I tell you. If you don't I'll kick the stuffing out of you."
The kick hurt nothing but Tad's pride; but it hurt that badly. It hurt it so badly that he got up, with no further show of opposition81. He dusted his clothes mechanically with his hands; he tried to adjust his torn collar. His tone was almost commonplace.
[Pg 300]
"This has got to be settled some other time. What do you want me to do?"
Tom pointed3 to the door. "What I want you to do is to march. Keep ahead of me. And mind you if you try to bolt I'll wring82 your neck as if you were a cur. You—you—" He sought a word which would hit where blows had not carried—"you—coward!"
The flash of Tad's eyes was like that of Tom's own. "We'll see."
He went out the door, Tom close behind him.
It was a March night, with snow on the ground, but thawing83. They were without overcoats, and bare-headed. A few motor cars were passing, but not many pedestrians84.
"Run," Tom commanded.
He ran. They both ran. The distance being short, they were soon in Brattle Square. Tad stopped at a little shop, showing a faint light. There was too much in the way of window display to allow of the passer-by, who didn't give himself some trouble, to see anything within.
At first they heard nothing. Then came a whimpering, like that of a little dog, shut in and lonely, tired out with yelping85. Putting his ear to the door, Tom heard a desolate86, "Tam! Tam!" It was the only utterance87.
"Here's the key! Unlock the door."
Tad did as he was bidden. Inside the "Tam! Tam!" ceased.
"Now go in, and say you're sorry."
As Tad hesitated Tom gave him a push. The door
[Pg 301]
being now ajar the culprit went sprawling88 into the presence of his victim.
There was a spring like that of a cat. There was also a snarl89 like a cat's snarl. "You tam Harvard student!"
Feeling he had done and said enough, Tom took to his heels; but as someone else was taking to his heels, and running close behind him, he judged that Tad had escaped.
Back in his room, Tom felt spent. In his bed he was in emotional revolt against his victory. He loathed90 it. He loathed everything that had led up to it. The eyes that had stared into his, when the two had lain together on the floor, were like those of something he had murdered. What was it? What was the thing that deep down within him, rooted in the primal91 impulses that must have been there before there was a world—what was the thing that had been devastated92, outraged93? Once more, he didn't know.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
freshman
|
|
| n.大学一年级学生(可兼指男女) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
gore
|
|
| n.凝血，血污；v.（动物）用角撞伤，用牙刺破；缝以补裆；顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
freshmen
|
|
| n.（中学或大学的）一年级学生( freshman的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
decency
|
|
| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
zeal
|
|
| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
partially
|
|
| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
afterward
|
|
| adv.后来；以后 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
petulance
|
|
| n.发脾气，生气，易怒，暴躁，性急 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
incessant
|
|
| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
stature
|
|
| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
gasp
|
|
| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
peremptory
|
|
| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
frenzy
|
|
| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
reminder
|
|
| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
pricked
|
|
| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
frantic
|
|
| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
poignant
|
|
| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
tragic
|
|
| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
forsake
|
|
| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
Forsaken
|
|
| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
shuffling
|
|
| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
alphabetical
|
|
| adj.字母（表）的，依字母顺序的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
casually
|
|
| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
ripple
|
|
| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
refinement
|
|
| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
cultivation
|
|
| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
seeped
|
|
| v.（液体）渗( seep的过去式和过去分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
outlet
|
|
| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
embodied
|
|
| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
extravagant
|
|
| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
futile
|
|
| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
opprobrious
|
|
| adj.可耻的，辱骂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
liking
|
|
| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
puffed
|
|
| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
grunt
|
|
| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
frolicsome
|
|
| adj.嬉戏的，闹着玩的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
pranks
|
|
| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
tinge
|
|
| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
eccentricity
|
|
| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
patronage
|
|
| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
butt
|
|
| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
lamented
|
|
| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
hurling
|
|
| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
rattle
|
|
| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
abreast
|
|
| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
whack
|
|
| v.敲击，重打，瓜分；n.重击，重打，尝试，一份 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
droll
|
|
| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
puffs
|
|
| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
soothed
|
|
| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
insolently
|
|
| adv.自豪地，自傲地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
sneered
|
|
| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
jaw
|
|
| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
lighter
|
|
| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
groaned
|
|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
groan
|
|
| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
wrenched
|
|
| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
sagging
|
|
| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
skull
|
|
| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
thump
|
|
| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
antelope
|
|
| n.羚羊；羚羊皮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
agile
|
|
| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
bruising
|
|
| adj.殊死的；十分激烈的v.擦伤(bruise的现在分词形式) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
brutal
|
|
| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
frenzied
|
|
| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
intervals
|
|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
collapsed
|
|
| adj.倒塌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
protruding
|
|
| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
foe
|
|
| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
defiance
|
|
| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
opposition
|
|
| n.反对，敌对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
wring
|
|
| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
thawing
|
|
| n.熔化，融化v.（气候）解冻( thaw的现在分词 )；（态度、感情等）缓和；（冰、雪及冷冻食物）溶化；软化 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
pedestrians
|
|
| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
yelping
|
|
| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
sprawling
|
|
| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
snarl
|
|
| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
loathed
|
|
| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
primal
|
|
| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
devastated
|
|
| v.彻底破坏( devastate的过去式和过去分词)；摧毁；毁灭；在感情上（精神上、财务上等）压垮adj.毁坏的；极为震惊的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
outraged
|
|
| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |