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when Emily was momentarily stuck for one. It may as well be admitted here and now that they had no business whatever to be doing this. They should have been “doing sums,” as Miss Brownell supposed they were. But Emily never did sums when she took it into her black head to write poetry, and Ilse hated arithmetic on general principles. Miss Brownell was hearing the geography class at the other side of the room, the pleasant sunshine was showering in over them through the big window, and everything seemed propitious2 for a flight with the muses3. Emily began to write a poem about the view from the school window.
It was quite a long time since she had been allowed to sit out on the side bench. This was a boon4 reserved for those pupils who had found favour in Miss Brownell’s cold eyes—and Emily had never been one of those. But this afternoon Ilse had asked for both herself and Emily, and Miss Brownell had let both go, not being able to think of any valid5 reason for permitting Ilse and refusing Emily—as she would have liked to do, for she had one of those petty natures which never forget or forgive any offence. Emily, on her first day of school, had, so Miss Brownell believed, been guilty of impertinence and defiance6—and successful defiance at that. This rankled7 in Miss Brownell’s mind still and Emily felt its venom8 in a score of subtle ways. She never received any commendation—she was a target for Miss Brownell’s sarcasm9 continually—and the small favours that other girls received never came her way. So this opportunity to sit on the side bench was a pleasing novelty.
There were points about sitting on the side bench. You could see all over the school without turning your head—and Miss Brownell could not sneak10 up behind you and look over your shoulder to see what you were up to; but in Emily’s eyes the finest thing about it was that you could look right down into the “school bush,” and watch the old spruces where the Wind Woman played,
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the long grey-green trails of moss11 hanging from the branches, like banners of Elfland, the little red squirrels running along the fence, and the wonderful white aisles12 of snow where splashes of sunlight fell like pools of golden wine; and there was one little opening in the trees through which you could see right over the Blair Water valley to the sand-hills and the gulf13 beyond. To-day the sand-hills were softly rounded and gleaming white under the snow, but beyond them the gulf was darkly, deeply blue with dazzling white masses of ice like baby icebergs14, floating about in it. Just to look at it thrilled Emily with a delight that was unutterable but which she yet must try to utter. She began her poem. Fractions were utterly15 forgotten—what had numerators and denominators to do with those curving bosoms16 of white snow—that heavenly blue—those crossed dark fir tips against the pearly skies—those ethereal woodland aisles of pearl and gold? Emily was lost to her world—so lost that she did not know the geography class had scattered17 to their respective seats and that Miss Brownell, catching18 sight of Emily’s entranced gaze sky-wards as she searched for a rhyme, was stepping softly towards her. Ilse was drawing a picture on her slate1 and did not see her or she would have warned Emily. The latter suddenly felt her slate drawn19 out of her hand and heard Miss Brownell saying:
“I suppose you have finished those sums, Emily?”
Emily had not finished even one sum—she had only covered her slate with verses—verses that Miss Brownell must not see—must not see! Emily sprang to her feet and clutched wildly after her slate. But Miss Brownell, with a smile of malicious20 enjoyment21 on her thin lips, held it beyond her reach.
“What is this? It does not look—exactly—like fractions. ‘Lines on the View—v-e-w—from the Window of Blair Water School.’ Really, children, we seem to have a budding poet among us.”
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The words were harmless enough, but—oh, the hateful sneer22 that ran through the tone—the contempt, the mockery that was in it! It seared Emily’s soul like a whiplash. Nothing was more terrible to her than the thought of having her beloved “poems” read by stranger eyes—cold, unsympathetic, derisive23, stranger eyes.
“Please—please, Miss Brownell,” she stammered24 miserably25, “don’t read it—I’ll rub it off—I’ll do my sums right away. Only please don’t read it. It—it isn’t anything.”
Miss Brownell laughed cruelly.
“You are too modest, Emily. It is a whole slateful of—poetry—think of that, children—poetry. We have a pupil in this school who can write—poetry. And she does not want us to read this—poetry. I am afraid Emily is selfish. I am sure we should all enjoy this—poetry.”
Emily cringed every time Miss Brownell said “poetry,” with that jeering26 emphasis and that hateful pause before it. Many of the children giggled28, partly because they enjoyed seeing a “Murray of New Moon” grilled29, partly because they realized that Miss Brownell expected them to giggle27. Rhoda Stuart giggled louder than any one else; but Jennie Strang, who had tormented30 Emily on her first day at school, refused to giggle and scowled31 blackly at Miss Brownell instead.
Miss Brownell held up the slate and read Emily’s poem aloud, in a sing-song nasal voice, with absurd intonations32 and gestures that made it seem a very ridiculous thing. The lines Emily had thought the finest seemed the most ridiculous. The other pupils laughed more than ever and Emily felt that the bitterness of the moment could never go out of her heart. The little fancies that had been so beautiful when they came to her as she wrote were shattered and bruised33 now, like torn and mangled34 butterflies—“vistas in some fairy dream,” chanted Miss Brownell, shutting her eyes and wagging her head from
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side to side. The giggles35 became shouts of laughter.
“Oh,” thought Emily, clenching36 her hands, “I wish—I wish the bears that ate the naughty children in the Bible would come and eat you.”
There were no nice, retributive bears in the school bush, however, and Miss Brownell read the whole “poem” through. She was enjoying herself hugely. To ridicule37 a pupil always gave her pleasure and when that pupil was Emily of New Moon, in whose heart and soul she had always sensed something fundamentally different from her own, the pleasure was exquisite38.
When she reached the end she handed the slate back to the crimson-cheeked Emily.
“Take your—poetry, Emily,” she said.
Emily snatched the slate. No slate “rag” was handy but Emily gave the palm of her hand a fierce lick and one side of the slate was wiped off. Another lick—and the rest of the poem went. It had been disgraced—degraded—it must be blotted39 out of existence. To the end of her life Emily never forgot the pain and humiliation40 of that experience.
Miss Brownell laughed again.
“What a pity to obliterate41 such—poetry, Emily,” she said. “Suppose you do those sums now. They are not—poetry, but I am in this school to teach arithmetic and I am not here to teach the art of writing—poetry. Go to your own seat. Yes, Rhoda?”
For Rhoda Stuart was holding up her hand and snapping her fingers.
“Please, Miss Brownell,” she said, with distinct triumph in her tones, “Emily Starr has a whole bunch of poetry in her desk. She was reading it to Ilse Burnley this morning while you thought they were learning history.”
Perry Miller42 turned around and a delightful43 missile, compounded of chewed paper and known as a “spit pill,” flew across the room and struck Rhoda squarely in the
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face. But Miss Brownell was already at Emily’s desk, having reached it one jump before Emily herself.
“Don’t touch them—you have no right!” gasped44 Emily frantically46.
But Miss Brownell had the “bunch of poetry” in her hands. She turned and walked up to the platform. Emily followed. Those poems were very dear to her. She had composed them during the various stormy recesses47 when it had been impossible to play out of doors and written them down on disreputable scraps48 of paper borrowed from her mates. She had meant to take them home that very evening and copy them on letter-bills. And now this horrible woman was going to read them to the whole jeering, giggling49 school.
But Miss Brownell realized that the time was too short for that. She had to content herself with reading over the titles, with some appropriate comments.
Meanwhile Perry Miller was relieving his feelings by bombarding Rhoda Stuart with spit pills, so craftily50 timed that Rhoda had no idea from what quarter of the room they were coming and so could not “tell” on any one. They greatly interfered51 with her enjoyment of Emily’s scrape, however. As for Teddy Kent, who did not wage war with spit pills but preferred subtler methods of revenge, he was busy drawing something on a sheet of paper. Rhoda found the sheet on her desk the next morning; on it was depicted52 a small, scrawny monkey, hanging by its tail from a branch; and the face of the monkey was as the face of Rhoda Stuart. Whereat Rhoda Stuart waxed wroth, but for the sake of her own vanity tore the sketch54 to tatters and kept silence regarding it. She did not know that Teddy had made a similar sketch, with Miss Brownell figuring as a vampirish-looking bat, and thrust it into Emily’s hand as they left school.
“‘The Lost Dimond—a Romantic Tale,’” read Miss Brownell. “‘Lines on a Birch Tree’—looks to me more
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like lines on a very dirty piece of paper, Emily—‘Lines Written on a Sundial in our Garden’—ditto—‘Lines to my Favourite Cat’—another romantic tail, I presume—‘Ode to Ilse’—‘Thy neck is of a wondrous55 pearly sheen’—hardly that, I should say. Ilse’s neck is very sunburned—‘A Deskripshun of Our Parlour,’ ‘The Violets Spell’—I hope the violet spells better than you do, Emily—‘The Disappointed House’—
“‘Lilies lifted up white cups
For the bees to dr—r—i—i—nk.’”
“I didn’t write it that way!” cried tortured Emily.
“‘Lines to a Piece of Brokade in Aunt Laura’s Burow Drawer,’ ‘Farewell on Leaving Home,’ ‘Lines to a Spruce Tree’—‘It keeps off heat and sun and glare, Tis a goodly tree I ween’—are you quite sure that you know what ‘ween’ means, Emily?—‘Poem on Mr. Tom Bennet’s Field’—‘Poem on the Vew from Aunt Elizabeth’s Window’—you are strong on ‘v-e-w-s,’ Emily—‘Epitaff on a Drowned Kitten,’ ‘Meditashuns at the tomb of my great great grandmother’—poor lady—‘To my Northern Birds’—‘Lines composed on the bank of Blair Water gazing at the stars’—h’m—h’m—
“‘Crusted with uncounted gems56,
Those stars so distant, cold and true,’
Don’t try to pass those lines off as your own, Emily. You couldn’t have written them.”
“I did—I did!” Emily was white with sense of outrage57. “And I’ve written lots far better.”
Miss Brownell suddenly crumpled58 the ragged59 little papers up in her hand.
“We have wasted enough time over this trash,” she said. “Go to your seat, Emily.”
She moved towards the stove. For a moment Emily did not realize her purpose. Then, as Miss Brownell
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opened the stove door, Emily understood and bounded forward. She caught at the papers and tore them from Miss Brownell’s hand before the latter could tighten60 her grasp.
“You shall not burn them—you shall not have them,” gasped Emily. She crammed61 the poems into the pocket of her “baby apron” and faced Miss Brownell in a kind of calm rage. The Murray look was on her face—and although Miss Brownell was not so violently affected62 by it as Aunt Elizabeth had been, it nevertheless gave her an unpleasant sensation, as of having roused forces with which she dared not tamper63 further. This tormented child looked quite capable of flying at her, tooth and claw.
“Give me those papers, Emily,”—but she said it rather uncertainly.
“I will not,” said Emily stormily. “They are mine. You have no right to them. I wrote them at recesses—I didn’t break any rules. You”—Emily looked defiantly64 into Miss Brownell’s cold eyes—“You are an unjust, tyrannical person.”
Miss Brownell turned to her desk.
“I am coming up to New Moon to-night to tell your Aunt Elizabeth of this,” she said.
Emily was at first too much excited over saving her precious poetry to pay much heed65 to this threat. But as her excitement ebbed66 cold dread67 flowed in. She knew she had an unpleasant time ahead of her. But at all events they should not get her poems—not one of them, no matter what they did to her. As soon as she got home from school she flew to the garret and secreted68 them on the shelf of the old sofa.
She wanted terribly to cry but she would not. Miss Brownell was coming and Miss Brownell should not see her with red eyes. But her heart burned within her. Some sacred temple of her being had been desecrated69 and shamed. And more was yet to come, she felt
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wretchedly sure. Aunt Elizabeth was certain to side with Miss Brownell. Emily shrank from the impending70 ordeal71 with all the dread of a sensitive, fine strung nature facing humiliation. She would not have been afraid of justice; but she knew at the bar of Aunt Elizabeth and Miss Brownell she would not have justice.
“And I can’t write Father about it,” she thought, her little breast heaving. The shame of it all was too deep and intimate to be written out, and so she could find no relief for her pain.
They did not have supper at New Moon in winter time until Cousin Jimmy had finished his chores and was ready to stay in for the night. So Emily was left undisturbed in the garret.
From the dormer window she looked down on a dreamland scene that would ordinarily have delighted her. There was a red sunset behind the white, distant hills, shining through the dark trees like a great fire; there was a delicate blue tracery of bare branch shadows all over the crusted garden; there was a pale, ethereal alpenglow all over the southeastern sky; and presently there was a little, lovely new moon in the silvery arch over Lofty John’s bush. But Emily found no pleasure in any of them.
Presently she saw Miss Brownell coming up the lane, under the white arms of the birches, with her mannish stride.
“If my father was alive,” said Emily, looking down at her, “you would go away from this place with a flea73 in your ear.”
The minutes passed, each seeming very long to Emily. At last Aunt Laura came up.
“Your Aunt Elizabeth wants you to come down to the kitchen, Emily.”
Aunt Laura’s voice was kind and sad. Emily fought down a sob74. She hated to have Aunt Laura think she had been naughty, but she could not trust herself to explain.
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Aunt Laura would sympathize and sympathy would break her down. She went silently down the two long flights of stairs before Aunt Laura and out to the kitchen.
The supper table was set and the candles were lighted. The big black-raftered kitchen looked spookish and weird75, as it always did by candlelight. Aunt Elizabeth sat rigidly76 by the table and her face was very hard. Miss Brownell sat in the rocking-chair, her pale eyes glittering with triumphant77 malice78. There seemed something baleful and poisonous in her very glance. Also, her nose was very red—which did not add to her charm.
Cousin Jimmy, in his grey jumper, was perched on the edge of the wood-box, whistling at the ceiling, and looking more gnome-like than ever. Perry was nowhere to be seen. Emily was sorry for this. The presence of Perry, who was on her side, would have been a great moral support.
“I am sorry to say, Emily, that I have been hearing some very bad things about your behaviour in school to-day,” said Aunt Elizabeth.
“No, I don’t think you are sorry,” said Emily, gravely.
Now that the crisis had come she found herself able to confront it coolly—nay, more, to take a curious interest in it under all her secret fear and shame, as if some part of her had detached itself from the rest and was interestedly absorbing impressions and analyzing79 motives80 and describing settings. She felt that when she wrote about this scene later on she must not forget to describe the odd shadows the candle under Aunt Elizabeth’s nose cast upward on her face, producing a rather skeletonic effect. As for Miss Brownell, could she ever have been a baby—a dimpled, fat, laughing baby? The thing was unbelievable.
“Don’t speak impertinently to me,” said Aunt Elizabeth.
“You see,” said Miss Brownell, significantly.
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“I don’t mean to be impertinent, but you are not sorry,” persisted Emily. “You are angry because you think I have disgraced New Moon, but you are a little glad that you have got some one to agree with you that I’m bad.”
“What a grateful child,” said Miss Brownell—flashing her eyes up at the ceiling—where they encountered a surprising sight. Perry Miller’s head—and no more of him—was stuck down out of the “black hole” and on Perry Miller’s upside-down face was a most disrespectful and impish grimace81. Face and head disappeared in a flash, leaving Miss Brownell staring foolishly at the ceiling.
“You have been behaving disgracefully in school,” said Aunt Elizabeth, who had not seen this by-play. “I am ashamed of you.”
“It was not as bad as that, Aunt Elizabeth,” said Emily steadily82. “You see it was this way—”
“I don’t want to hear anything more about it,” said Aunt Elizabeth.
“But you must,” cried Emily. “It isn’t fair to listen only to her side. I was a little bad—but not so bad as she says—”
“Not another word! I have heard the whole story,” said Aunt Elizabeth grimly.
“You heard a pack of lies,” said Perry, suddenly sticking his head down through the black hole again.
Everybody jumped—even Aunt Elizabeth, who at once became angrier than ever because she had jumped.
“Perry Miller, come down out of that loft72 instantly!” she commanded.
“Can’t,” said Perry laconically83.
“At once, I say!”
“Can’t,” repeated Perry, winking84 audaciously at Miss Brownell.
“Perry Miller, come down! I will be obeyed. I am mistress here yet.”
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“Oh, all right,” said Perry cheerfully. “If I must.”
He swung himself down until his toes touched the ladder. Aunt Laura gave a little shriek85. Everybody else seemed to be stricken dumb.
“I’ve just got my wet duds off,” Perry was saying cheerfully, waving his legs about to get a foothold on the ladder while he hung to the sides of the black hole with his elbows. “Fell into the brook86 when I was watering the cows. Was going to put on dry ones—but just as you say—”
“Jimmy,” implored87 poor Elizabeth Murray, surrendering at discretion88. She could not cope with the situation.
“Perry, get back into that loft and get your clothes on this minute!” ordered Cousin Jimmy.
The bare legs shot up and disappeared. There was a chuckle89 as mirthful and malicious as an owl’s beyond the black hole. Aunt Elizabeth gave a convulsive gasp45 of relief and turned to Emily. She was determined90 to regain91 ascendancy92 and Emily must be thoroughly93 humbled94.
“Emily, kneel down here before Miss Brownell and ask her pardon for your conduct to-day,” she said.
Into Emily’s pale cheek came a scarlet95 protest. She could not do this—she would ask pardon of Miss Brownell but not on her knees. To kneel to this cruel woman who had hurt her so—she could not—would not do it. Her whole nature rose up in protest against such a humiliation.
“Kneel down,” repeated Aunt Elizabeth.
Miss Brownell looked pleased and expectant. It would be very satisfying to see this child who had defied her kneeling before her as a penitent96. Never again, Miss Brownell felt, would Emily be able to look levelly at her with those dauntless eyes that bespoke97 a soul untamable and free, no matter what punishment might be inflicted98 upon body or mind. The memory of this
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moment would always be with Emily—she could never forget that she had knelt in abasement99. Emily felt this as clearly as Miss Brownell did and remained stubbornly on her feet.
“Aunt Elizabeth, please let me tell my side of the story,” she pleaded.
“I have heard all I wish to hear of the matter. You will do as I say, Emily, or you will be outcast in this house until you do. No one will talk to you—play with you—eat with you—have anything to do with you until you have obeyed me.”
Emily shuddered100. That was a punishment she could not face. To be cut off from her world—she knew it would bring her to terms before long. She might as well yield at once—but, oh, the bitterness, the shame of it!
“A human being should not kneel to any one but God,” said Cousin Jimmy, unexpectedly, still staring at the ceiling.
A sudden strange change came over Elizabeth Murray’s proud, angry face. She stood very still, looking at Cousin Jimmy—stood so long that Miss Brownell made a motion of petulant101 impatience102.
“Emily,” said Aunt Elizabeth in a different tone, “I was wrong—I shall not ask you to kneel. But you must apologize to your teacher—and I shall punish you later on.”
Emily put her hands behind her and looked straight into Miss Brownell’s eyes again.
“I am sorry for anything I did to-day that was wrong,” she said, “and I ask your pardon for it.”
Miss Brownell got on her feet. She felt herself cheated of a legitimate103 triumph. Whatever Emily’s punishment would be she would not have the satisfaction of seeing it. She could have shaken “simple Jimmy Murray” with a right good will. But it would hardly
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do to show all she felt. Elizabeth Murray was not a trustee but she was the heaviest ratepayer in New Moon and had great influence with the School Board.
“I shall excuse your conduct if you behave yourself in future, Emily,” she said coldly. “I feel that I have only done my duty in putting the matter before your aunt. No, thank you, Miss Murray, I cannot stay to supper—I want to get home before it is too dark.”
“God speed all travellers,” said Perry cheerfully, climbing down his ladder—this time with his clothes on.
Aunt Elizabeth ignored him—she was not going to have a scene with a hired boy before Miss Brownell. The latter switched herself out and Aunt Elizabeth looked at Emily.
“You will eat your supper alone to-night, Emily, in the pantry—you will have bread and milk only. And you will not speak one word to anyone until to-morrow morning.”
“But you won’t forbid me to think?” said Emily anxiously.
Aunt Elizabeth made no reply but sat haughtily104 down at the supper table. Emily went into the pantry and ate her bread and milk, with the odour of the delicious sausages the others were eating for savour. Emily liked sausages, and New Moon sausages were the last word in sausages. Elizabeth Burnley had brought the recipe out from the Old Country and its secret was carefully guarded. And Emily was hungry. But she had escaped the unbearable105, and things might be worse. It suddenly occurred to her that she would write an epic53 poem in imitation of The Lay Of The Last Minstrel. Cousin Jimmy had read The Lay to her last Saturday. She would begin the first canto106 right off. When Laura Murray came into the pantry, Emily, her bread and milk only half eaten, was leaning her elbows on the dresser, gazing into space, with faintly moving lips and the light that never was on land or sea in her young eyes. Even
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the aroma107 of sausages was forgotten—was she not drinking from a fount of Castaly?
“Emily,” said Aunt Laura, shutting the door, and looking very lovingly upon Emily out of her kind blue eyes, “you can talk to me all you want to. I don’t like Miss Brownell and I don’t think you were altogether in the wrong—although of course you shouldn’t be writing poetry when you have sums to do. And there are some ginger108 cookies in that box.”
“I don’t want to talk to any one, dear Aunt Laura—I’m too happy,” said Emily dreamily. “I’m composing an epic—it is to be called The White Lady, and I’ve got twenty lines of it made already—and two of them are thrilling. The heroine wants to go into a convent and her father warns her that if she does she will never be able to
Come back to the life you gave
With all its pleasures to the grave.
Oh, Aunt Laura, when I composed those lines the flash came to me. And ginger cookies are nothing to me any more.”
Aunt Laura smiled again.
“Not just now perhaps, dear. But when the moment of inspiration has passed it will do no harm to remember that the cookies in the box have not been counted and that they are as much mine as Elizabeth’s.”
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1
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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propitious
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| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
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muses
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的第三人称单数 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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5
valid
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| adj.有确实根据的；有效的；正当的，合法的 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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rankled
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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13
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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icebergs
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| n.冰山，流冰( iceberg的名词复数 ) | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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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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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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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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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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jeering
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| adj.嘲弄的，揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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grilled
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| adj. 烤的, 炙过的, 有格子的 动词grill的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
intonations
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| n.语调，说话的抑扬顿挫( intonation的名词复数 )；（演奏或唱歌中的）音准 | |
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33
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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35
giggles
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| n.咯咯的笑( giggle的名词复数 )；傻笑；玩笑；the giggles 止不住的格格笑v.咯咯地笑( giggle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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36
clenching
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的现在分词 ) | |
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37
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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38
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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40
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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41
obliterate
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| v.擦去，涂抹，去掉...痕迹，消失，除去 | |
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42
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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43
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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44
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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45
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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46
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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47
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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48
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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craftily
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| 狡猾地，狡诈地 | |
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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52
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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tighten
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| v.(使)变紧；(使)绷紧 | |
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crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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tamper
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| v.干预，玩弄，贿赂，窜改，削弱，损害 | |
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defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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ebbed
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的过去式和过去分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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secreted
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| v.（尤指动物或植物器官）分泌( secrete的过去式和过去分词 )；隐匿，隐藏 | |
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desecrated
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| 毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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flea
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| n.跳蚤 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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analyzing
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| v.分析；分析( analyze的现在分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析n.分析 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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81
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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82
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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83
laconically
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| adv.简短地，简洁地 | |
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84
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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85
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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86
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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89
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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90
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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91
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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ascendancy
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| n.统治权，支配力量 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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humbled
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| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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97
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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inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
abasement
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| n.滥用 | |
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100
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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101
petulant
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| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
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102
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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103
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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104
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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105
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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106
canto
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| n.长篇诗的章 | |
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107
aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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108
ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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