"Hello, Fanshaw."
"O, Wenny," Fanshaw thrust out both hands; "I've been almost worried sick about you. Where have you been? My dear boy, you look a wreck7."
"I don't see why?"
"Here it is, three days you've vanished from the face of the earth."
"I haven't been anywhere else that I know of."
"Nan's been fearfully uneasy."
"That's funny."
"That's quite all right. She told me all about it. I told her it was just nerves, that morning. She thought it was, too. You must take better care of yourself. But Wenny, where have you been?"
"Looking for a job."
"You poor child! Look, I've got to go to the Touraine. We can wash up and go up to Nan's. She said she'd be in at teatime."
"No, I'd rather not."
"You must come, Wenny. O, when will you grow up? Let's walk along, we're obstructing8 traffic."
"First, you must lend me fifty cents," said Wenny with a dry little laugh. "I'm most split with hunger."
"Can't you wait till we get out to Nan's? She'll have tea for us."
"No, I can't, Fanshaw, you old fool. I haven't eaten since yesterday morning, or maybe it was the day before that."
"Good God! There's Dupont's opposite. Let's go up there, a horrid9 place, but you won't mind eating something there, will you? But Wenny, why didn't you tell me you were all out of money?"
As they climbed the stair a smell of food and baking powder filled Wenny's nostrils10. He inhaled11 it eagerly. In the restaurant it was very stuffy12, a couple of waitresses in starched13 aprons14 were sitting at tables. A grimy man in his shirtsleeves carried in a tray of freshwashed glasses in through a green baize door. As Wenny pulled off his overcoat he thought he was going to faint. Letting the coat drop to the floor he grabbed the table and lowered himself into a chair. The expression of consternation15 on Fanshaw's face as he picked up the coat made him laugh so that his eyes filled with tears.
"Well, what will you have? Don't eat too much, it might make you sick."
"O, Fanshaw, you're such an old woman."
The waitress, a rawboned woman with dead cod's eyes, hung over the table threateningly.
"Bring me some boiled eggs and tea and toast right away, please." Something in Wenny exulted16 strangely under the hostile glare of the waitress as she looked at his muddy shoes and I unshaven chin.
"Three minutes?"
"Yes, and quickly please."
The waitress rustled18 starchily away.
"How funny Fanshaw, I'd been thinking of boiled eggs for hours and I never thought about their being three minutes."
"But, where have you been, you poor child? ... I've been to Cham Mason's wedding."
"Heaps of wonderful places.... I've been finding my place in society."
"Where?"
"On the benches."
"But, why didn't you go to the Alumni Employment Bureau? They'd have found you a job."
"I didn't want that kind of a job."
The smell of the bread the waitress set before him was overpoweringly sweet. His fingers trembled so he spilt half the egg on the side of the glass breaking it. He ate hurriedly without tasting anything.
"Bring me two more eggs, please.... Lord, but tea is wonderful stuff." The warm savor19 of tea filled his head. All of a sudden he felt very talkative. "I tried to ship as a seaman21. You stand in a large room full of pipesmoke and a man chalks up the names of ships on a blackboard.... The finest names of ships: there's been the Arethusa and the Adolphus Q. Bangs and the Heart's Desire and the Muskokacola or something like that.... But, I always seemed to get down to the office too late or I didn't have five dollars to give the mate or something. Didn't have much luck with bussboy either. It's amazing, Fanshaw, how many people are just crazy to wash dishes."
Wenny laughed and choked over a gulp22 of tea.
"Don't eat so fast," said Fanshaw in a strange hoarse23 voice.
"Why not?"
"You'll choke, that's why."
"God, I wish I would... Have you ever ... felt so's you didn't care if you choked or not? D'you know I met a fine kid named Whitey. He could go without eating three days an' never notice it. I could never do that. I don't guess there's much of any thing I could do."
Fanshaw was looking at his watch.
"Really, we should be going.... I've got to go out to dinner, Wenny, I wish there were something I could do to help."
"You can pay for my eggs, you old put you."
Fanshaw paid the cheque; then he said rather solemnly:
"Look, you must let me lend you some money."
"All right, give me five bucks24."
At the door, Wenny waited a moment for Fanshaw to come from the washroom. His head was singing dizzily. It's all up now, he was saying to himself. He thought of his room and his bed; delicious it will be to stretch out between the clean smooth sheets and sleep.
Going up on the car he felt a haze25 of contentment stealing over him. All about people nodded to the joggle, hatchetfaced women and flabby jowled men. Fanshaw's talk and his own answers droned beyond a great drowsy26 curtain in which the phrase Par27 delicatesse j'ai perdu la vie, wove in and out endlessly. Outside autos slushed through streets running with the thaw. Fanshaw was saying something about the deceitful warmth of the day, spring-like.
In front of them, four seats ahead in a blue hat with cherries on it, was Ellen. Wenny clenched28 his teeth, why would his damn pulse speed up so? She turned and stared at him with a comical little expression about her mouth. He drew his eyes away quickly, felt himself hideously29 flushing.—You skunk30 afraid to recognize her because she's a whore, are you? Don't want Fanshaw to know, do you? snarled31 an angry voice in his head. Her lips were pale today. He remembered the sweetish fatty smell of the rouge32 on her lips that night. And only four nights ago; how long. He didn't dare look at her again.
The car stopped.
"Come on, Wenny," came Fanshaw's voice briskly.
They were splashing along towards the purple lacework of twigs33 of the Fenway trees. Fanshaw was talking unconcernedly about a Caravaggio the museum had bought that had turned out to be spurious. And there were the worn gold letters The Swansea sliding down the glass door and the oil smell of the elevator. O I must go away from here. Then Nan's oval face, her voice strangely caressing34. Brainstorm35, the comfortable word. Teacups clinking and the steam of the teapot and dusk very misty36 over the Fenway.
Why hadn't he gone away with Ellen, spoken to her, kissed her in front of Fanshaw. If she'd fallen in love with him it would have been up to the ears, the whole hog38; those women were like that.
"You just missed Fitzie," Nan was saying. She had just poured herself out a cup of tea into which she shook meditatively39 a few drops of cream from the empty pitcher40. "O she's such a scream... I don't know what I'd do without her. Now I know all the gossip and about the Summer Street murder case and everything... And do you remember the girl in the Fadettes we thought was the violinist at the Venice? Well, that wasn't the girl at all. Fitzie told me all about her... It seems she came back to try to get her job again and Mrs. Thing who runs it said of course it would be impossible. I don't see what her morals have to do with her playing, do you? And the poor girl's going to have a baby... Fitzie was so funny about it, said she thought it was terrible things like that should happen so soon... O what would I do without Fitzie?"
"But the fellow she went off with must be a scoundrel," said Fanshaw. "A man like that ought to be shot."
"She ought to have thought twice before she did it, that's all. It's not his fault particularly."
"And dry-rotted scraping out Light Cavalry41 for the Fadettes...." Wenny caught himself. No, he wasn't going to talk. Nan looked him full in the face for an instant. Her eyes were dark, dilated42; he thought she was going to burst into tears.
"Such droll43 things have been going on at the Conservatoire." Nan, her face flushing, threw herself into a stream of talk. "Poor Isolda Jones is madly in love with Salinski and had hysterics during her violin lesson and there's a dreadful scandal about the last Symphony concert. It seems that..." She stopped talking. No one spoke37. Fanshaw moved his spoon uneasily about in his saucer. "Wenny, have some more to eat," she said sharply and got to her feet and went to the window.
Wenny sat without moving, staring at her back dark and slender against the dusk.
"You must be dreadfully exhausted44, Wenny," said Fanshaw in a low voice.
"The evening star's red tonight," said Nan from the window. "Is it on account of the mist, or is it Mars, I wonder?"
"We could look it up in the almanac," said Fanshaw vaguely45.
Wenny stood for a moment in the window beside Nan. His blood throbbed47 with other remembered stars, blooming green in the amethyst48 sky above the Fenway, gulped49 suddenly by the stupid cubes of the further apartment houses. The green of them somehow shone in the lamps down brick streets where he and Nan had gone arm in arm in a forgotten dream of walking with her through a port town and seeing at the end of the street masts and tackle and bellying50 sails and white steam puffs51 from the sirens of steamers, and going off together alone some sunset. She's in love with me. If I had the courage....
"Well, I must be off to the Hargroves' for dinner," said Fanshaw cheerfully. "O it is a relief to know you are all right, Wenny. We were worried sick about you."
"I'm tired. I must go home," said Wenny firmly and turned away from Nan.
He went away without looking at her again.
* * * *
My dear son:
It has pleased me more than I can say to hear of your sensible and manly52 course in taking a job. I am sure that earning your own living you will find inspiring and helpful, and that you will come to regret your past callousness53 and restlessness. Indeed, this great trial may be a disguised blessing54. We all have to learn by experience. I myself went through moments in my youth inexpressibly painful for me to recall, bitter moments of profligacy55 and despair, and that I came through them with my soul alive was only by the merciful Help of the Allknowing and Allforgiving Creator in Whom I have never lost faith, nay56 not for one instant.
You, my dear boy, I trust and pray will follow the same course. I cannot but think that had I not let my poor sister Elizabeth take you from us, from your real Christian57 home, your battle might have been less hard.
Your mother joins me in love and in the earnest hope that you will come back to us.
Your loving father,
JONAS E. WENDELL.
Wenny folded the letter and put it back in his pocket. This was the third time he had read it. He gulped the rest of his coffee and left the lunchroom full of hurried breakfasters. Outside the east wind stung his face, made his eyes water.
Then it was March. Now it's April. Last time I told myself I'd kill myself if I stuck it another month. In September that was and in February and now it's April. The music of the spheres makes the months revolve58... Think you fool, think. Bitter moments of profligacy and despair. That's me all right, except he got the profligacy and I get the despair. Go whoring and repent59 and yours is the kingdom of God. A fine system all right but he repented60 so damn hard he spoiled my chances. Like being a eunuch, funny that, a generation of eunuchs. Your sensible and manly course in taking a job wasting breath coaching Mr. Lelan's dubs61, accounted quite a genius at it too. Inspiring and helpful. God! Poor Auntie's education. That's what it's done to me; and next winter teaching, helping62 to inoculate63 other poor devils with the same dry rot.
He was walking out along Massachusetts Avenue broad and dusty through the little jigsawed64 houses of Somerville. In was a bitter slategrey day of razorcold wind. In the irritation65 of his mood he took joy in the dust smarting in his eyes and the ache of the cold in his forehead. Gradually his thoughts faded under the regular beat of his steps. It was Sunday and church bells had begun to ring. Gee66, I must go home or I'll be getting blue again, he said to himself; the biddy 'll have done the room. He walked back towards Cambridge without thinking of anything, shivering, his hands deep in his pockets. When he had slammed the door behind him he threw himself on the bed, his cheeks throbbing67 from the wind, and lay a long while staring blankly at the ceiling.
He looked at his watch. Ten-thirty. Now he's waiting while they sing the first hymn68, fiddling69 with his prayerbook, wondering if he's forgotten any of the main headings of the sermon. And I'm just like him. Less energy that's all. A chip of the old block. Listen to them settling back flabbily into their pews in the mustard yellow, mudpurple, niggerpink light from the imitation stained glass windows. Now they're on their feet again, better than trained seals. His voice so suave70 so booming—my voice will be like that—Let us pray.
Wenny sat up on the edge of the bed. God damn my father; I will live him down if it kills me.
He started turning over the pages of the books on his table, seeking escape in their familiar chattering71 type, in the accustomedness of their smell from the eating acid of his thoughts.
* * * *
Outside of Herb Roscoe's door, Wenny was struck by the usual faint smell of oiled leather and pipesmoke. A tall man in a grey flannel72 shirt with face and neck and forearms lean and very tanned, opened the door slowly to his knock.
"How's the armory73?" said Wenny.
"Pretty good. How's yourself?" said Roscoe in a deep drawling voice. "Sit down." As he spoke he swept a pile of books off the arms of the morrischair. Then he stood in the fireplace, where a pair of high leather moccasins were to soak in a pan of oil, polishing a rifle while he talked. "Gee, you should have seen the scores we made at rifle practice yesterday. Not a soul could hit a barn door. I think we'll have the rottenest damn team... God, I hate this place."
"So do I," said Wenny, lying back in the chair with his eyes half closed.
"Why don't you get out of it. I'm goin' the very minute I get my degree like a flash o' lightnin'."
"Haven't got the energy."
"Hell, man, it don't take much energy to buy a railroad ticket."
"Doesn't it?"
"How's your soft job?"
"I'm going to chuck it soon. I think I'll go to Mexico with you Herb."
"All right, come along. Better learn to shoot though."
"I've had another letter from my father."
"How's he now?"
"Tickled74 to death."
"Well, that's damn good. I'm damn glad to hear it. You know you oughtn't to be so highbrow about your father. I imagine he's a damn good scout75." Roscoe put the rifle up on the rack over the mantel and began to fill a pipe slowly and methodically. "D'you know, I think all this father and son agitation76 is foolishness, Wendell. You are like your father, we all are, so why fuss about it? Nobody's forcin' you to live with him. But I wouldn't stay on round here. It isn't healthy for you, seeing how you feel about it. I wouldn't stay myself, except for the library."
Roscoe walked back and forth77 in front of the fireplace as he talked with the soft, lithe78 steps of a man trying to walk noiselessly through woods.
"Say, Herb, will you lend me that little .22 revolver of yours for a day or two?"
"What do you want with it? You aren't going to shoot up the dean of the Graduate School with it, are you?"
"No, no," said Wenny laughing a little shrilly80. "It's curious ... I'd like to carry a gun for a day or two ... In the first place I've never done it, and the thought of death in my back pocket makes me a little nervous, and I'd like to try my nerve out, and then I just might need it ... I'll tell you why ... I'm going in for low life a little. Heavy slumming ... I'll tell you about it in a day or two, honestly I will, when things get under way a little. There's a woman in the case and everything, and a bum81 and a Chinaman."
"Gee, I wish you'll let me in on it. I'm just pining away for excitement in this dull hole."
"Honestly I'll tell you all about it in a day or two, but I'm such a damn coward I want to test my nerve out alone first. Don't be uneasy if I don't turn up for a day or two. I'll be all right."
Roscoe handed him a little blue steel revolver and a handful of cartridges82.
"Don't get pinched for concealed83 weapons."
"Never fear," said Wenny jumping tensely to his feet.
"Do be careful, Wendell; it's always the man scared of a gun who shoots himself or the innocent bystanders instead of bagging his game. Get me?"
"O, I'll be careful. Anyway, there won't be any shooting. Just a precaution like rubbers. But I must be off. I have an engagement. Thanks a lot."
Wenny, going out the door, caught a contracted look of anxiety on Roscoe's tanned face as, puffing85 at his pipe, he strode back and forth in front of the fireplace. Wenny went down the dark brick corridor towards his own room, the gun in his back pocket pressing hard and cold on his thigh86.
* * * *
Wenny walked among the muddy paths of the Fenway. Patches of snow among the shrubberies were crumbling87 fast in the tingle88 of spring that flushed the misty afternoon. The twigs of forsythias showed intensest yellow against the sopping89 grey of turf. In the gravel90 paths there was a tiny lisping sound of water as the frost came out of the ground. The rustle17 of it in the ruddy light was maddening like the rustle of silk. This womanish hysteria, he was saying to himself; to escape it tense and collected the way the earth slithers out from between the tight fists of winter. A man and a woman frowsy and middle-aged91, a hat with mauve pansies beside a dust-grained derby; as Wenny passed the woman was tapping restlessly on the gravel with a narrow pointed92 toe. The thought came to him: Perhaps Nan and I will be like that, afraid to look in each other's eyes because we didn't dare when we were young and talk about if we'd done this and if we'd done that... What a rotten thing to think about the first day of spring.
In his back pocket a hard shape pressed against the fleshy part of his thigh; from its focus his whole being was stiffening93 to hardness.
He turned and with a sudden spring in his step crossed the street from the park, passed the livid tomblike oblong of the Dental Clinic, and pulled open the glass door of the Swansea. A grindorgan was playing at the curb94. The glass door slammed behind him, cutting off the Marseillaise on an upward note. He ran up the stairs and stood still a moment in front of the reddish-stained door.
Through a bitter film of constraint95 he saw Nan in a pearlgrey dress pulling open the door for him.
"I never saw that one before."
"This dress? Do you like it?"
Down the hall came the aviary96 sound of people at tea.
"They'll be gone in a minute; don't look so worried." Nan looked in his face with a little mocking smile that faded out tremulously as she spoke. "Do wait, Wenny, I want to talk to you."
He followed the swish of her dress down the corridor. Richly the curve of her neck caught a glow of creamy rose from the pearlcolored silk.
"Have a cup of tea," she said in her hostess voice after introducing him to a large woman with beaded tragedy eyes and a lean whiny-voiced man who stood beside the teatable. Balancing a cup, Wenny settled himself against the wall beside the mantel, tried to think of nothing.
"... Dreadful, isn't it, how Boston is being transformed?"
"No, really, you wouldn't know it any more."
"We'd got used to the Irish, but now walking across the Common you don't see a soul who's not a Jew or an Italian."
"But don't you think they bring us anything?" Nan's voice, indifferent, from the teatable.
"What can they bring but fleas97? The scum of south Europe...
"... O, Nancibel, you do have the most delightful98 teas."
"Why, Jane, I often wonder why on earth I do it. Doesn't it seem the height of absurdity99 to collect a lot of indifferent people, a regular zoo, in a room and pour a little tea down their throats and tell them: Now, have a good time?"
"But one must have some sort of society ... And you know perfectly100 well you are just fishing, Nancibel. Why, the cleverest people in Boston come to your teas, and as for celebrities101!"
"Mr. Preston, won't you let me give you a little more tea? Yours looks cold and horrid...."
"... No, I wouldn't call 'The Way of All Flesh' a great novel.'"
"But, really, I'd like to know what is great then."
"A great satire102, but not a great novel. . . . It's too embittered103, not Olympian and balanced enough to be truly great."
"But as a philosopher ..."
"Ah, as a philosopher ..."
Through rigid104 glassy layers Wenny watched the nodding of heads, lifting of teacups, setting down of plates, brushing of fingertips. Occasionally he saw himself going through wooden gestures of politeness, heard himself speak. At last they had all gone; he was alone with Nan in the room that smelt105 of tea and scalded lemon and cake. Outside the windows the ruddy mist was purpling to twilight106.
"O, Wenny, why on earth do I do it?"
"I guess because you like it, Nan."
"Probably you're right." She laughed happily. "I'd never thought of that before.... No, I hate it, and all those people. Imagine what Fitzie told me today. She said you always turned up as a sign that tea was over and it was time to wait not on the order of her going but go at once... Isn't she a fool? Then she added that it was rumored107 round Jordan that my engagement to Fanshaw would be announced any day... O, Wenny, people are a scream!"
"I probably do look rather grouchy108 when I come here and find a lot of those young hens cackling about your technique and that wretched old cadenza hound ..."
"It's pretty ridiculous, Wenny, that two people who know each other as well as we do can't talk...." Nan interrupted suddenly, speaking slowly, choosing her words: "Can't talk about our ... can't explain ourselves. O, I wonder if we'll ever know each other."
"Perhaps the fact that we need to explain ourselves ..."
"You mean it proves that we can't?"
Wenny nodded.
"Or perhaps it's just cowardice109," he went on after a long pause, feeling everything within the cold bars of his ribs110 throb46 sickeningly. "Almost everything is that."
"Why can't we be sensible?"
"It's not sensible, it's alive I'd want to be ... But this is repeating," he said harshly with trembling lips, straightening himself up. It was as if a rind had burst in him letting out warm, sweetish floods; as if he were crying beside a grave where she had lain dead for years and lifetimes, his memory full of an ivory body he had loved.
They were silent, not looking at each other.
There was a knock at the door. Nan drew her breath in sharply and went to open. Wenny heard Fanshaw's voice in the hall.
"O I'm so glad to find you. I thought it'ld be just my luck to miss you both and spend a dull evening all alone. I have had the most detestable day."
"Let's walk in town to supper," said Nan in a hurried, throaty voice.
Walking down a broad street towards town, they had the dome111 of the Christian Science Church ahead of them swelled112 with purple against a tremendous scarletflaring sky across which grimy green clouds scudded114 on gusts116 of rising wind. Sharp flaws of cold were clotting117 the mist and chilling all reminiscence of thaw and spring out of the air. Footsteps rang shrill79 and fast on the pavements and were lost in the clang of streetcars and whirr of motors grinding slowly when they came out on Massachusetts Avenue. Overhead, above the bright shine of shop windows through which faces drifted steadily118, outline drifting into outline, like snowflakes past an arclight, the sky was a churning of dark green clouds fast blotting120 the clear, fiery121 afterglow. Wenny could hear himself talking to Fanshaw as they walked, but all the while he was intent on the people he passed; smooth, velvety122-warm masks of young men and girls, wooden masks of men bleached123 by offices, crumpled124 masks of old women; under them all seemed to tremble something jellylike and eager, something half caught sight of in their eyes that had thrilled to the warm afternoon, that this sudden cold searching through the dusty concrete grooves125 of the city congealed126 to shuddering crystals of terror. He felt a sudden maudlin127 desire to climb on a hydrant and talk, to draw people in circle after circle about him and explain all the joy and agony he felt in words so simple that they would tear off their masks and tell their lives too; it would be his face, his eyes, his mouth moulding words all about him when the masks were off. The picture brightened painfully in his mind.
"Look at all that yellow broom in the window," Fanshaw was saying. As they passed a flowershop they caught a momentary128 sweet gust115 of hothouses. "That's the real plantagenet, I think, that the Black Prince wore on his helmet. Strange to think of it this cold night in a Boston flowershop."
"Say it with flowers," Nan put in laughing.
"Exactly," said Fanshaw. "Yet why should there be that horrid rasp in the advertising129 phrase and the unction in 'langage des fleurs'? Do things seem beautiful only when they are unaccustomed?"
"Perhaps it's that not being customary and diurnal130 puts them in the proper light ... so that we can really see them," said Nan.
"I think it's just that we like to kid ourselves along. This may be a moment as important in the history of Boston as the time of lilies when Pico della Mirandola first rode into Florence, as you and Mr. Pater are so fond of telling us, Fanshaw," broke in Wenny. "But we don't know anything about it. We'd probably have gone grumbling131 and growling132 into town for dinner if we'd lived in Florence then, just like we do here, and complained what a dull town it was."
"Perhaps I can, Nan ... out what I mean is it's our fault, not the fault of the century."
"What's our fault, Wenny?" asked Fanshaw smiling indulgently.
"That we are so damn rotten."
"But we're not. What we've lost in color and picturesqueness133, we've made up in ..."
"In sheepishness and cowardice, I'll grant you that."
"Now Wenny."
Wenny saw himself in bitter distortion, standing134 on a hydrant confessing idiocies135 to crowds who wore his face as a mask on their own and bleated136 like sheep, baa, baa, at every pause. It all dissolved into an obscene muddle137 of leering faces. If I could only stop thinking.
They were cutting diagonally across the Common, under a hurrying sky lit by a last mustard-green flare138 from the west. The electric signs along Tremont Street bit icily through the lacy pattern of the stirring twigs of trees. The wind was getting steadier and colder, occasionally shot with a fine lash6 of snow.
"No, but we couldn't live without the ideal that somewhere at some time people had found life a sweeter, stronger draught139 than we find it," Fanshaw was saying. "That the flatness of our lives hasn't been the rule ... I don't think the fault's with us at all, Wenny. I think we're great people ... It's just this fearful environment we have to live down, the narrowness of our families, our bringing up, the moral code and all that. The people of the Renaissance140 were great because they lived in a great period...."
"Well, we haven't had much chance yet; give us time, Wenny," said Nan.
"Time means nothing. You can't make Narcissus into the Prelude141 from Tristan by working on it. The germ would be here."
"But we are learning, Wenny. Taught by our ideal of the past, of the Greeks and the people of the Renaissance, we are learning to surround ourselves with beautiful things, to live less ugly, money-grabbing lives."
"Culture, you mean. God, I'd rather rot in Childs' dairy lunches. Culture's mummifying the corpse142 with scented143 preservatives144. Better let it honestly putrefy. I say."
"And while we argue about how we ought to live, things muddle along," said Nan.
"And the months go by ... Look at me, I'm twenty-three years old and I've done nothing ever, never anything of any sort," cried Wenny savagely145.
"But you're not even hatched yet, Wenny. Give yourself time ... When you've got your M. A."
"Won't be any different ten years from now. I know it won't. You know it won't."
Nobody answered. Wenny walked along at Nan's side, his fists clenching146 and unclenching nervously147. They had reached the Park Street corner of the Common where the steeple of the church stood up lithe and slender out of the muddle of arclights into the tumultuous sky where the frayed148 edges of clouds trailed along ruddy from the reflection of streets. In the lee of the subway stations sailors loafed with the broad collars of their jackets turned up watching the wind tussle149 with the skirts of a couple of girls who strutted150 back and forth with jerky impatient steps. A trail of Salvation151 Army lasses hobbled by following a fat redcheeked man with a cornet. Through the narrow crowded street towards Scollay Square the wind was less searching. In the floods of light in front of the moving picture houses dapper young men in overcoats belted at the waist waited for girls they had made dates with. A fat man threw away his cigarette and advanced towards a blonde girl who had just crossed the street; with one hand he was straightening his necktie. The smile on his puffy, razorscraped face kindled152 in her straight lips. Up a side street a man in a red sweater was preaching about something in a voice like a sea lion's. In the middle of the Square a policeman had hold of a holloweyed little man whiskered like a bottle cleaner whom he was shaking by the shoulder and roaring at. Wenny jumped back to avoid a truck lumbering153 up noisily out of Cornhill. Why didn't I let it run over me? Then the shop windows of Handover Street full of price-signs were sliding past. Wenny felt vague interest in the streets and people he was walking among, the sort of disconnected interest he had felt when a child in the tableaux154 in the Old Mill at Revere155, gliding156 along through expressionless dark, occasionally peering out at incidents, random157 gestures and faces. A year ago, he was thinking, I would have imagined every man, woman and child I met part of some absurd romantic vortex I was just on the point of being sucked into myself. I know better now. Do I?
"Funny, the thought," he said aloud, "That I pass people on the street and say to myself what wonderful lives they must be living, and they look at me out of their own emptiness and say the same thing... We're going to the Venice, aren't we?"
"Mind, no garlic," put in Fanshaw.
"We'll even let you have the eternal broiled158 lamb chop without hooting84."
A flurry of snow fine as sand drove down the street.
"What do you think of this for the Boston climate?" said Nan.
"Here we are!"
The restaurant was nearly empty. They shook the snow off their overcoats and settled themselves at the round table in the window.
"What's so nice about this place, in spite of the garlic and the stains on the cloth and everything," Fanshaw was saying, "Is that it gives us a breathing space from Boston, a quiet eminence159 where we can sit undisturbed and look about us ... O, Wenny, do pull up your necktie."
"Now, Fanshaw, you shan't heckle Wenny," said Nan laughing.
The orchestra had struck up Funiculi, Funicula with great vigor160. Wenny was looking at the girl who played the violin. Something in the tilt161 of the chin was painfully like Nan, only all the features were heavier, the lips coarser and less intense; many men had kissed them perhaps. To kiss Nan's lips. No, I mustn't think of all that. I will drive it out of me, down into me. Tonight it's calm; cold I must be, to weigh everything. In spite of him the tune162 filled his mind with streets full of carnival163, scampering164, heavybreasted women pelting165 him with flowers.
"The ladies' three-piece band is doing itself proud tonight," he shouted boisterously166.
Like this always, these dreams. I must put an end to them. It's on account of these dream women I've not made Nan love me; everything has slipped by. What's the good of dreams? It's hard actuality I want, will have.
Yama, yama, blare of brass167 bands, red flags waving against picture postcard scenery, brown oarsmen with flashing teeth and roses behind their ears, and Nan; both of us lolling on red cushions. Bay of Naples and musical comedy moonlight and a phonograph in a flat in a smell of baby carriages and cabbage grinding out love songs. O, the mockery of it.
"Gee, what a horrible tune."
"Hacknied, I should say, Wenny, but it's rather jolly, and when they play it on those boats on the Grand Canal it's almost thrilling..."
"To Cook's tourists and little schoolma'ams from Grand Rapids."
"Isn't it a little like sour grapes that we should be so scornful of them?" put in Nan gently.
"I'm not scornful of them. I am them... We are just like them. Can't you see what I mean, Nan? I can see that they are ridiculous and pitiful. How much more ridiculous and pitiful we must be."
"But from that point of view everything must be ... well, just ashes; everybody ridiculous and pitiful," said Nan slowly with a flash in her eyes. "I'm willing to admit that in a sense, I suppose, yet certain things are dreadfully important to me—my friends, my music, my career, my sense of fitness. I don't see that those things are ridiculous... Of course, one can make oneself sound clever by making fun of anything, but that doesn't change it any way."
The hot light in her eyes, flushing her cheeks, her parted lips, were a stab of pain for him.
"O I can't say what I mean?" muttered Wenny.
"Do you know what you mean?" said Fanshaw.
"Perhaps not."
"And you forget what you're so fond of talking about Wenny."
"What?"
"The gorgeousness of matter. That's your pet phrase."
Taste of veal168 with tomato and peppers, savor of frizzled olive oil, little seeds mashed169 between the front teeth into a prickly faint aroma170, and wine, the cool curve of the glass against my lips, the tang of it like rainy sunsets. I could sit here imagining it and never drink, imagining Nan's lips... He picked up the glass and drank off the goldcolored wine at a gulp so that it choked him. He coughed and spluttered into his napkin.
"I follow you there, if you include the idea of material pleasures being purged171 of their grossness, by reason, fitness, as Nan says. So made the raw material of beauty," Fanshaw was saying. Wenny coughed and spluttered into his napkin.
"Drink a little water," Fanshaw added.
"More Orvieto, you mean," said Wenny hoarsely172. "By the way, is Orvieto in Tuscany?"
"No, in Umbria, I think; that's where the great Signorelli frescos of the last judgment173 are, that strange dry hideously violent piece of macabre174."
"Gee, I'd like to see them."
"You will some day."
"If I don't see the actual subject first ... No Burton Holmes, is as far as I'll ever get towards Umbria."
"Why, lots of people work their way over."
"You haven't seen me do it yet, have you? That's what I was saying. The world is full of people doing every conceivable sort of thing. The streets are full of them. You can see the things in their eyes."
"Well, why not you?" said Nan breathlessly.
"Before I came to college I spent my time dreaming, and now I spend it gabbling about my dreams that have died and begun to stink175. Why the only genuine thing I ever did in my life was get drunk, and I haven't done that often."
Wenny drank down his wine again. His hair was wet. His heart pounded with exultation176 in the look of wincing177 pain on Nan's face.
"Suppose we start home," Nan said. "I have a little headache tonight."
Out in the streets the snowflakes danced dazzlingly, ruddy and green, and shivered gold through flaws and cones178 and crystals of light from windows and arclights. Faces bloomed and faded through a jumbled179 luminous180 mist, white as plaster casts, red as raw steak, yellow and warted like summer squashes, smooth and expressionless like cantaloupes. Occasionally a door yawned black and real in the spinning flicker181 of the snow and the lights, or a wall seemed to bulge182 to splitting with its denseness183. In the shelter of the subway entrance they stood hesitating a moment.
"Why don't you both come out to my place?" said Nan in a pleading voice. "We'll make some chocolate or something."
"No, I want to think."
"But you can think there all you want... And it's such a miserable184 night."
"I'm going to Brookline to Mother's, anyway; I'll go as far as your door," said Fanshaw.
"You can amuse yourselves picking my character to pieces all the way out," said Wenny boisterously.
They none of them laughed.
"Well, then, good night."
Wenny watched them go down the steps, Nan in her long buff coat, Fanshaw with his wet hat pulled over his eyes. Nan half turned and waved with a little thwarted185 gesture of the hand. For a second she paused, then with the slightest shrug186 of the shoulders followed Fanshaw's tall figure out of sight past the change booth. Wenny took two steps to follow, but, the impulse died sickeningly like a spoiled skyrocket falling. He thought he was going to cry, and turned about and walked recklessly into the blinding bright dance of the snow.
* * * *
The wind had dropped. Great sloppy187 flakes119 were spinning slowly down between the houses, filling with glitter the tents of light cast by the street lamps. Wenny had been walking fast with long irregular steps muffled188 by the crunching189 carpet of the snow. His feet and legs were wet and very cold. At a corner he stopped and leaned a moment against a wall. The shadows in the windows of the house opposite seemed concrete and the walls built heavily out of reddish darkness. People were grey ghosts with faces of unnatural190 bright pink that flitted past him through the leisurely191 chaos192 of the snow. In their eyes, at the edges of hats, from the ledges193 of shop windows glittered little globules of moist brightness. From gutters194 came a continual drip of melted snow. Now, what bar haven't I been to? he kept asking himself, as he stood listening to the little hiss195 of the snow and the slushy padding of footsteps.
I'd forgotten Frank Locke's; and he walked on with lurching strides.
After the velvety blur196 of the snow the bar room assailed197 him with needles and facets198 of glitter on brass and crystal that shivered in the mirrors into sharp angular grottoes. He shook the snow off his coat and let himself fall heavily into a chair. The hard shape in his back pocket rapped against his hip20. His spine199 went cold at the touch of it.
"A Martini cocktail200, please," he said to the thin, large-eyed man with a scrawny neck who came for his order.
The little mirrors in the ceiling and the glinty knobs and bottle ends of the partitions all radiated endlessly in dusty looking-glasses on the walls, so that Wenny felt himself drunkenly spinning through air heavy with beersmells and whisky and old tobacco smoke in the middle of a crazy merrygoround. The men at tables round him were tiny and gesticulating. The cocktail stung his mouth, sent writhing201 gold haze all through him. The glass was the center of a vortex into which were sucked the cutting edges of light, flickering202 cones of green and red brightness, the voices and the throbbing rubber faces of the men in the bar. In his mind Fanshaw's voice and his father's voice droning like antiphonal choirs203: Leanfaced people of the Renaissance carried away helpless in their vermilion barge204 through snarling205 streets shaken with the roar of engines: Stand therefore having your loins girt about with the breastplate of righteousness ... Of course that's what it reminds me of here, looking through the globes in the drugstore window where I used to go to get aspirin206 for Auntie.
"Waiter, another cocktail, please."
This cocktail, smooth, smooth, hot tropic beaches, and the leanfaced men in their great barge deepchanting sliding through lagoons207 of islands of the South Seas (first love, first South Sea island, the great things of life); brown girls girdled with red hybiscus pulling nets full of writhing silver through parrotgreen water. ... God! I must pull myself together. I must think, not dream... In the beginning was the word,... And Noah begat three sons, Shem, Ham, and Japheth... Poor little me, with holes in my stockings, sitting in my bedroom that had the cracked looking glass learning Genesis for Dad: The earth also was corrupt208 before God, the earth was filled with violence ... And God looked upon the earth and behold209 it was corrupt ... corrupt... I must think, not dream putrid210 dreams. Dreams, the corruption211 of misery212, soggy, thwarted. If I had a clean, sharp knife to cut away dreams. Herb's little gun will do as well.
"Hey, another Martini, please."
He had no sense of being drunk any more. Things were still, icehard, iceclear all about him. The little neatly213 painted world of his childhood had been like that, breaks of lollipop-colored sunlight, little redroofed houses back among lawns of green baize, set about with toy evergreens214, at doors varnished215 farmers' wives in Dutch caps shepherding Noah's animals out of a cardboard ark, all cute and tiny, like through the wrong end of a telescope; and the smell of the enamel216 scaling off toys, the grain of wood grimed by the fingers, the dark gleam on the floor under the bay window.
"Another Martini, please."
He drank it slowly in little sips217, watching himself in the looking-glass beside him. His hair was very curly with sweat, his dark eyebrows218 jauntily219 arched, his lips moist and red. He drank and the man in the looking-glass drank. He stared into the black wells of his dilated pupils. Panic terror swooped220 on him all of a sudden; it was not his face. The face was thinner, the upper lip tight over the teeth, the hair smooth and steel grey, the jowls pinkish, close-shaved, constricted221 by a collar round backwards222. My face, my father's face, and Dad's voice: David, my boy, taking a job has pleased me more than I can say, sensible and manly course ... I am sure that earning your living you will find inspiring and helpful and regret callousness and restlessness ... I, myself, bitter moments in my youth inexpressibly painful for me to recall of profligacy and despair ... A thin voice shrieking223, interrupting in his head: My God, I'm going mad, mad, mad. The pulpit voice boomed louder in his ears: It was like this, David, I was not content with my lot and told myself in my boyish pride that life was short and the world wide, and wanted to run away to sea. I was one of those filthy224 dreamers mentioned in the Gospels who defile225 the flesh, despise dominion226 and speak evil of dignities. And I fell so low that inexpressibly painful to recall I took up in a low dive with a scarlet113 woman and arranged with her that she should give herself to me for five dollars, and I followed her to her room and she divested227 herself of her clothes and I stood before her trembling with lust228, and all at once a sword cleaving229 me, a light searing me, I felt my flesh corrupt before God, and I felt the mercy of God in a great white light about me, and I rushed out sobbing230 and calling upon God. And that is how, dearly beloved brethren, I was called to the ministry231... Let us pray...
Rustle of Sunday dresses, a couple of coughs from the back, Wenny in short pants kneeling trembling in the full booming blast of his father's prayer, watching the patches of pink and purple and mustard yellow light cast on the pew ahead by the sun shining through the colored glass of the windows, then caught away in a dream of red Indians running through a birch wood, and roused by the long droning infections: To do good and communicate forget not for with such sacrifice God is well pleased. Women's voices shrilling232 high:
How firm a foundation ye say-aints of the Lord ...
Everything was spinning again and he was saying over and over: must pull myself together, pull myself together, for that face is my face and my father's voice is my voice. I am my father.
"All right, mister, closing time." There was a heavy hand on his shoulder.
He reeled out into the street, his hand over his face to wipe away the memory of the dilated pupils of his eyes in the looking-glass. The air was cold and harsh in his nostrils, against his temples. He walked slowly through streets neatly carpeted with snow that made tiny whirlwinds at corners in the clear gusts of wind. His thoughts clicked with mechanical precision. I'm sober now, I've got to decide. Up towards Beacon233 Hill. Something always goes mad in me when I go to Frank Locke's. Mustn't go again. Again! How silly, as if there were going to be any agains. Now in me my father'll be dead. Mustn't hurry. Pleasant to stroll about a town the last night before going away; bought your ticket and everything. Where? Want ad: Respectable house offers agreeably furnished room suitable for suicide... How fine; to be cool like this. This is the secret at last. Never been happier in my life. Or am I just hideously drunk?
Slippery down this hill. The bridge the subway goes over, that's it. He felt for his watch. Gone, of course; pawned235 a thousand years ago to sleep with Ellen of Troy.
It was very quiet over the river. The snow lay straight on the ledges of the bridge. The lights of the esplanade flickered236 like stars through the clear, bleak237 night and cast little tremulous sparks over the lacquered surface of the water.
The wind had blown all tracks out of the snow. Wenny cleared off the rail behind one of the turrets238 and sat looking at the water.
Perhaps lovers have met here. No, the cops'ld be after them. No place for love in the city of Boston; place for death though.
He pulled the little revolver out of his back pocket and held it at arms' length.
I have nerve for this, why not for the rest; for shipping239 on a windjammer, for walking with Nan down streets unaccountable and dark between blind brick walls that tremble with the roar of engines, for her seagrey eyes in my eyes, her lips, the sweetish fatty smell of Ellen's lips. Maybe death's all that, sinking into the body of a dark woman, with proud cold thighs240, hair black, black. I wonder if it shoots.
The trigger was well-oiled. The shot rang out over the water. The rebound241 jerked his hand up.
Shoot? sure it does. Quick, now, there'll be somebody coming. Spread out your bed for me, Nan Ellen death.
He climbed to his feet on the parapet and pressed the muzzle242 of the gun under his chin. Warm it was. Black terror shrieked243 through him. He was breathing hard. With cold, firm hands he made sure the barrel pointed straight through his throat to his brain. He pulled the trigger.
His body pitched from the parapet of the bridge, struck the snowcovered slant244 of the pier234, and slid into the river.
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收听单词发音
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1
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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2
thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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3
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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bristles
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| 短而硬的毛发，刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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7
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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obstructing
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| 阻塞( obstruct的现在分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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9
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12
stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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13
starched
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| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
aprons
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| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
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15
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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18
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
savor
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| vt.品尝，欣赏；n.味道，风味；情趣，趣味 | |
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20
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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21
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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22
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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23
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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24
bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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25
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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26
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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27
par
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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28
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29
hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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30
skunk
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| n.臭鼬，黄鼠狼；v.使惨败，使得零分；烂醉如泥 | |
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31
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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32
rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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33
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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35
brainstorm
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| vi.动脑筋，出主意，想办法，献计，献策 | |
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36
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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37
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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38
hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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39
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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40
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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41
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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42
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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44
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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45
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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46
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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47
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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48
amethyst
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| n.紫水晶 | |
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49
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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50
bellying
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| 鼓出部；鼓鼓囊囊 | |
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51
puffs
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| 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 | |
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52
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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53
callousness
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54
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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55
profligacy
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| n.放荡，不检点，肆意挥霍 | |
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56
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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57
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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58
revolve
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| vi.(使)旋转；循环出现 | |
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59
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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60
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
dubs
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| v.给…起绰号( dub的第三人称单数 )；把…称为；配音；复制 | |
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62
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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63
inoculate
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| v.给...接种，给...注射疫苗 | |
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64
jigsawed
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| v.用锯曲线机锯（jigsaw的过去式形式） | |
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65
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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66
gee
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| n.马；int.向右！前进！，惊讶时所发声音；v.向右转 | |
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67
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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68
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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69
fiddling
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| 微小的 | |
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70
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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71
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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72
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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73
armory
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| n.纹章，兵工厂，军械库 | |
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74
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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75
scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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76
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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77
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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78
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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79
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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80
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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81
bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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82
cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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83
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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84
hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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85
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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86
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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87
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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88
tingle
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| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
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89
sopping
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| adj. 浑身湿透的 动词sop的现在分词形式 | |
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90
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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91
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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92
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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93
stiffening
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| n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
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94
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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95
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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96
aviary
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| n.大鸟笼，鸟舍 | |
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97
fleas
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| n.跳蚤( flea的名词复数 )；爱财如命；没好气地（拒绝某人的要求） | |
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98
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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99
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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100
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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101
celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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102
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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103
embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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105
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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106
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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107
rumored
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| adj.传说的，谣传的v.传闻( rumor的过去式和过去分词 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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108
grouchy
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| adj.好抱怨的；愠怒的 | |
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109
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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110
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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111
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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112
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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113
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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114
scudded
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| v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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116
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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117
clotting
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| v.凝固( clot的现在分词 )；烧结 | |
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118
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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119
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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120
blotting
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| 吸墨水纸 | |
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121
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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122
velvety
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| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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123
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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124
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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125
grooves
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| n.沟( groove的名词复数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏v.沟( groove的第三人称单数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏 | |
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126
congealed
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| v.使凝结，冻结( congeal的过去式和过去分词 )；（指血）凝结 | |
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127
maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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128
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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129
advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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130
diurnal
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| adj.白天的，每日的 | |
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131
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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132
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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133
picturesqueness
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134
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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135
idiocies
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| n.极度的愚蠢( idiocy的名词复数 )；愚蠢的行为；白痴状态 | |
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136
bleated
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的过去式和过去分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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137
muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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138
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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139
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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140
renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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141
prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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142
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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143
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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144
preservatives
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| n.防腐剂( preservative的名词复数 ) | |
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145
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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146
clenching
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的现在分词 ) | |
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147
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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148
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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149
tussle
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| n.&v.扭打，搏斗，争辩 | |
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150
strutted
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| 趾高气扬地走，高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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151
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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152
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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153
lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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154
tableaux
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| n.舞台造型，（由活人扮演的）静态画面、场面；人构成的画面或场景( tableau的名词复数 )；舞台造型；戏剧性的场面；绚丽的场景 | |
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155
revere
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| vt.尊崇，崇敬，敬畏 | |
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156
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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157
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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158
broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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159
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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160
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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161
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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162
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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163
carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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164
scampering
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
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165
pelting
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| 微不足道的，无价值的，盛怒的 | |
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166
boisterously
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| adv.喧闹地，吵闹地 | |
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167
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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168
veal
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| n.小牛肉 | |
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169
mashed
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| a.捣烂的 | |
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170
aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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171
purged
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| 清除（政敌等）( purge的过去式和过去分词 )； 涤除（罪恶等）； 净化（心灵、风气等）； 消除（错事等）的不良影响 | |
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172
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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173
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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174
macabre
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| adj.骇人的，可怖的 | |
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175
stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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176
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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177
wincing
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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178
cones
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| n.（人眼）圆锥细胞；圆锥体( cone的名词复数 )；球果；圆锥形东西；（盛冰淇淋的）锥形蛋卷筒 | |
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179
jumbled
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| adj.混乱的；杂乱的 | |
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180
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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181
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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182
bulge
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| n.突出，膨胀，激增；vt.突出，膨胀 | |
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183
denseness
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| 稠密，密集，浓厚； 稠度 | |
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184
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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185
thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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186
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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187
sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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188
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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189
crunching
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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190
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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191
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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192
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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193
ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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194
gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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195
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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196
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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197
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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198
facets
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| n.（宝石或首饰的）小平面( facet的名词复数 )；（事物的）面；方面 | |
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199
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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200
cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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201
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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202
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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203
choirs
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| n.教堂的唱诗班( choir的名词复数 )；唱诗队；公开表演的合唱团；（教堂）唱经楼 | |
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204
barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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205
snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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206
aspirin
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| n.阿司匹林 | |
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207
lagoons
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| n.污水池( lagoon的名词复数 )；潟湖；（大湖或江河附近的）小而浅的淡水湖；温泉形成的池塘 | |
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208
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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209
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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210
putrid
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| adj.腐臭的；有毒的；已腐烂的；卑劣的 | |
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211
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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212
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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213
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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214
evergreens
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| n.常青树，常绿植物，万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
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215
varnished
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| 浸渍过的，涂漆的 | |
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216
enamel
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| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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217
sips
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| n.小口喝，一小口的量( sip的名词复数 )v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的第三人称单数 ) | |
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218
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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219
jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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220
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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221
constricted
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| adj.抑制的，约束的 | |
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222
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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223
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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224
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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225
defile
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| v.弄污，弄脏；n.(山间)小道 | |
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226
dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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227
divested
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| v.剥夺( divest的过去式和过去分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
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228
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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229
cleaving
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| v.劈开，剁开，割开( cleave的现在分词 ) | |
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230
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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231
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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232
shrilling
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的现在分词 )； 凄厉 | |
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233
beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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234
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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235
pawned
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| v.典当，抵押( pawn的过去式和过去分词 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
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236
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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237
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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238
turrets
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| （六角）转台( turret的名词复数 )； （战舰和坦克等上的）转动炮塔； （摄影机等上的）镜头转台； （旧时攻城用的）塔车 | |
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239
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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240
thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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241
rebound
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| v.弹回；n.弹回，跳回 | |
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242
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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243
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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244
slant
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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