Rye was still ahead when they went out to lunch, and lard was holding its own.
They ate in the cafeteria with the gilded1 front. There was the same art inside as outside. The food looked' sumptuous2. Whole fishes were framed like pictures with carrots, and the salads were like terraced landscapes or like Mexican pyramids; slices of lemon and onion and radishes were like sun and moon and stars; the cream pies were about a foot thick and the cakes swoHel6 as if sleepers4 had baked them in their dreams.
“What'll you have?” said Tamkin.
“Not much. I ate a big breakfast. I'll find a table. Bring me some yogurt and crackers5 and a cup of tea. I don't want to spend much time over lunch.”
Tamkin said, “You've got to eat.”
Finding an empty place at this hour was not easy. The old people idled and gossiped over their coffee. The elderly ladies were rouged6 and mascaraed and hennaed and used blue hair rinse7 and eye shadow and wore costume jewelry8, and many of them were proud and stared at you with expressions that did not belong to their age. Were there no longer any respectable old ladies who knitted and cooked and looked after their grandchildren? Wilhelm’s grandmother had dressed him in a sailor suit and danced him on her knee, blew on the porridge for him and said, “Admiral, you must eat.” But what was the use of remembering this so late in the day?
He managed to find a table, and Dr. Tamkin came along with a tray piled with plates and cups. He had Yankee pot roast, purple cabbage, potatoes, a big slice of watermelon, and two cups of coffee. Wilhelm could not even swallow his yogurt. His chest pained him still.
At once Tamkin involved him in a lengthy9 discussion. Did he do it to stall Wilhelm and prevent him from selling out the rye–or to recover the ground lost when he had made Wilhelm angry by hints about the neurotic10 character? Or did he have no purpose except to talk?
“I think you worry a lot too much about what your wife and your father will say. Do they matter so much?”
Wilhelm replied, “A person can become tired of looking himself over and trying to fix himself up. You can spend 'the entire second half of your life recovering from the mistakes of the first half.”
“I believe your dad told me he had, some money to leave you.”
“He probably does have something.”
“A lot?”
“Who can tell,” said Wilhelm guardedly.
“You ought to think over what you'll do with it.”
“I may , be too feeble to do anything by the time I get it. If I get anything.”
“A thing like this you ought to plan out carefully. Invest it properly.” He began to unfold schemes whereby you bought bonds, and used the bonds as security to buy something else and thereby11 earned twelve per cent safely .on your money. Wilhelm failed to follow the details. Tamkin said, “If he made you a gift now, you wouldn't have to pay the inheritance taxes.”
Bitterly, Wilhelm told him, “My father's death blots12 out all other considerations from his mind. He forces me to think about it, too. Then he hates me because he succeeds. When I get desperate–of course I think about money. But I don't want anything to happen to him. I certainly don't want him to die.” Tamkin's brown eyes glittered shrewdly at him. “You don't believe it. Maybe it's not psychological. But on my word of honor' A joke is a joke, but I don't want to joke about stuff like this. When dies, I'll be robbed, like. I'll have no more father.”
“You love your old man?”
Wilhelm grasped at this. “Of course, of course I love him. My father. My mother–” As he said this there was a great pull at the very center of his soul. When a fish strikes the line you feel the live force in your hand. A mysterious being beneath the water, driven by hunger, has taken the hook and rushes away and fights, writhing13. Wilhelm never identified what struck within him. It did not reveal itself. It got away.
And Tamkin, the confuser of the imagination, began to tell, or to fabricate, the strange history of his father. “He was a great singer,” he said. “He left us five kids because he fell in love with an opera soprano. I never held it against him, but admired the way he followed the life-principle. I wanted to do the same. Because of unhappiness, at a certain age, the brain starts to die back.” (True, true! thought Wilhelm.) “Twenty years later I was doing experiments in Eastman Kodak, Rochester, and I found the old fellow. He had five more children.” (False, false!) “He wept; he was ashamed. I had nothing against him. I naturally felt strange.”
“My dad is something of a stranger to me, too,” said Wilhelm, and he began to muse14. Where is the familiar person he used to be? Or I used to be? Catherine–she won't even talk to me any more, my own sister. It may not be so much my trouble that Papa turns his back on as my confusion. It's too much. The ruins of life, and on top of that confusion–chaos and old night. Is it an easier farewell for Dad if we don't part friends? He should maybe do it angrily–”Blast you with my curse!” And why, Wilhelm further asked, should he or anybody else pity me; or why should I be pitied sooner than another fellow? It is my childish mind that thinks people are ready to give it just because you need it.
Then Wilhelm began to think about his own two sons and to wonder how he appeared to them, and what they would think of him. Right now he had an advantage ,through baseball. When he went to fetch them, to go to Ebbets Field, though, he was not himself. He put on a front but he felt as if he had swallowed a fistful of sand. The strange, familiar house, horribly awkward; the dog, Scissors, rolled over on his back and barked and whined16. Wilhelm acted as if there were nothing irregular, but a weary heaviness came over him. On the way to Flatbush he would think up anecdotes17 about old Pigtown and Charlie Ebbets for the boys and reminiscences of the old stars, but it was very heavy going. They did not know how much he cared for them. No. It hurt him greatly and he blamed Margaret for turning them against him. She wanted to ruin him, while she wore the mask of kindness. Up in Roxbury he had to go and explain to the priest, who was not sympathetic. They don't care about individuals, their rules come first. Olive said she would marry him outside the Church when he was divorced. But Margaret would not let go. Olive's father was a pretty decent old guy, an osteopath, and he understood what it was all about. Finally he said, “See here, I have to advise Olive. She is asking me. I am mostly a freethinker myself, but the girl has to live in this town.” And by now Wilhelm and Olive had had a great many troubles and she was beginning to dread18 his days in Roxbury, she said. He trembled at offending this small, pretty, dark girl whom he adored. When she would get up late on Sunday morning she would wake him almost in tears at being late for Mass. He would try to help her hitch19 her garters and smooth out her slip and dress even put on her hat with shaky hands; then he would rush her to church and drive in second gear in his forgetful way, trying to apologize and to calm her. She got out a block from church to avoid gossip. Even so she loved him, and she would have married him if he had obtained the divorce. But Margaret must have sensed this. Margaret would tell him he did not really want a divorce; he was afraid of it. He cried, “Take everything I've got, Margaret. Let me go to Reno. Don't you want to marry again?” No. She went out with other men, but took his money. She lived in order to punish him.
Dr. Tamkin told Wilhelm, “Your dad is jealous of you.”
Wilhelm smiled. “Of me? That's rich.”
“Sure. People are always jealous of a man who leaves his wife.”
“Oh,” said Wilhelm scornfully. “When it comes to wives he wouldn't have to envy me.”
“Yes, and your wife envies you, too. She thinks, He's free and goes with young women. Is she getting old?”
“Not exactly old,” said Wilhelm, whom the mention of his wife made sad. Twenty years ago, in a neat blue wool suit, in a soft hat made of the same cloth–he could plainly see her. He stooped his yellow head and looked under the hat at her clear, simple face, her living eyes moving, her straight small nose, her jaw20 beautifully painfully clear in its form. It was a cool day, but smelled the odor of pines in the sun, in the granite21 canyon22. Just south of Santa Barbara, this was.
“She's forty-some years old,” he said.
“I was married to a lush,” said Tamkin. “A painful alcoholic23. I couldn't take her out to dinner because she'd say she was going to the ladies' toilet and disappear in the bar. I'd ask the bartenders they shouldn't serve her. But I loved her deeply. She was the most spiritual woman of my entire experience.”
“Where is she now?”
“Drowned,” said Tamkin. “At Provincetown, Cape3 Cod24. It must have been a suicide. She was that way–suicidal. I tried everything in my power to cure her. Because,” said Tamkin, “my real calling is to be a healer. I get wounded. I suffer from it. I would like to escape from the sicknesses of others, but I can't. I am only on loan to myself, so to speak. I belong to humanity.”
Liar15! Wilhelm inwardly called him. Nasty lies. He invented a woman and killed her off and then called himself a healer, and made himself so earnest he looked like a bad-natured sheep. He's a puffed-up little bogus and humbug25 with smelly feet. A doctor! A doctor would wash himself. He believes he's making a terrific impression, and he practically invites you to take off your hat when he talks about himself; and he thinks he has an imagination, but he hasn't; neither is he smart.
Then what am I doing with him here, and why did I give him the seven hundred dollars? thought Wilhelm.
Oh, this was a day of reckoning. It was a day, he thought, on which, willing or not, he would take a good close look at the truth. He breathed hard and his misshapen hat came low upon his congested dark blond face. A rude look. Tamkin was a charlatan26, and furthermore he was desperate. And furthermore, Wilhelm had always known this about him. But he appeared to have worked it out at the back of his mind that Tamkin for thirty or forty years had gotten through many a tight place, that he would get through this crisis too and bring him, Wilhelm, to safety also. And Wilhelm realized that he was on Tamkin's back. It made him feel that he had virtually left the ground and was riding upon the other man. He was in the air. It was for Tamkin to take the steps.
The doctor, if he was a doctor, did not look anxious. But then his face did not have much variety. Talking always about spontaneous emotion and open receptors and free impulses, he was about as expressive27 as a pincushion. When his hypnotic spell failed, his big underlip made him look weak-minded. Fear stared from his eyes, some times, so humble28 as to make you sorry for him. Once or twice Wilhelm had seen that look. Like a dog, he thought. Perhaps he didn't look it now, but he was very nervous. Wilhelm knew, but he could not afford to recognize this too openly. The doctor needed a little room, a little time. He should not be pressed now. So Tamkin went on, telling his tales.
Wilhelm said to himself, I am on his back–his back. I gambled seven hundred bucks29, so I must take this ride. I have to go along with him. It's too late. I can't get off.
“You know,” Tamkin said, “that blind old man Rappaport–he's pretty close to totally blind–is one of the most interesting personalities30 around here. If you could only get him to tell his true story. It's fascinating. This what he told me. You often hear about bigamists with a secret life. But this old man never hid anything from anybody. He's a regular patriarch. Now, I'll tell you what he did. He had two whole families, separate and apart, one in Williamsburg and the other in The Bronx. The two wives knew about each other. The wife in The Bronx was younger; she's close to seventy now. When he got sore at one wife he went to live with the other one. Meanwhile he ran his chicken business in New Jersey31. By one wife he had four kids, and by the other six. They're all grown, but they never have met their half-brothers and sisters and don't want to. The whole bunch of them are listed in the telephone book.”
“I can't believe it,” said Wilhelm.
“He told me this himself. And do you know what else?' When he had his eyesight he used to read a lot, but the only books he would read were by Theodore Roosevelt. He had a set in each of the places where he lived, and he brought his kids up on those books.”
“Please,” said Wilhelm, “don't feed me any more of this stuff, will you? Kindly32 do not—”
“In telling you this,” said Tamkin with one of his hypnotic subtleties33, “I do have a motive34. I want you to see how some people free themselves from morbid35 guilt36 feelings and follow their instincts. Innately37, the female knows how to cripple by sickening a man with guilt. It is a very special destruct, and she sends her curse to make a fellow impotent. As if she says, 'Unless I allow it, you will never more be a man.' But men like my old dad or Mr. Rappaport answer, 'Woman, what art thou to me?' You can't do that yet. You're a halfway38 case. You want to follow your instinct, but you're too worried still. For instance, about your kids–”
“Now look here,” said Wilhelm, stamping his feet. “One thing! Don't bring up my boys. Just lay off.”
“I was only going to say that they are better off than with conflicts in the home.”
“I'm deprived of my children.” Wilhelm bit his lip. It was too late to turn away. The anguish39 struck him. “I pay and pay. I never see them. They grow up without me. She makes them like herself. She'll bring them up to be my enemies. Please let's not talk about this.”
But Tamkin said, “Why do you let her make you suffer so? It defeats the original object in leaving her. Don't play her game. Now, Wilhelm, I'm trying to do you some good. I want to tell you, don't marry suffering. Some people do. They get married to it, and sleep and eat together, just as husband and wife. If they go with joy they think it's adultery.”
When Wilhelm heard this he had, in spite of himself, to admit that there was a great deal in Tamkin's words. Yes, thought Wilhelm, suffering is the only kind of life they are sure they can have, and if they quit suffering they're afraid they'll have nothing. He knows it. This time the faker knows what he's talking about.
Looking at Tamkin he believed he saw all this confessed from his usually barren face. Yes, yes, he too. One hundred falsehoods, but at last one truth. Howling like a wolf from the city window. No one can bear it any more. Everyone is so full of it that at last everybody must proclaim it. It! It!
Then suddenly Wilhelm rose and said, “That's enough of this. Tamkin, let's go back to the market.”
“I haven't finished my melon.”
“Never mind that. You've had enough to eat. I want to go back.”
Dr. Tamkin slid the two checks across the table. “Who paid yesterday? It's your turn, I think.”
It was not until they were leaving the cafeteria that Wilhelm remembered definitely that he had paid yesterday too. But it wasn't worth arguing about.
Tamkin kept repeating as they walked down the street, that there were many who were dedicated40 to suffering. But he told Wilhelm, “I'm optimistic in your case, and I have seen a world of maladjustment. There's hope for you. You don't really want to destroy yourself. You're, trying hard to keep your feelings open, Wilhelm. I can see it. Seven per cent of this country is committing suicide by alcohol. Another three, maybe, narcotics41. Another sixty just fading away into dust by boredom42. Twenty more, who have sold their souls to the devil. Then there's a small percentage of those who want to live. That's the only significant thing in the whole world of today. Those are the only two classes of people there are. Some want to live, but the great majority don't.” This fantastic Tamkin began to surpass himself. “They don't. Or else why these wars? I'll tell you more,” he said. “The love of the dying amounts to one thing; they want you to die with, them. It's because they love you. Make no mistake.”
True, true! thought Wilhelm, profoundly moved by these revelations. How does he know these things? How can he be such a jerk, and even perhaps an operator, a swindler, and understand so well what gives? I believe what he says. It simplifies much–everything. People are dropping like flies. I am trying to stay alive and work too hard at it. That's what's turning my brains. This working hard defeats its own end. At what point should I start over? Let me go back a ways and try once more.
Only a few hundred yards separated the cafeteria from the broker's, and within that short space Wilhelm turned again, in measurable degrees, from these wide considerations to the problems of the moment. The closer he approached to the market, the more Wilhelm had to think about money.
They passed the newsreel theater where the ragged43 shoeshine kids called after them. The same old bearded man with his bandaged beggar face and his tiny ragged feet and the old press clipping on his fiddle44 case to prove he had once been a concert violinist, pointed45 his bow at Wilhelm, saying, “You!” Wilhelm went by with worried eyes, bent46 on crossing Seventy-second Street. In full tumult47 the great afternoon current raced for Columbus Circle, where the mouth of midtown stood open and the skyscrapers48 gave back the yellow fire of the sun.
As they approached the polished stone front of the new office building, Dr. Tamkin said, “Well, isn't that old Rappaport by the door? I think he should carry a white cane49, but he will never admit there's a single thing the matter with his eyes.”
Mr. Rappaport did not stand well; his knees were sunk, while his pelvis only half filled his trousers. His suspenders held them, gaping50.
He stopped Wilhelm with an extended hand, having, somehow recognized him' In his deep voice he commanded him, “Take me to the cigar store.”
“You want me–? Tamkin!” Wilhelm whispered, “You take him.”
Tamkin shook his head. “He wants you. Don't refuse the old gentleman.” Significantly he said in a lower voice, “This minute is another instance of the 'here-and-now.' You have to live in this very minute, and you don't want to. A man asks you for help. Don't think of the market. It won't run away. Show your respect to the old boy. Go ahead. That may be more valuable.”
“Take me,” said the old chicken merchant again.
Greatly annoyed, Wilhelm wrinkled his face at Tamkin. He took the old man's big but light elbow at the bone. “Well, let's step on it,” he said. “Or wait–I want to have a look at the board first to see how we're doing.”
But Tamkin had already started Mr. Rappaport forward. He was walking, and he scolded Wilhelm, saying, “Don't leave me standing51 in the middle of the sidewalk. I'm afraid to get knocked over.”
“Let's get a move on. Come.” Wilhelm urged him as Tamkin went into the broker's.
The traffic seemed to come down Broadway out of the sky, where the hot spokes52 of the sun rolled from the south. Hot, stony53 odors rose from the subway grating in the street.
“These teen-age hoodlums worry me. I'm ascared of these Puerto Rican kids, and these young characters who take dope,” said Mr. Rappaport. “They go around all hopped54 up.”
“Hoodlums?” said Wilhelm. “I went to the cemetery55 and my mother's stone bench was split. I could have broken somebody's neck for that. Which store do you go to?”
“Across Broadway. That La Magnita sign next door to the Automat.”
“What's the matter with this store here on this side?”
“They don't carry my brand, that's what's the matter.”
Wilhelm cursed, but checked the words.
“What are you talking?”
“Those damn taxis,” said Wilhelm. “They want everybody down.”
They entered the cool, odorous shop. Mr. Rappaport put away his large cigars with great care in various pockets while Wilhelm muttered, “Come on, you old creeper. What a poky old character! The whole world waits on him.” Rappaport did not offer Wilhelm a cigar, but, holding one up, he asked, “What do you say at the size of these, huh? They're Churchill-type cigars.”
He barely crawls along, thought Wilhelm. His pants are dropping off because he hasn't got enough flesh for them to stick to. He's almost blind, and covered with spots, but this old man still makes money in the market. Is loaded with dough56, probably. And I bet he doesn't give his children any. Some of them must be in their fifties. This is what keeps middle-aged57 men as children. He's master over the dough. Think–just think! Who controls everything? Old men of this type. Without needs. They don't need therefore they have. I need, therefore I don't have. That would be too easy.
“I'm older even than Churchill,” said Rappaport.
Now he wanted to talk! But if you asked him a question in the market, he couldn't be bothered to answer.
“I bet you are,” said Wilhelm. “Come, let's get going.”
“I was a fighter, too, like Churchill,” said the old man. “When we licked Spain I went into the Navy. Yes, I was a gob that time. What did I have to lose? Nothing. A the battle of San Juan Hill, Teddy Roosevelt kicked me off the beach.”
“Come, watch the curb,” said Wilhelm.
“I was curious and wanted to see what went on. I didn't have no business there, but I took a boat and rowed myself to the beach. Two of our guys was dead, layin' under the American flag to keep the flies off. So I says to the guy on duty, there, who was the sentry58, 'Let's have a look at these guys. I want to see what went on here,' and he says, 'Naw,' but I talked him into it. So he took off the flag and there were these two tall guys, both gentlemen, lying in their boots. They was very tall The two of them had long mustaches. They were high-society boys. I think one of them was called Fish, from up the Hudson, a big-shot family. When I looked up, there was Teddy Roosevelt, with his hat off, and he was looking at these fellows, the only ones who got killed there. Then he says to me, 'What's the Navy want here? Have you got orders?' 'No, sir,' I says to him. 'Well, get the hell off the beach, then.'
Old Rappaport was very proud of this memory. “Everything he said had such snap, such class. Man! I love that Teddy Roosevelt,” he said, “I love him!”
Ah, what people are! He is almost not with us, and his life is nearly gone, but T. R. once yelled at him, so he loves him. I guess it is love, too. Wilhelm smiled. So maybe the rest of Tamkin's story was true, about the ten children and the wives and the telephone directory.
He said, “Come on, come on, Mr. Rappaport,” and hurried the old man back by the large hollow elbow; he gripped it through the thin cotton cloth. Re-entering the brokerage office where under the lights the tumblers were speeding with the clack of drumsticks upon wooden blocks, more than ever resembling a Chinese theater, Wilhelm strained his eyes to see the board.
The lard figures were unfamiliar59. That amount couldn’t be lard! They must have put the figures in the wrong slot. He traced the line back to the margin60. It was down to .19, and had dropped twenty points since noon. And what about the contract of rye? It had sunk back to its earlier position, and they had lost their chance to sell.
Old Mr. Rappaport said to Wilhelm, “Read me my wheat figure.”
“Oh, leave me alone for a minute,” he said, and positively61 hid his face from the old man behind one hand. He looked for Tamkin, Tamkin's bald head, or Tamkin with his gray straw and the cocoa-colored band. He couldn't see him. Where was he? The seats next to Rowland were taken by strangers. He thrust himself over the one on the aisle62, Mr. Rappaport's former place, and pushed at the back of the chair until the new occupant, a redheaded man with a thin, determined63 face, leaned forward to get out of his way but would not surrender the seat. “Where's Tamkin?” Wilhelm asked Rowland.
“Gee, I don't know. Is anything wrong?”
“You must have seen him. He came in a while back.”
“No, but I didn't.”
Wilhelm fumbled64 out a pencil from the top pocket of his coat and began to make calculations. His very fingers were numb65, and in his agitation66 he was afraid he made mistakes with the decimal points and went over the subtraction67 and multiplication68 like a schoolboy at an exam. His heart, accustomed to many sorts of crisis, was now m a new panic. And, as he had dreaded69, he was wiped out. It was unnecessary to ask the German manager. He could see for himself that the electronic bookkeeping device must have closed him out. The manager probably had known that Tamkin wasn't to be trusted, and on that first day he might have warned him. But you couldn't expect him to interfere70.
“You get hit?” said Mr. Rowland.
And Wilhelm, quite coolly, said, “Oh, it could have been worse, I guess.” He put the piece of paper into his pocket with its cigarette butts71 and packets of pills. The lie helped him out–although, for a moment, he was afraid he would cry. But he hardened himself. The hardening effort made a violent, vertical72 pain go through his chest, like that caused by a pocket of air under the collar bones. To the old chicken millionaire, who by this time had become acquainted with the drop in rye and lard, he also denied that anything serious had happened. “It's just one of those temporary slumps73. Nothing to be scared about,” he said, and remained in possession of himself. His need to cry, like someone in a crowd, pushed and jostled and abused him from behind, and Wilhelm did not dare turn. He said to himself, I will not cry in front of these people. I'll be damned if I'll break down in front of them like a kid, even though I never expect to see them again. No! No! And yet his unshed tears rose and rose and he looked like a man about to drown. But when they talked to him, he answered very distinctly. He tried to speak proudly.
“. . . going away?” he heard Rowland ask.
“What?”
“I thought you might be going away too. Tamkin said he was going to Maine this summer for his vacation.”
“Oh, going away?”
Wilhelm broke off and went to look for Tamkin in the men's toilet. Across the corridor was the room where the machinery74 of the board was housed. It hummed and whirred like mechanical birds, and the tubes glittered in the dark. A couple of businessmen with cigarettes in their fingers were having a conversation in the lavatory75. At the top of the closet door sat a gray straw hat with a cocoa-colored band. “Tamkin,” said Wilhelm. He tried to identify the feet below the door. “Are you in there, Doctor Tamkin?” he said with stifled76 anger. “Answer me. It's Wilhelm.”
The hat was taken down, the latch77 lifted, and a stranger came out who looked at him with annoyance78.
“You waiting?” said one of the businessmen. He was warning Wilhelm that he was out of turn.
“Me? Not me,” said Wilhelm. “I'm looking for a fellow.” Bitterly angry, he said to himself that Tamkin would pay him the two hundred dollars at least, his share of the original deposit. “And before he takes the train to Maine, too. Before he spends a penny on vacation–that liar! We went into this as equal partners.”
收听单词发音 |
1
gilded
|
|
| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
sumptuous
|
|
| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
cape
|
|
| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
sleepers
|
|
| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
crackers
|
|
| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
rouged
|
|
| 胭脂，口红( rouge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
rinse
|
|
| v.用清水漂洗，用清水冲洗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
jewelry
|
|
| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
lengthy
|
|
| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
neurotic
|
|
| adj.神经病的，神经过敏的；n.神经过敏者，神经病患者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
thereby
|
|
| adv.因此，从而 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
blots
|
|
| 污渍( blot的名词复数 )； 墨水渍； 错事； 污点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
writhing
|
|
| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
muse
|
|
| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
liar
|
|
| n.说谎的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
whined
|
|
| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
anecdotes
|
|
| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
hitch
|
|
| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
jaw
|
|
| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
granite
|
|
| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
canyon
|
|
| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
alcoholic
|
|
| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
cod
|
|
| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
humbug
|
|
| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
charlatan
|
|
| n.骗子；江湖医生；假内行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
expressive
|
|
| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
bucks
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
personalities
|
|
| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
jersey
|
|
| n.运动衫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
subtleties
|
|
| 细微( subtlety的名词复数 )； 精细； 巧妙； 细微的差别等 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
motive
|
|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
morbid
|
|
| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
guilt
|
|
| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
innately
|
|
| adv.天赋地；内在地，固有地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
halfway
|
|
| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
dedicated
|
|
| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
narcotics
|
|
| n.麻醉药( narcotic的名词复数 )；毒品；毒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
boredom
|
|
| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
fiddle
|
|
| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
tumult
|
|
| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
skyscrapers
|
|
| n.摩天大楼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
cane
|
|
| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
gaping
|
|
| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
spokes
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条( spoke的名词复数 )；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
stony
|
|
| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
hopped
|
|
| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
cemetery
|
|
| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
dough
|
|
| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
middle-aged
|
|
| adj.中年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
sentry
|
|
| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
unfamiliar
|
|
| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
margin
|
|
| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
aisle
|
|
| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
fumbled
|
|
| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
numb
|
|
| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
agitation
|
|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
subtraction
|
|
| n.减法，减去 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
multiplication
|
|
| n.增加，增多，倍增；增殖，繁殖；乘法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
dreaded
|
|
| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
interfere
|
|
| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
butts
|
|
| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
vertical
|
|
| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
slumps
|
|
| 萧条期( slump的名词复数 )； （个人、球队等的）低潮状态； （销售量、价格、价值等的）骤降； 猛跌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
machinery
|
|
| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
lavatory
|
|
| n.盥洗室，厕所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
stifled
|
|
| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
latch
|
|
| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
annoyance
|
|
| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |