Mrs. Staleyborn's first husband was a dreamy Fellow of a Learned University.
Her second husband had begun life at the bottom of the ladder as a three-card trickster, and by strict attention to business and the exercise of his natural genius, had attained1 to the proprietorship2 of a bucket-shop.
When Mrs. Staleyborn was Miss Clara Smith, she had been housekeeper3 to Professor Whitland, a biologist who discovered her indispensability, and was only vaguely4 aware of the social gulf5 which yawned between the youngest son of the late Lord Bortledyne and the only daughter of Albert Edward Smith, mechanic. To the Professor she was Miss _H. Sapiens_--an agreeable, featherless plantigrade biped of the genus _Homo_. She was also thoroughly6 domesticated7 and cooked like an angel, a nice woman who apparently8 never knew that her husband had a Christian9 name, for she called him "Mr. Whitland" to the day of his death.
The strain and embarrassment10 of the new relationship with her master were intensified12 by the arrival of a daughter, and doubled when that daughter came to a knowledgeable13 age. Marguerite Whitland had the inherent culture of her father and the grace and delicate beauty which had ever distinguished14 the women of the house of Bortledyne.
When the Professor died, Mrs. Whitland mourned him in all sincerity15. She was also relieved. One-half of the burden which lay upon her had been lifted; the second half was wrestling with the binomial theorem at Cheltenham College.
She had been a widow twelve months when she met Mr. Cresta Morris, and, if the truth be told, Mr. Cresta Morris more fulfilled her conception as to what a gentleman should look like than had the Professor. Mr. Cresta Morris wore white collars and beautiful ties, had a large gold watch-chain over what the French call poetically16 a _gilet de fantasie_, but which he, in his own homely17 fashion, described as a "fancy weskit." He smoked large cigars, was bluff19 and hearty20, spoke21 to the widow--he was staying at Harrogate at the time in a hydropathic establishment--in a language which she could understand. Dimly she began to realize that the Professor had hardly spoken to her at all.
Mr. Cresta Morris was one of those individuals who employed a vocabulary of a thousand words, with all of which Mrs. Whitland was well acquainted; he was also a man of means and possessions, he explained to her. She, giving confidence for confidence, told of the house at Cambridge, the furniture, the library, the annuity22 of three hundred pounds, earmarked for his daughter's education, but mistakenly left to his wife for that purpose, also the four thousand three hundred pounds invested in War Stock, which was wholly her own.
Mr. Cresta Morris became more agreeable than ever. In three months they were married, in six months the old house at Cambridge had been disposed of, the library dispersed23, as much of the furniture as Mr. Morris regarded as old-fashioned sold, and the relict of Professor Whitland was installed in a house in Brockley.
It was a nice house--in many ways nicer than the rambling24 old building in Cambridge, from Mrs. Morris's point of view. And she was happy in a tolerable, comfortable kind of fashion, and though she was wholly ignorant as to the method by which her husband made his livelihood25, she managed to get along very well without enlightenment.
Marguerite was brought back from Cheltenham to grace the new establishment and assist in its management. She shared none of her mother's illusions as to the character of Mr. Cresta Morris, as that gentleman explained to a very select audience one January night.
Mr. Morris and his two guests sat before a roaring fire in the dining-room, drinking hot brandies-and-waters. Mrs. Morris had gone to bed; Marguerite was washing up, for Mrs. Morris had the "servant's mind," which means that she could never keep a servant.
The sound of crashing plates had come to the dining-room and interrupted Mr. Morris at a most important point of his narrative26. He jerked his head round.
"That's the girl," he said; "she's going to be a handful."
"Get her married," said Job Martin wisely.
He was a hatchet-faced man with a reputation for common-sense. He had another reputation which need not be particularized at the moment.
"Married?" scoffed27 Mr. Morris. "Not likely!"
He puffed28 at his cigar thoughtfully for a moment, then:
"She wouldn't come in to dinner--did you notice that? We are not good enough for her. She's fly! Fly ain't the word for it. We always find her nosing and sneaking30 around."
"Send her back to school," said the third guest.
He was a man of fifty-five, broad-shouldered, clean-shaven, who had literally31 played many parts, for he had been acting32 in a touring company when Morris first met him--Mr. Timothy Webber, a man not unknown to the Criminal Investigation33 Department.
"She might have been useful," Mr. Morris went on regretfully, "very useful indeed. She is as pretty as a picture, I'll give her that due. Now, suppose she----"
Webber shook his head.
"It's my way or no way," he said decidedly. "I've been a month studying this fellow, and I tell you I know him inside out."
"Have you been to see him?" asked the second man.
"Am I a fool?" replied the other roughly. "Of course I have not been to see him. But there are ways of finding out, aren't there? He is not the kind of lad that you can work with a woman, not if she's as pretty as paint."
"What do they call him?" asked Morris.
"Bones," said Webber, with a little grin. "At least, he has letters which start 'Dear Bones,' so I suppose that's his nickname. But he's got all the money in the world. He is full of silly ass11 schemes, and he's romantic."
"What's that to do with it?" asked Job Martin, and Webber turned with a despairing shrug34 to Morris.
"For a man who is supposed to have brains----" he said, but Morris stopped him with a gesture.
"I see the idea--that's enough."
He ruminated35 again, chewing at his cigar, then, with a shake of his head----
"I wish the girl was in it."
"Why?" asked Webber curiously36.
"Because she's----" He hesitated. "I don't know what she knows about me. I can guess what she guesses. I'd like to get her into something like this, to--to----" He was at a loss for a word.
"Compromise?" suggested the more erudite Webber.
"That's the word. I'd like to have her like that!" He put his thumb down on the table in an expressive37 gesture.
Marguerite, standing38 outside, holding the door-handle hesitating as to whether she should carry in the spirit kettle which Mr. Morris had ordered, stood still and listened.
The houses in Oakleigh Grove39 were built in a hurry, and at best were not particularly sound-proof. She stood fully29 a quarter of an hour whilst the three men talked in low tones, and any doubts she might have had as to the nature of her step-father's business were dispelled40.
Again there began within her the old fight between her loyalty41 to her mother and loyalty to herself and her own ideals. She had lived through purgatory42 these past twelve months, and again and again she had resolved to end it all, only to be held by pity for the helpless woman she would be deserting. She told herself a hundred times that her mother was satisfied in her placid43 way with the life she was living, and that her departure would be rather a relief than a cause for uneasiness. Now she hesitated no longer, and went back to the kitchen, took off the apron44 she was wearing, passed along the side-passage, up the stairs to her room, and began to pack her little bag.
Her mother was facing stark45 ruin. This man had drawn46 into his hands every penny she possessed47, and was utilizing48 it for the furtherance of his own nefarious49 business. She had an idea--vague as yet, but later taking definite shape--that if she might not save her mother from the wreck50 which was inevitable51, she might at least save something of her little fortune.
She had "nosed around" to such purpose that she had discovered her step-father was a man who for years had evaded52 the grip of an exasperated53 constabulary. Some day he would fall, and in his fall bring down her mother.
Mr. Cresta Morris absorbed in the elaboration of the great plan, was reminded, by the exhaustion54 of visible refreshment55, that certain of his instructions had not been carried out.
"Wait a minute," he said. "I told that girl to bring in the kettle at half-past nine. I'll go out and get it. Her royal highness wouldn't lower herself by bringing it in, I suppose!"
He found the kettle on the kitchen table, but there was no sign of Marguerite. This was the culmination56 of a succession of "slights" which she had put on him, and in a rage he walked along the passage, and yelled up the stairs:
"Marguerite!"
There was no reply, and he raced up to her room. It was empty, but what was more significant, her dresses and the paraphernalia57 which usually ornamented58 her dressing-table had disappeared.
He came down a very thoughtful man.
"She's hopped," he said laconically59. "I was always afraid of that."
It was fully an hour before he recovered sufficiently60 to bring his mind to a scheme of such fascinating possibilities that even his step-daughter's flight was momentarily forgotten
* * * * *
On the following morning Mr. Tibbetts received a visitor.
That gentleman who was, according to the information supplied by Mr. Webber, addressed in intimate correspondence as "Dear Bones," was sitting in his most gorgeous private office, wrestling with a letter to the eminent61 firm of Timmins and Timmins, yacht agents, on a matter of a luckless purchase of his.
"DEAR SIRS GENENTLEMEN" (ran the letter. Bones wrote as he thought, thought faster than he wrote, and never opened a dictionary save to decide a bet)--"I told you I have told you 100000 times that the yacht _Luana_ I bought from your cleint (a nice cleint I must say!!!) is a frord fruad and a _swindel_. It is much two too big. 2000 pounds was a swindel outraygious!! Well I've got it got it now so theres theirs no use crying over split milk. But do like a golly old yaght-seller get red of it rid of it. Sell it to _anybody_ even for a 1000 pounds. I must have been mad to buy it but he was such a plausuble chap...."
This and more he wrote and was writing, when the silvery bell announced a visitor. It rang many times before he realized that he had sent his factotum62, Ali Mahomet, to the South Coast to recover from a sniffle--the after-effects of a violent cold--which had been particularly distressing63 to both. Four times the bell rang, and four times Bones raised his head and scowled64 at the door, muttering violent criticisms of a man who at that moment was eighty-five miles away.
Then he remembered, leapt up, sprinted65 to the door, flung it open with an annoyed:
"Come in! What the deuce are you standing out there for?"
Then he stared at his visitor, choked, went very red, choked again, and fixed66 his monocle.
"Come in, young miss, come in," he said gruffly. "Jolly old bell's out of order. Awfully67 sorry and all that sort of thing. Sit down, won't you?"
In the outer office there was no visible chair. The excellent Ali preferred sitting on the floor, and visitors were not encouraged.
"Come into my office," said Bones, "my private office."
The girl had taken him in with one comprehensive glance, and a little smile trembled on the corner of her lips as she followed the harassed68 financier into his "holy of holies."
"My little den," said Bones incoherently. "Sit down, jolly old--young miss. Take my chair--it's the best. Mind how you step over that telephone wire. Ah!"
She did catch her feet in the flex69, and he sprang to her assistance.
"Upsy, daisy, dear old--young miss, I mean."
It was a breathless welcome. She herself was startled by the warmth of it; he, for his part, saw nothing but grey eyes and a perfect mouth, sensed nothing but a delicate fragrance70 of a godlike presence.
"I have come to see you----" she began.
"Jolly good of you," said Bones enthusiastically. "You've no idea how fearsomely lonely I get sometimes. I often say to people: 'Look me up, dear old thing, any time between ten and twelve or two and four; don't stand on ceremony----'"
"I've come to see you----" she began again.
"You're a kind young miss," murmured Bones, and she laughed.
"You're not used to having girls in this office, are you?"
"You're the first," said Bones, with a dramatic flourish, "that ever burst tiddly-um-te-um!"
To be mistaken for a welcome visitor--she was that, did she but guess it--added to her natural embarrassment.
"Well," she said desperately71, "I've come for work."
He stared at her, refixing his monocle.
"You've come for work my dear old--my jolly old--young miss?"
"I've come for work," she nodded.
Bones's face was very grave.
"You've come for work." He thought a moment; then: "What work? Of course," he added in a flurry, "there's plenty of work to do! Believe me, you don't know the amount I get through in this sanctum--that's Latin for 'private office'--and the wretched old place is never tidy--never! I am seriously thinking"--he frowned--"yes, I am very seriously thinking of sacking the lady who does the dusting. Why, do you know, this morning----"
Her eyes were smiling now, and she was to Bones's unsophisticated eyes, and, indeed, to eyes sophisticated, superhumanly lovely.
"I haven't come for a dusting job," she laughed.
"Of course you haven't," said Bones in a panic. "My dear old lady--my precious--my young person, I should have said--of course you haven't! You've come for a job--you've come to work! Well, you shall have it! Start right away!"
She stared.
"What shall I do?" she asked.
"What would I like you to do?" said Bones slowly. "What about scheming, getting out ideas, using brains, initiative, bright----" He trailed off feebly as she shook her head.
"Do you want a secretary?" she asked, and Bones's enthusiasm rose to the squeaking72 point.
"The very thing! I advertised in this morning's _Times_. You saw the advertisement?"
"You are not telling the truth," she said, looking at him with eyes that danced. "I read all the advertisement columns in _The Times_ this morning, and I am quite sure that you did not advertise."
"I meant to advertise," said Bones gently. "I had the idea last night; that's the very piece of paper I was writing the advertisement on."
He pointed73 to a sheet upon the pad.
"A secretary? The very thing! Let me think."
He supported his chin upon one hand, his elbow upon another.
"You will want paper, pens, and ink--we have all those," he said. "There is a large supply in that cupboard. Also india-rubber. I am not sure if we have any india-rubber, but that can be procured74. And a ruler," he said, "for drawing straight lines and all that sort of thing."
"And a typewriter?" she suggested.
Bones smacked75 his forehead with unnecessary violence.
"A typewriter! I knew this office wanted something. I said to Ali yesterday: 'You silly old ass----'"
"Oh, you have a girl?" she said disappointedly.
"Ali," said Bones, "is the name of a native man person who is devoted76 to me, body and soul. He has been, so to speak, in the family for years," he explained.
"Oh, it's a man," she said.
Bones nodded.
"Ali. Spelt A-l-y; it's Arabic."
"A native?"
Bones nodded.
"Of course he will not be in your way," ha hastened to explain. "He is in Bournemouth just now. He had sniffles." he explained rapidly, "and then he used to go to sleep, and snore. I hate people who snore, don't you?"
She laughed again. This was the most amazing of all possible employers.
"Of course," Bones went on, "I snore a bit myself. All thinkers do--I mean all brainy people. Not being a jolly old snorer yourself----"
"Thank you," said the girl.
Other tenants77 or the satellites of other tenants who occupied the palatial78 buildings wherein the office of Bones was situated79 saw, some few minutes later, a bare-headed young man dashing down the stairs three at a time; met him, half an hour later, staggering up those same stairs handicapped by a fifty-pound typewriter in one hand, and a chair in the style of the late Louis Quinze in the other, and wondered at the urgency of his movements.
"I want to tell you," said the girl, "that I know very little about shorthand."
"Shorthand is quite unnecessary, my dear--my jolly old stenographer80," said Bones firmly. "I object to shorthand on principle, and I shall always object to it. If people," he went on, "were intended to write shorthand, they would have been born without the alphabet. Another thing----"
"One moment, Mr. Tibbetts," she said. "I don't know a great deal about typewriting, either."
Bones beamed.
"There I can help you," he said. "Of course it isn't necessary that you should know anything about typewriting. But I can give you a few hints," he said. "This thing, when you jiggle it up and down, makes the thingummy-bob run along. Every time you hit one of these letters---- I'll show you.... Now, suppose I am writing 'Dear Sir,' I start with a 'D.' Now, where's that jolly old 'D'?" He scowled at the keyboard, shook his head, and shrugged81 his shoulders. "I thought so," he said; "there ain't a 'D.' I had an idea that that wicked old----"
"Here's the 'D,'" she pointed out.
Bones spent a strenuous82 but wholly delightful83 morning and afternoon. He was half-way home to his chambers84 in Curzon Street before he realized that he had not fixed the rather important question of salary. He looked forward to another pleasant morning making good that lapse85.
It was his habit to remain late at his office at least three nights a week, for Bones was absorbed in his new career.
"Schemes Ltd." was no meaningless title. Bones had schemes which embraced every field of industrial, philanthropic, and social activity. He had schemes for building houses, and schemes for planting rose trees along all the railway tracks. He had schemes for building motor-cars, for founding labour colonies, for harnessing the rise and fall of the tides, he had a scheme for building a theatre where the audience sat on a huge turn-table, and, at the close of one act, could be twisted round, with no inconvenience to themselves, to face a stage which has been set behind them. Piqued86 by a certain strike which had caused him a great deal of inconvenience, he was engaged one night working out a scheme for the provision of municipal taxicabs, and he was so absorbed in his wholly erroneous calculations that for some time he did not hear the angry voices raised outside the door of his private office.
Perhaps it was that that portion of his mind which had been left free to receive impressions was wholly occupied with a scheme--which appeared in no books or records--for raising the wages of his new secretary.
But presently the noise penetrated87 even to him, and he looked up with a touch of annoyance88.
"At this hour of the night! ... Goodness gracious ... respectable building!"
His disjointed comments were interrupted by the sound of a scuffle, an oath, a crash against his door and a groan89, and Bones sprang to the door and threw it open.
As he did so a man who was leaning against it fell in.
"Shut the door, quick!" he gasped90, and Bones obeyed.
The visitor who had so rudely irrupted himself was a man of middle age, wearing a coarse pea-jacket and blue jersey91 of a seaman92, his peaked hat covered with dust, as Bones perceived later, when the sound of scurrying93 footsteps had died away.
The man was gripping his left arm as if in pain, and a thin trickle94 of red was running down the back of his big hand.
"Sit down, my jolly old mariner95," said Bones anxiously. "What's the matter with you? What's the trouble, dear old sea-dog?"
The man looked up at him with a grimace96.
"They nearly got it, the swine!" he growled97.
He rolled up his sleeve and, deftly98 tying a handkerchief around a red patch, chuckled99:
"It is only a scratch," he said. "They've been after me for two days, Harry100 Weatherall and Jim Curtis. But right's right all the world over. I've suffered enough to get what I've got--starved on the high seas, and starved on Lomo Island. Is it likely that I'm going to let them share?"
Bones shook his head.
"You sit down, my dear old fellow," he said sympathetically.
The man thrust his hands laboriously101 into his inside pocket and pulled out a flat oilskin case. From this he extracted a folded and faded chart.
"I was coming up to see a gentleman in these buildings," he said, "a gentleman named Tibbetts."
Bones opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself.
"Me and Jim Curtis and young Harry, we were together in the _Serpent Queen_--my name's Dibbs. That's where we got hold of the yarn102 about Lomo Island, though we didn't believe there was anything in it. But when this Dago died----"
"Which Dago?" asked Bones.
"The Dago that knew all about it," said Mr. Dibbs impatiently, "and we come to split up his kit18 in his mess-bag, I found this." He shook the oilskin case in Bones's face. "Well, the first thing I did, when I got to Sydney, was to desert, and I got a chap from Wellington to put up the money to hire a boat to take me to Lomo. We were wrecked103 on Lomo."
"So you got there?" said Bones sympathetically.
"Six weeks I was on Lomo. Ate nothing but crabs104, drank nothing but rain-water. But the stuff was there all right, only"--he was very emphatic105, was this simple old sea-dog--"it wasn't under the third tree, but the fourth tree. I got down to the first of the boxes, and it was as much as I could do to lift it out. I couldn't trust any of the Kanaka boys who were with me."
"Naturally," said Bones. "An' I'll bet they didn't trust you, the naughty old Kanakas."
"Look here," said Mr. Dibbs, and he pulled out of his pocket a handful of gold coins which bore busts106 of a foreign-looking lady and gentleman. "Spanish gold, that is," he said. "There was four thousand in the little box. I filled both my pockets, and took 'em back to Sydney when we were picked up. I didn't dare try in Australia. 'That gold will keep,' I says to myself. 'I'll get back to England and find a man who will put up the money for an expedition'--a gentleman, you understand?"
"I quite understand," said Bones, all a-quiver with excitement.
"And then I met Harry and Jim. They said they'd got somebody who would put the money up, an American fellow, Rockefeller. Have you ever heard of him?"
"I've heard of him," said Bones; "he's got a paraffin mine."
"It may be he has, it may be he hasn't," said Mr. Dibbs and rose. "Well, sir, I'm very much obliged to you for your kindness. If you'll direct me to Mr. Tibbetts's office----"
It was a dramatic moment.
"I am Mr. Tibbetts," said Bones simply.
Blank incredulity was on the face of Mr. Dibbs.
"You?" he said. "But I thought Mr. Tibbetts was an older gentleman?"
"Dear old treasure-finder," said Bones, "be assured I am Mr. Tibbetts. This is my office, and this is my desk. People think I am older because----" He smiled a little sadly, then: "Sit down!" he thundered. "Let us go into this."
He went into the matter, and the City clocks were booming one when he led his mariner friend into the street.
He was late at the office the next morning, because he was young and healthy and required nine hours of the deepest slumber107 that Morpheus kept in stock.
The grey-eyed girl was typing at a very respectable speed the notes Bones had given her the evening before. There was a telegram awaiting him, which he read with satisfaction. Then:
"Leave your work, my young typewriter," said Bones imperiously. "I have a matter of the greatest importance to discuss with you! See that all the doors are closed," he whispered; "lock 'em if necessary."
"I hardly think that's necessary," said the girl. "You see, if anybody came and found all the doors locked----"
"Idiot!" said Bones, very red.
"I beg your pardon," said the startled girl.
"I was speaking to me," said Bones rapidly. "This is a matter of the greatest confidence, my jolly old Marguerite "--he paused, shaking at his temerity108, for it was only on the previous day that he had discovered her name--"a matter which requires tact109 and discretion110, young Marguerite----"
"You needn't say it twice," she said.
"Well once," said Bones, brightening up. "That's a bargain--I'll call you Marguerite once a day. Now, dear old Marguerite, listen to this."
She listened with the greatest interest, jotting111 down the preliminary expenses. Purchase of steamer, five thousand pounds; provisioning of same, three thousand pounds, etc., etc. She even undertook to make a copy of the plan which Mr. Dibbs had given into his charge, and which Bones told her had not left him day nor night.
"I put it in my pyjama pocket when I went to bed," he explained unnecessarily, "and----" He began to pat himself all over, consternation112 in his face.
"And you left it in your pyjama pocket," said the girl quietly. "I'll telephone to your house for it."
"Phew!" said Bones. "It seems incredible. I must have been robbed."
"I don't think so," said the girl; "it is probably under your pillow. Do you keep your pyjamas113 under your pillow?"
"That," said Bones, "is a matter which I never discuss in public. I hate to disappoint you, dear old Marguerite----"
"I'm sorry," said the girl, with such a simulation of regret that Bones dissolved into a splutter of contrition114.
A commissionaire and a taxicab brought the plan, which was discovered where the girl in her wisdom had suggested.
"I'm not so sure how much money I'm going to make out of this," said Bones off-handedly, after a thorough and searching examination of the project. "It is certain to be about three thousand pounds--it may be a million or two million. It'll be good for you, dear old stenographer."
She looked at him.
"I have decided," said Bones, playing with his paper-knife, "to allow you a commission of seven and a half per cent. on all profits. Seven and a half per cent. on two million is, roughly, fifty thousand pounds----"
She laughed her refusal.
"I like to be fair," said Bones.
"You like to be generous," she corrected him, "and because I am a girl, and pretty----"
"Oh, I say," protested Bones feebly--"oh, really you are not pretty at all. I am not influenced by your perfectly115 horrible young face, believe me, dear old Miss Marguerite. Now, I've a sense of fairness, a sense of justice----"
"Now, listen to me, Mr. Tibbetts." She swung her chair round to face him squarely. "I've got to tell you a little story."
Bones listened to that story with compressed lips and folded arms. He was neither shocked nor amazed, and the girl was surprised.
"Hold hard, young miss," he said soberly. "If this is a jolly old swindle, and if the naughty mariner----"
"His name is Webber, and he is an actor," she interrupted.
"And dooced well he acted," admitted Bones. "Well, if this is so, what about the other johnny who's putting up ten thousand to my fifteen thousand?"
This was a facer for the girl, and Bones glared his triumph.
"That is what the wicked old ship-sailer said. Showed me the money, an' I sent him straight off on the job. He said he'd got a Stock Exchange person named Morris----"
"Morris!" gasped the girl. "That is my step-father!"
Bones jumped up, a man inspired.
"The naughty old One, who married your sainted mother?" he gurgled. "My miss! My young an' jolly old Marguerite!"
He sat down at his desk, yanked open the drawer, and slapped down his cheque-book.
"Three thousand pounds," he babbled116, writing rapidly. "You'd better keep it for her, dear old friend of Faust."
"But I don't understand," she said, bewildered.
"Telegram," said Bones briefly117. "Read it."
She picked up the buff form and read. It was postmarked from Cowes, and ran:
"In accordance your telegraphed instructions, have sold your schooner-yacht to Mr. Dibbs, who paid cash. Did not give name of owner. Dibbs did not ask to see boat. All he wanted was receipt for money."
"They are calling this afternoon for my fifteen thousand," said Bones, cackling light-headedly. "Ring up jolly old Scotland Yard, and ask 'em to send me all the police they've got in stock!"
收听单词发音 |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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proprietorship
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| n.所有（权）；所有权 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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domesticated
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| adj.喜欢家庭生活的；（指动物）被驯养了的v.驯化( domesticate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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knowledgeable
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| adj.知识渊博的；有见识的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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poetically
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| adv.有诗意地，用韵文 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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19
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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21
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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22
annuity
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| n.年金；养老金 | |
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23
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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24
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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25
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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26
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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27
scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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29
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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30
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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31
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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32
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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33
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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34
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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35
ruminated
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| v.沉思( ruminate的过去式和过去分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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36
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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37
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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38
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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39
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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40
dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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42
purgatory
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| n.炼狱；苦难；adj.净化的，清洗的 | |
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43
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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44
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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45
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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46
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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47
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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48
utilizing
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| v.利用，使用( utilize的现在分词 ) | |
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49
nefarious
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| adj.恶毒的，极坏的 | |
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50
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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51
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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52
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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53
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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54
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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56
culmination
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| n.顶点；最高潮 | |
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57
paraphernalia
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| n.装备；随身用品 | |
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58
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
laconically
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| adv.简短地，简洁地 | |
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60
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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61
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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62
factotum
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| n.杂役；听差 | |
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63
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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64
scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
sprinted
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| v.短距离疾跑( sprint的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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67
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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68
harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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69
flex
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| n.皮线，花线；vt.弯曲或伸展 | |
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70
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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71
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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72
squeaking
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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73
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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74
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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75
smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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77
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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78
palatial
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| adj.宫殿般的，宏伟的 | |
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79
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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80
stenographer
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| n.速记员 | |
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81
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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82
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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83
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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84
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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85
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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86
piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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87
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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88
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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89
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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90
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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91
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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92
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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93
scurrying
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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94
trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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95
mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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96
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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97
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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98
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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99
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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101
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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102
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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103
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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104
crabs
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| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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105
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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106
busts
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| 半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 )； 妇女的胸部； 胸围； 突击搜捕 | |
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107
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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108
temerity
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| n.鲁莽，冒失 | |
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109
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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110
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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111
jotting
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| n.简短的笔记，略记v.匆忙记下( jot的现在分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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112
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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113
pyjamas
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| n.（宽大的）睡衣裤 | |
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114
contrition
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| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
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115
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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116
babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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117
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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