Such was the house, the household, and the business Mr Verloc left behind him on his way westward1 at the hour of half past ten in the morning. It was unusually early for him; his whole person exhaled2 the charm of almost dewy freshness; he wore his blue cloth overcoat unbuttoned; his boots were shiny; his cheeks, freshly shaven, had a sort of gloss3; and even his heavy- lidded eyes, refreshed by a night of peaceful slumber4, sent out glances of comparative alertness. Through the park railings these glances beheld5 men and women riding in the Row, couples cantering past harmoniously6, others advancing sedately7 at a walk, loitering groups of three or four, solitary8 horsemen looking unsociable, and solitary women followed at a long distance by a groom9 with a cockade to his hat and a leather belt over his tight-fitting coat. Carriages went bowling10 by, mostly two-horse broughams, with here and there a victoria with the skin of some wild beast inside and a woman's face and hat emerging above the folded hood11. And a peculiarly London sun - against which nothing could be said except that it looked bloodshot - glorified13 all this by its stare. It hung at a moderate elevation14 above Hyde Park Corner with an air of punctual and benign15 vigilance. The very pavement under Mr Verloc's feet had an old- gold tinge16 in that diffused17 light, in which neither wall, nor tree, nor beast, nor man cast a shadow. Mr Verloc was going westward through a town without shadows in an atmosphere of powdered old gold. There were red, coppery gleams on the roofs of houses, on the corners of walls, on the panels of carriages, on the very coats of the horses, and on the broad back of Mr Verloc's overcoat, where they produced a dull effect of rustiness18. But Mr Verloc was not in the least conscious of having got rusty19. He surveyed through the park railings the evidences of the town's opulence20 and luxury with an approving eye. All these people had to be protected. Protection is the first necessity of opulence and luxury. They had to be protected; and their horses, carriages, houses, servants had to be protected; and the source of their wealth had to be protected in the heart of the city and the heart of the country; the whole social order favourable to their hygienic idleness had to be protected against the shallow enviousness of unhygienic labour. It had to - and Mr Verloc would have rubbed his hands with satisfaction had he not been constitutionally averse21 from every superfluous22 exertion23. His idleness was not hygienic, but it suited him very well. He was in a manner devoted24 to it with a sort of inert25 fanaticism26, or perhaps rather with a fanatical inertness27. Born of industrious28 parents for a life of toil29, he had embraced indolence from an impulse as profound, as inexplicable30 and as imperious as the impulse which directs a man's preference for one particular woman in a given thousand. He was too lazy even for a mere31 demagogue, for a workman orator32, for a leader of labour. It was too much trouble. He required a more perfect form of ease; or it might have been that he was the victim of a philosophical33 unbelief in the effectiveness of every human effort. Such a form of indolence requires, implies, a certain amount of intelligence. Mr Verloc was not devoid34 of intelligence - and at the notion of a menaced social order he would perhaps have winked35 to himself if there had not been an effort to make in that sign of scepticism. His big, prominent eyes were not well adapted to winking36. They were rather of the sort that closes solemnly in slumber with majestic37 effect.
Undemonstrative and burly in a fat-pig style, Mr Verloc, without either rubbing his hands with satisfaction or winking sceptically at his thoughts, proceeded on his way. He trod the pavement heavily with his shiny boots, and his general get-up was that of a well-to-do mechanic in business for himself. He might have been anything from a picture-frame maker38 to a locksmith; an employer of labour in a small way. But there was also about him an indescribable air which no mechanic could have acquired in the practice of his handicraft however dishonestly exercised: the air common to men who live on the vices39, the follies40, or the baser fears of mankind; the air of moral nihilism common to keepers of gambling41 hells and disorderly houses; to private detectives and inquiry42 agents; to drink sellers and, I should say, to the sellers of invigorating electric belts and to the inventors of patent medicines. But of that last I am not sure, not having carried my investigations44 so far into the depths. For all I know, the expression of these last may be perfectly45 diabolic. I shouldn't be surprised. What I want to affirm is that Mr Verloc's expression was by no means diabolic.
Before reaching Knightsbridge, Mr Verloc took a turn to the left out of the busy main thoroughfare, uproarious with the traffic of swaying omnibuses and trotting47 vans, in the almost silent, swift flow of hansoms. Under his hat, worn with a slight backward tilt48, his hair had been carefully brushed into respectful sleekness49; for his business was with an embassy. And Mr Verloc, steady like a rock - a soft kind of rock - marched now along a street which could with every propriety52 be described as private. In its breadth, emptiness, and extent it had the majesty53 of inorganic54 nature, of matter that never dies. The only reminder55 of mortality was a doctor's brougham arrested in august solitude56 close to the kerbstone. The polished knockers of the doors gleamed as far as the eye could reach, the clean windows shone with a dark opaque57 lustre58. And all was still. But a milk cart rattled59 noisily across the distant perspective; a butcher boy, driving with the noble recklessness of a charioteer at Olympic Games, dashed round the corner sitting high above a pair of red wheels. A guilty-looking cat issuing from under the stones ran for a while in front of Mr Verloc, then dived into another basement; and a thick police constable60, looking a stranger to every emotion, as if he, too, were part of inorganic nature, surging apparently61 out of a lamp-post, took not the slightest notice of Mr Verloc. With a turn to the left Mr Verloc pursued his way along a narrow street by the side of a yellow wall which, for some inscrutable reason, had No. 1 Chesham Square written on it in black letters. Chesham Square was at least sixty yards away, and Mr Verloc, cosmopolitan62 enough not to be deceived by London's topographical mysteries, held on steadily63, without a sign of surprise or indignation. At last, with business-like persistency64, he reached the Square, and made diagonally for the number 20. This belonged to an imposing65 carriage gate in a high, clean wall between two houses, of which one rationally enough bore the number 9 and the other was numbered 37; but the fact that this last belonged to Porthill Street, a street well known in the neighbourhood, was proclaimed by an inscription66 placed above the ground-floor windows by whatever highly efficient authority is charged with the duty of keeping track of London's strayed houses. Why powers are not asked of Parliament (a short Act would do) for compelling those edifices67 to return where they belong is one of the mysteries of municipal administration. Mr Verloc did not trouble his head about it, his mission in life being the protection of the social mechanism68, not its perfectionment or even its criticism.
It was so early that the porter of the Embassy issued hurriedly out of his lodge69 still struggling with the left sleeve of his livery coat. His waistcoat was red, and he wore knee-breeches, but his aspect was flustered70. Mr Verloc, aware of the rush on his flank, drove it off by simply holding out an envelope stamped with the arms of the Embassy, and passed on. He produced the same talisman71 also to the footman who opened the door, and stood back to let him enter the hall.
A clear fire burned in a tall fireplace, and an elderly man standing72 with his back to it, in evening dress and with a chain round his neck, glanced up from the newspaper he was holding spread out in both hands before his calm and severe face. He didn't move; but another lackey73, in brown trousers and clawhammer coat edged with thin yellow cord, approaching Mr Verloc listened to the murmur74 of his name, and turning round on his heel in silence, began to walk, without looking back once. Mr Verloc, thus led along a ground-floor passage to the left of the great carpeted staircase, was suddenly motioned to enter a quite small room furnished with a heavy writing-table and a few chairs. The servant shut the door, and Mr Verloc remained alone. He did not take a seat. With his hat and stick held in one hand he glanced about, passing his other podgy hand over his uncovered sleek50 head.
Another door opened noiselessly, and Mr Verloc immobilizing his glance in that direction saw at first only black clothes. The bald top of a head, and a drooping75 dark grey whisker on each side of a pair of wrinkled hands. The person who had entered was holding a batch76 of papers before his eyes and walked up to the table with a rather mincing77 step, turning the papers over the while. Privy78 Councillor Wurmt, Chancellor79 d'Ambassade, was rather shortsighted. This meritorious80 official, laying the papers on the table, disclosed a face of pasty complexion81 and of melancholy82 ugliness surrounded by a lot of fine, long, dark grey hairs, barred heavily by thick and bushy eyebrows83. He put on a black-framed pince-nez upon a blunt and shapeless nose, and seemed struck by Mr Verloc's appearance. Under the enormous eyebrows his weak eyes blinked pathetically through the glasses.
He made no sign of greeting; neither did Mr Verloc who certainly knew his place; but a subtle change about the general outlines of his shoulders and back suggested a slight bending of Mr Verloc's spine84 under the vast surface of his overcoat. The effect was of unobtrusive deference85.
`I have here some of your reports,' said the bureaucrat86 in an unexpectedly soft and weary voice, and pressing the tip of his forefinger87 on the papers with force. He paused; and Mr Verloc, who had recognized his own handwriting very well, waited in an almost breathless silence. `We are not very satisfied with the attitude of the police here,' the other continued, with every appearance of mental fatigue88.'
The shoulders of Mr Verloc, without actually moving, suggested a shrug89. And for the first time since he left his home that morning his lips opened.
`Every country has its police,' he said, philosophically90. But as the official of the Embassy went on blinking at him steadily he felt constrained91 to add: `Allow me to observe that I have no means of action upon the police here.'
`What is desired,' said the man of papers, `is the occurrence of something definite which should stimulate92 their vigilance. That is within your province - is it not so?'
Mr Verloc made no answer except by a sigh, which escaped him involuntarily, for instantly he tried to give his face a cheerful expression. The official blinked doubtfully, as if affected93 by the dim light of the room. He repeated vaguely94:
`The vigilance of the police - and the severity of the magistrates95. The general leniency96 of the judicial97 procedure here, and the utter absence of all repressive measures, are a scandal to Europe. What is wished for just now is the accentuation of the unrest - of the fermentation which undoubtedly98 exists--'
`Undoubtedly, undoubtedly,' broke in Mr Verloc in a deep, deferential99 bass51 of an oratorical100 quality, so utterly101 different from the tone in which he had spoken before that his interlocutor remained profoundly surprised. `It exists to a dangerous degree. My reports for the last twelve months make it sufficiently103 clear.'
`Your reports for the last twelve months,' State Councillor Wurmt began in his gentle and dispassionate tone, `have been read by me. I failed to discover why you wrote them at all.'
A sad silence reigned105 for a time. Mr Verloc seemed to have swallowed his tongue, and the other gazed at the papers on the table fixedly106. At last he gave them a slight push.
`The state of affairs you expose there is assumed to exist as the first condition of your employment. What is required at present is not writing, but the bringing to light of a distinct, significant fact - I would almost say of an alarming fact.'
`I need not say that all my endeavours shall be directed to that end,' Mr Verloc said, with convinced modulations in his conversational107 husky tone. But the sense of being blinked at watchfully108 behind the blind glitter of these eyeglasses on the other side of the table disconcerted him. He stopped short with a gesture of absolute devotion. The useful hard-working, if obscure member of the Embassy had an air of being impressed by some newly born thought.
`You are very corpulent,' he said.
This observation, really of a psychological nature, and advanced with the modest hesitation110 of an officeman more familiar with ink and paper than with the requirements of active life, stung Mr Verloc in the manner of a rude personal remark. He stepped back a pace.
`Eh? What were you pleased to say?' he exclaimed, with husky resentment111.
The Chancellor d'Ambassade, entrusted112 with the conduct of this interview, seemed to find it too much for him.
`I think,' he said, `that you had better see Mr Vladimir. Yes, decidedly I think you ought to see Mr Vladimir. Be good enough to wait here,' he added, and went out with mincing steps.
At once Mr Verloc passed his hand over his hair. A slight perspiration113 had broken out of his forehead. He let the air escape from his pursed-up lips like a man blowing at a spoonful of hot soup. But when the servant in brown appeared at the door silently, Mr Verloc had not moved an inch from the place he had occupied throughout the interview. He had remained motionless, as if feeling himself surrounded by pitfalls114.
He walked along a passage lighted by a lonely gas-jet, then up a flight of winding115 stairs, and through a glazed116 and cheerful corridor on the first floor. The footman threw open a door, and stood aside. The feet of Mr Verloc felt a thick carpet. The room was large, with three windows; and a young man with a shaven, big face, sitting in a roomy armchair before a vast mahogany writing-table, said in French to the Chancellor d'Ambassade, who was going out with the papers in his hand:
`You are quite right, mon cher. He's fat - the animal.'
Mr Vladimir, First Secretary, had a drawing-room reputation as an agreeable and entertaining man. He was something of a favourite in society. His wit consisted in discovering droll connections between incongruous ideas; and when talking in that strain he sat well forward on his seat, with his left hand raised, as if exhibiting his funny demonstrations118 between the thumb and forefinger, while his round and clean-shaven face wore an expression of merry perplexity.
But there was no trace of merriment or perplexity in the way he looked at Mr Verloc. Lying far back in the deep armchair, with squarely spread elbows, and throwing one leg over a thick knee, he had with his smooth and rosy119 countenance120 the air of a preternaturally thriving baby that will not stand nonsense from anybody.
`You understand French, I suppose?' he said.
Mr Verloc stated huskily that he did. His whole vast bulk had a forward inclination121. He stood on the carpet in the middle of the room, clutching his hat and stick in one hand; the other hung lifelessly by his side. He muttered unobtrusively somewhere deep down in his throat something about having done his military service in the French artillery122. At once, with contemptuous perversity123, Mr Vladimir changed the language, and began to speak idiomatic124 English without the slightest trace of a foreign accent.
`Ah! Yes. Of course. Let's see. How much did you get for obtaining the design of the improved breech-block of their new field-gun?'
`Five years' rigorous confinement125 in a fortress,' Mr Verloc answered, unexpectedly, but without any sign of feeling.
`You got off easily,' was Mr Vladimir's comment. `And, anyhow, it served you right for letting yourself get caught. What made you go in for that sort of thing - eh?'
Mr Verloc's husky conversational voice was heard speaking of youth, of a fatal infatuation for an unworthy--`Aha! Cherchez la femme,' Mr Vladimir deigned126 to interrupt, unbending, but without affability; there was, on the contrary, a touch of grimness in his condescension127. `How long have you been employed by the Embassy here?' he asked.
`Ever since the time of the late Baron128 Stott-Wartenheim,' Mr Verloc answered in subdued129 tones, and protruding130 his lips sadly, in sign of sorrow for the deceased diplomat131. The First Secretary observed this play of physiognomy steadily.
`Ah! ever since... Well! What have you got to say for yourself?' he asked, sharply.
Mr Verloc answered with some surprise that he was not aware of having anything special to say. He had been summoned by a letter - And he plunged132 his hand busily into the side pocket of his overcoat, but before the mocking, cynical133 watchfulness134 of Mr Vladimir, concluded to leave it there.
`Bah!' said the latter. `What do you mean by getting out of condition like this? You haven't got even the physique of your profession. You - a member of a starving proletariat - never! You - a desperate socialist135 or anarchist136 - which is it?'
`Anarchist,' stated Mr Verloc in a deadened tone.
`Bosh!' went on Mr Vladimir, without raising his voice. `You startled old Wurmt himself. You wouldn't deceive an idiot. They all are that by-the-by, but you seem to me simply impossible. So you began your connection with us by stealing the French gun designs. And you got yourself caught. That must have been very disagreeable to our Government. You don't seem to be very smart.
Mr Verloc tried to exculpate137 himself huskily.
`As I've had occasion to observe before, a fatal infatuation for an unworthy--'
Mr Vladimir raised a large, white, plump hand.
`Ah, yes. The unlucky attachment138 - of your youth. She got hold of the money, and then sold you to the police - eh?'
The doleful change in Mr Verloc's physiognomy, the momentary139 drooping of his whole person, confessed that such was the regrettable case. Mr Vladimir's hand clasped the ankle reposing on his knee. The sock was of dark blue silk.
`You see, that was not very clever of you. Perhaps you are too susceptible140.'
Mr Verloc intimated in a throaty, veiled murmur that he was no longer young.
`Oh! That's a failing which age does not cure,' Mr Vladimir remarked, with sinister141 familiarity. `But no! You are too fat for that. You could not have come to look' like this if you had been at all susceptible. I'll tell you what I think is the matter: you are a lazy fellow. How long have you been drawing pay from this Embassy?'
`Eleven years,' was the answer, after a moment of sulky hesitation. `I've been charged with several missions to London while His Excellency Baron Stott-Wartenheim was still Ambassador in Paris. Then by his Excellency's instructions I settled down in London. I am English.'
`You are! Are you? Eh?'
`A natural-born British subject,' Mr Verloc said, stolidly142. `But my father was French, and so--'
`Never mind explaining,' interrupted the other. `I daresay you could have been legally a Marshal of France and a Member of Parliament in England - and then, indeed, you would have been of some use to our Embassy.'
This flight of fancy provoked something like a faint smile on Mr Verloc's face. Mr Vladimir retained an imperturbable143 gravity.
`But, as I've said, you are a lazy fellow; you don't use your opportunities. In the time of Baron Stott-Wartenheim we had a lot of soft-headed people running this Embassy. They caused fellows of your sort to form a false conception of the nature of a secret service fund. It is my business to correct this misapprehension by telling you what the secret service is not. It is not a philanthropic institution. I've had you called here on purpose to tell you this.'
Mr Vladimir observed the forced expression of bewilderment on Verloc's face, and smiled sarcastically144.
`I see that you understand me perfectly. I daresay you are intelligent enough for your work. What we want now is activity - activity.'
On repeating this last word Mr Vladimir laid a long white forefinger on the edge of the desk. Every trace of huskiness disappeared from Verloc's voice. The nape of his gross neck became crimson145 above the velvet146 collar of his overcoat. His lips quivered before they came widely open.
`If you'll only be good enough to look up my record,' he boomed out in his great, clear, oratorical bass, `you'll see I gave a warning only three months ago on the occasion of the Grand Duke Romuald's visit to Paris, which was telegraphed from here to the French police, and--'
`Tut, tut!' broke out Mr Vladimir, with a frowning grimace147. `The French police had no use for your warning. Don't roar like this. What the devil do you mean?'
With a note of proud humility148 Mr Verloc apologized for forgetting himself. His voice, famous for years at open-air meetings and at workmen's assemblies in large halls, had contributed, he said, to his reputation of a good and trustworthy comrade. It was, therefore, a part of his usefulness. It had inspired confidence in his principles. `I was always put up to speak by the leaders at a critical moment,' Mr Verloc declared, with obvious satisfaction. There was no uproar46 above which he could not make himself heard, he added; and suddenly he made a demonstration117.
`Allow me,' he said. With lowered forehead, without looking up, swiftly and ponderously149, he crossed the room to one of the french windows. As if giving way to an uncontrollable impulse, he opened it a little. Mr Vladimir, jumping up amazed from the depths of the armchair, looked over his shoulder; and below, across the courtyard of the Embassy, well beyond the open gate, could be seen the broad back of a policeman watching idly the gorgeous perambulator of a wealthy baby being wheeled in state across the Square.
`Constable!' said Mr Verloc, with no more effort than if he were whispering; and Mr Vladimir burst into a laugh on seeing the policeman spin round as if prodded151 by a sharp instrument. Mr Verloc shut the window quietly, and returned to the middle of the room.
`With a voice like that,' he said, putting on the husky conversational pedal, `I was naturally trusted. And I knew what to say, too.'
Mr Vladimir, arranging his cravat152, observed him in the glass over the mantelpiece.
`I daresay you have the social revolutionary jargon153 by heart well enough,' he said, contemptuously. `Vox et... You haven't ever studied Latin - have you?'
`No', growled155 Mr Verloc. `You did not expect me to know it. I belong to the million. Who knows Latin? Only a few hundred imbeciles who aren't fit to take care of themselves.'
For some thirty seconds longer Mr Vladimir studied in the mirror the fleshy profile, the gross bulk, of the man behind him. And at the same time he had the advantage of seeing his own face, clean-shaved and round, rosy about the gills, and with the thin, sensitive lips formed exactly for the utterance156 of those delicate witticisms157 which had made him such a favourite in the very highest society. Then he turned, and advanced into the room with such determination that the very ends of his quaintly158 old-fashioned bow necktie seemed to bristle159 with unspeakable menaces. The movement was so swift and fierce that Mr Verloc, casting an oblique160 glance, quailed161 inwardly. `Aha! You dare be impudent,' Mr Vladimir began, with an amazingly guttural intonation162 not only utterly un-English, but absolutely un-European, and startling even to Mr Verloc's experience of cosmopolitan slums. `You dare! Well, I am going to speak English to you. Voice won't do. We have no use for your voice. We don't want a voice. We want facts - startling facts - damn you,' he added, with a sort of ferocious163 discretion164, right into Mr Verloc's face.
`Don't you try to come over me with your Hyperborean manners.' Mr Verloc defended himself, huskily, looking at the carpet. At this his interlocutor, smiling mockingly above the bristling165 bow of his necktie, switched the conversation into French.
`You give yourself for an agent provocateur. The proper business of an agent provocateur is to provoke. As far as I can judge from your record kept here, you have done nothing to earn your money for the last three years.'
`Nothing!' exclaimed Verloc, stirring not a limb, and not raising his eyes, bat with the note of sincere feeling in his tone. `I have several times prevented what might have been--'
`There is a proverb in this country which says prevention is better than cure,' interrupted Mr Vladimir, throwing himself into the armchair. `It is stupid in a general way. There is no end to prevention. But it is characteristic. They dislike finality in this country. Don't you be too English. And in this particular instance, don't be absurd. The evil is already here. We don't want prevention - we want cure.'
He paused, turned to the desk, and turning over some papers lying there, spoke102 in a changed, business-like tone, without looking at Mr Verloc.
`You know, of course, of the International Conference assembled in Milan?'
Mr Verloc intimated hoarsely166 that he was in the habit of reading the daily papers. To a further question his answer was that, of course, he understood what he read. At this Mr Vladimir, smiling faintly at the documents he was still scanning one after another, murmured `As long as it is not written in Latin, I suppose.
`Or Chinese,' added Mr Verloc, stolidly.
`H'm. Some of your revolutionary friends' effusions are written in a charabia every bit as incomprehensible as Chinese - `Mr Vladimir let fall disdainfully a grey sheet of printed matter. `What are all these leaflets headed F.P., with a hammer, pen, and torch crossed? What does it mean, this F.P.?' Mr Verloc approached the imposing writing-table.
`The Future of the Proletariat. It's a society,' he explained, standing ponderously by the side of the armchair, `not anarchist in principle, but open to all shades of revolutionary opinion.'
`Are you in it?'
`One of the Vice-Presidents,' Mr Verloc breathed out heavily; and the First Secretary of the Embassy raised his head to look at him.
`Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself,' he said, incisively167. `Isn't your society capable of anything else but printing this prophetic bosh in blunt type on this filthy169 paper - eh? Why don't you do something? Look here. I've this matter in hand now, and I tell you plainly that you will have to earn your money. The good old Stott-Wartenheim times are over. No work, no pay.'
Mr Verloc felt a queer sensation of faintness in his stout170 legs. He stepped back one pace, and blew his nose loudly.
He was, in truth, startled and alarmed. The rusty London sunshine struggling clear of the London mist shed a lukewarm brightness into the First Secretary's private room: and in the silence Mr Verloc heard against a window-pane the faint buzzing of a fly - his first fly of the year - heralding171 better than any number of swallows the approach of spring. The useless fussing of that tiny, energetic organism affected unpleasantly this big man threatened in his indolence.
In the pause Mr Vladimir formulated172 in his mind a series of disparaging173 remarks concerning Mr Verloc's face and figure. Thefellow was unexpectedly vulgar, heavy, and impudently174 unintelligent. He looked uncommonly175 like a master plumber176 come to present his bill. The First Secretary of the Embassy, from his occasional excursions into the field of American humour, had formed a special notion of that class of mechanic as the embodiment of fraudulent laziness and incompetency177.
This was then the famous and trusty secret agent, so secret that he was never designated otherwise but by the symbol D in the late Baron Stott-Wartenheim's official, semi-official, and confidential178 correspondence; the celebrated179 agent D whose warnings had the power to change the schemes and the dates of royal, imperial, grand-ducal journeys, and sometimes cause them to be put off altogether! This fellow! And Mr Vladimir indulged mentally in an enormous and derisive180 fit of merriment, partly at his own astonishment181, which he judged naive182, but mostly at the expense of the universally regretted Baron Stott-Wartenheim. His late Excellency, whom the august favour of his Imperial master had imposed as Ambassador upon several reluctant Ministers of Foreign Affairs, had enjoyed in his lifetime a fame for an owlish, pessimistic gullibility183. His Excellency had the social revolution on the brain. He imagined himself to be a diplomatist set apart by a special dispensation to watch the end of diplomacy184, and pretty nearly the end of the world, in a horrid185, democratic upheaval186. His prophetic and doleful dispatches had been for years the joke of Foreign Offices. He was said to have exclaimed on his death-bed (visited by his Imperial friend and master): `Unhappy Europe! Thou shalt perish by the moral insanity187 of thy children!' He was fated to be the victim of the first humbugging rascal188 that came along, thought Mr Vladimir, smiling vaguely at Mr Verloc.
`You ought to venerate189 the memory of Baron Stott-Wartenheim,' he exclaimed, suddenly.
The lowered physiognomy of Mr Verloc expressed a sombre and weary annoyance190.
`Permit me to observe to you,' he said, `that I came here because I was summoned by a peremptory191 letter. I have been here only twice before in the last eleven years, and certainly never at eleven in the morning. It isn't very wise to call me up like this. There is just a chance of being seen. And that would be no joke for me.'
Mr Vladimir shrugged192 his shoulders.
`It would destroy my usefulness,' continued the other hotly.
`That's your affair,' murmured Mr Vladimir, with soft brutality194. `When you cease to be useful you shall cease to be employed. Yes. Right off. Cut short. You shall--' Mr Vladimir, frowning, paused, at a loss for a sufficiently idiomatic expression, and instantly brightened up, with a grin of beautifully white teeth. `You shall be chucked,' he brought out, ferociously195.
Once more Mr Verloc had to react with all the force of his will against that sensation of faintness running down one's legs which once upon a time had inspired some poor devil with the felicitous196 expression: `My heart went down into my boots.' Mr Verloc, aware of the sensation, raised his head bravely.
Mr Vladimir bore the look of heavy inquiry with perfect serenity197.
`What we want is to administer a tonic198 to the Conference in Milan, he said, airily. `Its deliberations upon international action for the suppression of political crime don't seem to get anywhere. England lags. This country is absurd with its sentimental199 regard for individual liberty. It's intolerable to think that all your friends have got only to come over to--'
`In that way I have them all under my eye,' Mr Verloc interrupted, huskily.
`It would be much more to the point to have them all under lock and key. England must be brought into line. The imbecile bourgeoisie of this country make themselves the accomplices200 of the very people whose aim is to drive them out of their houses to starve in ditches. And they have the political power still, if they only had the sense to use it for their preservation201. I suppose you agree that the middle classes are stupid?'
Mr Verloc agreed hoarsely. `They are.'
`They have no imagination. They are blinded by an idiotic202 vanity. What they want just now is a jolly good scare. This is the psychological moment to set your friends to work. I have had you called here to develop to you my idea.'
And Mr Vladimir developed his idea from on high, with scorn and condescension, displaying at the same time an amount of ignorance as to the real aims, thoughts, and methods of the revolutionary world which filled the silent Mr Verloc with inward consternation203. He confounded causes with effects more than was excusable; the most distinguished204 propagandists with impulsive205 bomb throwers; assumed organization where in the nature of things it could not exist; spoke of the social revolutionary party one moment as of a perfectly disciplined army, where the word of chiefs was supreme206, and at another as if it had been the loosest association of desperate brigands207 that ever camped in a mountain gorge150. Once Mr Verloc had opened his mouth for a protest, but the raising of a shapely, large white hand arrested him. Very soon he became too appalled208 to even try to protest. He listened in a stillness of dread209 which resembled the immobility of profound attention.
`A series of outrages211,' Mr Vladimir continued, calmly, `executed here in this country; not only planned here - that would not do - they would not mind. Your friends could set half the Continent on fire without influencing the public opinion here in favour of a universal repressive legislation. They will not look outside their backyard here.'
Mr Verloc cleared his throat, but his heart failed him, and he said nothing.
`These outrages need not be especially sanguinary,' Mr Vladimir went on, as if delivering a scientific lecture, `but they must sufficiently startling - effective. Let them be directed against buildings, for instance. What is the fetish of the hour that all the bourgeoisie recognize - eh, Mr Verloc?'
Mr Verloc opened his hands and shrugged his shoulders slightly.
`You are too lazy to think,' was Mr Vladimir's comment upon that gesture. `Pay attention to what I say. The fetish of today is neither royalty212 nor religion. Therefore the palace and the church should be left alone. You understand what I mean, Mr Verloc?'
The dismay and the scorn of Mr Verloc found vent43 in an attempt at levity213.
`Perfectly. But what of the Embassies? A series of attacks on the various Embassies,' he began; but he could not withstand the cold, watchful109 stare of the First Secretary.
`You can be facetious214, I see,' the latter observed, carelessly. `That's all right. It may enliven your oratory215 at socialistic congresses. But this room is no place for it. It would be infinitely216 safer for you to follow carefully what I am saying. As you are being called upon to furnish facts instead of cock-and-bull stories, you had better try to make your profit off what I am taking the trouble to explain to you. The sacrosanct217 fetish of today is science. Why don't you get some of your friends to go for that wooden-faced panjandrum - eh? Is it not part of these institutions which must be swept away before the F.P. comes along?'
Mr Verloc said nothing. He was afraid to open his lips lest a groan218 should escape him.
`This is what you should try for. An attempt upon a crowned head or on a president is sensational219 enough in a way, but not so much as it used to be. It has entered into the general conception of the existence of all chiefs of state. It's almost conventional - especially since so many presidents have been assassinated220. Now let us take an outrage210 upon - say, a church. Horrible enough at first sight, no doubt, and yet not so effective as a person of an ordinary mind might think. No matter how revolutionary and anarchist in inception221, there would be fools enough to give such an outrage the character of a religious manifestation222. And that would detract from the especial alarming significance we wish to give to the act. A murderous attempt on a restaurant or a theatre would suffer in the same way from the suggestion of non-political passion; the exasperation223 of a hungry man, an act of social revenge. All this is used up; it is no longer instructive as an object lesson in revolutionary anarchism. Every newspaper has ready-made phrases to explain such manifestations224 away. I am about to give you the philosophy of bomb throwing from my point of view; from the point of view you pretend to have been serving for the last eleven years. I will try not to talk above your head. The sensibilities of the class you are attacking are soon blunted. Property seems to them an indestructible thing. You can't count upon their emotions either of pity or fear for very long. A bomb outrage to have any influence on public opinion now must go beyond the intention of vengeance225 or terrorism. It must be purely226 destructive. It must be that, and only that, beyond the faintest suspicion of any other object. You anarchists227 should make it clear that you are perfectly determined228 to make a clean sweep of the whole social creation. But how to get that appallingly229 absurd notion into the heads of the middle classes so that there should be no mistake? That's the question. By directing your blows at something outside the ordinary passions of humanity is theanswer. Of course, there is art. A bomb in the National Gallery would make some noise. But it would not be serious enough. Art has never been their fetish. It's like breaking a few back windows in a man's house; whereas, if you want to make him really sit up, you must try at least to raise the roof. There would be some screaming of course, but from whom? Artists - art critics and such like - people of no account. Nobody minds what they say. But there is learning - science. Any imbecile that has got an income believes in that. He does not know why, but he believes it matters somehow. It is the sacrosanct fetish. All the damned professors are radicals230 at heart. Let them know that their great panjandrum has got to go, too, to make room for the Future of the Proletariat. A howl from all these intellectual idiots is bound to help forward the labours of the Milan Conference. They will be writing to the papers. Their indignation would be above suspicion, no material interests being openly at stake, and it will alarm every selfishness of the class which should be impressed. They believe that in some mysterious way science is at the source of their material prosperity. They do. And the absurd ferocity of such a demonstration will affect them more profoundly than the mangling231 of a whole street - or theatre - full of their own kind. To that last they can always say: "Oh! it's mere class hate." But what is one to say to an act of destructive ferocity so absurd as to be incomprehensible, inexplicable, almost unthinkable; in fact, mad? Madness alone is truly terrifying, inasmuch as you cannot placate232 it either by threats, persuasion233, or bribes234. Moreover, I am a civilized235 man. I would never dream of directing you to organize a mere butchery, even if I expected the best results from it. But I wouldn't expect from a butchery the result I want. Murder is always with us. It is almost an institution. The demonstration must be against learning - science. But not every science will do. The attack must have all the shocking senselessness of gratuitous236 blasphemy237. Since bombs are your means of expression, it would be really telling if one could throw a bomb into pure mathematics. But that is impossible. I have been trying to educate you; I have expounded238 to you the higher philosophy of your usefulness, and suggested to you some serviceable arguments. The practical application of my teaching interests you mostly. But from the moment I have undertaken to interview you I have also given some attention to the practical aspect of the question. What do you think of having a go at astronomy?'
For some time already Mr Verloc's immobility by the side of the armchair resembled a state of collapsed239 coma240 - a sort of passive insensibility interrupted by slight convulsive starts, such as may be observed in the domestic dog having a nightmare on the hearthrug. And it was in an uneasy, doglike growl154 that he repeated the word:
`Astronomy.'
He had not recovered thoroughly241 as yet from the state of bewilderment brought about by the effort to follow Mr Vladimir's rapid, incisive168 utterance. It had overcome his power of assimilation. It had made him angry. This anger was complicated by incredulity. And suddenly it dawned upon him that all this was an elaborate joke. Mr Vladimir exhibited his white teeth in a smile, with dimples on his round, full face posed with a complacent242 inclination above the bristling bow of his necktie. The favourite of intelligent society women had assumed his drawing-room attitude accompanying the delivery of delicate witticisms. Sitting well forward, his white hand upraised, he seemed to hold delicately between his thumb and forefinger the subtlety243 of his suggestion.
`There could be nothing better. Such an outrage combines the greatest possible regard for humanity with the most alarming display of ferocious imbecility. I defy the ingenuity244 of journalists to persuade their public that any given member of the proletariat can have a personal grievance245 against astronomy. Starvation itself could hardly be dragged in there - eh? And there are other advantages. The whole civilized world has heard of Greenwich. The very bootblacks in the basement of Charing246 Cross Station know something of it. See?'
The features of Mr Vladimir, so well known in the best society by their humorous urbanity, beamed with cynical self-satisfaction, which would have astonished the intelligent women his wit entertained so exquisitely247. `Yes,' he continued, with a contemptuous smile, `the blowing up of the first meridian248 is bound to raise a howl of execration249.'
`A difficult business,' Mr Verloc mumbled250, feeling that this was the only safe thing to say.
`What is the matter? Haven't you the whole gang under your hand? The very pick of the basket? That old terrorist Yundt is here. I see him walking about Piccadilly in his green havelock almost every day. And Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle - you don't mean to say you don't know where he is? Because if you don't, I can tell you,' Mr Vladimir went on menacingly. `If you imagine that you are the only one in the secret fund list, you are mistaken.'
This perfectly gratuitous suggestion caused Mr Verloc to shuffle251 his feet slightly.
`And the whole Lausanne lot - eh? Haven't they been flocking over here at the first hint of the Milan Conference? This is an absurd country.'
`It will cost money,' Mr Verloc said, by a sort of instinct.
`That cock won't fight,' Mr Vladimir retorted, with an amazingly genuine English accent. `You'll get your screw every month, and no more till something happens. And if nothing happens very soon you won't get even that. What's your ostensible252 occupation? What are you supposed to live by?'
`I keep a shop,' answered Mr Verloc. `A shop! What sort of shop?' `Stationery, newspapers. My wife--'
`Your what?' interrupted Mr Vladimir in his guttural Central Asian tones.
`My wife.' Mr Verloc raised his husky voice slightly. `I am married.'
`That be damned for a yarn,' exclaimed the other in unfeigned astonishment. `Married! And you a professed253 anarchist, too! What is this confounded nonsense? But I suppose it's merely a manner of speaking. Anarchists don't marry. It's well known. They can't. It would be apostasy254.
`My wife isn't one,' Mr Verloc mumbled, sulkily. `Moreover, it's no concern of yours.'
`Oh, yes, it is,' snapped Mr Vladimir. `I am beginning to be convinced that you are not at all the man for the work you've been employed on. Why, you must have discredited255 yourself completely in your own world by your marriage. Couldn't you have managed without? This is your virtuous256 attachment - eh? What with one sort of attachment and another you are doing away with your usefulness.'
Mr Verloc, puffing257 out his cheeks, let the air escape violently, and that was all. He had armed himself with patience. It was not to be tried much longer. The First Secretary became suddenly very curt258, detached, final.
`You may go now,' he said. `A dynamite259 outrage must be provoked. I give you a month. The sittings of the Conference are suspended. Before it reassembles again something must have happened here, or your connection with us ceases.'
He changed the note once more with an unprincipled versatility260.
`Think over my philosophy, Mr - Mr - Verloc,' he said, with a sort of chaffing condescension, waving his hand towards the door. `Go for the first meridian. You don't know the middle classes as well as I do. Their sensibilities are jaded261. The first meridian. Nothing better, and nothing easier, I should think.'
He had got up, and with his thin sensitive lips twitching262 humorously, watched in the glass over the mantelpiece Mr Verloc backing out of the room heavily, hat and stick in hand. The door closed.
The footman in trousers, appearing suddenly in the corridor, led Mr Verloc another way out and through a small door in the corner of the courtyard. The porter standing at the gate ignored his exit completely; and Mr Verloc retraced263 the path of his morning's pilgrimage as if in a dream - an angry dream. This detachment from the material world was so complete that, though the mortal envelope of Mr Verloc had not hastened unduly264 along the streets, that part of him to which it would be unwarrantably rude to refuse immortality265, found itself at the shop door all at once, as borne from west to east on the wings of a great wind. He walked straight behind the counter, and sat down on a wooden chair that stood there. No one appeared to disturb his solitude. Stevie, put into a green baize apron266, was now sweeping267 and dusting upstairs, intent and conscientious268, as though he were playing at it; and Mrs Verloc, warned in the kitchen by the clatter269 of the cracked bell, had merely come to the glazed door of the parlour, and putting the curtain aside a little, had peered into the dim shop. Seeing her husband sitting there shadowy and bulky, with his hat tilted270 far back on his head, she had at once returned to her stove.
An hour or more later she took the green baize apron off her brother Stevie, and instructed him to wash his hands and face in the peremptory tone she had used in that connection for fifteen years or so - ever since she had, in fact, ceased to attend to the boy's hands and face herself. She spared presently a glance away from her dishing-up for the inspection271 of that face and those hands which Stevie, approaching the kitchen table, offered for her approval with an air of self-assurance hiding a perpetual residue272 of anxiety. Formerly273 the anger of the father was the supremely274 effective sanction of these rites275, but Mr Verloc's placidity276 in domestic life would have made all mention of anger incredible - even to poor Stevie's nervousness. The theory was that Mr Verloc would have been inexpressibly pained and shocked by any deficiency of cleanliness at meal times. Winnie after the death of her father found considerable consolation277 in the feeling that she need no longer tremble for poor Stevie. She could not bear to see the boy hurt. It maddened her. As a little girl she had often faced with blazing eyes the irascible licensed278 victualler in defence of her brother. Nothing now in Mrs Verloc's appearance could lead one to suppose that she was capable of a passionate104 demonstration.
She finished her dishing-up. The table was laid in the parlour. Going to the foot of the stairs she screamed out `Mother!' Then opening the glazed door leading to the shop, `Adolf!' Mr Verloc had not changed his position; he had not apparently stirred a limb for an hour and a half. He got up heavily, and came to his dinner in his overcoat and with his hat on, without uttering a word. His silence in itself had nothing startlingly unusual in this household, hidden in the shades of the sordid279 street seldom touched by the sun, behind the dim shop with its wares280 of disreputable rubbish. Only that day Mr Verloc's taciturnity was so obviously thoughtful that the two women were impressed by it. They sat silent themselves, keeping a watchful eye on poor Stevie, lest he should break out into one of his fits of loquacity281. He faced Mr Verloc across the table, and remained very good and quiet, staring vacantly. The endeavour to keep him from making himself objectionable in any way to the master of the house put no inconsiderable anxiety into these two women's lives. `The boy,' as they alluded282 to him softly between themselves, had been a source of that sort of anxiety almost from the very day of his birth. The late licensed victualler's humiliation283 at having such a very peculiar12 boy for a son manifested itself by a propensity284 to brutal193 treatment; for he was a person of fine sensibilities, and his sufferings as a man and a father were perfectly genuine. Afterwards Stevie had to be kept from making himself a nuisance to the single gentlemen lodgers285, who are themselves a queer lot, and are easily aggrieved286. And there was always the anxiety of his mere existence to face. Visions of a workhouse infirmary for her child had haunted the old woman in the basement breakfast-room of the decayed Belgravian house. `If you had net found such a good husband, my dear,' she used to say to her daughter, `I don't know what would have become of that poor boy.
Mr Verloc extended as much recognition to Stevie as a man not particularly fond of animals may give to his wife's beloved cat; and this recognition, benevolent287 and perfunctory, was essentially288 of the same quality. Both women admitted to themselves that not much more could be reasonably expected. It was enough to earn for Mr Verloc the old woman's reverential gratitude289. In the early days, made sceptical by the trials of friendless life, she used sometimes to ask anxiously: `You don't think, my dear, that Mr Verloc is getting tired of seeing Stevie about?' To this Winnie replied habitually290 by a slight toss of her head. Once, however, she retorted, with a rather grim pertness: `He'll have to get tired of me first.' A long silence ensued. The mother, with her feet propped291 up on a stool, seemed to be trying to get to the bottom of that answer, whose feminine profundity292 had struck her all of a heap. She had never really understood why Winnie had married Mr Verloc. It was very sensible of her, and evidently had turned out for the best, but the girl might have naturally hoped to find somebody of a more suitable age. There had been a steady young fellow, only son of a butcher in the next street, helping293 his father in business, with whom Winnie had been walking out with obvious gusto. He was dependent on his father, it is true; but the business was good, and his prospects294 excellent. He took her girl to the theatre on several evenings. Then just as she began to dread to hear of their engagement (for what could she have done with that big house alone, with Stevie on her hands), that romance came to an abrupt295 end, and Winnie went about looking very dull. But Mr Verloc, turning up providentially to occupy the first-floor front bedroom, there had been no more question of the young butcher. It was clearly providential.
收听单词发音 |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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gloss
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| n.光泽，光滑；虚饰；注释；vt.加光泽于；掩饰 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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harmoniously
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| 和谐地，调和地 | |
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sedately
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| adv.镇静地，安详地 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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bowling
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| n.保龄球运动 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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rustiness
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| 生锈，声音沙哑； 荒疏； 锈蚀 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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opulence
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| n.财富，富裕 | |
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averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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fanaticism
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| n.狂热，盲信 | |
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inertness
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| n.不活泼，没有生气；惰性；惯量 | |
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industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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44
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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45
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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46
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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47
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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48
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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49
sleekness
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| 油滑； 油光发亮； 时髦阔气； 线条明快 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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51
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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52
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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53
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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54
inorganic
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| adj.无生物的；无机的 | |
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55
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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56
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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58
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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59
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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60
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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61
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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62
cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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63
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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64
persistency
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| n. 坚持(余辉, 时间常数) | |
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65
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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67
edifices
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| n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
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68
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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69
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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70
flustered
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| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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71
talisman
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| n.避邪物，护身符 | |
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72
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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73
lackey
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| n.侍从；跟班 | |
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74
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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75
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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76
batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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77
mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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78
privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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79
chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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80
meritorious
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| adj.值得赞赏的 | |
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81
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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82
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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83
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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84
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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85
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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86
bureaucrat
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| n. 官僚作风的人，官僚，官僚政治论者 | |
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87
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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88
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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89
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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90
philosophically
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|
| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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91
constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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92
stimulate
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| vt.刺激，使兴奋；激励，使…振奋 | |
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93
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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94
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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95
magistrates
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| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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96
leniency
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| n.宽大（不严厉） | |
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97
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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98
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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99
deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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100
oratorical
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| adj.演说的，雄辩的 | |
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101
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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102
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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103
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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104
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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105
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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106
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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107
conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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108
watchfully
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| 警惕地，留心地 | |
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109
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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110
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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111
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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112
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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114
pitfalls
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| （捕猎野兽用的）陷阱( pitfall的名词复数 )； 意想不到的困难，易犯的错误 | |
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115
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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116
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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117
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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118
demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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119
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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120
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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121
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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122
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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123
perversity
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| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
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124
idiomatic
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|
| adj.成语的，符合语言习惯的 | |
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125
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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126
deigned
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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128
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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129
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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130
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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131
diplomat
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| n.外交官，外交家；能交际的人，圆滑的人 | |
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132
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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133
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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134
watchfulness
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| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
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135
socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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136
anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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137
exculpate
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| v.开脱，使无罪 | |
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138
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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139
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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140
susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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141
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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142
stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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143
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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144
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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145
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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146
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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147
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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148
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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149
ponderously
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150
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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151
prodded
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|
| v.刺，戳( prod的过去式和过去分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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152
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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153
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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154
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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155
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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156
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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157
witticisms
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| n.妙语，俏皮话( witticism的名词复数 ) | |
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158
quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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159
bristle
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| v.（毛发）直立，气势汹汹，发怒；n.硬毛发 | |
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160
oblique
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| adj.斜的，倾斜的，无诚意的，不坦率的 | |
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161
quailed
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| 害怕，发抖，畏缩( quail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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162
intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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163
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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164
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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165
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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166
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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167
incisively
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| adv.敏锐地，激烈地 | |
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168
incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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169
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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171
heralding
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| v.预示( herald的现在分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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172
formulated
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| v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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173
disparaging
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| adj.轻蔑的，毁谤的v.轻视( disparage的现在分词 )；贬低；批评；非难 | |
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174
impudently
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175
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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176
plumber
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| n.(装修水管的)管子工 | |
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177
incompetency
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| n.无能力，不适当 | |
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178
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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179
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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180
derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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181
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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182
naive
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| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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183
gullibility
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| n.易受骗，易上当，轻信 | |
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184
diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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185
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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186
upheaval
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| n.胀起，(地壳)的隆起；剧变，动乱 | |
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187
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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188
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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189
venerate
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| v.尊敬，崇敬，崇拜 | |
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190
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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191
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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192
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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193
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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194
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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195
ferociously
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| 野蛮地，残忍地 | |
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196
felicitous
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| adj.恰当的，巧妙的；n.恰当，贴切 | |
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197
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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198
tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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199
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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200
accomplices
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| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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201
preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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202
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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203
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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204
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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205
impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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206
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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207
brigands
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| n.土匪，强盗( brigand的名词复数 ) | |
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208
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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209
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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210
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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211
outrages
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| 引起…的义愤，激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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212
royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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213
levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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214
facetious
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| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
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215
oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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216
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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217
sacrosanct
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| adj.神圣不可侵犯的 | |
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218
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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219
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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220
assassinated
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| v.暗杀( assassinate的过去式和过去分词 )；中伤；诋毁；破坏 | |
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221
inception
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| n.开端，开始，取得学位 | |
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222
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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223
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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224
manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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225
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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226
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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227
anarchists
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| 无政府主义者( anarchist的名词复数 ) | |
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228
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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229
appallingly
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| 毛骨悚然地 | |
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230
radicals
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| n.激进分子( radical的名词复数 )；根基；基本原理；[数学]根数 | |
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231
mangling
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| 重整 | |
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232
placate
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| v.抚慰，平息(愤怒) | |
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233
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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234
bribes
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| n.贿赂( bribe的名词复数 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂v.贿赂( bribe的第三人称单数 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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235
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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236
gratuitous
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| adj.无偿的，免费的；无缘无故的，不必要的 | |
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blasphemy
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| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
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238
expounded
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| 论述，详细讲解( expound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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239
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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240
coma
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| n.昏迷，昏迷状态 | |
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241
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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242
complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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243
subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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244
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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245
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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246
charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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247
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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248
meridian
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| adj.子午线的；全盛期的 | |
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249
execration
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| n.诅咒，念咒，憎恶 | |
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250
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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251
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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252
ostensible
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| adj.(指理由)表面的，假装的 | |
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253
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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254
apostasy
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| n.背教，脱党 | |
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255
discredited
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| 不足信的，不名誉的 | |
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256
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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257
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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258
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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259
dynamite
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| n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
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260
versatility
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| n.多才多艺，多样性，多功能 | |
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261
jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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262
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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263
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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264
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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265
immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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266
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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267
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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268
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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269
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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270
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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271
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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272
residue
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| n.残余，剩余，残渣 | |
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273
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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274
supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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275
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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276
placidity
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| n.平静，安静，温和 | |
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277
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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278
licensed
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| adj.得到许可的v.许可，颁发执照(license的过去式和过去分词) | |
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279
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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280
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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281
loquacity
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| n.多话，饶舌 | |
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282
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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283
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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284
propensity
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| n.倾向；习性 | |
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285
lodgers
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| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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286
aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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287
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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288
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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289
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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290
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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291
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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292
profundity
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| n.渊博；深奥，深刻 | |
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293
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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294
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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295
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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