As soon as his wife had driven off Ethan took his coat and cap from the peg1. Mattie was washing up the dishes, humming one of the dance tunes2 of the night before. He said “So long, Matt,” and she answered gaily3 “So long, Ethan”; and that was all.
It was warm and bright in the kitchen. The sun slanted5 through the south window on the girl’s moving figure, on the cat dozing6 in a chair, and on the geraniums brought in from the door-way, where Ethan had planted them in the summer to “make a garden” for Mattie. He would have liked to linger on, watching her tidy up and then settle down to her sewing; but he wanted still more to get the hauling done and be back at the farm before night.
All the way down to the village he continued to think of his return to Mattie. The kitchen was a poor place, not “spruce” and shining as his mother had kept it in his boyhood; but it was surprising what a homelike look the mere7 fact of Zeena’s absence gave it. And he pictured what it would be like that evening, when he and Mattie were there after supper. For the first time they would be alone together indoors, and they would sit there, one on each side of the stove, like a married couple, he in his stocking feet and smoking his pipe, she laughing and talking in that funny way she had, which was always as new to him as if he had never heard her before.
The sweetness of the picture, and the relief of knowing that his fears of “trouble” with Zeena were unfounded, sent up his spirits with a rush, and he, who was usually so silent, whistled and sang aloud as he drove through the snowy fields. There was in him a slumbering8 spark of sociability10 which the long Starkfield winters had not yet extinguished. By nature grave and inarticulate, he admired recklessness and gaiety in others and was warmed to the marrow11 by friendly human intercourse12. At Worcester, though he had the name of keeping to himself and not being much of a hand at a good time, he had secretly gloried in being clapped on the back and hailed as “Old Ethe” or “Old Stiff”; and the cessation of such familiarities had increased the chill of his return to Starkfield.
There the silence had deepened about him year by year. Left alone, after his father’s accident, to carry the burden of farm and mill, he had had no time for convivial13 loiterings in the village; and when his mother fell ill the loneliness of the house grew more oppressive than that of the fields. His mother had been a talker in her day, but after her “trouble” the sound of her voice was seldom heard, though she had not lost the power of speech. Sometimes, in the long winter evenings, when in desperation her son asked her why she didn’t “say something,” she would lift a finger and answer: “Because I’m listening”; and on stormy nights, when the loud wind was about the house, she would complain, if he spoke14 to her: “They’re talking so out there that I can’t hear you.”
It was only when she drew toward her last illness, and his cousin Zenobia Pierce came over from the next valley to help him nurse her, that human speech was heard again in the house. After the mortal silence of his long imprisonment15 Zeena’s volubility was music in his ears. He felt that he might have “gone like his mother” if the sound of a new voice had not come to steady him. Zeena seemed to understand his case at a glance. She laughed at him for not knowing the simplest sick-bed duties and told him to “go right along out” and leave her to see to things. The mere fact of obeying her orders, of feeling free to go about his business again and talk with other men, restored his shaken balance and magnified his sense of what he owed her. Her efficiency shamed and dazzled him. She seemed to possess by instinct all the household wisdom that his long apprenticeship16 had not instilled17 in him. When the end came it was she who had to tell him to hitch18 up and go for the undertaker, and she thought it “funny” that he had not settled beforehand who was to have his mother’s clothes and the sewing-machine. After the funeral, when he saw her preparing to go away, he was seized with an unreasoning dread19 of being left alone on the farm; and before he knew what he was doing he had asked her to stay there with him. He had often thought since that it would not have happened if his mother had died in spring instead of winter . . .
When they married it was agreed that, as soon as he could straighten out the difficulties resulting from Mrs. Frome’s long illness, they would sell the farm and saw-mill and try their luck in a large town. Ethan’s love of nature did not take the form of a taste for agriculture. He had always wanted to be an engineer, and to live in towns, where there were lectures and big libraries and “fellows doing things.” A slight engineering job in Florida, put in his way during his period of study at Worcester, increased his faith in his ability as well as his eagerness to see the world; and he felt sure that, with a “smart” wife like Zeena, it would not be long before he had made himself a place in it.
Zeena’s native village was slightly larger and nearer to the railway than Starkfield, and she had let her husband see from the first that life on an isolated20 farm was not what she had expected when she married. But purchasers were slow in coming, and while he waited for them Ethan learned the impossibility of transplanting her. She chose to look down on Starkfield, but she could not have lived in a place which looked down on her. Even Bettsbridge or Shadd’s Falls would not have been sufficiently22 aware of her, and in the greater cities which attracted Ethan she would have suffered a complete loss of identity. And within a year of their marriage she developed the “sickliness” which had since made her notable even in a community rich in pathological instances. When she came to take care of his mother she had seemed to Ethan like the very genius of health, but he soon saw that her skill as a nurse had been acquired by the absorbed observation of her own symptoms.
Then she too fell silent. Perhaps it was the inevitable23 effect of life on the farm, or perhaps, as she sometimes said, it was because Ethan “never listened.” The charge was not wholly unfounded. When she spoke it was only to complain, and to complain of things not in his power to remedy; and to check a tendency to impatient retort he had first formed the habit of not answering her, and finally of thinking of other things while she talked. Of late, however, since he had reasons for observing her more closely, her silence had begun to trouble him. He recalled his mother’s growing taciturnity, and wondered if Zeena were also turning “queer.” Women did, he knew. Zeena, who had at her fingers’ ends the pathological chart of the whole region, had cited many cases of the kind while she was nursing his mother; and he himself knew of certain lonely farm-houses in the neighbourhood where stricken creatures pined, and of others where sudden tragedy had come of their presence. At times, looking at Zeena’s shut face, he felt the chill of such forebodings. At other times her silence seemed deliberately24 assumed to conceal25 far-reaching intentions, mysterious conclusions drawn26 from suspicions and resentments27 impossible to guess. That supposition was even more disturbing than the other; and it was the one which had come to him the night before, when he had seen her standing28 in the kitchen door.
Now her departure for Bettsbridge had once more eased his mind, and all his thoughts were on the prospect29 of his evening with Mattie. Only one thing weighed on him, and that was his having told Zeena that he was to receive cash for the lumber9. He foresaw so clearly the consequences of this imprudence that with considerable reluctance31 he decided32 to ask Andrew Hale for a small advance on his load.
When Ethan drove into Hale’s yard the builder was just getting out of his sleigh.
“Hello, Ethe!” he said. “This comes handy.”
Andrew Hale was a ruddy man with a big gray moustache and a stubbly double-chin unconstrained by a collar; but his scrupulously33 clean shirt was always fastened by a small diamond stud. This display of opulence34 was misleading, for though he did a fairly good business it was known that his easygoing habits and the demands of his large family frequently kept him what Starkfield called “behind.” He was an old friend of Ethan’s family, and his house one of the few to which Zeena occasionally went, drawn there by the fact that Mrs. Hale, in her youth, had done more “doctoring” than any other woman in Starkfield, and was still a recognised authority on symptoms and treatment.
Hale went up to the grays and patted their sweating flanks.
“Well, sir,” he said, “you keep them two as if they was pets.”
Ethan set about unloading the logs and when he had finished his job he pushed open the glazed35 door of the shed which the builder used as his office. Hale sat with his feet up on the stove, his back propped36 against a battered37 desk strewn with papers: the place, like the man, was warm, genial38 and untidy.
“Sit right down and thaw39 out,” he greeted Ethan.
The latter did not know how to begin, but at length he managed to bring out his request for an advance of fifty dollars. The blood rushed to his thin skin under the sting of Hale’s astonishment40. It was the builder’s custom to pay at the end of three months, and there was no precedent41 between the two men for a cash settlement.
Ethan felt that if he had pleaded an urgent need Hale might have made shift to pay him; but pride, and an instinctive42 prudence30, kept him from resorting to this argument. After his father’s death it had taken time to get his head above water, and he did not want Andrew Hale, or any one else in Starkfield, to think he was going under again. Besides, he hated lying; if he wanted the money he wanted it, and it was nobody’s business to ask why. He therefore made his demand with the awkwardness of a proud man who will not admit to himself that he is stooping; and he was not much surprised at Hale’s refusal.
The builder refused genially43, as he did everything else: he treated the matter as something in the nature of a practical joke, and wanted to know if Ethan meditated44 buying a grand piano or adding a “cupolo” to his house; offering, in the latter case, to give his services free of cost.
Ethan’s arts were soon exhausted45, and after an embarrassed pause he wished Hale good day and opened the door of the office. As he passed out the builder suddenly called after him: “See here — you ain’t in a tight place, are you?”
“Not a bit,” Ethan’s pride retorted before his reason had time to intervene.
“Well, that’s good! Because I am, a shade. Fact is, I was going to ask you to give me a little extra time on that payment. Business is pretty slack, to begin with, and then I’m fixing up a little house for Ned and Ruth when they’re married. I’m glad to do it for ’em, but it costs.” His look appealed to Ethan for sympathy. “The young people like things nice. You know how it is yourself: it’s not so long ago since you fixed46 up your own place for Zeena.”
Ethan left the grays in Hale’s stable and went about some other business in the village. As he walked away the builder’s last phrase lingered in his ears, and he reflected grimly that his seven years with Zeena seemed to Starkfield “not so long.”
The afternoon was drawing to an end, and here and there a lighted pane47 spangled the cold gray dusk and made the snow look whiter. The bitter weather had driven every one indoors and Ethan had the long rural street to himself. Suddenly he heard the brisk play of sleigh-bells and a cutter passed him, drawn by a free-going horse. Ethan recognised Michael Eady’s roan colt, and young Denis Eady, in a handsome new fur cap, leaned forward and waved a greeting. “Hello, Ethe!” he shouted and spun49 on.
The cutter was going in the direction of the Frome farm, and Ethan’s heart contracted as he listened to the dwindling50 bells. What more likely than that Denis Eady had heard of Zeena’s departure for Bettsbridge, and was profiting by the opportunity to spend an hour with Mattie? Ethan was ashamed of the storm of jealousy51 in his breast. It seemed unworthy of the girl that his thoughts of her should be so violent.
He walked on to the church corner and entered the shade of the Varnum spruces, where he had stood with her the night before. As he passed into their gloom he saw an indistinct outline just ahead of him. At his approach it melted for an instant into two separate shapes and then conjoined again, and he heard a kiss, and a half-laughing “Oh!” provoked by the discovery of his presence. Again the outline hastily disunited and the Varnum gate slammed on one half while the other hurried on ahead of him. Ethan smiled at the discomfiture52 he had caused. What did it matter to Ned Hale and Ruth Varnum if they were caught kissing each other? Everybody in Starkfield knew they were engaged. It pleased Ethan to have surprised a pair of lovers on the spot where he and Mattie had stood with such a thirst for each other in their hearts; but he felt a pang48 at the thought that these two need not hide their happiness.
He fetched the grays from Hale’s stable and started on his long climb back to the farm. The cold was less sharp than earlier in the day and a thick fleecy sky threatened snow for the morrow. Here and there a star pricked53 through, showing behind it a deep well of blue. In an hour or two the moon would push over the ridge21 behind the farm, burn a gold-edged rent in the clouds, and then be swallowed by them. A mournful peace hung on the fields, as though they felt the relaxing grasp of the cold and stretched themselves in their long winter sleep.
Ethan’s ears were alert for the jingle54 of sleigh-bells, but not a sound broke the silence of the lonely road. As he drew near the farm he saw, through the thin screen of larches55 at the gate, a light twinkling in the house above him. “She’s up in her room,” he said to himself, “fixing herself up for supper”; and he remembered Zeena’s sarcastic56 stare when Mattie, on the evening of her arrival, had come down to supper with smoothed hair and a ribbon at her neck.
He passed by the graves on the knoll57 and turned his head to glance at one of the older headstones, which had interested him deeply as a boy because it bore his name.
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF
ETHAN FROME AND ENDURANCE HIS WIFE,
WHO DWELLED TOGETHER IN PEACE
FOR FIFTY YEARS.
He used to think that fifty years sounded like a long time to live together, but now it seemed to him that they might pass in a flash. Then, with a sudden dart58 of irony59, he wondered if, when their turn came, the same epitaph would be written over him and Zeena.
He opened the barn-door and craned his head into the obscurity, half-fearing to discover Denis Eady’s roan colt in the stall beside the sorrel. But the old horse was there alone, mumbling60 his crib with toothless jaws61, and Ethan whistled cheerfully while he bedded down the grays and shook an extra measure of oats into their mangers. His was not a tuneful throat — but harsh melodies burst from it as he locked the barn and sprang up the hill to the house. He reached the kitchen-porch and turned the door-handle; but the door did not yield to his touch.
Startled at finding it locked he rattled62 the handle violently; then he reflected that Mattie was alone and that it was natural she should barricade63 herself at nightfall. He stood in the darkness expecting to hear her step. It did not come, and after vainly straining his ears he called out in a voice that shook with joy: “Hello, Matt!”
Silence answered; but in a minute or two he caught a sound on the stairs and saw a line of light about the door-frame, as he had seen it the night before. So strange was the precision with which the incidents of the previous evening were repeating themselves that he half expected, when he heard the key turn, to see his wife before him on the threshold; but the door opened, and Mattie faced him.
She stood just as Zeena had stood, a lifted lamp in her hand, against the black background of the kitchen. She held the light at the same level, and it drew out with the same distinctness her slim young throat and the brown wrist no bigger than a child’s. Then, striking upward, it threw a lustrous64 fleck65 on her lips, edged her eyes with velvet66 shade, and laid a milky67 whiteness above the black curve of her brows.
She wore her usual dress of darkish stuff, and there was no bow at her neck; but through her hair she had run a streak68 of crimson69 ribbon. This tribute to the unusual transformed and glorified70 her. She seemed to Ethan taller, fuller, more womanly in shape and motion. She stood aside, smiling silently, while he entered, and then moved away from him with something soft and flowing in her gait. She set the lamp on the table, and he saw that it was carefully laid for supper, with fresh doughnuts, stewed71 blueberries and his favourite pickles72 in a dish of gay red glass. A bright fire glowed in the stove and the cat lay stretched before it, watching the table with a drowsy74 eye.
Ethan was suffocated75 with the sense of well-being76. He went out into the passage to hang up his coat and pull off his wet boots. When he came back Mattie had set the teapot on the table and the cat was rubbing itself persuasively77 against her ankles.
“Why, Puss! I nearly tripped over you,” she cried, the laughter sparkling through her lashes78.
Again Ethan felt a sudden twinge of jealousy. Could it be his coming that gave her such a kindled79 face?
“Well, Matt, any visitors?” he threw off, stooping down carelessly to examine the fastening of the stove.
She nodded and laughed “Yes, one,” and he felt a blackness settling on his brows.
“Who was that?” he questioned, raising himself up to slant4 a glance at her beneath his scowl80.
Her eyes danced with malice81. “Why, Jotham Powell. He came in after he got back, and asked for a drop of coffee before he went down home.”
The blackness lifted and light flooded Ethan’s brain. “That all? Well, I hope you made out to let him have it.” And after a pause he felt it right to add: “I suppose he got Zeena over to the Flats all right?”
“Oh, yes; in plenty of time.”
The name threw a chill between them, and they stood a moment looking sideways at each other before Mattie said with a shy laugh. “I guess it’s about time for supper.”
They drew their seats up to the table, and the cat, unbidden, jumped between them into Zeena’s empty chair. “Oh, Puss!” said Mattie, and they laughed again.
Ethan, a moment earlier, had felt himself on the brink82 of eloquence83; but the mention of Zeena had paralysed him. Mattie seemed to feel the contagion84 of his embarrassment85, and sat with downcast lids, sipping86 her tea, while he feigned87 an insatiable appetite for dough-nuts and sweet pickles. At last, after casting about for an effective opening, he took a long gulp88 of tea, cleared his throat, and said: “Looks as if there’d be more snow.”
She feigned great interest. “Is that so? Do you suppose it’ll interfere89 with Zeena’s getting back?” She flushed red as the question escaped her, and hastily set down the cup she was lifting.
Ethan reached over for another helping90 of pickles. “You never can tell, this time of year, it drifts so bad on the Flats.” The name had benumbed him again, and once more he felt as if Zeena were in the room between them.
“Oh, Puss, you’re too greedy!” Mattie cried.
The cat, unnoticed, had crept up on muffled91 paws from Zeena’s seat to the table, and was stealthily elongating92 its body in the direction of the milk-jug93, which stood between Ethan and Mattie. The two leaned forward at the same moment and their hands met on the handle of the jug. Mattie’s hand was underneath94, and Ethan kept his clasped on it a moment longer than was necessary. The cat, profiting by this unusual demonstration95, tried to effect an unnoticed retreat, and in doing so backed into the pickle73-dish, which fell to the floor with a crash.
Mattie, in an instant, had sprung from her chair and was down on her knees by the fragments.
“Oh, Ethan, Ethan — it’s all to pieces! What will Zeena say?”
But this time his courage was up. “Well, she’ll have to say it to the cat, any way!” he rejoined with a laugh, kneeling down at Mattie’s side to scrape up the swimming pickles.
She lifted stricken eyes to him. “Yes, but, you see, she never meant it should be used, not even when there was company; and I had to get up on the step-ladder to reach it down from the top shelf of the china-closet, where she keeps it with all her best things, and of course she’ll want to know why I did it — ”
The case was so serious that it called forth96 all of Ethan’s latent resolution.
“She needn’t know anything about it if you keep quiet. I’ll get another just like it to-morrow. Where did it come from? I’ll go to Shadd’s Falls for it if I have to!”
“Oh, you’ll never get another even there! It was a wedding present — don’t you remember? It came all the way from Philadelphia, from Zeena’s aunt that married the minister. That’s why she wouldn’t ever use it. Oh, Ethan, Ethan, what in the world shall I do?”
She began to cry, and he felt as if every one of her tears were pouring over him like burning lead. “Don’t, Matt, don’t — oh, don’t!” he implored97 her.
She struggled to her feet, and he rose and followed her helplessly while she spread out the pieces of glass on the kitchen dresser. It seemed to him as if the shattered fragments of their evening lay there.
“Here, give them to me,” he said in a voice of sudden authority.
She drew aside, instinctively98 obeying his tone. “Oh, Ethan, what are you going to do?”
Without replying he gathered the pieces of glass into his broad palm and walked out of the kitchen to the passage. There he lit a candle-end, opened the china-closet, and, reaching his long arm up to the highest shelf, laid the pieces together with such accuracy of touch that a close inspection99 convinced him of the impossibility of detecting from below that the dish was broken. If he glued it together the next morning months might elapse before his wife noticed what had happened, and meanwhile he might after all be able to match the dish at Shadd’s Falls or Bettsbridge. Having satisfied himself that there was no risk of immediate100 discovery he went back to the kitchen with a lighter101 step, and found Mattie disconsolately102 removing the last scraps103 of pickle from the floor.
“It’s all right, Matt. Come back and finish supper,” he commanded her.
Completely reassured104, she shone on him through tear-hung lashes, and his soul swelled105 with pride as he saw how his tone subdued106 her. She did not even ask what he had done. Except when he was steering107 a big log down the mountain to his mill he had never known such a thrilling sense of mastery.
收听单词发音 |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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slant
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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sociability
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| n.好交际，社交性，善于交际 | |
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marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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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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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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apprenticeship
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| n.学徒身份；学徒期 | |
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instilled
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| v.逐渐使某人获得（某种可取的品质），逐步灌输( instill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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resentments
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| （因受虐待而）愤恨，不满，怨恨( resentment的名词复数 ) | |
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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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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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opulence
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| n.财富，富裕 | |
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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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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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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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41
precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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42
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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43
genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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44
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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45
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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46
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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47
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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48
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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49
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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50
dwindling
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| adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
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51
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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52
discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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53
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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54
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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55
larches
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| n.落叶松（木材）( larch的名词复数 ) | |
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56
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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57
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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58
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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mumbling
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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61
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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62
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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63
barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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fleck
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| n.斑点，微粒 vt.使有斑点，使成斑驳 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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69
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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stewed
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| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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72
pickles
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| n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 )；处于困境；遇到麻烦；菜酱 | |
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73
pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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74
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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persuasively
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| adv.口才好地；令人信服地 | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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81
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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82
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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83
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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84
contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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85
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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86
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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88
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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89
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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90
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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92
elongating
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| v.延长，加长( elongate的现在分词 ) | |
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93
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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94
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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95
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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96
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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97
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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99
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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100
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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101
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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102
disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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103
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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104
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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105
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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106
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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107
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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