It was the first day of June. In the Luxembourg Gardens a soft breeze stirred the tender chestnut1 leaves, and blew sparkling ripples2 across the water in the Fountain of Marie de Medicis.
The modest little hothouse flowers had quite recovered from the shock of recent transplanting and were ambitiously pushing out long spikes3 and clusters of crimson4, purple and gold, filling the air with spicy5 perfume, and drawing an occasional battered6 butterfly, gaunt and seedy, from his long winter’s sleep, but still remembering the flowery days of last season’s brilliant debut8.
Through the fresh young leaves the sunshine fell, dappling the glades9 and thickets10, bathing the gray walls of the Palais du Sénat, and almost warming into life the queer old statues of long departed royalty11, which for so many years have looked down from the great terrace to the Palace of the King.
Through every gate the people drifted into the gardens, and the winding12 paths were dotted and crowded with brightly-colored, slowly-moving groups.
Here a half dozen meager13, black-robed priests strolled silently amid the tender verdure; here a noisy crowd of children, gamboling awkwardly in the wake of a painted rubber ball, made day hideous14 with their yells.
Now a slovenly15 company of dragoons shuffled16 by, their big shapeless boots covered with dust, and their whalebone plumes17 hanging in straight points to the middle of their backs; now a group of strutting18 students and cocottes passed noisily, the girls in spotless spring plumage, the students vying20 with each other in the display of blinking eyeglasses, huge bunchy neckties, and sleek21 checked trousers. Policemen, trim little grisettes (for whatever is said to the contrary, the grisette is still extant in Paris), nurse girls with turbaned heads and ugly red streamers, wheeling ugly red babies; an occasional stray zouave or turco in curt22 Turkish jacket and white leggings; grave old gentlemen with white mustache and military step; gay, baggy23 gentlemen from St Cyr, looking like newly-painted wooden soldiers; students from the Ecole Polytechnique; students from the Lycée St Louis in blue and red; students from Julien’s and the Beaux Arts with a plentiful24 sprinkling of berets and corduroy jackets; and group after group of jingling25 artillery26 officers in scarlet27 and black, or hussars and chasseurs in pale turquoise28, strolled and idled up and down the terrace, or watched the toy yachts braving the furies of the great fountain.
Over by the playgrounds, the Polichinel nuisance drummed and squeaked29 to an appreciative30 audience of tender years. The “Jeu de paume” was also in full swing, a truly exasperating31 spectacle for a modern tennis player.
The old man who feeds the sparrows in the afternoon, and beats his wife at night, was intent on the former cheerful occupation, and smiled benevolently32 upon the little children who watched him, open mouthed. The numerous waterfowl — mallard, teal, red-head, and dusky — waddled33 and dived and fought the big mouse-colored pigeons for a share of the sparrow’s crumbs34.
A depraved and mongrel pointer, who had tugged35 at his chain in a wild endeavor to point the whole heterogeneous36 mass of feathered creatures from sparrow to swan, lost his head and howled dismally37 until dragged off by the lean-legged student who was attached to the other end of the chain.
Gethryn, sprawling38 on a bench in the sunshine, turned up his nose. Braith grunted39 scornfully.
A man passed in the crowd, stopped, stared, and then hastily advanced toward Gethryn.
“You?” said Rex, smiling and shaking hands. “Mr Clifford, this is Mr Bulfinch; Mr Braith,” — but Mr Bulfinch was already bowing to Braith and offering his hand, though with a curious diminution40 of his first beaming cordiality. Braith’s constraint41 was even more marked. He had turned quite white. Bulfinch and Gethryn, who had risen to receive him, remained standing42 side by side, stranded43 on the shoals of an awkward situation. The little Mirror man made a grab at a topic which he thought would float them off, and laid hold instead on one which upset them altogether.
“I hope Mrs Braith is well. She met you all right at Vienna?”
Braith bowed stiffly, without answering.
Rex gave him a quick look, and turning on his heel, said carelessly:
“I see you and Mr Braith are old acquaintances, so I won’t scruple44 to leave you with him for a moment. Bring Mr Bulfinch over to the music stand, Braith.” And smiling, as if he were assisting at a charming reunion, he led Clifford away. The latter turned, as he departed, an eye of delighted intelligence upon Braith.
To renew his acquaintance with Mr Bulfinch was the last thing Braith desired, but since the meeting had been thrust upon him he thanked Gethryn’s tact45 for removing such a witness of it as Clifford would have been. He had no intention, however, of talking with the little Mirror man, and maintained a profound silence, smoking steadily46. This conduct so irritated the other that he determined47 to force an explanation of the matter which seemed so distasteful to his ungracious companion. He certainly thought he had his own reasons for resenting the sight of Braith upon a high horse, and he resumed the conversation with all the jaunty48 ease which the calling of newspaper correspondent is said to cultivate.
“I hope Mrs Braith found no difficulty in meeting you in Vienna?”
“Madame was not my wife, and we did not meet in Vienna,” said Braith shortly.
Bulfinch began to stare, and to feel a little less at ease.
“She told me — that is, her courier came to me and — ”
“Her courier? Mr Bulfinch, will you please explain what you are talking about?” Braith turned square around and looked at him in a way that caused a still further diminution of his jauntiness50 and a proportionate increase of respect.
“Oh — I’ll explain, if I know what you want explained. We were at Brindisi, were we not?”
“Yes.”
“On our way to Cairo?”
“Yes.”
“In the same hotel?”
“Yes.”
“But I had no acquaintance with madame, and had only exchanged a word or two with you, when you were suddenly summoned to Paris by a telegram.”
Braith bowed. He remembered well the false dispatch that had drawn51 him out of the way.
“Well, and when you left you told her you would be obliged to give up going to Cairo, and asked her to meet you in Vienna, whither you would have to go from Paris?”
“Oh, did I?”
“And you recommended a courier to her whom you knew very well, and in whom you had great confidence.”
“Ah! And what was that courier’s name?”
“Emanuel Pick. I wasn’t fond of Emanuel myself,” with a sharp glance at Braith’s eyes, “but I supposed you knew something in his favor, or you would not have left — er — the lady in his charge.”
Braith was silent.
“I understood him to be your agent,” said the little man, cautiously.
“He was not.”
“Oh!”
A long silence followed, during which Mr Bulfinch sought and found an explanation of several things. After a while he said musingly52:
“I should like to meet Mr Pick again.”
“Why should you want to meet him?”
“I wish to wring53 his nose two hundred times, one for each franc I lent him.”
“How was that?” said Braith, absently.
“It was this way. He came to me and told me what I have repeated to you, and that you desired madame to go on at once and wait for you in Vienna, which you expected to reach in a few days after her arrival. That you had bought tickets — one first class for madame, two second class for him and for her maid — before you left, and had told her you had placed plenty of money for the other expenses in her dressing54 case. But this morning, on looking for the money, none could be found. Madame was sure it had not been stolen. She thought you must have meant to put it there, and forgotten afterwards. If she only had a few francs, just to last as far as Naples! Madame was well known to the bankers on the Santa Lucia there! etc. Well, I’m not such an ass19 that I didn’t first see madame and get her to confirm his statement. But when she did confirm it, with such a charming laugh — she was very pretty — I thought she was a lady and your wife — ”
In the midst of his bitterness, Braith could not help smiling at the thought of Nina with a maid and a courier. He remembered the tiny apartment in the Latin Quarter which she had been glad to occupy with him until conducted by her courier into finer ones. He made a gesture of disgust, and his face burned with the shame of a proud man who has received an affront55 from an inferior — and who knows it to be his own fault.
“I can at least have the satisfaction of setting that right,” he said, holding two notes toward the little Mirror man, “and I can’t thank you enough for giving me the opportunity.”
Bulfinch drew back and stammered56, “You don’t think I spoke57 for that! You don’t think I’d have spoken at all if I had known — ”
“I do not. And I’m very glad you did not know, for it gives me a chance to clear myself. You must have thought me strangely forgetful, Mr Bulfinch, when the money was not repaid in due time.”
“I— I didn’t relish58 the manner in which you met me just now, I confess, but I’m very much ashamed of myself. I am indeed.”
“Shake hands,” said Braith, with one of his rare smiles.
The notes were left in Mr Bulfinch’s fingers, and as he thrust them hastily out of sight, as if he truly was ashamed, he said, blinking up at Braith, “Do you — er — would you — may I offer you a glass of whiskey?” adding hastily, “I don’t drink myself.”
“Why, yes,” said Braith, “I don’t mind, but I won’t drink all alone.”
“Coffee is my tipple,” said the other, in a faint voice.
“All right; suit yourself. But I should think that rather hot for such a day.”
“Oh, I’ll take it iced.”
“Then let us walk over to the Café by the bandstand. We shall find the others somewhere about.”
They strolled through the grove59, past the music-stand, and sat down at one of the little iron tables under the trees. The band of the Garde Republicaine was playing. Bulfinch ordered sugar and Eau de selz for Braith, and iced coffee for himself.
Braith looked at the program: No. 1, Faust; No. 2, La Belle60 Hélène.
“Rex ought to be here, he’s so fond of that.”
Mr Bulfinch was mixing, in a surprisingly scientific manner for a man who didn’t drink himself, something which the French call a “coquetelle”; a bit of ice, a little seltzer, a slice of lemon, and some Canadian Club whiskey. Braith eyed the well-worn flask61.
“I see you don’t trust to the Café‘s supplies.”
“I only keep this for medicinal purposes,” said the other, blinking nervously62, “and — and I don’t usually produce it when there are any newspapermen around.”
“But you,” said Braith, sipping63 the mixture with relish, “do you take none yourself?”
“I don’t drink,” said the other, and swallowed his coffee in such a hurry as to bring on a fit of coughing. Beads64 of perspiration65 clustered above his canary-colored eyebrows66 as he set down the glass with a gasp67.
Braith was watching the crowd. Presently he exclaimed:
“There’s Rex now,” and rising, waved his glass and his cane68 and called Gethryn’s name. The people sitting at adjacent tables glanced at one another resignedly. “More crazy English!”
“Rex! Clifford!” Braith shouted, until at last they heard him. In a few moments they had made their way through the crowd and sat down, mopping their faces and protesting plaintively69 against the heat.
Gethryn’s glance questioned Braith, who said, “Mr Bulfinch and I have had the deuce of a time to make you fellows hear. You’d have been easier to call if you knew what sort of drink he can brew70.”
Clifford was already sniffing71 knowingly at the glass and turning looks of deep intelligence on Bulfinch, who responded gayly, “Hope you’ll have some too,” and with a sidelong blink at Gethryn, he produced the bottle, saying, “I don’t drink myself, as Mr Gethryn knows.”
Rex said, “Certainly not,” not knowing what else to say. But the fondness of Clifford’s gaze was ineffable72.
Braith, who always hated to see Clifford look like that, turned to Gethryn. “Favorite of yours on the program.”
Rex looked.
“Oh,” he cried, “Belle Hélène.” Next moment he flushed, and feeling as if the others saw it, crimsoned73 all the deeper. This escaped Clifford, however, who was otherwise occupied. But he joined in the conversation, hoping for an argument.
“Braith and Rex go in for the Meistersinger, Walküre, and all that rot — but I like some tune74 to my music.”
“Well, you’re going to get it now,” said Braith; “the band are taking their places. Now for La Belle Hélène.” He glanced at Gethryn, who had turned aside and leaned on the table, shading his eyes with his program.
The leader of the band stood wiping his mustache with one hand while he turned the leaves of his score with the other. The musicians came in laughing and chattering75, munching76 their bit of biscuit or smacking77 their lips over lingering reminiscences of the intermission.
They hung their bayonets against the wall, and at the rat-tat of attention, came to order, standing in a circle with bugles78 and trombones poised79 and eyes fixed80 on the little gold-mounted baton81.
A slow wave of the white-gloved hand, a few gentle tips of the wand, and then a sweep which seemed to draw out the long, rich opening chord of the Dream Song and set it drifting away among the trees till it lost itself in the rattle82 and clatter83 of the Boulevard St Michel.
Braith and Bulfinch set down their glasses and listened. Clifford silently blew long wreaths of smoke into the branches overhead. Gethryn leaned heavily on the table, one hand shading his eyes.
Oui c’est un rêve;
Un rêve doux d’amour —
The music died away in one last throb84. Bulfinch sighed and blinked sentimentally85, first on one, then on the other of his companions.
Suddenly the little Mirror man’s eyes bulged86 out, he stiffened87 and grasped Braith’s arm; his fingers were like iron.
“What the deuce!” began Braith, but, following the other’s eyes, he became silent and stern.
“Talk of the devil — do you see him — Pick?”
“And — and excuse me, but can that be madame? So like, and yet — ”
Braith leaned forward and looked steadily at a couple who were slowly moving toward them in deep conversation.
“No,” he said at last; and leaning back in his seat he refused to speak again.
Bulfinch chattered89 on excitedly, and at last he brought his fist down on the table at his right, where Clifford sat drawing a caricature on the marble top.
“I’d like,” cried Bulfinch, “to take it out of his hide!”
“Hello!” said Clifford, disturbed in his peaceful occupation, “whose hide are you going to tan?”
“Nobody’s,” said Braith, sternly, still watching the couple who had now almost reached their group.
Clifford’s start had roused Gethryn, who stirred and slowly looked up; at the same moment, the girl, now very near, raised her head and Rex gazed full into the eyes of Yvonne.
Her glance fell and the color flew to her temples. Gethryn’s face lost all its color.
“Pretty girl,” drawled Clifford, “but what a dirty little beggar she lugs90 about with her.”
Pick heard and turned, his eyes falling first on Gethryn, who met his look with one that was worse than a kick. He glanced next at Braith, and then he turned green under the dirty yellow of the skin. Braith’s eyes seemed to strike fire; his mouth was close set. The Jew’s eyes shifted, only to fall on the pale, revengeful glare of T. Hoppley Bulfinch, who was half rising from his chair with all sorts of possibilities written on every feature.
“Let him go,” whispered Braith, and turned his back.
Bulfinch sat down, his eyes like saucers. “I’d like — but not now!” he sputtered91 in a weird92 whisper.
Clifford had missed the whole thing. He had only eyes for the girl.
Gethryn sat staring after the couple, who were at that moment passing the gate into the Boulevard St Michel. He saw Yvonne stop and hastily thrust something into the Jew’s hand, then, ignoring his obsequious93 salute94, leave him and hurry down the Rue95 de Medicis.
The next Gethryn knew, Braith was standing beside him.
“Rex, will you join us at the Golden Pheasant for dinner?” was what he said, but his eyes added, “Don’t let people see you look like that.”
“I— I— don’t know,” said Gethryn. “Yes, I think so,” with an effort.
“Come along, then!” said Braith to the others, and hurried them away.
Rex sat still till they were out of sight, then he got up and turned into the Avenue de l’Observatoire. He stopped and drank some cognac at a little café, and then started on, but he had no idea where he was going.
Presently he found himself crossing a bridge, and looked up. The great pile of Notre Dame49 de Paris loomed96 on his right. He crossed the Seine and wandered on without any aim — but passing the Tour St Jacques, and wishing to avoid the Boulevard, he made a sharp detour97 to the right, and after long wandering through byways and lanes, he crossed the foul98, smoky Canal St Martin, and bore again to the right — always aimlessly.
Twilight99 was falling when his steps were arrested by fatigue100. Looking up, he found himself opposite the gloomy mass of La Roquette prison. Sentinels slouched and dawdled101 up and down before the little painted sentry102 boxes under the great gate.
Over the archway was some lettering, and Gethryn stopped to read it:
La Roquette
Prison of the Condemned103
He looked up and down the cheerless street. It was deserted104 save by the lounging sentinels and one wretched child, who crouched105 against the gateway106.
“Fiche moi le camp! Allons! En route!” growled one of the sentinels, stamping his foot and shaking his fist at the bundle of rags.
Gethryn walked toward him.
“What’s the matter with the little one?” he asked.
The soldier dropped the butt7 of his rifle with a ring, and said deferentially107:
“Pardon, Monsieur, but the gamin has been here every day and all day for two weeks. It’s disgusting.”
“Is he hungry?”
“Ma foi? I can’t tell you,” laughed the sentry, shifting his weight to his right foot and leaning on the cross of his bayonet.
“Are you hungry, little one?” called Gethryn, pleasantly.
The child raised his head, with a wolfish stare, then sank it again and murmured: “I have seen him and touched him.”
Gethryn turned to the soldier.
“What does he mean by that?” he demanded.
The sentry shrugged108 his shoulders. “He means he saw a hunchback. They say when one sees a hunchback and touches him, it brings good luck, if the hunchback is neither too old nor too young. Dame! I don’t say there’s nothing in it, but it can’t save Henri Rigaud.”
“And who is Henri Rigaud?”
“What! Monsieur has not heard of the affair Rigaud? Rigaud who did the double murder!”
“Oh, yes! In the Faubourg du Temple.”
The sentry nodded. “He dies this week.”
“And the child?”
“Is his.”
Gethryn looked at the dirty little bundle of tatters.
“No one knows the exact day set for the affair, but,” the sentry sank his voice to a whisper, “between you and me, I saw the widow going into the yard just before dinner, and Monsieur de Paris is here. That means tomorrow morning — click!”
“The — the widow?” repeated Gethryn.
“The guillotine. It will be over before this time tomorrow and the gamin there, who thinks the bossu will give him back his father — he’ll find out his mistake, all in good time — all in good time!” and shouldering his rifle, the sentry laughed and resumed his slouching walk before the gateway.
Gethryn nodded to the soldier’s salute and went up to the child, who stood leaning sullenly109 against the wall.
“Do you know what a franc is?” he asked.
The gamin eyed him doggedly110.
“But I saw him,” he said.
“Saw what?” said Gethryn, gently.
“The bossu,” repeated the wretched infant vacantly.
“See here,” said Gethryn, “listen to me. What would you do with twenty francs?”
“Eat, all day long, forever!”
Rex slipped two twenty-franc pieces into the filthy111 little fist.
“Eat,” he murmured, and turned away.
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1
chestnut
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n.栗树,栗子 | |
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2
ripples
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逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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3
spikes
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n.穗( spike的名词复数 );跑鞋;(防滑)鞋钉;尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 );偷偷地给某人的饮料加入(更多)酒精( 或药物);把尖状物钉入;打乱某人的计划 | |
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4
crimson
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n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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5
spicy
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adj.加香料的;辛辣的,有风味的 | |
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6
battered
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adj.磨损的;v.连续猛击;磨损 | |
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7
butt
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n.笑柄;烟蒂;枪托;臀部;v.用头撞或顶 | |
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8
debut
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n.首次演出,初次露面 | |
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9
glades
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n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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10
thickets
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n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 );丛状物 | |
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11
royalty
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n.皇家,皇族 | |
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12
winding
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n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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13
meager
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adj.缺乏的,不足的,瘦的 | |
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14
hideous
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adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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15
slovenly
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adj.懒散的,不整齐的,邋遢的 | |
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16
shuffled
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v.洗(纸牌)( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 );拖着脚步走;粗心地做;摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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17
plumes
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羽毛( plume的名词复数 ); 羽毛饰; 羽毛状物; 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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18
strutting
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加固,支撑物 | |
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19
ass
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n.驴;傻瓜,蠢笨的人 | |
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20
vying
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adj.竞争的;比赛的 | |
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21
sleek
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adj.光滑的,井然有序的;v.使光滑,梳拢 | |
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22
curt
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adj.简短的,草率的 | |
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23
baggy
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adj.膨胀如袋的,宽松下垂的 | |
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24
plentiful
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adj.富裕的,丰富的 | |
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25
jingling
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叮当声 | |
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26
artillery
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n.(军)火炮,大炮;炮兵(部队) | |
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27
scarlet
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n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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28
turquoise
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n.绿宝石;adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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29
squeaked
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v.短促地尖叫( squeak的过去式和过去分词 );吱吱叫;告密;充当告密者 | |
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30
appreciative
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adj.有鉴赏力的,有眼力的;感激的 | |
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31
exasperating
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adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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32
benevolently
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adv.仁慈地,行善地 | |
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33
waddled
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v.(像鸭子一样)摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
crumbs
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int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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35
tugged
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v.用力拉,使劲拉,猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
heterogeneous
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adj.庞杂的;异类的 | |
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37
dismally
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adv.阴暗地,沉闷地 | |
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38
sprawling
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adj.蔓生的,不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 );蔓延;杂乱无序地拓展;四肢伸展坐着(或躺着) | |
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39
grunted
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(猪等)作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 ); (指人)发出类似的哼声; 咕哝着说 | |
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40
diminution
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n.减少;变小 | |
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41
constraint
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n.(on)约束,限制;限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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42
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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43
stranded
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a.搁浅的,进退两难的 | |
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44
scruple
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n./v.顾忌,迟疑 | |
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45
tact
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n.机敏,圆滑,得体 | |
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46
steadily
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adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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47
determined
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adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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48
jaunty
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adj.愉快的,满足的;adv.心满意足地,洋洋得意地;n.心满意足;洋洋得意 | |
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49
dame
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n.女士 | |
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50
jauntiness
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n.心满意足;洋洋得意;高兴;活泼 | |
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51
drawn
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v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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52
musingly
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adv.沉思地,冥想地 | |
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53
wring
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n.扭绞;v.拧,绞出,扭 | |
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54
dressing
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n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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55
affront
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n./v.侮辱,触怒 | |
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56
stammered
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v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
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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58
relish
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n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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59
grove
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n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
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60
belle
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n.靓女 | |
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61
flask
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n.瓶,火药筒,砂箱 | |
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62
nervously
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adv.神情激动地,不安地 | |
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63
sipping
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v.小口喝,呷,抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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64
beads
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n.(空心)小珠子( bead的名词复数 );水珠;珠子项链 | |
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65
perspiration
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n.汗水;出汗 | |
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66
eyebrows
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眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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67
gasp
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n.喘息,气喘;v.喘息;气吁吁他说 | |
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68
cane
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n.手杖,细长的茎,藤条;v.以杖击,以藤编制的 | |
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69
plaintively
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adv.悲哀地,哀怨地 | |
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70
brew
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v.酿造,调制 | |
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71
sniffing
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n.探查法v.以鼻吸气,嗅,闻( sniff的现在分词 );抽鼻子(尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气);抱怨,不以为然地说 | |
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72
ineffable
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adj.无法表达的,不可言喻的 | |
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73
crimsoned
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变为深红色(crimson的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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74
tune
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n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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75
chattering
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n. (机器振动发出的)咔嗒声,(鸟等)鸣,啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的,啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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76
munching
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v.用力咀嚼(某物),大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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77
smacking
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活泼的,发出响声的,精力充沛的 | |
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78
bugles
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妙脆角,一种类似薯片但做成尖角或喇叭状的零食; 号角( bugle的名词复数 ); 喇叭; 匍匐筋骨草; (装饰女服用的)柱状玻璃(或塑料)小珠 | |
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79
poised
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a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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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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81
baton
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n.乐队用指挥杖 | |
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82
rattle
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v.飞奔,碰响;激怒;n.碰撞声;拨浪鼓 | |
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83
clatter
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v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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84
throb
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v.震颤,颤动;(急速强烈地)跳动,搏动 | |
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85
sentimentally
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adv.富情感地 | |
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86
bulged
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凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 ); 充满; 塞满(某物) | |
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87
stiffened
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加强的 | |
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88
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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89
chattered
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(人)喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 ); 唠叨; (牙齿)打战; (机器)震颤 | |
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90
lugs
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钎柄 | |
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91
sputtered
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v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的过去式和过去分词 );发劈啪声;喷出;飞溅出 | |
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92
weird
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adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
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93
obsequious
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adj.谄媚的,奉承的,顺从的 | |
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94
salute
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vi.行礼,致意,问候,放礼炮;vt.向…致意,迎接,赞扬;n.招呼,敬礼,礼炮 | |
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95
rue
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n.懊悔,芸香,后悔;v.后悔,悲伤,懊悔 | |
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96
loomed
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v.隐约出现,阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 );隐约出现,阴森地逼近 | |
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97
detour
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n.绕行的路,迂回路;v.迂回,绕道 | |
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98
foul
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adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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99
twilight
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n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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100
fatigue
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n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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101
dawdled
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v.混(时间)( dawdle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
sentry
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n.哨兵,警卫 | |
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103
condemned
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adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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104
deserted
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adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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105
crouched
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v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
gateway
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n.大门口,出入口,途径,方法 | |
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107
deferentially
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adv.表示敬意地,谦恭地 | |
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108
shrugged
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vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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109
sullenly
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不高兴地,绷着脸,忧郁地 | |
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110
doggedly
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adv.顽强地,固执地 | |
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111
filthy
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adj.卑劣的;恶劣的,肮脏的 | |
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