“For,” said he to Emma, “what risk is there? See —” (and he enumerated5 on his fingers the advantages of the attempt), “success, almost certain relief and beautifying of the patient, celebrity6 acquired by the operator. Why, for example, should not your husband relieve poor Hippolyte of the ‘Lion d’Or’? Note that he would not fail to tell about his cure to all the travellers, and then” (Homais lowered his voice and looked round him) “who is to prevent me from sending a short paragraph on the subject to the paper? Eh! goodness me! an article gets about; it is talked of; it ends by making a snowball! And who knows? who knows?”
In fact, Bovary might succeed. Nothing proved to Emma that he was not clever; and what a satisfaction for her to have urged him to a step by which his reputation and fortune would be increased! She only wished to lean on something more solid than love.
Charles, urged by the druggist and by her, allowed himself to be persuaded. He sent to Rouen for Dr. Duval’s volume, and every evening, holding his head between both hands, plunged7 into the reading of it.
While he was studying equinus, varus, and valgus, that is to say, katastrephopody, endostrephopody, and exostrephopody (or better, the various turnings of the foot downwards8, inwards, and outwards9, with the hypostrephopody and anastrephopody), otherwise torsion downwards and upwards10, Monsier Homais, with all sorts of arguments, was exhorting11 the lad at the inn to submit to the operation.
“You will scarcely feel, probably, a slight pain; it is a simple prick12, like a little blood-letting, less than the extraction of certain corns.”
Hippolyte, reflecting, rolled his stupid eyes.
“However,” continued the chemist, “it doesn’t concern me. It’s for your sake, for pure humanity! I should like to see you, my friend, rid of your hideous13 caudication, together with that waddling14 of the lumbar regions which, whatever you say, must considerably15 interfere16 with you in the exercise of your calling.”
Then Homais represented to him how much jollier and brisker he would feel afterwards, and even gave him to understand that he would be more likely to please the women; and the stable-boy began to smile heavily. Then he attacked him through his vanity:
“Aren’t you a man? Hang it! what would you have done if you had had to go into the army, to go and fight beneath the standard? Ah! Hippolyte!”
And Homais retired17, declaring that he could not understand this obstinacy18, this blindness in refusing the benefactions of science.
The poor fellow gave way, for it was like a conspiracy19. Binet, who never interfered20 with other people’s business, Madame Lefrancois, Artemise, the neighbours, even the mayor, Monsieur Tuvache — everyone persuaded him, lectured him, shamed him; but what finally decided21 him was that it would cost him nothing. Bovary even undertook to provide the machine for the operation. This generosity22 was an idea of Emma’s, and Charles consented to it, thinking in his heart of hearts that his wife was an angel.
So by the advice of the chemist, and after three fresh starts, he had a kind of box made by the carpenter, with the aid of the locksmith, that weighed about eight pounds, and in which iron, wood, sheer-iron, leather, screws, and nuts had not been spared.
But to know which of Hippolyte’s tendons to cut, it was necessary first of all to find out what kind of club-foot he had.
He had a foot forming almost a straight line with the leg, which, however, did not prevent it from being turned in, so that it was an equinus together with something of a varus, or else a slight varus with a strong tendency to equinus. But with this equinus, wide in foot like a horse’s hoof23, with rugose skin, dry tendons, and large toes, on which the black nails looked as if made of iron, the clubfoot ran about like a deer from morn till night. He was constantly to be seen on the Place, jumping round the carts, thrusting his limping foot forwards. He seemed even stronger on that leg than the other. By dint24 of hard service it had acquired, as it were, moral qualities of patience and energy; and when he was given some heavy work, he stood on it in preference to its fellow.
Now, as it was an equinus, it was necessary to cut the tendon of Achilles, and, if need were, the anterior25 tibial muscle could be seen to afterwards for getting rid of the varus; for the doctor did not dare to risk both operations at once; he was even trembling already for fear of injuring some important region that he did not know.
Neither Ambrose Pare, applying for the first time since Celsus, after an interval26 of fifteen centuries, a ligature to an artery27, nor Dupuytren, about to open an abscess in the brain, nor Gensoul when he first took away the superior maxilla, had hearts that trembled, hands that shook, minds so strained as Monsieur Bovary when he approached Hippolyte, his tenotome between his fingers. And as at hospitals, near by on a table lay a heap of lint28, with waxed thread, many bandages — a pyramid of bandages — every bandage to be found at the druggist’s. It was Monsieur Homais who since morning had been organising all these preparations, as much to dazzle the multitude as to keep up his illusions. Charles pierced the skin; a dry crackling was heard. The tendon was cut, the operation over. Hippolyte could not get over his surprise, but bent29 over Bovary’s hands to cover them with kisses.
“Come, be calm,” said the druggist; “later on you will show your gratitude30 to your benefactor31.”
And he went down to tell the result to five or six inquirers who were waiting in the yard, and who fancied that Hippolyte would reappear walking properly. Then Charles, having buckled32 his patient into the machine, went home, where Emma, all anxiety, awaited him at the door. She threw herself on his neck; they sat down to table; he ate much, and at dessert he even wanted to take a cup of coffee, a luxury he only permitted himself on Sundays when there was company.
The evening was charming, full of prattle34, of dreams together. They talked about their future fortune, of the improvements to be made in their house; he saw people’s estimation of him growing, his comforts increasing, his wife always loving him; and she was happy to refresh herself with a new sentiment, healthier, better, to feel at last some tenderness for this poor fellow who adored her. The thought of Rodolphe for one moment passed through her mind, but her eyes turned again to Charles; she even noticed with surprise that he had not bad teeth.
They were in bed when Monsieur Homais, in spite of the servant, suddenly entered the room, holding in his hand a sheet of paper just written. It was the paragraph he intended for the “Fanal de Rouen.” He brought it for them to read.
“Read it yourself,” said Bovary.
He read —
“ ‘Despite the prejudices that still invest a part of the face of Europe like a net, the light nevertheless begins to penetrate35 our country places. Thus on Tuesday our little town of Yonville found itself the scene of a surgical36 operation which is at the same time an, act of loftiest philanthropy. Monsieur Bovary, one of our, most distinguished37 practitioners38 —’”
“Oh, that is too much! too much!” said Charles, choking with emotion.
“No, no! not at all! What next!”
“ ‘— Performed an operation on a club-footed man.’ I have not used the scientific term, because you know in a newspaper everyone would not perhaps understand. The masses must —’”
“No doubt,” said Bovary; “go on!”
“I proceed,” said the chemist. “‘Monsieur Bovary, one of our most distinguished practitioners, performed an operation on a club-footed man called Hippolyte Tautain, stableman for the last twenty-five years at the hotel of the “Lion d’Or,” kept by Widow Lefrancois, at the Place d’Armes. The novelty of the attempt, and the interest incident to the subject, had attracted such a concourse of persons that there was a veritable obstruction40 on the threshold of the establishment. The operation, moreover, was performed as if by magic, and barely a few drops of blood appeared on the skin, as though to say that the rebellious41 tendon had at last given way beneath the efforts of art. The patient, strangely enough — we affirm it as an eye-witness — complained of no pain. His condition up to the present time leaves nothing to be desired. Everything tends to show that his convelescence will be brief; and who knows even if at our next village festivity we shall not see our good Hippolyte figuring in the bacchic dance in the midst of a chorus of joyous42 boon-companions, and thus proving to all eyes by his verve and his capers43 his complete cure? Honour, then, to the generous savants! Honour to those indefatigable44 spirits who consecrate45 their vigils to the amelioration or to the alleviation46 of their kind! Honour, thrice honour! Is it not time to cry that the blind shall see, the deaf hear, the lame47 walk? But that which fanaticism48 formerly49 promised to its elect, science now accomplishes for all men. We shall keep our readers informed as to the successive phases of this remarkable50 cure.’ ”
This did not prevent Mere51 Lefrancois, from coming five days after, scared, and crying out —
“Help! he is dying! I am going crazy!”
Charles rushed to the “Lion d’Or,” and the chemist, who caught sight of him passing along the Place hatless, abandoned his shop. He appeared himself breathless, red, anxious, and asking everyone who was going up the stairs —
“Why, what’s the matter with our interesting strephopode?”
The strephopode was writhing52 in hideous convulsions, so that the machine in which his leg was enclosed was knocked against the wall enough to break it.
With many precautions, in order not to disturb the position of the limb, the box was removed, and an awful sight presented itself. The outlines of the foot disappeared in such a swelling53 that the entire skin seemed about to burst, and it was covered with ecchymosis, caused by the famous machine. Hippolyte had already complained of suffering from it. No attention had been paid to him; they had to acknowledge that he had not been altogether wrong, and he was freed for a few hours. But, hardly had the oedema gone down to some extent, than the two savants thought fit to put back the limb in the apparatus54, strapping55 it tighter to hasten matters. At last, three days after, Hippolyte being unable to endure it any longer, they once more removed the machine, and were much surprised at the result they saw. The livid tumefaction spread over the leg, with blisters56 here and there, whence there oozed57 a black liquid. Matters were taking a serious turn. Hippolyte began to worry himself, and Mere Lefrancois, had him installed in the little room near the kitchen, so that he might at least have some distraction58.
But the tax-collector, who dined there every day, complained bitterly of such companionship. Then Hippolyte was removed to the billiard-room. He lay there moaning under his heavy coverings, pale with long beard, sunken eyes, and from time to time turning his perspiring59 head on the dirty pillow, where the flies alighted. Madame Bovary went to see him. She brought him linen60 for his poultices; she comforted, and encouraged him. Besides, he did not want for company, especially on market-days, when the peasants were knocking about the billiard-balls round him, fenced with the cues, smoked, drank, sang, and brawled61.
“How are you?” they said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Ah! you’re not up to much, it seems, but it’s your own fault. You should do this! do that!” And then they told him stories of people who had all been cured by other remedies than his. Then by way of consolation62 they added —
“You give way too much! Get up! You coddle yourself like a king! All the same, old chap, you don’t smell nice!”
Gangrene, in fact, was spreading more and more. Bovary himself turned sick at it. He came every hour, every moment. Hippolyte looked at him with eyes full of terror, sobbing63 —
“When shall I get well? Oh, save me! How unfortunate I am! How unfortunate I am!”
And the doctor left, always recommending him to diet himself.
“Don’t listen to him, my lad,” said Mere Lefrancois, “Haven’t they tortured you enough already? You’ll grow still weaker. Here! swallow this.”
And she gave him some good beef-tea, a slice of mutton, a piece of bacon, and sometimes small glasses of brandy, that he had not the strength to put to his lips.
Abbe Bournisien, hearing that he was growing worse, asked to see him. He began by pitying his sufferings, declaring at the same time that he ought to rejoice at them since it was the will of the Lord, and take advantage of the occasion to reconcile himself to Heaven.
“For,” said the ecclesiastic64 in a paternal65 tone, “you rather neglected your duties; you were rarely seen at divine worship. How many years is it since you approached the holy table? I understand that your work, that the whirl of the world may have kept you from care for your salvation66. But now is the time to reflect. Yet don’t despair. I have known great sinners, who, about to appear before God (you are not yet at this point I know), had implored67 His mercy, and who certainly died in the best frame of mind. Let us hope that, like them, you will set us a good example. Thus, as a precaution, what is to prevent you from saying morning and evening a ‘Hail Mary, full of grace,’ and ‘Our Father which art in heaven’? Yes, do that, for my sake, to oblige me. That won’t cost you anything. Will you promise me?”
The poor devil promised. The cure came back day after day. He chatted with the landlady68; and even told anecdotes69 interspersed70 with jokes and puns that Hippolyte did not understand. Then, as soon as he could, he fell back upon matters of religion, putting on an appropriate expression of face.
His zeal71 seemed successful, for the club-foot soon manifested a desire to go on a pilgrimage to Bon-Secours if he were cured; to which Monsieur Bournisien replied that he saw no objection; two precautions were better than one; it was no risk anyhow.
The druggist was indignant at what he called the manoeuvres of the priest; they were prejudicial, he said, to Hippolyte’s convalescence72, and he kept repeating to Madame Lefrancois, “Leave him alone! leave him alone! You perturb73 his morals with your mysticism.” But the good woman would no longer listen to him; he was the cause of it all. From a spirit of contradiction she hung up near the bedside of the patient a basin filled with holy-water and a branch of box.
Religion, however, seemed no more able to succour him than surgery, and the invincible74 gangrene still spread from the extremities75 towards the stomach. It was all very well to vary the potions and change the poultices; the muscles each day rotted more and more; and at last Charles replied by an affirmative nod of the head when Mere Lefrancois, asked him if she could not, as a forlorn hope, send for Monsieur Canivet of Neufchatel, who was a celebrity.
A doctor of medicine, fifty years of age, enjoying a good position and self-possessed, Charles’s colleague did not refrain from laughing disdainfully when he had uncovered the leg, mortified76 to the knee. Then having flatly declared that it must be amputated, he went off to the chemist’s to rail at the asses39 who could have reduced a poor man to such a state. Shaking Monsieur Homais by the button of his coat, he shouted out in the shop —
“These are the inventions of Paris! These are the ideas of those gentry77 of the capital! It is like strabismus, chloroform, lithotrity, a heap of monstrosities that the Government ought to prohibit. But they want to do the clever, and they cram78 you with remedies without, troubling about the consequences. We are not so clever, not we! We are not savants, coxcombs, fops! We are practitioners; we cure people, and we should not dream of operating on anyone who is in perfect health. Straighten club-feet! As if one could straighten club-feet! It is as if one wished, for example, to make a hunchback straight!”
Homais suffered as he listened to this discourse79, and he concealed80 his discomfort81 beneath a courtier’s smile; for he needed to humour Monsier Canivet, whose prescriptions82 sometimes came as far as Yonville. So he did not take up the defence of Bovary; he did not even make a single remark, and, renouncing83 his principles, he sacrificed his dignity to the more serious interests of his business.
This amputation84 of the thigh85 by Doctor Canivet was a great event in the village. On that day all the inhabitants got up earlier, and the Grande Rue86, although full of people, had something lugubrious87 about it, as if an execution had been expected. At the grocer’s they discussed Hippolyte’s illness; the shops did no business, and Madame Tuvache, the mayor’s wife, did not stir from her window, such was her impatience88 to see the operator arrive.
He came in his gig, which he drove himself. But the springs of the right side having at length given way beneath the weight of his corpulence, it happened that the carriage as it rolled along leaned over a little, and on the other cushion near him could be seen a large box covered in red sheep-leather, whose three brass89 clasps shone grandly.
After he had entered like a whirlwind the porch of the “Lion d’Or,” the doctor, shouting very loud, ordered them to unharness his horse. Then he went into the stable to see that he was eating his oats all right; for on arriving at a patient’s he first of all looked after his mare90 and his gig. People even said about this —
“Ah! Monsieur Canivet’s a character!”
And he was the more esteemed91 for this imperturbable92 coolness. The universe to the last man might have died, and he would not have missed the smallest of his habits.
Homais presented himself.
“I count on you,” said the doctor. “Are we ready? Come along!”
But the druggist, turning red, confessed that he was too sensitive to assist at such an operation.
“When one is a simple spectator,” he said, “the imagination, you know, is impressed. And then I have such a nervous system!”
“Pshaw!” interrupted Canivet; “on the contrary, you seem to me inclined to apoplexy. Besides, that doesn’t astonish me, for you chemist fellows are always poking93 about your kitchens, which must end by spoiling your constitutions. Now just look at me. I get up every day at four o’clock; I shave with cold water (and am never cold). I don’t wear flannels94, and I never catch cold; my carcass is good enough! I live now in one way, now in another, like a philosopher, taking pot-luck; that is why I am not squeamish like you, and it is as indifferent to me to carve a Christian95 as the first fowl96 that turns up. Then, perhaps, you will say, habit! habit!”
Then, without any consideration for Hippolyte, who was sweating with agony between his sheets, these gentlemen entered into a conversation, in which the druggist compared the coolness of a surgeon to that of a general; and this comparison was pleasing to Canivet, who launched out on the exigencies97 of his art. He looked upon, it as a sacred office, although the ordinary practitioners dishonoured98 it. At last, coming back to the patient, he examined the bandages brought by Homais, the same that had appeared for the club-foot, and asked for someone to hold the limb for him. Lestiboudois was sent for, and Monsieur Canivet having turned up his sleeves, passed into the billiard-room, while the druggist stayed with Artemise and the landlady, both whiter than their aprons99, and with ears strained towards the door.
Bovary during this time did not dare to stir from his house.
He kept downstairs in the sitting-room100 by the side of the fireless chimney, his chin on his breast, his hands clasped, his eyes staring. “What a mishap101!” he thought, “what a mishap!” Perhaps, after all, he had made some slip. He thought it over, but could hit upon nothing. But the most famous surgeons also made mistakes; and that is what no one would ever believe! People, on the contrary, would laugh, jeer102! It would spread as far as Forges, as Neufchatel, as Rouen, everywhere! Who could say if his colleagues would not write against him. Polemics103 would ensue; he would have to answer in the papers. Hippolyte might even prosecute104 him. He saw himself dishonoured, ruined, lost; and his imagination, assailed105 by a world of hypotheses, tossed amongst them like an empty cask borne by the sea and floating upon the waves.
Emma, opposite, watched him; she did not share his humiliation106; she felt another — that of having supposed such a man was worth anything. As if twenty times already she had not sufficiently107 perceived his mediocrity.
Charles was walking up and down the room; his boots creaked on the floor.
“Sit down,” she said; “you fidget me.”
He sat down again.
How was it that she — she, who was so intelligent — could have allowed herself to be deceived again? and through what deplorable madness had she thus ruined her life by continual sacrifices? She recalled all her instincts of luxury, all the privations of her soul, the sordidness108 of marriage, of the household, her dream sinking into the mire109 like wounded swallows; all that she had longed for, all that she had denied herself, all that she might have had! And for what? for what?
In the midst of the silence that hung over the village a heart-rending cry rose on the air. Bovary turned white to fainting. She knit her brows with a nervous gesture, then went on. And it was for him, for this creature, for this man, who understood nothing, who felt nothing! For he was there quite quiet, not even suspecting that the ridicule110 of his name would henceforth sully hers as well as his. She had made efforts to love him, and she had repented112 with tears for having yielded to another!
“But it was perhaps a valgus!” suddenly exclaimed Bovary, who was meditating113.
At the unexpected shock of this phrase falling on her thought like a leaden bullet on a silver plate, Emma, shuddering114, raised her head in order to find out what he meant to say; and they looked at the other in silence, almost amazed to see each other, so far sundered115 were they by their inner thoughts. Charles gazed at her with the dull look of a drunken man, while he listened motionless to the last cries of the sufferer, that followed each other in long-drawn modulations, broken by sharp spasms116 like the far-off howling of some beast being slaughtered117. Emma bit her wan33 lips, and rolling between her fingers a piece of coral that she had broken, fixed118 on Charles the burning glance of her eyes like two arrows of fire about to dart119 forth111. Everything in him irritated her now; his face, his dress, what he did not say, his whole person, his existence, in fine. She repented of her past virtue120 as of a crime, and what still remained of it rumbled121 away beneath the furious blows of her pride. She revelled122 in all the evil ironies123 of triumphant124 adultery. The memory of her lover came back to her with dazzling attractions; she threw her whole soul into it, borne away towards this image with a fresh enthusiasm; and Charles seemed to her as much removed from her life, as absent forever, as impossible and annihilated125, as if he had been about to die and were passing under her eyes.
There was a sound of steps on the pavement. Charles looked up, and through the lowered blinds he saw at the corner of the market in the broad sunshine Dr. Canivet, who was wiping his brow with his handkerchief. Homais, behind him, was carrying a large red box in his hand, and both were going towards the chemist’s.
Then with a feeling of sudden tenderness and discouragement Charles turned to his wife saying to her —
“Oh, kiss me, my own!”
“Leave me!” she said, red with anger.
“What is the matter?” he asked, stupefied. “Be calm; compose yourself. You know well enough that I love you. Come!”
“Enough!” she cried with a terrible look.
And escaping from the room, Emma closed the door so violently that the barometer126 fell from the wall and smashed on the floor.
Charles sank back into his arm-chair overwhelmed, trying to discover what could be wrong with her, fancying some nervous illness, weeping, and vaguely127 feeling something fatal and incomprehensible whirling round him.
When Rodolphe came to the garden that evening, he found his mistress waiting for him at the foot of the steps on the lowest stair. They threw their arms round one another, and all their rancour melted like snow beneath the warmth of that kiss.
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eulogy
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| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
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partisan
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| adj.党派性的；游击队的；n.游击队员；党徒 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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enumerated
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| v.列举，枚举，数( enumerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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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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downwards
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outwards
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| adj.外面的，公开的，向外的；adv.向外；n.外形 | |
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upwards
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exhorting
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prick
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hideous
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waddling
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considerably
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interfere
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retired
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obstinacy
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conspiracy
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interfered
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decided
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generosity
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hoof
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dint
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anterior
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interval
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artery
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lint
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bent
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gratitude
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benefactor
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buckled
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wan
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prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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36
surgical
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| adj.外科的，外科医生的，手术上的 | |
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37
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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38
practitioners
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| n.习艺者，实习者( practitioner的名词复数 )；从业者（尤指医师） | |
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39
asses
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| n. 驴，愚蠢的人，臀部 adv. (常用作后置)用于贬损或骂人 | |
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40
obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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41
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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42
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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43
capers
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| n.开玩笑( caper的名词复数 )；刺山柑v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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44
indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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45
consecrate
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| v.使圣化，奉…为神圣；尊崇；奉献 | |
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46
alleviation
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| n. 减轻，缓和，解痛物 | |
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47
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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48
fanaticism
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| n.狂热，盲信 | |
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49
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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50
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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51
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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52
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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53
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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54
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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55
strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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56
blisters
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| n.水疱( blister的名词复数 )；水肿；气泡 | |
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57
oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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58
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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59
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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60
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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61
brawled
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| 打架，争吵( brawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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63
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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64
ecclesiastic
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| n.教士，基督教会；adj.神职者的，牧师的，教会的 | |
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65
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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66
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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67
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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68
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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69
anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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71
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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72
convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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73
perturb
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| v.使不安，烦扰，扰乱，使紊乱 | |
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74
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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75
extremities
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| n.端点( extremity的名词复数 )；尽头；手和足；极窘迫的境地 | |
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76
mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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77
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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78
cram
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| v.填塞，塞满，临时抱佛脚，为考试而学习 | |
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79
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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80
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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81
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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82
prescriptions
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| 药( prescription的名词复数 )； 处方； 开处方； 计划 | |
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83
renouncing
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的现在分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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84
amputation
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| n.截肢 | |
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85
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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86
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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87
lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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88
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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89
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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90
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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91
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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92
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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93
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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94
flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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95
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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96
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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97
exigencies
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| n.急切需要 | |
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98
dishonoured
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| a.不光彩的，不名誉的 | |
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99
aprons
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| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
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100
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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101
mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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102
jeer
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| vi.嘲弄，揶揄；vt.奚落；n.嘲笑，讥评 | |
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103
polemics
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| n.辩论术，辩论法；争论( polemic的名词复数 )；辩论；辩论术；辩论法 | |
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104
prosecute
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| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
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105
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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106
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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107
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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108
sordidness
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| n.肮脏；污秽；卑鄙；可耻 | |
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109
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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110
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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111
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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112
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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114
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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115
sundered
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| v.隔开，分开( sunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
spasms
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| n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 )；抽搐；（能量、行为等的）突发；发作 | |
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117
slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
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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119
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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120
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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121
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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122
revelled
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| v.作乐( revel的过去式和过去分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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123
ironies
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| n.反语( irony的名词复数 )；冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事；嘲弄 | |
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124
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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125
annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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126
barometer
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| n.气压表，睛雨表，反应指标 | |
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127
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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