These “screeds” were very much in the manner of his former communication. Some lavender-tinted sheets from Honeywood House testified to a night spent at his Aunt Rowena’s at Barnes. But there were no more drawings; he was getting too deeply moved for that sort of relief. There was not the same streak7 of amused observation, and there was an accumulating gravity. He reasoned more. The opening portion was a storm of indignation against the British Gazette, the government control of broadcasting and the general suppression of opinion in the country. That was very much in his old line. He had taken the trouble to copy out a passage from the government proclamation of Friday and print and underline certain words. ”ALL RANKS of the armed forces of the crown are notified that ANY ACTION they may find it necessary to take in an honest endeavour to aid the civil power will receive both now AND AFTERWARDS the full support of the Government.” Something had happened, Mrs. Rylands noted9! He had spelt “government” right! And an anticipatory10 glance over the pages in her hand showed that he was going on spelling it right. To these quoted words Philip had added in a handwriting that was distorted with rage, rather thicker and less distinct: “in other words, ‘Shoot and club if you get half a chance and the Home Office is with you. You will be helped now and let off afterwards.’ This is publicly asking for violence in the most peaceful social crisis the world has ever seen. I told you the government wanted to have a fight and this proves it. But this isn’t the worst. . . . ”
He went on to tell of how the Bishop11 of Oxford12, the Masters of Balliol and University and a number of leading churchmen had called upon the government to reopen negotiations13 and how the Archbishop of Canterbury had attempted in vain to get a movement afoot in the country to arrest the struggle and revive negotiations. The Archbishop had preached on this on Sunday and had tried to mobilise the pulpits throughout the country. He had found himself treated as a rebel sympathiser and choked off. The British Gazette had suppressed the report of this church intervention15 and the government had prohibited its publication by the British Broadcasting Company. “They want this fight. They want to get to violence,” wrote Philip, with his pen driving hard into the paper, and proceeded to denounce “Winston’s garbled16 reports of Parliament. Anything against them is either put in a day late or left out altogether. People like Oxford and Grey are cut to rags. Cook said of the negotiations, days ago, ‘It is hopeless,’ and the dirty rag quoted this as though he said it of the strike. And we have a cant14 that these Harrovians are real public school boys and understand fair play!”
It was funny to find the faithful Etonian breaking off in this way to gird at Harrow and make it responsible for the most unteachable of its sons.
It seemed Philip had been in the House of Commons on Friday and heard a discussion between Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Thomas that more than confirmed his suspicions that the petty Daily Mail strike and the consequent break was a foreseen excuse, meanly and eagerly snatched at by the government. Then came a rumour17, current at the time but with no foundation in fact, that the King (or according to another version the Prince of Wales) had wanted to say something reconciling and had been advised against such a step. “Jix as Mussolini,” commented Philip, quite convinced of the story. He stormed vividly18 but briefly19 at the broadcasting programmes and the talk in the clubs. Came a blank half-sheet, just like one of those silences in some great piece of music before the introduction of a new theme and then, on a new page and very distinctly: “I have had a damned row with Uncle Robert.”
This was the motive20 of the next part of Philip’s composition, written more evenly and more consecutively21 than anything he had done before, the Largo22 so to speak. He expanded and developed and varied23 his jangling sense of Uncle Robert, and gathered it altogether into a measured and sustained denunciation. He set out to convey with a quite unconscious vigour24, his deep astonishment25, his widening perplexity and his gathering26 resentment27 that anything of the nature of Lord Edensoke should exist in the world, let alone in such close and authoritative28 proximity29 to himself. At times his discourse30 might have borne the heading “The Young Man discusses the Older Sort of Human Male.”
“He’s damned,” he repeated. “I never realised before that anyone could go about this world without any stink31 or fuss, so completely and utterly32 dead and damned as he is.” He jumped into capitals to say his worthy33 uncle was a “Bad Man, nerve and muscle, blood and bone.” He declared that it was impossible to understand the general strike, the coal strike, the outlook in England, the outlook for all the world until Lord Edensoke had been anatomised and analysed. And forthwith he set about the business.
Philip made it quite clear that up to his early conversations with his uncle after his return to England, he had supposed Lord Edensoke to be animated34 by much the same motives35 as himself, namely by a strong if vague passion to see the world orderly and growing happier, by a real wish to have the Empire secure, beneficent and proud, by a desire to justify36 wealth by great services, and that he was prepared to give time and face losses that the course of human affairs should go according to his ideas of what was fine and right. These had always been Philip’s own assumptions, albeit37 rather dormant38 ones. But ——
“He doesn’t care a rap for the Empire as an Empire,” wrote the amazed nephew. “He sees it simply as a not too secure roof over a lot of the family investments.” Lord Edensoke’s sense of public duty did not exist. He despised his social class. His loyalty39 to the King amounted to a firm assurance that he diverted public attention from the real rulers of the country. People liked the monarchy40; it saved public issues from the dangerous nakedness they had in America. “Otherwise if he thought there was a dividend41 to be got out of it, he would boil the king in oil.” He didn’t believe in social order, in any sort of responsibility that a policeman and a law court could not check. Frankly42, in his heart, he saw himself to be a brigand43, carrying an enviable load through a world wherein nothing better than brigandage44 was possible. Law was a convenient convention among the robbers and you respected it just so far as it would be discreditable or dangerous to break the rules.
Came an illuminating45 anecdote46. At dinner Lord Edensoke had shown a certain weariness of Philip’s political and social crudities. By way of getting to more interesting things he had opened a fresh topic with “By the bye, Philip, have you any loose balances about? I think I could make a good use of them.”
He had proceeded to explain to Philip’s incredulity that the general strike was bound to collapse5 as soon as the scared and incapable47 labour leaders saw an excuse for letting it down that would save their faces with their followers48, and that then the miners would be left locked out exactly as if there had been no general strike — but with “diminished public support.” “That fellow Cook” could be relied upon to keep them out and to irritate the public against them. His lordship did his best to disabuse49 Philip’s mind of the idea that there would be any settlement for some time. “You mean you won’t settle anyhow?” Philip had said. Lord Edensoke’s reply had been a faint smile and a gesture of the hand. So, as Rylands and Cokeson would have thousands of trucks unemployed50, and easily handed over to other uses, the thing to do was to buy foreign coal now, and release and distribute it later when the community at large came to realise all that Lord Edensoke knew. Coal would come back to fancy prices — higher than ‘21. “There’s a speculative51 element, of course,” he had said. “The miners may collapse,” but as he saw it, there was, saving that possibility, anything from twenty-five to a hundred and fifty per cent. to be made in the course of the next few months upon anything Philip chose to bring in to this promising52 operation.
Philip ended his account of this conversation in wild indignation. “We are the coal-owners of Great Britain,” he fumed53, “and this is how we do our duty by the country that trusts us, honours us, makes peers of us! We starve the miner and strangle industry — and we make ‘anything from twenty-five to a hundred and fifty per cent.’ out of a deal in foreign coal. Naturally we do nothing to bring about a settlement. Naturally we are for the Constitution and all that, which lets us do such things.” Philip’s narrative54 wasn’t very clear, but this was the point it would seem at which the “damned row with Uncle Robert” occurred.
Respect for the head of the family made its final protest and fled. It was Philip’s last dinner with his senior partner. He seemed to have talked, according to his uncle’s judgment55, “sheer Bolshevism.” It was doubtful if they got to their cigars. Philip returned to the Reform Club and spent the rest of a long evening consuming the Club notepaper at a furious pace.
Details of the final breach56 did not appear because Philip swept on to a close, unloving investigation57 of his uncle’s soul.
“I seem to have been thinking of him most of the time since,” he said.
What did Lord Edensoke think he was up to, Philip enquired58. Clearly he did not suppose he was living for anything outside himself. He had no religion, no superstition59 even. He had a use for religion, but that was a different matter. For him religion was a formality that kept people in order. It was good that inferior and discontented people should be obliged to sacrifice to the God of Things as they Are. It set up a code of outer decency60 and determined61 a system of restraints. Nor had he any patriotism62. The British Empire in his eyes was a fine machine for utilising the racial instincts of the serviceable British peoples for the enforcement of contracts and the protection of invested capital throughout the world. If they did not, as a general rule, get very much out of it in spite of their serviceableness that was their affair. They could congratulate themselves that their money was on a gold standard even if they had none, and they had the glory of ruling India if even they were never allowed to go there. He liked the English climate and avoided it during most of the winter. It was a good climate for work and Courtney Wishart in its great park just over the hills from Edensoke was a stately and enviable home, one of those estates that made England a land fit for heroes to die for. He had no passion for science. The spirit that devotes whole lives to the exquisite63 unravelling64 of reality was incomprehensible to him. He preferred his reality ravelled. It was better for business operations. He betrayed no passion for any sort of beautiful things. He would never collect pictures nor make a garden unless he wanted to beat someone else at it or sell it at a profit. He loved no one in the world — Philip would tell her a little later of his uncle’s loves. In brief he lived simply for himself, for satisfactions directly related to himself as the centre of it all and for nothing else whatever.
One of his great satisfactions was winning a game. He was not, Philip thought, avaricious65 simply but he liked to get, because that was besting the other fellow. His business was his great game. He liked to feel his aptitude66, his wariness67, to foresee, and realise and let other people realise the shrewd precision of his anticipations68. He played other games for recreation. He was reported to be a beastly bridge player, very good but spiteful and envious69 even of his partner. He played in the afternoons at the Lessington after lunch and Philip said rumour had it that several other members of that great club would go into hiding and get the club servants to report for them, not venturing near the card-room, until Edensoke was seated at his game. He played golf bitterly well. Physically70 he was as good as Geoffry, the same sure eye and accurate movements. He had been a memorable71 bat at cricket and still made a devastating72 show at tennis. And he was a wonderful shot. Business kept him from much shooting, but he loved a day now and then, when he could take his place among the guns and kill and kill. He would stand, with those thin lips of his pressed together, while the scared birds came rocketing over him, wings whirring, hearts beating fast. He showed them. But he had no blood lust73. On the whole he would rather play against a man than merely triumph over birds and silly things that probably did not feel humiliated74 even when they were shot. Besting people and feeling that the other fellow realises or will presently find out that he has been bested was subtler and far more gratifying. “You know that scanty75 laugh of his,” wrote Philip, “rather like a neigh. The loser gets it.” Just now he was besting the miners. “The more he gets them down the better he will be pleased.” The profits were a secondary consideration, important only like scoring above the line.
He loved no one. “I don’t think I have ever talked to you about Aunt Sydney,” said Philip, and proceeded to explain the domestic infelicities of his uncle. She had been a brilliant beautiful girl but poor, one of the “needy76 Needhams.” Uncle Robert would never have married a rich and independent wife because it would have been difficult to best her and hard to try. He had kept Aunt Sydney down for a time and she had been almost treacherously77 subservient78 until she had got him well committed to infidelity with a secretary, and had enticed79 him into provable cruelty. She had been a patient Grisel who had eavesdropped80, stolen letters and bided81 her time. A lover, well hidden, gave her sage8 counsel. Then she had held her husband up with the threat of a discreditable divorce. Uncle Robert had no stomach for being “talked about all over London.” It was one of his essential satisfactions to be respected and high and unapproachable, and he must have had some bad hours over the affair. “We all rather like Aunt Sydney on that account,” wrote Philip.
She arranged a separation of mutual82 toleration and wore her lover upon her sleeve in full view of her baffled spouse83. He became “Burdock, the chap Lady Edensoke keeps,” her watchful84 and not always comfortable shadow.
Lord Edensoke tried to make this seem to be his own design and flaunted85 it with various conspicuous86, expensive and rather discordant87 ladies for some years to show everybody just how things were. Then he reverted88 to his more congenial pursuit of discovering, seducing89, exalting90 and throwing over, very young and needy beauties from the middle classes. He coveted91 them, bested them, got them, hated them because so plainly he had bought them, and threw them over with well established expensive habits and a contemptible92 income. “He sets about it like a cat,” wrote Philip. “I have seen him on the platform at a Mansion93 House meeting, fixing some pretty girl in the audience like an old cat spotting a nestling in a bush. He sets about it very quietly and cleverly. He has all sorts of secretarial jobs to offer, and I believe there is a friendly West End dressmaker. He can even seem to be influential94 round about one or two theatres if a girl has ambitions of that sort. He gets them and makes them submit to this and that, and they become afraid of him. They realise they are unsafe. He can turn them back to poverty and the streets, so easily. When he has got them thoroughly95 afraid of him, then I suppose he feels like God. In the end, it does not matter how they propitiate96. Go they must. In his life, there must have been a score of these —romances.”
Thus Philip, relentlessly97. These were the interests and amusements of Lord Edensoke, the satisfactions that kept him alive and made the life he lived worth while, the besting of men, the abasement98 of women, the sense of conquest assured by the big balance, the big house, the many servants, the champagne99 you couldn’t buy in the open market, the special cigars, the salutation of common men, the whispered “That’s Edensoke,” the rare visits to the House of Lords. What other reality was there? These were the things that kept the look of quiet self-approval on those thin lips and assured the great coal-owner that he had the better of the sentimentalists and weaklings about him, that he could rank himself above these other men who wasted their time upon ideas and causes, who kept faith beyond the letter of their bargains, and sacrificed and restrained themselves for their friends and their associates, their wives and their women-kind. “My dear,” wrote Philip, rising to the full gravity of his Largo, “this is the analysis of Uncle Robert. These are his ends and all that he is! For the first time in my life I have looked at him squarely and this is what he is. And it is a hideous100 life. It is a hideous life and yet it comes so close to me that it is a life I too might drift into living.
“This is a common way of living among our kind of people now. Edensoke is no rare creature. There are more Edensokes than know they are [_sic_]. Edensokes with variations. There are hundreds of him now among the rich, and thousands and thousands as one goes down the scale to the merely prosperous. Some are a little different about their womenfolk and buy them dearer and make more of a show with them. Many are sillier — I admit he has a good brain. Lots are too cowardly for ‘romances’ and leave the women alone — but not so many as there used to be. Most have fads101 and hobbies that give them a little distinction, but all are equally damned. You and I could write down a score of names in five minutes. Not one that wouldn’t rejoice to be in that deal over the foreign coal, if they knew of it and knew how to get into it. Not one, that wouldn’t feel bested to hear of a coal miner with a decent bathroom, a Morris car and a shelf of books. The government and the bunch behind the government, abounds102 in his quality. Soames Forsyte again! — how near old Galsworthy has come to him. The living damned.
“And in a world of men like this,” Philip culminated103, “we are waiting about for old Sempack’s millennium104 to come of its own accord!”
Mrs. Rylands paused at the end of the sheet. The portrait of the contemporary successful man, for all the jerkiness of its strokes, struck her as devastatingly105 true. There was not a thing Philip was telling her about Lord Edensoke that seemed altogether new to her. Even the bilked mistresses she had known of, by intuition. And as certainly had she known, and yet never quite dared to know, that this was the quality of many men, of many powers, of much of the power in the world. The world into which she and Philip were now launching another human soul.
That too had to be reasoned out with the green leather book.
“What puts the sting into the problem of Uncle Robert,” Philip continued, “is the fact that he is after all, blood of my blood and bone of my bone. When he isn’t looking like an elderly shop-soiled version of Geoffry coming home late, he is looking like me in thirty years time. The personal question for me is, whether he is the truth about me stripped of a lot of illusion and rainbow stuff and Wordsworthian ‘clouds of glory’ and such, or whether I am still in possession of something — I don’t know — some sort of cleanness and decency, that he has lost. Which I need not lose. I’m all for alternative two, and if so, then the most important thing in the world for us is to know what has dried this up in Uncle Robert.
“I’m going to write something difficult, dear wife confessor. I can’t help being clumsy here and it will sound priggish to the square of pi. But I see it like this. There is something in me that for want of a better word I might call religious. There is something else, unless it is the same thing, that holds me to you. Not just sex and your dearness, they hold me, but something else as well that makes me put not you, but something about you, over and before myself — before ourselves.” (Marginal note: “I just can’t get away from all these ambiguous somethings but I think you will see what I mean. When a man can manage his ‘ones’ and his ‘somethings’ and his other pronouns then I suppose he has really learnt to write.") This has to do with nobleness and good faith. This is in me but not so very strong, and I thank whatever powers there be that I met you. This wants help to keep alive, and you help it to keep alive, have helped and will help it tremendously. It may be illusion but that does not matter so long as it remains106 bright and alive. Lots of people keep it alive through religion, church I mean and all that, but nowadays that hasn’t kept up, religion hasn’t, and a lot of us can’t make that use of it. Of any current sort of religion I mean. And it can go altogether. I have this in me, whatever it is, and so has Geoffry and so perhaps had Uncle Robert. I am more like Geoffry than you like to think and he is more like me. He didn’t have my luck in getting you and having you thinking of fine things beside me, and before and always he has had the worse of that sort of luck and he is shyer than I am and more secretive. I’ve seen what I am talking about shrink in him, but I’ve watched it and it is there. I don’t suppose there is any religion now strong enough to get him — or any sort of woman to pick him up. I don’t know. Still something lingers. It makes him uncomfortable and he is disposed to hate it and try to sneer107 at it until it is dead altogether. And by the same reasoning Edensoke started like this. There was a time when he thought of doing fine things and having something in his life lovelier than scoring points in a game. He had the illusion, or if you like, because practically it is the same, he had the sacred flame, whatever it is, flickering108 about in him. I expect Aunt Sydney made a tough start for him. He hadn’t my luck. Suppose when they two were young he had found out suddenly that she loved him — more even than her pride. Suppose something had happened like what happened to me. Infusion109 of blood saves lives, but being loved like that is infusion of soul. Shy men bury their hearts like that fellow in the Testament110 who buried his talent. And when you dig them up again, there’s nothing. Hearts must have air, have breathed upon them the breath of life. As you did. The flame is hard to light again. Now that there is no religion really, one is left to nothing but love.
“I’m writing all this just anyhow and God knows what you will make of this hotch-potch of ideas. I’ve got to cut it short and finish.
“It is one o’clock, my dear, closing time for a respectable club and I must turn out from here and walk back to South Street to bed. Not a taxi to be got.”
This first letter had been sealed down after this effort and then reopened to insert a sheet of South Street notepaper and on this was scrawled111: “I open this letter again to tell you that Catherine Fossingdean has killed a man. I did not even know she was in England. I thought she was still with you. But she seems to have scuttled112 home directly the General Strike was begun. You know she is mixed up with the comic-opera fellow Fearon-Owen who stars it in the British Fascisti world. I can’t imagine her taste for him. Looks to me like the sort of fellow one doesn’t play cards with. Got his knighthood out of organising some exhibition. One of those splendid old English families that sold carpets in Constantinople three generations ago and was known as Feronian or some such name with a nose to it. Anyhow he’s true-blue British now. Bull-dog-breed to the marrow113. union Jack114 all over him. And a terrific down on the lazy good-for-nothing British working man. Who really is British, blood and bone. In some irregular way this glory of our island race has got his fingers well into an emergency organisation115 of automobilists, for scattering116 Winston’s British Gazette up and down the country, and suchlike public services. And he seems to have handed over a motor-car to Lady Catherine for moonlight rushes to the midlands.
“You know how she drives. Foot down and damn the man round the corner. Giving her a car to drive is almost as criminal as shooting blind down a crowded street. She got her man near Rugby. Two young fellows she got, but the other was only slightly injured. This one was killed dead. Tramping for a job, poor devil. And she drove on! She drove on, because she was a patriotic117 heroine battling against Bolshevism and all that, for God and King and Fearon-Owen and the British Gazette, particularly Fearon-Owen and the British Gazette. War is war. Nothing will be done to her. That’s all. Philip.”
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opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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chunks
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| 厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 )； （某物）相当大的数量或部分 | |
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quartz
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| n.石英 | |
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endearments
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| n.表示爱慕的话语，亲热的表示( endearment的名词复数 ) | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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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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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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anticipatory
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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negotiations
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| 协商( negotiation的名词复数 )； 谈判； 完成（难事）； 通过 | |
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cant
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| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
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intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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garbled
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| adj.（指信息）混乱的，引起误解的v.对（事实）歪曲，对（文章等）断章取义，窜改( garble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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consecutively
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largo
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varied
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vigour
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astonishment
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gathering
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resentment
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authoritative
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proximity
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discourse
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stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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utterly
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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albeit
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dormant
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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monarchy
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| n.君主，最高统治者；君主政体，君主国 | |
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dividend
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| n.红利，股息；回报，效益 | |
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42
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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43
brigand
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| n.土匪，强盗 | |
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44
brigandage
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| n.抢劫；盗窃；土匪；强盗 | |
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45
illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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46
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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47
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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48
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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49
disabuse
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| v.解惑；矫正 | |
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50
unemployed
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| adj.失业的，没有工作的；未动用的，闲置的 | |
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51
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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52
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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53
fumed
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| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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54
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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56
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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58
enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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unravelling
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| 解开，拆散，散开( unravel的现在分词 )； 阐明； 澄清； 弄清楚 | |
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avaricious
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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wariness
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| n. 注意,小心 | |
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anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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73
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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needy
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的，生活艰苦的 | |
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treacherously
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| 背信弃义地； 背叛地； 靠不住地； 危险地 | |
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subservient
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| adj.卑屈的，阿谀的 | |
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enticed
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| 诱惑，怂恿( entice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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eavesdropped
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| 偷听（别人的谈话）( eavesdrop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bided
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| v.等待，停留( bide的过去式 )；居住；等待；面临 | |
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82
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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83
spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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flaunted
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的过去式和过去分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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87
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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88
reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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89
seducing
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| 诱奸( seduce的现在分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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exalting
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| a.令人激动的，令人喜悦的 | |
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91
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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93
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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94
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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95
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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96
propitiate
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| v.慰解，劝解 | |
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97
relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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98
abasement
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| n.滥用 | |
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99
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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100
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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101
fads
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| n.一时的流行，一时的风尚( fad的名词复数 ) | |
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102
abounds
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| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的第三人称单数 ) | |
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103
culminated
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| v.达到极点( culminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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105
devastatingly
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| adv. 破坏性地，毁灭性地，极其 | |
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106
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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107
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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108
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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109
infusion
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| n.灌输 | |
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110
testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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111
scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
scuttled
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| v.使船沉没( scuttle的过去式和过去分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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113
marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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114
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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115
organisation
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| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
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116
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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117
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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