And as though the strife9 here were not already hard enough, behold10 from many corners of the land come needy11 emigrants12, prospectless13 among their own people, fearing the dark season which has so often meant for them the end of wages and of food, tempted14 hither by thought that in the shadow of palaces work and charity are both more plentiful15. Vagabonds, too, no longer able to lie about the country roads, creep back to their remembered lairs16 and join the combat for crusts flung forth17 by casual hands. Day after day the stress becomes more grim. One would think that hosts of the weaker combatants might surely find it seasonable to let themselves be trodden out of existence, and so make room for those of more useful sinew; somehow they cling to life; so few in comparison yield utterly18. The thoughtful in the world above look about them with contentment when carriage-ways are deep with new-fallen snow. ‘Good; here is work for the unemployed19.’ Ah, if the winter did but last a few months longer, if the wonted bounds of endurance were but, by some freak of nature, sensibly overpassed, the carriage-ways would find another kind of sweeping21! . . .
This winter was the last that Shooter’s Gardens were destined22 to know. The leases had all but run out; the middlemen were garnering23 their latest profits; in the spring there would come a wholesale24 demolition25, and model-lodgings26 would thereafter occupy the site. Meanwhile the Gardens looked their surliest; the walls stood in a perpetual black sweat; a mouldy reek27 came from the open doorways28; the beings that passed in and out seemed soaked with grimy moisture, puffed29 into distortions, hung about with rotting garments. One such was Mrs. Candy, Pennyloaf’s mother. Her clothing consisted of a single gown and a shawl made out of the fragments of an old counterpane; her clothing — with exception of the shoes on her feet, those two articles were literally30 all that covered her bare body. Rage for drink was with her reaching the final mania31. Useless to bestow32 anything upon her; straightway it or its value passed over the counter of the beershop in Rosoman Street. She cared only for beer, the brave, thick, medicated draught33, that was so cheap and frenzied34 her so speedily.
Her husband was gone for good. One choking night of November he beat her to such purpose that she was carried off to the police-station as dead; the man effected his escape, and was not likely to show himself in the Gardens again. With her still lived her son Stephen, the potman. His payment was ten shillings a week (with a daily allowance of three pints), and he saw to it that there was always a loaf of bread in the room they occupied together. Stephen took things with much philosophy; his mother would, of course, drink herself to death — what was there astonishing in that? He himself had heart disease, and surely enough would drop down dead one of these days; the one doom5 was no more to be quarrelled with than the other. Pennyloaf came to see them at very long intervals35; what was the use of making her visits more frequent? She, too, viewed with a certain equanimity36 the progress of her mother’s fate. Vain every kind of interposition; worse than imprudence to give the poor creature money or money’s worth. It could only be hoped that the end would come before very long.
An interesting house, this in which Mrs. Candy resided. It contained in all seven rooms, and each room was the home of a family; under the roof slept twenty-five persons, men, women, and children; the lowest rent paid by one of these domestic groups was four-and-sixpence. You would have enjoyed a peep into the rear chamber37 on the ground floor. There dwelt a family named Hope — Mr. and Mrs. Hope, Sarah Hope, aged38 fifteen, Dick Hope, aged twelve, Betsy Hope, aged three. The father was a cripple; he and his wife occupied themselves in the picking of rags — of course at home — and I can assure you that the atmosphere of their abode39 was worthy40 of its aspect. Mr. Hope drank, but not desperately41. His forte42 was the use of language so peculiarly violent that even in Shooter’s Gardens it gained him a proud reputation. On the slightest excuse he would threaten to brain one of his children, to disembowel another, to gouge43 out the eyes of the third. He showed much ingenuity44 in varying the forms of menaced punishment. Not a child in the Gardens but was constantly threatened by its parents with a violent death; this was so familiar that it had lost its effect; where the nurse or mother in the upper world cries, ‘I shall scold you!’ in the nether the phrase is, ‘I’ll knock yer ‘ed orff!’ To ‘I shall be very angry with you’ in the one sphere, corresponds in the other, ‘I’ll murder you!’ These are conventions — matters of no importance. But Mr. Rope was a man of individuality; he could make his family tremble; he could bring lodgers45 about the door to listen and admire his resources.
In another room abode a mother with four children. This woman drank moderately, but was very conscientious46 in despatching her three younger children to school. True, there was just a little inconvenience in this punctuality of hers, at all events from the youngsters’ point of view, for only on the first three days of the week had they the slightest chance of a mouthful of breakfast before they departed. ‘Never mind, I’ll have some dinner for you,’ their parent was wont20 to say. Common enough in the Board schools, this pursuit of knowledge on an empty stomach. But then the end is so inestimable!
Yet another home. It was tenanted by two persons only; they appeared to be man and wife, but in the legal sense were not so, nor did they for a moment seek to deceive their neighbours. With the female you are slightly acquainted; christened Sukey Jollop, she first became Mrs. Jack47 Bartley, and now, for courtesy’s sake, was styled Mrs. Higgs. Sukey had strayed on to a downward path; conscious of it, she abandoned herself to her taste for strong drink, and braved out her degradation48. Jealousy49 of Clem Peckover was the first cause of discord50 between her and Jack Bartley; a robust51 young woman, she finally sent Jack about his business by literal force of arms, and entered into an alliance with Ned Higgs, a notorious swashbuckler, the captain of a gang of young ruffians who at this date were giving much trouble to the Clerkenwell police. Their speciality was the skilful52 use, as an offensive weapon, of a stout53 leathern belt heavily buckled54; Mr. Higgs boasted that with one stroke of his belt he could, if it seemed good to him, kill his man, but the fitting opportunity for this display of prowess had not yet offered . . . .
Now it happened that, at the time of her making Jane Snowdon’s acquaintance, Miss Lant was particularly interested in Shooter’s Gardens and the immediate55 vicinity. She had associated herself with certain ladies who undertook the control of a soup-kitchen in the neighbourhood, and as the winter advanced she engaged Jane in this work of charity. It was a good means, as Michael Snowdon agreed, of enabling the girl to form acquaintances among the very poorest, those whom she hoped to serve effectively — not with aid of money alone, but by her personal influence. And I think it will be worth while to dwell a little on the story of this same soup-kitchen; it is significant, and shall take the place of abstract comment on Miss Lant’s philanthropic enterprises.
The kitchen had been doing successful work for some years; the society which established it entrusted56 its practical conduct to very practical people, a man and wife who were themselves of the nether world, and knew the ways thereof. The ‘stock’ which formed the basis of the soup was wholesome57 and nutritious58; the peas were of excellent quality; twopence a quart was the price at which this fluid could be purchased (one penny if a ticket from a member of the committee were presented), and sometimes as much as five hundred quarts would be sold in a day. Satisfactory enough this. When the people came with complaints, saying that they were tired of this particular soup, and would like another kind for a change, Mr. and Mrs. Batterby, with perfect understanding of the situation, bade their customers ‘take it or leave it — an’ none o’ your cheek here, or you won’t get nothing at all!’ The result was much good-humour all round.
But the present year saw a change in the constitution of the committee: two or three philanthropic ladies of great conscientiousness59 began to inquire busily into the working of the soup-kitchen, and they soon found reason to be altogether dissatisfied with Mr. and Mrs. Batterby. No, no; these managers were of too coarse a type; they spoke60 grossly; what possibility of their exerting a humanising influence on the people to whom they dispensed61 soup? Soup and refinement62 must be disseminated63 at one and the same time, over the same counter. Mr. and Mrs. Batterby were dismissed, and quite a new order of things began. Not only were the ladies zealous64 for a high ideal in the matter of soup-distributing, they also aimed at practical economy in the use of funds. Having engaged a cook after their own hearts, and acting65 upon the advice of competent physiologists66, they proceeded to make a ‘stock’ out of sheep’s and bullocks’ heads; moreover, they ordered their peas from the City, thus getting them at two shillings a sack less than the price formerly67 paid by the Batterbys to a dealer68 in Clerkenwell. But, alas69! these things could not be done secretly; the story leaked out; Shooter’s Gardens and vicinity broke into the most excited feeling. I need not tell you that the nether world will consume — when others supply it — nothing but the very finest quality of food, that the heads of sheep and bullocks are peculiarly offensive to its stomach, that a saving effected on sacks of peas outrages70 its dearest sensibilities. What was the result? Shooter’s Gardens, convinced of the fraud practised upon them, nobly brought back their quarts of soup to the kitchen, and with proud independence of language demanded to have their money returned. On being met with a refusal, they — what think you? — emptied the soup on to the floor, and went away with heads exalted71.
Vast was the indignation of Miss Lant and the other ladies. ‘This is their gratitude72!’ Now if you or I had been there, what an opportunity for easing our minds! ‘Gratitude, mesdames? You have entered upon this work with expectation of gratitude? — And can you not perceive that these people of Shooter’s Gardens are poor, besotted, disease-struck creatures, of whom — in the mass — scarcely a human quality is to be expected? Have you still to learn what this nether world has been made by those who belong to the sphere above it? — Gratitude, quotha? — Nay73, do you be grateful that these hapless, half-starved women do not turn and rend74 you. At present they satisfy themselves with insolence75. Take it silently, you who at all events hold some count of their dire76 state; and endeavour to feed them without arousing their animosity!’
Well, the kitchen threatened to be a failure. It turned out that the cheaper peas were, in fact, of inferior quality, and the ladies hastened to go back to the dealer in Clerkenwell. This was something, but now came a new trouble; the complaint with which Mr. and Mrs. Batterby had known so well how to deal revived in view of the concessions77 made by the new managers. Shooter’s Gardens would have no more peas; let some other vegetable be used. Again the point was conceded; a trial was made of barley78 soup. Shooter’s Gardens came, looked, smelt79, and shook their heads. ‘It don’t look nice,’ was their comment; they would none of it.
For two or three weeks, just at this crisis in the kitchen’s fate, Jane Snowdon attended with Miss Lant to help in the dispensing80 of the decoction. Jane was made very nervous by the disturbances81 that went on, but she was able to review the matter at issue in a far more fruitful way than Miss Lant and the other ladies. Her opinion was not asked, however. In the homely82 grey dress, with her modest, retiring manner, her gentle, diffident countenance83, she was taken by the customers for a paid servant, and if ever it happened that she could not supply a can of soup quickly enough sharp words reached her ear. ‘Now then, you gyurl there! Are you goin’ to keep me all d’y? I’ve got somethink else to do but stand ’ere.’ And Jane, by her timid hastening, confirmed the original impression, with the result that she was treated yet more unceremoniously next time. Of all forms of insolence there is none more flagrant than that of the degraded poor receiving charity which they have come to regard as a right.
Jane did speak at length. Miss Lant had called to see her in Hanover Street; seated quietly in her own parlour, with Michael Snowdon to approve — with him she had already discussed the matter — Jane ventured softly to compare the present state of things and that of former winters, as described to her by various people.
‘Wasn’t it rather a pity,’ she suggested, ‘that the old people were sent away?’
‘You think so?’ returned Miss Lant, with the air of one to whom a novel thought is presented. ‘You really think so, Miss Snowdon?’
‘They got on so well with everybody,’ Jane continued. ‘And don’t you think it’s better, Miss Lant, for everybody to feel satisfied?’
‘But really, Mr. Batterby used to speak so very harshly. He destroyed their self-respect.’
‘I don’t think they minded it,’ said Jane, with simple good faith. ‘And I’m always hearing them wish he was back, instead of the new managers.’
‘I think we shall have to consider this,’ remarked the lady, thoughtfully.
Considered it was, and with the result that the Batterbys before long found themselves in their old position, uproariously welcomed by Shooter’s Gardens. In a few weeks the soup was once more concocted84 of familiar ingredients, and customers, as often as they grumbled85, had the pleasure of being rebuked86 in their native tongue.
It was with anything but a cheerful heart that Jane went through this initiation87 into the philanthropic life. Her brief period of joy and confidence was followed by a return of anxiety, which no resolve could suppress. It was not only that the ideals to which she strove to form herself made no genuine appeal to her nature; the imperative88 hunger of her heart remained unsatisfied. At first, when the assurance received from Michael began to lose a little of its sustaining force, she could say to herself, ‘Patience, patience; be faithful, be trustful, and your reward will soon come.’ Nor would patience have failed her had but the current of life flowed on in the old way. It was the introduction of new and disturbing things that proved so great a test of fortitude89. Those two successive absences of Sidney on the appointed evening were strangely unlike him, but perhaps could be explained by the unsettlement of his removal; his manner when at length he did come proved that the change in himself was still proceeding90. Moreover, the change affected91 Michael, who manifested increase of mental trouble at the same time that he yielded more and more to physical infirmity.
The letter which Sidney wrote after receiving Joseph Snowdon’s confidential92 communications was despatched two days later. He expressed himself in carefully chosen words, but the purport93 of the letter was to make known that he no longer thought of Jane save as a friend; that the change in her position had compelled him to take another view of his relations to her than that he had confided94 to Michael at Danbury. Most fortunately — he added — no utterance of his feelings had ever escaped him to Jane herself, and henceforth he should be still more careful to avoid any suggestion of more than brotherly interest. In very deed nothing was altered; he was still her steadfast95 friend, and would always aid her to his utmost in the work of her life.
That Sidney could send this letter, after keeping it in reserve for a couple of days, proved how profoundly his instincts were revolted by the difficulties and the ambiguity96 of his position. It had been bad enough when only his own conscience was in play; the dialogue with Joseph, following upon Bessie Byass’s indiscretion, threw him wholly off his balance, and he could give no weight to any consideration but the necessity of recovering self-respect. Even the sophistry97 of that repeated statement that he had never approached Jane as a lover did not trouble him in face of the injury to his pride. Every word of Joseph Snowdon’s transparently98 artful hints was a sting to his sensitiveness; the sum excited him to loathing99. It was as though the corner of a curtain had been raised, giving him a glimpse of all the vile100 greed, the base machination, hovering101 about this fortune that Jane was to inherit. Of Scawthorne he knew nothing, but his recollection of the Peckovers was vivid enough to suggest what part Mrs. Joseph Snowdon was playing in the present intrigues102, and he felt convinced that in the background were other beasts of prey, watching with keen, envious103 eyes. The sudden revelation was a shock from which he would not soon recover; he seemed to himself to be in a degree contaminated; he questioned his most secret thoughts again and again, recognizing with torment104 the fears which had already bidden him draw back; he desired to purify himself by some unmistakable action.
That which happened he had anticipated. On receipt of the letter Michael came to see him; he found the old man waiting in front of the house when he returned to Red Lion Street after his work. The conversation that followed was a severe test of Sidney’s resolve. Had Michael disclosed the fact of his private understanding with Jane, Sidney would probably have yielded; but the old man gave no hint of what he had done — partly because he found it difficult to make the admission, partly in consequence of an indecision in his own mind with regard to the very point at issue. Though agitated105 by the consciousness of suffering in store for Jane, his thoughts disturbed by the derangement106 of a part of his plan, he did not feel that Sidney’s change of mind gravely affected the plan itself. Age had cooled his blood; enthusiasm had made personal interests of comparatively small account to him; he recognised his granddaughter’s feeling, but could not appreciate its intensity107, its surpreme significance. When Kirkwood made a show of explaining himself, saying that he shrank from that form of responsibility, that such a marriage suggested to him many and insuperable embarrassments108, Michael began to reflect that perchance this was the just view. With household and family cares, could Jane devote herself to the great work after the manner of his ideal? Had he not been tempted by his friendship for Sidney to introduce into his scheme what was really an incompatible109 element? Was it not decidedly, infinitely110 better that Jane should be unmarried?
Michael had taken the last step in that process of dehumanisation which threatens idealists of his type. He had reached at length the pass of those frenzied votaries111 of a supernatural creed112 who exact from their disciples113 the sacrifice of every human piety114. Returning home, he murmured to himself again and again, ‘She must not marry. She must overcome this desire of a happiness such as ordinary women may enjoy. For my sake, and for the sake of her suffering fellow-creatures, Jane must win this victory over herself.’
He purposed speaking to her, but put it off from day to day. Sidney paid his visits as usual, and tried desperately to behave as though he had no trouble. Could he have divined why it was that Michael had ended by accepting his vague pretences115 with apparent calm, indignation, wrath116, would have possessed117 him; he believed, however, that the old man out of kindness subdued118 what he really felt. Sidney’s state was pitiable. He knew not whether he more shrank from the thought of being infected with Joseph Snowdon’s baseness or despised himself for his attitude to Jane. Despicable entirely119 had been his explanations to Michael, but how could he make them more sincere? To tell the whole truth, to reveal Joseph’s tactics would be equivalent to taking a part in the dirty contest; Michael would probably do him justice, but who could say how far Joseph’s machinations were becoming effectual? The slightest tinct of uncertainty120 in the old man’s thought, and he, Kirkwood, became a plotter, like the others, meeting mine with countermine.
‘There will be no possibility of perfect faith between men until there is no such thing as money! H’m, and when is that likely to come to pass?’
Thus he epigrammatised to himself one evening, savagely121 enough, as with head bent122 forward he plodded123 to Red Lion Street. Some one addressed him; he looked up and saw Jane. Seemingly it was a chance meeting, but she put a question at once almost as though she had been waiting for him. ‘Have you seen Pennyloaf lately, Mr. Kirkwood?’
Pennyloaf? The name suggested Bob Hewett, who again suggested John Hewett, and so Sidney fell upon thoughts of some one who two days ago had found a refuge in John’s home. To Michael he had said nothing of what he knew concerning Clara; a fresh occasion of uneasy thought. Bob Hewett — so John said — had no knowledge of his sister’s situation, otherwise Pennyloaf might have come to know about it, and in that case, perchance, Jane herself. Why not? Into what a wretched muddle124 of concealments and inconsistencies and insincerities had he fallen!
‘It’s far too long since I saw her,’ he replied, in that softened125 tone which he found it impossible to avoid when his eyes met Jane’s.
She was on her way home from the soup-kitchen, where certain occupations had kept her much later than usual; this, however, was far out of her way, and Sidney remarked on the fact, perversely126, when she had offered this explanation of her meeting him, Jane did not reply. They walked on together, towards Islington.
‘Are you going to help at that place all the winter?’ he inquired.
‘Yes; I think so.’
If he had spoken his thought, he would have railed against the soup-kitchen and all that was connected with it. So far had he got in his revolt against circumstances; Jane’s ‘mission’ was hateful to him; he could not bear to think of her handing soup over a counter to ragged127 wretches128.
‘You’re nothing like as cheerful as you used to be, he said, suddenly, and all but roughly. ‘Why is it?’
What a question! Jane reddened as she tried to look at him with a smile; no words would come to her tongue.
‘Do you go anywhere else, besides to — to that place?’
Not often. She had accompanied Miss Lant on a visit to some people in Shooter’s Gardens.
Sidney bent his brows. A nice spot, Shooter’s Gardens.
‘The houses are going to be pulled down, I’m glad to say,’ continued Jane. ‘Miss Lant thinks it’ll be a good opportunity for helping129 a few of the families into better lodgings. We’re going to buy furniture for them — so many have as good as none at all, you know. It’ll be a good start for them, won’t it?’
Sidney nodded. He was thinking of another family who already owed their furniture to Jane’s beneficence, though they did not know it.
‘Mind you don’t throw away kindness on worthless people,’ he said presently.
‘We can only do our best, and hope they’ll keep comfortable for their own sakes.’
‘Yes, yes. Well, I’ll say good-night to you here. Go home and rest; you look tired.’
He no longer called her by her name. Tearing himself away, with a last look, he raged inwardly that so sweet and gentle a creature should be condemned130 to such a waste of her young life.
Jane had obtained what she came for. At times the longing131 to see him grew insupportable, and this evening she had yielded to it, going out of her way in the hope of encountering him as he came from work. He spoke very strangely. What did it all mean, and when would this winter of suspense132 give sign of vanishing before sunlight?
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
nether
|
|
| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
clement
|
|
| adj.仁慈的；温和的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
solicitude
|
|
| n.焦虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
doom
|
|
| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
scant
|
|
| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
lurking
|
|
| 潜在 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
prey
|
|
| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
strife
|
|
| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
behold
|
|
| v.看，注视，看到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
needy
|
|
| adj.贫穷的，贫困的，生活艰苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
emigrants
|
|
| n.（从本国移往他国的）移民( emigrant的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
prospectless
|
|
| n.章程，简章，简介( prospectus的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
tempted
|
|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
plentiful
|
|
| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
lairs
|
|
| n.（野兽的）巢穴，窝( lair的名词复数 )；（人的）藏身处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
unemployed
|
|
| adj.失业的，没有工作的；未动用的，闲置的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
sweeping
|
|
| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
destined
|
|
| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
garnering
|
|
| v.收集并（通常）贮藏（某物），取得，获得( garner的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
wholesale
|
|
| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
demolition
|
|
| n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
lodgings
|
|
| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
reek
|
|
| v.发出臭气；n.恶臭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
doorways
|
|
| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
puffed
|
|
| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
literally
|
|
| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
mania
|
|
| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
bestow
|
|
| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
draught
|
|
| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
frenzied
|
|
| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
intervals
|
|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
equanimity
|
|
| n.沉着，镇定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
abode
|
|
| n.住处，住所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
desperately
|
|
| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
forte
|
|
| n.长处，擅长；adj.(音乐)强音的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
gouge
|
|
| v.凿；挖出；n.半圆凿；凿孔；欺诈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
ingenuity
|
|
| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
lodgers
|
|
| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
conscientious
|
|
| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
jack
|
|
| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
degradation
|
|
| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
discord
|
|
| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
robust
|
|
| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
skilful
|
|
| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
buckled
|
|
| a. 有带扣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
entrusted
|
|
| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
wholesome
|
|
| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
nutritious
|
|
| adj.有营养的，营养价值高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
conscientiousness
|
|
| 责任心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
dispensed
|
|
| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
refinement
|
|
| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
disseminated
|
|
| 散布，传播( disseminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
zealous
|
|
| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
physiologists
|
|
| n.生理学者( physiologist的名词复数 )；生理学( physiology的名词复数 )；生理机能 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
formerly
|
|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
dealer
|
|
| n.商人，贩子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
outrages
|
|
| 引起…的义愤，激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
exalted
|
|
| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
rend
|
|
| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
insolence
|
|
| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
dire
|
|
| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
concessions
|
|
| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
barley
|
|
| n.大麦，大麦粒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
smelt
|
|
| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
dispensing
|
|
| v.分配( dispense的现在分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
disturbances
|
|
| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
homely
|
|
| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
concocted
|
|
| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的过去式和过去分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
grumbled
|
|
| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
rebuked
|
|
| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
initiation
|
|
| n.开始 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
imperative
|
|
| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
fortitude
|
|
| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
proceeding
|
|
| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
confidential
|
|
| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
purport
|
|
| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
confided
|
|
| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
steadfast
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
ambiguity
|
|
| n.模棱两可；意义不明确 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
sophistry
|
|
| n.诡辩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
transparently
|
|
| 明亮地，显然地，易觉察地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
loathing
|
|
| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
vile
|
|
| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
hovering
|
|
| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
intrigues
|
|
| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
envious
|
|
| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
torment
|
|
| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
derangement
|
|
| n.精神错乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
intensity
|
|
| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
embarrassments
|
|
| n.尴尬( embarrassment的名词复数 )；难堪；局促不安；令人难堪或耻辱的事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
incompatible
|
|
| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
votaries
|
|
| n.信徒( votary的名词复数 )；追随者；（天主教）修士；修女 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
112
creed
|
|
| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
disciples
|
|
| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
piety
|
|
| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
pretences
|
|
| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
uncertainty
|
|
| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
savagely
|
|
| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
plodded
|
|
| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
muddle
|
|
| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
softened
|
|
| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
perversely
|
|
| adv. 倔强地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
wretches
|
|
| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
helping
|
|
| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
condemned
|
|
| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |