Had it not been for the daughter whom he often mentioned, Mr Riderhood might have found the Hole a mere9 grave as to any means it would yield him of getting a living. But Miss Pleasant Riderhood had some little position and connection in Limehouse Hole. Upon the smallest of small scales, she was an unlicensed pawnbroker10, keeping what was popularly called a Leaving Shop, by lending insignificant11 sums on insignificant articles of property deposited with her as security. In her four-and-twentieth year of life, Pleasant was already in her fifth year of this way of trade. Her deceased mother had established the business, and on that parent’s demise12 she had appropriated a secret capital of fifteen shillings to establishing herself in it; the existence of such capital in a pillow being the last intelligible13 confidential14 communication made to her by the departed, before succumbing15 to dropsical conditions of snuff and gin, incompatible16 equally with coherence17 and existence.
Why christened Pleasant, the late Mrs Riderhood might possibly have been at some time able to explain, and possibly not. Her daughter had no information on that point. Pleasant she found herself, and she couldn’t help it. She had not been consulted on the question, any more than on the question of her coming into these terrestrial parts, to want a name. Similarly, she found herself possessed18 of what is colloquially19 termed a swivel eye (derived from her father), which she might perhaps have declined if her sentiments on the subject had been taken. She was not otherwise positively20 ill-looking, though anxious, meagre, of a muddy complexion21, and looking as old again as she really was.
As some dogs have it in the blood, or are trained, to worry certain creatures to a certain point, so — not to make the comparison disrespectfially — Pleasant Riderhood had it in the blood, or had been trained, to regard seamen22, within certain limits, as her prey23. Show her a man in a blue jacket, and, figuratively speaking, she pinned him instantly. Yet, all things considered, she was not of an evil mind or an unkindly disposition27. For, observe how many things were to be considered according to her own unfortunate experience. Show Pleasant Riderhood a Wedding in the street, and she only saw two people taking out a regular licence to quarrel and fight. Show her a Christening, and she saw a little heathen personage having a quite superfluous28 name bestowed29 upon it, inasmuch as it would be commonly addressed by some abusive epithet30: which little personage was not in the least wanted by anybody, and would be shoved and banged out of everybody’s way, until it should grow big enough to shove and bang. Show her a Funeral, and she saw an unremunerative ceremony in the nature of a black masquerade, conferring a temporary gentility on the performers, at an immense expense, and representing the only formal party ever given by the deceased. Show her a live father, and she saw but a duplicate of her own father, who from her infancy31 had been taken with fits and starts of discharging his duty to her, which duty was always incorporated in the form of a fist or a leathern strap32, and being discharged hurt her. All things considered, therefore, Pleasant Riderhood was not so very, very bad. There was even a touch of romance in her — of such romance as could creep into Limehouse Hole — and maybe sometimes of a summer evening, when she stood with folded arms at her shopdoor, looking from the reeking33 street to the sky where the sun was setting, she may have had some vaporous visions of far-off islands in the southern seas or elsewhere (not being geographically34 particular), where it would be good to roam with a congenial partner among groves35 of bread-fruit, waiting for ships to be wafted36 from the hollow ports of civilization. For, sailors to be got the better of, were essential to Miss Pleasant’s Eden.
Not on a summer evening did she come to her little shop-door, when a certain man standing37 over against the house on the opposite side of the street took notice of her. That was on a cold shrewd windy evening, after dark. Pleasant Riderhood shared with most of the lady inhabitants of the Hole, the peculiarity38 that her hair was a ragged40 knot, constantly coming down behind, and that she never could enter upon any undertaking41 without first twisting it into place. At that particular moment, being newly come to the threshold to take a look out of doors, she was winding42 herself up with both hands after this fashion. And so prevalent was the fashion, that on the occasion of a fight or other disturbance43 in the Hole, the ladies would be seen flocking from all quarters universally twisting their back-hair as they came along, and many of them, in the hurry of the moment, carrying their back-combs in their mouths.
It was a wretched little shop, with a roof that any man standing in it could touch with his hand; little better than a cellar or cave, down three steps. Yet in its ill-lighted window, among a flaring44 handkerchief or two, an old peacoat or so, a few valueless watches and compasses, a jar of tobacco and two crossed pipes, a bottle of walnut45 ketchup46, and some horrible sweets these creature discomforts47 serving as a blind to the main business of the Leaving Shop — was displayed the inscription48 SEAMAN49’S BOARDING-HOUSE.
Taking notice of Pleasant Riderhood at the door, the man crossed so quickly that she was still winding herself up, when he stood close before her.
‘Is your father at home?’ said he.
‘I think he is,’ returned Pleasant, dropping her arms; ‘come in.’
It was a tentative reply, the man having a seafaring appearance. Her father was not at home, and Pleasant knew it. ‘Take a seat by the fire,’ were her hospitable50 words when she had got him in; ‘men of your calling are always welcome here.’
‘Thankee,’ said the man.
His manner was the manner of a sailor, and his hands were the hands of a sailor, except that they were smooth. Pleasant had an eye for sailors, and she noticed the unused colour and texture51 of the hands, sunburnt though they were, as sharply as she noticed their unmistakable loosneness and suppleness52, as he sat himself down with his left arm carelessly thrown across his left leg a little above the knee, and the right arm as carelessly thrown over the elbow of the wooden chair, with the hand curved, half open and half shut, as if it had just let go a rope.
‘Might you be looking for a Boarding-House?’ Pleasant inquired, taking her observant stand on one side of the fire.
‘I don’t rightly know my plans yet,’ returned the man.
‘You ain’t looking for a Leaving Shop?’
‘No,’ said the man.
‘No,’ assented53 Pleasant, ‘you’ve got too much of an outfit54 on you for that. But if you should want either, this is both.’
‘Ay, ay!’ said the man, glancing round the place. ‘I know. I’ve been here before.’
‘Did you Leave anything when you were here before?’ asked Pleasant, with a view to principal and interest.
‘No.’ The man shook his head.
‘I am pretty sure you never boarded here?’
‘No.’ The man again shook his head.
‘What DID you do here when you were here before?’ asked Pleasant. ‘For I don’t remember you.’
‘It’s not at all likely you should. I only stood at the door, one night — on the lower step there — while a shipmate of mine looked in to speak to your father. I remember the place well.’ Looking very curiously55 round it.
‘Might that have been long ago?’
‘Ay, a goodish bit ago. When I came off my last voyage.’
‘Then you have not been to sea lately?’
‘No. Been in the sick bay since then, and been employed ashore56.’
‘Then, to be sure, that accounts for your hands.’
The man with a keen look, a quick smile, and a change of manner, caught her up. ‘You’re a good observer. Yes. That accounts for my hands.’
Pleasant was somewhat disquieted57 by his look, and returned it suspiciously. Not only was his change of manner, though very sudden, quite collected, but his former manner, which he resumed, had a certain suppressed confidence and sense of power in it that were half threatening.
‘Will your father be long?’ he inquired.
‘I don’t know. I can’t say.’
‘As you supposed he was at home, it would seem that he has just gone out? How’s that?’
‘I supposed he had come home,’ Pleasant explained.
‘Oh! You supposed he had come home? Then he has been some time out? How’s that?’
‘I don’t want to deceive you. Father’s on the river in his boat.’
‘At the old work?’ asked the man.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Pleasant, shrinking a step back. ‘What on earth d’ye want?’
‘I don’t want to hurt your father. I don’t want to say I might, if I chose. I want to speak to him. Not much in that, is there? There shall be no secrets from you; you shall be by. And plainly, Miss Riderhood, there’s nothing to be got out of me, or made of me. I am not good for the Leaving Shop, I am not good for the Boarding-House, I am not good for anything in your way to the extent of sixpenn’orth of halfpence. Put the idea aside, and we shall get on together.’
‘But you’re a seafaring man?’ argued Pleasant, as if that were a sufficient reason for his being good for something in her way.
‘Yes and no. I have been, and I may be again. But I am not for you. Won’t you take my word for it?’
The conversation had arrived at a crisis to justify58 Miss Pleasant’s hair in tumbling down. It tumbled down accordingly, and she twisted it up, looking from under her bent59 forehead at the man. In taking stock of his familiarly worn rough-weather nautical60 clothes, piece by piece, she took stock of a formidable knife in a sheath at his waist ready to his hand, and of a whistle hanging round his neck, and of a short jagged knotted club with a loaded head that peeped out of a pocket of his loose outer jacket or frock. He sat quietly looking at her; but, with these appendages61 partially62 revealing themselves, and with a quantity of bristling63 oakumcoloured head and whisker, he had a formidable appearance.
‘Won’t you take my word for it?’ he asked again.
Pleasant answered with a short dumb nod. He rejoined with another short dumb nod. Then he got up and stood with his arms folded, in front of the fire, looking down into it occasionally, as she stood with her arms folded, leaning against the side of the chimney-piece.
‘To wile64 away the time till your father comes,’ he said — ‘pray is there much robbing and murdering of seamen about the water-side now?’
‘No,’ said Pleasant.
‘Any?’
‘Complaints of that sort are sometimes made, about Ratcliffe and Wapping and up that way. But who knows how many are true?’
‘To be sure. And it don’t seem necessary.’
‘That’s what I say,’ observed Pleasant. ‘Where’s the reason for it? Bless the sailors, it ain’t as if they ever could keep what they have, without it.’
‘You’re right. Their money may be soon got out of them, without violence,’ said the man.
‘Of course it may,’ said Pleasant; ‘and then they ship again and get more. And the best thing for ‘em, too, to ship again as soon as ever they can be brought to it. They’re never so well off as when they’re afloat.’
‘I’ll tell you why I ask,’ pursued the visitor, looking up from the fire. ‘I was once beset65 that way myself, and left for dead.’
‘No?’ said Pleasant. ‘Where did it happen?’
‘It happened,’ returned the man, with a ruminative66 air, as he drew his right hand across his chin, and dipped the other in the pocket of his rough outer coat, ‘it happened somewhere about here as I reckon. I don’t think it can have been a mile from here.’
‘Were you drunk?’ asked Pleasant.
‘I was muddled67, but not with fair drinking. I had not been drinking, you understand. A mouthful did it.’
Pleasant with a grave look shook her head; importing that she understood the process, but decidedly disapproved68.
‘Fair trade is one thing,’ said she, ‘but that’s another. No one has a right to carry on with Jack24 in THAT way.’
‘The sentiment does you credit,’ returned the man, with a grim smile; and added, in a mutter, ‘the more so, as I believe it’s not your father’s. — Yes, I had a bad time of it, that time. I lost everything, and had a sharp struggle for my life, weak as I was.’
‘Did you get the parties punished?’ asked Pleasant.
‘A tremendous punishment followed,’ said the man, more seriously; ‘but it was not of my bringing about.’
‘Of whose, then?’ asked Pleasant.
The man pointed69 upward with his forefinger70, and, slowly recovering that hand, settled his chin in it again as he looked at the fire. Bringing her inherited eye to bear upon him, Pleasant Riderhood felt more and more uncomfortable, his manner was so mysterious, so stern, so self-possessed.
‘Anyways,’ said the damsel, ‘I am glad punishment followed, and I say so. Fair trade with seafaring men gets a bad name through deeds of violence. I am as much against deeds of violence being done to seafaring men, as seafaring men can be themselves. I am of the same opinion as my mother was, when she was living. Fair trade, my mother used to say, but no robbery and no blows.’ In the way of trade Miss Pleasant would have taken — and indeed did take when she could — as much as thirty shillings a week for board that would be dear at five, and likewise conducted the Leaving business upon correspondingly equitable71 principles; yet she had that tenderness of conscience and those feelings of humanity, that the moment her ideas of trade were overstepped, she became the seaman’s champion, even against her father whom she seldom otherwise resisted.
But, she was here interrupted by her father’s voice exclaiming angrily, ‘Now, Poll Parrot!’ and by her father’s hat being heavily flung from his hand and striking her face. Accustomed to such occasional manifestations72 of his sense of parental73 duty, Pleasant merely wiped her face on her hair (which of course had tumbled down) before she twisted it up. This was another common procedure on the part of the ladies of the Hole, when heated by verbal or fistic altercation74.
‘Blest if I believe such a Poll Parrot as you was ever learned to speak!’ growled75 Mr Riderhood, stooping to pick up his hat, and making a feint at her with his head and right elbow; for he took the delicate subject of robbing seamen in extraordinary dudgeon, and was out of humour too. ‘What are you Poll Parroting at now? Ain’t you got nothing to do but fold your arms and stand a Poll Parroting all night?’
‘Let her alone,’ urged the man. ‘She was only speaking to me.’
‘Let her alone too!’ retorted Mr Riderhood, eyeing him all over. ‘Do you know she’s my daughter?’
‘Yes.’
‘And don’t you know that I won’t have no Poll Parroting on the part of my daughter? No, nor yet that I won’t take no Poll Parroting from no man? And who may YOU be, and what may YOU want?’
‘How can I tell you until you are silent?’ returned the other fiercely.
‘Well,’ said Mr Riderhood, quailing76 a little, ‘I am willing to be silent for the purpose of hearing. But don’t Poll Parrot me.’
‘Are you thirsty, you?’ the man asked, in the same fierce short way, after returning his look.
‘Why nat’rally,’ said Mr Riderhood, ‘ain’t I always thirsty!’ (Indignant at the absurdity77 of the question.)
‘What will you drink?’ demanded the man.
‘Sherry wine,’ returned Mr Riderhood, in the same sharp tone, ‘if you’re capable of it.’
The man put his hand in his pocket, took out half a sovereign, and begged the favour of Miss Pleasant that she would fetch a bottle. ‘With the cork78 undrawn,’ he added, emphatically, looking at her father.
‘I’ll take my Alfred David,’ muttered Mr Riderhood, slowly relaxing into a dark smile, ‘that you know a move. Do I know YOU? N— n — no, I don’t know you.’
The man replied, ‘No, you don’t know me.’ And so they stood looking at one another surlily enough, until Pleasant came back.
‘There’s small glasses on the shelf,’ said Riderhood to his daughter. ‘Give me the one without a foot. I gets my living by the sweat of my brow, and it’s good enough for ME.’ This had a modest selfdenying appearance; but it soon turned out that as, by reason of the impossibility of standing the glass upright while there was anything in it, it required to be emptied as soon as filled, Mr Riderhood managed to drink in the proportion of three to one.
With his Fortunatus’s goblet79 ready in his hand, Mr Riderhood sat down on one side of the table before the fire, and the strange man on the other: Pleasant occupying a stool between the latter and the fireside. The background, composed of handkerchiefs, coats, shirts, hats, and other old articles ‘On Leaving,’ had a general dim resemblance to human listeners; especially where a shiny black sou’wester suit and hat hung, looking very like a clumsy mariner80 with his back to the company, who was so curious to overhear, that he paused for the purpose with his coat half pulled on, and his shoulders up to his ears in the uncompleted action.
The visitor first held the bottle against the light of the candle, and next examined the top of the cork. Satisfied that it had not been tampered81 with, he slowly took from his breastpocket a rusty82 claspknife, and, with a corkscrew in the handle, opened the wine. That done, he looked at the cork, unscrewed it from the corkscrew, laid each separately on the table, and, with the end of the sailor’s knot of his neckerchief, dusted the inside of the neck of the bottle. All this with great deliberation.
At first Riderhood had sat with his footless glass extended at arm’s length for filling, while the very deliberate stranger seemed absorbed in his preparations. But, gradually his arm reverted83 home to him, and his glass was lowered and lowered until he rested it upside down upon the table. By the same degrees his attention became concentrated on the knife. And now, as the man held out the bottle to fill all round, Riderhood stood up, leaned over the table to look closer at the knife, and stared from it to him.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked the man.
‘Why, I know that knife!’ said Riderhood.
‘Yes, I dare say you do.’
He motioned to him to hold up his glass, and filled it. Riderhood emptied it to the last drop and began again.
‘That there knife —’
‘Stop,’ said the man, composedly. ‘I was going to drink to your daughter. Your health, Miss Riderhood.’
‘That knife was the knife of a seaman named George Radfoot.’
‘It was.’
‘That seaman was well beknown to me.’
‘He was.’
‘What’s come to him?’
‘Death has come to him. Death came to him in an ugly shape. He looked,’ said the man, ‘very horrible after it.’
‘Arter what?’ said Riderhood, with a frowning stare.
‘After he was killed.’
‘Killed? Who killed him?’
Only answering with a shrug84, the man filled the footless glass, and Riderhood emptied it: looking amazedly from his daughter to his visitor.
‘You don’t mean to tell a honest man —’ he was recommencing with his empty glass in his hand, when his eye became fascinated by the stranger’s outer coat. He leaned across the table to see it nearer, touched the sleeve, turned the cuff85 to look at the sleevelining (the man, in his perfect composure, offering not the least objection), and exclaimed, ‘It’s my belief as this here coat was George Radfoot’s too!’
‘You are right. He wore it the last time you ever saw him, and the last time you ever will see him — in this world.’
‘It’s my belief you mean to tell me to my face you killed him!’ exclaimed Riderhood; but, nevertheless, allowing his glass to be filled again.
The man only answered with another shrug, and showed no symptom of confusion.
‘Wish I may die if I know what to be up to with this chap!’ said Riderhood, after staring at him, and tossing his last glassful down his throat. ‘Let’s know what to make of you. Say something plain.’
‘I will,’ returned the other, leaning forward across the table, and speaking in a low impressive voice. ‘What a liar39 you are!’
The honest witness rose, and made as though he would fling his glass in the man’s face. The man not wincing86, and merely shaking his forefinger half knowingly, half menacingly, the piece of honesty thought better of it and sat down again, putting the glass down too.
‘And when you went to that lawyer yonder in the Temple with that invented story,’ said the stranger, in an exasperatingly87 comfortable sort of confidence, ‘you might have had your strong suspicions of a friend of your own, you know. I think you had, you know.’
‘Me my suspicions? Of what friend?’
‘Tell me again whose knife was this?’ demanded the man.
‘It was possessed by, and was the property of — him as I have made mention on,’ said Riderhood, stupidly evading88 the actual mention of the name.
‘Tell me again whose coat was this?’
‘That there article of clothing likeways belonged to, and was wore by — him as I have made mention on,’ was again the dull Old Bailey evasion89.
‘I suspect that you gave him the credit of the deed, and of keeping cleverly out of the way. But there was small cleverness in HIS keeping out of the way. The cleverness would have been, to have got back for one single instant to the light of the sun.’
‘Things is come to a pretty pass,’ growled Mr Riderhood, rising to his feet, goaded90 to stand at bay, ‘when bullyers as is wearing dead men’s clothes, and bullyers as is armed with dead men’s knives, is to come into the houses of honest live men, getting their livings by the sweats of their brows, and is to make these here sort of charges with no rhyme and no reason, neither the one nor yet the other! Why should I have had my suspicions of him?’
‘Because you knew him,’ replied the man; ‘because you had been one with him, and knew his real character under a fair outside; because on the night which you had afterwards reason to believe to be the very night of the murder, he came in here, within an hour of his having left his ship in the docks, and asked you in what lodgings91 he could find room. Was there no stranger with him?’
‘I’ll take my world-without-end everlasting92 Alfred David that you warn’t with him,’ answered Riderhood. ‘You talk big, you do, but things look pretty black against yourself, to my thinking. You charge again’ me that George Radfoot got lost sight of, and was no more thought of. What’s that for a sailor? Why there’s fifty such, out of sight and out of mind, ten times as long as him — through entering in different names, re-shipping when the out’ard voyage is made, and what not — a turning up to light every day about here, and no matter made of it. Ask my daughter. You could go on Poll Parroting enough with her, when I warn’t come in: Poll Parrot a little with her on this pint93. You and your suspicions of my suspicions of him! What are my suspicions of you? You tell me George Radfoot got killed. I ask you who done it and how you know it. You carry his knife and you wear his coat. I ask you how you come by ‘em? Hand over that there bottle!’ Here Mr Riderhood appeared to labour under a virtuous94 delusion95 that it was his own property. ‘And you,’ he added, turning to his daughter, as he filled the footless glass, ‘if it warn’t wasting good sherry wine on you, I’d chuck this at you, for Poll Parroting with this man. It’s along of Poll Parroting that such like as him gets their suspicions, whereas I gets mine by argueyment, and being nat’rally a honest man, and sweating away at the brow as a honest man ought.’ Here he filled the footless goblet again, and stood chewing one half of its contents and looking down into the other as he slowly rolled the wine about in the glass; while Pleasant, whose sympathetic hair had come down on her being apostrophised, rearranged it, much in the style of the tail of a horse when proceeding96 to market to be sold.
‘Well? Have you finished?’ asked the strange man.
‘No,’ said Riderhood, ‘I ain’t. Far from it. Now then! I want to know how George Radfoot come by his death, and how you come by his kit97?’
‘If you ever do know, you won’t know now.’
‘And next I want to know,’ proceeded Riderhood ‘whether you mean to charge that what-you-may-call-it-murder —’
‘Harmon murder, father,’ suggested Pleasant.
‘No Poll Parroting!’ he vociferated, in return. ‘Keep your mouth shut! — I want to know, you sir, whether you charge that there crime on George Radfoot?’
‘If you ever do know, you won’t know now.’
‘Perhaps you done it yourself?’ said Riderhood, with a threatening action.
‘I alone know,’ returned the man, sternly shaking his head, ‘the mysteries of that crime. I alone know that your trumped-up story cannot possibly be true. I alone know that it must be altogether false, and that you must know it to be altogether false. I come here to-night to tell you so much of what I know, and no more.’
Mr Riderhood, with his crooked98 eye upon his visitor, meditated99 for some moments, and then refilled his glass, and tipped the contents down his throat in three tips.
‘Shut the shop-door!’ he then said to his daughter, putting the glass suddenly down. ‘And turn the key and stand by it! If you know all this, you sir,’ getting, as he spoke100, between the visitor and the door, ‘why han’t you gone to Lawyer Lightwood?’
‘That, also, is alone known to myself,’ was the cool answer.
‘Don’t you know that, if you didn’t do the deed, what you say you could tell is worth from five to ten thousand pound?’ asked Riderhood.
‘I know it very well, and when I claim the money you shall share it.’
The honest man paused, and drew a little nearer to the visitor, and a little further from the door.
‘I know it,’ repeated the man, quietly, ‘as well as I know that you and George Radfoot were one together in more than one dark business; and as well as I know that you, Roger Riderhood, conspired101 against an innocent man for blood-money; and as well as I know that I can — and that I swear I will! — give you up on both scores, and be the proof against you in my own person, if you defy me!’
‘Father!’ cried Pleasant, from the door. ‘Don’t defy him! Give way to him! Don’t get into more trouble, father!’
‘Will you leave off a Poll Parroting, I ask you?’ cried Mr Riderhood, half beside himself between the two. Then, propitiatingly and crawlingly: ‘You sir! You han’t said what you want of me. Is it fair, is it worthy102 of yourself, to talk of my defying you afore ever you say what you want of me?’
‘I don’t want much,’ said the man. ‘This accusation103 of yours must not be left half made and half unmade. What was done for the blood-money must be thoroughly104 undone105.’
‘Well; but Shipmate —’
‘Don’t call me Shipmate,’ said the man.
‘Captain, then,’ urged Mr Riderhood; ‘there! You won’t object to Captain. It’s a honourable106 title, and you fully107 look it. Captain! Ain’t the man dead? Now I ask you fair. Ain’t Gaffer dead?’
‘Well,’ returned the other, with impatience108, ‘yes, he is dead. What then?’
‘Can words hurt a dead man, Captain? I only ask you fair.’
‘They can hurt the memory of a dead man, and they can hurt his living children. How many children had this man?’
‘Meaning Gaffer, Captain?’
‘Of whom else are we speaking?’ returned the other, with a movement of his foot, as if Rogue Riderhood were beginning to sneak109 before him in the body as well as the spirit, and he spurned110 him off. ‘I have heard of a daughter, and a son. I ask for information; I ask YOUR daughter; I prefer to speak to her. What children did Hexam leave?’
Pleasant, looking to her father for permission to reply, that honest man exclaimed with great bitterness:
‘Why the devil don’t you answer the Captain? You can Poll Parrot enough when you ain’t wanted to Poll Parrot, you perwerse jade111!’
Thus encouraged, Pleasant explained that there were only Lizzie, the daughter in question, and the youth. Both very respectable, she added.
‘It is dreadful that any stigma112 should attach to them,’ said the visitor, whom the consideration rendered so uneasy that he rose, and paced to and fro, muttering, ‘Dreadful! Unforeseen? How could it be foreseen!’ Then he stopped, and asked aloud: ‘Where do they live?’
Pleasant further explained that only the daughter had resided with the father at the time of his accidental death, and that she had immediately afterwards quitted the neighbourhood.
‘I know that,’ said the man, ‘for I have been to the place they dwelt in, at the time of the inquest. Could you quietly find out for me where she lives now?’
Pleasant had no doubt she could do that. Within what time, did she think? Within a day. The visitor said that was well, and he would return for the information, relying on its being obtained. To this dialogue Riderhood had attended in silence, and he now obsequiously113 bespake the Captain.
‘Captain! Mentioning them unfort’net words of mine respecting Gaffer, it is contrairily to be bore in mind that Gaffer always were a precious rascal114, and that his line were a thieving line. Likeways when I went to them two Governors, Lawyer Lightwood and the t’other Governor, with my information, I may have been a little over-eager for the cause of justice, or (to put it another way) a little over-stimilated by them feelings which rouses a man up, when a pot of money is going about, to get his hand into that pot of money for his family’s sake. Besides which, I think the wine of them two Governors was — I will not say a hocussed wine, but fur from a wine as was elthy for the mind. And there’s another thing to be remembered, Captain. Did I stick to them words when Gaffer was no more, and did I say bold to them two Governors, “Governors both, wot I informed I still inform; wot was took down I hold to”? No. I says, frank and open — no shuffling115, mind you, Captain! —”I may have been mistook, I’ve been a thinking of it, it mayn’t have been took down correct on this and that, and I won’t swear to thick and thin, I’d rayther forfeit116 your good opinions than do it. And so far as I know,’ concluded Mr Riderhood, by way of proof and evidence to character, ‘I HAVE actiwally forfeited117 the good opinions of several persons — even your own, Captain, if I understand your words — but I’d sooner do it than be forswore. There; if that’s conspiracy118, call me conspirator119.’
‘You shall sign,’ said the visitor, taking very little heed120 of this oration121, ‘a statement that it was all utterly122 false, and the poor girl shall have it. I will bring it with me for your signature, when I come again.’
‘When might you be expected, Captain?’ inquired Riderhood, again dubiously123 getting between him and door.
‘Quite soon enough for you. I shall not disappoint you; don’t be afraid.’
‘Might you be inclined to leave any name, Captain?’
‘No, not at all. I have no such intention.’
‘”Shall” is summ’at of a hard word, Captain,’ urged Riderhood, still feebly dodging124 between him and the door, as he advanced. ‘When you say a man “shall” sign this and that and t’other, Captain, you order him about in a grand sort of a way. Don’t it seem so to yourself?’
The man stood still, and angrily fixed125 him with his eyes.
‘Father, father!’ entreated126 Pleasant, from the door, with her disengaged hand nervously127 trembling at her lips; ‘don’t! Don’t get into trouble any more!’
‘Hear me out, Captain, hear me out! All I was wishing to mention, Captain, afore you took your departer,’ said the sneaking128 Mr Riderhood, falling out of his path, ‘was, your handsome words relating to the reward.’
‘When I claim it,’ said the man, in a tone which seemed to leave some such words as ‘you dog,’ very distinctly understood, ‘you shall share it.’
Looking stedfastly at Riderhood, he once more said in a low voice, this time with a grim sort of admiration129 of him as a perfect piece of evil, ‘What a liar you are!’ and, nodding his head twice or thrice over the compliment, passed out of the shop. But, to Pleasant he said good-night kindly26.
The honest man who gained his living by the sweat of his brow remained in a state akin25 to stupefaction, until the footless glass and the unfinished bottle conveyed themselves into his mind. From his mind he conveyed them into his hands, and so conveyed the last of the wine into his stomach. When that was done, he awoke to a clear perception that Poll Parroting was solely130 chargeable with what had passed. Therefore,not to be remiss131 in his duty as a father, he threw a pair of sea-boots at Pleasant, which she ducked to avoid, and then cried, poor thing, using her hair for a pocket-handkerchief.
点击收听单词发音
1 rogue | |
n.流氓;v.游手好闲 | |
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2 oar | |
n.桨,橹,划手;v.划行 | |
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3 makers | |
n.制造者,制造商(maker的复数形式) | |
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4 albeit | |
conj.即使;纵使;虽然 | |
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5 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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6 leverage | |
n.力量,影响;杠杆作用,杠杆的力量 | |
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7 tainted | |
adj.腐坏的;污染的;沾污的;感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 );使污染;败坏;被污染,腐坏,败坏 | |
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8 exponents | |
n.倡导者( exponent的名词复数 );说明者;指数;能手 | |
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9 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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10 pawnbroker | |
n.典当商,当铺老板 | |
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11 insignificant | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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12 demise | |
n.死亡;v.让渡,遗赠,转让 | |
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13 intelligible | |
adj.可理解的,明白易懂的,清楚的 | |
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14 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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15 succumbing | |
不再抵抗(诱惑、疾病、攻击等)( succumb的现在分词 ); 屈从; 被压垮; 死 | |
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16 incompatible | |
adj.不相容的,不协调的,不相配的 | |
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17 coherence | |
n.紧凑;连贯;一致性 | |
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18 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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19 colloquially | |
adv.用白话,用通俗语 | |
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20 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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21 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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22 seamen | |
n.海员 | |
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23 prey | |
n.被掠食者,牺牲者,掠食;v.捕食,掠夺,折磨 | |
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24 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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25 akin | |
adj.同族的,类似的 | |
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26 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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27 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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28 superfluous | |
adj.过多的,过剩的,多余的 | |
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29 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30 epithet | |
n.(用于褒贬人物等的)表述形容词,修饰语 | |
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31 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
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32 strap | |
n.皮带,带子;v.用带扣住,束牢;用绷带包扎 | |
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33 reeking | |
v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 );散发臭气;发出难闻的气味 (of sth);明显带有(令人不快或生疑的跡象) | |
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34 geographically | |
adv.地理学上,在地理上,地理方面 | |
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35 groves | |
树丛,小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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36 wafted | |
v.吹送,飘送,(使)浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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38 peculiarity | |
n.独特性,特色;特殊的东西;怪癖 | |
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39 liar | |
n.说谎的人 | |
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40 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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41 undertaking | |
n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
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42 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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43 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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44 flaring | |
a.火焰摇曳的,过份艳丽的 | |
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45 walnut | |
n.胡桃,胡桃木,胡桃色,茶色 | |
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46 ketchup | |
n.蕃茄酱,蕃茄沙司 | |
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47 discomforts | |
n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 );不愉快,苦恼 | |
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48 inscription | |
n.(尤指石块上的)刻印文字,铭文,碑文 | |
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49 seaman | |
n.海员,水手,水兵 | |
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50 hospitable | |
adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
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51 texture | |
n.(织物)质地;(材料)构造;结构;肌理 | |
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52 suppleness | |
柔软; 灵活; 易弯曲; 顺从 | |
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53 assented | |
同意,赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54 outfit | |
n.(为特殊用途的)全套装备,全套服装 | |
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55 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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56 ashore | |
adv.在(向)岸上,上岸 | |
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57 disquieted | |
v.使不安,使忧虑,使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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59 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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60 nautical | |
adj.海上的,航海的,船员的 | |
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61 appendages | |
n.附属物( appendage的名词复数 );依附的人;附属器官;附属肢体(如臂、腿、尾等) | |
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62 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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63 bristling | |
a.竖立的 | |
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64 wile | |
v.诡计,引诱;n.欺骗,欺诈 | |
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65 beset | |
v.镶嵌;困扰,包围 | |
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66 ruminative | |
adj.沉思的,默想的,爱反复思考的 | |
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67 muddled | |
adj.混乱的;糊涂的;头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱,弄糟( muddle的过去式);使糊涂;对付,混日子 | |
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68 disapproved | |
v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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70 forefinger | |
n.食指 | |
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71 equitable | |
adj.公平的;公正的 | |
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72 manifestations | |
n.表示,显示(manifestation的复数形式) | |
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73 parental | |
adj.父母的;父的;母的 | |
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74 altercation | |
n.争吵,争论 | |
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75 growled | |
v.(动物)发狺狺声, (雷)作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 );低声咆哮着说 | |
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76 quailing | |
害怕,发抖,畏缩( quail的现在分词 ) | |
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77 absurdity | |
n.荒谬,愚蠢;谬论 | |
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78 cork | |
n.软木,软木塞 | |
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79 goblet | |
n.高脚酒杯 | |
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80 mariner | |
n.水手号不载人航天探测器,海员,航海者 | |
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81 tampered | |
v.窜改( tamper的过去式 );篡改;(用不正当手段)影响;瞎摆弄 | |
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82 rusty | |
adj.生锈的;锈色的;荒废了的 | |
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83 reverted | |
恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 ); 重提; 回到…上; 归还 | |
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84 shrug | |
v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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85 cuff | |
n.袖口;手铐;护腕;vt.用手铐铐;上袖口 | |
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86 wincing | |
赶紧避开,畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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87 exasperatingly | |
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88 evading | |
逃避( evade的现在分词 ); 避开; 回避; 想不出 | |
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89 evasion | |
n.逃避,偷漏(税) | |
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90 goaded | |
v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 );激励;(用尖棒)驱赶;驱使(或怂恿、刺激)某人 | |
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91 lodgings | |
n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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92 everlasting | |
adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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93 pint | |
n.品脱 | |
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94 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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95 delusion | |
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
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96 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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97 kit | |
n.用具包,成套工具;随身携带物 | |
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98 crooked | |
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
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99 meditated | |
深思,沉思,冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 ); 内心策划,考虑 | |
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100 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 | |
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101 conspired | |
密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 ); 搞阴谋; (事件等)巧合; 共同导致 | |
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102 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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103 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
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104 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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105 undone | |
a.未做完的,未完成的 | |
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106 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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107 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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108 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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109 sneak | |
vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝);偷偷摸摸做;n.潜行;adj.暗中进行 | |
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110 spurned | |
v.一脚踢开,拒绝接受( spurn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111 jade | |
n.玉石;碧玉;翡翠 | |
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112 stigma | |
n.耻辱,污名;(花的)柱头 | |
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113 obsequiously | |
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114 rascal | |
n.流氓;不诚实的人 | |
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115 shuffling | |
adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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116 forfeit | |
vt.丧失;n.罚金,罚款,没收物 | |
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117 forfeited | |
(因违反协议、犯规、受罚等)丧失,失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118 conspiracy | |
n.阴谋,密谋,共谋 | |
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119 conspirator | |
n.阴谋者,谋叛者 | |
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120 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
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121 oration | |
n.演说,致辞,叙述法 | |
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122 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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123 dubiously | |
adv.可疑地,怀疑地 | |
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124 dodging | |
n.避开,闪过,音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 );回避 | |
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125 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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126 entreated | |
恳求,乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127 nervously | |
adv.神情激动地,不安地 | |
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128 sneaking | |
a.秘密的,不公开的 | |
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129 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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130 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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131 remiss | |
adj.不小心的,马虎 | |
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