HERE was a thick roll of notes. It came from the bailiff at the forest villa1; he wrote that he was sending fifteen hundred roubles, which he had been awarded as damages, having won an appeal. Anna Akimovna disliked and feared such words as “awarded damages” and “won the suit.” She knew that it was impossible to do without the law, but for some reason, whenever Nazaritch, the manager of the factory, or the bailiff of her villa in the country, both of whom frequently went to law, used to win lawsuits2 of some sort for her benefit, she always felt uneasy and, as it were, ashamed. On this occasion, too, she felt uneasy and awkward, and wanted to put that fifteen hundred roubles further away that it might be out of her sight.
She thought with vexation that other girls of her age — she was in her twenty-sixth year — were now busy looking after their households, were weary and would sleep sound, and would wake up tomorrow morning in holiday mood; many of them had long been married and had children. Only she, for some reason, was compelled to sit like an old woman over these letters, to make notes upon them, to write answers, then to do nothing the whole evening till midnight, but wait till she was sleepy; and tomorrow they would all day long be coming with Christmas greetings and asking for favours; and the day after tomorrow there would certainly be some scandal at the factory — some one would be beaten or would die of drinking too much vodka, and she would be fretted3 by pangs4 of conscience; and after the holidays Nazaritch would turn off some twenty of the workpeople for absence from work, and all of the twenty would hang about at the front door, without their caps on, and she would be ashamed to go out to them, and they would be driven away like dogs. And all her acquaintances would say behind her back, and write to her in anonymous5 letters, that she was a millionaire and exploiter — that she was devouring6 other men’s lives and sucking the blood of the workers.
Here there lay a heap of letters read through and laid aside already. They were all begging letters. They were from people who were hungry, drunken, dragged down by large families, sick, degraded, despised . . . . Anna Akimovna had already noted7 on each letter, three roubles to be paid to one, five to another; these letters would go the same day to the office, and next the distribution of assistance would take place, or, as the clerks used to say, the beasts would be fed.
They would distribute also in small sums four hundred and seventy roubles — the interest on a sum bequeathed by the late Akim Ivanovitch for the relief of the poor and needy8. There would be a hideous9 crush. From the gates to the doors of the office there would stretch a long file of strange people with brutal10 faces, in rags, numb11 with cold, hungry and already drunk, in husky voices calling down blessings13 upon Anna Akimovna, their benefactress, and her parents: those at the back would press upon those in front, and those in front would abuse them with bad language. The clerk would get tired of the noise, the swearing, and the sing-song whining14 and blessing12; would fly out and give some one a box on the ear to the delight of all. And her own people, the factory hands, who received nothing at Christmas but their wages, and had already spent every farthing of it, would stand in the middle of the yard, looking on and laughing — some enviously15, others ironically.
“Merchants, and still more their wives, are fonder of beggars than they are of their own workpeople,” thought Anna Akimovna. “It’s always so.”
Her eye fell upon the roll of money. It would be nice to distribute that hateful, useless money among the workpeople tomorrow, but it did not do to give the workpeople anything for nothing, or they would demand it again next time. And what would be the good of fifteen hundred roubles when there were eighteen hundred workmen in the factory besides their wives and children? Or she might, perhaps, pick out one of the writers of those begging letters — some luckless man who had long ago lost all hope of anything better, and give him the fifteen hundred. The money would come upon the poor creature like a thunder-clap, and perhaps for the first time in his life he would feel happy. This idea struck Anna Akimovna as original and amusing, and it fascinated her. She took one letter at random16 out of the pile and read it. Some petty official called Tchalikov had long been out of a situation, was ill, and living in Gushtchin’s Buildings; his wife was in consumption, and he had five little girls. Anna Akimovna knew well the four-storeyed house, Gushtchin’s Buildings, in which Tchalikov lived. Oh, it was a horrid17, foul18, unhealthy house!
“Well, I will give it to that Tchalikov,” she decided19. “I won’t send it; I had better take it myself to prevent unnecessary talk. Yes,” she reflected, as she put the fifteen hundred roubles in her pocket, “and I’ll have a look at them, and perhaps I can do something for the little girls.”
She felt light-hearted; she rang the bell and ordered the horses to be brought round.
When she got into the sledge20 it was past six o’clock in the evening. The windows in all the blocks of buildings were brightly lighted up, and that made the huge courtyard seem very dark: at the gates, and at the far end of the yard near the warehouses21 and the workpeople’s barracks, electric lamps were gleaming.
Anna Akimovna disliked and feared those huge dark buildings, warehouses, and barracks where the workmen lived. She had only once been in the main building since her father’s death. The high ceilings with iron girders; the multitude of huge, rapidly turning wheels, connecting straps22 and levers; the shrill24 hissing25; the clank of steel; the rattle26 of the trolleys27; the harsh puffing28 of steam; the faces — pale, crimson29, or black with coal-dust; the shirts soaked with sweat; the gleam of steel, of copper30, and of fire; the smell of oil and coal; and the draught31, at times very hot and at times very cold — gave her an impression of hell. It seemed to her as though the wheels, the levers, and the hot hissing cylinders32 were trying to tear themselves away from their fastenings to crush the men, while the men, not hearing one another, ran about with anxious faces, and busied themselves about the machines, trying to stop their terrible movement. They showed Anna Akimovna something and respectfully explained it to her. She remembered how in the forge a piece of red-hot iron was pulled out of the furnace; and how an old man with a strap23 round his head, and another, a young man in a blue shirt with a chain on his breast, and an angry face, probably one of the foremen, struck the piece of iron with hammers; and how the golden sparks had been scattered33 in all directions; and how, a little afterwards, they had dragged out a huge piece of sheet-iron with a clang. The old man had stood erect34 and smiled, while the young man had wiped his face with his sleeve and explained something to her. And she remembered, too, how in another department an old man with one eye had been filing a piece of iron, and how the iron filings were scattered about; and how a red-haired man in black spectacles, with holes in his shirt, had been working at a lathe35, making something out of a piece of steel: the lathe roared and hissed36 and squeaked37, and Anna Akimovna felt sick at the sound, and it seemed as though they were boring into her ears. She looked, listened, did not understand, smiled graciously, and felt ashamed. To get hundreds of thousands of roubles from a business which one does not understand and cannot like — how strange it is!
And she had not once been in the workpeople’s barracks. There, she was told, it was damp; there were bugs38, debauchery, anarchy39. It was an astonishing thing: a thousand roubles were spent annually40 on keeping the barracks in good order, yet, if she were to believe the anonymous letters, the condition of the workpeople was growing worse and worse every year.
“There was more order in my father’s day,” thought Anna Akimovna, as she drove out of the yard, “because he had been a workman himself. I know nothing about it and only do silly things.”
She felt depressed41 again, and was no longer glad that she had come, and the thought of the lucky man upon whom fifteen hundred roubles would drop from heaven no longer struck her as original and amusing. To go to some Tchalikov or other, when at home a business worth a million was gradually going to pieces and being ruined, and the workpeople in the barracks were living worse than convicts, meant doing something silly and cheating her conscience. Along the highroad and across the fields near it, workpeople from the neighbouring cotton and paper factories were walking towards the lights of the town. There was the sound of talk and laughter in the frosty air. Anna Akimovna looked at the women and young people, and she suddenly felt a longing42 for a plain rough life among a crowd. She recalled vividly43 that far-away time when she used to be called Anyutka, when she was a little girl and used to lie under the same quilt with her mother, while a washerwoman who lodged44 with them used to wash clothes in the next room; while through the thin walls there came from the neighbouring flats sounds of laughter, swearing, children’s crying, the accordion45, and the whirr of carpenters’ lathes46 and sewing-machines; while her father, Akim Ivanovitch, who was clever at almost every craft, would be soldering47 something near the stove, or drawing or planing, taking no notice whatever of the noise and stuffiness48. And she longed to wash, to iron, to run to the shop and the tavern49 as she used to do every day when she lived with her mother. She ought to have been a work-girl and not the factory owner! Her big house with its chandeliers and pictures; her footman Mishenka, with his glossy50 moustache and swallowtail coat; the devout51 and dignified52 Varvarushka, and smooth-tongued Agafyushka; and the young people of both sexes who came almost every day to ask her for money, and with whom she always for some reason felt guilty; and the clerks, the doctors, and the ladies who were charitable at her expense, who flattered her and secretly despised her for her humble53 origin — how wearisome and alien it all was to her!
Here was the railway crossing and the city gate; then came houses alternating with kitchen gardens; and at last the broad street where stood the renowned54 Gushtchin’s Buildings. The street, usually quiet, was now on Christmas Eve full of life and movement. The eating-houses and beer-shops were noisy. If some one who did not belong to that quarter but lived in the centre of the town had driven through the street now, he would have noticed nothing but dirty, drunken, and abusive people; but Anna Akimovna, who had lived in those parts all her life, was constantly recognizing in the crowd her own father or mother or uncle. Her father was a soft fluid character, a little fantastical, frivolous55, and irresponsible. He did not care for money, respectability, or power; he used to say that a working man had no time to keep the holy-days and go to church; and if it had not been for his wife, he would probably never have gone to confession56, taken the sacrament or kept the fasts. While her uncle, Ivan Ivanovitch, on the contrary, was like flint; in everything relating to religion, politics, and morality, he was harsh and relentless57, and kept a strict watch, not only over himself, but also over all his servants and acquaintances. God forbid that one should go into his room without crossing oneself before the ikon! The luxurious58 mansion59 in which Anna Akimovna now lived he had always kept locked up, and only opened it on great holidays for important visitors, while he lived himself in the office, in a little room covered with ikons. He had leanings towards the Old Believers, and was continually entertaining priests and bishops60 of the old ritual, though he had been christened, and married, and had buried his wife in accordance with the Orthodox rites61. He disliked Akim, his only brother and his heir, for his frivolity62, which he called simpleness and folly63, and for his indifference64 to religion. He treated him as an inferior, kept him in the position of a workman, paid him sixteen roubles a month. Akim addressed his brother with formal respect, and on the days of asking forgiveness, he and his wife and daughter bowed down to the ground before him. But three years before his death Ivan Ivanovitch had drawn65 closer to his brother, forgave his shortcomings, and ordered him to get a governess for Anyutka.
There was a dark, deep, evil-smelling archway under Gushtchin’s Buildings; there was a sound of men coughing near the walls. Leaving the sledge in the street, Anna Akimovna went in at the gate and there inquired how to get to No. 46 to see a clerk called Tchalikov. She was directed to the furthest door on the right in the third story. And in the courtyard and near the outer door, and even on the stairs, there was still the same loathsome66 smell as under the archway. In Anna Akimovna’s childhood, when her father was a simple workman, she used to live in a building like that, and afterwards, when their circumstances were different, she had often visited them in the character of a Lady Bountiful. The narrow stone staircase with its steep dirty steps, with landings at every story; the greasy67 swinging lanterns; the stench; the troughs, pots, and rags on the landings near the doors — all this had been familiar to her long ago. . . . One door was open, and within could be seen Jewish tailors in caps, sewing. Anna Akimovna met people on the stairs, but it never entered her head that people might be rude to her. She was no more afraid of peasants or workpeople, drunk or sober, than of her acquaintances of the educated class.
There was no entry at No. 46; the door opened straight into the kitchen. As a rule the dwellings69 of workmen and mechanics smell of varnish70, tar71, hides, smoke, according to the occupation of the tenant72; the dwellings of persons of noble or official class who have come to poverty may be known by a peculiar73 rancid, sour smell. This disgusting smell enveloped74 Anna Akimovna on all sides, and as yet she was only on the threshold. A man in a black coat, no doubt Tchalikov himself, was sitting in a corner at the table with his back to the door, and with him were five little girls. The eldest75, a broad-faced thin girl with a comb in her hair, looked about fifteen, while the youngest, a chubby76 child with hair that stood up like a hedge-hog, was not more than three. All the six were eating. Near the stove stood a very thin little woman with a yellow face, far gone in pregnancy77. She was wearing a skirt and a white blouse, and had an oven fork in her hand.
“I did not expect you to be so disobedient, Liza,” the man was saying reproachfully. “Fie, fie, for shame! Do you want papa to whip you — eh?”
Seeing an unknown lady in the doorway78, the thin woman started, and put down the fork.
“Vassily Nikititch!” she cried, after a pause, in a hollow voice, as though she could not believe her eyes.
The man looked round and jumped up. He was a flat-chested, bony man with narrow shoulders and sunken temples. His eyes were small and hollow with dark rings round them, he had a wide mouth, and a long nose like a bird’s beak79 — a little bit bent80 to the right. His beard was parted in the middle, his moustache was shaven, and this made him look more like a hired footman than a government clerk.
“Does Mr. Tchalikov live here?” asked Anna Akimovna.
“Yes, madam,” Tchalikov answered severely81, but immediately recognizing Anna Akimovna, he cried: “Anna Akimovna!” and all at once he gasped82 and clasped his hands as though in terrible alarm. “Benefactress!”
With a moan he ran to her, grunting83 inarticulately as though he were paralyzed — there was cabbage on his beard and he smelt84 of vodka — pressed his forehead to her muff, and seemed as though he were in a swoon.
“Your hand, your holy hand!” he brought out breathlessly. “It’s a dream, a glorious dream! Children, awaken85 me!”
He turned towards the table and said in a sobbing86 voice, shaking his fists:
“Providence has heard us! Our saviour87, our angel, has come! We are saved! Children, down on your knees! on your knees!”
Madame Tchalikov and the little girls, except the youngest one, began for some reason rapidly clearing the table.
“You wrote that your wife was very ill,” said Anna Akimovna, and she felt ashamed and annoyed. “I am not going to give them the fifteen hundred,” she thought.
“Here she is, my wife,” said Tchalikov in a thin feminine voice, as though his tears had gone to his head. “Here she is, unhappy creature! With one foot in the grave! But we do not complain, madam. Better death than such a life. Better die, unhappy woman!”
“Why is he playing these antics?” thought Anna Akimovna with annoyance88. “One can see at once he is used to dealing89 with merchants.”
“Speak to me like a human being,” she said. “I don’t care for farces91.”
“Yes, madam; five bereaved92 children round their mother’s coffin93 with funeral candles — that’s a farce90? Eh?” said Tchalikov bitterly, and turned away.
“Hold your tongue,” whispered his wife, and she pulled at his sleeve. “The place has not been tidied up, madam,” she said, addressing Anna Akimovna; “please excuse it . . . you know what it is where there are children. A crowded hearth94, but harmony.”
“I am not going to give them the fifteen hundred,” Anna Akimovna thought again.
And to escape as soon as possible from these people and from the sour smell, she brought out her purse and made up her mind to leave them twenty-five roubles, not more; but she suddenly felt ashamed that she had come so far and disturbed people for so little.
“If you give me paper and ink, I will write at once to a doctor who is a friend of mine to come and see you,” she said, flushing red. “He is a very good doctor. And I will leave you some money for medicine.”
Madame Tchalikov was hastening to wipe the table.
“It’s messy here! What are you doing?” hissed Tchalikov, looking at her wrathfully. “Take her to the lodger95’s room! I make bold to ask you, madam, to step into the lodger’s room,” he said, addressing Anna Akimovna. “It’s clean there.”
“Osip Ilyitch told us not to go into his room!” said one of the little girls, sternly.
But they had already led Anna Akimovna out of the kitchen, through a narrow passage room between two bedsteads: it was evident from the arrangement of the beds that in one two slept lengthwise, and in the other three slept across the bed. In the lodger’s room, that came next, it really was clean. A neat-looking bed with a red woollen quilt, a pillow in a white pillow-case, even a slipper96 for the watch, a table covered with a hempen97 cloth and on it, an inkstand of milky-looking glass, pens, paper, photographs in frames — everything as it ought to be; and another table for rough work, on which lay tidily arranged a watchmaker’s tools and watches taken to pieces. On the walls hung hammers, pliers, awls, chisels98, nippers, and so on, and there were three hanging clocks which were ticking; one was a big clock with thick weights, such as one sees in eating-houses.
As she sat down to write the letter, Anna Akimovna saw facing her on the table the photographs of her father and of herself. That surprised her.
“Who lives here with you?” she asked.
“Our lodger, madam, Pimenov. He works in your factory.”
“Oh, I thought he must be a watchmaker.”
“He repairs watches privately99, in his leisure hours. He is an amateur.”
After a brief silence during which nothing could be heard but the ticking of the clocks and the scratching of the pen on the paper, Tchalikov heaved a sigh and said ironically, with indignation:
“It’s a true saying: gentle birth and a grade in the service won’t put a coat on your back. A cockade in your cap and a noble title, but nothing to eat. To my thinking, if any one of humble class helps the poor he is much more of a gentleman than any Tchalikov who has sunk into poverty and vice100.”
To flatter Anna Akimovna, he uttered a few more disparaging101 phrases about his gentle birth, and it was evident that he was humbling102 himself because he considered himself superior to her. Meanwhile she had finished her letter and had sealed it up. The letter would be thrown away and the money would not be spent on medicine — that she knew, but she put twenty-five roubles on the table all the same, and after a moment’s thought, added two more red notes. She saw the wasted, yellow hand of Madame Tchalikov, like the claw of a hen, dart103 out and clutch the money tight.
“You have graciously given this for medicine,” said Tchalikov in a quivering voice, “but hold out a helping104 hand to me also . . . and the children!” he added with a sob68. “My unhappy children! I am not afraid for myself; it is for my daughters I fear! It’s the hydra105 of vice that I fear!”
Trying to open her purse, the catch of which had gone wrong, Anna Akimovna was confused and turned red. She felt ashamed that people should be standing106 before her, looking at her hands and waiting, and most likely at the bottom of their hearts laughing at her. At that instant some one came into the kitchen and stamped his feet, knocking the snow off.
“The lodger has come in,” said Madame Tchalikov.
Anna Akimovna grew even more confused. She did not want any one from the factory to find her in this ridiculous position. As ill-luck would have it, the lodger came in at the very moment when, having broken the catch at last, she was giving Tchalikov some notes, and Tchalikov, grunting as though he were paraylzed, was feeling about with his lips where he could kiss her. In the lodger she recognized the workman who had once clanked the sheet-iron before her in the forge, and had explained things to her. Evidently he had come in straight from the factory; his face looked dark and grimy, and on one cheek near his nose was a smudge of soot107. His hands were perfectly108 black, and his unbelted shirt shone with oil and grease. He was a man of thirty, of medium height, with black hair and broad shoulders, and a look of great physical strength. At the first glance Anna Akimovna perceived that he must be a foreman, who must be receiving at least thirty-five roubles a month, and a stern, loud-voiced man who struck the workmen in the face; all this was evident from his manner of standing, from the attitude he involuntarily assumed at once on seeing a lady in his room, and most of all from the fact that he did not wear top-boots, that he had breast pockets, and a pointed109, picturesquely110 clipped beard. Her father, Akim Ivanovitch, had been the brother of the factory owner, and yet he had been afraid of foremen like this lodger and had tried to win their favour.
“Excuse me for having come in here in your absence,” said Anna Akimovna.
The workman looked at her in surprise, smiled in confusion and did not speak.
“You must speak a little louder, madam . . . .” said Tchalikov softly. “When Mr. Pimenov comes home from the factory in the evenings he is a little hard of hearing.”
But Anna Akimovna was by now relieved that there was nothing more for her to do here; she nodded to them and went rapidly out of the room. Pimenov went to see her out.
“Have you been long in our employment?” she asked in a loud voice, without turning to him.
“From nine years old. I entered the factory in your uncle’s time.”
“That’s a long while! My uncle and my father knew all the workpeople, and I know hardly any of them. I had seen you before, but I did not know your name was Pimenov.”
Anna Akimovna felt a desire to justify111 herself before him, to pretend that she had just given the money not seriously, but as a joke.
“Oh, this poverty,” she sighed. “We give charity on holidays and working days, and still there is no sense in it. I believe it is useless to help such people as this Tchalikov.”
“Of course it is useless,” he agreed. “However much you give him, he will drink it all away. And now the husband and wife will be snatching it from one another and fighting all night,” he added with a laugh.
“Yes, one must admit that our philanthropy is useless, boring, and absurd. But still, you must agree, one can’t sit with one’s hand in one’s lap; one must do something. What’s to be done with the Tchalikovs, for instance?”
She turned to Pimenov and stopped, expecting an answer from him; he, too, stopped and slowly, without speaking, shrugged112 his shoulders. Obviously he knew what to do with the Tchalikovs, but the treatment would have been so coarse and inhuman113 that he did not venture to put it into words. And the Tchalikovs were to him so utterly114 uninteresting and worthless, that a moment later he had forgotten them; looking into Anna Akimovna’s eyes, he smiled with pleasure, and his face wore an expression as though he were dreaming about something very pleasant. Only, now standing close to him, Anna Akimovna saw from his face, and especially from his eyes, how exhausted115 and sleepy he was.
“Here, I ought to give him the fifteen hundred roubles!” she thought, but for some reason this idea seemed to her incongruous and insulting to Pimenov.
“I am sure you are aching all over after your work, and you come to the door with me,” she said as they went down the stairs. “Go home.”
But he did not catch her words. When they came out into the street, he ran on ahead, unfastened the cover of the sledge, and helping Anna Akimovna in, said:
“I wish you a happy Christmas!”
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1
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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lawsuits
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| n.诉讼( lawsuit的名词复数 ) | |
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fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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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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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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enviously
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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sledge
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| n.雪橇，大锤；v.用雪橇搬运，坐雪橇往 | |
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warehouses
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| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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shrill
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hissing
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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trolleys
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| n.（两轮或四轮的）手推车( trolley的名词复数 )；装有脚轮的小台车；电车 | |
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28
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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29
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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30
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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31
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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32
cylinders
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| n.圆筒( cylinder的名词复数 )；圆柱；汽缸；（尤指用作容器的）圆筒状物 | |
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33
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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34
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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35
lathe
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| n.车床，陶器，镟床 | |
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36
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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37
squeaked
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的过去式和过去分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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38
bugs
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| adj.疯狂的，发疯的n.窃听器( bug的名词复数 )；病菌；虫子；[计算机]（制作软件程序所产生的意料不到的）错误 | |
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39
anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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40
annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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41
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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42
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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43
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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44
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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45
accordion
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| n.手风琴；adj.可折叠的 | |
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46
lathes
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| 车床( lathe的名词复数 ) | |
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47
soldering
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| n.软焊；锡焊；低温焊接；热焊接v.（使）焊接，焊合( solder的现在分词 ) | |
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48
stuffiness
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| n.不通风，闷热；不通气 | |
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49
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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50
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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51
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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52
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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53
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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54
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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55
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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56
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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57
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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58
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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59
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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60
bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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61
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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62
frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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65
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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67
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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68
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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69
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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70
varnish
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| n.清漆；v.上清漆；粉饰 | |
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71
tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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72
tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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74
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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76
chubby
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| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
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77
pregnancy
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| n.怀孕，怀孕期 | |
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78
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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79
beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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80
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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81
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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82
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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83
grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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84
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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85
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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86
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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87
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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88
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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89
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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90
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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91
farces
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| n.笑剧( farce的名词复数 )；闹剧；笑剧剧目；作假的可笑场面 | |
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92
bereaved
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| adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去（希望、生命等）( bereave的过去式和过去分词)；（尤指死亡）使丧失（亲人、朋友等）；使孤寂；抢走（财物） | |
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93
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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94
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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95
lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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96
slipper
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| n.拖鞋 | |
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97
hempen
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| adj. 大麻制的, 大麻的 | |
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98
chisels
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| n.凿子，錾子( chisel的名词复数 )；口凿 | |
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99
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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100
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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101
disparaging
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| adj.轻蔑的，毁谤的v.轻视( disparage的现在分词 )；贬低；批评；非难 | |
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102
humbling
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| adj.令人羞辱的v.使谦恭( humble的现在分词 )；轻松打败（尤指强大的对手）；低声下气 | |
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103
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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104
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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105
hydra
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| n.水螅；难于根除的祸患 | |
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106
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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107
soot
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| n.煤烟，烟尘；vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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108
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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109
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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110
picturesquely
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111
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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112
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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113
inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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114
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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115
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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