Farther on, the track was crossed by a low railway embankment on which a sentinel with a gun was for some reason pacing up and down. Just beyond the embankment there was a large white church with six domes2 and a rusty3 roof.
“I did not expect to meet you here,” said Sofya Petrovna, looking at the ground and prodding4 at the last year’s leaves with the tip of her parasol, “and now I am glad we have met. I want to speak to you seriously and once for all. I beg you, Ivan Mihalovitch, if you really love and respect me, please make an end of this pursuit of me! You follow me about like a shadow, you are continually looking at me not in a nice way, making love to me, writing me strange letters, and . . . and I don’t know where it’s all going to end! Why, what can come of it?”
Ilyin said nothing. Sofya Petrovna walked on a few steps and continued:
“And this complete transformation5 in you all came about in the course of two or three weeks, after five years’ friendship. I don’t know you, Ivan Mihalovitch!”
Sofya Petrovna stole a glance at her companion. Screwing up his eyes, he was looking intently at the fluffy6 clouds. His face looked angry, ill-humoured, and preoccupied7, like that of a man in pain forced to listen to nonsense.
“I wonder you don’t see it yourself,” Madame Lubyantsev went on, shrugging her shoulders. “You ought to realize that it’s not a very nice part you are playing. I am married; I love and respect my husband. . . . I have a daughter . . . . Can you think all that means nothing? Besides, as an old friend you know my attitude to family life and my views as to the sanctity of marriage.”
Ilyin cleared his throat angrily and heaved a sigh.
“Sanctity of marriage . . .” he muttered. “Oh, Lord!”
“Yes, yes. . . . I love my husband, I respect him; and in any case I value the peace of my home. I would rather let myself be killed than be a cause of unhappiness to Andrey and his daughter. . . . And I beg you, Ivan Mihalovitch, for God’s sake, leave me in peace! Let us be as good, true friends as we used to be, and give up these sighs and groans8, which really don’t suit you. It’s settled and over! Not a word more about it. Let us talk of something else.”
Sofya Petrovna again stole a glance at Ilyin’s face. Ilyin was looking up; he was pale, and was angrily biting his quivering lips. She could not understand why he was angry and why he was indignant, but his pallor touched her.
“Don’t be angry; let us be friends,” she said affectionately. “Agreed? Here’s my hand.”
Ilyin took her plump little hand in both of his, squeezed it, and slowly raised it to his lips.
“I am not a schoolboy,” he muttered. “I am not in the least tempted9 by friendship with the woman I love.”
“Enough, enough! It’s settled and done with. We have reached the seat; let us sit down.”
Sofya Petrovna’s soul was filled with a sweet sense of relief: the most difficult and delicate thing had been said, the painful question was settled and done with. Now she could breathe freely and look Ilyin straight in the face. She looked at him, and the egoistic feeling of the superiority of the woman over the man who loves her, agreeably flattered her. It pleased her to see this huge, strong man, with his manly10, angry face and his big black beard — clever, cultivated, and, people said, talented — sit down obediently beside her and bow his head dejectedly. For two or three minutes they sat without speaking.
“Nothing is settled or done with,” began Ilyin. “You repeat copy-book maxims11 to me. ‘I love and respect my husband . . . the sanctity of marriage . . . .’ I know all that without your help, and I could tell you more, too. I tell you truthfully and honestly that I consider the way I am behaving as criminal and immoral13. What more can one say than that? But what’s the good of saying what everybody knows? Instead of feeding nightingales with paltry14 words, you had much better tell me what I am to do.”
“I’ve told you already — go away.”
“As you know perfectly15 well, I have gone away five times, and every time I turned back on the way. I can show you my through tickets — I’ve kept them all. I have not will enough to run away from you! I am struggling. I am struggling horribly; but what the devil am I good for if I have no backbone16, if I am weak, cowardly! I can’t struggle with Nature! Do you understand? I cannot! I run away from here, and she holds on to me and pulls me back. Contemptible17, loathsome18 weakness!”
Ilyin flushed crimson19, got up, and walked up and down by the seat.
“I feel as cross as a dog,” he muttered, clenching20 his fists. “I hate and despise myself! My God! like some depraved schoolboy, I am making love to another man’s wife, writing idiotic21 letters, degrading myself . . . ugh!”
Ilyin clutched at his head, grunted22, and sat down. “And then your insincerity!” he went on bitterly. “If you do dislike my disgusting behaviour, why have you come here? What drew you here? In my letters I only ask you for a direct, definite answer — yes or no; but instead of a direct answer, you contrive24 every day these ‘chance’ meetings with me and regale25 me with copy-book maxims!”
Madame Lubyantsev was frightened and flushed. She suddenly felt the awkwardness which a decent woman feels when she is accidentally discovered undressed.
“You seem to suspect I am playing with you,” she muttered. “I have always given you a direct answer, and . . . only today I’ve begged you . . .”
“Ough! as though one begged in such cases! If you were to say straight out ‘Get away,’ I should have been gone long ago; but you’ve never said that. You’ve never once given me a direct answer. Strange indecision! Yes, indeed; either you are playing with me, or else . . .”
Ilyin leaned his head on his fists without finishing. Sofya Petrovna began going over in her own mind the way she had behaved from beginning to end. She remembered that not only in her actions, but even in her secret thoughts, she had always been opposed to Ilyin’s love-making; but yet she felt there was a grain of truth in the lawyer’s words. But not knowing exactly what the truth was, she could not find answers to make to Ilyin’s complaint, however hard she thought. It was awkward to be silent, and, shrugging her shoulders, she said:
So I am to blame, it appears.”
“I don’t blame you for your insincerity,” sighed Ilyin. “I did not mean that when I spoke26 of it. . . . Your insincerity is natural and in the order of things. If people agreed together and suddenly became sincere, everything would go to the devil.”
Sofya Petrovna was in no mood for philosophical27 reflections, but she was glad of a chance to change the conversation, and asked:
“But why?”
“Because only savage28 women and animals are sincere. Once civilization has introduced a demand for such comforts as, for instance, feminine virtue29, sincerity23 is out of place . . . .”
Ilyin jabbed his stick angrily into the sand. Madame Lubyantsev listened to him and liked his conversation, though a great deal of it she did not understand. What gratified her most was that she, an ordinary woman, was talked to by a talented man on “intellectual” subjects; it afforded her great pleasure, too, to watch the working of his mobile, young face, which was still pale and angry. She failed to understand a great deal that he said, but what was clear to her in his words was the attractive boldness with which the modern man without hesitation30 or doubt decides great questions and draws conclusive31 deductions32.
She suddenly realized that she was admiring him, and was alarmed.
“Forgive me, but I don’t understand,” she said hurriedly. “What makes you talk of insincerity? I repeat my request again: be my good, true friend; let me alone! I beg you most earnestly!”
“Very good; I’ll try again,” sighed Ilyin. “Glad to do my best. . . . Only I doubt whether anything will come of my efforts. Either I shall put a bullet through my brains or take to drink in an idiotic way. I shall come to a bad end! There’s a limit to everything — to struggles with Nature, too. Tell me, how can one struggle against madness? If you drink wine, how are you to struggle against intoxication33? What am I to do if your image has grown into my soul, and day and night stands persistently34 before my eyes, like that pine there at this moment? Come, tell me, what hard and difficult thing can I do to get free from this abominable35, miserable36 condition, in which all my thoughts, desires, and dreams are no longer my own, but belong to some demon37 who has taken possession of me? I love you, love you so much that I am completely thrown out of gear; I’ve given up my work and all who are dear to me; I’ve forgotten my God! I’ve never been in love like this in my life.”
Sofya Petrovna, who had not expected such a turn to their conversation, drew away from Ilyin and looked into his face in dismay. Tears came into his eyes, his lips were quivering, and there was an imploring38, hungry expression in his face.
“I love you!” he muttered, bringing his eyes near her big, frightened eyes. “You are so beautiful! I am in agony now, but I swear I would sit here all my life, suffering and looking in your eyes. But . . . be silent, I implore39 you!”
Sofya Petrovna, feeling utterly40 disconcerted, tried to think as quickly as possible of something to say to stop him. “I’ll go away,” she decided41, but before she had time to make a movement to get up, Ilyin was on his knees before her. . . . He was clasping her knees, gazing into her face and speaking passionately42, hotly, eloquently43. In her terror and confusion she did not hear his words; for some reason now, at this dangerous moment, while her knees were being agreeably squeezed and felt as though they were in a warm bath, she was trying, with a sort of angry spite, to interpret her own sensations. She was angry that instead of brimming over with protesting virtue, she was entirely44 overwhelmed with weakness, apathy45, and emptiness, like a drunken man utterly reckless; only at the bottom of her soul a remote bit of herself was malignantly46 taunting47 her: “Why don’t you go? Is this as it should be? Yes?”
Seeking for some explanation, she could not understand how it was she did not pull away the hand to which Ilyin was clinging like a leech48, and why, like Ilyin, she hastily glanced to right and to left to see whether any one was looking. The clouds and the pines stood motionless, looking at them severely49, like old ushers50 seeing mischief51, but bribed52 not to tell the school authorities. The sentry53 stood like a post on the embankment and seemed to be looking at the seat.
“Let him look,” thought Sofya Petrovna.
“But . . . but listen,” she said at last, with despair in her voice. “What can come of this? What will be the end of this?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” he whispered, waving off the disagreeable questions.
They heard the hoarse54, discordant55 whistle of the train. This cold, irrelevant56 sound from the everyday world of prose made Sofya Petrovna rouse herself.
“I can’t stay . . . it’s time I was at home,” she said, getting up quickly. “The train is coming in . . . Andrey is coming by it! He will want his dinner.”
Sofya Petrovna turned towards the embankment with a burning face. The engine slowly crawled by, then came the carriages. It was not the local train, as she had supposed, but a goods train. The trucks filed by against the background of the white church in a long string like the days of a man’s life, and it seemed as though it would never end.
But at last the train passed, and the last carriage with the guard and a light in it had disappeared behind the trees. Sofya Petrovna turned round sharply, and without looking at Ilyin, walked rapidly back along the track. She had regained57 her self-possession. Crimson with shame, humiliated58 not by Ilyin — no, but by her own cowardice59, by the shamelessness with which she, a chaste60 and high-principled woman, had allowed a man, not her husband, to hug her knees — she had only one thought now: to get home as quickly as possible to her villa61, to her family. The lawyer could hardly keep pace with her. Turning from the clearing into a narrow path, she turned round and glanced at him so quickly that she saw nothing but the sand on his knees, and waved to him to drop behind.
Reaching home, Sofya Petrovna stood in the middle of her room for five minutes without moving, and looked first at the window and then at her writing-table.
“You low creature!” she said, upbraiding62 herself. “You low creature!”
To spite herself, she recalled in precise detail, keeping nothing back — she recalled that though all this time she had been opposed to Ilyin’s lovemaking, something had impelled63 her to seek an interview with him; and what was more, when he was at her feet she had enjoyed it enormously. She recalled it all without sparing herself, and now, breathless with shame, she would have liked to slap herself in the face.
“Poor Andrey!” she said to herself, trying as she thought of her husband to put into her face as tender an expression as she could. “Varya, my poor little girl, doesn’t know what a mother she has! Forgive me, my dear ones! I love you so much . . . so much!”
And anxious to prove to herself that she was still a good wife and mother, and that corruption64 had not yet touched that “sanctity of marriage” of which she had spoken to Ilyin, Sofya Petrovna ran to the kitchen and abused the cook for not having yet laid the table for Andrey Ilyitch. She tried to picture her husband’s hungry and exhausted65 appearance, commiserated66 him aloud, and laid the table for him with her own hands, which she had never done before. Then she found her daughter Varya, picked her up in her arms and hugged her warmly; the child seemed to her cold and heavy, but she was unwilling67 to acknowledge this to herself, and she began explaining to the child how good, kind, and honourable68 her papa was.
But when Andrey Ilyitch arrived soon afterwards she hardly greeted him. The rush of false feeling had already passed off without proving anything to her, only irritating and exasperating69 her by its falsity. She was sitting by the window, feeling miserable and cross. It is only by being in trouble that people can understand how far from easy it is to be the master of one’s feelings and thoughts. Sofya Petrovna said afterwards that there was a tangle70 within her which it was as difficult to unravel71 as to count a flock of sparrows rapidly flying by. From the fact that she was not overjoyed to see her husband, that she did not like his manner at dinner, she concluded all of a sudden that she was beginning to hate her husband.
Andrey Ilyitch, languid with hunger and exhaustion72, fell upon the sausage while waiting for the soup to be brought in, and ate it greedily, munching74 noisily and moving his temples.
“My goodness!” thought Sofya Petrovna. “I love and respect him, but . . . why does he munch73 so repulsively75?”
The disorder76 in her thoughts was no less than the disorder in her feelings. Like all persons inexperienced in combating unpleasant ideas, Madame Lubyantsev did her utmost not to think of her trouble, and the harder she tried the more vividly77 Ilyin, the sand on his knees, the fluffy clouds, the train, stood out in her imagination.
“And why did I go there this afternoon like a fool?” she thought, tormenting78 herself. “And am I really so weak that I cannot depend upon myself?”
Fear magnifies danger. By the time Andrey Ilyitch was finishing the last course, she had firmly made up her mind to tell her husband everything and to flee from danger!
“I’ve something serious to say to you, Andrey,” she began after dinner while her husband was taking off his coat and boots to lie down for a nap.
“Well?”
“Let us leave this place!”
“H’m! . . . Where shall we go? It’s too soon to go back to town.”
“No; for a tour or something of that sort.
“For a tour . . .” repeated the notary, stretching. “I dream of that myself, but where are we to get the money, and to whom am I to leave the office?”
And thinking a little he added:
“Of course, you must be bored. Go by yourself if you like.”
Sofya Petrovna agreed, but at once reflected that Ilyin would be delighted with the opportunity, and would go with her in the same train, in the same compartment79. . . . She thought and looked at her husband, now satisfied but still languid. For some reason her eyes rested on his feet — miniature, almost feminine feet, clad in striped socks; there was a thread standing80 out at the tip of each sock.
Behind the blind a bumble-bee was beating itself against the window-pane and buzzing. Sofya Petrovna looked at the threads on the socks, listened to the bee, and pictured how she would set off . . . . vis-à-vis Ilyin would sit, day and night, never taking his eyes off her, wrathful at his own weakness and pale with spiritual agony. He would call himself an immoral schoolboy, would abuse her, tear his hair, but when darkness came on and the passengers were asleep or got out at a station, he would seize the opportunity to kneel before her and embrace her knees as he had at the seat in the wood . . . .
She caught herself indulging in this day-dream.
“Listen. I won’t go alone,” she said. “You must come with me.”
“Nonsense, Sofotchka!” sighed Lubyantsev. “One must be sensible and not want the impossible.”
“You will come when you know all about it,” thought Sofya Petrovna.
Making up her mind to go at all costs, she felt that she was out of danger. Little by little her ideas grew clearer; her spirits rose and she allowed herself to think about it all, feeling that however much she thought, however much she dreamed, she would go away. While her husband was asleep, the evening gradually came on. She sat in the drawing-room and played the piano. The greater liveliness out of doors, the sound of music, but above all the thought that she was a sensible person, that she had surmounted81 her difficulties, completely restored her spirits. Other women, her appeased82 conscience told her, would probably have been carried off their feet in her position, and would have lost their balance, while she had almost died of shame, had been miserable, and was now running out of the danger which perhaps did not exist! She was so touched by her own virtue and determination that she even looked at herself two or three times in the looking-glass.
When it got dark, visitors arrived. The men sat down in the dining-room to play cards; the ladies remained in the drawing-room and the verandah. The last to arrive was Ilyin. He was gloomy, morose84, and looked ill. He sat down in the corner of the sofa and did not move the whole evening. Usually good-humoured and talkative, this time he remained silent, frowned, and rubbed his eyebrows85. When he had to answer some question, he gave a forced smile with his upper lip only, and answered jerkily and irritably86. Four or five times he made some jest, but his jests sounded harsh and cutting. It seemed to Sofya Petrovna that he was on the verge87 of hysterics. Only now, sitting at the piano, she recognized fully12 for the first time that this unhappy man was in deadly earnest, that his soul was sick, and that he could find no rest. For her sake he was wasting the best days of his youth and his career, spending the last of his money on a summer villa, abandoning his mother and sisters, and, worst of all, wearing himself out in an agonizing88 struggle with himself. From mere89 common humanity he ought to be treated seriously.
She recognized all this clearly till it made her heart ache, and if at that moment she had gone up to him and said to him, “No,” there would have been a force in her voice hard to disobey. But she did not go up to him and did not speak — indeed, never thought of doing so. The pettiness and egoism of youth had never been more patent in her than that evening. She realized that Ilyin was unhappy, and that he was sitting on the sofa as though he were on hot coals; she felt sorry for him, but at the same time the presence of a man who loved her to distraction90, filled her soul with triumph and a sense of her own power. She felt her youth, her beauty, and her unassailable virtue, and, since she had decided to go away, gave herself full licence for that evening. She flirted92, laughed incessantly93, sang with peculiar94 feeling and gusto. Everything delighted and amused her. She was amused at the memory of what had happened at the seat in the wood, of the sentinel who had looked on. She was amused by her guests, by Ilyin’s cutting jests, by the pin in his cravat95, which she had never noticed before. There was a red snake with diamond eyes on the pin; this snake struck her as so amusing that she could have kissed it on the spot.
Sofya Petrovna sang nervously96, with defiant97 recklessness as though half intoxicated98, and she chose sad, mournful songs which dealt with wasted hopes, the past, old age, as though in mockery of another’s grief. “‘And old age comes nearer and nearer’ . . .” she sang. And what was old age to her?
“It seems as though there is something going wrong with me,” she thought from time to time through her laughter and singing.
The party broke up at twelve o’clock. Ilyin was the last to leave. Sofya Petrovna was still reckless enough to accompany him to the bottom step of the verandah. She wanted to tell him that she was going away with her husband, and to watch the effect this news would produce on him.
The moon was hidden behind the clouds, but it was light enough for Sofya Petrovna to see how the wind played with the skirts of his overcoat and with the awning99 of the verandah. She could see, too, how white Ilyin was, and how he twisted his upper lip in the effort to smile.
“Sonia, Sonitchka . . . my darling woman!” he muttered, preventing her from speaking. “My dear! my sweet!”
In a rush of tenderness, with tears in his voice, he showered caressing101 words upon her, that grew tenderer and tenderer, and even called her “thou,” as though she were his wife or mistress. Quite unexpectedly he put one arm round her waist and with the other hand took hold of her elbow.
“My precious! my delight!” he whispered, kissing the nape of her neck; “be sincere; come to me at once!”
She slipped out of his arms and raised her head to give vent100 to her indignation and anger, but the indignation did not come off, and all her vaunted virtue and chastity was only sufficient to enable her to utter the phrase used by all ordinary women on such occasions:
“You must be mad.”
“Come, let us go,” Ilyin continued. “I felt just now, as well as at the seat in the wood, that you are as helpless as I am, Sonia . . . . You are in the same plight102! You love me and are fruitlessly trying to appease83 your conscience . . . .”
Seeing that she was moving away, he caught her by her lace cuff103 and said rapidly:
“If not today, then tomorrow you will have to give in! Why, then, this waste of time? My precious, darling Sonia, the sentence is passed; why put off the execution? Why deceive yourself?”
Sofya Petrovna tore herself from him and darted104 in at the door. Returning to the drawing-room, she mechanically shut the piano, looked for a long time at the music-stand, and sat down. She could not stand up nor think. All that was left of her excitement and recklessness was a fearful weakness, apathy, and dreariness105. Her conscience whispered to her that she had behaved badly, foolishly, that evening, like some madcap girl — that she had just been embraced on the verandah, and still had an uneasy feeling in her waist and her elbow. There was not a soul in the drawing-room; there was only one candle burning. Madame Lubyantsev sat on the round stool before the piano, motionless, as though expecting something. And as though taking advantage of the darkness and her extreme lassitude, an oppressive, overpowering desire began to assail91 her. Like a boa-constrictor it gripped her limbs and her soul, and grew stronger every second, and no longer menaced her as it had done, but stood clear before her in all its nakedness.
She sat for half an hour without stirring, not restraining herself from thinking of Ilyin, then she got up languidly and dragged herself to her bedroom. Andrey Ilyitch was already in bed. She sat down by the open window and gave herself up to desire. There was no “tangle” now in her head; all her thoughts and feelings were bent106 with one accord upon a single aim. She tried to struggle against it, but instantly gave it up. . . . She understood now how strong and relentless107 was the foe108. Strength and fortitude109 were needed to combat him, and her birth, her education, and her life had given her nothing to fall back upon.
“Immoral wretch110! Low creature!” she nagged111 at herself for her weakness. “So that’s what you’re like!”
Her outraged112 sense of propriety113 was moved to such indignation by this weakness that she lavished114 upon herself every term of abuse she knew, and told herself many offensive and humiliating truths. So, for instance, she told herself that she never had been moral, that she had not come to grief before simply because she had had no opportunity, that her inward conflict during that day had all been a farce115 . . . .
“And even if I have struggled,” she thought, “what sort of struggle was it? Even the woman who sells herself struggles before she brings herself to it, and yet she sells herself. A fine struggle! Like milk, I’ve turned in a day! In one day!”
She convicted herself of being tempted, not by feeling, not by Ilyin personally, but by sensations which awaited her . . . an idle lady, having her fling in the summer holidays, like so many!
“‘Like an unfledged bird when the mother has been slain,’” sang a husky tenor116 outside the window.
“If I am to go, it’s time,” thought Sofya Petrovna. Her heart suddenly began beating violently.
“Andrey!” she almost shrieked117. “Listen! we . . . we are going? Yes?”
“Yes, I’ve told you already: you go alone.”
“But listen,” she began. “If you don’t go with me, you are in danger of losing me. I believe I am . . . in love already.”
“With whom?” asked Andrey Ilyitch.
“It can’t make any difference to you who it is!” cried Sofya Petrovna.
Andrey Ilyitch sat up with his feet out of bed and looked wonderingly at his wife’s dark figure.
“It’s a fancy!” he yawned.
He did not believe her, but yet he was frightened. After thinking a little and asking his wife several unimportant questions, he delivered himself of his opinions on the family, on infidelity . . . spoke listlessly for about ten minutes and got into bed again. His moralizing produced no effect. There are a great many opinions in the world, and a good half of them are held by people who have never been in trouble!
In spite of the late hour, summer visitors were still walking outside. Sofya Petrovna put on a light cape118, stood a little, thought a little. . . . She still had resolution enough to say to her sleeping husband:
“Are you asleep? I am going for a walk. . . . Will you come with me?”
That was her last hope. Receiving no answer, she went out. . . . It was fresh and windy. She was conscious neither of the wind nor the darkness, but went on and on. . . . An overmastering force drove her on, and it seemed as though, if she had stopped, it would have pushed her in the back.
“Immoral creature!” she muttered mechanically. “Low wretch!”
She was breathless, hot with shame, did not feel her legs under her, but what drove her on was stronger than shame, reason, or fear.
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notary
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| n.公证人，公证员 | |
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domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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prodding
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| v.刺，戳( prod的现在分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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maxims
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| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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clenching
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的现在分词 ) | |
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21
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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23
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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24
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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regale
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| v.取悦，款待 | |
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26
spoke
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| 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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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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30
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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31
conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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32
deductions
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| 扣除( deduction的名词复数 )； 结论； 扣除的量； 推演 | |
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33
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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34
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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35
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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36
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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37
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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38
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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39
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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40
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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41
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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42
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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43
eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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44
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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45
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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46
malignantly
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| 怀恶意地； 恶毒地； 有害地； 恶性地 | |
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47
taunting
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| 嘲讽( taunt的现在分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
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48
leech
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| n.水蛭，吸血鬼，榨取他人利益的人；vt.以水蛭吸血；vi.依附于别人 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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ushers
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| n.引座员( usher的名词复数 )；招待员；门房；助理教员v.引，领，陪同( usher的第三人称单数 ) | |
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51
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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53
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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54
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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55
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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58
humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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59
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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60
chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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61
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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62
upbraiding
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| adj.& n.谴责（的）v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的现在分词 ) | |
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impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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66
commiserated
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| v.怜悯，同情( commiserate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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68
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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69
exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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70
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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71
unravel
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| v.弄清楚（秘密）；拆开，解开，松开 | |
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72
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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73
munch
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| v.用力嚼，大声咀嚼 | |
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74
munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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75
repulsively
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| adv.冷淡地 | |
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76
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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78
tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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79
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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80
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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81
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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82
appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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83
appease
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| v.安抚，缓和，平息，满足 | |
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84
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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85
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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86
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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87
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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88
agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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89
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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90
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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91
assail
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| v.猛烈攻击，抨击，痛斥 | |
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92
flirted
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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94
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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95
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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96
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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97
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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98
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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99
awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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100
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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101
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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102
plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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103
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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104
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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105
dreariness
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| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
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106
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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107
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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108
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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109
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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110
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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111
nagged
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| adj.经常遭责怪的；被压制的；感到厌烦的；被激怒的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的过去式和过去分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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112
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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113
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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114
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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116
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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117
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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