“Millicent Henning, tell me quickly, have you seen my child?” These words were addressed by Miss Pynsent to a little girl who sat on the doorstep of the adjacent house, nursing a dingy25 doll, and who had an extraordinary luxuriance of dark brown hair, surmounted26 by a torn straw hat. Miss Pynsent pronounced her name Enning.
The child looked up from her dandling and patting, and after a stare of which the blankness was somewhat exaggerated, replied: “Law no, Miss Pynsent, I never see him.”
“Aren’t you always messing about with him, you naughty little girl?” the dressmaker returned, with sharpness. “Isn’t he round the corner, playing marbles, or – or some jumping game?” Miss Pynsent went on, trying to be suggestive.
“I assure you, he never plays nothing,” said Millicent Henning, with a mature manner which she bore out by adding, “And I don’t know why I should be called naughty, neither.”
“Well, if you want to be called good, please go and find him and tell him there’s a lady here come on purpose to see him, this very instant.” Miss Pynsent waited a moment, to see if her injunction would be obeyed, but she got no satisfaction beyond another gaze of deliberation, which made her feel that the child’s perversity27 was as great as the beauty, somewhat soiled and dimmed, of her insolent28 little face. She turned back into the house, with an exclamation29 of despair, and as soon as she had disappeared Millicent Henning sprang erect30 and began to race down the street in the direction of another, which crossed it. I take no unfair advantage of the innocence31 of childhood in saying that the motive32 of this young lady’s flight was not a desire to be agreeable to Miss Pynsent, but an extreme curiosity on the subject of the visitor who wanted to see Hyacinth Robinson. She wished to participate, if only in imagination, in the interview that might take place, and she was moved also by a quick revival33 of friendly feeling for the boy, from whom she had parted only half an hour before with considerable asperity34. She was not a very clinging little creature, and there was no one in her own domestic circle to whom she was much attached; but she liked to kiss Hyacinth when he didn’t push her away and tell her she was tiresome35. It was in this action and epithet36 he had indulged half an hour ago; but she had reflected rapidly (while she stared at Miss Pynsent) that this was the worst he had ever done. Millicent Henning was only eight years of age, but she knew there was worse in the world than that.
Mrs Bowerbank, in a leisurely37, roundabout way, wandered off to her sister, Mrs Chipperfield, whom she had come into that part of the world to see, and the whole history of the dropsical tendencies of whose husband, an undertaker with a business that had been a blessing38 because you could always count on it, she unfolded to Miss Pynsent between the sips39 of a second glass. She was a high-shouldered, towering woman, and suggested squareness as well as a pervasion40 of the upper air, so that Amanda reflected that she must be very difficult to fit, and had a sinking at the idea of the number of pins she would take. Her sister had nine children and she herself had seven, the eldest41 of whom she left in charge of the others when she went to her service. She was on duty at the prison only during the day; she had to be there at seven in the morning, but she got her evenings at home, quite regular and comfortable. Miss Pynsent thought it wonderful she could talk of comfort in such a life as that, but could easily imagine she should be glad to get away at night, for at that time the place must be much more terrible.
“And aren’t you frightened of them – ever?” she inquired, looking up at her visitor with her little heated face.
Mrs Bowerbank was very slow, and considered her so long before replying, that she felt herself to be, in an alarming degree, in the eye of the law; for who could be more closely connected with the administration of justice than a female turnkey, especially so big and majestic42 a one? “I expect they are more frightened of me,” she replied at last; and it was an idea into which Miss Pynsent could easily enter.
“And at night I suppose they rave43, quite awful,” the little dressmaker suggested, feeling vaguely44 that prisons and madhouses came very much to the same.
“Well, if they do, we hush45 ’em up,” Mrs Bowerbank remarked, rather portentously46; while Miss Pynsent fidgeted to the door again, without results, to see if the child had become visible. She observed to her guest that she couldn’t call it anything but contrary that he should not turn up, when he knew so well, most days in the week, when his tea was ready. To which Mrs Bowerbank rejoined, fixing her companion again with the steady orb47 of justice, “And do he have his tea, that way, by himself, like a little gentleman?”
“Well, I try to give it to him tidy-like, at a suitable hour,” said Miss Pynsent, guiltily. “And there might be some who would say that, for the matter of that, he is a little gentleman,” she added, with an effort at mitigation which, as she immediately became conscious, only involved her more deeply.
“There are people silly enough to say anything. If it’s your parents that settle your station, the child hasn’t much to be thankful for,” Mrs Bowerbank went on, in the manner of a woman accustomed to looking facts in the face.
Miss Pynsent was very timid, but she adored the aristocracy, and there were elements in the boy’s life which she was not prepared to sacrifice even to a person who represented such a possibility of grating bolts and clanking chains. “I suppose we oughtn’t to forget that his father was very high,” she suggested, appealingly, with her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
“His father? Who knows who he was? He doesn’t set up for having a father, does he?”
“But, surely, wasn’t it proved that Lord Frederick —?”
“My dear woman, nothing was proved except that she stabbed his lordship in the back with a very long knife, that he died of the blow, and that she got the full sentence. What does such a piece as that know about fathers? The less said about the poor child’s ancestors the better!”
This view of the case caused Miss Pynsent fairly to gasp48, for it pushed over with a touch a certain tall imaginative structure which she had been piling up for years. Even as she heard it crash around her she couldn’t forbear the attempt to save at least some of the material. “Really – really,” she panted, “she never had to do with any one but the nobility!”
Mrs Bowerbank surveyed her hostess with an expressionless eye. “My dear young lady, what does a respectable little body like you, that sits all day with her needle and scissors, know about the doings of a wicked low foreigner that carries a knife? I was there when she came in, and I know to what she had sunk. Her conversation was choice, I assure you.”
“Oh, it’s very dreadful, and of course I know nothing in particular,” Miss Pynsent quavered. “But she wasn’t low when I worked at the same place with her, and she often told me she would do nothing for any one that wasn’t at the very top.”
“She might have talked to you of something that would have done you both more good,” Mrs Bowerbank remarked, while the dressmaker felt rebuked49 in the past as well as in the present. “At the very top, poor thing! Well, she’s at the very bottom now. If she wasn’t low when she worked, it’s a pity she didn’t stick to her work; and as for pride of birth, that’s an article I recommend your young friend to leave to others. You had better believe what I say, because I’m a woman of the world.”
Indeed she was, as Miss Pynsent felt, to whom all this was very terrible, letting in the cold light of the penal50 system on a dear, dim little theory. She had cared for the child because maternity51 was in her nature, and this was the only manner in which fortune had put it in her path to become a mother. She had as few belongings52 as the baby, and it had seemed to her that he would add to her importance in the little world of Lomax Place (if she kept it a secret how she came by him), quite in the proportion in which she should contribute to his maintenance. Her weakness and loneliness went out to his, and in the course of time this united desolation was peopled by the dressmaker’s romantic mind with a hundred consoling evocations. The boy proved neither a dunce nor a reprobate53; but what endeared him to her most was her conviction that he belonged, ‘by the left hand’, as she had read in a novel, to an ancient and exalted54 race, the list of whose representatives and the record of whose alliances she had once (when she took home some work and was made to wait, alone, in a lady’s boudoir) had the opportunity of reading in a fat red book, eagerly and tremblingly consulted. She bent55 her head before Mrs Bowerbank’s overwhelming logic56, but she felt in her heart that she shouldn’t give the child up for all that, that she believed in him still, and that she recognised, as distinctly as she revered57, the quality of her betters. To believe in Hyacinth, for Miss Pynsent, was to believe that he was the son of the extremely immoral58 Lord Frederick. She had, from his earliest age, made him feel that there was a grandeur59 in his past, and as Mrs Bowerbank would be sure not to approve of such aberrations60 Miss Pynsent prayed she might not question her on that part of the business. It was not that, when it was necessary, the little dressmaker had any scruple61 about using the arts of prevarication62; she was a kind and innocent creature, but she told fibs as freely as she invented trimmings. She had, however, not yet been questioned by an emissary of the law, and her heart beat faster when Mrs Bowerbank said to her, in deep tones, with an effect of abruptness63, “And pray, Miss Pynsent, does the child know it?”
“Know about Lord Frederick?” Miss Pynsent palpitated.
“Bother Lord Frederick! Know about his mother.”
“Oh, I can’t say that. I have never told him.”
“But has any one else told him?”
To this inquiry64 Miss Pynsent’s answer was more prompt and more proud; it was with an agreeable sense of having conducted herself with extraordinary wisdom and propriety65 that she replied, “How could any one know? I have never breathed it to a creature!”
Mrs Bowerbank gave utterance66 to no commendation; she only put down her empty glass and wiped her large mouth with much thoroughness and deliberation. Then she said, as if it were as cheerful an idea as, in the premises67, she was capable of expressing, “Ah, well, there’ll be plenty, later on, to give him all information!”
“I pray God be may live and die without knowing it!” Miss Pynsent cried, with eagerness.
Her companion gazed at her with a kind of professional patience. “You don’t keep your ideas together. How can he go to her, then, if he’s never to know?”
“Oh, did you mean she would tell him?” Miss Pynsent responded, plaintively68.
“Tell him! He won’t need to be told, once she gets hold of him and gives him – what she told me.”
“What she told you?” Miss Pynsent repeated, open-eyed.
“The kiss her lips have been famished69 for, for years.”
“Ah, poor desolate70 woman!” the little dressmaker murmured, with her pity gushing71 up again. “Of course he’ll see she’s fond of him,” she pursued, simply. Then she added, with an inspiration more brilliant, “We might tell him she’s his aunt!”
“You may tell him she’s his grandmother, if you like. But it’s all in the family.”
“Yes, on that side,” said Miss Pynsent, musingly72 and irrepressibly. “And will she speak French?” she inquired. “In that case he won’t understand.”
“Oh, a child will understand its own mother, whatever she speaks,” Mrs Bowerbank returned, declining to administer a superficial comfort. But she subjoined, opening the door for escape from a prospect which bristled73 with dangers, “Of course, it’s just according to your own conscience. You needn’t bring the child at all, unless you like. There’s many a one that wouldn’t. There’s no compulsion.”
“And would nothing be done to me, if I didn’t?” poor Miss Pynsent asked, unable to rid herself of the impression that it was somehow the arm of the law that was stretched out to touch her.
“The only thing that could happen to you would be that he might throw it up against you later,” the lady from the prison observed, with a gloomy impartiality74.
“Yes, indeed, if he were to know that I had kept him back.”
“Oh, he’d be sure to know, one of these days. We see a great deal of that – the way things come out,” said Mrs Bowerbank, whose view of life seemed to abound75 in cheerless contingencies76. “You must remember that it is her dying wish, and that you may have it on your conscience.”
“That’s a thing I never could abide77!” the little dressmaker exclaimed, with great emphasis and a visible shiver; after which she picked up various scattered remnants of muslin and cut paper and began to roll them together with a desperate and mechanical haste. “It’s quite awful, to know what to do – if you are very sure she is dying.”
“Do you mean she’s shamming78? we have plenty of that – but we know how to treat ’em.”
“Lord, I suppose so,” murmured Miss Pynsent; while her visitor went on to say that the unfortunate person on whose behalf she had undertaken this solemn pilgrimage might live a week and might live a fortnight, but if she lived a month, would violate (as Mrs Bowerbank might express herself) every established law of nature, being reduced to skin and bone, with nothing left of her but the main desire to see her child.
“If you’re afraid of her talking, it isn’t much she’d be able to say. And we shouldn’t allow you more than about eight minutes,” Mrs Bowerbank pursued, in a tone that seemed to refer itself to an iron discipline.
“I’m sure I shouldn’t want more; that would be enough to last me many a year,” said Miss Pynsent, accommodatingly. And then she added, with another illumination, “Don’t you think he might throw it up against me that I did take him? People might tell him about her in later years; but if he hadn’t seen her he wouldn’t be obliged to believe them.”
Mrs Bowerbank considered this a moment, as if it were rather a super-subtle argument, and then answered, quite in the spirit of her official pessimism79, “There is one thing you may be sure of : whatever you decide to do, as soon as ever he grows up he will make you wish you had done the opposite.” Mrs Bowerbank called it opposite.
“Oh, dear, then, I’m glad it will be a long time.”
“It will be ever so long, if once he gets it into his head! At any rate, you must do as you think best. Only, if you come, you mustn’t come when it’s all over.”
“It’s too impossible to decide.”
“It is, indeed,” said Mrs Bowerbank, with superior consistency80. And she seemed more placidly81 grim than ever when she remarked, gathering82 up her loosened shawl, that she was much obliged to Miss Pynsent for her civility, and had been quite freshened up: her visit had so completely deprived her hostess of that sort of calm. Miss Pynsent gave the fullest expression to her perplexity in the supreme83 exclamation –
“If you could only wait and see the child, I’m sure it would help you to judge!”
“My dear woman, I don’t want to judge – it’s none of our business!” Mrs Bowerbank exclaimed; and she had no sooner uttered the words than the door of the room creaked open and a small boy stood there gazing at her. Her eyes rested on him a moment, and then, most unexpectedly, she gave an inconsequent cry. “Is that the child? Oh, Lord o’ mercy, don’t take him!”
“Now ain’t he shrinking and sensitive?” demanded Miss Pynsent, who had pounced84 upon him, and, holding him an instant at arm’s length, appealed eagerly to her visitor. “Ain’t he delicate and high-bred, and wouldn’t he be thrown into a state?” Delicate as he might be the little dressmaker shook him smartly for his naughtiness in being out of the way when he was wanted, and brought him to the big, square-faced, deep-voiced lady who took up, as it were, all that side of the room. But Mrs Bowerbank laid no hand upon him; she only dropped her gaze from a tremendous height, and her forbearance seemed a tribute to that fragility of constitution on which Miss Pynsent desired to insist, just as her continued gravity was an implication that this scrupulous85 woman might well not know what to do.
“Speak to the lady nicely, and tell her you are very sorry to have kept her waiting.”
The child hesitated a moment, while he reciprocated86 Mrs Bowerbank’s inspection87, and then he said, with a strange, cool, conscious indifference88 (Miss Pynsent instantly recognised it as his aristocratic manner), “I don’t think she can have been in a very great hurry.”
There was irony89 in the words, for it is a remarkable fact that even at the age of ten Hyacinth Robinson was ironical90; but the subject of his allusion91, who was not nimble withal, appeared not to interpret it; so that she rejoined only by remarking, over his head, to Miss Pynsent, “It’s the very face of her over again!”
“Of her? But what do you say to Lord Frederick?”
“I have seen lords that wasn’t so dainty!”
Miss Pynsent had seen very few lords, but she entered, with a passionate92 thrill, into this generalisation; controlling herself, however, for she remembered the child was tremendously sharp, sufficiently93 to declare, in an edifying94 tone, that he would look more like what he ought to if his face were a little cleaner.
“It was probably Millicent Henning dirtied my face, when she kissed me,” the boy announced, with slow gravity, looking all the while at Mrs Bowerbank. He exhibited not a symptom of shyness.
“Millicent Henning is a very bad little girl; she’ll come to no good,” said Miss Pynsent, with familiar decision, and also, considering that the young lady in question had been her effective messenger, with marked ingratitude95.
Against this qualification the child instantly protested. “Why is she bad? I don’t think she is bad; I like her very much.” It came over him that he had too hastily shifted to her shoulders the responsibility of his unseemly appearance, and he wished to make up to her for that betrayal. He dimly felt that nothing but that particular accusation96 could have pushed him to it, for he hated people who were not fresh, who had smutches and streaks97. Millicent Henning generally had two or three, which she borrowed from her doll, into whom she was always rubbing her nose and whose dinginess98 was contagious99. It was quite inevitable100 she should have left her mark under his own nose when she claimed her reward for coming to tell him about the lady who wanted him.
Miss Pynsent held the boy against her knee, trying to present him so that Mrs Bowerbank should agree with her about his having the air of race. He was exceedingly diminutive101, even for his years, and though his appearance was not positively102 sickly it seemed written in his attenuated103 little person that he would never be either tall or strong. His dark blue eyes were separated by a wide interval104, which increased the fairness and sweetness of his face, and his abundant curly hair, which grew thick and long, had the golden brownness predestined to elicit105 exclamations106 of delight from ladies when they take the inventory107 of a child. His features were smooth and pretty; his head was set upon a slim little neck; his expression, grave and clear, showed a quick perception as well as a great credulity; and he was altogether, in his innocent smallness, a refined and interesting figure.
“Yes, he’s one that would be sure to remember,” said Mrs Bowerbank, mentally contrasting him with the undeveloped members of her own brood, who had never been retentive108 of anything but the halfpence which they occasionally contrived109 to filch110 from her. Her eyes descended111 to the details of his toilet: the careful mending of his short breeches and his long, coloured stockings, which she was in a position to appreciate, as well as the knot of bright ribbon which the dressmaker had passed into his collar, slightly crumpled112 by Miss Henning’s embrace. Of course Miss Pynsent had only one to look after, but her visitor was obliged to recognise that she had the highest standard in respect to buttons. “And you do turn him out so it’s a pleasure,” she went on, noting the ingenious patches in the child’s shoes, which, to her mind, were repaired for all the world like those of a little nobleman.
“I’m sure you’re very civil,” said Miss Pynsent, in a state of severe exaltation. “There’s never a needle but mine has come near him. That’s exactly what I think: the impression would go so deep.”
“Do you want to see me only to look at me?” Hyacinth inquired, with a candour which, though unstudied, had again much of the force of satire113.
“I’m sure it’s very kind of the lady to notice you at all!” cried his protectress, giving him an ineffectual jerk. “You’re no bigger than a flea114; there are many that wouldn’t spy you out.”
“You’ll find he’s big enough, I expect, when he begins to go,” Mrs Bowerbank remarked, tranquilly115; and she added that now she saw how he was turned out she couldn’t but feel that the other side was to be considered. In her effort to be discreet116, on account of his being present (and so precociously117 attentive), she became slightly enigmatical; but Miss Pynsent gathered her meaning, which was that it was very true the child would take everything in and keep it: but at the same time it was precisely118 his being so attractive that made it a kind of sin not to gratify the poor woman, who, if she knew what he looked like to-day, wouldn’t forgive his adoptive mamma for not producing him. “Certainly, in her place, I should go off easier if I had seen them curls,” Mrs Bowerbank declared, with a flight of maternal119 imagination which brought her to her feet, while Miss Pynsent felt that she was leaving her dreadfully ploughed up, and without any really fertilising seed having been sown. The little dressmaker packed the child upstairs to tidy himself for his tea, and while she accompanied her visitor to the door told her that if she would have a little more patience with her she would think a day or two longer what was best and write to her when she should have decided120. Mrs Bowerbank continued to move in a realm superior to poor Miss Pynsent’s vacillations and timidities, and her impartiality gave her hostess a high idea of her respectability; but the way was a little smoothed when, after Amanda had moaned once more, on the threshold, helplessly and irrelevantly121, “Ain’t it a pity she’s so bad?” the ponderous122 lady from the prison rejoined, in those tones which seemed meant to resound123 through corridors of stone, “I assure you there’s a many that’s much worse!”
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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intercourse
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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gratuitously
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humble
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benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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aspired
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| v.渴望，追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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touching
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formerly
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pint
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lollipops
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| n.棒糖，棒棒糖( lollipop的名词复数 )；（用交通指挥牌让车辆暂停以便儿童安全通过马路的）交通纠察 | |
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dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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pictorial
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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obligatory
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ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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dingy
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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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perversity
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insolent
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exclamation
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erect
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innocence
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motive
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revival
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asperity
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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leisurely
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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sips
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| n.小口喝，一小口的量( sip的名词复数 )v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的第三人称单数 ) | |
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pervasion
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| n.扩散，渗透 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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43
rave
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| vi.胡言乱语；热衷谈论；n.热情赞扬 | |
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44
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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45
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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46
portentously
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47
orb
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| n.太阳；星球；v.弄圆；成球形 | |
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48
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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49
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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51
maternity
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| n.母性，母道，妇产科病房；adj.孕妇的，母性的 | |
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52
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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53
reprobate
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| n.无赖汉；堕落的人 | |
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54
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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55
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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56
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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57
revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
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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59
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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60
aberrations
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| n.偏差( aberration的名词复数 )；差错；脱离常规；心理失常 | |
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61
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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62
prevarication
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| n.支吾；搪塞；说谎；有枝有叶 | |
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63
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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64
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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65
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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66
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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67
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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68
plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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69
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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70
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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71
gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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72
musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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73
bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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74
impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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75
abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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76
contingencies
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| n.偶然发生的事故，意外事故( contingency的名词复数 )；以备万一 | |
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77
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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78
shamming
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| 假装，冒充( sham的现在分词 ) | |
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pessimism
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| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
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80
consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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81
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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82
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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83
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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84
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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85
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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86
reciprocated
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| v.报答，酬答( reciprocate的过去式和过去分词 )；（机器的部件）直线往复运动 | |
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87
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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88
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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89
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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90
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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91
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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92
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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93
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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94
edifying
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| adj.有教训意味的，教训性的，有益的v.开导，启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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95
ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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96
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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97
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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98
dinginess
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| n.暗淡，肮脏 | |
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99
contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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100
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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101
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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102
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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103
attenuated
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| v.（使）变细( attenuate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）变薄；（使）变小；减弱 | |
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104
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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105
elicit
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| v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
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106
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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107
inventory
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| n.详细目录，存货清单 | |
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108
retentive
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| v.保留的，有记忆的；adv.有记性地，记性强地；n.保持力 | |
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109
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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110
filch
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| v.偷窃 | |
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111
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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112
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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113
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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114
flea
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| n.跳蚤 | |
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115
tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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116
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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117
precociously
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| Precociously | |
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118
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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119
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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120
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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121
irrelevantly
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| adv.不恰当地，不合适地；不相关地 | |
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122
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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123
resound
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| v.回响 | |
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