Mr. Milnathort’s office was in a handsome square, with a garden in the centre of it, and another statue holding possession of the garden. For the first time since he left home, Walter felt a little thrill of his new importance when he beheld21 the respectful curiosity produced among the clerks by the statement of his name. They asked his lordship to step in with an evident sensation. And for Walter himself to look into that office where his mother had so strongly desired that he should find a place, had the most curious effect. He felt for the moment as if he were one of the serious young men peeping from beyond the wooden railing that inclosed the office, at the fortunate youth whose circumstances were no different from their own. He did not realise at that moment the unfailing human complacency which would have come to his aid in such circumstances, and persuaded him that the gifts of fortune had nothing to do with real superiority. He thought of the possible reflections upon himself of the other young fellows in their lowly estate as if he had himself been making them. He was sorry for them all, for the contrast they must draw, and the strange sense of human inequality that they must feel. He was no better than they were—who could tell? perhaps not half as good. He felt that to feel this was a due tribute from Lord Erradeen in his good fortune to those who might have been Walter Methven’s fellow-clerks, but who had never had any chance of being Lord Erradeen. And then he thought what a good thing it was that he had never written that letter to Mr. Milnathort, offering himself for a desk in the office. He had felt really guilty on the subject at the time. He had felt that it was miserable22 of him to neglect the occasion thus put before him of gaining a livelihood23. Self-reproach, real and unmistakable, had been in his mind; and yet what a good thing he had not done it: and how little one knows what is going to happen! These were very ordinary reflections, not showing much depth; but it must be recollected24 that Walter was still in a sort of primary state of feeling, and had not had time to reach a profounder level.
Mr. Milnathort made haste to receive him, coming out of his own room on purpose, and giving him the warmest welcome.
“I might have thought you would come by the night train. You are not old enough to dislike night travelling as I do; but I will take it ill, and so will my sister, if you stay in an hotel, and your room ready for you in our little place. I think you will be more comfortable with us, though we have no grandeur26 to surround you with. My sister has a great wish to make your acquaintance, my Lord Erradeen. She has just a wonderful acquaintance with the family, and it was more through her than any one that I knew just where to put my hand upon you, when the time came.”
“I did not like to disturb you so early,” Walter said.
“Well, perhaps there is something in that. We are not very early birds: and as a matter of fact, Alison did not expect you till about seven o’clock at night. And here am I in the midst of my day’s work. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you. We’ll go round to the club, and there your young lordship will make acquaintance with somebody that can show you something of Edinburgh. You have never been here before? It is a great pity that there is an easterly haar, which is bad both for you and the objects you are wanting to see. However, it is lifting, and we’ll get some luncheon27, and then I will put you in the way. That is the best thing I can do for you. Malcolm, you will send down all the documents relative to his lordship’s affairs to Moray Place, this afternoon; and you can tell old Symington to be in attendance in case Lord Erradeen should wish to see him. That is your cousin the late lord’s body servant. He is a man of great experience, and you might wish—; but all that can be settled later on. If Drysdales should send over about that case of theirs, ye will say, Malcolm, that I shall be here not later than three in the afternoon; and if old Blairallan comes fyking, ye can say I am giving the case my best attention; and if it’s that big north-country fellow about his manse and his augmentation——”
“I fear that I am unpardonable,” said Walter, “in interfering28 with your valuable time.”
“Nothing of the sort. It is not every day that a Lord Erradeen comes into his inheritance; and as there are, may be, things not over-cheerful to tell you at night, we may as well make the best of it in the morning,” said the old lawyer. He got himself into his coat as he spoke29, slowly, not without an effort. The sun was struggling through the mist as they went out again into the streets, and the mid-day gun from the Castle helped for a moment to disperse30 the haar, and show the noble cliff on which it rears its head aloft. Mr. Milnathort paused to look with tender pride along the line—the houses and spires lifting out of the clouds, the sunshine breaking through, the crown of St. Giles’s hovering31 like a visible sign of rank over the head of the throned city, awakened32 in him that keen pleasure and elation34 in the beauty of his native place which is nowhere more warmly felt than in Edinburgh. He waved his hand towards the Old Town in triumph. “You may have seen a great deal, but ye will never have seen anything finer than that,” he said.
“I have seen very little,” said Walter; “but everybody has heard of Edinburgh, so that it does not take one by surprise.”
“Ay, that is very wisely said. If it took you by surprise, and you had never heard of it before, the world would just go daft over it. However, it is a drawback of a great reputation that ye never come near it with your mind clear.” Having said this the old gentleman dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand, and said, in a different tone, “You will be very curious about the family secrets you are coming into, Lord Erradeen.”
Walter laughed.
“I am coming to them with my mind clear,” he said. “I know nothing about them. But I don’t believe much in family secrets. They belong to the middle ages. Nowadays we have nothing to conceal35.”
Mr. Milnathort listened to this blasphemy36 with a countenance37 in which displeasure struggled with that supreme38 sense that the rash young man would soon know better, which disarms39 reproof40. He shook his head.
“You may say we can conceal but little,” he said, “which is true enough, but not altogether true either. Courage is a fine thing, Lord Erradeen, and I am always glad to see it; and if you have your imagination under control, that will do ye still better service. In most cases it is not only what we see, but what we think we are going to see, that daunts41 us. Keep you your head cool, that is your best defence in all emergencies. It is better to be too bold than not to be bold enough, notwithstanding the poet’s warning to yon warrior-maid of his.”
These last words made Walter stare, for he was not very learned in poetry at the best, and was totally unprepared to hear Spenser from the lips of the old Scottish lawyer. He was silent for a little in mere42 perplexity, and then he said, with a laugh—
“You speak of danger as if we were on the eve of a battle. Are there giants to encounter or magicians? One would think we were living in the dark ages,” Walter cried with a little impatience43.
Mr. Milnathort said nothing more. He led the young man into one of the great stone palaces which form the line of Prince’s Street, and which was then the seat of the old original club of Edinburgh society. Here Walter found himself in the midst of a collection of men with marked and individual faces, each one of whom ought to be somebody, he thought. Many of them were bound about the throat with white ties, like clergymen, but they did not belong to that profession. It gave the young man a sense of his own importance, which generally deserted44 him in Mr. Milnathort’s presence, and of which he felt himself to stand in need, to perceive that he excited a great deal of interest among these grave and potent45 signors. There was a certain desire visible to make his acquaintance and to ascertain46 his political opinions, of which Walter was scarcely aware as yet whether he had any. It was suggested at once that he should be put up for the club, and invitations to dinner began to be showered upon him. He was stopped short in his replies to those cordial beginnings of acquaintance by Mr. Milnathort, who calmly assumed the guidance of his movements. “Lord Erradeen,” he said, “is on his way West. Business will not permit him to tarry at this moment. We hope he will be back ere long, and perhaps stay a while in Edinburgh, and see what is to be seen in the way of society.” This summary way of taking all control of his own movements from him astounded47 Walter so much that he merely stared at his old tyrant48 or vizier, and in his confusion of surprise and anger did not feel capable of saying anything, which, after all, was the most dignified49 way; for, he said to himself, it was not necessary to yield implicit50 obedience51 even if he refrained from open protest upon these encroachments on his liberty. In the mean time it was evident that the old lawyer did not intend him to have any liberty at all. He produced out of the recesses52 of the club library a beaming little man in spectacles, to whom he committed the charge of the young stranger.
“Mr. Bannatyne,” he said, “knows Edinburgh as well as I know my chambers53, and he will just take you round what is most worth seeing.”
When Walter attempted to escape with a civil regret to give his new acquaintance trouble he was put down by both with eagerness.
“The Old Town is just the breath of my nostrils,” said the little antiquary.
“It cannot be said that it’s a fragrant54 breath,” said old Milnathort; “but since that is so, Lord Erradeen, you would not deprive our friend of such a pleasure: and we’ll look for you by five or six at Moray Place, or earlier if you weary, for it’s soon dark at this time of the year.”
To find himself thus arrested in the first day of his emancipation55 and put into the hands of a conductor was so annoying yet so comic that Walter’s resentment56 evaporated in the ludicrous nature of the situation and his consciousness that otherwise he would not know what to do with himself. But sight-seeing requires a warmer inspiration than this, and even the amusement of beholding57 his companion’s enthusiasm over all the dark entries and worn-out inscriptions59 was not enough to keep Walter’s interest alive. His own life at this moment was so much more interesting than anything else, so much more important than those relics60 of a past which had gone away altogether out of mortal ken33. When the blood is at high pressure in our veins61, and the future lying all before us, it is very difficult to turn back, and force our eager eyes into contemplation of scenes with which we ourselves have little or no connection. The antiquary, however, was not to be baulked. He looked at his young companion with his head on one side like a critical bird. “You are paying no attention to me,” he said half pathetically; “but ‘cod, man (I beg your pardon, my lord!), ye shall be interested before I’m done.” With this threat he hurried Walter along to the noisiest and most squalid part of that noble but miserable street which is the pride of Edinburgh, and stopped short before a small but deep doorway62, entering from a short flight of outside stairs. The door was black with age and neglect, and showed a sort of black cave within, out of which all kind of dingy figures were fluttering. The aspect of the muddy stairs and ragged63 wayfarers64 was miserable enough, but the mouldings of the lintel, and the spiral staircase half visible at one side, were of a grim antiquity65, and so was the lofty tenement66 above, with its many rows of windows and high-stepped gable.
“Now just look here,” said Mr. Bannatyne, “these arms will tell their own story.”
There was a projecting boss of rude, half-obliterated carving67 on the door.
“I cannot make head nor tail of it,” said the young man; his patience was beginning to give way.
“Lord Erradeen,” cried the other with enthusiasm, “this is worth your fattest farm; it is of more interest than half your inheritance; it is as historical as Holyrood. You are just awfully68 insensible, you young men, and think as little of the relics that gave you your consequences in the world—!” He paused a little in the fervour of his indignation, then added—“But there are allowances to be made for you as you were bred in England, and perhaps are little acquainted—My lord, this is Me’even’s Close, bearing the name even now in its decay. It was my Lord Methven’s lodging69 in the old time. Bless me! can your young eyes not read the motto that many people have found so significant? Look here,” cried Walter’s cicerone, tracing with his stick the half-effaced letters, “Baithe Sune and Syne70.”
Young Lord Erradeen began, as was natural, to feel ashamed of himself. He felt a pang71 of discomfort72 too, for this certainly bore no resemblance to the trim piece of modern Latin about the conquering power of virtue73 which was on his father’s seal. The old possibility that he might turn out an impostor after all gleamed across his mind. “Does this belong to me?” he added with some eagerness, to veil these other and less easy sentiments.
“I know nothing about that,” said Mr. Bannatyne with a slight tone of contempt. “But it was the Lord of Methven’s lodging in the days when Scots lords lived in the Canongate of Edinburgh.” Then he added, “There is a fine mantelpiece up-stairs which you had better see. Oh nobody will have any objection, a silver key opens every door hereabout. If it should happen to be yours, my lord, and I were you,” said the eager little man, “I would clear out the whole clanjamfry and have it thoroughly74 cleaned, and make a museum of the place. You would pick up many a curious bit as the auld75 houses go down. This way, to the right, and mind the hole in the wall. The doors are all carved, if you can see them for the dirt, and you’ll not often see a handsomer room.”
It was confusing at first to emerge out of the gloom of the stairs into the light of the great room, with its row of windows guiltless of either blind or curtain, which was in possession of a group of ragged children, squatting76 about in front of the deep, old-fashioned chimney, over which a series of elaborate carvings77 rose to the roof. The room had once been panelled, but half of the woodwork had been dragged down, and the rest was in a deplorable state. The contrast of the squalor and wretchedness about him, with the framework of the ancient, half-ruined grandeur, at once excited and distressed78 Walter. There was a bed, or rather a heap of something covered with the bright patches of an old quilt, in one corner, in another an old corner cupboard fixed80 into the wall, a rickety table and two chairs in the middle of the room. The solemn, unsheltered windows, like so many hollow, staring eyes, gazed out through the cold veil of the mist upon the many windows of an equally tall house on the other side of the street, the view being broken by a projecting pole thrust forth81 from the middle one, upon which some dingy clothes were hanging to dry. The children hung together, getting behind the biggest of them, a ragged, handsome girl, with wild, elf locks, who confronted the visitors with an air of defiance82. The flooring was broken in many places, and dirty beyond description. Walter felt it intolerable to be here, to breathe the stifling83 atmosphere, to contemplate84 this hideous85 form of decay. He thought some one was looking at him from behind the torn panels. “This is horrible,” he said. “I hope I have nothing to do with it.” Disgust and a shivering, visionary dread86 was in his voice.
“Your race has had plenty to do with it,” said the antiquary. “It was here, they say, that the warlock-lord played most of his pliskies. It was his ‘warm study of deals’ like that they made for John Knox on the other side of the street. These walls have seen strange sights: and if you believe in witchcraft87, as one of your name ought——”
“Why should one of my name believe in witchcraft? It appears,” he said, with petulance88, “that I know very little about my name.”
“So I should have said,” said the antiquary, dryly. “But no doubt you have heard of your great ancestor, the warlock-lord? I am not saying that I admire the character in the abstract; but an ancestor like that is fine for a family. He was mixed up in all the doings of the time, and he made his own out of every one of them. And then he’s a grand historical problem to the present day, which is no small distinction. You never heard of that? Oh, my lord, that’s just not possible! He was the one whose death was never proved nor nothing about him, where he was buried, or the nature of his end, or if he ever came to an end at all; his son would never take the title, and forbade his son to do it: but by the time you have got to the second generation you are not minding so much. I noticed that the late lord would never enter into conversation on the subject. The family has always been touchy89 about it. It was the most complete disappearance90 I can recollect25 hearing of. Most historical puzzles clear themselves up in time: but this never was cleared up. Of course it has given rise to legends. You will perhaps be more interested in the family legends, Lord Erradeen?”
“Not at all,” said Walter, abruptly91. “I have told you I know very little about the family. What is it we came to see?—not this wretched place which makes me sick. The past should carry off its shell with it, and not leave these old clothes to rot here.”
“Oh!” cried little Mr. Bannatyne, with a shudder92. “I never suspected I was bringing in an iconoclast93. That mantelpiece is a grand work of art, Lord Erradeen. Look at that serpent twisted about among the drapery—you’ll not see such work now; and the ermine on that mantle94 just stands out in every hair, for all the grime and the smoke. It is the legend beneath the shield that is most interesting in the point of view of the family. It’s a sort of rhyming slogan, or rather it’s an addition to the old slogan, ‘Live, Me’even,’ which everybody knows.”
Walter felt a mingled95 attraction and repulsion which held him there undecided in front of the great old fireplace, like Hercules or any other hero between the symbolical96 good and evil. He had a great curiosity to know what all this meant mingled with an angry disinclination impossible to put into words. Mr. Bannatyne, who of course knew nothing of what was going on in his mind, took upon himself the congenial task of tracing the inscription58 out. It was doggerel97, bad enough to satisfy every aspiration98 of an antiquary. It was as follows:—
“Né fleyt atte Helle, né fond for Heeven,
Live, Me’even.”
“You will see how it fits in with the other motto,” cried the enthusiast99. “‘Baithe Sune and Syne,’ which has a grand kind of indifference100 to time and all its changes that just delights me. And the other has the same sentiment, ‘Neither frightened for hell nor keen about heaven.’ It is the height of impiety,” he said, with a subdued101 chuckle103; “but that’s not inappropriate—it’s far from inappropriate; it is just, in fact, what might have been expected. The warlock lord——”
“I hope you won’t think me ungrateful,” cried Walter, “but I don’t think I want to know any more about that old ruffian. There is something in the place that oppresses me.” He took out from his pocket a handful of coins. (It was with the pleasure of novelty that he shook them together, gold and silver in one shining heap, and threw half a dozen of them to the little group before the fire.) “For heaven’s sake let us get out of this!” he said, nervously104. He could not have explained the sentiment of horror, almost of fear, that was in his mind. “If it is mine,” he said, as they went down the spiral stair, groping against the black humid wall, “I shall pull it down and let in some air and clear the filth105 away.”
“God bless me!” cried the antiquary in horror and distress79, “you will never do that. The finest street in Christendom, and one of the best houses! No, no, Lord Erradeen, you will never do that!”
When Mr. Bannatyne got back to the club, he expressed an opinion of Lord Erradeen, which we are glad to believe further experience induced him to modify. He declared that old Bob Milnathort had given him such a handful as he had not undertaken for years. “Just a young Cockney!” he said, “a stupid Englishman! with no more understanding of history, or even of the share his own race has had in it, than that collie dog—indeed, Yarrow is far more intelligent, and a brute106 that is conscious of a fine descent. I am not saying that there are not fine lads among some of those English-bred young men, and some that have the sense to like old-fashioned things. But this young fellow is just a Cockney, he is just a young cynic. Pull down the house, said he? Spoil the first street in Europe! We’ll see what the Town Council—not to say the Woods and Forests—will say to that, my young man! And I hope I have Bailie Brown under my thumb!” the enraged107 antiquary cried.
Meantime Walter made his way through the dark streets in a tremor108 of excitement and dislike of which he could give no explanation to himself. Why should the old house have affected109 him so strongly! There was no reason for it that he knew. Perhaps there was something in the suddenness of the transition from the comfortable English prose of Sloebury to all these old world scenes and suggestions which had a disenchanting effect upon him. He had not been aware that he was more matter of fact than another, less likely to be affected by romance and historical associations. But so it had turned out. The grimy squalor of the place, the bad atmosphere, the odious110 associations, had either destroyed for him all the more attractive prejudices of long family descent, and a name which had descended111 through many generations—or else, something more subtle still, some internal influence, had communicated that loathing112 and sickness of the heart. Which was it? He could not tell. He said to himself, with a sort of scorn at himself, that probably the bourgeois113 atmosphere of Sloebury had made him incapable114 of those imaginative flights for which the highest and the lowest classes have a mutual115 aptitude116. The atmosphere of comfort and respectability was against it. This idea rather exasperated117 him, and he dwelt upon it with a natural perversity118 because he hated to identify himself as one of that stolid119 middle class which is above or beneath fanciful impulses. Then he began to wonder whether all this might not be part of a deep-laid scheme on the part of old Milnathort to get him, Walter, under his power. No doubt it was arranged that he should be brought to that intolerable place, and all the spells of the past called forth to subdue102 him by his imagination if never through his intellect. What did they take him for? He was no credulous120 Celt, but a sober-minded Englishman, not likely to let his imagination run away with him, or to be led by the nose by any diablerie, however skilful121. They might make up their minds to it, that their wiles122 of this kind would meet with no success. Walter was by no means sure who he meant by they, or why they should endeavour to get him into their power; but he wanted something to find fault with—some way of shaking off the burden of a mental weight which he did not understand, which filled him with discomfort and new sensations which he could not explain. He could almost have supposed (had he believed in mesmerism, according to the description given of it in fiction—) that he was under some mesmeric influence, and that some expert, some adept123, was trying to decoy him within some fatal circle of impression. But he set his teeth and all his power of resistance against it. They should not find him an easy prey124.
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shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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turrets
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| （六角）转台( turret的名词复数 )； （战舰和坦克等上的）转动炮塔； （摄影机等上的）镜头转台； （旧时攻城用的）塔车 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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5
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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7
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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10
thawed
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| 解冻 | |
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11
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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12
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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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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disperse
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| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
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hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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blasphemy
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| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
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37
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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38
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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39
disarms
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| v.裁军( disarm的第三人称单数 )；使息怒 | |
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40
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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41
daunts
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的第三人称单数 ) | |
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42
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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43
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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44
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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45
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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46
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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47
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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48
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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49
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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50
implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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51
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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52
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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53
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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54
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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55
emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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56
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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57
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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58
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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59
inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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60
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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61
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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62
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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63
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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64
wayfarers
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| n.旅人，（尤指）徒步旅行者( wayfarer的名词复数 ) | |
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65
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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66
tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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67
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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68
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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69
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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70
syne
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| adv.自彼时至此时，曾经 | |
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71
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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73
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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74
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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75
auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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76
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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77
carvings
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| n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 )；雕刻术；雕刻品；雕刻物 | |
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78
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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81
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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82
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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83
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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84
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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85
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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86
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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87
witchcraft
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| n.魔法，巫术 | |
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88
petulance
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| n.发脾气，生气，易怒，暴躁，性急 | |
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89
touchy
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| adj.易怒的；棘手的 | |
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90
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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91
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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92
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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93
iconoclast
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| n.反对崇拜偶像者 | |
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94
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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95
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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96
symbolical
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| a.象征性的 | |
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97
doggerel
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| n.拙劣的诗，打油诗 | |
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98
aspiration
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| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
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99
enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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100
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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101
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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102
subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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103
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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104
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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105
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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106
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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107
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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108
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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109
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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110
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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111
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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112
loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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113
bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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114
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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115
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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116
aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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117
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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118
perversity
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| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
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119
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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120
credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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121
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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122
wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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123
adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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124
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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