Colonel Smithers came over. 'Fivers,' he commented. 'Just come up from our printing works at Loughton.'
The lift came and they got in. Bond said, 'I'm not very impressed by the new ones. They look like any other country's money. The old ones were the most beautiful money in the world.'
They walked across the entrance hall, now dimly lit and deserted2. Colonel Smithers said, 'As a matter of fact I agree with you. Trouble was that those Reichsbank forgeries3 during the war were a darn sight too good. When the Russians captured Berlin, among the loot they got hold of the plates. We asked the Narodni Bank for them, but they refused to give them up. We and the Treasury4 decided5 it was just too dangerous. At any moment, if Moscow had been inclined, they could have started a major raid on our currency. We had to withdraw the old fivers. The new ones aren't much to look at, but at least they'd be hell to forge.'
The night guard let them out on to the steps. Thread-needle Street was almost deserted. The long City night was beginning. Bond said goodbye to Colonel Smithers and walked along to the Tube. He had never thought very much about the Bank of England, but now that he had been inside the place he decided that the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street might be old but she still had some teeth left in her head.
Bond had been told to report back to M at six. He did so. M's face was no longer pink and shining. The long day had knocked it about, stressed it, shrunken it. When Bond went in and took the chair across the desk, he noticed the conscious effort M made to clear his mind, cope with the new problem the day was to fling at him. M straightened himself in his chair and reached for his pipe. 'Well?'
Bond knew the false belligerence6 of that particular bark. He told the gist7 of the story in less than five minutes.
When he had finished, M said thoughtfully, 'Suppose we've got to take it on. Don't understand a thing about the pound and bank rate and all that but everyone seems to be taking it damned seriously. Personally I should have thought the strength of the pound depended on how hard we all worked rather than how much gold we'd got. Germans didn't have much gold after the war. Look where they've got in ten years. However, that's probably too easy an answer for the politicians - or more likely too difficult. Got any ideas how to tackle this chap Goldfinger? Any way of getting closer to him, offering to do some dirty work for him or something like that?'
Bond said thoughtfully, 'I wouldn't get anywhere sucking up to him, asking him for a job or something of that sort, sir. I should say he's the sort of man who only respects people who are tougher or smarter than he is. I've given him one beating and the only message I got from him was that he'd like me to play golf with him. Perhaps I'd better do just that.'
'Fine way for one of my top men to spend his time.' The sarcasm8 in Ad's voice was weary, resigned. 'All right. Go ahead. But if what you say is right, you'd better see that you beat him. What's your cover story?'
Bond shrugged9. 'I hadn't thought, sir. Perhaps I'd better be thinking of leaving Universal Export. No future in it. Having a holiday while I look round. Thinking of emigrating to Canada. Fed up here. Something like that. But perhaps I'd better play it the way the cards fall. I wouldn't think he's an easy man to fool.'
'All right. Report progress. And don't think I'm not interested in this case.' M's voice had changed. So had his expression. His eyes had become urgent, commanding. 'Now I'll give you one piece of information the Bank didn't give you. It just happens that I also know what Mr Goldfinger's gold bars look Like. As a matter of fact I was handling one today - scratched Z and all. It had come in with that haul we made last week when the Redland Resident Director's office "caught fire" in Tangier. You'll have seen the signals. Well, that's the twentieth of these particular gold bars that have come our way since die war.'
Bond interrupted, 'But that Tangier bar was out of the SMERSH safe.'
'Exactly. I've checked. All the other nineteen bars with the scratched Z have been taken from SMERSH operatives.' M paused. He said mildly, 'D'you know, 007, I wouldn't be at all surprised if Goldfinger doesn't turn out to be the foreign banker, the treasurer11 so to speak, of SMERSH.'
James Bond flung the DBIII through the last mile of straight and did a racing12 change down into third and then into second for the short hill before the inevitable13 traffic crawl through Rochester. Leashed in by the velvet14 claw of the front discs, the engine muttered its protest with a mild back-popple from the twin exhausts. Bond went up into third again, beat the lights at the bottom of the hill and slid resignedly up to the back of the queue that would crawl on for a quarter of an hour - if he was lucky - through the sprawl15 of Rochester and Chatham.
Bond settled back into second and let the car idle. He reached for the wide gunmetal case of Morland cigarettes on the neighbouring bucket seat, fumbled16 for one and lit it from the dashboard.
He had chosen the A2 in preference to the A20 to Sandwich because he wanted to take a quick look at Goldfinger-land - Reculver and those melancholy17 forsaken18 reaches of the Thames which Goldfinger had chosen for his parish. He would then cross the Isle19 of Thanet to Ramsgate and leave his bag at the Channel Packet, have an early lunch and be off to Sandwich.
The car was from the pool. Bond had been offered the Aston Martin or a Jaguar21 3.4. He had taken the DBIII. Either of the cars would have suited his cover - a well-to-do, rather adventurous22 young man with a taste for the good, the fast things of life. But the DB III had the advantage of an up-to-date triptyque, an inconspicuous colour - battleship grey -and certain extras which might or might not come in handy. These included switches to alter the type and colour of Bond's front and rear lights if he was following or being followed at night, reinforced steel bumpers24, fore10 and aft, in case he needed to ram20, a long-barrelled Colt .45 in a trick compartment25 under the driver's seat, a radio pick-up tuned26 to receive an apparatus27 called the Homer, and plenty of concealed28 space that would fox most Customs men.
Bond saw a chance and picked up fifty yards, sliding into a ten-yard gap left by a family saloon of slow reactions. The man at the wheel, who wore that infallible badge of the bad driver, a hat clamped firmly on the exact centre of his head, hooted29 angrily. Bond reached out of the window and raised an enigmatically clenched30 fist. The hooting31 stopped.
And now what about this theory of M's? It made sense. The Russians were notoriously incompetent32 payers of their men. Their centres were always running out of funds - their men complaining to Moscow that they couldn't afford a square meal. Perhaps SMERSH couldn't get the valuta out of the Ministry34 of Home Security. Or perhaps the Ministry of Home Security couldn't get the money out of the Ministry of Finance. But it had always been the same - endless money troubles that resulted in missed chances, broken promises and waste of dangerous radio time. It would make sense to have a clever financial brain somewhere outside Russia who could not only transmit funds to the centres but also, in this case, make profits large enough to run the SMERSH centres abroad without any financial assistance from Moscow. Not only that. On the side, Goldfinger was appreciably35 damaging the currency base of an enemy country. If all this was correct, it was typical of SMERSH - a brilliant scheme, faultlessly operated by an outstanding man. And that, reflected Bond as he roared up the hill into Chatham, putting half a dozen cars behind him, would partly explain Goldfinger's greed for more and still more money. Devotion to the cause, to SMERSH, and perhaps the dangled36 prize of an Order of Lenin, would be the spur to pick up even ten or twenty thousand dollars when the odds37 were right or could be favourably38 adjusted. The funds for Red Revolution, for the discipline by fear that was the particular speciality of SMERSH, could never be big enough. Goldfinger was not making the money for himself. He was making it for the conquest of the world! The minor39 risk of being found out, as he had been by Bond, was nothing. Why? What could the Bank of England get him if every single one of his past operations could be exposed? Two years? Three?
The traffic was thinning through the outskirts40 of Gilling-ham. Bond started motoring again, but easily now, not hurrying, following his thoughts as the hands and feet went through their automatic responses.
So, in'thirty-seven, SMERSH must have sent Goldfinger out With the belt of gold round his young waist. He had shown his special aptitudes41, his acquisitive bent42, during his training in the spy school in Leningrad. He would have been told there would be a war, that he must dig himself in and start quietly accumulating. Goldfinger must never dirty his hands, never meet an agent, never receive or pass a message. Some routine would have been arranged. 'Second-hand43 '39 Vauxhall. First offer of ?1000 secures', 'Immaculate Rover, ?2000', 'Bentley, ?5000'. Always an advertisement that would not attract attention or correspondence. The prices would be just too high, the description inadequate44. In the Agony column of The Times, perhaps. And, obediently, Goldfinger would leave the two thousand pounds or the five thousand pounds gold bar at one of a long, a very long series of post-boxes that had been arranged in Moscow before he left. A particular bridge, a hollow tree, under a rock in a stream somewhere, anywhere in England. And he would never, on any account, visit that postbox again. It was up to Moscow to see that the agent got to the hidden treasure. Later, after the war, when Goldfinger was blossoming out, when he had become a big man, the postboxes would no longer be bridges and trees. Now he would be given dates and safety deposit box numbers, left-luggage lockers45 at stations. But still there would be the rule that Goldfinger must never revisit the scene, never endanger himself. Perhaps he would only get his instructions once a year, at a casual meeting in some park, in a letter slipped into his pocket on a train journey. But always it would be bars of gold, anonymous46, untraceable if captured - except for the tiny Z that his vanity had scratched on his handiwork and that a dull dog at the Bank of England called Colonel Smithers had happened upon in the course of his duties.
Now Bond was running through the endless orchards47 of the Faversham growers. The sun had come out from behind, the smog of London. There was the distant gleam of the Thames on his left. There was traffic on the river - long, glistening48 tankers49, stubby merchantmen, antediluvian50 Dutch Schuyts. Bond left the Canterbury road and switched on to the incongruously rich highway that runs through the cheap bungaloid world of the holiday lands - Whitstable, Herne Bay, Birchington, Margate. He still idled along at fifty, holding the racing wheel on a light rein23, listening to the relaxed purr of the exhausts, fitting the bits of his thoughts info the jigsaw51 as he had done two nights before with Goldfinger's face on the Identicast.
And, Bond reflected, while Goldfinger was pumping a million, two million pounds a year into the bloody52 maw of SMERSH, he was pyramiding his reserves, working on them, making them work for him whenever the odds were right, piling up the surplus for the day when the trumpets53 would sound in the Kremlin and every golden sinew would be mobilized. And no one outside Moscow had been watching the process, no one suspected that Goldfinger - the jeweller, the metallurgist, the resident of Reculver and Nassau, the respected member of Blades, of the Royal St Marks at Sandwich - was one of the greatest conspirators54 of all time, that he had financed the murder of hundreds, perhaps thousands of victims of SMERSH all over the world. SMERSH, Smiert Spionam, Death to Spies - the murder Apparat of the High Praesidium! And only M suspected it, only Bond knew it. And here was Bond, launched against this man by a series of flukes, a train of coincidence that had been started by a plane breaking down on the other side of the world. Bond smiled grimly to himself. How often in his profession had it been the same - the tiny acorn55 of coincidence that soared into the mighty56 oak whose branches darkened the sky. And now, once again, he was setting out to bring the dreadful growth down. With what? A bag of golf clubs?
A repainted sky-blue Ford33 Popular with large yellow ears was scurrying57 along the crown of the road ahead. Mechanically Bond gave the horn ring a couple of short, polite jabs. There was no reaction. The Ford Popular was doing its forty. Why should anyone want to go more than that respectable speed? The Ford obstinately58 hunched59 its shoulders and kept on its course. Bond gave it a sharp blast, expecting it to swerve60. He had to touch his brakes when it didn't. Damn the man! Of course! The usual tense figure, hands held too high up on the wheel, and the inevitable hat, this time a particularly hideous61 black bowler62, square on a large bullet head. Oh well, thought Bond, they weren't his stomach ulcers63. He changed down and contemptuously slammed the DB III past on the inside. Silly bastard64!
Another five miles and Bond was through the dainty tele-world of Herne Bay. The howl of Mansion65 sounded away on his right. A flight of three Super Sabres came in to land. They skimmed below his right-Hand horizon as if they were diving into the earth. With half his mind, Bond heard the roar of their jets catch up with them as they landed and taxied in to the hangars. He came up with a crossroads. To the left the signpost said RECULVER. Underneath66 was the ancient monument sign for Reculver church. Bond slowed, but didn't stop. No hanging about. He motored slowly on, keeping his eyes open. The shoreline was too exposed for a trawler to do anything but beach or anchor. Probably Gold-finger had used Ramsgate. Quiet little port. Customs and police who were probably only on the look-out for brandy coming over from France. There was a thick clump67 of trees between the road and the shore, a glimpse of roofs and of a medium-sized factory chimney with a thin plume68 of light smoke or steam. That would be it. Soon there was the gate of a long drive. A discreetly69 authoritative70 sign said THANET ALLOYS71, and underneath: NO ADMITTANCE EXCEPT ON BUSINESS. All very respectable. Bond drove slowly on. There was nothing more to be seen. He took the next right-hand turn across the Manston plateau to Ramsgate.
It was twelve o'clock. Bond inspected his room, a double with bathroom, on the top floor of the Channel Packet, unpacked72 his few belongings73 and went down to the snack bar where he had one vodka and tonic74 and two rounds of excellent ham sandwiches with plenty of mustard. Then he got back into his car and drove slowly over to the Royal St Marks at Sandwich.
Bond carried his clubs to the professional's shop and through to the workroom. Alfred Blacking was winding75 a new grip on to a driver.
'Hullo, Alfred.'
The professional looked up sharply. His sunburned, leathery face broke into a wide smile. 'Why, if it isn't Mr James!' They shook hands. 'Must be fifteen, twenty years. What brings you down here, sir? Someone was telling me only the other day that you're in the diplomatic or something. Always abroad. Well, I never! Still the same flat swing, sir?' Alfred Blacking joined his hands and gave a low, flat sweep.
'Afraid so, Alfred. Never had time to get myself out of it. How's Mrs Blacking and Cecil?'
'Can't complain, sir. Cecil was runner-up in the Kent Championship last year. Should win it this year if he can only get out of the shop and on to the course a bit more.'
Bond propped76 his clubs up against the wall. It was good to be back. Everything was just the same. There had been a time in his teens when he had played two rounds a day every day of the week at St Marks. Blacking had always wanted to take him in hand. 'A bit of practice, Mr James, and you'd be scratch. No fooling. You really would. What do you want to hang around at six for? It's all there except for that flat swing and wanting to hit the ball out of sight when there's no point in it. And you've got the temperament77. A couple of years, perhaps only one, and I'd have you in the Amateur.' But something had told Bond that there wasn't going to be a great deal of golf in his life and if he liked the game he'd better forget about lessons and just play as much of it as he could. Yes, it would be about twenty years since he had played his last round on St Marks. He'd never been back -even when there had been that bloody affair of the Moon-raker at Kingsdown, ten miles down the coast. Perhaps it had been sentimentality. Since St Marks, Bond had got in a good deal of weekend golf when he was at headquarters. But always on the courses round London - Huntercombe, Swinley, Sunningdale, the Berkshire. Bond's handicap had gone up to nine. But he was a real nine - had to be with the games he chose to play, the ten-pound Nassaus with the tough cheery men who were always so anxious to stand you a couple of double kьmmels after lunch.
'Any chance of a game, Alfred?'
The professional glanced through his back window at the parking space round the tall flag-pole. He shook his head. 'Doesn't look too good, sir. Don't get many players in the middle of the week at this time of year.'
'What about you?'
'Sorry, sir. I'm booked. Playing with a member. It's a regular thing. Every day at two o'clock. And the trouble is that Cecil's gone over to Princes to get in some practice for the championship. What a dashed nuisance!' (Alfred never used a stronger oath.) 'It would happen like that. How long are you staying, sir?'
'Not long. Never mind. I'll knock a ball round with a caddie. Who's this chap you're playing with?'
'A Mr Goldfinger, sir.' Alfred looked discouraging.
'Oh, Goldfinger. I know the chap. Met him the other day in America.'
'You did, sir?' Alfred obviously found it difficult to believe that anyone knew Mr Goldfinger. He watched Bond's face carefully for any further reaction.
'Any good?'
'So-so, sir. Pretty useful off nine.'
'Must take his game damned seriously if he plays with you every day.'
'Well, yes, sir.' The professional's face had the expression Bond remembered so well. It meant that Blacking had an unfavourable view of a particular member but that he was too good a servant of the club to pass it on.
Bond smiled. He said, 'You haven't changed, Alfred. What you mean is that no one else will play widi him. Remember Farquharson? Slowest player in England. I remember you going round and round with him twenty years ago. Come on. What's the matter with Goldfinger?'
The professional laughed. He said, 'It's you that hasn't changed, Mr James. You always were dashed inquisitive78.' He came a step closer and lowered his voice. 'The truth is, sir, some members think Mr Goldfinger is just a little bit hot. You know, sir. Improves his lie and so forth79.' The professional took the driver he was holding, took up a stance, gazed towards an imaginary hole and banged the head of the club up and down on the floor as if addressing an imaginary ball. 'Let me see now, is this a brassie lie? What d'you think caddie?' Alfred Blacking chuckled81. "Well, of course, by the time he's finished hammering the ground behind the ball, the ball's been raised an inch and it is a brassie lie.' Alfred Blacking's face closed up again. He said non-committally, 'But that's only gossip, sir. I've never seen anything. Quiet-spoken gentleman. He's got a place at Reculver. Used to come here a lot. But for the last few years he's only been coming to England for a few weeks at a time. Rings up and asks if anyone's wanting a game and when there isn't anyone he books Cecil or me. Rang up this morning and asked if there was anyone about. There's sometimes a stranger drops in.' Alfred Blacking looked quizzically at Bond. 'I suppose you wouldn't care to take him on this afternoon? It'll look odd you being here and short of a game. And you knowing him and all. He might think I'd been trying to keep him to myself or something. That wouldn't do.'
'Nonsense, Alfred. And you've got your living to make. Why don't we play a three-ball?'
'He won't play them, sir. Says they're too slow. And I agree with him. And don't you worry about my fee. There's a lot of work to do in the shop and 1'U be glad of an afternoon to get down to it.' Alfred Blacking glanced at his watch. 'He'll be along any minute now. I've got a caddie for you. Remember Hawker?' Alfred Blacking laughed indulgently. 'Still the same old Hawker. He'll be another that'll be glad to see you down here again.'
Bond said, 'Well thanks, Alfred. I'd be interested to see how this chap plays. But why not leave it like this? Say I've dropped in to get a dub82 made up. Old member. Used to play here before the war. And I need a new number four wood anyway. Your old one has started to give at the seams a bit. Just be casual. Don't say you've told me he's about. I'll stay in the shop so it'll give him a chance to take his choice without offending me. Perhaps he won't like my face or something. Right?'
'Very good, Mr James. Leave it to me. That's his car coming now, sir.' Blacking pointed83 through the window. Half a mile away, a bright yellow car was turning off the road and coming up the private drive. 'Funny looking contraption. Sort of motor car we used to see here when I was a boy.'
Bond watched the old Silver Ghost sweep majestically84 up the drive towards the club. She was a beauty! The sun glittered off the silver radiator85 and off the engine-turned aluminium86 shield below the high perpendicular87 glass cliff of the windscreen. The luggage rail on the roof of the heavy coach-built limousine88 body - so ugly twenty years ago, so strangely beautiful today - was polished brass80, as were the two Lucas 'King of the Road' headlamps that stared so haughtily89 down the road ahead, and the wide mouth of the old boa-constrictor bulb horn. The whole car, except for a black roof and black carrosserie lines and curved panels below the windows, was primrose90 yellow. It crossed Bond's mind that the South
American president might have had it copied from the famous yellow fleet in which Lord Lonsdale had driven to the Derby and Ascot.
And now? In the driver's seat sat a figure in a cafe-au-lait dust coat and cap, his big round face obscured by black-rimmed driving goggles91. Beside him was a squat92 figure in black with a bowler hat placed firmly on the middle of his head. The two figures stared straight in front of them with a curious immobility. It was almost as if they were driving a hearse.
The car was coming closer. The six pairs of eyes - the eyes of the two men and the great twin orbs93 of the car -seemed to be looking straight through the little window and into Bond's eyes.
Instinctively94, Bond took a few paces back into the dark recesses95 of the workroom. He noticed the movement and smiled to himself. He picked up somebody's putter and bent down and thoughtfully addressed a knot in the wooden floor.
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1
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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forgeries
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| 伪造( forgery的名词复数 )； 伪造的文件、签名等 | |
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treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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belligerence
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| n.交战，好战性，斗争性 | |
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gist
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| n.要旨；梗概 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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treasurer
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| n.司库，财务主管 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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sprawl
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| vi.躺卧，扩张，蔓延；vt.使蔓延；n.躺卧，蔓延 | |
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fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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ram
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| (random access memory)随机存取存储器 | |
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jaguar
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| n.美洲虎 | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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rein
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bumpers
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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tuned
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| adj.调谐的，已调谐的v.调音( tune的过去式和过去分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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hooted
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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appreciably
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dangled
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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41
aptitudes
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| （学习方面的）才能，资质，天资( aptitude的名词复数 ) | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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45
lockers
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| n.寄物柜( locker的名词复数 ) | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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47
orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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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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49
tankers
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| 运送大量液体或气体的轮船[卡车]( tanker的名词复数 )； 油轮； 罐车； 油槽车 | |
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50
antediluvian
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| adj.史前的，陈旧的 | |
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51
jigsaw
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| n.缕花锯，竖锯，拼图游戏；vt.用竖锯锯，使互相交错搭接 | |
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52
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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53
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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54
conspirators
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| n.共谋者，阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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acorn
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| n.橡实，橡子 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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scurrying
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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swerve
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| v.突然转向，背离；n．转向，弯曲，背离 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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bowler
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| n.打保龄球的人，（板球的）投（球）手 | |
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ulcers
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| n.溃疡( ulcer的名词复数 )；腐烂物；道德败坏；腐败 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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alloys
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| n.合金( alloy的名词复数 ) | |
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72
unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
dub
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| vt.（以某种称号）授予，给...起绰号，复制 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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84
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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85
radiator
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| n.暖气片，散热器 | |
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86
aluminium
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| n.铝 (=aluminum) | |
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87
perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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limousine
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| n.豪华轿车 | |
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89
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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90
primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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91
goggles
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| n.护目镜 | |
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92
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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93
orbs
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| abbr.off-reservation boarding school 在校寄宿学校n.球，天体，圆形物( orb的名词复数 ) | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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95
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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