But, in Bond's case, Goldfinger could not have known that high tension was Bond's natural way of life and that pressure and danger relaxed him. And he could not have known that Bond wanted to play Goldfinger for the highest possible stakes and that he would have the funds of the Secret Service behind him if he lost. Goldfinger, so used to manipulating others, had been blind to the manipulation for once being practised upon himself.
Or had he been? Thoughtfully Bond got out of the bath and dried himself. That powerful dynamo inside the big round head would be humming at this very moment, wondering about Bond, knowing he had been out-cheated, asking itself how it came about that twice Bond had appeared out of the blue and twice queered his pitch. Had Bond played his cards right? Had he made himself appear an interesting challenge, or would Goldfinger's sensitive nose smell a threat? In the latter case there would be no follow-up by Goldfinger and Bond would have to bow out of the case and leave it to M to devise a new approach. How soon would he know if the big fish was hooked? This one would take plenty of time sniffing6 the bait. It would be good to have just one small bite to tell him he had chosen the right lure7.
There was a knock on the door of his bedroom. Bond wrapped the towel round him and walked through. He opened the door. It was the hall porter. 'Yes?'
'Telephone message from a Mr Goldfinger, sir. His compliments and would you care to come to his house for dinner tonight. It's the Grange over at Reculver, sir. Six-thirty for drinks beforehand and not to bother to dress.'
'Please thank Mr Goldfinger and say I shall be delighted.' Bond shut the door and walked across to the open window and stood looking out across the quiet evening sea. 'Well, well! Talk of the devil!' Bond smiled to himself, 'And then go and sup with him! What was that about a long spoon?'
At six o'clock Bond went down to the bar and had a large vodka and tonic8 with a slice of lemon peel. The bar was empty save for a group of American Air Force officers from Mansion9. They were drinking whisky and water and talking baseball. Bond wondered if they had spent the day toting a hydrogen bomb round the skies over Kent, over the four little dots in the dunes10 that had been his match with Goldfinger. He thought wryly11, Not too much of that whisky, cousins, paid for his drink, and left.
He motored slowly over to Reculver, savouring the evening and the drink inside him and the quiet bubble of the twin exhausts. This was going to be an interesting dinner-party. Now was the moment to sell himself to Goldfinger. If he put a foot wrong he was out, and the pitch would have been badly queered for his successor. He was unarmed - it would be fatal for Goldfinger to smell that kind of rat. He felt a moment's qualm. But that was going too fast. No state of war had been declared - the opposite if anything. When they had parted at the golf club, Goldfinger had been cordial in a rather forced, oily fashion. He had inquired where he should send Bond's winnings and Bond had given him the address of Universal Export. He had asked where Bond was staying and Bond had told him and added that he would only be at Ramsgate a few days while he made up his mind about his future. Goldfinger hoped that they would one day have a return match but, alas12, he was leaving for France tomorrow and wasn't certain when he would be back. Flying? Yes, taking the Air Ferry from Lydd. Well, thanks for the match. And thank you, Mr Bond. The eyes had given Bond one last X-ray treatment, as if fixing him for a last time in Gold-finger's filing system, and then the big yellow car had sighed away.
Bond had had a good look at the chauffeur13. He was a chunky flat-faced Japanese, or more probably Korean, with a wild, almost mad glare in dramatically slanting14 eyes that belonged in a Japanese film rather than in a Rolls Royce on a sunny afternoon in Kent. He had the snout-like upper lip that sometimes goes with a cleft15 palate, but he said nothing and Bond had no opportunity of knowing whether his guess was right. In his tight, almost bursting black suit and farcical bowler16 hat he looked rather like a Japanese wrestler17 on his day off. But he was not a figure to make one smile. If one had been inclined to smile, a touch of the sinister18, the unexplained, in the tight shining patent-leather black shoes that were almost dancing pumps, and in the heavy black leather driving gloves, would have changed one's mind. There was something vaguely19 familiar to Bond in the man's silhouette20. It was when the car drove away and Bond had a glimpse of the head from the rear that he remembered. Those were the head and shoulders and bowler hat of the driver of the sky-blue Ford21 Popular that had so obstinately22 hugged the crown of the Herne Bay road at about twelve o'clock that morning. Where had he been coming from? What errand had he been on? Bond remembered something Colonel Smithers had said. Could this have been the Korean who now travelled the country collecting the old gold from the chain of Goldfinger jewellery shops? Had the boot of the innocent, scurrying23 little saloon been stuffed with the week's takings of presentation watches, signet rings, lockets, gold crosses? As he watched the high, primrose-yellow silhouette of the Silver
Ghost disappearing towards Sandwich, Bond thought the answer was yes.
Bond turned off the main road into the drive and followed it down between high Victorian evergreens24 to the gravel25 sweep in front of just the sort of house that would be called The Grange - a heavy, ugly, turn-of-the-century mansion with a glass-enclosed portico26 and sun parlour whose smell of trapped sunshine, rubber plants and dead flies came to Bond in his imagination before he had switched off the engine. Bond got slowly out of the car and stood looking at the house. Its blank, well-washed eyes stared back at him. The house had a background noise, a heavy rhythmic27 pant like a huge animal with a rather quick pulse. Bond assumed it came from the factory whose plumed28 chimney reared up like a giant cautionary finger from the high conifers to the right where the stabling and garages would normally be. The quiet watchful29 facade30 of the house seemed to be waiting for Bond to do something, make some offensive move to which there would be a quick reply. Bond shrugged31 his shoulders to lighten his thoughts and went up the steps to the opaque32 glass-panelled door and pressed the bell. There was no noise of it ringing, but the door slowly opened. The Korean chauffeur still had his bowler hat on. He looked without interest at Bond. He stood motionless, his left hand on the inside doorknob and his outstretched right pointing like a signpost into the dark hall of the house.
Bond walked past him, vanquishing33 a desire either to stamp on his neat black feet or hit him very hard indeed in the centre of his tightly buttoned black stomach. This Korean matched up with what he had always heard about Koreans, and anyway Bond wanted to do something violent to the heavy, electric atmosphere of the house.
The gloomy hall was also the main living-room. A meagre fire flickered34 behind the fire-irons in the wide hearth35 and two club chairs and a Knole sofa stood impassively watching the flames. Between them on a low settee was a well-stocked drink tray. The wide spaces surrounding this spark of life were crowded with massive Rothschildian pieces of furniture of the Second Empire, and ormolu, tortoiseshell, brass36 and mother-of-pearl winked37 back richly at the small fire. Behind this orderly museum, dark panelling ran up to a first-floor gallery which was reached by a heavy curved stairway to the left of the hall. The ceiling was laced with the sombre woodcarving of the period.
Bond was standing38 taking all this in when the Korean came silently up. He flung out his signpost of an arm towards the drink tray and the chairs. Bond nodded and stayed where he was. The Korean walked past him and disappeared through a door into what Bond assumed were the servants' quarters. The silence, helped by the slow iron tick of a massively decorated grandfather clock, gathered and crept nearer.
Bond walked over and stood with his back to the poor fire. He stared offensively back at the room. What a dump! What a bloody39 awful deathly place to live in. How did one, could one, live in this rich heavy morgue among the conifers and evergreens when a hundred yards away there was light and air and wide horizons? Bond took out a cigarette and lit it. What did Goldfinger do for enjoyment40, for fun, for sex? Perhaps he didn't need these things. Perhaps the pursuit of gold slaked41 all his thirsts.
Somewhere in the distance a telephone rang. The bell shrilled42 twice and stopped. There was the murmur43 of a voice, then steps echoed down a passage and a door under the stairway opened. Goldfinger came through and quietly closed the door behind him. He was wearing a plum-coloured velvet44 dinner jacket. He came slowly across the polished wood floor. He didn't hold out his hand. He said, smiling with his mouth, 'It was kind of you to come at such short notice, Mr Bond. You were alone and so was I and it occurred to me that we might discuss the price of corn.'
It was the sort of remark that rich men make to each other. Bond was amused at being made a temporary member of the club. He said, 'I was delighted to get the invitation. I was already bored with worrying over my problems. Ramsgate hasn't much to offer.'
'No. And now I have an apology to make. I have had a telephone call. One of my staff - I employ Koreans, by the way - has had some minor45 trouble with the Margate police and I must go over and straighten it out. Some incident at the fun fair, I understand. These people get easily overexcited. My chauffeur will drive me and we should not be more than half an hour. Meanwhile I fear I must leave you to your own devices. Please help yourself to drinks. There are magazines to read. Will you forgive me? Not more than half an hour I assure you.'
'That's quite all right.' Bond felt there was something fishy46 in this. He couldn't put his finger on what it was.
'Well then, au revoir.' Goldfinger went to the front door. 'But I must give you some light. It's really very dark in here.' Goldfinger brushed his hand down a wall-plate of switches and suddenly lights blazed all over the hall - from standard lamps, wall brackets, and four clusters in the ceiling. Now the room was as bright as a film studio. It was an extraordinary transformation48. Bond, half dazzled, watched Goldfinger open the front door and stride out. In a minute he heard the sound of a car, but not the Rolls, rev47 up noisily, change gear and go off fast down the drive.
On an instinct, Bond walked over to the front door and opened it. The drive was empty. In the distance he saw the lights of the car turn left-handed on the main road and make off in the direction of Margate. He turned back into the house and closed the door. He stood still, listening. The silence, except for the heavy clock-tick, was complete. He walked across to the service door and opened it. A long dark passage disappeared towards the back of the house. Bond bent49 forward, all his senses alert. Silence, dead silence. Bond shut the door and looked thoughtfully round the brilliantly lit hall. He had been left alone in Goldfinger's house, alone with its secrets. Why?
Bond walked over to the drink tray and poured himself a strong gin and tonic. There certainly had been a telephone call, but it could easily have been an arranged call from the factory. The story of the servant was plausible50 and it was reasonable that Goldfinger should go himself to bail51 the man out and take his chauffeur with him. Goldfinger had twice mentioned that Bond would be alone for half an hour during which he 'would be left to his own devices'. This could be innocent, or it could be an invitation for Bond to show his hand, commit some indiscretion. Was somebody watching him? How many of these Koreans were there and what were they doing? Bond glanced at his watch. Five minutes had gone. He made up his mind. Trap or no trap, this was too good a chance to miss. He would have a quick look round-but an innocent one, with some sort of a cover story to explain why he had left the hall. Where should he begin? A
look at the factory. His story? That his car had given trouble on the way over - choked petrol feed probably - and that he had gone to see if there was a mechanic who could give him a hand. Flimsy, but it would do. Bond downed his drink and went purposefully to the service door and walked through.
There was a light switch. He turned on the light and walked swiftly down a long passage. It ended with a blank wall and two doors to right and left. He listened for an instant at the left-hand one and heard muffled53 kitchen noises. He opened the right-hand door and found himself in the paved garage yard he might have expected. The only odd thing about it was that it was brilliantly lit by arc lights. The long wall of the factory occupied the far side and now the rhythmic engine thump54 was very loud. There was a plain wooden door low down in the wall opposite. Bond walked across the yard to it, looking around him with casual interest. The door was unlocked. He opened it with discretion52 and walked through, leaving the door ajar. He found himself in a small empty office lit by one naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was a desk with papers on it, a time-clock, a couple of filing cabinets and a telephone. Another door led from the office into the main factory space and there was a window beside the door for keeping an eye on the workmen. It would be the foreman's office. Bond walked to the window and looked through.
Bond didn't know what he had expected, but there seemed to be the usual accoutrements of a small metal-working business. Facing him were the open mouths of two blast furnaces, their fires now drawn56. Beside these stood a row of kilns57 for the molten metal, of which sheets of different sizes and colours stood against the wall near by. There was the polished steel table of a circular saw, a diamond saw presumably, for cutting the sheets, and to the left in the shadows a big oil engine connected to a generator58 pounding away making power. To the right, under arc lights, a group of five men in overalls59, four of them Koreans, were at work on - of all things - Goldfinger's Rolls Royce. It stood there gleaming under the lights, immaculate save for the right-hand door which had been taken off its hinges and now lay across two nearby benches minus its door panel. As Bond watched, two men picked up the new door panel, a heavy, discoloured sheet of aluminium-coloured metal, and placed it on the door frame. There were two hand riveters on the floor and soon, Bond thought, the men would rivet60 the panel into place and paint it to match the rest of the car. All perfectly61 innocent and above-board. Goldfinger had dented62 the panel that afternoon and had had a quick repair job done in preparation for his trip tomorrow. Bond gave a quick, sour look round, withdrew from the window and went out by the factory door and closed it softly behind him. Nothing there, damn it. And now what was his story? That he had not wanted to disturb the men at their work - perhaps after dinner, if one of them had a moment.
Bond walked unhurriedly back the way he had come and regained63 the hall without misadventure.
Bond looked at his watch. Ten minutes to go. Now for the first floor. The secrets of a house are in the bedrooms and bathrooms. Those are the private places where the medicine cabinets, the dressing-table, the bedside drawers, reveal the intimate things, the frailties64. Bond had a bad headache. He had gone to look for an aspirin65. He acted the part for an invisible audience, massaged66 his temples, glanced up at the gallery, walked decisively across the floor and climbed the stairs. The gallery gave on to a brightly lit passage. Bond walked down it opening the doors and glancing in. But they were spare bedrooms^ the beds not made up. They held a smell of must and shut windows. A large ginger67 cat appeared from nowhere and followed him, mewing and rubbing itself against his trouser legs. The end room was the one. Bond went in and closed the door to a crack.
All the lights were on. Perhaps one of the servants was in the bathroom. Bond walked boldly across to the communicating door and opened it. More lights, but no one. It was a big bathroom, probably a spare room converted into a bathroom and, in addition to the bath and lavatory68, it held various fitness machines-a rowing machine, a fixed69 bicycle wheel, Indian clubs and a Ralli Health Belt. The medicine cabinet contained nothing except a great variety of purges70 - senna pods, cascara, Calsalettes, Enos and various apparatus71 for the same purpose. There were no other drugs and no aspirin. Bond went back into the bedroom and again drew a blank. It was a typical man's room, comfortable, lived in, with plenty of fitted cupboards. It even smelled neutral. There was a small bookcase beside the bed in which all the books were history or biography, all in English. The drawer of the bedside table yielded a solitary72 indiscretion, a yellow-backed copy of The Hidden Sight of Love, Palladium Publications, Paris.
Bond glanced at his watch. Five more minutes. It was time to go. He took a last look round the room and moved to the door. Suddenly he stopped. What was it he had noticed almost subconsciously73 ever since he had come into the room? He sharpened his senses. There was an incongruity74 somewhere. What was it? A colour? An object? A smell? A sound? That was it! From where he stood he could hear the faintest, mosquito-shrill whine75. It was almost extra-sensory in its pitch. Where did it come from? What was making it? Now there was something else in the room, something that Bond knew all too well, the smell of danger.
Tensely Bond stepped closer to the fitted cupboard beside the door, softly opened it. Yes, it came from inside the cupboard, from behind a range of sports coats that reached down to the top of three banks of drawers. Sharply Bond swept the coats aside. His jaws76 clenched77 at what,was behind them.
From three slots near the top of the cupboard, sixteen-millimetre film was inching down in three separate strips into a deep bin55 behind the false front of the drawers. The bin was almost half full of the slimy snakes of the stuff. Bond's eyes narrowed tensely as he watched the damning evidence coil slowly down on to the pile. So that was it - cine-cameras, three of them, their lenses concealed78 God knows where - in the hall, in the garage courtyard, in this room - had been watching his every move from the moment Goldfinger had left the house, switching on the cameras, and, of course, the dazzling lights, as he went out of the door. Why hadn't Bond seen the significance of those lights? Why hadn't he had the elementary imagination to see the trap as well as smell it? Cover stories, indeed! What use were they now when he had spent half an hour snooping round and finding nothing for his pains? That too! He had discovered nothing - unearthed79 no secret. It had all been an idiotic80 waste of time. And now Goldfinger had him. Now he was finished, hopelessly blown. Was there any way of saving something from the wreckage81? Bond stood riveted82, staring at the slow cataracts83 of film.
Let's see now! Bond's mind raced, thinking of ways out, excuses, discarding them all. Well, at least by opening the cupboard door he had exposed some of the film. Then why not expose it all? Why not, but how? How could the open cupboard door be explained except by his doing? There came a miaow from the open slit84 of the bedroom door. The cat! Why shouldn't the cat have done it? Pretty thin, but at least it was the shadow of an alibi85. Bond opened the door. He picked the cat up in his arms. He went back with it to the cupboard, stroking it brusquely. It purred. Bond leant over the bin of film, picking it up in handfuls so that it would all get the light. Then, when he was satisfied that it must be ruined, he tossed it back and dropped the cat in on top of it. The cat would not be able to get out easily. With any luck it would settle down and go to sleep. Bond left the cupboard door three inches ajar to spoil the continuing film and the bedroom door the same amount and ran down the passage. At the top of the stairs he slowed and sauntered down. The empty hall yawned at his play-acting. He walked across to the fireplace, dashed more drink into his glass and picked up The Field. He turned to the golf commentary by Bernard Darwin, ran his eye down it to see what it was about, and then settled into one of the club chairs and lit a cigarette.
What had he found out? What was there on the plus side? Precious little except that Goldfinger suffered from constipation and a dirty mind and that he had wanted to put Bond through an elementary test. He had certainly done it expertly. This was no amateur. The technique was fully5 up to SMERSH standards, and it was surely the technique of somebody with a very great deal to hide. And now what would happen? For the cat alibi to stand up, Goldfinger would have to have left two doors, one of them vital, ajar, and the cat had got into the room and been intrigued86 by the whine of the cameras. Most unlikely, almost incredible. Goldfinger would be ninety per cent certain it was Bond -but only ninety. There would still be that ten per cent of uncertainty87. Would Goldfinger have learnt much more than he knew before - that Bond was a tricky88, resourceful customer and that Bond had been inquisitive89, might be a thief? He would guess Bond had been to the bedroom, but Bond's other movements, for whatever they were worth, would remain a secret on the exposed film.
Bond got up and took a handful of other magazines and threw them down beside his chair. The only thing for him to do was brazen90 it out and make a note for the future, if there was to be a future, that he had better wake his ideas up and not make any more mistakes. There wouldn't be enough ginger cats in the world to help him out of one more tight spot like the one he was in.
There had been no noise of a car coming down the drive, not a sound from the door, but Bond felt the evening breeze on his neck and he knew that Goldfinger had come back into the room.
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1
flatten
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| v.把．．．弄平，使倒伏；使(漆等)失去光泽 | |
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annoyances
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| n.恼怒( annoyance的名词复数 )；烦恼；打扰；使人烦恼的事 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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pros
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| abbr.prosecuting 起诉；prosecutor 起诉人；professionals 自由职业者；proscenium （舞台）前部n.赞成的意见( pro的名词复数 )；赞成的理由；抵偿物；交换物 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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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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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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dunes
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| 沙丘( dune的名词复数 ) | |
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wryly
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| adv. 挖苦地，嘲弄地 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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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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wrestler
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| n.摔角选手，扭 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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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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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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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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evergreens
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| n.常青树，常绿植物，万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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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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opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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vanquishing
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| v.征服( vanquish的现在分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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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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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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slaked
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| v.满足( slake的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shrilled
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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44
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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45
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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fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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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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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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bail
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| v.舀（水），保释；n.保证金，保释，保释人 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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kilns
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| n.窑( kiln的名词复数 )；烧窑工人 | |
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generator
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| n.发电机，发生器 | |
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overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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rivet
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| n.铆钉；vt.铆接，铆牢；集中(目光或注意力) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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dented
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| v.使产生凹痕( dent的过去式和过去分词 )；损害；伤害；挫伤（信心、名誉等） | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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frailties
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| n.脆弱( frailty的名词复数 )；虚弱；（性格或行为上的）弱点；缺点 | |
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aspirin
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| n.阿司匹林 | |
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massaged
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| 按摩，推拿( massage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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lavatory
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| n.盥洗室，厕所 | |
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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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purges
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| 清除异己( purge的名词复数 )； 整肃（行动）； 清洗； 泻药 | |
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apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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subconsciously
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| ad.下意识地，潜意识地 | |
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incongruity
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| n.不协调，不一致 | |
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whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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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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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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cataracts
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| n.大瀑布( cataract的名词复数 )；白内障 | |
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slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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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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brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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