He had spoken aloud, and his breath had steamed up the glass of his Pirelli mask. He put his feet down to the sand beside the coral boulder3 and stood up. The water reached to his armpits. He took off the mask and spat4 into it, rubbed the spit round the glass, rinsed5 it clean, and pulled the rubber band of the mask back over his head. He bent6 down again.
The eye in the mottled brown sack was still watching him carefully from the hole in the coral, but now the tip of a single small tentacle7 wavered hesitatingly an inch or two out of the shadows and quested vaguely8 with its pink suckers uppermost. Dexter Smythe smiled with satisfaction. Given time-perhaps one more month on top of the two during which he had been chumming the octopus-and he would have tamed the darling. But he wasn't going to have that month. Should he take a chance today and reach down and offer his hand, instead of the expected lump of raw meat on the end of his spear, to the tentacle? Shake it by the hand, so to speak? No, Pussy9, he thought. I can't quite trust you yet. Almost certainly other tentacles10 would whip out of the hole and up his arm. He only needed to be dragged down less than two feet for the cork11 valve on his mask to automatically close, and he would be suffocated12 inside it or, if he tore it off, drowned. He might get in a quick lucky jab with his spear, but it would take more than that to kill Pussy. No. Perhaps later in the day. It would be rather like playing Russian roulette, and at about the same five-to-one odds13. It might be a quick, a whimsical, way out of his troubles! But not now. It would leave the interesting question unsolved. And he had promised that nice Professor Bengry at the Institute.... Dexter Smythe swam leisurely14 off toward the reef, his eyes questing for one shape only, the squat15, sinister16 wedge of a scorpionfish, or, as Bengry would put it, Scorpaena plumieri.
Major Dexter Smythe, O.B.E., Royal Marines (Retd.), was the remains18 of a once brave and resourceful officer and of a handsome man who had had the sexual run of his teeth all his life, particularly among the Wrens19 and Wracs and ATS who manned the communications and secretariat of the very special task force to which he had been attached at the end of his service career. Now he was fifty-four and slightly bald, and his belly20 sagged21 in his Jantzen trunks. And he had had two coronary thromboses, the second (the "second warning" as his doctor, Jimmy Greaves, who had been one of their high poker22 game at Prince's Club when Dexter Smythe had first come to Jamaica, had half jocularly put it) only a month before. But, in his well-chosen clothes, with his varicose veins23 out of sight, and with his stomach flattened24 by a discreet25 support belt behind an immaculate cummerbund, he was still a fine figure of a man at a cocktail26 party or dinner on the North Shore. And it was a mystery to his friends and neighbors why, in defiance27 of the two ounces of whiskey and the ten cigarettes a day to which his doctor had rationed28 him, he persisted in smoking like a chimney and going to bed drunk, if amiably29 drunk, every night.
The truth of the matter was that Dexter Smythe had arrived at the frontier of the death wish. The origins of this state of mind were many and not all that complex. He was irretrievably tied to Jamaica, and tropical sloth30 had gradually riddled31 him so that, while outwardly he appeared a piece of fairly solid hardwood, inside the varnished32 surface, the termites33 of sloth, self-indulgence, guilt34 over an ancient sin, and general disgust with himself had eroded35 his once hard core into dust. Since the death of Mary two years before, he had loved no one. (He wasn't even sure that he had really loved her, but he knew that, every hour of the day, he missed her love of him and her gay, untidy, chiding36, and often irritating presence.) And though he ate their canapйs and drank their martinis, he had nothing but contempt for the international riffraff with whom he consorted37 on the North Shore. He could perhaps have made friends with the more solid elements-the gentleman-farmers inland, the plantation38 owners on the coast, the professional men, the politicians-but that would mean regaining39 some serious purpose in life which his sloth, his spiritual accidie, prevented, and cutting down on the bottle, which he was definitely unwilling40 to do. So Major Smythe was bored, bored to death, and, but for one factor in his life, he would long ago have swallowed the bottle of barbiturates he had easily acquired from a local doctor. The lifeline that kept him clinging to the edge of the cliff was a tenuous41 one. Heavy drinkers veer42 toward an exaggeration of their basic temperaments43, the classic four-sanguine44, phlegmatic45, choleric46, and melancholic47. The sanguine drunk goes gay to the point of hysteria and idiocy48; the phlegmatic sinks into a morass49 of sullen50 gloom; the choleric is the fighting drunk of the cartoonists who spends much of his life in prison for smashing people and things; and the melancholic succumbs51 to self-pity, mawkishness52, and tears. Major Smythe was a melancholic who had slid into a drooling fantasy woven around the birds and insects and fish that inhabited the five acres of Wavelets (the name he had given his small villa53 was symptomatic), its beach, and the coral reef beyond. The fish were his particular favorites. He referred to them as "people," and since reef fish stick to their territories as closely as do most small birds, he knew them all, after two years, intimately, "loved" them, and believed that they loved him in return.
They certainly knew him, as the denizens54 of zoos know their keepers, because he was a daily and a regular provider, scraping off algae55 and stirring up the sand and rocks for the bottom-feeders, breaking up sea eggs and sea urchins56 for the small carnivores, and bringing out scraps57 of offal for the larger ones. And now, as he swam slowly and heavily up and down the reef and through the channels that led out to deep water, his "people" swarmed58 around him fearlessly and expectantly, darting59 at the tip of the three-pronged spear they knew only as a prodigal60 spoon, flirting61 right up to the glass of the Pirelli, and even, in the case of the fearless, pugnacious62 demoiselles, nipping softly at his feet and legs.
Part of Major Smythe's mind took in all these brilliantly colored little "people" and he greeted them in unspoken words. ("Morning, Beau Gregory" to the dark blue demoiselle sprinkled with bright blue spots-the jewelfish that exactly resembles the starlit fashioning of a bottle of Guerlain's Dans La Nuit; "Sorry. Not today, sweetheart" to a fluttering butterflyfish with false black eyes on its tail; and "You're too fat anyway, Blue Boy," to an indigo63 parrotfish that must have weighed a good ten pounds.) But today he had a job to do and his eyes were searching for only one of his "people"-his only enemy on the reef, the only one he killed on sight, a scorpionfish.
The scorpionfish inhabits most of the southern waters of the world, and the rascasse that is the foundation of bouillabaisse belongs to the family. The West Indian variety runs up to only about twelve inches long and perhaps a pound ha weight. It is by far the ugliest fish in the sea, as if nature were giving warning. It is a mottled brownish gray with a heavy wedge-shaped shaggy head. It has fleshy pendulous64 "eyebrows65" that droop66 over angry red eyes and a coloration and broken silhouette67 that are perfect camouflage68 on the reef. Though a small fish, its heavily toothed mouth is so wide that it can swallow whole most of the smaller reef fishes, but its supreme69 weapon lies in its erectile dorsal70 fins71, the first few of which, acting72 on contact like hypodermic needles, are fed by poison glands73 containing enough dotoxin to kill a man if they merely graze him in a vulnerable spot-in an artery74, for instance, or over the heart or in the groin. It constitutes the only real danger to the reef swimmer, far more dangerous than the barracuda or the shark, because, supreme in its confidence in its camouflage and armory75, it flees before nothing except the very close approach of a foot or actual contact. Then it flits only a few yards, on wide and bizarrely striped pectorals, and settles again watchfully77 either on the sand, where it looks like a lump of overgrown coral, or among the rocks and seaweed where it virtually disappears. And Major Smythe was determined78 to find one and spear it and give it to his octopus to see if it would take it or spurn79 it-to see if one of the ocean's great predators80 would recognize the deadliness of another, know of its poison. Would the octopus consume the belly and leave the spines82? Would it eat the lot? And if so, would it suffer from the poison? These were the questions Bengry at the Institute wanted answered, and today, since it was going to be the beginning of the end of Major Smythe's life at Wavelets-and though it might mean the end of his darling Octopussy-Major Smythe had decided83 to find out the answers and leave one tiny memorial to his now futile84 life in some dusty corner of the Institute's marine17 biological files.
For, in only the last couple of hours, Major Dexter Smythe's already dismal85 life had changed very much for the worse. So much for the worse that he would be lucky if, in a few weeks' time-time for an exchange of cables via Government House and the Colonial Office to the Secret Service and thence to Scotland Yard and the Public Prosecutor86, and for Major Smythe's transportation to London with a police escort-he got away with a sentence of imprisonment87 for life.
And all this because of a man called Bond, Commander James Bond, who had turned up at ten-thirty that morning in a taxi from Kingston.
* * *
The day had started normally. Major Smythe had awakened88 from his Seconal sleep, swallowed a couple of Panadols (his heart condition forbade him aspirin), showered, skimped89 his breakfast under the umbrella-shaped sea almonds, and spent an hour feeding the remains of his breakfast to the birds. He then took his prescribed doses of anticoagulant and blood-pressure pills and killed time with the Daily Gleaner90 until it was time for his elevenses, which, for some months now, he had advanced to ten-thirty. He had just poured himself the first of two stiff brandy and ginger91 ales (The Drunkard's Drink) when he heard the car coming up the drive.
Luna, his colored housekeeper92, came out into the garden and announced "Gemmun to see you, Major."
"What's his name?"
"Hun doan say, Major. Him say to tell you him come from Govment House."
Major Smythe was wearing nothing but a pair of old khaki shorts and sandals. He said, "All right, Luna. Put him in the living room and say I won't be a moment." And he went round the back way into his bedroom and put on a white bush shirt and trousers and brushed his hair. Government House! Now what the hell?
As soon as he had walked through into the living room and seen the tall man in the dark blue tropical suit standing93 at the picture window looking out to sea, Major Smythe had somehow sensed bad news. And, when the man had turned slowly toward him and looked at him with watchful76, serious gray-blue eyes, he had known that this was officialdom, and when his cheery smile was not returned, inimical officialdom. And. a chill had run down Major Smythe's spine81. "They" had somehow found out.
"Well, well. I'm Smythe. I gather you're from Government House. How's Sir Kenneth?"
There was somehow no question of shaking hands. The man said, "I haven't met him. I only arrived a couple of days ago. I've been out round the island most of the time. My name's Bond, James Bond. I'm from the Ministry94 of Defense95."
Major Smythe remembered the hoary96 euphemism97 for the Secret Service. He said bonhomously, "Oh. The old firm?"
The question had been ignored. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"
"Rather. Anywhere you like. Here or in the garden? What about a drink?" Major Smythe clinked the ice in the glass he still held in his hand. "Rum and ginger's the local poison. I prefer the ginger by itself." The lie came out with the automatic smoothness of the alcoholic98.
"No thanks. And here would be fine." The man leaned negligently99 against the wide mahogany windowsill.
Major Smythe sat down and threw a jaunty100 leg over the low arm of one of the comfortable planters' chairs he had had copied from an original by the local cabinetmaker. He pulled out the drink coaster from the other arm, took a deep pull at his glass, and slid it, with a consciously steady hand, down into the hole in the wood. "Well," he said cheerily, looking the other man straight in the eyes, "what can I do for you? Somebody been up to some dirty work on the North Shore and you need a spare hand? Be glad to get into harness again. It's been a long time since those days, but I can still remember some of the old routines."
"Do you mind if I smoke?" The man had already got his cigarette case in his hand. It was a flat gun-metal one that would hold around twenty-five. Somehow this small sign of a shared weakness comforted Major Smythe.
"Of course, my dear fellow." He made a move to get up, his lighter101 ready.
"It's all right, thanks." James Bond had already lit his cigarette. "No, it's nothing local. I want to... I've been sent out to... ask you to recall your work for the Service at the end of the war." James Bond paused and looked down at Major Smythe carefully. "Particularly the time when you were working with the Miscellaneous Objectives Bureau."
Major Smythe laughed sharply. He had known it. He had known it for absolutely sure. But when it came out of this man's mouth, the laugh had been forced out of Major Smythe like the scream of a hit man. "Oh Lord, yes. Good old MOB. That was a lark102 all right." He laughed again. He felt the anginal pain, brought on by the pressure of what he knew was coming, build up across his chest. He dipped his hand into his trouser pocket, tilted103 the little bottle into the palm of his hand, and slipped the white TNT pill under his tongue. He was amused to see the tension coil up in the other man, the way the eyes narrowed watchfully. It's all right, my dear fellow. This isn't a death pill. He said, "You troubled with acidosis? No? It slays104 me when I go on a bender. Last night. Party at Jamaica Inn. One really ought to stop thinking one's always twenty-five. Anyway, let's get back to MOB Force. Not many of us left, I suppose." He felt the pain across his chest withdraw into its lair105. "Something to do with the Official History?"
James Bond looked down at the tip of his cigarette. "Not exactly."
"I expect you know I wrote most of the chapter on the Force for the War Book. It's fifteen years since then. Doubt if I'd have much to add today."
"Nothing more about that operation in the Tirol-place called Oberaurach, about a mile east of Kitzbьhel?"
One of the names he had been living with for fifteen years forced another harsh laugh out of Major Smythe. "That was a piece of cake! You've never seen such a shambles106. All those Gestapo toughs with their doxies. All of 'em hog-drunk. They'd kept their files all ticketty-boo. Handed them over without a murmur107. Hoped that'd earn 'em easy treatment I suppose. We gave the stuff a first going-over and shipped all the bods off to the Munich camp. Last I heard of them. Most of them hanged for war crimes I expect. We handed the bumf over to HQ at Salzburg. Then we went on up the Mittersill valley after another hideout." Major Smythe took a good pull at his drink and lit a cigarette. He looked up. "That's the long and the short of it."
"You were Number Two at the time, I think. The CO was an American, a Colonel King from Patton's army."
"That's right. Nice fellow. Wore a mustache, which isn't like an American. Knew his way among the local wines. Quite a civilized108 chap."
"In his report about the operation he wrote that he handed you all the documents for a preliminary run-through as you were the German expert with the unit. Then you gave them all back to him with your comments?" James Bond paused. "Every single one of them?"
Major Smythe ignored the innuendo109. "That's right. Mostly lists of names. Counterintelligence dope. The CI people in Salzburg were very pleased with the stuff. Gave them plenty of new leads. I expect the originals are lying about somewhere. They'll have been used for the Nuremberg Trials. Yes, by Jove!"-Major Smythe was reminiscent, pally-"those were some of the jolliest months of my life, haring around the country with MOB Force. Wine, women, and song! And you can say that again!"
Here, Major Smythe was saying the whole truth. He had had a dangerous and uncomfortable war until 1945. When the commandos were formed in 1941, he had volunteered and been seconded from the Royal Marines to Combined Operations Headquarters under Mountbatten. There his excellent German (his mother had come from Heidelberg) had earned him the unenviable job of being advanced interrogator110 on commando operations across the Channel. He had been lucky to get away from two years of this work unscathed and with the O.B.E. (Military), which was sparingly awarded in the last war. And then, in preparation for the defeat of Germany, the Miscellaneous Objectives Bureau had been formed jointly112 by the Secret Service and Combined Operations, and Major Smythe had been given the temporary rank of lieutenant113 colonel and told to form a unit whose job would be the cleaning up of Gestapo and Abwehr hideouts when the collapse114 of Germany came about. The OSS got to hear of the scheme and insisted on getting into the act to cope with the American wing of the front, and the result was the creation of not one but six units that went into operation in Germany and Austria on the day of surrender. They were units of twenty men, each with a light armored car, six jeeps, a wireless115 truck, and three lorries, and they were controlled by a joint111 Anglo-American headquarters in SHAEF, which also fed them with targets from the Army Intelligence units and from the SIS and OSS. Major Smythe had been Number Two of "A" Force, which had been allotted116 the Tirol-an area full of good hiding places with easy access to Italy and perhaps out of Europe-that was known to have been chosen as funkhole Number One by the people MOB Force was after. And, as Major Smythe had just told Bond, they had had themselves a ball. All without firing a shot-except, that is, two fired by Major Smythe.
James Bond said casually117, "Does the name of Hannes Oberhauser ring a bell?"
Major Smythe frowned, trying to remember. "Can't say it does." It was eighty degrees in the shade, but he shivered.
"Let me refresh your memory. On the same day as those documents were given to you to look over, you made inquiries118 at the Tiefenbrьnner Hotel, where you were billeted, for the best mountain guide in Kitzbьhel. You were referred to Oberhauser. The next day you asked your CO for a day's leave, which was granted. Early next morning you went to Oberhauser's chalet, put him under close arrest, and drove him away in your jeep. Does that ring a bell?"
That phrase about "refreshing119 your memory." How often had Major Smythe himself used it when he was trying to trap a German liar120? Take your time! You've been ready for something like this for years. Major Smythe shook his head doubtfully. "Can't say it does."
"A man with graying hair and a gammy leg. Spoke2 some English, he'd been a ski teacher before the war."
Major Smythe looked candidly121 into the cold, clear blue eyes. "Sorry. Can't help you."
James Bond took a small blue leather notebook out of his inside pocket and turned the leaves. He stopped turning them. He looked up. "At that time, as side arms, you were carrying a regulation Webley-Scott forty-five with the serial122 number eight-nine-six-seven-three-sixty-two."
"It was certainly a Webley. Damned clumsy weapon. Hope they've got something more like the Luger or the heavy Beretta these days. But I can't say I ever took a note of the number."
"The number's right enough," said James Bond. "I've got the date of its issue to you by HQ and the date when you turned it in. You signed the book both times."
Major Smythe shrugged123. "Well then, it must have been my gun. But"-he put rather angry impatience124 into his voice-"what, if I may ask, is all this in aid of?"
James Bond looked at him almost with curiosity. He said, and now his voice was not unkind, "You know what it is all about, Smythe." He paused and seemed to reflect. "Tell you what. I'll go out into the garden for ten minutes or so. Give you time to think things over. Give me a hail." He added seriously "It'll make things so much easier for you if you come out with the story in your own words."
Bond walked to the door into the garden. He turned around. "I'm afraid it's only a question of dotting the i's and crossing the t's. You see I had a talk with the Foo brothers in Kingston yesterday." He stepped out onto the lawn.
Something in Major Smythe was relieved. Now at least the battle of wits, the trying to invent alibis125, the evasions126, were over. If this man Bond had got to the Foos, to either of them, they would have spilled the beans. The last thing they wanted was to get in bad with the government, and anyway there was only about six inches of the stuff left.
Major Smythe got briskly to his feet and went to the loaded sideboard and poured himself out another brandy and ginger ale, almost fifty-fifty. He might as well live it up while there was still time! The future wouldn't hold many more of these for him. He went back to his chair and lit his twentieth cigarette of the day. He looked at his watch. It said eleven-thirty. If he could be rid of the chap in an hour, he'd have plenty of time with his "people." He sat and drank and marshaled his thoughts. He could make the story long or short, put in the weather and the way the flowers and pines had smelled on the mountain, or he could cut it short. He would cut it short.
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1
octopus
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| n.章鱼 | |
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2
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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boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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5
rinsed
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| v.漂洗( rinse的过去式和过去分词 )；冲洗；用清水漂洗掉（肥皂泡等）；（用清水）冲掉 | |
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6
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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tentacle
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| n.触角，触须，触手 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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pussy
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| n.(儿语)小猫，猫咪 | |
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tentacles
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| n.触手( tentacle的名词复数 )；触角；触须；触毛 | |
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cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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13
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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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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wrens
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| n.鹪鹩( wren的名词复数 ) | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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sagged
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| 下垂的 | |
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poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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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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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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rationed
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| 限量供应，配给供应( ration的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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sloth
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| n.[动]树懒；懒惰，懒散 | |
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riddled
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| adj.布满的；充斥的；泛滥的v.解谜，出谜题(riddle的过去分词形式) | |
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varnished
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| 浸渍过的，涂漆的 | |
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termites
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| n.白蚁( termite的名词复数 ) | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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eroded
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| adj. 被侵蚀的，有蚀痕的 动词erode的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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chiding
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| v.责骂，责备( chide的现在分词 ) | |
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consorted
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| v.结伴( consort的过去式和过去分词 )；交往；相称；调和 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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regaining
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| 复得( regain的现在分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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40
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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41
tenuous
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| adj.细薄的，稀薄的，空洞的 | |
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42
veer
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| vt.转向，顺时针转，改变；n.转向 | |
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43
temperaments
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| 性格( temperament的名词复数 )； （人或动物的）气质； 易冲动； （性情）暴躁 | |
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44
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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45
phlegmatic
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| adj.冷静的，冷淡的，冷漠的，无活力的 | |
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46
choleric
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| adj.易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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47
melancholic
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| 忧郁症患者 | |
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48
idiocy
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| n.愚蠢 | |
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49
morass
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| n.沼泽，困境 | |
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50
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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51
succumbs
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的第三人称单数 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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52
mawkishness
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53
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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54
denizens
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| n.居民，住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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55
algae
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| n.水藻，海藻 | |
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56
urchins
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| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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57
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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58
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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59
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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60
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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61
flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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62
pugnacious
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| adj.好斗的 | |
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63
indigo
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| n.靛青，靛蓝 | |
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64
pendulous
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| adj.下垂的；摆动的 | |
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65
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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66
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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67
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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68
camouflage
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| n./v.掩饰，伪装 | |
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69
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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70
dorsal
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| adj.背部的，背脊的 | |
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71
fins
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| [医]散热片；鱼鳍；飞边；鸭掌 | |
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72
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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73
glands
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| n.腺( gland的名词复数 ) | |
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74
artery
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| n.干线，要道；动脉 | |
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75
armory
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| n.纹章，兵工厂，军械库 | |
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76
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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watchfully
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| 警惕地，留心地 | |
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78
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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79
spurn
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| v.拒绝，摈弃；n.轻视的拒绝；踢开 | |
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predators
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| n.食肉动物( predator的名词复数 )；奴役他人者（尤指在财务或性关系方面） | |
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81
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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82
spines
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| n.脊柱( spine的名词复数 )；脊椎；（动植物的）刺；书脊 | |
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83
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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84
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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85
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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86
prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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87
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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88
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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89
skimped
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| v.少用( skimp的过去式和过去分词 )；少给；克扣；节省 | |
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90
gleaner
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| n.拾穗的人；割捆机 | |
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91
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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92
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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93
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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94
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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95
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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96
hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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97
euphemism
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| n.婉言，委婉的说法 | |
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98
alcoholic
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| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
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99
negligently
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100
jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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101
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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102
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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103
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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104
slays
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的第三人称单数 ) | |
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105
lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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106
shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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107
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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108
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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109
innuendo
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| n.暗指，讽刺 | |
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110
interrogator
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| n.讯问者；审问者；质问者；询问器 | |
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111
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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112
jointly
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| ad.联合地，共同地 | |
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113
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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114
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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115
wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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116
allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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118
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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119
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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120
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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121
candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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122
serial
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| n.连本影片，连本电视节目；adj.连续的 | |
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123
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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124
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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125
alibis
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| 某人在别处的证据( alibi的名词复数 )； 不在犯罪现场的证人； 借口； 托辞 | |
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126
evasions
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| 逃避( evasion的名词复数 )； 回避； 遁辞； 借口 | |
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