A cleaner ambled7 in and, with the exquisite8 languor9 of such people throughout the Caribbean, proceeded to sweep very small bits of rubbish hither and thither10, occasionally dipping a boneless hand into a bucket to sprinkle water over the dusty cement floor. Through the slatted jalousies a small breeze, reeking11 of the mangrove12 swamps, briefly13 stirred the dead air and then was gone. There were only two other passengers in the "lounge," Cubans perhaps, with jippa-jappa luggage. A man and a woman. They sat close together against the opposite wall and stared fixedly14 at James Bond, adding minutely to the oppression of the atmosphere. Bond got up and went over to the shop. He bought a Daily Gleaner15 and returned to his place. Because of its inconsequence and occasionally bizarre choice of news the Gleaner was a favourite paper of Bond's. Almost the whole of that day's front page was taken up with new ganja laws to prevent the consumption, sale, and cultivation16 of this local version of marijuana. The fact that de Gaulle had just sensationally18 announced his recognition of Red China was boxed well down the page. Bond read the whole paper-"Country Newsbits" and all-with the minute care bred of desperation.
His horoscope said: "cheer up! Today will bring a pleasant surprise and the fulfilment of a dear wish. But you must earn your good fortune by watching closely for the golden opportunity when it presents itself and then seizing it with both hands." Bond smiled grimly. He would be unlikely to get on the scent4 of Scaramanga on his first evening in Havana. It was not even certain that Scaramanga was there. This was a last resort. For six weeks, Bond had been chasing his man round the Caribbean and Central America. He had missed him by a day in Trinidad and by only a matter of hours in Caracas. Now he had rather reluctantly taken the decision of try and ferret him out on his home ground, a particularly inimical home ground, with which Bond was barely familiar. At least he had fortified19 himself in British Guiana with a diplomatic passport, and he was now "Courier" Bond with splendidly engraved20 instructions from Her Majesty21 to pick up the Jamaican diplomatic bag in Havana and return with it. He had even borrowed the famous Silver Greyhound, the British Courier's emblem22 for three hundred years. If he could do his job and then get a few hundred yards' start, this would at least give him sanctuary23 in the British Embassy. Then it would be up to the P.O. to bargain him out. If he could find his man. If he could carry out his instructions. If he could get away from the scene of the shooting. If, if, if. .... Bond turned to the advertisements on the back page. At once an item caught his eye. It was so typically "old" Jamaica. This is what he read:
FOR SALE BY AUCTION24
AT 77 HARBOUR STREET, KINGSTON,
At 10:30 a.m. on WEDNESDAY,
27th MAY
under Powers of Sale contained in a mortgage from Cornelius Brown et ux
No. 3-1/2 LOVE LANE,
SAVANNAH LA MAR17.
Containing the substantial residence and all that parcel of land by measurement oh the Northern Boundary three chains and fivee perches25, on the Southern Boundary five chains and one perch26, on the Eastern Boundary two chains exactly, and on the Western Boundary four chains and two perches be the same in each case and more or less and butting27 Northerly on No. 4 Love Lane.
THE C. D. ALEXANDER
CO. LTD.
77 HARBOUR STREET, KINGSTON
PHONE 4897.
James Bond was delighted. He had had many assignments in Jamaica and many adventures on the island. The splendid address and all the stuff about chains and perches and the old-fashioned abracadabra28 at the end of the advertisement brought back all the authentic29 smell of one of the oldest and most romantic of former British possessions. For all her new-found "independence" he would bet his bottom dollar that the statue of Queen Victoria in the centre of Kingston had not been destroyed or removed to a museum, as similar relics30 of an historic infancy31 had been in the resurgent African states. He looked at his watch. The Gleaner had consumed a whole hour for him. He picked up his coat and briefcase32. Not much longer to go! In the last analysis, life wasn't all that dismal33. One must forget the bad and remember the good. What were a couple of hours of heat and boredom34 in this island compared with memories of Beau Desert and Honeychile Wilder and his survival against the mad Dr. No? James Bond smiled to himself as the dusty pictures clicked across his brain. How long ago it all was! What had happened to her? She never wrote. The last he had heard, she had had two children by the Philadelphia doctor she had married. He wandered off into the grandly named "Concourse," where the booths of many airlines stood empty and promotion35 folders36 and little company flags on their counters gathered the dust blown in with the mangrove breeze.
There was the customary central display stand holding messages for incoming and outgoing passengers. As usual, Bond wondered whether there would be something for him. In all his life there never had been. Automatically he ran his eye over the scattered37 envelopes, held, under tape, beneath each parent letter. Nothing under "B." And nothing under his alias38 "H" for "Hazard, Mark" of the "Trans-world Consortium," successor to the old "Universal Export," that had recently been discarded as cover for the Secret Service. Nothing. He ran a bored eye over the other envelopes. He suddenly froze. He looked around him, languidly, casually39. The Cuban couple was out of sight. Nobody else was looking. He reached out a quick hand, wrapped in his handkerchief, and pocketed the buff envelope that said, "Scaramanga. BOAC passenger from Luna." He stayed where he was for a few minutes and then wandered slowly off to the door marked men.
He locked the door and sat down. The envelope was not sealed. It contained a B.W.I.A. message form. The neat B.W.I.A. writing said:
MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM KINGSTON AT 12:15:
"THE SAMPLES WILL BE AVAILABLE AT 3-1/2 S.L.M.
AS FROM MIDDAY TOMORROW."
There was no signature. Bond uttered a short bark of laughter and triumph. S.L.M.-Savannah La Mar. Could it be? It must be! At last the three red stars of a jackpot had clicked into line. What was it his Gleaner horoscope had said? Well he would go nap on this clue from outer space-"seize it with both hands" as the Gleaner had instructed. He read the message again and carefully put it back in the envelope. His damp handkerchief had left marks on the buff envelope. In this heat they would dry out in a matter of minutes. He went out and sauntered over to the stand. There was no one in sight. He slipped the message back into its place under "S" and walked over to the Aeronaves de Mexico booth and cancelled his reservation. He then went to the BOAC counter and looked through the timetable. Yes, the Luna flight for Kingston, New York and London was due in at 13:15 the next day. He was going to need help. He remembered the name of Head of Station J. He went over to the telephone booth and got through to the High Commissioner's Office. He asked for Commander Ross. After a moment a girl's voice came on the line. "Commander Ross's assistant. Can I help you?"
There was something vaguely41 familiar in the lilt of the voice. Bond said, "Could I speak to Commander Ross? This is a friend from London."
The girl's voice became suddenly alert. "I'm afraid Commander Ross is away from Jamaica. Is there anything I can do?" There was a pause. "What name did you say?"
"I didn't say any name. But in fact it's. . . ."
The voice broke in excitedly. "Don't tell me. It's James!"
Bond laughed. "Well I'm damned! It's Goodnight! What the hell are you doing here?"
"More or less what I used to do for you. I heard you were back, but I thought you were ill or something. How absolutely marvellous! But where are you talking from?"
"Kingston Airport. Now listen, darling. I need help. We can talk later. Can you get cracking?"
"Of course. Wait till I get a pencil. Right."
"First I need a car. Anything that'll go. Then I want the name of the top man at Frome, you know, the WISCO estate beyond Savannah La Mar. Large-scale survey map of that area, a hundred pounds in Jamaican money. Then be an angel and ring up Alexander's the auctioneers and find out anything you can about a property that's advertised in today's Gleaner. Say you're a prospective42 buyer. Three-and-a-half Love Lane. You'll see the details. Then I want you to come out to Morgan's Harbour where I'm going in a minute, be staying the night there, and we'll have dinner and swop secrets until the dawn steals over the Blue Mountains. Can do?"
"Of course. But that's a hell of a lot of secrets. What shall I wear?"
"Something that's tight in the right places. Not too many buttons."
She laughed. "You've established your identity. Now I'll get on with all this. See you about seven. 'Bye."
Gasping43 for air, James Bond pushed his way out of the little sweatbox. He ran his handkerchief over his face and neck. He'd be damned! Mary Goodnight, his darling secretary from the old days in the Double-O Section! At Headquarters they had said she was abroad. He hadn't asked any questions. Perhaps she had opted44 for a change when he had gone missing. Anyway, what a break! Now he'd got an ally, someone he knew. Good old Gleaner! He got his bag from the Aeronaves de Mexico booth and went out and hailed a taxi and said "Morgan's Harbour" and sat back and let the air from the open windows begin to dry him.
The romantic little hotel is on the site of Port Royal at the tip of the Palisadoes. The proprietor45, an Englishman who had once been in Intelligence himself and who guessed what Bond's job was, was glad to see him. He showed Bond to a comfortable air-conditioned room with a view of the pool and the wide mirror of Kingston Harbour. He said, "What is it this time? Cubans or smuggling46? They're the popular targets these days."
"Just on my way through. Got any lobsters47?"
"Of course."
"Be a good chap and save two for dinner. Broiled48 with melted butter. And a pot of that ridiculously expensive foie gras of yours. All right?"
"Wilco. Celebration? Champagne49 on the ice?"
"Good idea. Now I must get a shower and some sleep. That Kingston Airports murder."
James Bond awoke at six. At first he didn't know where he was. He lay and remembered. Sir James Molony had said that his memory would be sluggish50 for a while. The E.C.T. treatment at The Park, a discreet51 so-called "convalescent home" in a vast mansion52 in Kent, had been fierce. Twenty-four bashes at his brain from the black box in thirty days. After it was over, Sir James had confessed that, if he had been practising in America, he wouldn't have been allowed to administer more than eighteen. At first, Bond had been terrified at the sight of the box and of the two cathodes that would be cupped to each temple. He had heard that people undergoing shock treatment had to be strapped53 down, that their jerking, twitching54 bodies, impelled55 by the volts56, often hurtled off the operating table. But that, it seemed, was old hat. Now there was the longed-for needle with the pentathol, and Sir James said there was no movement of the body when the current flashed through except a slight twitching of the eyelids57. And the results had been miraculous58. After the pleasant, quiet-spoken analyst59 had explained to him what had been done to him in Russia, and after he had passed through the mental agony of knowing what he had nearly done to M., the old fierce hatred60 of the K.G.B. and all its works had been reborn in him, and, six weeks after he had entered The Park, all he wanted was to get back at the people who had invaded his brain for their own murderous purposes. And then had come his physical rehabilitation61 and the inexplicable62 amount of gun practice he had had to do at the Maidstone police range. And then the day arrived when the Chief of Staff had come down and spent the day briefing Bond on his new assignment. The reason for the gun practice became clear. And the scribble63 of green ink wishing him luck -signed "M."-boosted his spirits. Two days later he was ready to enjoy the excitement of the ride to London airport on his way across the world.
Bond took another shower and dressed in shirt, slacks, and sandals and wandered over to the little bar on the waterfront and ordered a double Walker's deluxe64 bourbon on the rocks and watched the pelicans65 diving for their dinner. Then he had another drink with a water chaser to break it down and wondered about Three-and-a-half Love Lane and what the "samples" would consist of and how he would take Scaramanga. This had been worrying him since he had been given his orders. It was all very fine to be told to "eliminate" the man, but James Bond had never liked killing66 in cold blood and to provoke a draw against a man who was possibly the fastest gun in the world was suicide. Well, he would just have to see which way the cards fell. The first thing to do was to clean up his cover. The diplomatic passport he would leave with Goodnight. He would now be "Mark Hazard" of the "Transworld Consortium," the splendidly vague title which could cover almost any kind of human activity. His business would have to be with the West Indian Sugar Company because that was the only business, apart from Kaiser Bauxite67, that existed in the comparatively deserted68 western districts of Jamaica. And, at Negril, there was also the project for developing one of the most spectacular beaches in the world, beginning with the building of the Thunderbird Hotel. He could be a rich man looking around for a building site. If his hunch69 and the childish predictions of his horoscope were right, and he came up with Scaramanga at the romantic Love Lane address, it would be a question of playing it by ear.
The prairie fire of the sunset raged briefly in the west and the molten sea cooled off into moonlit gunmetal.
A naked arm smelling of Chanel Number 5 snaked round his neck and warm lips kissed the corner of his mouth. As he reached up to hold the arm where it was, a breathless voice said, "Oh, James! I'm sorry. I just had to! It's so wonderful to have you back."
Bond put his hand under the soft chin and lifted up her mouth and kissed her full on the half-open lips. He said, "Why didn't we ever think of doing that before, Goodnight? Three years with only that door between us! What must we have been thinking of?"
She stood away from him. The golden bell of hair fell back to embrace her neck. She hadn't changed. Still only the faintest trace of makeup71, but now the face was golden with sunburn from which the wide-apart blue eyes, now ablaze72 with the moon, shone out with that challenging directness that had disconcerted him when they had argued over some office problem. Still the same glint of health over the good bones and the broad uninhibited smile from the full lips that, in repose73, were so exciting. But now the clothes were different. Instead of the severe shirt and skirt of the days at Headquarters, she was wearing a single string of pearls and a one-piece short-skirted frock in the colour of a pink gin with a lot of bitters in it-the orangey-pink of the inside of a conch shell. It was all tight against the bosom74 and the hips75. She smiled at his scrutiny76. "The buttons are down the back. This is standard uniform for a tropical Station."
"I can just see Q Branch dreaming it up. I suppose one of the pearls has a death pill in it."
"Of course. But I can't remember which. I'll just have to swallow the whole string. Can I have a daiquiri please instead?"
Bond gave the order. "Sorry, Goodnight. My manners are slipping. I was dazzled. It's so tremendous finding you here. And I've never seen you in your working clothes before. Now then, tell me the news. Where's Ross? How long have you been here? Have you managed to cope with all that junk I gave you?"
Her drink came. She sipped78 it carefully. Bond remembered that she rarely drank and didn't smoke. He ordered another for himself and felt vaguely guilty that this was his third double and that she wouldn't know it and when it came wouldn't recognize it as a double. He lit a cigarette. Nowadays he was trying to keep to twenty and failing by about five. He stabbed the cigarette out. He was getting near to his target, and the rigid79 training rules that had been drilled into him at The Park must from now on be observed meticulously80. The champagne wouldn't count. He was amused by the conscience this girl had awakened81 in him. He was also surprised and impressed.
Mary Goodnight knew that the last question was the one he would want answered first. She reached into a plain straw handbag on a gold metal chain and handed him a thick envelope. She said, "Mostly in used singles. A few fivers. Shall I debit82 you direct or put it in as expenses?" "Direct please."
"The top man at Frome is Tony Hugill. Nice man. Nice wife. Nice children. We've had a lot to do with him, so he'll be friendly. He was in Naval83 Intelligence during the war, sort of commando job, so he knows the score. Does a good job-Frome produces about a quarter of Jamaica's sugar output-but Hurricane Flora85 and the tremendous rains we've been having here have delayed the crop. Besides that, he's having a lot of trouble with cane84 burning and other small sabotage-mostly with thermite bombs brought in from Cuba. Jamaica's sugar is competition for Castro, you see. And with Flora and all the rains, the Cuban crop is going to be only about three million tons this year, compared with a Batista level of about seven-and very late because the rains have played havoc86 with the sucrose content."
She smiled her wide smile. "No secrets. Just reading the Gleaner. I don't understand it all, but apparently87, because there's a tremendous chess game going on all over the world in sugar-in what they call sugar futures88, that's sort of buying the stuff forward for delivery dates later in the year. Washington's trying to keep the price down, to upset Cuba's economy, and Castro's out to keep the world price up so that he can bargain with Russia. So it's worth Castro's trouble to do as much damage as possible to rival sugar crops. He's only got his sugar to sell and he wants food badly. This wheat the Americans are selling to Russia. A lot of that will find its way back to Cuba, in exchange for sugar, to feed the Cuban sugar croppers." She smiled again.
"Pretty daft business, isn't it? I don't think Castro can hold out much longer. The missile business in Cuba must have cost Russia about a billion pounds. And now they're having to pour money into Cuba, money and goods, to keep the place on its feet. I can't help thinking they'll pull out soon and leave Castro to go the way Batista went. It's a fiercely Catholic country, and Hurricane Flora was considered as the final judgment89 from heaven. It sat over the island and simply whipped it, day after day, for five days. No hurricane in history has ever behaved like that. The churchgoers don't miss an omen40 like that. It was a straight indictment90 of the regime."
Bond said with admiration91, "Goodnight, you're a treasure. You've certainly been doing your homework."
The direct blue eyes looked straight into his, dodging92 the compliment. "This is the stuff I live with here. It's built into the Station. But I thought you might like some background to Frome, and what I've said explains why WISCO are getting these cane fires. At least we think it is. She took a sip77 of her drink. "Well, that's all about sugar. The car's outside. You remember Strangways? Well, it's his old Sunbeam Alpine93. The Station bought it, and now I use it. It's a bit aged70, but it's still pretty fast and it won't let you down. It's rather bashed about, so it won't be conspicuous94. The tank's full, and I've put the survey map in the glove compartment95."
"That's fine. Now, last question and then we'll go and have dinner and tell each other our life stories. But, by the way, what's happened to your chief, Ross?"
Mary Goodnight looked worried. "To tell you the truth, I don't exactly know. He went off last week on some job to Trinidad. It was to try and locate a man called Scara-manga. He's a local gunman of some sort. I don't know much about him. Apparently Headquarters wants him traced for some reason." She smiled ruefully. "Nobody ever tells me anything that's interesting. I just do the donkey work. Well, Commander Ross was due back two days ago and he hasn't turned up. I've had to send off a Red Warning, but I've been told to give him another week."
"Well, I'm glad he's out of the way. I'd rather have his Number Two. Last question. What about this three-and-one-half Love Lane? Did you get anywhere?"
Mary Goodnight blushed. "Did I not! That was a fine question to get me mixed up with. Alexander's was noncommittal, and I finally had to go to the Special Branch. I shan't be able to show my face there for weeks. Heaven knows what they must think of you. That place is a, is a, er"-she wrinkled her nose-"it's a famous disorderly house in Sav' La Mar."
Bond laughed out loud at her discomfiture96. He teased her with malicious97 but gentle sadism. "You mean it's a whorehouse?"
"James! For heaven's sake! Must you be so crude?"
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1
lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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ware
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| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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ambled
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的过去式和过去分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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mangrove
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| n.(植物)红树，红树林 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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gleaner
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| n.拾穗的人；割捆机 | |
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cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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sensationally
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fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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perches
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| 栖息处( perch的名词复数 )； 栖枝； 高处； 鲈鱼 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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butting
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| 用头撞人（犯规动作） | |
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abracadabra
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| n.咒语，胡言乱语 | |
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authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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briefcase
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| n.手提箱，公事皮包 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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folders
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| n.文件夹( folder的名词复数 )；纸夹；（某些计算机系统中的）文件夹；页面叠 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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alias
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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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40
omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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41
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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42
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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43
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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opted
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| v.选择，挑选( opt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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46
smuggling
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| n.走私 | |
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47
lobsters
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| 龙虾( lobster的名词复数 )； 龙虾肉 | |
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48
broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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49
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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50
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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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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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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54
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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volts
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| n.（电压单位）伏特( volt的名词复数 ) | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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analyst
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| n.分析家，化验员；心理分析学家 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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rehabilitation
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| n.康复，悔过自新，修复，复兴，复职，复位 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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scribble
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| v.潦草地书写，乱写，滥写；n.潦草的写法，潦草写成的东西，杂文 | |
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deluxe
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| adj.华美的，豪华的，高级的 | |
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pelicans
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| n.鹈鹕( pelican的名词复数 ) | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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bauxite
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| n.铝土矿 | |
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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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hunch
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| n.预感，直觉 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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makeup
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| n.组织；性格；化装品 | |
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ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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meticulously
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| adv.过细地，异常细致地；无微不至；精心 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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debit
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| n.借方，借项，记人借方的款项 | |
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naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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futures
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| n.期货，期货交易 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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indictment
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| n.起诉；诉状 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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92
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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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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discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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