It would have been no great wonder if I had been[Pg 117] rejoicing past all reason in the moment. For at that very instant came Calliope Marsh3, home for the Java entertainment which was set for to-night, and driving to my gate the Sykes's white horse in the post-office store delivery wagon4. And as I saw her, so precisely5 did she look like herself, that I could have believed that Now was not Now, but Then, when first I knew her.
Calliope brought the buckled6 lines informally over the horse's head and let them fall about the tie post, and ran to me. I am afraid that I am not going to tell what we said. But it was full of being once more in the presence of those whom you love. Do you not think that such being together is a means of actual life transcending7 both breath and perception?
When our greeting was done, Calliope sat down on the stair in my hall, and,
"Hev you got any spare candle-shades an' sherbet glasses, an' pretty doilies an' lunch cloths an' rugs an' willow8 chairs an' a statue of almost anybody an' a meat-chopper with a peanut-butter attachment9 an' a cap an' gown like colleges?" she demanded.
And when I told her that I thought I might have some of these things,
"Well," Calliope said, "she wants 'em all. Who do I mean by She? Mis' Oliver Wheeler Johnson, the personal queen of things."
[Pg 118]
She leaned forward, hugging her thin little arms, and she looked up at me from under the brim of her round straw hat.
"I'm in need of grace," she said shortly. "I never felt like this toward any human being. But I tell you, when that little Mis' Johnson comes dilly-nippin' around where I am, noddin' her blue ostrich11 tip, seems my spine12 just stiffens13 out in me like it was going to strike at her, same as a stick. Do you know the feelin'?"
I answered reluctantly, and not as I should wish to answer; for it is certain that I, too, have seldom seen Mrs. Johnson without an urgency to be gone from her little fluttering presence. But Calliope! I could not imagine Calliope shrinking from any one, or knowing herself alien to another.
"For sixty years," she answered my thought of her, "I've never known what it was to couldn't bear anybody, not without I had a reason. They ain't much of anybody I what you might say don't like, without they're malicious14 or ugly a-purpose. Ugly by nature, ugly an' can't help it, ugly an' don't know it—I can forgive all them. An' Mis' Johnson ain't ugly at all—she's just a real sweet little slip of a thing, doin' her hard-workin' best. But when I first see her in church that day, I says to myself: 'I'll give that little piece two months to carry the sail she's carryin' here to-day; four months[Pg 119] to hev folks tired of her, an' six months to get herself the cold shoulder all 'round.' An' I hold to what I said. An' when her baby-blue nineteen-inch feather swings in an' 'round, an' when she tells how things ought to be, I kind o' bristle15 all over me. I'm ashamed of it—an' yet, do you know, I like to give in to it?" Calliope said solemnly. "I donno what's come over me. Hev you heard where the Java entertainment's put to be?"
I had not heard, nor was I sure just why it was of Java, save that Friendship is continually giving entertainments with foreign names and practising a wild imperialism17 to carry out an effect of foreign parts. And since, at the missionary18 meeting which had projected the affair, Mrs. Oliver Wheeler Johnson had told about their Java entertainment in their church at home, that great, tolerant Mis' Amanda Toplady, who was president of the society, had appointed her chairman of the Java entertainment committee.
"And," Calliope informed me, "she's picked out the engine-house for it. Yes, sir,—the fire-engine house. No other place was quaint20 enough. No other place lent itself to decoration probabilities—or somethin' like that. She turned her back flat on the church an' went round to empty stores, lookin' for quaint-ity. One while I thought she'd hev us in the Chinese laundry, she seemed that took with[Pg 120] the tomato-coloured signs on the walls. But, finally, she lit on the engine-house; an' when she see the big, bare engine-room, with the big, shinin' engine in it, an' harnesses hangin' from them rough board beams in a kind of avenoo, an' the board walls all streaked21 down, she spatted22 her hands an' 'lowed we'd hev our Java there. 'What a dear, quaint place,' s's she,—'so flexible!' She held out about the harnesses bein' so quaintly23 picturesque24 an' the fire-engine a piece o' resistance—or somethin' like that. An' she rents the room, without ay, yes, no, nor boo. My way of thinkin', a chairman ought to hev boo for a background, even if she is chairman. That's where she wants the statue an' the nut butter an' the cap an' gown. Can we borrow 'em of you?"
"The engine-house!" I repeated incredulously. "You cannot mean the fire-engine house, Calliope?"
"I do," Calliope said firmly, "the quaint, flexible fire-engine house. They ain't been a fire in Friendship in over two years, so Mis' Johnson says we ain't got that to think of—an' I donno as we hev. An' they never use the engine any more, now they've got city water, excep' for fires in the country, and then nobody ever gets in to give the alarm till the house is burned down an' no need to bother goin'. Even if they do get in in some sort of season, the department has to go to the[Pg 121] mayor to get a permit to go outside the city limits. It was so when the Topladys' barn burned. Timothy told 'em, when they come gallopin' up after it was most done smokin', that if they had held off a little longer they could have been a sight of help to him in shinglin' the new one. Oh, no, they ain't much of any danger of our being disturbed by a fire in them two hours to-night. Anyhow, they can't be a fire. Mis' Oliver Wheeler Johnson said so."
We laughed like children as we loaded my "Java" stuffs on the wagon. Calliope was a valiant25 helper to Mrs. Johnson, and so I told her. She was standing26 in the wagon box, one arm about my palm, the other free for driving.
"I'm the chairman o' the refreshments27, too," she confessed. "Oh, well. Yourself you can boss round, you know," she threw back, smiling; "anybody can do that. But your feelin's you're some cramped28 about runnin'."
It is certain that Mrs. Oliver Wheeler Johnson was signally unfitted for a future in Friendship Village. She was a woman of some little world in which she had moved before she came to us, and in the two worlds she perceived no difference. Or, where she saw a difference, she sought to modify it by a touch when a breath would have been too much, and the only factor of potency29 would have[Pg 122] been a kind of potency of spirit, which she did not possess.
The Oliver Wheeler Johnsons had moved to Friendship only three months before, and nobody had looked for them at church on their first Sunday. "Movin' so, you want your Sabbath to take some rest in, an' you ain't expected to dress yourself up an' get out to Sunday service an' face strangers," the village said—and when the two walked into church while the responses were being made nearly everybody lost the place.
They were very young, and they were extremely well dressed.
"He's got on one o' the long coats," comment ran after church, "an' he's got a real soft-speakin' voice. But he seems to know how to act."
And, "I declare, nice white gloves an' a nineteen-inch baby-blue ostrich feather durin' movin' seems some like puttin' on."
And, "The back of her dress fits her just like the front, an' I must say she knows it. No pullin' down the jacket or hitchin' the strings30 forward for her, when she stands up!"
As Miggy, who first told me about that day, had said, "That Sunday morning, Mis' Oliver Wheeler Johnson was the belle31 of the congregation."
After service that day, instead of going directly home or waiting to be addressed, Mrs. Oliver Wheeler[Pg 123] Johnson had spoken to the woman with whom she had been seated. It was Mis' Postmaster Sykes.
"Thank you so much," Mrs. Johnson said, "for letting us share your pew. May I present my husband? We have come to Friendship to live, and we shall be coming here to church. And I shall want to join your Ladies' Aid Society and your Missionary Circle and, perhaps, be in the Sunday-school right away. I—I think I'll be less homesick—"
"Actually," Mis' Sykes said afterward33, "she took my breath clear away from me. I never heard of such a thing. Of course, we're real glad to hev our newcomers Christian34 people, but we want quiet Christians35. An' did you notice how she was when I give her an introduction around? Why, she up an' out with somethin' to say to everybody. Just a neat little 'How d' do' wouldn't do for her to remark. I always suspicion them talkative-at-first kind. It's like they'd been on the stage or brought up in a hotel."
When she first came to the Ladies' Aid and the missionary meetings, Mrs. Johnson "said something." She was "up to her feet" three or four times at each session with suggestion, information, or description of how they did in her home church. And some way I think that what chiefly separated her from the village was the way that inevitable36[Pg 124] nineteen-inch blue ostrich plume37 on the little woman's hat bobbed and won attention and was everywhere at once. Or, perhaps—such creatures of wax we are to our impressions—it may have been little Mrs. Johnson's mere38 way of lifting her small, pointed19 chin when she talked, and of frowning and over-emphasizing. Or it may have been that she stood with her hands clasped behind her in what seemed to Friendship exaggerated ease, or that she smiled arbitrarily and ingratiatingly as she talked when there was absolutely nothing at which to smile. I think that these made her seem as alien to us as, in varied39 measure, certain moral defects might have done.
Moreover, she mentioned with familiarity objects and usages of which Friendship Village knew nothing: Carriage shoes, a new cake of soap for each guest, some kind of ice served, it was incredulously repeated, "in the middle o' the meal!" She innocently let fall that she sent to the city for her letter-paper. She had travelled in a state-room on a train, and she said so. She knew a noted40 woman. She used, we saw from the street, shaded candles on the table when she and her husband were at supper alone. She thought nothing of ordering Jimmy Sturgis and the bus to take her down town to her marketing41 on a rainy day. She had inclined to blame the village that Daphne Street was not paved, instead of joining[Pg 125] with the village to blame somebody else. Above all, she tried to buy our old furniture. I do not know that another might not have done all these quite without giving offence, and, indeed, rather have left us impressed with her superior familiarity with an envied world. But by the time of the Java entertainment Mrs. Oliver Wheeler Johnson had innocently alienated42 half Friendship Village. And this morning Calliope merely voiced what I knew to be the sentiment of most of Mrs. Johnson's neighbours and acquaintances. For these people are the kindly43 of earth; but they are of earth, where reign16 both the centrifugal and centripetal44 forces,—and the control is not always so swift as science and the human heart could wish.
At five o'clock to-day—the day set for the Java evening entertainment—I made my way to the engine-house. This was partly because I wished to be as much as possible with Calliope during her few days in the village, and partly it was because the affair would belong to the class of festivity which I am loath45 to miss, and I think that, for Friendship's sake, I will never willingly pass by a "hall" in which is to be found a like diversion. Already on the great room, receiving its final preparation, had descended46 something of the excited spirit of the evening: the heat, the insufficient47 light, the committee members' shrill48, rollicking children sliding on the floor, the[Pg 126] booths which in all bazaars49 contain with a precision fairly bewildering the same class of objects; and the inevitable sense of hurry and silk waists and aching feet and mustn't-take-your-change-back. But to all these things the Java engine-house affair would add an element of novelty, almost a flavour of romance. Certainly the room lent itself to "decoration probabilities," as Calliope had vaguely50 quoted; it had been a roller-skating rink, utilized51 by the fire-department on the decline of the pastime, and there was, as Mrs. Johnson's pièce de résistance, the fire-engine.
I had never before been in the engine-house—you know how there will be commonplace enough spots in your own town to which you never go: the engine-house, the church belfry, the wood yard, upstairs over this store and that, and grocery cellars whose sloping trap-doors, open now and then to the walk, are as alien as the inside of the trunks of your trees. When I stepped in the engine-house, it seemed insistently52 a place in which I had never been before. And this may have been partly because the whole idea of a village fire-department is to me singular: the waiting horses and ladders and hose, whose sole reason for being is merely ameliorative, and never human and preventive; that pealing53 of the sharp, peculiar54, terrifying alarm and summons first imprinting55 something on the very air, stabbing us[Pg 127] with Halt while we count the bell strokes for the ward10, and then clanging the wild fury of the quick-stroke command to help.
To-day the great glittering fire-engine, flanked by hose-cart and hook-and-ladder wagon, occupied almost wonderingly the head of the room which had been invaded, and an inspired committee had garlanded the engine with paper roses and American flags. The flag of the Netherlands, copied from a dictionary and wrought57 in red-white-and-blue cambric with a silver crown, drooped58 meditatively59 from the smoke-stack; a scarlet60 fez and a peacock-feather fan hung on the supply hose; and on the tongue-bracer was fixed61 a pink sofa cushion from Mis' Amanda Toplady's parlour, with an olive Indian gentleman in a tinsel zouave jacket stamped on the cover. On the two big sliding doors, back of which stood the fire company's horses, were tacked62 innumerable Javanese trifles more picturesque than authentic63; and on outlying booths and tables there were others. Directly before the engine was to be the tea-table, where Mis' Postmaster Sykes was to serve Java tea from a Java canister, loaned by the Post-office store.
As soon as I entered I sought out Calliope's booth, a huge affair constructed of rugs whose red-tongued, couchant dogs and bounding fawns64 somewhat marred65 the Eastern effect. And within, I[Pg 128] found myself in a circle of the Friendship women whom I know best—all of them tired with that deadly tiredness born of a day's work at a church fair of any nation. But at once I saw that it was not merely fatigue66 which was disquieting67 them.
Calliope was leaning against a bit of Bagelen blue, loaned by the new minister's wife. And she said to me as if, I thought, in explanation of what I was to hear,—"I guess we're all pretty tired. Most of us look like we wanted to pant. I'm all of a shake, myself."
When Mis' Postmaster Sykes spoke32 unsmilingly, I understood:—
"It ain't the bein' tired," she disclaimed68; "tired I can stand an' hev stood since my own birth. But it's the bein' commanded 'round—me, commanded—by that little I'm-the-one-an'-you-do-as-I-say out there!"
"Land-a-livin' an' a-dyin'!" said Mis' Holcomb-that-was-Mame-Bliss, "I declare if I know whether I'm on foot or on horseback. It's bad enough to hev to run a fair, without you've got to be run yourself, too. Ain't it enough for Mis' Johnson to be made chairman without her wantin' to boss besides? She might as well say to me, 'Mis' Holcomb, you do everything the opposite way from the way you've just done it,' an' hev it over with."
[Pg 129]
Mis' Amanda Toplady—even that great, tolerant Mis' Amanda—shook her head.
"Mis' Johnson surely acts used to bein' bowed down to," she admitted; "she seems fair bent69 on lordin' it. My land, if she wasn't bound to borrow my Tea rose plant that's just nearin' ready to bud."
Calliope laughed, a little ruefully, and wholly in sympathy.
"Honest," she said, "I guess what's the matter with all of us ain't so much what she does as the particular way she does it. It's so with some folks. They just seem to sort of set you all over, when you come near 'em—same as the cold does to gravy70. We'd all ought to wrostle with the feelin', I expect."
"I expect we had," said Mis' Holcomb, "but you could wrostle all your days with vinegar an' it'd pucker71 your mouth same way."
"Funny part," Calliope observed, "everybody feels just alike about her. When she skips around so sort o' momentous72, we all want to dodge73. I felt sorry for her, first, because I thought she was in for nervous prostration74. But after a while I see it wasn't disease—it was just her feelin' so up an' down significant, you might say."
"I donno," said Mis' Holcomb-that-was-Mame-Bliss, "but it's part the way she says her a's. That real a-soundin' a kind," she explained vaguely.
[Pg 130]
"She's so right an' left cuffy—I guess that's the whole thing," Calliope put it in her rich idiom.
"Well," said Mis' Amanda, sadly, "there must be somethin' we could like her for, even if it was only her husband."
"He ain't what I'd call much, either," Calliope dismissed Mr. Oliver Wheeler Johnson positively75; "he's got too soft-speakin' a voice. I like a man's voice to rumble76 up soft from his chest an' not slip down thin from his brain."
I remember that I listened in a great wonder to these women whom I had seen at many an office of friendliness77 to strangers and aliens. Yet as I looked across the floor at that little Mrs. Oliver Wheeler Johnson—who, in the hat with the blue plume, was everywhere, directing, altering, objecting, arranging, commanding and, especially, doing over—I most unwillingly78 felt much as they felt. If only Mrs. Johnson had not continually lifted her little pointed chin. If only she had not perpetually and ingratiatingly smiled when there was nothing at which to smile at all.
Then Abigail Arnold hurried up to us with a tray of cups for the Java tea.
"Calliope," she said to the chairman of the refreshments, "Mis' Johnson jus' put up her little chin an' says, 'What! ain't we no lemons for the tea?'"
[Pg 131]
Calliope compressed her lips and lifted their thin line tight and high.
"Lemins," she replied, "ain't necessarily found in Java. I've a good big mind to go home to bed."
Then we saw little Mrs. Johnson's blue linen79 dress hurrying toward us with the waving line of the blue feather above her, like a last little daring flourish by the artist of her. She was really very pretty and childish, with a manner of moving in wreaths and lines and never in solids. Her little feet twinkled along like the signature to the pretty picture of her. But yet she was not appealing. She was like an overconfident child whom you long to shut in a closet. Yes, I understand that I sound like a barbarian80 in these days of splendid corrective treatment of children who are studied and not stormed at. And in this treatment I believe to the uttermost. And yet, overconfidence in a child is of all things the most—I will amend81 what I said: Mrs. Oliver Wheeler Johnson was like an overconfident child whom you long to shut in a closet because of your ignorance of what else on earth to do. No doubt there is a better way, but none of us knew it. And she came toward us intent, every one felt, on some radical82 change in arrangements, though the big room was now in the pink of appointment and ready to be left while the committee went home to sup on[Pg 132] "just sauce and bread-and-butter," and to don silk waists.
We saw little Mrs. Johnson hurrying toward us, upon a background of the great, patient room, all-tolerant of its petty bedizening. And then Mrs. Johnson, we in Calliope's booth, the sliding, rollicking children, and all the others about stood still, at the sharp, peculiar terrifying alarm and summons which seemed to imprint56 something on the very air, stabbing us with Halt that we might count the bell strokes for the ward, and clanging a wild fury of the quick-stroke command to help. For the first time in two years the Friendship fire alarm was sounding from the tower above our heads.
There was a panting sweep and scurry83 for the edges of the room, as instantly a gong on the wall sounded with the alarm, and the two big sliding doors went back, scattering84 like feathers the innumerable Javanese trifles that had been tacked there. Forward, down the rug-hung vista85, plunged86 the two big horses of the department. We saw the Java tea-table borne to earth, the Javanese exhibits adorning87 outlying counters swept away, and all the "decoration probabilities" vanish in savage88 wreck89. Then the quaintly picturesque harnesses fell to the horses' necks, their hoofs90 trampled91 terrifyingly on the loose boards of the floor, and forth92 from the yawning doors the horses pounded, dragging the[Pg 133] pièce de résistance, with garlands on its sides, the pink zouave cushion crushed beneath it, and the flag of the Netherlands streaming from the stack. Horses rushed thither93 in competition, came thundering at the doors, and galloped94 to place before the two carts. I think not a full minute can have been consumed. But the ruin of the Java entertainment committee's work was unbelievably complete. Though there had been not a fire in Friendship Village in two years, that night, of all nights, Jimmy Sturgis's "hay-barn," for the omnibus horses, "took it on itself," it was said, "to go to work an' burn up." And Jimmy's barn is outside the city limits, so that the pièce de résistance had to be used. And Jimmy is in the fire-department, so that the company galloped informally to the rescue without the benefit of the mayor's authority.
As the last of the department disappeared, and the women of the committee stood looking at one another—tired with the deadly tiredness of a day such as theirs—a little blue linen figure sprang upon a chair and clasped her hands behind her, and a blue ostrich feather lifted and dipped as she spoke.
"Quickly!" Mrs. Oliver Wheeler Johnson cried. "All hands at work now! Mrs. Sykes, will you set up the tea-table? You can get more dishes from my house. Mrs. Toplady, this booth, please. You can make it right in no time. Mrs. Holcomb, you[Pg 134] will have to do your booth entirely95 over—you can get some things from my house. Miss Marsh—ah, Calliope Marsh, you must go to my house for my lace curtains—"
She smiled ingratiatingly and surely arbitrarily, for we all knew full well that there was absolutely nothing to smile at. And with that Calliope's indignation, as she afterward said, "kind of crystallized and boiled over." I remember how she stood, hugging her thin little arms and speaking her defiance96.
"I donno how you feel, Mis' Johnson," she said dryly, "but, my idea, Bedlam97 let loose ain't near quaint enough for a Java entertainment. Nor I don't think it's what you might say real Java, either. Things here looks to me too flexible. I'm goin' home an' go to bed."
There was no doubt what the rest meant to do. With one impulse they turned toward the door as Calliope turned, and silently they took the way that the pièce de résistance had taken before them. Little Mrs. Johnson stood on her chair making many gestures; but no one went back.
Calliope looked straight before her.
"My feet ache like I done my thinkin' with 'em," she said, "an' my head feels like I'd stood on it. An' what's it all for?"
"Regular clock performance," Mis' Postmaster[Pg 135] Sykes assented98. "We've ticked hard all day long an' ain't got a thing out of it. I often think it's that way with my housework, but I did think the Ladies' Missionary could tick, when it did tick, for eternity99. I'm tuckered to the bone."
"Nobody knows," said Mis' Holcomb-that-was Mame-Bliss, "how my poor neck aches. It's there I suffer first an' most."
Mis' Amanda Toplady, who was walking behind the rest, took three great steps and caught us up and spoke, a little breathlessly:—
"Land, land," she said, "I guess I'll go home an' pop some corn. Seems to me it'd smell sort of cosy100 an' homelike an' soothin' down. It's a grand thing to smell when you're feelin' far off from yourself."
Calliope laughed a little then.
"Well," she said, "anyhow I ain't got my silk waist to get into—and I didn't hev a nice one to put on anyway. I was wishin' I had, and now my wish has come true by bein' took away from me, bodily—like they will. But just the same—"
She turned on the walk and faced us, and hugged her thin little arms.
"A while ago," she said, "I give that little woman there six months to get herself the cold shoulder all around. Well, the time ain't up yet—but both my shoulders feels stone cold!"
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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buckled
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transcending
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的现在分词 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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willow
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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ostrich
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spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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stiffens
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| （使）变硬，（使）强硬( stiffen的第三人称单数 ) | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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bristle
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| v.（毛发）直立，气势汹汹，发怒；n.硬毛发 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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imperialism
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| n.帝国主义，帝国主义政策 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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pointed
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quaint
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streaked
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spatted
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quaintly
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picturesque
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valiant
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standing
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refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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28
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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29
potency
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| n. 效力，潜能 | |
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30
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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31
belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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36
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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marketing
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| n.行销，在市场的买卖，买东西 | |
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42
alienated
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| adj.感到孤独的，不合群的v.使疏远( alienate的过去式和过去分词 )；使不友好；转让；让渡（财产等） | |
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43
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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centripetal
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| adj.向心的 | |
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loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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46
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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47
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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bazaars
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| （东方国家的）市场( bazaar的名词复数 )； 义卖； 义卖市场； （出售花哨商品等的）小商品市场 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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51
utilized
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| v.利用，使用( utilize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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insistently
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| ad.坚持地 | |
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53
pealing
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的现在分词 ) | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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imprinting
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| n.胚教，铭记（动物生命早期即起作用的一种学习机能）；印记 | |
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imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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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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tacked
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| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
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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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fawns
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| n.（未满一岁的）幼鹿( fawn的名词复数 )；浅黄褐色；乞怜者；奉承者v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的第三人称单数 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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disclaimed
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| v.否认( disclaim的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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pucker
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| v.撅起，使起皱；n.（衣服上的）皱纹，褶子 | |
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momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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73
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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74
prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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81
amend
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| vt.修改，修订，改进；n.[pl.]赔罪，赔偿 | |
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82
radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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83
scurry
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| vi.急匆匆地走；使急赶；催促；n.快步急跑，疾走；仓皇奔跑声；骤雨，骤雪；短距离赛马 | |
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84
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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85
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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86
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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87
adorning
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| 修饰，装饰物 | |
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88
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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89
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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90
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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91
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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92
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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93
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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94
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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95
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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96
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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97
bedlam
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| n.混乱，骚乱；疯人院 | |
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98
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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