Our friend Tom, in his own simple musings, often compared his more fortunate lot, in the bondage1 into which he was cast, with that of Joseph in Egypt; and, in fact, as time went on, and he developed more and more under the eye of his master, the strength of the parallel increased.
St. Clare was indolent and careless of money. Hitherto the providing and marketing2 had been principally done by Adolph, who was, to the full, as careless and extravagant3 as his master; and, between them both, they had carried on the dispersing4 process with great alacrity5. Accustomed, for many years, to regard his master's property as his own care, Tom saw, with an uneasiness he could scarcely repress, the wasteful6 expenditure7 of the establishment; and, in the quiet, indirect way which his class often acquire, would sometimes make his own suggestions.
St. Clare at first employed him occasionally; but, struck with his soundness of mind and good business capacity, he confided8 in him more and more, till gradually all the marketing and providing for the family were intrusted to him.
"No, no, Adolph," he said, one day, as Adolph was deprecating the passing of power out of his hands; "let Tom alone. You only understand what you want; Tom understands cost and come to; and there may be some end to money, bye and bye if we don't let somebody do that."
Trusted to an unlimited9 extent by a careless master, who handed him a bill without looking at it, and pocketed the change without counting it, Tom had every facility and temptation to dishonesty; and nothing but an impregnable simplicity10 of nature, strengthened by Christian11 faith, could have kept him from it. But, to that nature, the very unbounded trust reposed12 in him was bond and seal for the most scrupulous14 accuracy.
With Adolph the case had been different. Thoughtless and self-indulgent, and unrestrained by a master who found it easier to indulge than to regulate, he had fallen into an absolute confusion as to _meum tuum_ with regard to himself and his master, which sometimes troubled even St. Clare. His own good sense taught him that such a training of his servants was unjust and dangerous. A sort of chronic15 remorse16 went with him everywhere, although not strong enough to make any decided17 change in his course; and this very remorse reacted again into indulgence. He passed lightly over the most serious faults, because he told himself that, if he had done his part, his dependents had not fallen into them.
Tom regarded his gay, airy, handsome young master with an odd mixture of fealty18, reverence19, and fatherly solicitude20. That he never read the Bible; never went to church; that he jested and made free with any and every thing that came in the way of his wit; that he spent his Sunday evenings at the opera or theatre; that he went to wine parties, and clubs, and suppers, oftener than was at all expedient,--were all things that Tom could see as plainly as anybody, and on which he based a conviction that "Mas'r wasn't a Christian;"--a conviction, however, which he would have been very slow to express to any one else, but on which he founded many prayers, in his own simple fashion, when he was by himself in his little dormitory. Not that Tom had not his own way of speaking his mind occasionally, with something of the tact21 often observable in his class; as, for example, the very day after the Sabbath we have described, St. Clare was invited out to a convivial22 party of choice spirits, and was helped home, between one and two o'clock at night, in a condition when the physical had decidedly attained23 the upper hand of the intellectual. Tom and Adolph assisted to get him composed for the night, the latter in high spirits, evidently regarding the matter as a good joke, and laughing heartily24 at the rusticity25 of Tom's horror, who really was simple enough to lie awake most of the rest of the night, praying for his young master.
"Well, Dom, what are you waiting for?" said St. Clare, the next day, as he sat in his library, in dressing-gown and slippers26. St. Clare had just been entrusting27 Tom with some money, and various commissions. "Isn't all right there, Tom?" he added, as Tom still stood waiting.
"I'm 'fraid not, Mas'r," said Tom, with a grave face.
St. Clare laid down his paper, and set down his coffee-cup, and looked at Tom.
"Why Tom, what's the case? You look as solemn as a coffin28."
"I feel very bad, Mas'r. I allays29 have thought that Mas'r would be good to everybody."
"Well, Tom, haven't I been? Come, now, what do you want? There's something you haven't got, I suppose, and this is the preface."
"Mas'r allays been good to me. I haven't nothing to complain of on that head. But there is one that Mas'r isn't good to."
"Why, Tom, what's got into you? Speak out; what do you mean?"
"Last night, between one and two, I thought so. I studied upon the matter then. Mas'r isn't good to _himself_."
Tom said this with his back to his master, and his hand on the door-knob. St. Clare felt his face flush crimson30, but he laughed.
"O, that's all, is it?" he said, gayly.
"All!" said Tom, turning suddenly round and falling on his knees. "O, my dear young Mas'r; I'm 'fraid it will be _loss of all--all_--body and soul. The good Book says, `it biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder31!' my dear Mas'r!"
Tom's voice choked, and the tears ran down his cheeks.
"You poor, silly fool!" said St. Clare, with tears in his own eyes. "Get up, Tom. I'm not worth crying over."
But Tom wouldn't rise, and looked imploring32.
"Well, I won't go to any more of their cursed nonsense, Tom," said St. Clare; "on my honor, I won't. I don't know why I haven't stopped long ago. I've always despised _it_, and myself for it,--so now, Tom, wipe up your eyes, and go about your errands. Come, come," he added, "no blessings34. I'm not so wonderfully good, now," he said, as he gently pushed Tom to the door. "There, I'll pledge my honor to you, Tom, you don't see me so again," he said; and Tom went off, wiping his eyes, with great satisfaction.
"I'll keep my faith with him, too," said St. Clare, as he closed the door.
And St. Clare did so,--for gross sensualism, in any form, was not the peculiar35 temptation of his nature.
But, all this time, who shall detail the tribulations36 manifold of our friend Miss Ophelia, who had begun the labors37 of a Southern housekeeper38?
There is all the difference in the world in the servants of Southern establishments, according to the character and capacity of the mistresses who have brought them up.
South as well as north, there are women who have an extraordinary talent for command, and tact in educating. Such are enabled, with apparent ease, and without severity, to subject to their will, and bring into harmonious39 and systematic40 order, the various members of their small estate,--to regulate their peculiarities41, and so balance and compensate42 the deficiencies of one by the excess of another, as to produce a harmonious and orderly system.
Such a housekeeper was Mrs. Shelby, whom we have already described; and such our readers may remember to have met with. If they are not common at the South, it is because they are not common in the world. They are to be found there as often as anywhere; and, when existing, find in that peculiar state of society a brilliant opportunity to exhibit their domestic talent.
Such a housekeeper Marie St. Clare was not, nor her mother before her. Indolent and childish, unsystematic and improvident43, it was not to be expected that servants trained under her care should not be so likewise; and she had very justly described to Miss Ophelia the state of confusion she would find in the family, though she had not ascribed it to the proper cause.
The first morning of her regency, Miss Ophelia was up at four o'clock; and having attended to all the adjustments of her own chamber44, as she had done ever since she came there, to the great amazement45 of the chambermaid, she prepared for a vigorous onslaught on the cupboards and closets of the establishment of which she had the keys.
The store-room, the linen-presses, the china-closet, the kitchen and cellar, that day, all went under an awful review. Hidden things of darkness were brought to light to an extent that alarmed all the principalities and powers of kitchen and chamber, and caused many wonderings and murmurings about "dese yer northern ladies" from the domestic cabinet.
Old Dinah, the head cook, and principal of all rule and authority in the kitchen department, was filled with wrath46 at what she considered an invasion of privilege. No feudal47 baron48 in _Magna Charta_ times could have more thoroughly49 resented some incursion of the crown.
Dinah was a character in her own way, and it would be injustice50 to her memory not to give the reader a little idea of her. She was a native and essential cook, as much as Aunt Chloe,-cooking being an indigenous51 talent of the African race; but Chloe was a trained and methodical one, who moved in an orderly domestic harness, while Dinah was a self-taught genius, and, like geniuses in general, was positive, opinionated and erratic52, to the last degree.
Like a certain class of modern philosophers, Dinah perfectly53 scorned logic54 and reason in every shape, and always took refuge in intuitive certainty; and here she was perfectly impregnable. No possible amount of talent, or authority, or explanation, could ever make her believe that any other way was better than her own, or that the course she had pursued in the smallest matter could be in the least modified. This had been a conceded point with her old mistress, Marie's mother; and "Miss Marie," as Dinah always called her young mistress, even after her marriage, found it easier to submit than contend; and so Dinah had ruled supreme55. This was the easier, in that she was perfect mistress of that diplomatic art which unites the utmost subservience56 of manner with the utmost inflexibility57 as to measure.
Dinah was mistress of the whole art and mystery of excuse-making, in all its branches. Indeed, it was an axiom with her that the cook can do no wrong; and a cook in a Southern kitchen finds abundance of heads and shoulders on which to lay off every sin and frailty58, so as to maintain her own immaculateness entire. If any part of the dinner was a failure, there were fifty indisputably good reasons for it; and it was the fault undeniably of fifty other people, whom Dinah berated59 with unsparing zeal60.
But it was very seldom that there was any failure in Dinah's last results. Though her mode of doing everything was peculiarly meandering61 and circuitous62, and without any sort of calculation as to time and place,--though her kitchen generally looked as if it had been arranged by a hurricane blowing through it, and she had about as many places for each cooking utensil63 as there were days in the year,--yet, if one would have patience to wait her own good time, up would come her dinner in perfect order, and in a style of preparation with which an epicure64 could find no fault.
It was now the season of incipient65 preparation for dinner. Dinah, who required large intervals66 of reflection and repose13, and was studious of ease in all her arrangements, was seated on the kitchen floor, smoking a short, stumpy pipe, to which she was much addicted67, and which she always kindled68 up, as a sort of censer, whenever she felt the need of an inspiration in her arrangements. It was Dinah's mode of invoking69 the domestic Muses70.
Seated around her were various members of that rising race with which a Southern household abounds71, engaged in shelling peas, peeling potatoes, picking pin-feathers out of fowls72, and other preparatory arrangements,--Dinah every once in a while interrupting her meditations74 to give a poke75, or a rap on the head, to some of the young operators, with the pudding-stick that lay by her side. In fact, Dinah ruled over the woolly heads of the younger members with a rod of iron, and seemed to consider them born for no earthly purpose but to "save her steps," as she phrased it. It was the spirit of the system under which she had grown up, and she carried it out to its full extent.
Miss Ophelia, after passing on her reformatory tour through all the other parts of the establishment, now entered the kitchen. Dinah had heard, from various sources, what was going on, and resolved to stand on defensive76 and conservative ground,--mentally determined77 to oppose and ignore every new measure, without any actual observable contest.
The kitchen was a large brick-floored apartment, with a great old-fashioned fireplace stretching along one side of it,--an arrangement which St. Clare had vainly tried to persuade Dinah to exchange for the convenience of a modern cook-stove. Not she. No Puseyite,[1] or conservative of any school, was ever more inflexibly78 attached to time-honored inconveniences than Dinah.
[1] Edward Bouverie Pusey (1800-1882), champion of the orthodoxy of revealed religion, defender79 of the Oxford80 movement, and Regius professor of Hebrew and Canon of Christ Church, Oxford.
When St. Clare had first returned from the north, impressed with the system and order of his uncle's kitchen arrangements, he had largely provided his own with an array of cupboards, drawers, and various apparatus81, to induce systematic regulation, under the sanguine82 illusion that it would be of any possible assistance to Dinah in her arrangements. He might as well have provided them for a squirrel or a magpie83. The more drawers and closets there were, the more hiding-holes could Dinah make for the accommodation of old rags, hair-combs, old shoes, ribbons, cast-off artificial flowers, and other articles of _vertu_, wherein her soul delighted.
When Miss Ophelia entered the kitchen Dinah did not rise, but smoked on in sublime84 tranquillity85, regarding her movements obliquely86 out of the corner of her eye, but apparently87 intent only on the operations around her.
Miss Ophelia commenced opening a set of drawers.
"What is this drawer for, Dinah?" she said.
"It's handy for most anything, Missis," said Dinah. So it appeared to be. From the variety it contained, Miss Ophelia pulled out first a fine damask table-cloth stained with blood, having evidently been used to envelop88 some raw meat.
"What's this, Dinah? You don't wrap up meat in your mistress' best table-cloths?"
"O Lor, Missis, no; the towels was all a missin'--so I jest did it. I laid out to wash that a,--that's why I put it thar."
"Shif'less!" said Miss Ophelia to herself, proceeding89 to tumble over the drawer, where she found a nutmeg-grater and two or three nutmegs, a Methodist hymn-book, a couple of soiled Madras handkerchiefs, some yarn90 and knitting-work, a paper of tobacco and a pipe, a few crackers91, one or two gilded92 china-saucers with some pomade in them, one or two thin old shoes, a piece of flannel93 carefully pinned up enclosing some small white onions, several damask table-napkins, some coarse crash towels, some twine94 and darning-needles, and several broken papers, from which sundry95 sweet herbs were sifting96 into the drawer.
"Where do you keep your nutmegs, Dinah?" said Miss Ophelia, with the air of one who prayed for patience.
"Most anywhar, Missis; there's some in that cracked tea-cup, up there, and there's some over in that ar cupboard."
"Here are some in the grater," said Miss Ophelia, holding them up.
"Laws, yes, I put 'em there this morning,--I likes to keep my things handy," said Dinah. "You, Jake! what are you stopping for! You'll cotch it! Be still, thar!" she added, with a dive of her stick at the criminal.
"What's this?" said Miss Ophelia, holding up the saucer of pomade.
"Laws, it's my har _grease_;--I put it thar to have it handy."
"Do you use your mistress' best saucers for that?"
"Law! it was cause I was driv, and in sich a hurry;--I was gwine to change it this very day."
"Here are two damask table-napkins."
"Them table-napkins I put thar, to get 'em washed out, some day."
"Don't you have some place here on purpose for things to `e washed?"
"Well, Mas'r St. Clare got dat ar chest, he said, for dat; but I likes to mix up biscuit and hev my things on it some days, and then it an't handy a liftin' up the lid."
"Why don't you mix your biscuits on the pastry-table, there?"
"Law, Missis, it gets sot so full of dishes, and one thing and another, der an't no room, noway--"
"But you should _wash_ your dishes, and clear them away."
"Wash my dishes!" said Dinah, in a high key, as her wrath began to rise over her habitual97 respect of manner; "what does ladies know 'bout33 work, I want to know? When 'd Mas'r ever get his dinner, if I vas to spend all my time a washin' and a puttin' up dishes? Miss Marie never telled me so, nohow."
"Well, here are these onions."
"Laws, yes!" said Dinah; "thar _is_ whar I put 'em, now. I couldn't 'member. Them 's particular onions I was a savin' for dis yer very stew98. I'd forgot they was in dat ar old flannel."
Miss Ophelia lifted out the sifting papers of sweet herbs.
"I wish Missis wouldn't touch dem ar. I likes to keep my things where I knows whar to go to 'em," said Dinah, rather decidedly.
"But you don't want these holes in the papers."
"Them 's handy for siftin' on 't out," said Dinah.
"But you see it spills all over the drawer."
"Laws, yes! if Missis will go a tumblin' things all up so, it will. Missis has spilt lots dat ar way," said Dinah, coming uneasily to the drawers. "If Missis only will go up stars till my clarin' up time comes, I'll have everything right; but I can't do nothin' when ladies is round, a henderin'. You, Sam, don't you gib the baby dat ar sugar-bowl! I'll crack ye over, if ye don't mind!"
"I'm going through the kitchen, and going to put everything in order, _once_, Dinah; and then I'll expect you to _keep_ it so."
"Lor, now! Miss Phelia; dat ar an't no way for ladies to do. I never did see ladies doin' no sich; my old Missis nor Miss Marie never did, and I don't see no kinder need on 't;" and Dinah stalked indignantly about, while Miss Ophelia piled and sorted dishes, emptied dozens of scattering99 bowls of sugar into one receptacle, sorted napkins, table-cloths, and towels, for washing; washing, wiping, and arranging with her own hands, and with a speed and alacrity which perfectly amazed Dinah.
"Lor now! if dat ar de way dem northern ladies do, dey an't ladies, nohow," she said to some of her satellites, when at a safe hearing distance. "I has things as straight as anybody, when my clarin' up times comes; but I don't want ladies round, a henderin', and getting my things all where I can't find 'em."
To do Dinah justice, she had, at irregular periods, paroxyms of reformation and arrangement, which she called "clarin' up times," when she would begin with great zeal, and turn every drawer and closet wrong side outward, on to the floor or tables, and make the ordinary confusion seven-fold more confounded. Then she would light her pipe, and leisurely100 go over her arrangements, looking things over, and discoursing101 upon them; making all the young fry scour102 most vigorously on the tin things, and keeping up for several hours a most energetic state of confusion, which she would explain to the satisfaction of all inquirers, by the remark that she was a "clarin' up." "She couldn't hev things a gwine on so as they had been, and she was gwine to make these yer young ones keep better order;" for Dinah herself, somehow, indulged the illusion that she, herself, was the soul of order, and it was only the _young uns_, and the everybody else in the house, that were the cause of anything that fell short of perfection in this respect. When all the tins were scoured103, and the tables scrubbed snowy white, and everything that could offend tucked out of sight in holes and corners, Dinah would dress herself up in a smart dress, clean apron104, and high, brilliant Madras turban, and tell all marauding "young uns" to keep out of the kitchen, for she was gwine to have things kept nice. Indeed, these periodic seasons were often an inconvenience to the whole household; for Dinah would contract such an immoderate attachment105 to her scoured tin, as to insist upon it that it shouldn't be used again for any possible purpose,--at least, till the ardor106 of the "clarin' up" period abated107.
Miss Ophelia, in a few days, thoroughly reformed every department of the house to a systematic pattern; but her labors in all departments that depended on the cooperation of servants were like those of Sisyphus or the Danaides. In despair, she one day appealed to St. Clare.
"There is no such thing as getting anything like a system in this family!"
"To be sure, there isn't," said St. Clare.
"Such shiftless management, such waste, such confusion, I never saw!"
"I dare say you didn't."
"You would not take it so coolly, if you were housekeeper."
"My dear cousin, you may as well understand, once for all, that we masters are divided into two classes, oppressors and oppressed. We who are good-natured and hate severity make up our minds to a good deal of inconvenience. If we _will keep_ a shambling, loose, untaught set in the community, for our convenience, why, we must take the consequence. Some rare cases I have seen, of persons, who, by a peculiar tact, can produce order and system without severity; but I'm not one of them,--and so I made up my mind, long ago, to let things go just as they do. I will not have the poor devils thrashed and cut to pieces, and they know it,--and, of course, they know the staff is in their own hands."
"But to have no time, no place, no order,--all going on in this shiftless way!"
"My dear Vermont, you natives up by the North Pole set an extravagant value on time! What on earth is the use of time to a fellow who has twice as much of it as he knows what to do with? As to order and system, where there is nothing to be done but to lounge on the sofa and read, an hour sooner or later in breakfast or dinner isn't of much account. Now, there's Dinah gets you a capital dinner,--soup, ragout, roast fowl73, dessert, ice-creams and all,--and she creates it all out of chaos108 and old night down there, in that kitchen. I think it really sublime, the way she manages. But, Heaven bless us! if we are to go down there, and view all the smoking and squatting109 about, and hurryscurryation of the preparatory process, we should never eat more! My good cousin, absolve110 yourself from that! It's more than a Catholic penance111, and does no more good. You'll only lose your own temper, and utterly112 confound Dinah. Let her go her own way."
But, Augustine, you don't know how I found things."
"Don't I? Don't I know that the rolling-pin is under her bed, and the nutmeg-grater in her pocket with her tobacco,--that there are sixty-five different sugar-bowls, one in every hole in the house,--that she washes dishes with a dinner-napkin one day, and with a fragment of an old petticoat the next? But the upshot is, she gets up glorious dinners, makes superb coffee; and you must judge her as warriors113 and statesmen are judged, _by her success_."
"But the waste,--the expense!"
"O, well! Lock everything you can, and keep the key. Give out by driblets, and never inquire for odds114 and ends,--it isn't best."
"That troubles me, Augustine. I can't help feeling as if these servants were not _strictly honest_. Are you sure they can be relied on?"
Augustine laughed immoderately at the grave and anxious face with which Miss Ophelia propounded115 the question.
"O, cousin, that's too good,--_honest!_--as if that's a thing to be expected! Honest!--why, of course, they arn't. Why should they be? What upon earth is to make them so?"
"Why don't you instruct?"
"Instruct! O, fiddlestick! What instructing do you think I should do? I look like it! As to Marie, she has spirit enough, to be sure, to kill off a whole plantation116, if I'd let her manage; but she wouldn't get the cheatery out of them."
"Are there no honest ones?"
"Well, now and then one, whom Nature makes so impracticably simple, truthful117 and faithful, that the worst possible influence can't destroy it. But, you see, from the mother's breast the colored child feels and sees that there are none but underhand ways open to it. It can get along no other way with its parents, its mistress, its young master and missie play-fellows. Cunning and deception118 become necessary, inevitable119 habits. It isn't fair to expect anything else of him. He ought not to be punished for it. As to honesty, the slave is kept in that dependent, semi-childish state, that there is no making him realize the rights of property, or feel that his master's goods are not his own, if he can get them. For my part, I don't see how they _can_ be honest. Such a fellow as Tom, here, is,--is a moral miracle!"
"And what becomes of their souls?" said Miss Ophelia.
"That isn't my affair, as I know of," said St. Clare; "I am only dealing120 in facts of the present life. The fact is, that the whole race are pretty generally understood to be turned over to the devil, for our benefit, in this world, however it may turn out in another!"
"This is perfectly horrible!" said Miss Ophelia; you ought to be ashamed of yourselves!"
"I don't know as I am. We are in pretty good company, for all that," said St. Clare, "as people in the broad road generally are. Look at the high and the low, all the world over, and it's the same story,--the lower class used up, body, soul and spirit, for the good of the upper. It is so in England; it is so everywhere; and yet all Christendom stands aghast, with virtuous121 indignation, because we do the thing in a little different shape from what they do it."
"It isn't so in Vermont."
"Ah, well, in New England, and in the free States, you have the better of us, I grant. But there's the bell; so, Cousin, let us for a while lay aside our sectional prejudices, and come out to dinner."
As Miss Ophelia was in the kitchen in the latter part of the afternoon, some of the sable122 children called out, "La, sakes! thar's Prue a coming, grunting123 along like she allers does."
A tall, bony colored woman now entered the kitchen, bearing on her head a basket of rusks and hot rolls.
"Ho, Prue! you've come," said Dinah.
Prue had a peculiar scowling124 expression of countenance125, and a sullen126, grumbling127 voice. She set down her basket, squatted128 herself down, and resting her elbows on her knees said,
"O Lord! I wish't I 's dead!"
"Why do you wish you were dead?" said Miss Ophelia.
"I'd be out o' my misery129," said the woman, gruffly, without taking her eyes from the floor.
"What need you getting drunk, then, and cutting up, Prue?" said a spruce quadroon chambermaid, dangling130, as she spoke131, a pair of coral ear-drops.
The woman looked at her with a sour surly glance.
"Maybe you'll come to it, one of these yer days. I'd be glad to see you, I would; then you'll be glad of a drop, like me, to forget your misery."
"Come, Prue," said Dinah, "let's look at your rusks. Here's Missis will pay for them."
Miss Ophelia took out a couple of dozen.
"Thar's some tickets in that ar old cracked jug132 on the top shelf," said Dinah. "You, Jake, climb up and get it down."
"Tickets,--what are they for?" said Miss Ophelia.
"We buy tickets of her Mas'r, and she gives us bread for 'em."
"And they counts my money and tickets, when I gets home, to see if I 's got the change; and if I han't, they half kills me."
"And serves you right," said Jane, the pert chambermaid, "if you will take their money to get drunk on. That's what she does, Missis."
"And that's what I _will_ do,--I can't live no other ways,--drink and forget my misery."
"You are very wicked and very foolish," said Miss Ophelia, "to steal your master's money to make yourself a brute133 with."
"It's mighty134 likely, Missis; but I will do it,--yes, will. O Lord! I wish I 's dead, I do,--I wish I 's dead, and out of my misery!" and slowly and stiffly the old creature rose, and got her basket on her head again; but before she went out, she looked at the quadroon girt, who still stood playing with her ear-drops.
"Ye think ye're mighty fine with them ar, a frolickin' and a tossin' your head, and a lookin' down on everybody. Well, never mind,--you may live to be a poor, old, cut-up crittur, like me. Hope to the Lord ye will, I do; then see if ye won't drink,--drink,--drink,--yerself into torment135; and sarve ye right, too--ugh!" and, with a malignant136 howl, the woman left the room.
"Disgusting old beast!" said Adolph, who was getting his master's shaving-water. "If I was her master, I'd cut her up worse than she is."
"Ye couldn't do that ar, no ways," said Dinah. "Her back's a far sight now,--she can't never get a dress together over it."
"I think such low creatures ought not to be allowed to go round to genteel families," said Miss Jane. "What do you think, Mr. St. Clare?" she said, coquettishly tossing her head at Adolph.
It must be observed that, among other appropriations137 from his master's stock, Adolph was in the habit of adopting his name and address; and that the style under which he moved, among the colored circles of New Orleans, was that of _Mr. St. Clare_.
"I'm certainly of your opinion, Miss Benoir," said Adolph.
Benoir was the name of Marie St. Clare's family, and Jane was one of her servants.
""ray, Miss Benoir, may I be allowed to ask if those drops are for the ball, tomorrow night? They are certainly bewitching!"
"I wonder, now, Mr. St. Clare, what the impudence138 of you men will come to!" said Jane, tossing her pretty head til the ear-drops twinkled again. "I shan't dance with you for a whole evening, if you go to asking me any more questions."
"O, you couldn't be so cruel, now! I was just dying to know whether you would appear in your pink tarletane," said Adolph.
"What is it?" said Rosa, a bright, piquant139 little quadroon who came skipping down stairs at this moment.
"Why, Mr. St. Clare's so impudent140!"
"On my honor," said Adolph, "I'll leave it to Miss Rosa now."
"I know he's always a saucy141 creature," said Rosa, poising142 herself on one of her little feet, and looking maliciously143 at Adolph. "He's always getting me so angry with him."
"O! ladies, ladies, you will certainly break my heart, between you," said Adolph. "I shall be found dead in my bed, some morning, and you'll have it to answer for."
"Do hear the horrid144 creature talk!" said both ladies, laughing immoderately.
"Come,--clar out, you! I can't have you cluttering145 up the kitchen," said Dinah; "in my way, foolin' round here."
"Aunt Dinah's glum146, because she can't go to the ball," said Rosa.
"Don't want none o' your light-colored balls," said Dinah; "cuttin' round, makin' b'lieve you's white folks. Arter all, you's niggers, much as I am."
"Aunt Dinah greases her wool stiff, every day, to make it lie straight," said Jane.
"And it will be wool, after all," said Rosa, maliciously shaking down her long, silky curls.
"Well, in the Lord's sight, an't wool as good as bar, any time?" said Dinah. "I'd like to have Missis say which is worth the most,--a couple such as you, or one like me. Get out wid ye, ye trumpery,--I won't have ye round!"
Here the conversation was interrupted in a two-fold manner. St. Clare's voice was heard at the head of the stairs, asking Adolph if he meant to stay all night with his shaving-water; and Miss Ophelia, coming out of the dining-room, said,
"Jane and Rosa, what are you wasting your time for, here? Go in and attend to your muslins."
Our friend Tom, who had been in the kitchen during the conversation with the old rusk-woman, had followed her out into the street. He saw her go on, giving every once in a while a suppressed groan147. At last she set her basket down on a doorstep, and began arranging the old, faded shawl which covered her shoulders.
"I'll carry your basket a piece," said Tom, compassionately148.
"Why should ye?" said the woman. "I don't want no help."
"You seem to be sick, or in trouble, or somethin'," said Tom.
"I an't sick," said the woman, shortly.
"I wish," said Tom, looking at her earnestly,--"I wish I could persuade you to leave off drinking. Don't you know it will be the ruin of ye, body and soul?"
"I knows I'm gwine to torment," said the woman, sullenly149. "Ye don't need to tell me that ar. I 's ugly, I 's wicked,-I 's gwine straight to torment. O, Lord! I wish I 's thar!"
Tom shuddered150 at these frightful151 words, spoken with a sullen, impassioned earnestness.
"O, Lord have mercy on ye! poor crittur. Han't ye never heard of Jesus Christ?"
"Jesus Christ,--who's he?"
"Why, he's _the Lord_," said Tom.
"I think I've hearn tell o' the Lord, and the judgment152 and torment. I've heard o' that."
"But didn't anybody ever tell you of the Lord Jesus, that loved us poor sinners, and died for us?"
"Don't know nothin' 'bout that," said the woman; "nobody han't never loved me, since my old man died."
"Where was you raised?" said Tom.
"Up in Kentuck. A man kept me to breed chil'en for market, and sold 'em as fast as they got big enough; last of all, he sold me to a speculator, and my Mas'r got me o' him."
"What set you into this bad way of drinkin'?"
"To get shet o' my misery. I had one child after I come here; and I thought then I'd have one to raise, cause Mas'r wasn't a speculator. It was de peartest little thing! and Missis she qeemed to think a heap on 't, at first; it never cried,--it was likely and fat. But Missis tuck sick, and I tended her; and I tuck the fever, and my milk all left me, and the child it pined to skin and bone, and Missis wouldn't buy milk for it. She wouldn't hear to me, when I telled her I hadn't milk. She said she knowed I could feed it on what other folks eat; and the child kinder pined, and cried, and cried, and cried, day and night, and got all gone to skin and bones, and Missis got sot agin it and she said 't wan't nothin' but crossness. She wished it was dead, she said; and she wouldn't let me have it o' nights, cause, she said, it kept me awake, and made me good for nothing. She made me sleep in her room; and I had to put it away off in a little kind o' garret, and thar it cried itself to death, one night. It did; and I tuck to drinkin', to keep its crying out of my ears! I did,--and I will drink! I will, if I do go to torment for it! Mas'r says I shall go to torment, and I tell him I've got thar now!"
"O, ye poor crittur!" said Tom, "han't nobody never telled ye how the Lord Jesus loved ye, and died for ye? Han't they telled ye that he'll help ye, and ye can go to heaven, and have rest, at last?"
"I looks like gwine to heaven," said the woman; "an't thar where white folks is gwine? S'pose they'd have me thar? I'd rather go to torment, and get away from Mas'r and Missis. I had _so_," she said, as with her usual groan, she got her basket on her head, and walked sullenly away.
Tom turned, and walked sorrowfully back to the house. In the court he met little Eva,--a crown of tuberoses on her head, and her eyes radiant with delight.
"O, Tom! here you are. I'm glad I've found you. Papa says you may get out the ponies153, and take me in my little new carriage," she said, catching154 his hand. "But what's the matter Tom?--you look sober."
"I feel bad, Miss Eva," said Tom, sorrowfully. "But I'll get the horses for you."
"But do tell me, Tom, what is the matter. I saw you talking to cross old Prue."
Tom, in simple, earnest phrase, told Eva the woman's history. She did not exclaim or wonder, or weep, as other children do. Her cheeks grew pale, and a deep, earnest shadow passed over her eyes. She laid both hands on her bosom155, and sighed heavily.
收听单词发音 |
1
bondage
|
|
| n.奴役，束缚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
marketing
|
|
| n.行销，在市场的买卖，买东西 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
extravagant
|
|
| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
dispersing
|
|
| adj. 分散的 动词disperse的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
alacrity
|
|
| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
wasteful
|
|
| adj.（造成）浪费的，挥霍的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
expenditure
|
|
| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
confided
|
|
| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
unlimited
|
|
| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
reposed
|
|
| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
scrupulous
|
|
| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
chronic
|
|
| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
remorse
|
|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
fealty
|
|
| n.忠贞，忠节 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
reverence
|
|
| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
solicitude
|
|
| n.焦虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
tact
|
|
| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
convivial
|
|
| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
attained
|
|
| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
heartily
|
|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
rusticity
|
|
| n.乡村的特点、风格或气息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
slippers
|
|
| n. 拖鞋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
entrusting
|
|
| v.委托，托付( entrust的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
coffin
|
|
| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
allays
|
|
| v.减轻，缓和( allay的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
crimson
|
|
| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
adder
|
|
| n.蝰蛇；小毒蛇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
imploring
|
|
| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
bout
|
|
| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
blessings
|
|
| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
tribulations
|
|
| n.苦难( tribulation的名词复数 )；艰难；苦难的缘由；痛苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
labors
|
|
| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
housekeeper
|
|
| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
harmonious
|
|
| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
systematic
|
|
| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
peculiarities
|
|
| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
compensate
|
|
| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
improvident
|
|
| adj.不顾将来的，不节俭的，无远见的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
feudal
|
|
| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
baron
|
|
| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
injustice
|
|
| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
indigenous
|
|
| adj.土产的，土生土长的，本地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
erratic
|
|
| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
logic
|
|
| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
subservience
|
|
| n.有利，有益；从属（地位），附属性；屈从，恭顺；媚态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
inflexibility
|
|
| n.不屈性，顽固，不变性；不可弯曲；非挠性；刚性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
frailty
|
|
| n.脆弱；意志薄弱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
berated
|
|
| v.严厉责备，痛斥( berate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
zeal
|
|
| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
meandering
|
|
| 蜿蜒的河流，漫步，聊天 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
circuitous
|
|
| adj.迂回的路的，迂曲的，绕行的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
utensil
|
|
| n.器皿，用具 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
epicure
|
|
| n.行家，美食家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
incipient
|
|
| adj.起初的，发端的，初期的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
intervals
|
|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
addicted
|
|
| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
kindled
|
|
| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
invoking
|
|
| v.援引( invoke的现在分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
muses
|
|
| v.沉思，冥想( muse的第三人称单数 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
abounds
|
|
| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
fowls
|
|
| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
fowl
|
|
| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
meditations
|
|
| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
poke
|
|
| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
defensive
|
|
| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
inflexibly
|
|
| adv.不屈曲地，不屈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
defender
|
|
| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
Oxford
|
|
| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
apparatus
|
|
| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
sanguine
|
|
| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
magpie
|
|
| n.喜欢收藏物品的人，喜鹊，饶舌者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
sublime
|
|
| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
tranquillity
|
|
| n. 平静, 安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
obliquely
|
|
| adv.斜； 倾斜； 间接； 不光明正大 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
envelop
|
|
| vt.包，封，遮盖；包围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
proceeding
|
|
| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
yarn
|
|
| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
crackers
|
|
| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
gilded
|
|
| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
flannel
|
|
| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
twine
|
|
| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
sundry
|
|
| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
sifting
|
|
| n.筛，过滤v.筛( sift的现在分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
habitual
|
|
| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
stew
|
|
| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
scattering
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
leisurely
|
|
| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
discoursing
|
|
| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
scour
|
|
| v.搜索；擦，洗，腹泻，冲刷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
scoured
|
|
| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
apron
|
|
| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
attachment
|
|
| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
ardor
|
|
| n.热情，狂热 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
abated
|
|
| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
chaos
|
|
| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
squatting
|
|
| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
absolve
|
|
| v.赦免，解除（责任等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
penance
|
|
| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
warriors
|
|
| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
odds
|
|
| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
propounded
|
|
| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
plantation
|
|
| n.种植园，大农场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
truthful
|
|
| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
deception
|
|
| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
dealing
|
|
| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
virtuous
|
|
| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
sable
|
|
| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
grunting
|
|
| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
scowling
|
|
| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
sullen
|
|
| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
grumbling
|
|
| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
squatted
|
|
| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
dangling
|
|
| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
jug
|
|
| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
brute
|
|
| n.野兽，兽性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
torment
|
|
| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
malignant
|
|
| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
appropriations
|
|
| n.挪用（appropriation的复数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
impudence
|
|
| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
piquant
|
|
| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
impudent
|
|
| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
saucy
|
|
| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
poising
|
|
| 使平衡( poise的现在分词 )； 保持（某种姿势）； 抓紧； 使稳定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
maliciously
|
|
| adv.有敌意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
horrid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
cluttering
|
|
| v.杂物，零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的现在分词 )；乱糟糟地堆满，把…弄得很乱；（以…） 塞满… | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
glum
|
|
| adj.闷闷不乐的，阴郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
groan
|
|
| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
compassionately
|
|
| adv.表示怜悯地，有同情心地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
sullenly
|
|
| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
shuddered
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
frightful
|
|
| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
ponies
|
|
| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
catching
|
|
| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |