In that time, Tariq's father had a series of strokes. They lefthim with a clumsy left hand and a slight slur1 to his speech.
When he was agitated2, which happened frequently, the slurringgot worse.
Tariq outgrew3 his leg again and was issued a new leg by theRed Cross, though he had to wait six months for it.
As Hasina had feared, her family took her to Lahore, whereshe was made to marry the cousin who owned the auto4 shop.
The morning that they took her, Laila and Giti went toHasina's house to say good-bye. Hasina told them that thecousin, her husband-to-be, had already started the process tomove them to Germany, where his brothers lived. Within theyear, she thought, they would be in Frankfurt. They cried thenin a three-way embrace. Giti was inconsolable. The last timeLaila ever saw Hasina, she was being helped by her father intothe crowded backseat of a taxi.
The Soviet5 union crumbled6 with astonishing swiftness. Everyfew weeks, it seemed to Laila, Babi was coming home withnews of the latest republic to declare independence. Lithuania.
Estonia. Ukraine. The Soviet flag was lowered over the Kremlin.
The Republic of Russia was born.
In Kabul, Najibullah changed tactics and tried to portrayhimself as a devout7 Muslim. "Too little and far too late," saidBabi. "You can't be the chief of KHAD one day and the nextday pray in a mosque8 with people whose relatives you torturedand killed" Feeling the noose9 tightening10 around Kabul,Najibullah tried to reach a settlement with the Mujahideen butthe Mujahideen balked11.
From her bed, Mammy said, "Good for them." She kept hervigils for the Mujahideen and waited for her parade. Waited forher sons' enemies to fall.
* * *And, eventually, they did. In April 1992, the year Laila turnedfourteen.
Najibullah surrendered at last and was given sanctuary12 in theUN compound near Darulaman Palace, south of the city.
The jihad was over. The various communist regimes that hadheld power since the night Laila was born were all defeated.
Mammy's heroes, Ahmad's and Noor's brothers-in-war, hadwon. And now, after more than a decade of sacrificingeverything, of leaving behind their families to live in mountainsand fight for Afghanistan's sovereignty, the Mujahideen werecoming to Kabul, in flesh, blood, and battle-weary bone.
Mammy knew all of their names.
There was Dostum, the flamboyant13 Uzbek commander, leaderof the Junbish-i-Milli faction14, who had a reputation for shiftingallegiances. The intense, surly Gulbuddin Hekmatyar, leader ofthe Hezb-e-Islami faction, a Pashtun who had studiedengineering and once killed a Maoist student. Rabbani, Tajikleader of the Jamiat-e-Islami faction, who had taught Islam atKabul University in the days of the monarchy15. Sayyaf, aPashtun from Paghman with Arab connections, a stout16 Muslimand leader of the Ittehad-i-Islami faction. Abdul Ali Mazari,leader of the Hizb-e-Wahdat faction, known as Baba Mazariamong his fellow Hazaras, with strong Shi'a ties to Iran.
And, of course, there was Mammy's hero, Rabbani's ally, thebrooding, charismatic Tajik commander Ahmad Shah Massoud,the Lion of Panjshir. Mammy had nailed up a poster of him inher room. Massoud's handsome, thoughtful face, eyebrowcocked and trademarkpakoltilted, would become ubiquitous inKabul. His soulful black eyes would gaze back from billboards,walls, storefront windows, from little flags mounted on theantennas of taxicabs.
For Mammy, this was the day she had longed for. Thisbrought to fruition all those years of waiting.
At last, she could end her vigils, and her sons could rest inpeace.
* * *The day after Najibullah surrendered, Mammy rose from beda new woman. For the first time in the five years since Ahmadand Noor had becomeshaheed,she didn't wear black. She puton a cobalt blue linen19 dress with white polka dots. She washedthe windows, swept the floor, aired the house, took a longbath. Her voice was shrill20 with merriment.
"A party is in order," she declared-She sent Laila to inviteneighbors. "Tell them we're having a big lunch tomorrow!"In the kitchen, Mammy stood looking around, hands on herhips, and said, with friendly reproach, "What have you done tomy kitchen, Laila?Wboy. Everything is in a different place."She began moving pots and pans around, theatrically23, asthough she were laying claim to them anew, restaking herterritory, now that she was back. Laila stayed out of her way.
It was best. Mammy could be as indomitable in her fits ofeuphoria as in her attacks of rage. With unsettling energy,Mammy set about cooking:aush soup with kidney beans anddried dill,kofia, steaming hotmaniu drenched24 with fresh yogurtand topped with mint.
"You're plucking your eyebrows," Mammy said, as she wasopening a large burlap sack of rice by the kitchen counter.
"Only a little."Mammy poured rice from the sack into a large black pot ofwater. She rolled up her sleeves and began stirring.
"How is Tariq?""His father's been ill," Laila said "How old is he nowanyway?""I don't know. Sixties, I guess.""I meant Tariq.""Oh. Sixteen.""He's a nice boy. Don't you think?"Laila shrugged25.
"Not really a boy anymore, though, is he? Sixteen. Almost aman. Don't you think?""What are you getting at, Mammy?""Nothing," Mammy said, smiling innocently. "Nothing. It's justthat you…Ah, nothing. I'd better not say anyway.""I see you want to," Laila said, irritated by this circuitous,playful accusation26.
"Well." Mammy folded her hands on the rim21 of the pot. Lailaspotted an unnatural28, almost rehearsed, quality to the way shesaid "Well" and to this folding of hands. She feared a speechwas coming.
"It was one thing when you were little kids running around.
No harm in that. It was charming- But now. Now. I noticeyou're wearing a bra, Laila."Laila was caught off guard.
"And you could have told me, by the way, about the bra. Ididn't know. I'm disappointed you didn't tell me." Sensing heradvantage, Mammy pressed on.
"Anyway, this isn't about me or the bra. It's about you andTariq. He's a boy, you see, and, as such, what does he careabout reputation? But you? The reputation of a girl, especiallyone as pretty as you, is a delicate thing, Laila. Like a mynahbird in your hands. Slacken your grip and away it flies.""And what about all your wall climbing, the sneaking30 aroundwith Babi in the orchards31?" Laila said, pleased with her quickrecovery.
"We were cousins. And we married. Has this boy asked foryour hand?""He's a friend. Arqfiq. It's not like that between us," Laila said,sounding defensive32, and not very convincing. "He's like abrother to me," she added, misguidedly. And she knew, evenbefore a cloud passed over Mammy's face and her featuresdarkened, that she'd made a mistake.
"Thathe is not," Mammy said flatly. "You will not liken thatone-legged carpenter's boy to your brothers. There isno onelike your brothers.""I didn't say he…That's not how I meant it."Mammy sighed through the nose and clenched33 her teeth.
"Anyway," she resumed, but without the coy lightheadednessof a few moments ago, "what I'm trying to say is that if you'renot careful, people will talk."Laila opened her mouth to say something. It wasn't thatMammy didn't have a point. Laila knew that the days ofinnocent, unhindered frolicking in the streets with Tariq hadpassed. For some time now, Laila had begun to sense a newstrangeness when the two of them were out in public. Anawareness of being looked at, scrutinized34, whispered about, thatLaila had never felt before. Andwouldn't have felt even now butfor one fundamental fact: She had fallen for Tariq. Hopelesslyand desperately35. When he was near, she couldn't help but beconsumed with the most scandalous thoughts, of his lean, barebody entangled36 with hers. Lying in bed at night, she picturedhim kissing her belly37, wondered at the softness of his lips, atthe feel of his hands on her neck, her chest, her back, andlower still. When she thought of him this way, she wasovertaken with guilt38, but also with a peculiar39, warm sensationthat spread upward from her belly until it felt as if her facewere glowing pink.
No. Mammy had a point. More than she knew, in fact. Lailasuspected that some, if not most, of the neighbors were alreadygossiping about her and Tariq. Laila had noticed the sly grins,was aware of the whispers in the neighborhood that the two ofthem were a couple. The other day, for instance, she andTariq were walking up the street together when they'd passedRasheed, the shoemaker, with his burqa-clad wife, Mariam, intow. As he'd passed by them, Rasheed had playfully said, "If itisn't Laili and Majnoon," referring to the star-crossed lovers ofNezami's popular twelfth-century romantic poem-a Farsi versionofRomeo and Juliet,Babi said, though he added thatNezami hadwritten his tale of ill-fated lovers four centuries beforeShakespeare.
Mammy had a point.
What rankled40 Laila was that Mammy hadn't earned the rightto make it. It would have been one thing if Babi had raisedthis issue. But Mammy? All those years of aloofness41, of coopingherself up and not caring where Laila went and whom shesaw and what she thought…It was unfair. Laila felt like shewas no better than these pots and pans, something that couldgo neglected, then laid claim to, at will, whenever the moodstruck.
But this was a big day, an important day, for all of them. Itwould be petty to spoil it over this. In the spirit of things, Lailalet it pass.
"I get your point," she said.
"Good!" Mammy said. "That's resolved, then. Now, where isHakim? Where, oh where, is that sweet little husband ofmine?"* * *It was a dazzling, cloudless day, perfect for a party. The mensat on rickety folding chairs in the yard. They drank tea andsmoked and talked in loud bantering42 voices about theMujahideen's plan. From Babi, Laila had learned the outline ofit: Afghanistan was now called the Islamic State of Afghanistan.
An Islamic Jihad Council, formed in Peshawar by several of theMujahideen factions43, would oversee44 things for two months, ledby Sibghatullah Mojadidi. This would be followed then by aleadership council led by Rabbani, who would take over forfour months. During those six months, aloyajirga would be held,a grand council of leaders and elders, who would form aninterim government to hold power for two years, leading up todemocratic elections.
One of the men was fanning skewers45 of lamb sizzling over amakeshift grill46 Babi and Tariq's father were playing a game ofchess in the shade of the old pear tree. Their faces werescrunched up in concentration. Tariq was sitting at the boardtoo, in turns watching the match, then listening in on thepolitical chat at the adjacent table.
The women gathered in the living room, the hallway, and thekitchen. They chatted as they hoisted47 their babies and expertlydodged, with minute shifts of their hips22, the children tearingafter each other around the house. An Ustad Sarahangghazalblared from a cassette player.
Laila was in the kitchen, making carafes48 ofdogh with Giti. Gitiwas no longer as shy, or as serious, as before. For severalmonths now, the perpetual severe scowl49 had cleared from herbrow. She laughed openly these days, more frequently, and-itstruck Laila-a bit flirtatiously. She had done away with the drabponytails, let her hair grow, and streaked50 it with red highlights.
Laila learned eventually that the impetus51 for this transformationwas an eighteen-year-old boy whose attention Giti had caught.
His name was Sabir, and he was a goalkeeper on Giti's olderbrother's soccer team.
"Oh, he has the most handsome smile, and this thick, thickblack hair!" Giti had told Laila. No one knew about theirattraction, of course. Giti had secretly met him twice for tea,fifteen minutes each time, at a small teahouse on the other sideof town, in Taimani.
"He's going to ask for my hand, Laila! Maybe as early as thissummer. Can you believe it? I swear I can't stop thinkingabout him.""What about school?" Laila had asked. Giti had tilted18 her headand given her aWe52 both know better look.
By the time we're twenty,Hasina used to say,Giti and I, we'llhave pushed out four, five kids each Bui you, Laila, you'1Imake m two dummies53 proud. You 're going to be somebody.
I know one day I'll pick up a newspaper and find your pictureon the frontpage.
Giti was beside Laila now, chopping cucumbers, with adreamy, far-off look on her face.
Mammy was nearby, in her brilliant summer dress, peelingboiled eggs with Wajma, the midwife, and Tariq's mother.
"I'm going to present Commander Massoud with a picture ofAhmad and Noor," Mammy was saying to Wajma as Wajmanodded and tried to look interested and sincere.
"He personally oversaw54 the burial. He said a prayer at theirgrave. It'll be a token of thanks for his decency55." Mammycracked another boiled egg. "I hear he's a reflective, honorableman. I think he would appreciate it."All around them, women bolted in and out of the kitchen,carried out bowls ofqurma, platters ofmasiawa, loaves of bread,and arranged it all onthesofrah spread on the living-room floor.
Every once in a while, Tariq sauntered in. He picked at this,nibbled on that.
"No men allowed," said Giti.
"Out, out, out," cried Wajma.
Tariq smiled at the women's good-humored shooing. Heseemed to take pleasure in not being welcome here, in infectingthis female atmosphere with his half-grinning, masculineirreverence.
Laila did her best not to look at him, not to give thesewomen any more gossip fodder56 than they already had So shekept her eyes down and said nothing to him, but sheremembered a dream she'd had a few nights before, of hisface and hers, together in a mirror, beneath a soft, green veil.
And grains of rice, dropping from his hair, bouncing off theglass with alink.
Tariq reached to sample a morsel57 of veal58 cooked withpotatoes.
"Ho bacha!"Giti slapped the back of his hand. Tariq stole itanyway and laughed.
He stood almost a foot taller than Laila now. He shaved. Hisface was leaner, more angular. His shoulders had broadened.
Tariq liked to wear pleated trousers, black shiny loafers, andshort-sleeve shirts that showed off his newly musculararms-compliments of an old, rusty59 set of barbells that he lifteddaily in his yard. His face had lately adopted an expression ofplayful contentiousness60. He had taken to a self-consciouscocking of his head when he spoke61, slightly to the side, and toarching one eyebrow17 when he laughed. He let his hair growand had fallen into the habit of tossing the floppy62 locks oftenand unnecessarily. The corrupt63 half grin was a new thing too.
The last time Tariq was shooed out of the kitchen, his mothercaught Laila stealing a glance at him. Laila's heart jumped, andher eyes fluttered guiltily. She quickly occupied herself withtossing the chopped cucumber into the pitcher64 of salted,watered-down yogurt. But she could sense Tariq's motherwatching, her knowing, approving half smile.
The men filled their plates and glasses and took their meals tothe yard. Once they had taken their share, the women andchildren settled on the floor around thesofrah and ate.
It was afterfat sofrah was cleared and the plates were stackedin the kitchen, when the frenzy65 of tea making andremembering who took green and who black started, that Tariqmotioned with his head and slipped out the door.
Laila waited five minutes, then followed.
She found him three houses down the street, leaning againstthe wall at the entrance of a narrow-mouthed alley66 betweentwo adjacent houses. He was humming an old Pashto song, byUstad Awal Mir:
Da ze ma ziba waian, da ze ma dada waian. This is ourbeautiful land, this is our beloved land.
And he was smoking, another new habit, which he'd pickedup from the guys Laila spotted27 him hanging around with thesedays. Laila couldn't stand them, these new friends of Tariq's.
They all dressed the same way, pleated trousers, and tightshirts that accentuated67 their arms and chest. They all wore toomuch cologne, and they all smoked. They strutted68 around theneighborhood in groups, joking, laughing loudly, sometimes evencalling after girls, with identical stupid, self-satisfied grins ontheir faces. One of Tariq's friends, on the basis of the mostpassing of resemblances to Sylvester Stallone, insisted he becalled Rambo.
"Your mother would kill you if she knew about yoursmoking," Laila said, looking one way, then the other, beforeslipping into the alley.
"But she doesn't," he said. He moved aside to make room.
"That could change.""Who is going to tell? You?"Laila tapped her foot. "Tell your secret to the wind, but don'tblame it for telling the trees."Tariq smiled, the one eyebrow arched. "Who said that?""Khalil Gibran.""You're a show-off.""Give me a cigarette."He shook his head no and crossed his arms. This was a newentry in his repertoire69 of poses: back to the wall, arms crossed,cigarette dangling70 from the corner of his mouth, his good legcasually bent71.
"Why not?""Bad for you," he said.
"And it's not bad for you?""I do it for the girls.""What girls?"He smirked72. "They think it's sexy.""It's not.""No?""I assure you.""Not sexy?""You lookkhila, like a half-wit.""That hurts," he said"What girls anyway?""You're jealous.""I'm indifferently curious.""You can't be both." He took another drag and squintedthrough the smoke. "I'll bet they're talking about us now."In Laila's head, Mammy's voice rang out.Like a mynah bird inyour hands. Slacken your grip and away it flies. Guilt bore itsteeth into her. Then Laila shut off Mammy's voice. Instead, shesavored the way Tariq had saidus. How thrilling, howconspiratorial, it sounded coming from him. And how reassuringto hear him say it like that-casually, naturally.Us. Itacknowledged their connection, crystallized it.
"And what are they saying?""That we're canoeing down the River of Sin," he said. "Eatinga slice of Impiety73 Cake.""Riding the Rickshaw of Wickedness?" Laila chimed in.
"Making SacrilegeQurma."They both laughed. Then Tariq remarked that her hair wasgetting longer. "It's nice," he said Laila hoped she wasn'tblushing- "You changed the subject.""From what?""The empty-headed girls who think you're sexy.""You know.""Know what?""That I only have eyes for you."Laila swooned inside. She tried to read his face but was metby a look that was indecipherable: the cheerful, cretinous grinat odds74 with the narrow, half-desperate look in his eyes. Aclever look, calculated to fall precisely75 at the midpoint betweenmockery and sincerity76.
Tariq crushed his cigarette with the heel of his good foot. "Sowhat do you think about all this?""The party?""Who's the half-wit now?I meant the Mujahideen, Laila. Theircoming to Kabul."Oh.
She started to tell him something Babi had said, about thetroublesome marriage of guns and ego77, when she heard acommotion coming from the house. Loud voices. Screaming.
Laila took off running. Tariq hobbled behind her.
There was a melee78 in the yard. In the middle of it were twosnarling men, rolling on the ground, a knife between them.
Laila recognized one of them as a man from the table whohad been discussing politics earlier. The other was the manwho had been fanning the kebab skewers. Several men weretrying to pull them apart. Babi wasn't among them. He stoodby the wall, at a safe distance from the fight, with Tariq'sfather, who was crying.
From the excited voices around her, Laila caught snippets thatshe put together: The fellow at the politics table, a Pashtun,had called Ahmad Shah Massoud a traitor79 for "making a deal"with the Soviets80 in the 1980s. The kebab man, a Tajik, hadtaken offense81 and demanded a retraction82. The Pashtun hadrefused. The Tajik had said that if not for Massoud, the otherman's sister would still be "giving it" to Soviet soldiers. Theyhad come to blows. One of them had then brandished83 a knife;there was disagreement as to who.
With horror, Laila saw that Tariq had thrown himself into thescuffle. She also saw that some of the peacemakers were nowthrowing punches of their own. She thought she spotted asecond knife.
Later that evening, Laila thought of how the melee hadtoppled over, with men falling on top of one another, amidyelps and cries and shouts and flying punches, and, in themiddle of it, a grimacing84 Tariq, his hair disheveled, his leg comeundone, trying to crawl out.
* * *It was dizzyinghow quickly everything unraveled.
The leadership council was formed prematurely85. It electedRabbani president. The other factions criednepotism. Massoudcalled for peace and patience.
Hekmatyar, who had been excluded, was incensed86. TheHazaras, with their long history of being oppressed andneglected, seethed87.
Insults were hurled88. Fingers pointed29. Accusations89 flew. Meetingswere angrily called off and doors slammed. The city held itsbreath. In the mountains, loaded magazines snapped intoKalashnikovs.
The Mujahideen, armed to the teeth but now lacking acommon enemy, had found the enemy in each other.
Kabul's day of reckoning had come at last.
And when the rockets began to rain down on Kabul, peopleran for cover. Mammy did too, literally90. She changed into blackagain, went to her room, shut the curtains, and pulled theblanket over her head.
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slur
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| v.含糊地说；诋毁；连唱；n.诋毁；含糊的发音 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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outgrew
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| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去式 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
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auto
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| n.(=automobile)(口语)汽车 | |
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Soviet
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| adj.苏联的，苏维埃的；n.苏维埃 | |
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crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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mosque
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| n.清真寺 | |
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noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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balked
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| v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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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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flamboyant
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| adj.火焰般的，华丽的，炫耀的 | |
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faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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monarchy
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| n.君主，最高统治者；君主政体，君主国 | |
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eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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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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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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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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theatrically
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| adv.戏剧化地 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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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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rankled
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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aloofness
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| 超然态度 | |
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bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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factions
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| 组织中的小派别，派系( faction的名词复数 ) | |
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oversee
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| vt.监督，管理 | |
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skewers
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| n.串肉扦( skewer的名词复数 )；烤肉扦；棒v.（用串肉扦或类似物）串起，刺穿( skewer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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grill
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| n.烤架，铁格子，烤肉；v.烧，烤，严加盘问 | |
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hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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carafes
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| n.玻璃水瓶（或酒瓶）( carafe的名词复数 ) | |
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scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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dummies
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| n.仿制品( dummy的名词复数 )；橡皮奶头；笨蛋；假传球 | |
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oversaw
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| v.监督，监视( oversee的过去式 ) | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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fodder
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| n.草料；炮灰 | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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veal
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| n.小牛肉 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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contentiousness
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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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floppy
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| adj.松软的，衰弱的 | |
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corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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strutted
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| 趾高气扬地走，高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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repertoire
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| n.(准备好演出的)节目，保留剧目；(计算机的)指令表，指令系统， <美>(某个人的)全部技能；清单，指令表 | |
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dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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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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smirked
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| v.傻笑( smirk的过去分词 ) | |
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impiety
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| n.不敬；不孝 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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melee
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| n.混战；混战的人群 | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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soviets
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| 苏维埃（Soviet的复数形式） | |
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offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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retraction
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| n.撤消；收回 | |
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83
brandished
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| v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 )；炫耀 | |
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grimacing
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的现在分词 ) | |
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prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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86
incensed
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| 盛怒的 | |
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87
seethed
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| （液体）沸腾( seethe的过去式和过去分词 )； 激动，大怒； 强压怒火； 生闷气(~with sth|~ at sth) | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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