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RACHEL
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FRIDAY, JULY 5, 2013
MORNING
There is a pile of clothing on the side of the traintracks. Light-blue cloth—a shirt, perhaps—jumbled upwith something dirty white. It’s probably rubbish, partof a load dumped into the scrubby little wood up thebank. It could have been left behind by the engineerswho work this part of the track, they’re here oftenenough. Or it could be something else. My motherused to tell me that I had an overactive imagination;Tom said that, too. I can’t help it, I catch sight ofthese discarded scraps1, a dirty T-shirt or a lonesomeshoe, and all I can think of is the other shoe andthe feet that fitted into them.
The train jolts2 and scrapes and screeches3 back intomotion, the little pile of clothes disappears from viewand we trundle on towards London, moving at abrisk jogger’s pace. Someone in the seat behind megives a sigh of helpless irritation4; the 8:04 slow trainfrom Ashbury to Euston can test the patience of themost seasoned commuter5. The journey is supposedto take fifty-four minutes, but it rarely does: thissection of the track is ancient, decrepit6, beset7 withsignalling problems and never-ending engineeringworks.
The train crawls along; it judders past warehousesand water towers, bridges and sheds, past modestVictorian houses, their backs turned squarely to thetrack.
My head leaning against the carriage window, Iwatch these houses roll past me like a tracking shotin a film. I see them as others do not; even theirowners probably don’t see them from thisperspective. Twice a day, I am offered a view intoother lives, just for a moment. There’s somethingcomforting about the sight of strangers safe at home.
Someone’s phone is ringing, an incongruously joyfuland upbeat song. They’re slow to answer, it jingleson and on around me. I can feel my fellowcommuters shift in their seats, rustle8 theirnewspapers, tap at their computers. The train lurchesand sways around the bend, slowing as it approachesa red signal. I try not to look up, I try to read thefree newspaper I was handed on my way into thestation, but the words blur9 in front of my eyes,nothing holds my interest. In my head I can still seethat little pile of clothes lying at the edge of the track,abandoned.
EVENINGThe premixed gin and tonic10 fizzes up over the lip ofthe can as I bring it to my mouth and sip11. Tangyand cold, the taste of my first-ever holiday with Tom,a fishing village on the Basque coast in 2005. In themornings we’d swim the half mile to the little islandin the bay, make love on secret hidden beaches; inthe afternoons we’d sit at a bar drinking strong,bitter gin and tonics12, watching swarms13 of beachfootballers playing chaotic14 twenty-five-a-side games onthe low-tide sands.
I take another sip, and another; the can’s alreadyhalf empty, but it’s OK, I have three more in theplastic bag at my feet. It’s Friday, so I don’t have tofeel guilty about drinking on the train. TGIF. The funstarts here.
It’s going to be a lovely weekend, that’s what they’retelling us. Beautiful sunshine, cloudless skies. In theold days we might have driven to Corly Wood with apicnic and the papers, spent all afternoon lying on ablanket in dappled sunlight, drinking wine. We mighthave barbecued out back with friends, or gone to theRose and sat in the beer garden, faces flushing withsun and alcohol as the afternoon went on, weavinghome, arm in arm, falling asleep on the sofa.
Beautiful sunshine, cloudless skies, no one to playwith, nothing to do. Living like this, the way I’mliving at the moment, is harder in the summer whenthere is so much daylight, so little cover of darkness,when everyone is out and about, being flagrantly,aggressively happy. It’s exhausting, and it makes youfeel bad if you’re not joining in.
The weekend stretches out ahead of me, forty-eightempty hours to fill. I lift the can to my mouth again,but there’s not a drop left.
MONDAY, JULY 8, 2013
MORNING
It’s a relief to be back on the 8:04. It’s not that Ican’t wait to get into London to start my week—Idon’t particularly want to be in London at all. I justwant to lean back in the soft, sagging15 velour seat,feel the warmth of the sunshine streaming throughthe window, feel the carriage rock back and forthand back and forth16, the comforting rhythm of wheelson tracks. I’d rather be here, looking out at thehouses beside the track, than almost anywhere else.
There’s a faulty signal on this line, about halfwaythrough my journey. I assume it must be faulty, inany case, because it’s almost always red; we stopthere most days, sometimes just for a few seconds,sometimes for minutes on end. If I sit in carriage D,which I usually do, and the train stops at this signal,which it almost always does, I have a perfect viewinto my favourite trackside house: number fifteen.
Number fifteen is much like the other houses alongthis stretch of track: a Victorian semi, two storeyshigh, overlooking a narrow, well-tended garden thatruns around twenty feet down towards some fencing,beyond which lie a few metres of no-man’s-landbefore you get to the railway track. I know thishouse by heart. I know every brick, I know thecolour of the curtains in the upstairs bedroom (beige,with a dark-blue print), I know that the paint ispeeling off the bathroom window frame and thatthere are four tiles missing from a section of the roofover on the right-hand side.
I know that on warm summer evenings, theoccupants of this house, Jason and Jess, sometimesclimb out of the large sash window to sit on themakeshift terrace on top of the kitchen-extensionroof. They are a perfect, golden couple. He isdark-haired and well built, strong, protective, kind. Hehas a great laugh. She is one of those tinybird-women, a beauty, pale-skinned with blond haircropped short. She has the bone structure to carrythat kind of thing off, sharp cheekbones dappled witha sprinkling of freckles18, a fine jaw19.
While we’re stuck at the red signal, I look for them.
Jess is often out there in the mornings, especially inthe summer, drinking her coffee. Sometimes, when Isee her there, I feel as though she sees me, too, Ifeel as though she looks right back at me, and Iwant to wave. I’m too self-conscious. I don’t seeJason quite so much, he’s away a lot with work. Buteven if they’re not there, I think about what theymight be up to. Maybe this morning they’ve both gotthe day off and she’s lying in bed while he makesbreakfast, or maybe they’ve gone for a run together,because that’s the sort of thing they do. (Tom and Iused to run together on Sundays, me going atslightly above my normal pace, him at about half his,just so we could run side by side.) Maybe Jess isupstairs in the spare room, painting, or maybethey’re in the shower together, her hands pressedagainst the tiles, his hands on her hips20.
EVENING
Turning slightly towards the window, my back to therest of the carriage, I open one of the little bottles ofChenin Blanc I purchased from the Whistlestop atEuston. It’s not cold, but it’ll do. I pour some into aplastic cup, screw the top back on and slip the bottleinto my handbag. It’s less acceptable to drink on thetrain on a Monday, unless you’re drinking withcompany, which I am not.
There are familiar faces on these trains, people I seeevery week, going to and fro. I recognize them andthey probably recognize me. I don’t know whetherthey see me, though, for what I really am.
It’s a glorious evening, warm but not too close, thesun starting its lazy descent, shadows lengthening21 andthe light just beginning to burnish22 the trees with gold.
The train is rattling23 along, we whip past Jason andJess’s place, they pass in a blur of evening sunshine.
Sometimes, not often, I can see them from this sideof the track. If there’s no train going in the oppositedirection, and if we’re travelling slowly enough, I cansometimes catch a glimpse of them out on theirterrace. If not—like today—I can imagine them. Jesswill be sitting with her feet up on the table out onthe terrace, a glass of wine in her hand, Jasonstanding behind her, his hands on her shoulders. Ican imagine the feel of his hands, the weight ofthem, reassuring25 and protective. Sometimes I catchmyself trying to remember the last time I hadmeaningful physical contact with another person, justa hug or a heartfelt squeeze of my hand, and myheart twitches26.
TUESDAY, JULY 9, 2013
MORNING
The pile of clothes from last week is still there, and itlooks dustier and more forlorn than it did a few daysago. I read somewhere that a train can rip theclothes right off you when it hits. It’s not thatunusual, death by train. Two to three hundred ayear, they say, so at least one every couple of days.
I’m not sure how many of those are accidental. Ilook carefully, as the train rolls slowly past, for bloodon the clothes, but I can’t see any.
The train stops at the signal as usual. I can seeJess standing24 on the patio27 in front of the Frenchdoors. She’s wearing a bright print dress, her feetare bare. She’s looking over her shoulder, back intothe house; she’s probably talking to Jason, who’ll bemaking breakfast. I keep my eyes fixed28 on Jess, onher home, as the train starts to inch forward. I don’twant to see the other houses; I particularly don’twant to see the one four doors down, the one thatused to be mine.
I lived at number twenty-three Blenheim Road forfive years, blissfully happy and utterly29 wretched. Ican’t look at it now. That was my first home. Notmy parents’ place, not a flatshare with other students,my first home. I can’t bear to look at it. Well, I can,I do, I want to, I don’t want to, I try not to. Everyday I tell myself not to look, and every day I look. Ican’t help myself, even though there is nothing Iwant to see there, even though anything I do see willhurt me. Even though I remember so clearly how itfelt that time I looked up and noticed that the creamlinen blind in the upstairs bedroom was gone,replaced by something in soft baby pink; eventhough I still remember the pain I felt when I sawAnna watering the rosebushes near the fence, herT-shirt stretched tight over her bulging30 belly31, and Ibit my lip so hard, it bled.
I close my eyes tightly and count to ten, fifteen,twenty. There, it’s gone now, nothing to see. We rollinto Witney station and out again, the train startingto pick up pace as suburbia melts into grimy NorthLondon, terraced houses replaced by tagged bridgesand empty buildings with broken windows. The closerwe get to Euston, the more anxious I feel; pressurebuilds; how will today be? There’s a filthy32, low-slungconcrete building on the right-hand side of the trackabout five hundred metres before we get into Euston.
On its side, someone has painted: LIFE IS NOT APARAGRAPH. I think about the bundle of clotheson the side of the track and I feel as though mythroat is closing up. Life is not a paragraph, anddeath is no parenthesis34.
EVENING
The train I take in the evening, the 5:56, is slightlyslower than the morning one—it takes one hour andone minute, a full seven minutes longer than themorning train despite not stopping at any extrastations. I don’t mind, because just as I’m in nogreat hurry to get into London in the morning, I’min no hurry to get back to Ashbury in the evening,either. Not just because it’s Ashbury, although theplace itself is bad enough, a 1960s new town,spreading like a tumour35 over the heart ofBuckinghamshire. No better or worse than a dozenother towns like it, a centre filled with cafés andmobile-phone shops and branches of JD Sports,surrounded by a band of suburbia and beyond thatthe realm of the multiplex cinema and out-of-townTesco. I live in a smart(ish), new(ish) block situatedat the point where the commercial heart of the placestarts to bleed into the residential36 outskirts37, but it isnot my home. My home is the Victorian semi on thetracks, the one I part-owned. In Ashbury I am not ahomeowner, not even a tenant—I’m a lodger,occupant of the small second bedroom in Cathy’sbland and inoffensive duplex, subject to her graceand favour.
Cathy and I were friends at university. Half friends,really, we were never that close. She lived across thehall from me in my first year, and we were bothdoing the same course, so we were natural allies inthose first few daunting38 weeks, before we met peoplewith whom we had more in common. We didn’t seemuch of each other after the first year and barely atall after college, except for the occasional wedding.
But in my hour of need she happened to have aspare room going and it made sense. I was so surethat it would only be for a couple of months, six atthe most, and I didn’t know what else to do. I’dnever lived by myself, I’d gone from parents toflatmates to Tom, I found the idea overwhelming, soI said yes. And that was nearly two years ago.
It’s not awful. Cathy’s a nice person, in a forcefulsort of way. She makes you notice her niceness. Herniceness is writ39 large, it is her defining quality andshe needs it acknowledged, often, daily almost, whichcan be tiring. But it’s not so bad, I can think ofworse traits in a flatmate. No, it’s not Cathy, it’s noteven Ashbury that bothers me most about my newsituation (I still think of it as new, although it’s beentwo years). It’s the loss of control. In Cathy’s flat Ialways feel like a guest at the very outer limit of herwelcome. I feel it in the kitchen, where we jostle forspace when cooking our evening meals. I feel it whenI sit beside her on the sofa, the remote control firmlywithin her grasp. The only space that feels like mineis my tiny bedroom, into which a double bed and adesk have been crammed40, with barely enough spaceto walk between them. It’s comfortable enough, but itisn’t a place you want to be, so instead I linger inthe living room or at the kitchen table, ill at easeand powerless. I have lost control over everything,even the places in my head.
WEDNESDAY, JULY 10, 2013
MORNING
The heat is building. It’s barely half past eight andalready the day is close, the air heavy with moisture.
I could wish for a storm, but the sky is an insolentblank, pale, watery41 blue. I wipe away the sweat onmy top lip. I wish I’d remembered to buy a bottle ofwater.
I can’t see Jason and Jess this morning, and mysense of disappointment is acute. Silly, I know. Iscrutinize the house, but there’s nothing to see. Thecurtains are open downstairs but the French doorsare closed, sunlight reflecting off the glass. The sashwindow upstairs is closed, too. Jason may be awayworking. He’s a doctor, I think, probably for one ofthose overseas organizations. He’s constantly on call,a bag packed on top of the wardrobe; there’s anearthquake in Iran or a tsunami42 in Asia and hedrops everything, he grabs his bag and he’s atHeathrow within a matter of hours, ready to fly outand save lives.
Jess, with her bold prints and her Converse43 trainersand her beauty, her attitude, works in the fashionindustry. Or perhaps in the music business, or inadvertising—she might be a stylist or a photographer.
She’s a good painter, too, plenty of artistic44 flair45. I cansee her now, in the spare room upstairs, musicblaring, window open, a brush in her hand, anenormous canvas leaning against the wall. She’ll bethere until midnight; Jason knows not to bother herwhen she’s working.
I can’t really see her, of course. I don’t know if shepaints, or whether Jason has a great laugh, orwhether Jess has beautiful cheekbones. I can’t seeher bone structure from here and I’ve never heardJason’s voice. I’ve never seen them up close, theydidn’t live at that house when I lived down the road.
They moved in after I left two years ago, I don’tknow when exactly. I suppose I started noticing themabout a year ago, and gradually, as the months wentpast, they became important to me.
I don’t know their names, either, so I had to namethem myself. Jason, because he’s handsome in aBritish film star kind of way, not a Depp or a Pitt,but a Firth, or a Jason Isaacs. And Jess just goeswith Jason, and it goes with her. It fits her, prettyand carefree as she is. They’re a match, they’re aset. They’re happy, I can tell. They’re what I used tobe, they’re Tom and me five years ago. They’re whatI lost, they’re everything I want to be.
EVENING
My shirt, uncomfortably tight, buttons straining acrossmy chest, is pit-stained, damp patches clammybeneath my arms. My eyes and throat itch17. Thisevening I don’t want the journey to stretch out; Ilong to get home, to undress and get into theshower, to be where no one can look at me.
I look at the man in the seat opposite mine. He isabout my age, early to midthirties, with dark hair,greying at the temples. Sallow skin. He’s wearing asuit, but he’s taken the jacket off and slung33 it on theseat next to him. He has a MacBook, paper-thin,open in front of him. He’s a slow typist. He’swearing a silver watch with a large face on his rightwrist—it looks expensive, a Breitling maybe. He’schewing the inside of his cheek. Perhaps he’snervous. Or just thinking deeply. Writing animportant email to a colleague at the office in NewYork, or a carefully worded break-up message to hisgirlfriend. He looks up suddenly and meets my eye;his glance travels over me, over the little bottle ofwine on the table in front of me. He looks away.
There’s something about the set of his mouth thatsuggests distaste. He finds me distasteful.
I am not the girl I used to be. I am no longerdesirable, I’m off-putting in some way. It’s not justthat I’ve put on weight, or that my face is puffyfrom the drinking and the lack of sleep; it’s as ifpeople can see the damage written all over me, cansee it in my face, the way I hold myself, the way Imove.
One night last week, when I left my room to getmyself a glass of water, I overheard Cathy talking toDamien, her boyfriend, in the living room. I stood inthe hallway and listened. “She’s lonely,” Cathy wassaying. “I really worry about her. It doesn’t help, herbeing alone all the time.” Then she said, “Isn’t theresomeone from work, maybe, or the rugby club?” andDamien said, “For Rachel? Not being funny, Cath,but I’m not sure I know anyone that desperate.”
THURSDAY, JULY 11, 2013
MORNING
I’m picking at the plaster on my forefinger46. It’sdamp, it got wet when I was washing out my coffeemug this morning; it feels clammy, dirty, though itwas clean on this morning. I don’t want to take it offbecause the cut is deep. Cathy was out when I gothome, so I went to the off-licence and bought twobottles of wine. I drank the first one and then Ithought I’d take advantage of the fact that she wasout and cook myself a steak, make a red-onionrelish, have it with a green salad. A good, healthymeal. I sliced through the top of my finger whilechopping the onions. I must have gone to thebathroom to clean it up and gone to lie down for awhile and just forgotten all about it, because I wokeup around ten and I could hear Cathy and Damientalking and he was saying how disgusting it was thatI would leave the kitchen like that. Cathy cameupstairs to see me, she knocked softly on my doorand opened it a fraction. She cocked her head toone side and asked if I was OK. I apologized withoutbeing sure what I was apologizing for. She said itwas all right, but would I mind cleaning up a bit?
There was blood on the chopping board, the roomsmelled of raw meat, the steak was still sitting out onthe countertop, turning grey. Damien didn’t even sayhello, he just shook his head when he saw me andwent upstairs to Cathy’s bedroom.
After they’d both gone to bed I remembered that Ihadn’t drunk the second bottle, so I opened that. Isat on the sofa and watched television with thesound turned down really low so they wouldn’t hearit. I can’t remember what I was watching, but atsome point I must have felt lonely, or happy, orsomething, because I wanted to talk to someone. Theneed for contact must have been overwhelming, andthere was no one I could call except for Tom.
There’s no one I want to talk to except for Tom.
The call log on my phone says I rang four times: at11:02, 11:12, 11:54, 12:09. Judging from the length ofthe calls, I left two messages. He may even havepicked up, but I don’t remember talking to him. Iremember leaving the first message; I think I justasked him to call me. That may be what I said inboth of them, which isn’t too bad.
The train shudders47 to a standstill at the red signaland I look up. Jess is sitting on her patio, drinking acup of coffee. She has her feet up against the tableand her head back, sunning herself. Behind her, Ithink I can see a shadow, someone moving: Jason. Ilong to see him, to catch a glimpse of his handsomeface. I want him to come outside, to stand behindher the way he does, to kiss the top of her head.
He doesn’t come out, and her head falls forward.
There is something about the way she is movingtoday that seems different; she is heavier, weigheddown. I will him to come out to her, but the trainjolts and slogs forward and still there is no sign ofhim; she’s alone. And now, without thinking, I findmyself looking directly into my house, and I can’tlook away. The French doors are flung open, lightstreaming into the kitchen. I can’t tell, I really can’t,whether I’m seeing this or imagining it—is she there,at the sink, washing up? Is there a little girl sitting inone of those bouncy baby chairs up there on thekitchen table?
I close my eyes and let the darkness grow andspread until it morphs from a feeling of sadness intosomething worse: a memory, a flashback. I didn’tjust ask him to call me back. I remember now, Iwas crying. I told him that I still loved him, that Ialways would. Please, Tom, please, I need to talk toyou. I miss you. No no no no no no no.
I have to accept it, there’s no point trying to pushit away. I’m going to feel terrible all day, it’s going tocome in waves—stronger then weaker then strongeragain—that twist in the pit of my stomach, theanguish of shame, the heat coming to my face, myeyes squeezed tight as though I could make it alldisappear. And I’ll be telling myself all day, it’s notthe worst thing, is it? It’s not the worst thing I’veever done, it’s not as if I fell over in public, or yelledat a stranger in the street. It’s not as if I humiliatedmy husband at a summer barbecue by shoutingabuse at the wife of one of his friends. It’s not as ifwe got into a fight one night at home and I wentfor him with a golf club, taking a chunk48 out of theplaster in the hallway outside the bedroom. It’s notlike going back to work after a three-hour lunch andstaggering through the office, everyone looking, MartinMiles taking me to one side, I think you shouldprobably go home, Rachel. I once read a book bya former alcoholic49 where she described giving oralsex to two different men, men she’d just met in arestaurant on a busy London high street. I read itand I thought, I’m not that bad. This is where thebar is set.
EVENING
I have been thinking about Jess all day, unable tofocus on anything but what I saw this morning.
What was it that made me think that something waswrong? I couldn’t possibly see her expression at thatdistance, but I felt when I was looking at her thatshe was alone. More than alone—lonely. Perhaps shewas—perhaps he’s away, gone to one of those hotcountries he jets off to to save lives. And she misseshim, and she worries, although she knows he has togo.
Of course she misses him, just as I do. He is kindand strong, everything a husband should be. Andthey are a partnership50. I can see it, I know howthey are. His strength, that protectiveness he radiates,it doesn’t mean she’s weak. She’s strong in otherways; she makes intellectual leaps that leave himopenmouthed in admiration51. She can cut to the nubof a problem, dissect52 and analyse it in the time ittakes other people to say good morning. At parties,he often holds her hand, even though they’ve beentogether years. They respect each other, they don’tput each other down.
I feel exhausted53 this evening. I am sober, stone-cold.
Some days I feel so bad that I have to drink; somedays I feel so bad that I can’t. Today, the thought ofalcohol turns my stomach. But sobriety on theevening train is a challenge, particularly now, in thisheat. A film of sweat covers every inch of my skin,the inside of my mouth prickles, my eyes itch,mascara rubbed into their corners.
My phone buzzes in my handbag, making me jump.
Two girls sitting across the carriage look at me andthen at each other, with a sly exchange of smiles. Idon’t know what they think of me, but I know itisn’t good. My heart is pounding in my chest as Ireach for the phone. I know this will be nothinggood, either: it will be Cathy, perhaps, asking meever so nicely to maybe give the booze a rest thisevening? Or my mother, telling me that she’ll be inLondon next week, she’ll drop by the office, we cango for lunch. I look at the screen. It’s Tom. I hesitatefor just a second and then I answer it.
“Rachel?”
For the first five years I knew him, I was neverRachel, always Rach. Sometimes Shelley, because heknew I hated it and it made him laugh to watch metwitch with irritation and then giggle55 because Icouldn’t help but join in when he was laughing.
“Rachel, it’s me.” His voice is leaden, he soundsworn out. “Listen, you have to stop this, OK?” Idon’t say anything. The train is slowing, and we arealmost opposite the house, my old house. I want tosay to him, Come outside, go and stand on thelawn. Let me see you. “Please, Rachel, you can’t callme like this all the time. You’ve got to sort yourselfout.” There is a lump in my throat as hard as apebble, smooth and obstinate56. I cannot swallow. Icannot speak. “Rachel? Are you there? I know thingsaren’t good with you, and I’m sorry for you, I reallyam, but?.?.?. I can’t help you, and these constant callsare really upsetting Anna. OK? I can’t help youanymore. Go to AA or something. Please, Rachel. Goto an AA meeting after work today.”
I pull the filthy plaster off the end of my finger andlook at the pale, wrinkled flesh beneath, dried bloodcaked at the edge of my fingernail. I press thethumbnail of my right hand into the centre of thecut and feel it open up, the pain sharp and hot. Icatch my breath. Blood starts to ooze54 from thewound. The girls on the other side of the carriageare watching me, their faces blank.


点击收听单词发音收听单词发音  

1 scraps 737e4017931b7285cdd1fa3eb9dd77a3     
油渣
参考例句:
  • Don't litter up the floor with scraps of paper. 不要在地板上乱扔纸屑。
  • A patchwork quilt is a good way of using up scraps of material. 做杂拼花布棉被是利用零碎布料的好办法。
2 jolts 6b399bc85f7ace4b27412ec2740f286e     
(使)摇动, (使)震惊( jolt的名词复数 )
参考例句:
  • He found that out when he got a few terrific jolts, but he wouldn't give up. 被狠狠地撞回来几次后,他发觉了这一点,但他决不因此罢休。
  • Some power bars are loaded with carbohydrates or caffeine for quick jolts. 有些能量条中包含大量的碳水化合物和咖啡因,以达到快速提神的效果。
3 screeches 768b01a6950f3933d9acf3e0c092f65e     
n.尖锐的声音( screech的名词复数 )v.发出尖叫声( screech的第三人称单数 );发出粗而刺耳的声音;高叫
参考例句:
  • The boy's screeches brought his mother. 男孩的尖叫声招来了他母亲。 来自《简明英汉词典》
  • The woman's screeches brought the police. 这个妇女的尖叫声招来了警察。 来自辞典例句
4 irritation la9zf     
n.激怒,恼怒,生气
参考例句:
  • He could not hide his irritation that he had not been invited.他无法掩饰因未被邀请而生的气恼。
  • Barbicane said nothing,but his silence covered serious irritation.巴比康什么也不说,但是他的沉默里潜伏着阴郁的怒火。
5 commuter ZXCyi     
n.(尤指市郊之间)乘公交车辆上下班者
参考例句:
  • Police cordoned off the road and diverted commuter traffic. 警察封锁了道路并分流交通。
  • She accidentally stepped on his foot on a crowded commuter train. 她在拥挤的通勤列车上不小心踩到了他的脚。
6 decrepit A9lyt     
adj.衰老的,破旧的
参考例句:
  • The film had been shot in a decrepit old police station.该影片是在一所破旧不堪的警察局里拍摄的。
  • A decrepit old man sat on a park bench.一个衰弱的老人坐在公园的长凳上。
7 beset SWYzq     
v.镶嵌;困扰,包围
参考例句:
  • She wanted to enjoy her retirement without being beset by financial worries.她想享受退休生活而不必为金钱担忧。
  • The plan was beset with difficulties from the beginning.这项计划自开始就困难重重。
8 rustle thPyl     
v.沙沙作响;偷盗(牛、马等);n.沙沙声声
参考例句:
  • She heard a rustle in the bushes.她听到灌木丛中一阵沙沙声。
  • He heard a rustle of leaves in the breeze.他听到树叶在微风中发出的沙沙声。
9 blur JtgzC     
n.模糊不清的事物;vt.使模糊,使看不清楚
参考例句:
  • The houses appeared as a blur in the mist.房子在薄雾中隐隐约约看不清。
  • If you move your eyes and your head,the picture will blur.如果你的眼睛或头动了,图像就会变得模糊不清。
10 tonic tnYwt     
n./adj.滋补品,补药,强身的,健体的
参考例句:
  • It will be marketed as a tonic for the elderly.这将作为老年人滋补品在市场上销售。
  • Sea air is Nature's best tonic for mind and body.海上的空气是大自然赋予的对人们身心的最佳补品。
11 sip Oxawv     
v.小口地喝,抿,呷;n.一小口的量
参考例句:
  • She took a sip of the cocktail.她啜饮一口鸡尾酒。
  • Elizabeth took a sip of the hot coffee.伊丽莎白呷了一口热咖啡。
12 tonics 5722ce5f833f803d7b70cfda2e365a56     
n.滋补品( tonic的名词复数 );主音;奎宁水;浊音
参考例句:
  • I think you have a prejudice against tonics. 我认你对补药有偏见。 来自互联网
  • Two gin and tonics, please. 请来两杯杜松子酒加奎宁水。 来自互联网
13 swarms 73349eba464af74f8ce6c65b07a6114c     
蜂群,一大群( swarm的名词复数 )
参考例句:
  • They came to town in swarms. 他们蜂拥来到城里。
  • On June the first there were swarms of children playing in the park. 6月1日那一天,这个公园里有一群群的孩子玩耍。
14 chaotic rUTyD     
adj.混沌的,一片混乱的,一团糟的
参考例句:
  • Things have been getting chaotic in the office recently.最近办公室的情况越来越乱了。
  • The traffic in the city was chaotic.这城市的交通糟透了。
15 sagging 2cd7acc35feffadbb3241d569f4364b2     
下垂[沉,陷],松垂,垂度
参考例句:
  • The morale of the enemy troops is continuously sagging. 敌军的士气不断低落。
  • We are sagging south. 我们的船正离开航线向南漂流。
16 forth Hzdz2     
adv.向前;向外,往外
参考例句:
  • The wind moved the trees gently back and forth.风吹得树轻轻地来回摇晃。
  • He gave forth a series of works in rapid succession.他很快连续发表了一系列的作品。
17 itch 9aczc     
n.痒,渴望,疥癣;vi.发痒,渴望
参考例句:
  • Shylock has an itch for money.夏洛克渴望发财。
  • He had an itch on his back.他背部发痒。
18 freckles MsNzcN     
n.雀斑,斑点( freckle的名词复数 )
参考例句:
  • She had a wonderful clear skin with an attractive sprinkling of freckles. 她光滑的皮肤上有几处可爱的小雀斑。 来自《简明英汉词典》
  • When she lies in the sun, her face gets covered in freckles. 她躺在阳光下时,脸上布满了斑点。 来自《简明英汉词典》
19 jaw 5xgy9     
n.颚,颌,说教,流言蜚语;v.喋喋不休,教训
参考例句:
  • He delivered a right hook to his opponent's jaw.他给了对方下巴一记右钩拳。
  • A strong square jaw is a sign of firm character.强健的方下巴是刚毅性格的标志。
20 hips f8c80f9a170ee6ab52ed1e87054f32d4     
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
参考例句:
  • She stood with her hands on her hips. 她双手叉腰站着。
  • They wiggled their hips to the sound of pop music. 他们随着流行音乐的声音摇晃着臀部。 来自《简明英汉词典》
21 lengthening c18724c879afa98537e13552d14a5b53     
(时间或空间)延长,伸长( lengthen的现在分词 ); 加长
参考例句:
  • The evening shadows were lengthening. 残阳下的影子越拉越长。
  • The shadows are lengthening for me. 我的影子越来越长了。 来自演讲部分
22 burnish gSayI     
v.磨光;使光滑
参考例句:
  • Many people,fearful for their jobs,are trying to burnish their contacts at other firms.许多人因为担心自己的工作,正在努力抹去和其他公司接触的痕迹。
  • I burnish joyful sparks from my sorrows.我从伤痛里擦亮喜悦的火花。
23 rattling 7b0e25ab43c3cc912945aafbb80e7dfd     
adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词
参考例句:
  • This book is a rattling good read. 这是一本非常好的读物。
  • At that same instant,a deafening explosion set the windows rattling. 正在这时,一声震耳欲聋的爆炸突然袭来,把窗玻璃震得当当地响。
24 standing 2hCzgo     
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的
参考例句:
  • After the earthquake only a few houses were left standing.地震过后只有几幢房屋还立着。
  • They're standing out against any change in the law.他们坚决反对对法律做任何修改。
25 reassuring vkbzHi     
a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的,使人放心的
参考例句:
  • He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. 他轻拍了一下她的肩膀让她放心。
  • With a reassuring pat on her arm, he left. 他鼓励地拍了拍她的手臂就离开了。
26 twitches ad4956b2a0ba10cf1e516f73f42f7fc3     
n.(使)抽动, (使)颤动, (使)抽搐( twitch的名词复数 )
参考例句:
  • No response, just a flutter of flanks and a few ear twitches. 没反应,只有胁腹和耳朵动了几下。 来自互联网
  • BCEF(50,100 mg·kg~-1 ) could distinctly increase the head-twitch number in the 5-HTP induced head-twitches test. BCEF50、100mg·kg-1可明显增加5羟色胺酸诱导甩头小鼠的甩头次数。 来自互联网
27 patio gSdzr     
n.庭院,平台
参考例句:
  • Suddenly, the thought of my beautiful patio came to mind. I can be quiet out there,I thought.我又忽然想到家里漂亮的院子,我能够在这里宁静地呆会。
  • They had a barbecue on their patio on Sunday.星期天他们在院子里进行烧烤。
28 fixed JsKzzj     
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的
参考例句:
  • Have you two fixed on a date for the wedding yet?你们俩选定婚期了吗?
  • Once the aim is fixed,we should not change it arbitrarily.目标一旦确定,我们就不应该随意改变。
29 utterly ZfpzM1     
adv.完全地,绝对地
参考例句:
  • Utterly devoted to the people,he gave his life in saving his patients.他忠于人民,把毕生精力用于挽救患者的生命。
  • I was utterly ravished by the way she smiled.她的微笑使我完全陶醉了。
30 bulging daa6dc27701a595ab18024cbb7b30c25     
膨胀; 凸出(部); 打气; 折皱
参考例句:
  • Her pockets were bulging with presents. 她的口袋里装满了礼物。
  • Conscious of the bulging red folder, Nim told her,"Ask if it's important." 尼姆想到那个鼓鼓囊囊的红色文件夹便告诉她:“问问是不是重要的事。”
31 belly QyKzLi     
n.肚子,腹部;(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分,膛
参考例句:
  • The boss has a large belly.老板大腹便便。
  • His eyes are bigger than his belly.他眼馋肚饱。
32 filthy ZgOzj     
adj.卑劣的;恶劣的,肮脏的
参考例句:
  • The whole river has been fouled up with filthy waste from factories.整条河都被工厂的污秽废物污染了。
  • You really should throw out that filthy old sofa and get a new one.你真的应该扔掉那张肮脏的旧沙发,然后再去买张新的。
33 slung slung     
抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 ); 吊挂; 遣送; 押往
参考例句:
  • He slung the bag over his shoulder. 他把包一甩,挎在肩上。
  • He stood up and slung his gun over his shoulder. 他站起来把枪往肩上一背。
34 parenthesis T4MzP     
n.圆括号,插入语,插曲,间歇,停歇
参考例句:
  • There is no space between the function name and the parenthesis.函数名与括号之间没有空格。
  • In this expression,we do not need a multiplication sign or parenthesis.这个表达式中,我们不需要乘号或括号。
35 tumour tumour     
n.(tumor)(肿)瘤,肿块
参考例句:
  • The surgeons operated on her for a tumour.外科医生为她施行了肿瘤切除手术。
  • The tumour constricts the nerves.肿瘤压迫神经。
36 residential kkrzY3     
adj.提供住宿的;居住的;住宅的
参考例句:
  • The mayor inspected the residential section of the city.市长视察了该市的住宅区。
  • The residential blocks were integrated with the rest of the college.住宿区与学院其他部分结合在了一起。
37 outskirts gmDz7W     
n.郊外,郊区
参考例句:
  • Our car broke down on the outskirts of the city.我们的汽车在市郊出了故障。
  • They mostly live on the outskirts of a town.他们大多住在近郊。
38 daunting daunting     
adj.使人畏缩的
参考例句:
  • They were faced with the daunting task of restoring the house.他们面临着修复房子的艰巨任务。
  • Starting a new job can be a daunting prospect.开始一项新工作有时会让人望而却步。
39 writ iojyr     
n.命令状,书面命令
参考例句:
  • This is a copy of a writ I received this morning.这是今早我收到的书面命令副本。
  • You shouldn't treat the newspapers as if they were Holy Writ. 你不应该把报上说的话奉若神明。
40 crammed e1bc42dc0400ef06f7a53f27695395ce     
adj.塞满的,挤满的;大口地吃;快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满;填入;临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式)
参考例句:
  • He crammed eight people into his car. 他往他的车里硬塞进八个人。
  • All the shelves were crammed with books. 所有的架子上都堆满了书。
41 watery bU5zW     
adj.有水的,水汪汪的;湿的,湿润的
参考例句:
  • In his watery eyes there is an expression of distrust.他那含泪的眼睛流露出惊惶失措的神情。
  • Her eyes became watery because of the smoke.因为烟熏,她的双眼变得泪汪汪的。
42 tsunami bpAyo     
n.海啸
参考例句:
  • Powerful quake sparks tsunami warning in Japan.大地震触发了日本的海啸预警。
  • Coastlines all around the Indian Ocean inundated by a huge tsunami.大海啸把印度洋沿岸地区都淹没了。
43 converse 7ZwyI     
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反
参考例句:
  • He can converse in three languages.他可以用3种语言谈话。
  • I wanted to appear friendly and approachable but I think I gave the converse impression.我想显得友好、平易近人些,却发觉给人的印象恰恰相反。
44 artistic IeWyG     
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的
参考例句:
  • The picture on this screen is a good artistic work.这屏风上的画是件很好的艺术品。
  • These artistic handicrafts are very popular with foreign friends.外国朋友很喜欢这些美术工艺品。
45 flair 87jyQ     
n.天赋,本领,才华;洞察力
参考例句:
  • His business skill complements her flair for design.他的经营技巧和她的设计才能相辅相成。
  • He had a natural flair for business.他有做生意的天分。
46 forefinger pihxt     
n.食指
参考例句:
  • He pinched the leaf between his thumb and forefinger.他将叶子捏在拇指和食指之间。
  • He held it between the tips of his thumb and forefinger.他用他大拇指和食指尖拿着它。
47 shudders 7a8459ee756ecff6a63e8a61f9289613     
n.颤动,打颤,战栗( shudder的名词复数 )v.战栗( shudder的第三人称单数 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动
参考例句:
  • It gives me the shudders. ((口语))它使我战栗。 来自辞典例句
  • The ghastly sight gave him the shudders. 那恐怖的景象使他感到恐惧。 来自辞典例句
48 chunk Kqwzz     
n.厚片,大块,相当大的部分(数量)
参考例句:
  • They had to be careful of floating chunks of ice.他们必须当心大块浮冰。
  • The company owns a chunk of farmland near Gatwick Airport.该公司拥有盖特威克机场周边的大片农田。
49 alcoholic rx7zC     
adj.(含)酒精的,由酒精引起的;n.酗酒者
参考例句:
  • The alcoholic strength of brandy far exceeds that of wine.白兰地的酒精浓度远远超过葡萄酒。
  • Alcoholic drinks act as a poison to a child.酒精饮料对小孩犹如毒药。
50 partnership NmfzPy     
n.合作关系,伙伴关系
参考例句:
  • The company has gone into partnership with Swiss Bank Corporation.这家公司已经和瑞士银行公司建立合作关系。
  • Martin has taken him into general partnership in his company.马丁已让他成为公司的普通合伙人。
51 admiration afpyA     
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕
参考例句:
  • He was lost in admiration of the beauty of the scene.他对风景之美赞不绝口。
  • We have a great admiration for the gold medalists.我们对金牌获得者极为敬佩。
52 dissect 3tNxQ     
v.分割;解剖
参考例句:
  • In biology class we had to dissect a frog.上生物课时我们得解剖青蛙。
  • Not everyone can dissect and digest the public information they receive.不是每个人都可以解析和消化他们得到的公共信息的。
53 exhausted 7taz4r     
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的
参考例句:
  • It was a long haul home and we arrived exhausted.搬运回家的这段路程特别长,到家时我们已筋疲力尽。
  • Jenny was exhausted by the hustle of city life.珍妮被城市生活的忙乱弄得筋疲力尽。
54 ooze 7v2y3     
n.软泥,渗出物;vi.渗出,泄漏;vt.慢慢渗出,流露
参考例句:
  • Soon layer of oceanic ooze began to accumulate above the old hard layer.不久后海洋软泥层开始在老的硬地层上堆积。
  • Drip or ooze systems are common for pot watering.滴灌和渗灌系统一般也用于盆栽灌水。
55 giggle 4eNzz     
n.痴笑,咯咯地笑;v.咯咯地笑着说
参考例句:
  • Both girls began to giggle.两个女孩都咯咯地笑了起来。
  • All that giggle and whisper is too much for me.我受不了那些咯咯的笑声和交头接耳的样子。
56 obstinate m0dy6     
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的
参考例句:
  • She's too obstinate to let anyone help her.她太倔强了,不会让任何人帮她的。
  • The trader was obstinate in the negotiation.这个商人在谈判中拗强固执。


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