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RACHEL
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TUESDAY, JULY 16, 2013
MORNING
I’m on the 8:04, but I’m not going into London. I’mgoing to Witney instead. I’m hoping that being therewill jog my memory, that I’ll get to the station andI’ll see everything clearly, I’ll know. I don’t hold outmuch hope, but there is nothing else I can do. Ican’t call Tom. I’m too ashamed, and in any case,he’s made it clear: he wants nothing more to dowith me.
Megan is still missing; she’s been gone more thansixty hours now, and the story is becoming nationalnews. It was on the BBC website and Daily Mailthis morning; there were a few snippets mentioning iton other sites, too.
I printed out both the BBC and Daily Mail stories;I have them with me. From them I have gleaned1 thefollowing:
Megan and Scott argued on Saturday evening. Aneighbour reported hearing raised voices. Scottadmitted that they’d argued and said that he believedhis wife had gone to spend the night with a friend,Tara Epstein, who lives in Corly.
Megan never got to Tara’s house. Tara says the lasttime she saw Megan was on Friday afternoon attheir Pilates class. (I knew Megan would do Pilates.)According to Ms. Epstein, “She seemed fine, normal.
She was in a good mood, she was talking aboutdoing something special for her thirtieth birthday nextmonth.”
Megan was seen by one witness walking towardsWitney train station at around seven fifteen onSaturday evening.
Megan has no family in the area. Both her parentsare deceased.
Megan is unemployed2. She used to run a small artgallery in Witney, but it closed down in April lastyear. (I knew Megan would be arty.)Scott is a self-employed IT consultant3. (I can’tbloody believe Scott is an IT consultant.)Megan and Scott have been married for threeyears; they have been living in the house onBlenheim Road since January 2012.
According to the Daily Mail, their house is worthfour hundred thousand pounds.
Reading this, I know that things look bad for Scott.
Not just because of the argument, either; it’s just theway things are: when something bad happens to awoman, the police look at the husband or theboyfriend first. However, in this case, the police don’thave all the facts. They’re only looking at thehusband, presumably because they don’t know aboutthe boyfriend.
It could be that I am the only person who knowsthat the boyfriend exists.
I scrabble around in my bag for a scrap5 of paper.
On the back of a card slip for two bottles of wine, Iwrite down a list of most likely possible explanationsfor the disappearance6 of Megan Hipwell:
She has run off with her boyfriend, who from hereon in, I will refer to as B.
B has harmed her.
Scott has harmed her.
She has simply left her husband and gone to liveelsewhere.
Someone other than B or Scott has harmed her.
I think the first possibility is most likely, and four isa strong contender, too, because Megan is anindependent, wilful7 woman, I’m sure of it. And if shewere having an affair, she might need to get away toclear her head, mightn’t she? Five does not seemespecially likely, since murder by a stranger isn’t allthat common.
The bump on my head is throbbing8, and I can’tstop thinking about the argument I saw, or imagined,or dreamed about, on Saturday night. As we passMegan and Scott’s house, I look up. I can hear theblood pulsing in my head. I feel excited. I feel afraid.
The windows of number fifteen, reflecting morningsunshine, look like sightless eyes.
EVENING
I’m just settling into my seat when my phone rings.
It’s Cathy. I let it go to voice mail.
She leaves a message: “Hi, Rachel, just phoning tomake sure you’re OK.” She’s worried about me,because of the thing with the taxi. “I just wanted tosay that I’m sorry, you know, about the other day,what I said about moving out. I shouldn’t have. Ioverreacted. You can stay as long as you want to.”
There’s a long pause, and then she says, “Give me aring, OK? And come straight home, Rach, don’t goto the pub.”
I don’t intend to. I wanted a drink at lunchtime; Iwas desperate for one after what happened inWitney this morning. I didn’t have one, though,because I had to keep a clear head. It’s been a longtime since I’ve had anything worth keeping a clearhead for.
It was so strange, this morning, my trip to Witney. Ifelt as though I hadn’t been there in ages, althoughof course it’s only been a few days. It may as wellhave been a completely different place, though, adifferent station in a different town. I was a differentperson than the one who went there on Saturdaynight. Today I was stiff and sober, hyperaware of thenoise and the light and fear of discovery.
I was trespassing9. That’s what it felt like thismorning, because it’s their territory now, it’s Tomand Anna’s and Scott and Megan’s. I’m the outsider,I don’t belong there, and yet everything is so familiarto me. Down the concrete steps at the station, rightpast the newspaper kiosk into Roseberry Avenue, halfa block to the end of the T-junction, to the right thearchway leading to a dank pedestrian underpassbeneath the track, and to the left Blenheim Road,narrow and tree-lined, flanked with its handsomeVictorian terraces. It feels like coming home—not justto any home, but a childhood home, a place leftbehind a lifetime ago; it’s the familiarity of walking upstairs and knowing exactly which one is going tocreak.
The familiarity isn’t just in my head, it’s in mybones; it’s muscle memory. This morning, as Iwalked past the blackened tunnel mouth, theentrance to the underpass, my pace quickened. Ididn’t have to think about it because I always walkeda little faster on that section. Every night, cominghome, especially in winter, I used to pick up thepace, glancing quickly to the right, just to make sure.
There was never anyone there—not on any of thosenights and not today—and yet I stopped dead as Ilooked into the darkness this morning, because Icould suddenly see myself. I could see myself a fewmetres in, slumped10 against the wall, my head in myhands, and both head and hands smeared11 withblood.
My heart thudding in my chest, I stood there,morning commuters stepping around me as theycontinued on their way to the station, one or twoturning to look at me as they passed, as I stoodstock-still. I didn’t know—don’t know—if it was real.
Why would I have gone into the underpass? Whatreason would I have had to go down there, whereit’s dark and damp and stinks12 of piss?
I turned around and headed back to the station. Ididn’t want to be there any longer; I didn’t want togo to Scott and Megan’s front door. I wanted to getaway from there. Something bad happened there, Iknow it did.
I paid for my ticket and walked quickly up thestation steps to the other side of the platform, and asI did it came to me again in a flash: not theunderpass this time, but the steps; stumbling on thesteps and a man taking my arm, helping13 me up. Theman from the train, with the reddish hair. I couldsee him, a vague picture but no dialogue. I couldremember laughing—at myself, or at something hesaid. He was nice to me, I’m sure of it. Almost sure.
Something bad happened, but I don’t think it hadanything to do with him.
I got on the train and went into London. I went tothe library and sat at a computer terminal, lookingfor stories about Megan. There was a short piece onthe Telegraph website that said that “a man in histhirties is helping police with their inquiries14.” Scott,presumably. I can’t believe he would have hurt her. Iknow that he wouldn’t. I’ve seen them together; Iknow what they’re like together. They gave aCrimestoppers number, too, which you can ring ifyou have information. I’m going to call it on the wayhome, from a pay phone. I’m going to tell themabout B, about what I saw.
My phone rings just as we’re getting into Ashbury.
It’s Cathy again. Poor girl, she really is worried aboutme.
“Rach? Are you on the train? Are you on your wayhome?” She sounds anxious.
“Yes, I’m on my way,” I tell her. “I’ll be fifteenminutes.”
“The police are here, Rachel,” she says, and myentire body goes cold. “They want to talk to you.”
WEDNESDAY, JULY 17, 2013
MORNING
Megan is still missing, and I have lied—repeatedly—tothe police.
I was in a panic by the time I got back to the flatlast night. I tried to convince myself that they’d cometo see me about my accident with the taxi, but thatdidn’t make sense. I’d spoken to police at thescene—it was clearly my fault. It had to be somethingto do with Saturday night. I must have donesomething. I must have committed some terrible actand blacked it out.
I know it sounds unlikely. What could I have done?
Gone to Blenheim Road, attacked Megan Hipwell,disposed of her body somewhere and then forgottenall about it? It sounds ridiculous. It is ridiculous. ButI know something happened on Saturday. I knew itwhen I looked into that dark tunnel under therailway line, my blood turning to ice water in myveins.
Blackouts happen, and it isn’t just a matter of beinga bit hazy17 about getting home from the club orforgetting what it was that was so funny when youwere chatting in the pub. It’s different. Total black;hours lost, never to be retrieved19.
Tom bought me a book about it. Not very romantic,but he was tired of listening to me tell him howsorry I was in the morning when I didn’t even knowwhat I was sorry for. I think he wanted me to seethe20 damage I was doing, the kind of things I mightbe capable of. It was written by a doctor, but I’ve noidea whether it was accurate: the author claimed thatblacking out wasn’t simply a matter of forgetting whathad happened, but having no memories to forget inthe first place. His theory was that you get into astate where your brain no longer makes short-termmemories. And while you’re there, in deepest black,you don’t behave as you usually would, becauseyou’re simply reacting to the very last thing that youthink happened, because—since you aren’t makingmemories—you might not actually know what the lastthing that happened really was. He had anecdotes,too, cautionary tales for the blacked-out drinker:
There was a guy in New Jersey22 who got drunk at afourth of July party. Afterwards, he got into his car,drove several miles in the wrong direction on themotorway and ploughed into a van carrying sevenpeople. The van burst into flames and six peopledied. The drunk guy was fine. They always are. Hehad no memory of getting into his car.
There was another man, in New York this time,who left a bar, drove to the house he’d grown upin, stabbed its occupants to death, took off all hisclothes, got back into his car, drove home and wentto bed. He got up the next morning feeling terrible,wondering where his clothes were and how he’d gothome, but it wasn’t until the police came to get himthat he discovered he had brutally23 slain24 two peoplefor no apparent reason whatsoever25.
So it sound ridiculous, but it’s not impossible, andby the time I got home last night I had convincedmyself that I was in some way involved in Megan’sdisappearance.
The police officers were sitting on the sofa in theliving room, a fortysomething man in plain clothesand a younger one in uniform with acne on hisneck. Cathy was standing26 next to the window,wringing her hands. She looked terrified. Thepolicemen got up. The plainclothes one, very tall andslightly stooped, shook my hand and introducedhimself as Detective Inspector27 Gaskill. He told me theother officer’s name as well, but I don’t remember it.
I wasn’t concentrating. I was barely breathing.
“What’s this about?” I barked at them. “Hassomething happened? Is it my mother? Is it Tom?”
“Everyone’s all right, Ms. Watson, we just need totalk to you about what you did on Saturdayevening,” Gaskill said. It’s the sort of thing they sayon television; it didn’t seem real. They want to knowwhat I did on Saturday evening. What the fuck did Ido on Saturday evening?
“I need to sit down,” I said, and the detectivemotioned for me to take his place on the sofa, nextto Neck Acne. Cathy was shifting from one foot toanother, chewing on her lower lip. She looked frantic28.
“Are you all right, Ms. Watson?” Gaskill asked me.
He motioned to the cut above my eye.
“I was knocked down by a taxi,” I said. “Yesterdayafternoon, in London. I went to the hospital. You cancheck.”
“OK,” he said, with a slight shake of his head. “So.
Saturday evening?”
“I went to Witney,” I said, trying to keep the waverout of my voice.
“To do what?”
Neck Acne had a notebook out, pencil raised.
“I wanted to see my husband,” I said.
“Oh, Rachel,” Cathy said.
The detective ignored her. “Your husband?” he said.
“You mean your ex-husband? Tom Watson?” Yes, Istill bear his name. It was just more convenient. Ididn’t have to change my credit cards, email address,get a new passport, things like that.
“That’s right. I wanted to see him, but then Idecided that it wasn’t a good idea, so I came home.”
“What time was this?” Gaskill’s voice was even, hisface completely blank. His lips barely moved when hespoke. I could hear the scratch of Neck Acne’s pencilon paper, I could hear the blood pounding in myears.
“It was?.?.?. um?.?.?. I think it was around six thirty. Imean, I think I got the train at around six o’clock.”
“And you came home?.?.?.??”
“Maybe seven thirty?” I glanced up and caughtCathy’s eye and I could see from the look on herface that she knew I was lying. “Maybe a bit laterthan that. Maybe it was closer to eight. Yes, actually,I remember now—I think I got home just aftereight.” I could feel the colour rising to my cheeks; ifthis man didn’t know I was lying then, he didn’tdeserve to be on the police force.
The detective turned around, grabbed one of thechairs pushed under the table in the corner andpulled it towards him in a swift, almost violentmovement. He placed it directly opposite me, acouple of feet away. He sat down, his hands on hisknees, head cocked to one side. “OK,” he said. “Soyou left at around six, meaning you’d be in Witneyby six thirty. And you were back here around eight,which means you must have left Witney at aroundseven thirty. Does that sound about right?”
“Yes, that seems right,” I said, that wobble back inmy voice, betraying me. In a second or two he wasgoing to ask me what I’d been doing for an hour,and I had no answer to give him.
“And you didn’t actually go to see your ex-husband.
So what did you do during that hour in Witney?”
“I walked around for a bit.”
He waited, to see if I was going to elaborate. Ithought about telling him I went to a pub, but thatwould be stupid—that’s verifiable. He’d ask me whichpub, he’d ask me whether I’d spoken to anyone. AsI was thinking about what I should tell him, I realizedthat I hadn’t actually thought to ask him to explainwhy he wanted to know where I was on Saturdayevening, and that that in itself must have seemedodd. That must have made me look guilty ofsomething.
“Did you speak to anyone?” he asked me, readingmy mind. “Go into any shops, bars?.?.?.??”
“I spoke15 to a man in the station!” I blurted29 this outloudly, triumphantly30 almost, as though it meantsomething. “Why do you need to know this? What isgoing on?”
Detective Inspector Gaskill leaned back in the chair.
“You may have heard that a woman from Witney—awoman who lives on Blenheim Road, just a fewdoors along from your ex-husband—is missing. Wehave been going door-to-door, asking people if theyremember seeing her that night, or if they rememberseeing or hearing anything unusual. And during thecourse of our enquiries, your name came up.” He fellsilent for a bit, letting this sink in. “You were seenon Blenheim Road that evening, around the time thatMrs. Hipwell, the missing woman, left her home. Mrs.
Anna Watson told us that she saw you in the street,near Mrs. Hipwell’s home, not very far from her ownproperty. She said that you were acting21 strangely,and that she was worried. So worried, in fact, thatshe considered calling the police.”
My heart was fluttering like a trapped bird. Icouldn’t speak, because all I could see at thatmoment was myself, slouched in the underpass, bloodon my hands. Blood on my hands. Mine, surely? Ithad to be mine. I looked up at Gaskill, saw his eyeson mine and knew that I had to say somethingquickly to stop him reading my mind. “I didn’t doanything.” I said. “I didn’t. I just?.?.?. I just wanted tosee my husband?.?.?.”
“Your ex-husband,” Gaskill corrected me again. Hepulled a photograph out of his jacket pocket andshowed it to me. It was a picture of Megan. “Didyou see this woman on Saturday night?” he asked. Istared at it for a long time. It felt so surreal havingher presented to me like that, the perfect blonde I’dwatched, whose life I’d constructed and deconstructedin my head. It was a close-up head shot, aprofessional job. Her features were a little heavierthan I’d imagined, not quite so fine as those of theJess in my head. “Ms. Watson? Did you see her?”
I didn’t know if I’d seen her. I honestly didn’tknow. I still don’t.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“You don’t think so? So you might have seen her?”
“I?.?.?. I’m not sure.”
“Had you been drinking on Saturday evening?” heasked. “Before you went to Witney, had you beendrinking?”
The heat came rushing back to my face. “Yes,” Isaid.
“Mrs. Watson—Anna Watson—said that she thoughtyou were drunk when she saw you outside herhome. Were you drunk?”
“No,” I said, keeping my eyes firmly on the detectiveso that I didn’t catch Cathy’s eye. “I’d had a coupleof drinks in the afternoon, but I wasn’t drunk.”
Gaskill sighed. He seemed disappointed in me. Heglanced over at Neck Acne, then back at me. Slowly,deliberately, he got to his feet and pushed the chairback to its position under the table. “If youremember anything about Saturday night, anythingthat might be helpful to us, would you please callme?” he said, handing me a business card.
As Gaskill nodded sombrely at Cathy, preparing toleave, I slumped back into the sofa. I could feel myheart rate starting to slow, and then it raced again asI heard him ask me, “You work in public relations, isthat correct? Huntingdon Whitely?”
“That’s right,” I said. “Huntingdon Whitely.”
He is going to check, and he is going to know Ilied. I can’t let him find out for himself, I have to tellhim.
So that’s what I’m going to do this morning. I’mgoing to go round to the police station to comeclean. I’m going to tell him everything: that I lost myjob months ago, that I was very drunk on Saturdaynight and I have no idea what time I came home.
I’m going to say what I should have said last night:
that he’s looking in the wrong direction. I’m going totell him that I believe Megan Hipwell was having anaffair.
EVENINGThe police think I’m a rubbernecker. They think I’ma stalker, a nutcase, mentally unstable31. I should neverhave gone to the police station. I’ve made my ownsituation worse and I don’t think I’ve helped Scott,which was the reason I went there in the first place.
He needs my help, because it’s obvious the police willsuspect that he’s done something to her, and I knowit isn’t true, because I know him. I really feel that,crazy as it sounds. I’ve seen the way he is with her.
He couldn’t hurt her.
OK, so helping Scott was not my sole reason forgoing32 to the police. There was the matter of the lie,which needed sorting out. The lie about my workingfor Huntingdon Whitely.
It took me ages to get up the courage to go intothe station. I was on the verge33 of turning back andgoing home a dozen times, but eventually I went in.
I asked the desk sergeant34 if I could speak toDetective Inspector Gaskill, and he showed me to astuffy waiting room, where I sat for over an houruntil someone came to get me. By that time I wassweating and trembling like a woman on her way tothe scaffold. I was shown into another room, smallerand stuffier35 still, windowless and airless. I was leftthere alone for a further ten minutes before Gaskilland a woman, also in plain clothes, turned up. Gaskillgreeted me politely; he didn’t seem surprised to seeme. He introduced his companion as DetectiveSergeant Riley. She is younger than I am, tall, slim,dark-haired, pretty in a sharp-featured, vulpine sort ofway. She did not return my smile.
We all sat down and nobody said anything; theyjust looked at me expectantly.
“I remembered the man,” I said. “I told you therewas a man at the station. I can describe him.” Rileyraised her eyebrows36 ever so slightly and shifted inher seat. “He was about medium height, mediumbuild, reddish hair. I slipped on the steps and hecaught my arm.” Gaskill leaned forward, his elbowson the table, hands clasped together in front of hismouth. “He was wearing?.?.?. I think he was wearinga blue shirt.”
This is not actually true. I do remember a man,and I’m pretty sure he had reddish hair, and I thinkthat he smiled at me, or smirked37 at me, when I wason the train. I think that he got off at Witney, and Ithink he might have spoken to me. It’s possible Imight have slipped on the steps. I have a memory ofit, but I can’t tell whether the memory belongs toSaturday night or to another time. There have beenmany slips, on many staircases. I have no idea whathe was wearing.
The detectives were not impressed with my tale.
Riley gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head.
Gaskill unclasped his hands and spread them out,palms upwards38, in front of him. “OK. Is that reallywhat you came here to tell me, Ms. Watson?” heasked. There was no anger in his tone, he soundedalmost encouraging. I wished that Riley would goaway. I could talk to him; I could trust him.
“I don’t work for Huntingdon Whitely any longer,” Isaid.
“Oh.” He leaned back in his seat, looking moreinterested.
“I left three months ago. My flatmate—well, she’s mylandlady, really—I haven’t told her. I’m trying to findanother job. I didn’t want her to know because Ithought she would worry about the rent. I havesome money. I can pay my rent, but?.?.?. Anyway, Ilied to you yesterday about my job and I apologizefor that.”
Riley leaned forward and gave me an insinceresmile. “I see. You no longer work for HuntingdonWhitely. You don’t work for anyone, is that right?
You’re unemployed?” I nodded. “OK. So?.?.?. you’renot registered to collect unemployment benefits,nothing like that?”
“No.”
“And?.?.?. your flatmate, she hasn’t noticed that youdon’t go to work every day?”
“I do. I mean, I don’t go to the office, but I go intoLondon, the way I used to, at the same time andeverything, so that she?.?.?. so that she won’t know.”
Riley glanced at Gaskill; he kept his eyes on my face,the hint of a frown between his eyes. “It sounds odd,I know?.?.?.” I said, and I tailed off then, because itdoesn’t just sound odd, it sounds insane when yousay it out loud.
“Right. So, you pretend to go to work every day?”
Riley asked me, her brow knitted, too, as though shewere concerned about me. As though she thought Iwas completely deranged39. I didn’t speak or nod ordo anything, I kept silent. “Can I ask why you leftyour job, Ms. Watson?”
There was no point in lying. If they hadn’t intendedto check out my employment record before thisconversation, they bloody4 well would now. “I wasfired,” I said.
“You were dismissed,” Riley said, a note ofsatisfaction in her voice. It was obviously the answershe’d anticipated. “Why was that?”
I gave a little sigh and appealed to Gaskill. “Is thisreally important? Does it matter why I left my job?”
Gaskill didn’t say anything, he was consulting somenotes that Riley had pushed in front of him, but hedid give the slightest shake of his head. Rileychanged tack16.
“Ms. Watson, I wanted to ask you about Saturdaynight.”
I glanced at Gaskill—we’ve already had thisconversation—but he wasn’t looking at me. “Allright,” I said. I kept raising my hand to my scalp,worrying at my injury. I couldn’t stop myself.
“Tell me why you went to Blenheim Road onSaturday night. Why did you want to speak to yourex-husband?”
“I don’t really think that’s any of your business,” Isaid, and then, quickly, before she had time to sayanything else, “Would it be possible to have a glassof water?”
Gaskill got to his feet and left the room, whichwasn’t really the outcome I was hoping for. Rileydidn’t say a word; she just kept looking at me, thetrace of a smile still on her lips. I couldn’t hold hergaze, I looked at the table, I let my eyes wanderaround the room. I knew this was a tactic40: she wasremaining silent so that I would become souncomfortable that I had to say something, even if Ididn’t really want to. “I had some things I needed todiscuss with him,” I said. “Private matters.” I soundedpompous and ridiculous.
Riley sighed. I bit my lip, determined41 not to speakuntil Gaskill came back into the room. The momenthe returned, placing a glass of cloudy water in frontof me, Riley spoke.
“Private matters?” she prompted.
“That’s right.”
Riley and Gaskill exchanged a look, I wasn’t sure ifit was irritation42 or amusement. I could taste thesweat on my upper lip. I took a sip43 of water; ittasted stale. Gaskill shuffled44 the papers in front ofhim and then pushed them aside, as though he wasdone with them, or as though whatever was in themdidn’t interest him all that much.
“Ms. Watson, your?.?.?. er?.?.?. your ex-husband’scurrent wife, Mrs. Anna Watson, has raised concernsabout you. She told us that you have been botheringher, bothering her husband, that you have gone tothe house uninvited, that on one occasion?.?.?.” Gaskillglanced back at his notes, but Riley interrupted.
“On one occasion you broke into Mr. and Mrs.
Watson’s home and took their child, their newbornbaby.”
A black hole opened up in the centre of the roomand swallowed me. “That is not true!” I said. “Ididn’t take?.?.?. It didn’t happen like that, that’swrong. I didn’t?.?.?. I didn’t take her.”
I got very upset then, I started to shake and cry, Isaid I wanted to leave. Riley pushed her chair backand got to her feet, shrugged45 at Gaskill and left theroom. Gaskill handed me a Kleenex.
“You can leave any time you like, Ms. Watson. Youcame here to talk to us.” He smiled at me then, anapologetic sort of smile. I liked him in that moment, Iwanted to take his hand and squeeze it, but I didn’t,because that would have been weird46. “I think youhave more to tell me,” he said, and I liked him evenmore for saying “tell me” rather than “tell us.”
“Perhaps,” he said, getting to his feet and usheringme towards the door, “you would like to take abreak, stretch your legs, get yourself something toeat. Then when you’re ready, come back, and youcan tell me everything.”
I was planning to just forget the whole thing and gohome. I was walking back towards the train station,ready to turn my back on the whole thing. Then Ithought about the train journey, about goingbackwards and forwards on that line, past thehouse—Megan and Scott’s house—every day. What ifthey never found her? I was going to wonderforever—and I understand that this is not very likely,but even so—whether my saying something mighthave helped her. What if Scott was accused ofharming her just because they never knew about B?
What if she was at B’s house right now, tied up inthe basement, hurt and bleeding, or buried in thegarden?
I did as Gaskill said, I bought a ham and cheesesandwich and a bottle of water from a corner shopand took it to Witney’s only park, a rather sorry littlepatch of land surrounded by 1930s houses and givenover almost entirely47 to an asphalted playground. I saton a bench at the edge of this space, watchingmothers and childminders scolding their charges foreating sand out of the pit. I used to dream of this, afew years back. I dreamed of coming here—not toeat ham and cheese sandwiches in between policeinterviews, obviously. I dreamed of coming here withmy own baby. I thought about the buggy I wouldbuy, all the time I would spend in Trotters and atthe Early Learning Centre sizing up adorable outfitsand educational toys. I thought about how I would sithere, bouncing my own bundle of joy on my lap.
It didn’t happen. No doctor has been able toexplain to me why I can’t get pregnant. I’m youngenough, fit enough, I wasn’t drinking heavily whenwe were trying. My husband’s sperm48 was active andplentiful. It just didn’t happen. I didn’t suffer theagony of miscarriage49, I just didn’t get pregnant. Wedid one round of IVF, which was all we could afford.
It was, as everyone had warned us it would be,unpleasant and unsuccessful. Nobody warned me itwould break us. But it did. Or rather, it broke me,and then I broke us.
The thing about being barren is that you’re notallowed to get away from it. Not when you’re in yourthirties. My friends were having children, friends offriends were having children, pregnancy50 and birthand first birthday parties were everywhere. I wasasked about it all the time. My mother, our friends,colleagues at work. When was it going to be myturn? At some point our childlessness became anacceptable topic of Sunday-lunch conversation, notjust between Tom and me, but more generally. Whatwe were trying, what we should be doing, do youreally think you should be having a second glass ofwine? I was still young, there was still plenty of time,but failure cloaked me like a mantle51, it overwhelmedme, dragged me under, and I gave up hope. At thetime, I resented the fact that it was always seen asmy fault, that I was the one letting the side down.
But as the speed with which he managed toimpregnate Anna demonstrates, there was never anyproblem with Tom’s virility52. I was wrong to suggestthat we should share the blame; it was all down tome.
Lara, my best friend since university, had twochildren in two years: a boy first and then a girl. Ididn’t like them. I didn’t want to hear anything aboutthem. I didn’t want to be near them. Lara stoppedspeaking to me after a while. There was a girl atwork who told me—casually, as though she weretalking about an appendectomy or a wisdom-toothextraction—that she’d recently had an abortion53, amedical one, and it was so much less traumatic thanthe surgical54 one she’d had when she was atuniversity. I couldn’t speak to her after that, I couldbarely look at her. Things became awkward in theoffice; people noticed.
Tom didn’t feel the way I did. It wasn’t his failure,for starters, and in any case, he didn’t need a childlike I did. He wanted to be a dad, he really did—I’msure he daydreamed55 about kicking a football aroundin the garden with his son, or carrying his daughteron his shoulders in the park. But he thought ourlives could be great without children, too. “We’rehappy,” he used to say to me. “Why can’t we justgo on being happy?” He became frustrated56 with me.
He never understood that it’s possible to miss whatyou’ve never had, to mourn for it.
I felt isolated57 in my misery58. I became lonely, so Idrank a bit, and then a bit more, and then Ibecame lonelier, because no one likes being around adrunk. I lost and I drank and I drank and I lost. Iliked my job, but I didn’t have a glittering career,and even if I had, let’s be honest: women are stillonly really valued for two things—their looks andtheir role as mothers. I’m not beautiful, and I can’thave kids, so what does that make me? Worthless.
I can’t blame all this for my drinking—I can’t blamemy parents or my childhood, an abusive uncle orsome terrible tragedy. It’s my fault. I was a drinkeranyway—I’ve always liked to drink. But I did becomesadder, and sadness gets boring after a while, for thesad person and for everyone around them. And thenI went from being a drinker to being a drunk, andthere’s nothing more boring than that.
I’m better now, about the children thing; I’ve gotbetter since I’ve been on my own. I’ve had to. I’veread books and articles, I’ve realized that I mustcome to terms with it. There are strategies, there ishope. If I straightened myself out and sobered up,there’s a possibility that I could adopt. And I’m notthirty-four yet—it isn’t over. I am better than I was afew years ago, when I used to abandon my trolleyand leave the supermarket if the place was packedwith mums and kids; I wouldn’t have been able tocome to a park like this, to sit near the playgroundand watch chubby59 toddlers rolling down the slide.
There were times, at my lowest, when the hungerwas at its worst, when I thought I was going to losemy mind.
Maybe I did, for a while. The day they asked meabout at the police station, I might have been madthen. Something Tom once said tipped me over, sentme sliding. Something he wrote, rather: I read it onFacebook that morning. It wasn’t a shock—I knewshe was having a baby, he’d told me, and I’d seenher, seen that pink blind in the nursery window. So Iknew what was coming. But I thought of the babyas her baby. Until the day I saw the picture of him,holding his newborn girl, looking down at her andsmiling, and beneath he’d written: So this is whatall the fuss is about! Never knew love like this!
Happiest day of my life! I thought about himwriting that—knowing that I would see it, that Iwould read those words and they would kill me, andwriting it anyway. He didn’t care. Parents don’t careabout anything but their children. They are thecentre of the universe; they are all that really counts.
Nobody else is important, no one else’s suffering orjoy matters, none of it is real.
I was angry. I was distraught. Maybe I wasvengeful. Maybe I thought I’d show them that mydistress was real. I don’t know. I did a stupid thing.
I went back to the police station after a couple ofhours. I asked if I could speak to Gaskill alone, buthe said that he wanted Riley to be present. I likedhim a little less after that.
“I didn’t break into their home,” I said. “I did gothere, I wanted to speak to Tom. No one answeredthe doorbell?.?.?.”
“So how did you get in?” Riley asked me.
“The door was open.”
“The front door was open?”
I sighed. “No, of course not. The sliding door at theback, the one leading into the garden.”
“And how did you get into the back garden?”
“I went over the fence, I knew the way in—”
“So you climbed over the fence to gain access toyour ex-husband’s house?”
“Yes. We used to?.?.?. There was always a spare keyat the back. We had a place we hid it, in case oneof us lost our keys or forgot them or something. ButI wasn’t breaking in—I didn’t. I just wanted to talk toTom. I thought maybe?.?.?. the bell wasn’t working orsomething.”
“This was the middle of the day, during the week,wasn’t it? Why did you think your husband would beat home? Had you called to find out?” Riley asked.
“Jesus! Will you just let me speak?” I shouted, andshe shook her head and gave me that smile again,as if she knew me, as if she could read me. “I wentover the fence,” I said, trying to control the volumeof my voice, “and knocked on the glass doors, whichwere partly open. There was no answer. I stuck myhead inside and called Tom’s name. Again, noanswer, but I could hear a baby crying. I went insideand saw that Anna—”
“Mrs. Watson?”
“Yes. Mrs. Watson was on the sofa, sleeping. Thebaby was in the carry-cot and was crying—screaming,actually, red in the face, she’d obviously been cryingfor a while.” As I said those words it struck me thatI should have told them that I could hear the babycrying from the street and that’s why I went roundto the back of the house. That would have made mesound less like a maniac60.
“So the baby’s screaming and her mother’s rightthere, and she doesn’t wake?” Riley asks me.
“Yes.” Her elbows are on the table, her hands infront of her mouth so I can’t read her expressionfully, but I know she thinks I’m lying. “I picked herup to comfort her. That’s all. I picked her up toquieten her.”
“That’s not all, though, is it, because when Annawoke up you weren’t there, were you? You weredown by the fence, by the train tracks.”
“She didn’t stop crying right away,” I said. “I wasbouncing her up and down and she was stillgrizzling, so I walked outside with her.”
“Down to the train tracks?”
“Into the garden.”
“Did you intend to harm the Watsons’ child?”
I leaped to my feet then. Melodramatic, I know, butI wanted to make them see—make Gaskill see—whatan outrageous61 suggestion that was. “I don’t have tolisten to this! I came here to tell you about the man!
I came here to help you! And now?.?.?. what exactlyare you accusing me of? What are you accusing meof?”
Gaskill remained impassive, unimpressed. Hemotioned at me to sit down again. “Ms. Watson, theother?.?.?. er, Mrs. Watson—Anna—mentioned you tous during the course of our enquiries about MeganHipwell. She said that you had behaved erratically62, inan unstable manner, in the past. She mentioned thisincident with the child. She said that you haveharassed both her and her husband, that youcontinue to call the house repeatedly.” He lookeddown at his notes for a moment. “Almost nightly, infact. That you refuse to accept that your marriage isover—”
“That is simply not true!” I insisted, and itwasn’t—yes, I called Tom from time to time, but notevery night, it was a total exaggeration. But I wasgetting the feeling that Gaskill wasn’t on my side afterall, and I was starting to feel tearful again.
“Why haven’t you changed your name?” Riley askedme.
“Excuse me?”
“You still use your husband’s name. Why is that? Ifa man left me for another woman, I think I’d wantto get rid of that name. I certainly wouldn’t want toshare my name with my replacement63?.?.?.”
“Well, maybe I’m not that petty.” I am that petty. Ihate that she’s Anna Watson.
“Right. And the ring—the one on a chain aroundyour neck. Is that your wedding band?”
“No,” I lied. “It’s a?.?.?. it was my grandmother’s.”
“Is that right? OK. Well, I have to say that to me,your behaviour suggests that—as Mrs. Watson hasimplied—you are unwilling64 to move on, that yourefuse to accept that your ex has a new family.”
“I don’t see—”
“What this has to do with Megan Hipwell?” Rileyfinished my sentence. “Well. The night Megan wentmissing, we have reports that you—an unstablewoman who had been drinking heavily—were seenon the street where she lives. Bearing in mind thatthere are some physical similarities between Meganand Mrs. Watson—”
“They don’t look anything like each other!” I wasoutraged at the suggestion. Jess is nothing like Anna.
Megan is nothing like Anna.
“They’re both blond, slim, petite, pale-skinned?.?.?.”
“So I attacked Megan Hipwell thinking she wasAnna? That’s the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard,”
I said. But that lump on my head was throbbingagain, and everything from Saturday night was stilldeepest black.
“Did you know that Anna Watson knows MeganHipwell?” Gaskill asked me, and I felt my jaw65 drop.
“I?.?.?. what? No. No, they don’t know each other.”
Riley smiled for a moment, then straightened herface. “Yes they do. Megan did some childminding forthe Watsons?.?.?.” She glanced down at her notes.
“Back in August and September last year.”
I don’t know what to say. I can’t imagine it: Meganin my home, with her, with her baby.
“The cut on your lip, is that from when you gotknocked down the other day?” Gaskill asked me.
“Yes. I bit it when I fell, I think.”
“Where was it, this accident?”
“It was in London, Theobalds Road. Near Holborn.”
“And what were you doing there?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Why were you in central London?”
I shrugged. “I already told you,” I said coldly. “Myflatmate doesn’t know that I’ve lost my job. So I gointo London, as usual, and I go to libraries, to jobhunt, to work on my CV.”
Riley shook her head, in disbelief perhaps, orwonder. How does anyone get to that point?
I pushed my chair back, readying myself to leave.
I’d had enough of being talked down to, being madeto look like a fool, like a madwoman. Time to playthe trump67 card. “I don’t really know why we’retalking about this,” I said. “I would have thought thatyou would have better things to do, like investigatingMegan Hipwell’s disappearance, for example. I take ityou’ve spoken to her lover?” Neither of them saidanything, they just stared at me. They weren’texpecting that. They didn’t know about him. “Perhapsyou didn’t know. Megan Hipwell was having anaffair,” I said, and I started to walk to the door.
Gaskill stopped me; he moved quietly and surprisinglyquickly, and before I could put my hand on the doorhandle he was standing in front of me.
“I thought you didn’t know Megan Hipwell,” he said.
“I don’t,” I said, trying to get past him.
“Sit down,” he said, blocking my path.
I told them then about what I’d seen from thetrain, about how I often saw Megan sitting out onher terrace, sunbathing68 in the evenings or havingcoffee in the mornings. I told them about how lastweek I saw her with someone who clearly wasn’t herhusband, how I’d seen them kissing on the lawn.
“When was this?” Gaskill snapped. He seemedannoyed with me, perhaps because I should havetold them this straightaway, instead of wasting all daytalking about myself.
“Friday. It was Friday morning.”
“So the day before she went missing, you saw herwith another man?” Riley asked me with a sigh ofexasperation. She closed the file in front of her.
Gaskill leaned back in his seat, studying my face. Sheclearly thought I was making it up; he wasn’t sosure.
“Can you describe him?” Gaskill asked.
“Tall, dark—”
“Handsome?” Riley interrupted.
I puffed69 my cheeks out. “Taller than Scott Hipwell. Iknow, because I’ve seen them together—Jessand—sorry, Megan and Scott Hipwell—and this manwas different. Slighter, thinner, darker-skinned.
Possibly an Asian man,” I said.
“You could determine his ethnic70 group from thetrain?” Riley said. “Impressive. Who is Jess, by theway?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You mentioned Jess a moment ago.”
I could feel my face flushing again. I shook myhead, “No, I didn’t,” I said.
Gaskill got to his feet and held out his hand for meto shake. “I think that’s enough.” I shook his hand,ignored Riley and turned to go. “Don’t go anywherenear Blenheim Road, Ms. Watson,” Gaskill said.
“Don’t contact your ex-husband unless it’s important,and don’t go anywhere near Anna Watson or herchild.”
On the train on the way home, as I dissect71 all theways that today went wrong, I’m surprised by thefact that I don’t feel as awful as I might do. Thinkingabout it, I know why that is: I didn’t have a drinklast night, and I have no desire to have one now. Iam interested, for the first time in ages, in somethingother than my own misery. I have purpose. Or atleast, I have a distraction72.
THURSDAY, JULY 18, 2013
MORNING
I bought three newspapers before getting onto thetrain this morning: Megan has been missing for fourdays and five nights, and the story is getting plentyof coverage73. The Daily Mail, predictably, hasmanaged to find pictures of Megan in her bikini, butthey’ve also done the most detailed74 profile I’ve seenof her so far.
Born Megan Mills in Rochester in 1983, she movedwith her parents to King’s Lynn in Norfolk when shewas ten. She was a bright child, very outgoing, atalented artist and singer. A quote from a schoolfriend says she was “a good laugh, very pretty andquite wild.” Her wildness seems to have beenexacerbated by the death of her brother, Ben, towhom she was very close. He was killed in amotorcycle accident when he was nineteen and shefifteen. She ran away from home three days after hisfuneral. She was arrested twice—once for theft andonce for soliciting75. Her relationship with her parents,the Mail informs me, broke down completely. Bothher parents died a few years ago, without ever beingreconciled with their daughter. (Reading this, I feeldesperately sad for Megan. I realize that perhaps,after all, she isn’t so different from me. She’s isolatedand lonely, too.)When she was sixteen, she moved in with aboyfriend who had a house near the village ofHolkham in north Norfolk. The school friend says,“He was an older guy, a musician or something. Hewas into drugs. We didn’t see Megan much afterthey got together.” The boyfriend’s name is not given,so presumably they haven’t found him. He might noteven exist. The school friend might be making thisstuff up just to get her name into the papers.
They skip forward several years after that: suddenlyMegan is twenty-four, living in London, working as awaitress in a North London restaurant. There shemeets Scott Hipwell, an independent IT contractorwho is friendly with the restaurant manager, and thetwo of them hit it off. After an “intense courtship,”
Megan and Scott marry, when she is twenty-six andhe is thirty.
There are a few other quotes, including one fromTara Epstein, the friend with whom Megan wassupposed to stay on the night she disappeared. Shesays that Megan is “a lovely, carefree girl” and thatshe seemed “very happy.” “Scott would not havehurt her,” Tara says. “He loves her very much.”
There isn’t a thing Tara says that isn’t a cliché. Thequote that interests me is from one of the artistswho exhibited his work in the gallery Megan used tomanage, one Rajesh Gujral, who says that Megan is“a wonderful woman, sharp, funny and beautiful, anintensely private person with a warm heart.” Soundsto me like Rajesh has got a crush. The only otherquote comes from a man called David Clark, “aformer colleague” of Scott’s, who says, “Megs andScott are a great couple. They’re very happytogether, very much in love.”
There are some news pieces about the investigation,too, but the statements from the police amount toless than nothing: they have spoken to “a number ofwitnesses,” they are “pursuing several lines ofenquiry.” The only interesting comment comes fromDetective Inspector Gaskill, who confirms that twomen are helping the police with their enquiries. I’mpretty sure that means they’re both suspects. Onewill be Scott. Could the other be B? Could B beRajesh?
I’ve been so engrossed76 in the newspapers that Ihaven’t been paying my usual attention to thejourney; it seems as though I’ve only just sat downwhen the train grinds to its customary halt oppositethe red signal. There are people in Scott’sgarden—there are two uniformed police just outsidethe back door. My head swims. Have they foundsomething? Have they found her? Is there a bodyburied in the garden or shoved under thefloorboards? I can’t stop thinking of the clothes onthe side of the railway line, which is stupid, because Isaw those there before Megan went missing. And inany case, if harm has been done to her, it wasn’t byScott, it can’t have been. He’s madly in love with her,everyone says so. The light is bad today, theweather’s turned, the sky leaden, threatening. I can’tsee into the house, I can’t see what’s going on. I feelquite desperate. I cannot stand being on theoutside—for better or worse, I am a part of this now.
I need to know what’s going on.
At least I have a plan. First, I need to find out ifthere’s any way that I can be made to rememberwhat happened on Saturday night. When I get to thelibrary, I plan to do some research and find outwhether hypnotherapy could make me remember,whether it is in fact possible to recover that lost time.
Second—and I believe this is important, because Idon’t think the police believed me when I told themabout Megan’s lover—I need to get in touch withScott Hipwell. I need to tell him. He deserves toknow.
EVENING
The train is full of rain-soaked people, steam risingoff their clothes and condensing on the windows. Thefug of body odour, perfume and laundry soap hangsoppressively above bowed, damp heads. The cloudsthat menaced this morning did so all day, growingheavier and blacker until they burst, monsoon-like,this evening, just as office workers stepped outsideand the rush hour began in earnest, leaving theroads gridlocked and tube station entrances chokedwith people opening and closing umbrellas.
I don’t have an umbrella and am soaked through; Ifeel as though someone has thrown a bucket ofwater over me. My cotton trousers cling to my thighsand my faded blue shirt has become embarrassinglytransparent. I ran all the way from the library to thetube station with my handbag clutched against mychest to hide what I could. For some reason I foundthis funny—there is something ridiculous about beingcaught in the rain—and I was laughing so hard bythe time I got to the top of Gray’s Inn Road, I couldbarely breathe. I can’t remember the last time Ilaughed like that.
I’m not laughing now. As soon as I got myself aseat, I checked the latest on Megan’s case on myphone, and it’s the news I’ve been dreading77. “Athirty-four-year-old man is being questioned undercaution at Witney police station regarding thedisappearance of Megan Hipwell, missing from herhome since Saturday evening.” That’s Scott, I’m sureof it. I can only hope that he read my email beforethey picked him up, because questioning undercaution is serious—it means they think he did it.
Although, of course, it is yet to be defined. It maynot have happened at all. Megan might be fine.
Every now and again it does strike me that she’salive and well and sitting on a hotel balcony with aview of the sea, her feet up on the railings, a colddrink at her elbow.
The thought of her there both thrills anddisappoints me, and then I feel sick for feelingdisappointed. I don’t wish her ill, no matter howangry I was with her for cheating on Scott, forshattering my illusions about my perfect couple. No,it’s because I feel like I’m part of this mystery, I’mconnected. I am no longer just a girl on the train,going back and forth66 without point or purpose. Iwant Megan to turn up safe and sound. I do. Justnot quite yet.
I sent Scott an email this morning. His address waseasy to find—I Googled him and foundwww.shipwellconsulting.co.uk, the site where headvertises “a range of consultancy, cloud- andweb-based services for business and nonprofitorganizations.” I knew it was him, because hisbusiness address is also his home address.
I sent a short message to the contact address givenon the site:
Dear Scott,My name is Rachel Watson. Youdon’t know me. I would like to talkto you about your wife. I do nothave any information on herwhereabouts, I don’t know what hashappened to her. But I believe I haveinformation that could help you.
You may not want to talk to me, Iwould understand that, but if you do,email me on this address.
Yours sincerely,RachelI don’t know if he would have contacted meanyway—I doubt that I would, if I were in his shoes.
Like the police, he’d probably just think I’m a nutter,some weirdo who’s read about the case in thenewspaper. Now I’ll never know—if he’s beenarrested, he may never get a chance to see themessage. If he’s been arrested, the only people whosee it may be the police, which won’t be good newsfor me. But I had to try.
And now I feel desperate, thwarted78. I can’t seethrough the mob of people in the carriage across totheir side of the tracks—my side—and even if I could,with the rain still pouring down I wouldn’t be able tosee beyond the railway fence. I wonder whetherevidence is being washed away, whether right at thismoment vital clues are disappearing forever: smearsof blood, footprints, DNA-loaded cigarette butts79. Iwant a drink so badly, I can almost taste the wineon my tongue. I can imagine exactly what it will feellike for the alcohol to hit my bloodstream and makemy head rush.
I want a drink and I don’t want one, because if Idon’t have a drink today then it’ll be three days, andI can’t remember the last time I stayed off for threedays in a row. There’s a taste of something else inmy mouth, too, an old stubbornness. There was atime when I had willpower, when I could run 10kbefore breakfast and subsist80 for weeks on thirteenhundred calories a day. It was one of the thingsTom loved about me, he said: my stubbornness, mystrength. I remember an argument, right at the end,when things were about as bad as they could be; helost his temper with me. “What happened to you,Rachel?” he asked me. “When did you become soweak?”
I don’t know. I don’t know where that strengthwent, I don’t remember losing it. I think that overtime81 it got chipped away, bit by bit, by life, by theliving of it.
The train comes to an abrupt82 halt, brakesscreeching alarmingly, at the signal on the Londonside of Witney. The carriage is filled with murmuredapologies as standing passengers stumble, bumpinginto one another, stepping on one another’s feet. Ilook up and find myself looking right into the eyes ofthe man from Saturday night—the ginger83 one, theone who helped me up. He’s staring right at me, hisstartlingly blue eyes locked on mine, and I get such afright, I drop my phone. I retrieve18 it from the floorand look up again, tentatively this time, not directly athim. I scan the carriage, I wipe the steamy windowwith my elbow and stare out, and then eventually Ilook back over at him and he smiles at me, his headcocked a little to one side.
I can feel my face burning. I don’t know how toreact to his smile, because I don’t know what itmeans. Is it Oh, hello, I remember you from theother night, or is it Ah, it’s that pissed girl whofell down the stairs and talked shit at me theother night, or is it something else? I don’t know,but thinking about it now, I believe I have a snatchof sound track to go with the picture of me slippingon the steps: him saying, “You all right, love?” I turnaway and look out of the window again. I can feelhis eyes on me; I just want to hide, to disappear.
The train judders off, and in seconds we’re pullinginto Witney station and people start jostling oneanother for position, folding newspapers and packingaway tablets and e-readers as they prepare todisembark. I look up again and am flooded withrelief—he’s turned away from me, he’s getting off thetrain.
It strikes me then that I’m being an idiot. I shouldget up and follow him, talk to him. He can tell mewhat happened, or what didn’t happen; he might beable to fill in some of the blanks at least. I get to myfeet. I hesitate—I know it’s already too late, the doorsare about to close, I’m in the middle of the carriage,I won’t be able to push my way through the crowdin time. The doors beep and close. Still standing, Iturn and look out of the window as the train pullsaway. He’s standing on the edge of the platform inthe rain, the man from Saturday night, watching meas I go past.
The closer I get to home, the more irritated withmyself I feel. I’m almost tempted84 to change trains atNorthcote, go back to Witney and look for him. Aridiculous idea, obviously, and stupidly risky85 given thatGaskill warned me to stay away from the area onlyyesterday. But I’m feeling dispirited about everrecalling what happened on Saturday. A few hours of(admittedly hardly exhaustive) Internet research thisafternoon confirmed what I suspected: hypnosis isnot generally useful in retrieving86 hours lost toblackout because, as my previous reading suggested,we do not make memories during blackout. There isnothing to remember. It is, will always be, a blackhole in my timeline.

点击收听单词发音收听单词发音  

1 gleaned 83f6cdf195a7d487666a71e02179d977     
v.一点点地收集(资料、事实)( glean的过去式和过去分词 );(收割后)拾穗
参考例句:
  • These figures have been gleaned from a number of studies. 这些数据是通过多次研究收集得来的。
  • A valuable lesson may be gleaned from it by those who have eyes to see. 明眼人可从中记取宝贵的教训。 来自《现代汉英综合大词典》
2 unemployed lfIz5Q     
adj.失业的,没有工作的;未动用的,闲置的
参考例句:
  • There are now over four million unemployed workers in this country.这个国家现有四百万失业人员。
  • The unemployed hunger for jobs.失业者渴望得到工作。
3 consultant 2v0zp3     
n.顾问;会诊医师,专科医生
参考例句:
  • He is a consultant on law affairs to the mayor.他是市长的一个法律顾问。
  • Originally,Gar had agreed to come up as a consultant.原来,加尔只答应来充当我们的顾问。
4 bloody kWHza     
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染
参考例句:
  • He got a bloody nose in the fight.他在打斗中被打得鼻子流血。
  • He is a bloody fool.他是一个十足的笨蛋。
5 scrap JDFzf     
n.碎片;废料;v.废弃,报废
参考例句:
  • A man comes round regularly collecting scrap.有个男人定时来收废品。
  • Sell that car for scrap.把那辆汽车当残品卖了吧。
6 disappearance ouEx5     
n.消失,消散,失踪
参考例句:
  • He was hard put to it to explain her disappearance.他难以说明她为什么不见了。
  • Her disappearance gave rise to the wildest rumours.她失踪一事引起了各种流言蜚语。
7 wilful xItyq     
adj.任性的,故意的
参考例句:
  • A wilful fault has no excuse and deserves no pardon.不能宽恕故意犯下的错误。
  • He later accused reporters of wilful distortion and bias.他后来指责记者有意歪曲事实并带有偏见。
8 throbbing 8gMzA0     
a. 跳动的,悸动的
参考例句:
  • My heart is throbbing and I'm shaking. 我的心在猛烈跳动,身子在不住颤抖。
  • There was a throbbing in her temples. 她的太阳穴直跳。
9 trespassing a72d55f5288c3d37c1e7833e78593f83     
[法]非法入侵
参考例句:
  • He told me I was trespassing on private land. 他说我在擅闯私人土地。
  • Don't come trespassing on my land again. 别再闯入我的地界了。
10 slumped b010f9799fb8ebd413389b9083180d8d     
大幅度下降,暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 ); 沉重或突然地落下[倒下]
参考例句:
  • Sales have slumped this year. 今年销售量锐减。
  • The driver was slumped exhausted over the wheel. 司机伏在方向盘上,疲惫得睡着了。
11 smeared c767e97773b70cc726f08526efd20e83     
弄脏; 玷污; 涂抹; 擦上
参考例句:
  • The children had smeared mud on the walls. 那几个孩子往墙上抹了泥巴。
  • A few words were smeared. 有写字被涂模糊了。
12 stinks 6254e99acfa1f76e5581ffe6c369f803     
v.散发出恶臭( stink的第三人称单数 );发臭味;名声臭;糟透
参考例句:
  • The whole scheme stinks to high heaven—don't get involved in it. 整件事十分卑鄙龌龊——可别陷了进去。 来自《简明英汉词典》
  • The soup stinks of garlic. 这汤有大蒜气味。 来自《现代英汉综合大词典》
13 helping 2rGzDc     
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的
参考例句:
  • The poor children regularly pony up for a second helping of my hamburger. 那些可怜的孩子们总是要求我把我的汉堡包再给他们一份。
  • By doing this, they may at times be helping to restore competition. 这样一来, 他在某些时候,有助于竞争的加强。
14 inquiries 86a54c7f2b27c02acf9fcb16a31c4b57     
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听
参考例句:
  • He was released on bail pending further inquiries. 他获得保释,等候进一步调查。
  • I have failed to reach them by postal inquiries. 我未能通过邮政查询与他们取得联系。 来自《现代汉英综合大词典》
15 spoke XryyC     
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:
  • They sourced the spoke nuts from our company.他们的轮辐螺帽是从我们公司获得的。
  • The spokes of a wheel are the bars that connect the outer ring to the centre.辐条是轮子上连接外圈与中心的条棒。
16 tack Jq1yb     
n.大头钉;假缝,粗缝
参考例句:
  • He is hammering a tack into the wall to hang a picture.他正往墙上钉一枚平头钉用来挂画。
  • We are going to tack the map on the wall.我们打算把这张地图钉在墙上。
17 hazy h53ya     
adj.有薄雾的,朦胧的;不肯定的,模糊的
参考例句:
  • We couldn't see far because it was so hazy.雾气蒙蒙妨碍了我们的视线。
  • I have a hazy memory of those early years.对那些早先的岁月我有着朦胧的记忆。
18 retrieve ZsYyp     
vt.重新得到,收回;挽回,补救;检索
参考例句:
  • He was determined to retrieve his honor.他决心恢复名誉。
  • The men were trying to retrieve weapons left when the army abandoned the island.士兵们正试图找回军队从该岛撤退时留下的武器。
19 retrieved 1f81ff822b0877397035890c32e35843     
v.取回( retrieve的过去式和过去分词 );恢复;寻回;检索(储存的信息)
参考例句:
  • Yesterday I retrieved the bag I left in the train. 昨天我取回了遗留在火车上的包。 来自《简明英汉词典》
  • He reached over and retrieved his jacket from the back seat. 他伸手从后座上取回了自己的夹克。 来自辞典例句
20 seethe QE0yt     
vi.拥挤,云集;发怒,激动,骚动
参考例句:
  • Many Indians continue to seethe and some are calling for military action against their riotous neighbour.很多印度人都处于热血沸腾的状态,很多都呼吁针对印度这个恶邻采取军事行动。
  • She seethed with indignation.她由于愤怒而不能平静。
21 acting czRzoc     
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的
参考例句:
  • Ignore her,she's just acting.别理她,她只是假装的。
  • During the seventies,her acting career was in eclipse.在七十年代,她的表演生涯黯然失色。
22 jersey Lp5zzo     
n.运动衫
参考例句:
  • He wears a cotton jersey when he plays football.他穿运动衫踢足球。
  • They were dressed alike in blue jersey and knickers.他们穿着一致,都是蓝色的运动衫和灯笼短裤。
23 brutally jSRya     
adv.残忍地,野蛮地,冷酷无情地
参考例句:
  • The uprising was brutally put down.起义被残酷地镇压下去了。
  • A pro-democracy uprising was brutally suppressed.一场争取民主的起义被残酷镇压了。
24 slain slain     
杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去分词 ); (slay的过去分词)
参考例句:
  • The soldiers slain in the battle were burried that night. 在那天夜晚埋葬了在战斗中牺牲了的战士。
  • His boy was dead, slain by the hand of the false Amulius. 他的儿子被奸诈的阿缪利乌斯杀死了。
25 whatsoever Beqz8i     
adv.(用于否定句中以加强语气)任何;pron.无论什么
参考例句:
  • There's no reason whatsoever to turn down this suggestion.没有任何理由拒绝这个建议。
  • All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you,do ye even so to them.你想别人对你怎样,你就怎样对人。
26 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。
27 inspector q6kxH     
n.检查员,监察员,视察员
参考例句:
  • The inspector was interested in everything pertaining to the school.视察员对有关学校的一切都感兴趣。
  • The inspector was shining a flashlight onto the tickets.查票员打着手电筒查看车票。
28 frantic Jfyzr     
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的
参考例句:
  • I've had a frantic rush to get my work done.我急急忙忙地赶完工作。
  • He made frantic dash for the departing train.他发疯似地冲向正开出的火车。
29 blurted fa8352b3313c0b88e537aab1fcd30988     
v.突然说出,脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 )
参考例句:
  • She blurted it out before I could stop her. 我还没来得及制止,她已脱口而出。
  • He blurted out the truth, that he committed the crime. 他不慎说出了真相,说是他犯了那个罪。 来自《简明英汉词典》
30 triumphantly 9fhzuv     
ad.得意洋洋地;得胜地;成功地
参考例句:
  • The lion was roaring triumphantly. 狮子正在发出胜利的吼叫。
  • Robert was looking at me triumphantly. 罗伯特正得意扬扬地看着我。
31 unstable Ijgwa     
adj.不稳定的,易变的
参考例句:
  • This bookcase is too unstable to hold so many books.这书橱很不结实,装不了这么多书。
  • The patient's condition was unstable.那患者的病情不稳定。
32 forgoing 63a17233a6a5541f25d34a5fd7c248cb     
v.没有也行,放弃( forgo的现在分词 )
参考例句:
  • Everything, in short, is produced at the expense of forgoing something else. 总之,每一种东西的生产,都得以牺牲放弃某些其他东西为代价。 来自互联网
  • These aren't the only ones forgoing the morning repast, of course. 当然,他们并不是放弃早餐的唯一几个。 来自互联网
33 verge gUtzQ     
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临
参考例句:
  • The country's economy is on the verge of collapse.国家的经济已到了崩溃的边缘。
  • She was on the verge of bursting into tears.她快要哭出来了。
34 sergeant REQzz     
n.警官,中士
参考例句:
  • His elder brother is a sergeant.他哥哥是个警官。
  • How many stripes are there on the sleeve of a sergeant?陆军中士的袖子上有多少条纹?
35 stuffier 8af63965b2008f153a8e1455a4bbbb5b     
adj.空气不好的( stuffy的比较级 );通风不好的;(观点、举止)陈腐的;鼻塞的
参考例句:
  • Only the stuffier members were shocked by her jokes. 只有那些脑筋旧的人才认为她说的笑话令人吃惊。 来自互联网
36 eyebrows a0e6fb1330e9cfecfd1c7a4d00030ed5     
眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 )
参考例句:
  • Eyebrows stop sweat from coming down into the eyes. 眉毛挡住汗水使其不能流进眼睛。
  • His eyebrows project noticeably. 他的眉毛特别突出。
37 smirked e3dfaba83cd6d2a557bf188c3fc000e9     
v.傻笑( smirk的过去分词 )
参考例句:
  • He smirked at Tu Wei-yueh. 他对屠维岳狞笑。 来自子夜部分
  • He smirked in acknowledgement of their uncouth greetings, and sat down. 他皮笑肉不笑地接受了他的粗鲁的招呼,坐了下来。 来自辞典例句
38 upwards lj5wR     
adv.向上,在更高处...以上
参考例句:
  • The trend of prices is still upwards.物价的趋向是仍在上涨。
  • The smoke rose straight upwards.烟一直向上升。
39 deranged deranged     
adj.疯狂的
参考例句:
  • Traffic was stopped by a deranged man shouting at the sky.一名狂叫的疯子阻塞了交通。
  • A deranged man shot and killed 14 people.一个精神失常的男子开枪打死了14人。
40 tactic Yqowc     
n.战略,策略;adj.战术的,有策略的
参考例句:
  • Reducing prices is a common sales tactic.降价是常用的销售策略。
  • She had often used the tactic of threatening to resign.她惯用以辞职相威胁的手法。
41 determined duszmP     
adj.坚定的;有决心的
参考例句:
  • I have determined on going to Tibet after graduation.我已决定毕业后去西藏。
  • He determined to view the rooms behind the office.他决定查看一下办公室后面的房间。
42 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。
43 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。
44 shuffled cee46c30b0d1f2d0c136c830230fe75a     
v.洗(纸牌)( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 );拖着脚步走;粗心地做;摆脱尘世的烦恼
参考例句:
  • He shuffled across the room to the window. 他拖着脚走到房间那头的窗户跟前。
  • Simon shuffled awkwardly towards them. 西蒙笨拙地拖着脚朝他们走去。 来自《简明英汉词典》
45 shrugged 497904474a48f991a3d1961b0476ebce     
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式)
参考例句:
  • Sam shrugged and said nothing. 萨姆耸耸肩膀,什么也没说。
  • She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. 她耸耸肩,装出一副无所谓的样子。 来自《简明英汉词典》
46 weird bghw8     
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的
参考例句:
  • From his weird behaviour,he seems a bit of an oddity.从他不寻常的行为看来,他好像有点怪。
  • His weird clothes really gas me.他的怪衣裳简直笑死人。
47 entirely entirely     
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地
参考例句:
  • The fire was entirely caused by their neglect of duty. 那场火灾完全是由于他们失职而引起的。
  • His life was entirely given up to the educational work. 他的一生统统献给了教育工作。
48 sperm jFOzO     
n.精子,精液
参考例句:
  • Only one sperm fertilises an egg.只有一个精子使卵子受精。
  • In human reproduction,one female egg is usually fertilized by one sperm.在人体生殖过程中,一个精子使一个卵子受精。
49 miscarriage Onvzz3     
n.失败,未达到预期的结果;流产
参考例句:
  • The miscarriage of our plans was a great blow.计划的失败给我们以巨大的打击。
  • Women who smoke are more to have a miscarriage.女性吸烟者更容易流产。
50 pregnancy lPwxP     
n.怀孕,怀孕期
参考例句:
  • Early pregnancy is often accompanied by nausea.怀孕早期常有恶心的现象。
  • Smoking during pregnancy increases the risk of miscarriage.怀孕期吸烟会增加流产的危险。
51 mantle Y7tzs     
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红
参考例句:
  • The earth had donned her mantle of brightest green.大地披上了苍翠欲滴的绿色斗篷。
  • The mountain was covered with a mantle of snow.山上覆盖着一层雪。
52 virility JUKzS     
n.雄劲,丈夫气
参考例句:
  • He wanted his sons to become strong,virile,and athletic like himself.他希望他的儿子们能长得像他一样强壮、阳刚而又健美。
  • He is a tall,virile man with rugged good looks.他是个身材高大、体魄健壮、相貌粗犷英俊的男子。
53 abortion ZzjzxH     
n.流产,堕胎
参考例句:
  • She had an abortion at the women's health clinic.她在妇女保健医院做了流产手术。
  • A number of considerations have led her to have a wilful abortion.多种考虑使她执意堕胎。
54 surgical 0hXzV3     
adj.外科的,外科医生的,手术上的
参考例句:
  • He performs the surgical operations at the Red Cross Hospital.他在红十字会医院做外科手术。
  • All surgical instruments must be sterilised before use.所有的外科手术器械在使用之前,必须消毒。
55 daydreamed 36c6848820d34fbd12c3db827df66de8     
v.想入非非,空想( daydream的过去式和过去分词 )
参考例句:
  • She daydreamed, and oh! What lovely fantasies. 她在白日做梦,噢!多么美妙的幻想啊! 来自辞典例句
  • She daydreamed about a carefree vacation. 她梦想那无忧无虑的假期。 来自辞典例句
56 frustrated ksWz5t     
adj.挫败的,失意的,泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的过去式和过去分词 );挫败;使受挫折;令人沮丧
参考例句:
  • It's very easy to get frustrated in this job. 这个工作很容易令人懊恼。
  • The bad weather frustrated all our hopes of going out. 恶劣的天气破坏了我们出行的愿望。 来自《简明英汉词典》
57 isolated bqmzTd     
adj.与世隔绝的
参考例句:
  • His bad behaviour was just an isolated incident. 他的不良行为只是个别事件。
  • Patients with the disease should be isolated. 这种病的患者应予以隔离。
58 misery G10yi     
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦
参考例句:
  • Business depression usually causes misery among the working class.商业不景气常使工薪阶层受苦。
  • He has rescued me from the mire of misery.他把我从苦海里救了出来。
59 chubby wrwzZ     
adj.丰满的,圆胖的
参考例句:
  • He is stocky though not chubby.他长得敦实,可并不发胖。
  • The short and chubby gentleman over there is our new director.那个既矮又胖的绅士是我们的新主任。
60 maniac QBexu     
n.精神癫狂的人;疯子
参考例句:
  • Be careful!That man is driving like a maniac!注意!那个人开车像个疯子一样!
  • You were acting like a maniac,and you threatened her with a bomb!你像一个疯子,你用炸弹恐吓她!
61 outrageous MvFyH     
adj.无理的,令人不能容忍的
参考例句:
  • Her outrageous behaviour at the party offended everyone.她在聚会上的无礼行为触怒了每一个人。
  • Charges for local telephone calls are particularly outrageous.本地电话资费贵得出奇。
62 erratically 4fe0a2084ae371616a604c4e0b6beb73     
adv.不规律地,不定地
参考例句:
  • Police stopped him for driving erratically. 警察因其驾驶不循规则而把他拦下了。 来自辞典例句
  • Magnetitite-bearing plugs are found erratically from the base of the Critical Zone. 含磁铁岩的岩栓不规则地分布于关键带的基底以上。 来自辞典例句
63 replacement UVxxM     
n.取代,替换,交换;替代品,代用品
参考例句:
  • We are hard put to find a replacement for our assistant.我们很难找到一个人来代替我们的助手。
  • They put all the students through the replacement examination.他们让所有的学生参加分班考试。
64 unwilling CjpwB     
adj.不情愿的
参考例句:
  • The natives were unwilling to be bent by colonial power.土著居民不愿受殖民势力的摆布。
  • His tightfisted employer was unwilling to give him a raise.他那吝啬的雇主不肯给他加薪。
65 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。
66 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。
67 trump LU1zK     
n.王牌,法宝;v.打出王牌,吹喇叭
参考例句:
  • He was never able to trump up the courage to have a showdown.他始终鼓不起勇气摊牌。
  • The coach saved his star player for a trump card.教练保留他的明星选手,作为他的王牌。
68 sunbathing bb1a8564f9c25f1e1db56b2b14f574cb     
n.日光浴
参考例句:
  • tourists sunbathing on the beach 在海滩上沐浴着阳光的游客
  • We've been sunbathing on the beach. 我们一直在海滩上晒日光浴。
69 puffed 72b91de7f5a5b3f6bdcac0d30e24f8ca     
adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧
参考例句:
  • He lit a cigarette and puffed at it furiously. 他点燃了一支香烟,狂吸了几口。 来自《简明英汉词典》
  • He felt grown-up, puffed up with self-importance. 他觉得长大了,便自以为了不起。 来自《简明英汉词典》
70 ethnic jiAz3     
adj.人种的,种族的,异教徒的
参考例句:
  • This music would sound more ethnic if you played it in steel drums.如果你用钢鼓演奏,这首乐曲将更具民族特色。
  • The plan is likely only to aggravate ethnic frictions.这一方案很有可能只会加剧种族冲突。
71 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。
72 distraction muOz3l     
n.精神涣散,精神不集中,消遣,娱乐
参考例句:
  • Total concentration is required with no distractions.要全神贯注,不能有丝毫分神。
  • Their national distraction is going to the disco.他们的全民消遣就是去蹦迪。
73 coverage nvwz7v     
n.报导,保险范围,保险额,范围,覆盖
参考例句:
  • There's little coverage of foreign news in the newspaper.报纸上几乎没有国外新闻报道。
  • This is an insurance policy with extensive coverage.这是一项承保范围广泛的保险。
74 detailed xuNzms     
adj.详细的,详尽的,极注意细节的,完全的
参考例句:
  • He had made a detailed study of the terrain.他对地形作了缜密的研究。
  • A detailed list of our publications is available on request.我们的出版物有一份详细的目录备索。
75 soliciting ca5499d5ad6a3567de18f81c7dc8c931     
v.恳求( solicit的现在分词 );(指娼妇)拉客;索求;征求
参考例句:
  • A prostitute was soliciting on the street. 一名妓女正在街上拉客。 来自《简明英汉词典》
  • China Daily is soliciting subscriptions. 《中国日报》正在征求订户。 来自《现代英汉综合大词典》
76 engrossed 3t0zmb     
adj.全神贯注的
参考例句:
  • The student is engrossed in his book.这名学生正在专心致志地看书。
  • No one had ever been quite so engrossed in an evening paper.没人会对一份晚报如此全神贯注。
77 dreading dreading     
v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的现在分词 )
参考例句:
  • She was dreading having to broach the subject of money to her father. 她正在为不得不向父亲提出钱的事犯愁。
  • This was the moment he had been dreading. 这是他一直最担心的时刻。
78 thwarted 919ac32a9754717079125d7edb273fc2     
阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 ); 使受挫折; 挫败; 横过
参考例句:
  • The guards thwarted his attempt to escape from prison. 警卫阻扰了他越狱的企图。
  • Our plans for a picnic were thwarted by the rain. 我们的野餐计划因雨受挫。
79 butts 3da5dac093efa65422cbb22af4588c65     
笑柄( butt的名词复数 ); (武器或工具的)粗大的一端; 屁股; 烟蒂
参考例句:
  • The Nazis worked them over with gun butts. 纳粹分子用枪托毒打他们。
  • The house butts to a cemetery. 这所房子和墓地相连。
80 subsist rsYwy     
vi.生存,存在,供养
参考例句:
  • We are unable to subsist without air and water.没有空气和水我们就活不下去。
  • He could subsist on bark and grass roots in the isolated island.在荒岛上他只能靠树皮和草根维持生命。
81 overtime aKqxn     
adj.超时的,加班的;adv.加班地
参考例句:
  • They are working overtime to finish the work.为了完成任务他们正在加班加点地工作。
  • He was paid for the overtime he worked.他领到了加班费。
82 abrupt 2fdyh     
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的
参考例句:
  • The river takes an abrupt bend to the west.这河突然向西转弯。
  • His abrupt reply hurt our feelings.他粗鲁的回答伤了我们的感情。
83 ginger bzryX     
n.姜,精力,淡赤黄色;adj.淡赤黄色的;vt.使活泼,使有生气
参考例句:
  • There is no ginger in the young man.这个年轻人没有精神。
  • Ginger shall be hot in the mouth.生姜吃到嘴里总是辣的。
84 tempted b0182e969d369add1b9ce2353d3c6ad6     
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词)
参考例句:
  • I was sorely tempted to complain, but I didn't. 我极想发牢骚,但还是没开口。
  • I was tempted by the dessert menu. 甜食菜单馋得我垂涎欲滴。
85 risky IXVxe     
adj.有风险的,冒险的
参考例句:
  • It may be risky but we will chance it anyhow.这可能有危险,但我们无论如何要冒一冒险。
  • He is well aware how risky this investment is.他心里对这项投资的风险十分清楚。
86 retrieving 4eccedb9b112cd8927306f44cb2dd257     
n.检索(过程),取还v.取回( retrieve的现在分词 );恢复;寻回;检索(储存的信息)
参考例句:
  • Ignoring all, he searches the ground carefully for any cigarette-end worth retrieving. 没管打锣的说了什么,他留神的在地上找,看有没有值得拾起来的烟头儿。 来自汉英文学 - 骆驼祥子
  • Retrieving the nodules from these great depths is no easy task. 从这样的海底深渊中取回结核可不是容易的事情。 来自辞典例句


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