It is the hidden core of newspaper land. It lurks2 behind the newspaper offices with discreet3 ground-glass windows, unpretentious, and obscurely peaceful. No porter in brass-buttoned uniform guards its doors—indeed, it has but one, and that a door with a lustrous4, black-glass panel, with a golden message of "Members Only" lettered upon it. Strangers and messengers are requested to tap gently on the window of a little pigeon-hole at the side.
Oliver Goldsmith once lived in the house that is now the Pen Club; Dr Johnson lived a few courts away, and strode down Fleet Street to the "Cheshire Cheese," little dreaming that Americans would follow in his footsteps as pilgrims to a shrine5. Its courts have had their place in the history of our letters, but all that is past, for journalism6 affects a contempt for literature, and literature walks by with a high head. If you want literature, and art, and high-thinking, you must go further west, along the Strand7, where you may find a club that still clings to the traditions of Bohemia: but if you want to meet good fellows, jolly, generous, foolish men, wise as patriarchs in some things, and like children in others, then you must join the Pen Club.
All around it are the flourishing signs of the journalists' trade. Here a process-block maker8; there a lesser9 News Agency; round the corner a large printing[202] works, and almost opposite it the vibrating basements of The Day. You can see the props10 of the scenery—take a stroll through the courts, and you see the back-doors of all those proud newspaper offices, great rolls of paper being hoisted11 up for to-morrow's issue, dismal12 wagons13 piled high with yesterday's papers, tied up in bundles, "returns"; unsold papers that will be taken back to the paper-mills and pulped14: food for the philosopher here!
Humphrey Quain joined the Pen Club when he had been three years in Fleet Street. It was Willoughby, the crime enthusiast15 of The Day, who put his name down; Jamieson, the dramatic critic, seconded him.
Two years had made very little outward difference in Humphrey. He had perhaps grown an inch, and his shoulders broadened in proportion, but his face was the same frank, boyish face that had gazed open-mouthed in Fleet Street on that January day. Yet there was some slight change in the expression of the eyes; they had become charged with an eager, expectant look; observation had trained them to an alertness and a strained directness of gaze. Inwardly, too, the change in him was imperceptible. He had lost a little of that cocksure way of his, and acquired, by constant mingling16 with men older than himself, a point of view and an understanding above his years. In worldly knowledge he had advanced with large and sudden strides: some call it vice17 and some call it experience. A young man, thrust into the whirlpool of London, finds it difficult to avoid such experience, and so Humphrey had allowed himself to be tossed hither and thither18 with the underswirl of it all, learning deeper lessons than any man can teach.
He had come out of this period with a sense of something lost, yet never regretting its loss. Sometimes a bitter spasm19 of shame would overtake him when he thought of the sordid20 memories he was accumulating.[203] He could have wished it all undone21, and he looked back on the Humphrey Quain of Easterham, and saw himself singularly unsmirched, and innocent—knowing nothing, absolutely nothing. After all, he thought, was this knowledge? Does all this go towards the making of a man, as the steel is tempered by the fire? Humphrey did not know ... he took all that life offered him: the good and the bad, the folly22 with the wisdom.
That affair of his with Lilian Filmer was now nothing more than a memory. They had never spoken since their wretched meeting in the Strand restaurant. It was strange, too, how rarely they had met, when in the old days scarcely a day seemed to pass without the sight of her in Fleet Street. She still worked in the Special News Agency Office, and yet, during the two years that had passed since their parting, he had not seen her more than four or five times, and then only in the distance. Once he found himself marching straight towards her in the crowd of the luncheon24-hour walkers: panic seized him; he did not know what to do. She was walking proudly with the erect25 carriage of her body that he knew so well—and then, almost mysteriously, she had disappeared. Perhaps she had seen him, and avoided a direct meeting by turning down a side street or by passing into a shop. For a year he always walked on the other side of the street during the luncheon hour. At the back of his mind she lived as vividly26 as she had lived in the days when she had been the most important factor in his existence. There were times when the thought of her rendered him uneasy; he felt he had not been true to himself, there was a reproachful blot27 on his escutcheon.... Strange! how lasting28 his love had seemed that night when he had kissed her in the cab after the theatre. He could look back on it all now dispassionately. There had been progress in the office. His salary was now eight pounds a week. He remembered[204] the day when he had gone to Ferrol, and said, a little miserably29, for the strain of the breaking with Lilian pressed hardly on his heart in those days: "I've broken off my engagement." In these words he had dedicated30 himself to Ferrol and The Day. Nothing more was said. Ferrol nodded in a non-committal sort of way. A few weeks later Humphrey was sent to the East Coast on special work. He did well, and the increase in salary came to him at last.
With this he lifted himself out of the old ruck of his life. The money opened up unbounded vistas31 of wealth and new possibilities to him. He decided32 to leave Beaver33 and Guilford Street. Beaver, as an influence, had served his turn in shaping Humphrey's career. It was Beaver who first showed him the way to London, and now, at odd intervals35, Beaver occurred and recurred36 across his vision, still biting his nails, and still with ink-splashed thumbs. No stress of ambition seemed to disturb Beaver's placidity37. He was content to plod38 on and on, day after day, a journalistic cart-horse, until he dropped dead in his collar. That was how it seemed to Humphrey, who never credited Beaver with any great aspirations39, yet that shaggy man had a separate life of his own, with his own dreams, and his own aims, which one day were destined40 to touch the fringe of Humphrey's life.
Humphrey took a small flat in Clifford's Inn, a place of sleep and peace and quiet then, as it is now, out of the noise of Fleet Street. It was a "flat" only by courtesy, for in reality it was made up of two rooms and a box-room. The larger was his sitting-room41, and the smaller—a narrow, oblong room—he used as a sleeping apartment. Very little light, and scarcely any air, came through the small latticed windows, but the rooms held a medi?val charm about them, and he was free for ever from the landladies42 and grubbiness of lodgings43. He paid a pound a week for his rooms in Clifford's Inn.
[205]
Every evening when he was free in London, Humphrey went to the Pen Club. The place had a fascination44 for him, which he could not shake off. One could not define this fascination, this influence which the Club wielded45 over him.
It grew on him gradually, until an evening spent without a visit to the Club seemed empty and insufficient46. There was nothing vicious about the Club—it was just a meeting-place, where one could eat and drink. Within its four walls there was peace unutterable; and the world stood still for you when you passed the threshold. Other clubs have tape machines spitting out lengths of news: telegrams pasted on the walls; chairs full of old gentlemen reading newspapers with dutiful eagerness—the Pen Club was a place where you escaped from news, where nobody was interested in news as news, but merely in news as it stood in the relation to the doings of their friends. There was no excitement over a by-election, nobody cared who would get in on polling day; nobody thrilled over a revolution in a foreign state; mention of these things only served as a peg48 on which to hang discussions of personalities49. "I expect Williamson's having a nobby time in St Petersburg," or "Who's down at Bodmin for The Herald—Carter?—I thought so. Jolly good stuff in to-day."
And when news did touch them, it touched them personally, and altered the tenor50 of their lives perhaps for many days. At any minute something would happen, and a half-dozen of them would be wanted at their different offices. They would just disappear from the Club for a few days, and return to find that a fresh set of events had dwarfed51 their own experiences completely. They were never missed. A man might be absent in Morocco for half-a-year, living through wild happenings, with his life hanging on a slender thread—a hero in the eyes of newspaper readers—but nobody in particular in[206] the eyes of the Pen Club, where every one found his level in the fellowship of the Pen. They came and went like shadows.
Humphrey found all types of journalists in the Pen Club—odd types off the beaten track of journalism, guarding their own cabbage-patch of news, and taking their wares52 to market daily. There was Larkin, for instance, who took the railway platforms as his special province. He was a tall, thin man, with friendly eyes smiling behind gold-rimmed pince-nez. No Duke or Duchess could leave London by way of the railway termini without Larkin knowing it. Those paragraphs that appeared scattered53 about all the newspapers of London, telling of the departure of Somebody and his wife to Cairo or Nice marked the trail of Larkin's day across the London railway stations. Then there was Foyle, a chubby54, red-faced man, with a jolly smile, who, by the unwritten law of Fleet Street, chronicled the fires that happened in the Metropolis55. A fire without Foyle was an impossible thing to imagine. There was Touche, who dealt only in marriages and engagements; and Ford34, who had made a corner for himself in the Divorce Courts; Chate, who sat in the Bankruptcy56 Court; Modgers, who specialized57 in recording58 the wills and last testaments59 of those who died; and Vernham, lean, long-haired, and cadaverous, who was the Fleet Street authority on the weather. These men and others were the servants of all newspapers, and attached to none. In some cases their work had been handed down from father to son; they made snug60 incomes, and though they were servants of all, they were masters of themselves.
And all these men were just like children out of school, when they met in the Pen Club: there was no grim seriousness about them—they kept all that for their work. They had insatiable appetites for stories, for reminiscences of their craft. They knew how to[207] laugh. It was well that they did, for, if they had taken themselves seriously, they would never have been able to face the caricatures of themselves which hung on the walls. These caricatures, drawn61 by a cartoonist on one of the dailies, were things of shuddering62 satire63: they were cruelly true, grotesque64 parodies65 of faces and mouths, legs and arms. If you wanted to know the truth of a member, all you had to do was to consult the wall, and there you saw the man's character grimacing66 at you in colours.
Humphrey had been away from London for a week, and he came back to find the Club seething67 with excitement. The moment he crossed the threshold he was aware of something abnormal in the life of the Club.
It was the last night of the Club elections for the Committee—a riotous68 affair as a rule. All round the room there was the chatter69 and buzz of members discussing the new spirit in the Club.
As member after member dropped in, the excitement grew. It was a historic election. For the first time the youngest members of the Club had been nominated to stand on the Committee. The older members, the men who had watched the Pen Club grow from one room in the second floor of a house to two whole houses knocked into one, looked on a little sorrowfully. They had not become accustomed to the new spirit in the Club. Among themselves, they said the Club was going to the dogs. These young men were making a travesty70 of the whole business. They had no reverence71 for traditions. After all, the election of a Chairman and a Committee was a grave affair. It was amazing how seriously they took themselves.
Presently Chander appeared selling copies of The Club Mosquito, a journal produced specially72 for the occasion, which stung members in the weakest spots of[208] their personalities. There were caricatures and portraits of all the "Young Members" who were going to save the Club, as they put it, from the moss73 and cobwebs of old age. Really, these young men were very ruthless. They invented Election songs, and they sang boisterously:—
"We're going to vote all night,
We're going to vote all day."
Privileged sub-editors, dropping in for a half-hour from their offices, found themselves caught up on the tempest of exhilaration. "Hallo, here's Leman—have you voted yet, Leman?" and a paper would be fetched and Leman would be made to put a cross against thirteen names, with thirteen people urging him to have a drink. Bribery75 and corruption76!
Humphrey abandoned himself to the merriment of the evening. He constituted himself Willoughby's election-agent, and canvassed78 for votes with shameless disregard for the Corrupt77 Practices Act. Sharp, the sporting journalist, was busy making a book on the result. That eminent79 war-correspondent, Bertram Wace, issued a manifesto80, demanding to know why he should not be Chairman. The price of The Club Mosquito rose to a shilling a copy when it was known that all the proceeds were to go to the Newspaper Press Fund.
Humphrey found himself left alone with the excitement eddying81 all round him. He was able to survey the scene with an air of detached interest. It reminded him of his school-days: all these men were young of heart, with the generous impulses of boys; they had the spirit of eternal youth—the one reward which men of their temperament82 are able to wrest83 from life.
He saw Willoughby, with his black hair in a disordered tangle84 over his eyes, joining in the war-song of the Young Members.
[209]
As he looked at all these men, chattering85, laughing, grouped together here and there where some one was telling an entertaining story, he saw the smiling aspect of Fleet Street, the siren, luring86 the adventurous87 stranger to her, with laughter and opulent promise. To-morrow they would all begin their nervous work again, struggling to secure a firm foothold in the niches88 of the Street, when a false move, a mistake, would bring disaster with it; but they thought nothing of to-morrow; they lived in a life of to-days....
He saw Tommy Pride come into the Club. Two years had left their mark on Tommy's face. New reporters had appeared in the Street, and somehow Tommy found himself marking time, while the army of younger men pressed forward and passed him. He could not complain; he felt that if he asserted himself, Rivers or Neckinger would tell him bluntly that they were cutting down the staff—the dreadful, unanswerable excuse for dismissal. He knew that his mind was less supple89 than it was years ago; the stress and the bitterness of competition was sterner now than in those days when they posted assignments overnight. So, too, his pen went more slowly, finding each day increasing the difficulty of grappling with new methods. Tommy Pride had lived in To-day, and now To-morrow was upon him.
"Stopping for the declaration of the poll, Pride?" asked Humphrey.
"Not me," said Tommy, picking a bundle of letters from his pigeon-hole. "I've had a late turn to-night and the missis will be sitting up."
"Well, what about a drink?"
Tommy shrugged90 his shoulders wearily. "Oh—a whisky and soda," he said. "What a row these fellows are making." Willoughby attacked him with a voting paper, and Humphrey noticed how Pride's hand—the[210] hand that had written millions of words—trembled as he made crosses against the names. It was as if each finger were attached to thin wires; it reminded Humphrey of those toy tortoises from Japan, that danced and shook in a little glass case. And he thought: "Will my hand be like that one day?"
The torrent91 of talk flowed all round him; gusts92 of boisterous74 laughter marked the close of a funny story. In all the stories there was a note of egotism. He saw, suddenly, why these men were not as other men. They were profound egotists, they lived each day by the assertion of their own individuality. The stronger the individuality of the man, the greater his chance of success. And these men, he saw, though they all worked in a common school, were absolutely different from one another. They were different, even, in breeding: there were men whose voice and pose could only have been acquired at one of the 'Varsities; there were men who lacked the refinements93 of speech; keen, eager men, and men whose eyes had lost their lustre94, who seemed weary with work; mere47 boys, self-assertive and confident with the wisdom of men of the world, and older men with grey heads and bald heads.
They surged about him, and came and went, in twos and threes, some of them departing to their homes in the suburbs, north and south, whither trains ran into the early hours of the morning.
Humphrey had been long enough in Fleet Street to know them all: if you could have taken the personalities of these men and blended them together, the composite result would have closely resembled the personality of Tommy Pride—who was now drinking his second glass of whisky. They were men of tremendously active brains—not one of them but had an idea for a new paper that was worth a fortune if only the capital could be procured—and all of them longed intensely for that[211] cottage in the country after the storm and stress of Fleet Street; they could not talk seriously without being cynical95, for though they saw the real side of life, the pompous96 make-believe of the rest left them without any illusions.
"Better wait for the result now," Humphrey said to Tommy. "It'll be out in a few minutes."
"All right," said Tommy, glancing at the clock. "Green's offered me a lift in his cab. Have a drink, Quain. I had the hump when I came in—feel better now."
They all trooped upstairs, where the Young Members were making discordant97 noises. They sang new and improvised98 quatrains. You would have thought that not a care in the world could exist within those cheerful walls.
There was a shout of "Here they are." The vote-counters came into the room. One of them they hailed affectionately as "Grandpa." Humphrey had seen him before, walking about Fleet Street, with his silver beard and black slouch hat set on his white hair, but to-night he felt strangely moved, as the old man came into the room, smiling to the cheers. What was it? Some association of ideas passed through his mind, some linking up of Ferrol, young, powerful, master of so many destinies, with the picture before his eyes....
These thoughts were overwhelmed with a tumult99 of shouting. The old man was reading out the names of the members of the new Committee.
The Young Members had won.
"Come on," said Tommy Pride, "let's get off before the rush."
As they passed out of the Club into the cool air of the night, Tommy suddenly recollected100 Green and his offer of a cab. "Oh, never mind," he said; "can you lend me four bob for the cab; I'm rather short." Humphrey[212] passed the money to him, and, drawn by the jingle101 of the coin, as a moth102 is to candle, a man lurched out of the shadows of the court.
The gas-light fell on the unshaven face of the man, and made his eyes blink feebly: it showed the pitiful, shabby clothes that garbed103 the swaying figure.
"Hullo, Tommy," said the man. He smiled weakly not sure of his ground.
"Good God!" said Tommy.
Eagerness now came into the man's face; a terrible eagerness, as if everything depended on his being able to compress his story into as few words as possible, before Tommy went. There was no beating about the bush.
"I say, old man, lend me a bob, will you?... Didn't you know?... Oh, I left two years ago.... Nothing doing.... Yes, I know I'm a fool.... Honest, this is for food.... Remember that time we had up in Chatsworth, when the Duke...? Seen anything more of that fellow we met in Portsmouth on the Royal visit?... What was his name?... Can't remember it ... never mind, I say, old man, can you spare a bob?"
Tommy passed him one of the shillings he had just borrowed from Humphrey. "Why don't you pull up," he said; "you can do good stuff if you want to."
"Pull up!" said the man. "Course I can do good stuff. I can do the best stuff in Fleet Street.... Remember that story I wrote about...."
There was something intensely tragic104 in this sudden kindling105 of the old, egotistical flame in the burnt-out ruin of a man. The cringing106 attitude left him when he spoke23 of his work.
"Well, you'd better get home..." Tommy said. "What's the missis doing?"
"She's trying to make a little by typewriting now.... Thanks for the bob...." He shambled down the[213] court towards Gough Square. "So long." His footsteps grew fainter, until the last echoes of them died away.
Tommy Pride came out with Humphrey into Fleet Street.
There came to them, as it comes only to those who work in the Street, the fascination of its night. The coloured omnibuses, and the cabs, and the busy crowds of people had left it long ago, and the lamps were like a yellow necklace strung into the darkness. Eastwards107, doubly steep in its vacancy108, Ludgate Hill rose under the silent railway bridge to St Paul's; westwards, the Griffin, the dark towers of the Law Courts, and the island churches loomed109 uncertainly against the starless sky. The lights shone in the high windows of offices about them, and they caught glimpses of men smoking pipes, working in their shirt-sleeves—Liverpool, Manchester, Sheffield, Leeds, were waiting for their news. The carts darted110 up and down the street with loads of newspapers for the trains. There was a noise of moving machinery111. A ragged112, homeless man slouched wretchedly along the street, his eyes downcast, mumbling113 his misery114 to himself. Two men in grimy clothes were delving115 down into the bowels116 of the roadway, and dragging up gross loads of black slime. They worked silently, seeing nothing of the loathsomeness117 of their work. Over all, above even the noise of the machinery, there came the cleansing118 sound of swiftly running water, as the street-cleaners, with streaming hoses, swept the dust and the muck and the rubble119 of the day into the torrents120 of the gutter121.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
maze
|
|
| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
lurks
|
|
| n.潜在，潜伏；（lurk的复数形式）vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的第三人称单数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
discreet
|
|
| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
lustrous
|
|
| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
shrine
|
|
| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
journalism
|
|
| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
strand
|
|
| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
maker
|
|
| n.制造者，制造商 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
lesser
|
|
| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
props
|
|
| 小道具； 支柱( prop的名词复数 )； 支持者； 道具； （橄榄球中的）支柱前锋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
hoisted
|
|
| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
dismal
|
|
| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
wagons
|
|
| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
pulped
|
|
| 水果的肉质部分( pulp的过去式和过去分词 )； 果肉； 纸浆； 低级书刊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
enthusiast
|
|
| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
mingling
|
|
| adj.混合的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
vice
|
|
| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
thither
|
|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
spasm
|
|
| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
sordid
|
|
| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
undone
|
|
| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
luncheon
|
|
| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
erect
|
|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
vividly
|
|
| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
blot
|
|
| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
lasting
|
|
| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
miserably
|
|
| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
dedicated
|
|
| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
vistas
|
|
| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
beaver
|
|
| n.海狸，河狸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
Ford
|
|
| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
intervals
|
|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
recurred
|
|
| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
placidity
|
|
| n.平静，安静，温和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
plod
|
|
| v.沉重缓慢地走，孜孜地工作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
aspirations
|
|
| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
destined
|
|
| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
sitting-room
|
|
| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
landladies
|
|
| n.女房东，女店主，女地主( landlady的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
lodgings
|
|
| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
fascination
|
|
| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
wielded
|
|
| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的过去式和过去分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
insufficient
|
|
| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
peg
|
|
| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
personalities
|
|
| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
tenor
|
|
| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
dwarfed
|
|
| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
wares
|
|
| n. 货物, 商品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
chubby
|
|
| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
metropolis
|
|
| n.首府；大城市 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
bankruptcy
|
|
| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
specialized
|
|
| adj.专门的，专业化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
recording
|
|
| n.录音，记录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
testaments
|
|
| n.遗嘱( testament的名词复数 )；实际的证明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
snug
|
|
| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
shuddering
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
satire
|
|
| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
parodies
|
|
| n.拙劣的模仿( parody的名词复数 )；恶搞；滑稽的模仿诗文；表面上模仿得笨拙但充满了机智用来嘲弄别人作品的作品v.滑稽地模仿，拙劣地模仿( parody的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
grimacing
|
|
| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
seething
|
|
| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
riotous
|
|
| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
chatter
|
|
| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
travesty
|
|
| n.歪曲，嘲弄，滑稽化 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
reverence
|
|
| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
specially
|
|
| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
moss
|
|
| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
boisterous
|
|
| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
bribery
|
|
| n.贿络行为，行贿，受贿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
corruption
|
|
| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
corrupt
|
|
| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
canvassed
|
|
| v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的过去式和过去分词 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
eminent
|
|
| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
manifesto
|
|
| n.宣言，声明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
eddying
|
|
| 涡流，涡流的形成 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
temperament
|
|
| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
wrest
|
|
| n.扭，拧，猛夺；v.夺取，猛扭，歪曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
tangle
|
|
| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
chattering
|
|
| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
luring
|
|
| 吸引，引诱（lure的现在分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
adventurous
|
|
| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
niches
|
|
| 壁龛( niche的名词复数 )； 合适的位置[工作等]； （产品的）商机； 生态位（一个生物所占据的生境的最小单位） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
supple
|
|
| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
shrugged
|
|
| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
torrent
|
|
| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
gusts
|
|
| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
refinements
|
|
| n.（生活）风雅；精炼( refinement的名词复数 )；改良品；细微的改良；优雅或高贵的动作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
lustre
|
|
| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
cynical
|
|
| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
pompous
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
discordant
|
|
| adj.不调和的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
improvised
|
|
| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
tumult
|
|
| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
recollected
|
|
| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
jingle
|
|
| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
moth
|
|
| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
garbed
|
|
| v.（尤指某类人穿的特定）服装，衣服，制服( garb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
tragic
|
|
| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
kindling
|
|
| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
cringing
|
|
| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
eastwards
|
|
| adj.向东方（的），朝东（的）；n.向东的方向 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
vacancy
|
|
| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
loomed
|
|
| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
darted
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
machinery
|
|
| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
mumbling
|
|
| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
delving
|
|
| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
bowels
|
|
| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
loathsomeness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
118
cleansing
|
|
| n. 净化(垃圾) adj. 清洁用的 动词cleanse的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
rubble
|
|
| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
torrents
|
|
| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
gutter
|
|
| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |