The Project of Mr Ralph Nickleby and his Friendapproaching a successful Issue, becomesunexpectedly known to another Party, not admittedinto their Confidence.
In an old house, dismal1 dark and dusty, which seemed to havewithered, like himself, and to have grown yellow andshrivelled in hoarding2 him from the light of day, as he had inhoarding his money, lived Arthur Gride. Meagre old chairs andtables, of spare and bony make, and hard and cold as misers’
hearts, were ranged, in grim array, against the gloomy walls;attenuated presses, grown lank3 and lantern-jawed in guarding thetreasures they enclosed, and tottering4, as though from constantfear and dread5 of thieves, shrunk up in dark corners, whence theycast no shadows on the ground, and seemed to hide and cowerfrom observation. A tall grim clock upon the stairs, with long leanhands and famished6 face, ticked in cautious whispers; and when itstruck the time, in thin and piping sounds, like an old man’s voice,rattled, as if it were pinched with hunger.
No fireside couch was there, to invite repose7 and comfort.
Elbow-chairs there were, but they looked uneasy in their minds,cocked their arms suspiciously and timidly, and kept upon theirguard. Others, were fantastically grim and gaunt, as having drawnthemselves up to their utmost height, and put on their fiercestlooks to stare all comers out of countenance9. Others, again,knocked up against their neighbours, or leant for support against the wall—somewhat ostentatiously, as if to call all men to witnessthat they were not worth the taking. The dark square lumberingbedsteads seemed built for restless dreams; the musty hangingsseemed to creep in scanty10 folds together, whispering amongthemselves, when rustled11 by the wind, their trembling knowledgeof the tempting12 wares13 that lurked14 within the dark and tight-lockedclosets.
From out the most spare and hungry room in all this spare andhungry house there came, one morning, the tremulous tones of oldGride’s voice, as it feebly chirruped forth15 the fag end of someforgotten song, of which the burden ran:
Ta—ran—tan—too,Throw the old shoe,And may the wedding be lucky!
which he repeated, in the same shrill16 quavering notes, again andagain, until a violent fit of coughing obliged him to desist, and topursue in silence, the occupation upon which he was engaged.
This occupation was, to take down from the shelves of a worm-eaten wardrobe a quantity of frowsy garments, one by one; tosubject each to a careful and minute inspection17 by holding it upagainst the light, and after folding it with great exactness, to lay iton one or other of two little heaps beside him. He never took twoarticles of clothing out together, but always brought them forth,singly, and never failed to shut the wardrobe door, and turn thekey, between each visit to its shelves.
‘The snuff-coloured suit,’ said Arthur Gride, surveying athreadbare coat. ‘Did I look well in snuff-colour? Let me think.’
The result of his cogitations appeared to be unfavourable, forhe folded the garment once more, laid it aside, and mounted on achair to get down another, chirping19 while he did so:
Young, loving, and fair,Oh what happiness there!
The wedding is sure to be lucky!
‘They always put in “young,”’ said old Arthur, ‘but songs areonly written for the sake of rhyme, and this is a silly one that thepoor country-people sang, when I was a little boy. Though stop—young is quite right too—it means the bride—yes. He, he, he! Itmeans the bride. Oh dear, that’s good. That’s very good. And truebesides, quite true!’
In the satisfaction of this discovery, he went over the verseagain, with increased expression, and a shake or two here andthere. He then resumed his employment.
‘The bottle-green,’ said old Arthur; ‘the bottle-green was afamous suit to wear, and I bought it very cheap at a pawnbroker20’s,and there was—he, he, he!—a tarnished21 shilling in the waistcoatpocket. To think that the pawnbroker shouldn’t have known therewas a shilling in it! I knew it! I felt it when I was examining thequality. Oh, what a dull dog of a pawnbroker! It was a lucky suittoo, this bottle-green. The very day I put it on first, old LordMallowford was burnt to death in his bed, and all the post-obitsfell in. I’ll be married in the bottle-green. Peg22. Peg Sliderskew—I’llwear the bottle-green!’
This call, loudly repeated twice or thrice at the room-door,brought into the apartment a short, thin, weasen, blear-eyed old woman, palsy-stricken and hideously23 ugly, who, wiping hershrivelled face upon her dirty apron24, inquired, in that subduedtone in which deaf people commonly speak:
‘Was that you a calling, or only the clock a striking? My hearinggets so bad, I never know which is which; but when I hear a noise,I know it must be one of you, because nothing else never stirs inthe house.’
‘Me, Peg, me,’ said Arthur Gride, tapping himself on the breastto render the reply more intelligible25.
‘You, eh?’ returned Peg. ‘And what do you want?’
‘I’ll be married in the bottle-green,’ cried Arthur Gride.
‘It’s a deal too good to be married in, master,’ rejoined Peg,after a short inspection of the suit. ‘Haven’t you got anythingworse than this?’
‘Nothing that’ll do,’ replied old Arthur.
‘Why not do?’ retorted Peg. ‘Why don’t you wear your everyday clothes, like a man—eh?’
‘They an’t becoming enough, Peg,’ returned her master.
‘Not what enough?’ said Peg.
‘Becoming.’
‘Becoming what?’ said Peg, sharply. ‘Not becoming too old towear?’
Arthur Gride muttered an imprecation on his housekeeper26’sdeafness, as he roared in her ear:
‘Not smart enough! I want to look as well as I can.’
‘Look?’ cried Peg. ‘If she’s as handsome as you say she is, shewon’t look much at you, master, take your oath of that; and as tohow you look yourself—pepper-and-salt, bottle-green, sky-blue, ortartan-plaid will make no difference in you.’
With which consolatory27 assurance, Peg Sliderskew gathered upthe chosen suit, and folding her skinny arms upon the bundle,stood, mouthing, and grinning, and blinking her watery29 eyes, likean uncouth30 figure in some monstrous31 piece of carving32.
‘You’re in a funny humour, an’t you, Peg?’ said Arthur, with notthe best possible grace.
‘Why, isn’t it enough to make me?’ rejoined the old woman. ‘Ishall, soon enough, be put out, though, if anybody tries todomineer it over me: and so I give you notice, master. Nobodyshall be put over Peg Sliderskew’s head, after so many years; youknow that, and so I needn’t tell you! That won’t do for me—no, no,nor for you. Try that once, and come to ruin—ruin—ruin!’
‘Oh dear, dear, I shall never try it,’ said Arthur Gride, appalledby the mention of the word, ‘not for the world. It would be veryeasy to ruin me; we must be very careful; more saving than ever,with another mouth to feed. Only we—we mustn’t let her lose hergood looks, Peg, because I like to see ’em.’
‘Take care you don’t find good looks come expensive,’ returnedPeg, shaking her forefinger33.
‘But she can earn money herself, Peg,’ said Arthur Gride,eagerly watching what effect his communication produced uponthe old woman’s countenance: ‘she can draw, paint, work allmanner of pretty things for ornamenting34 stools and chairs:
slippers, Peg, watch-guards, hair-chains, and a thousand littledainty trifles that I couldn’t give you half the names of. Then shecan play the piano, (and, what’s more, she’s got one), and sing likea little bird. She’ll be very cheap to dress and keep, Peg; don’t youthink she will?’
‘If you don’t let her make a fool of you, she may,’ returned Peg.
‘A fool of me!’ exclaimed Arthur. ‘Trust your old master not tobe fooled by pretty faces, Peg; no, no, no—nor by ugly onesneither, Mrs Sliderskew,’ he softly added by way of soliloquy.
‘You’re a saying something you don’t want me to hear,’ saidPeg; ‘I know you are.’
‘Oh dear! the devil’s in this woman,’ muttered Arthur; addingwith an ugly leer, ‘I said I trusted everything to you, Peg. That wasall.’
‘You do that, master, and all your cares are over,’ said Pegapprovingly.
‘When I do that, Peg Sliderskew,’ thought Arthur Gride, ‘theywill be.’
Although he thought this very distinctly, he durst not move hislips lest the old woman should detect him. He even seemed halfafraid that she might have read his thoughts; for he leeredcoaxingly upon her, as he said aloud:
‘Take up all loose stitches in the bottle-green with the bestblack silk. Have a skein of the best, and some new buttons for thecoat, and—this is a good idea, Peg, and one you’ll like, I know—asI have never given her anything yet, and girls like such attentions,you shall polish up a sparking necklace that I have got upstairs,and I’ll give it her upon the wedding morning—clasp it round hercharming little neck myself—and take it away again next day. He,he, he! I’ll lock it up for her, Peg, and lose it. Who’ll be made thefool of there, I wonder, to begin with—eh, Peg?’
Mrs Sliderskew appeared to approve highly of this ingeniousscheme, and expressed her satisfaction by various rackings andtwitchings of her head and body, which by no means enhanced hercharms. These she prolonged until she had hobbled to the door, when she exchanged them for a sour malignant35 look, and twistingher under-jaw from side to side, muttered hearty36 curses upon thefuture Mrs Gride, as she crept slowly down the stairs, and pausedfor breath at nearly every one.
‘She’s half a witch, I think,’ said Arthur Gride, when he foundhimself again alone. ‘But she’s very frugal37, and she’s very deaf.
Her living costs me next to nothing; and it’s no use her listening atkeyholes; for she can’t hear. She’s a charming woman—for thepurpose; a most discreet38 old housekeeper, and worth her weightin—copper.’
Having extolled39 the merits of his domestic in these high terms,old Arthur went back to the burden of his song. The suit destinedto grace his approaching nuptials40 being now selected, he replacedthe others with no less care than he had displayed in drawingthem from the musty nooks where they had silently reposed41 formany years.
Startled by a ring at the door, he hastily concluded thisoperation, and locked the press; but there was no need for anyparticular hurry, as the discreet Peg seldom knew the bell wasrung unless she happened to cast her dim eyes upwards42, and tosee it shaking against the kitchen ceiling. After a short delay,however, Peg tottered43 in, followed by Newman Noggs.
‘Ah! Mr Noggs!’ cried Arthur Gride, rubbing his hands. ‘Mygood friend, Mr Noggs, what news do you bring for me?’
Newman, with a steadfast44 and immovable aspect, and his fixedeye very fixed45 indeed, replied, suiting the action to the word, ‘Aletter. From Mr Nickleby. Bearer waits.’
‘Won’t you take a—a—’
Newman looked up, and smacked46 his lips.
‘—A chair?’ said Arthur Gride.
‘No,’ replied Newman. ‘Thankee.’
Arthur opened the letter with trembling hands, and devouredits contents with the utmost greediness; chuckling47 rapturouslyover it, and reading it several times, before he could take it frombefore his eyes. So many times did he peruse48 and re-peruse it, thatNewman considered it expedient49 to remind him of his presence.
‘Answer,’ said Newman. ‘Bearer waits.’
‘True,’ replied old Arthur. ‘Yes—yes; I almost forgot, I dodeclare.’
‘I thought you were forgetting,’ said Newman.
‘Quite right to remind me, Mr Noggs. Oh, very right indeed,’
said Arthur. ‘Yes. I’ll write a line. I’m—I’m—rather flurried, MrNoggs. The news is—’
‘Bad?’ interrupted Newman.
‘No, Mr Noggs, thank you; good, good. The very best of news.
Sit down. I’ll get the pen and ink, and write a line in answer. I’llnot detain you long. I know you’re a treasure to your master, MrNoggs. He speaks of you in such terms, sometimes, that, oh dear!
you’d be astonished. I may say that I do too, and always did. Ialways say the same of you.’
‘That’s “Curse Mr Noggs with all my heart!” then, if you do,’
thought Newman, as Gride hurried out.
The letter had fallen on the ground. Looking carefully abouthim for an instant, Newman, impelled50 by curiosity to know theresult of the design he had overheard from his office closet, caughtit up and rapidly read as follows:
‘Gride.
‘I saw Bray51 again this morning, and proposed the day aftertomorrow (as you suggested) for the marriage. There is noobjection on his part, and all days are alike to his daughter. Wewill go together, and you must be with me by seven in themorning. I need not tell you to be punctual.
‘Make no further visits to the girl in the meantime. You havebeen there, of late, much oftener than you should. She does notlanguish for you, and it might have been dangerous. Restrain youryouthful ardour for eight-and-forty hours, and leave her to thefather. You only undo52 what he does, and does well.
‘Yours,‘RALPH NICKLEBY.’
A footstep was heard without. Newman dropped the letter onthe same spot again, pressed it with his foot to prevent itsfluttering away, regained53 his seat in a single stride, and looked asvacant and unconscious as ever mortal looked. Arthur Gride, afterpeering nervously54 about him, spied it on the ground, picked it up,and sitting down to write, glanced at Newman Noggs, who wasstaring at the wall with an intensity55 so remarkable56, that Arthurwas quite alarmed.
‘Do you see anything particular, Mr Noggs?’ said Arthur, tryingto follow the direction of Newman’s eyes—which was animpossibility, and a thing no man had ever done.
‘Only a cobweb,’ replied Newman.
‘Oh! is that all?’
‘No,’ said Newman. ‘There’s a fly in it.’
‘There are a good many cobwebs here,’ observed Arthur Gride.
‘So there are in our place,’ returned Newman; ‘and flies too.’
Newman appeared to derive57 great entertainment from thisrepartee, and to the great discomposure of Arthur Gride’s nerves,produced a series of sharp cracks from his finger-joints,resembling the noise of a distant discharge of small artillery58.
Arthur succeeded in finishing his reply to Ralph’s note,nevertheless, and at length handed it over to the eccentricmessenger for delivery.
‘That’s it, Mr Noggs,’ said Gride.
Newman gave a nod, put it in his hat, and was shuffling59 away,when Gride, whose doting60 delight knew no bounds, beckoned61 himback again, and said, in a shrill whisper, and with a grin whichpuckered up his whole face, and almost obscured his eyes:
‘Will you—will you take a little drop of something—just a taste?’
In good fellowship (if Arthur Gride had been capable of it)Newman would not have drunk with him one bubble of the richestwine that was ever made; but to see what he would be at, and topunish him as much as he could, he accepted the offerimmediately.
Arthur Gride, therefore, again applied62 himself to the press, andfrom a shelf laden63 with tall Flemish drinking-glasses, and quaintbottles: some with necks like so many storks64, and others withsquare Dutch-built bodies and short fat apoplectic65 throats: tookdown one dusty bottle of promising66 appearance, and two glasses ofcuriously small size.
‘You never tasted this,’ said Arthur. ‘It’s eau-d’or—goldenwater. I like it on account of its name. It’s a delicious name. Waterof gold, golden water! O dear me, it seems quite a sin to drink it!’
As his courage appeared to be fast failing him, and he trifledwith the stopper in a manner which threatened the dismissal of the bottle to its old place, Newman took up one of the little glasses,and clinked it, twice or thrice, against the bottle, as a gentlereminder that he had not been helped yet. With a deep sigh,Arthur Gride slowly filled it—though not to the brim—and thenfilled his own.
‘Stop, stop; don’t drink it yet,’ he said, laying his hand onNewman’s; ‘it was given to me, twenty years ago, and when I takea little taste, which is ve-ry seldom, I like to think of it beforehand,and tease myself. We’ll drink a toast. Shall we drink a toast, MrNoggs?’
‘Ah!’ said Newman, eyeing his little glass impatiently. ‘Looksharp. Bearer waits.’
‘Why, then, I’ll tell you what,’ tittered Arthur, ‘we’ll drink—he,he, he!—we’ll drink a lady.’
‘The ladies?’ said Newman.
‘No, no, Mr Noggs,’ replied Gride, arresting his hand, ‘A lady.
You wonder to hear me say A lady. I know you do, I know you do.
Here’s little Madeline. That’s the toast. Mr Noggs. LittleMadeline!’
‘Madeline!’ said Newman; inwardly adding, ‘and God help her!’
The rapidity and unconcern with which Newman dismissed hisportion of the golden water, had a great effect upon the old man,who sat upright in his chair, and gazed at him, open-mouthed, as ifthe sight had taken away his breath. Quite unmoved, however,Newman left him to sip67 his own at leisure, or to pour it back againinto the bottle, if he chose, and departed; after greatly outragingthe dignity of Peg Sliderskew by brushing past her, in the passage,without a word of apology or recognition.
Mr Gride and his housekeeper, immediately on being left alone, resolved themselves into a committee of ways and means, anddiscussed the arrangements which should be made for thereception of the young bride. As they were, like some othercommittees, extremely dull and prolix68 in debate, this history maypursue the footsteps of Newman Noggs; thereby69 combiningadvantage with necessity; for it would have been necessary to doso under any circumstances, and necessity has no law, as all theworld knows.
‘You’ve been a long time,’ said Ralph, when Newman returned.
‘HE was a long time,’ replied Newman.
‘Bah!’ cried Ralph impatiently. ‘Give me his note, if he gave youone: his message, if he didn’t. And don’t go away. I want a wordwith you, sir.’
Newman handed in the note, and looked very virtuous70 andinnocent while his employer broke the seal, and glanced his eyeover it.
‘He’ll be sure to come,’ muttered Ralph, as he tore it to pieces;‘why of course, I know he’ll be sure to come. What need to saythat? Noggs! Pray, sir, what man was that, with whom I saw you inthe street last night?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Newman.
‘You had better refresh your memory, sir,’ said Ralph, with athreatening look.
‘I tell you,’ returned Newman boldly, ‘that I don’t know. Hecame here twice, and asked for you. You were out. He came again.
You packed him off, yourself. He gave the name of Brooker.’
‘I know he did,’ said Ralph; ‘what then?’
‘What then? Why, then he lurked about and dogged me in thestreet. He follows me, night after night, and urges me to bring him face to face with you; as he says he has been once, and not longago either. He wants to see you face to face, he says, and you’llsoon hear him out, he warrants.’
‘And what say you to that?’ inquired Ralph, looking keenly athis drudge71.
‘That it’s no business of mine, and I won’t. I told him he mightcatch you in the street, if that was all he wanted, but no! thatwouldn’t do. You wouldn’t hear a word there, he said. He musthave you alone in a room with the door locked, where he couldspeak without fear, and you’d soon change your tone, and hearhim patiently.’
‘An audacious dog!’ Ralph muttered.
‘That’s all I know,’ said Newman. ‘I say again, I don’t knowwhat man he is. I don’t believe he knows himself. You have seenhim; perhaps you do.’
‘I think I do,’ replied Ralph.
‘Well,’ retored Newman, sulkily, ‘don’t expect me to know himtoo; that’s all. You’ll ask me, next, why I never told you this before.
What would you say, if I was to tell you all that people say of you?
What do you call me when I sometimes do? “Brute, ass28!” and snapat me like a dragon.’
This was true enough; though the question which Newmananticipated, was, in fact, upon Ralph’s lips at the moment.
‘He is an idle ruffian,’ said Ralph; ‘a vagabond from beyond thesea where he travelled for his crimes; a felon72 let loose to run hisneck into the halter; a swindler, who has the audacity73 to try hisschemes on me who know him well. The next time he tamperswith you, hand him over to the police, for attempting to extortmoney by lies and threats,—d’ye hear?—and leave the rest to me.
He shall cool his heels in jail a little time, and I’ll be bound helooks for other folks to fleece, when he comes out. You mind whatI say, do you?’
‘I hear,’ said Newman.
‘Do it then,’ returned Ralph, ‘and I’ll reward you. Now, you maygo.’
Newman readily availed himself of the permission, and,shutting himself up in his little office, remained there, in veryserious cogitation18, all day. When he was released at night, heproceeded, with all the expedition he could use, to the city, andtook up his old position behind the pump, to watch for Nicholas.
For Newman Noggs was proud in his way, and could not bear toappear as his friend, before the brothers Cheeryble, in the shabbyand degraded state to which he was reduced.
He had not occupied this position many minutes, when he wasrejoiced to see Nicholas approaching, and darted74 out from hisambuscade to meet him. Nicholas, on his part, was no less pleasedto encounter his friend, whom he had not seen for some time; so,their greeting was a warm one.
‘I was thinking of you, at that moment,’ said Nicholas.
‘That’s right,’ rejoined Newman, ‘and I of you. I couldn’t helpcoming up, tonight. I say, I think I am going to find out something.’
‘And what may that be?’ returned Nicholas, smiling at this oddcommunication.
‘I don’t know what it may be, I don’t know what it may not be,’
said Newman; ‘it’s some secret in which your uncle is concerned,but what, I’ve not yet been able to discover, although I have mystrong suspicions. I’ll not hint ’em now, in case you should bedisappointed.’
‘I disappointed!’ cried Nicholas; ‘am I interested?’
‘I think you are,’ replied Newman. ‘I have a crotchet in my headthat it must be so. I have found out a man, who plainly knowsmore than he cares to tell at once. And he has already droppedsuch hints to me as puzzle me—I say, as puzzle me,’ said Newman,scratching his red nose into a state of violent inflammation, andstaring at Nicholas with all his might and main meanwhile.
Admiring what could have wound his friend up to such a pitchof mystery, Nicholas endeavoured, by a series of questions, toelucidate the cause; but in vain. Newman could not be drawn8 intoany more explicit75 statement than a repetition of the perplexities hehad already thrown out, and a confused oration76, showing, How itwas necessary to use the utmost caution; how the lynx-eyed Ralphhad already seen him in company with his unknowncorrespondent; and how he had baffled the said Ralph by extremeguardedness of manner and ingenuity77 of speech; having preparedhimself for such a contingency78 from the first.
Remembering his companion’s propensity,—of which his nose,indeed, perpetually warned all beholders like a beacon,—Nicholashad drawn him into a sequestered79 tavern80. Here, they fell toreviewing the origin and progress of their acquaintance, as mensometimes do, and tracing out the little events by which it wasmost strongly marked, came at last to Miss Cecilia Bobster.
‘And that reminds me,’ said Newman, ‘that you never told methe young lady’s real name.’
‘Madeline!’ said Nicholas.
‘Madeline!’ cried Newman. ‘What Madeline? Her other name.
Say her other name.’
‘Bray,’ said Nicholas, in great astonishment81.
‘It’s the same!’ cried Newman. ‘Sad story! Can you stand idlyby, and let that unnatural82 marriage take place without oneattempt to save her?’
‘What do you mean?’ exclaimed Nicholas, starting up;‘marriage! are you mad?’
‘Are you? Is she? Are you blind, deaf, senseless, dead?’ saidNewman. ‘Do you know that within one day, by means of youruncle Ralph, she will be married to a man as bad as he, and worse,if worse there is? Do you know that, within one day, she will besacrificed, as sure as you stand there alive, to a hoary83 wretch—adevil born and bred, and grey in devils’ ways?’
‘Be careful what you say,’ replied Nicholas. ‘For Heaven’s sakebe careful! I am left here alone, and those who could stretch out ahand to rescue her are far away. What is it that you mean?’
‘I never heard her name,’ said Newman, choking with hisenergy. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? How was I to know? We might, atleast, have had some time to think!’
‘What is it that you mean?’ cried Nicholas.
It was not an easy task to arrive at this information; but, after agreat quantity of extraordinary pantomime, which in no wayassisted it, Nicholas, who was almost as wild as Newman Noggshimself, forced the latter down upon his seat and held him downuntil he began his tale.
Rage, astonishment, indignation, and a storm of passions,rushed through the listener’s heart, as the plot was laid bare. Heno sooner understood it all, than with a face of ashy paleness, andtrembling in every limb, he darted from the house.
‘Stop him!’ cried Newman, bolting out in pursuit. ‘He’ll bedoing something desperate; he’ll murder somebody. Hallo! there, stop him. Stop thief! stop thief!’
收听单词发音 |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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hoarding
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| n.贮藏；积蓄；临时围墙；囤积v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的现在分词 ) | |
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lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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cogitation
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| n.仔细思考，计划，设计 | |
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chirping
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的现在分词 ) | |
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pawnbroker
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| n.典当商，当铺老板 | |
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tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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consolatory
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| adj.慰问的，可藉慰的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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ornamenting
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| v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的现在分词 ) | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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extolled
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| v.赞颂，赞扬，赞美( extol的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nuptials
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| n.婚礼；婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
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reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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peruse
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| v.细读，精读 | |
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expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bray
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| n.驴叫声, 喇叭声；v.驴叫 | |
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undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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doting
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| adj.溺爱的，宠爱的 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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storks
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| n.鹳( stork的名词复数 ) | |
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apoplectic
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| adj.中风的；愤怒的；n.中风患者 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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prolix
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| adj.罗嗦的；冗长的 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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drudge
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| n.劳碌的人；v.做苦工，操劳 | |
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felon
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| n.重罪犯；adj.残忍的 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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oration
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| n.演说，致辞，叙述法 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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sequestered
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| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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81
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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