Le cénacle Capodistria used to call us in those days when we gathered for an early morning shave in the Ptolemaic parlour of Mnemjian, with its mirrors and palms, its bead5 curtains and the delicious mimicry6 of clear warm water and white linen7: a laying out and anointing of corpses9. The violet-eyed hunchback himself officiated, for we were valued customers all (dead Pharaohs at the natron baths, guts10 and brains to be removed, renovated11 and replaced). He himself, the barber, was often unshaven having just hurried down from the hospital after shaving a corpse8. Briefly12 we met here in the padded chairs, in the mirrors, before separating to go about our various tasks — Da Capo to see his brokers13, Pombal to totter14 to the French consulate15 (mouth full of charred16 moths17, hangover, sensation of having walked about all night on his eyeballs), I to teach, Scobie to the Police Bureau, and so on…. I have somewhere a faded flashlight photograph of this morning ritual, taken by poor John Keats, the Global Agency correspondent. It is strange to look at it now. The smell of the gravecloth is on it. It is a speaking likeness19 of an Alexandrian spring morning: quiet rubbing of coffee pestles20, curdling21 crying of fat pigeons. I recognize my friends by the very sounds they make: Capodistria’s characteristic ‘Quatsch’ and ‘Pouagh’ at some political remark, followed by that dry cachinnation — the retching of a metal stomach; Scobie’s tobacco cough ‘Teuch, Teuch’: Pombal’s soft ‘Tiens’, like someone striking a triangle. ‘Tiens’. And in one corner there I am, in my shabby raincoat — the perfected image of a schoolteacher. In the other corner sits poor little Toto de Brunel. Keats’s photograph traps him as he is raising a ringed finger to his temple — the fatal temple. Toto! He is an original,a numéro. His withered22 witch’s features and small boy’s brown eyes, widow’s peak, queer art nouveau smile. He was the darling of old society women too proud to pay for gigolos. ‘Toto, mon chou, c’est toi!’ (Madame Umbada), ‘Comme il est charmant, ce Toto!’ (Athena Trasha). He lives on these dry crusts of approbation23, an old woman’s man, with the dimples sinking daily deeper into the wrinkled skin of an ageless face, quite happy, I suppose. Yes. ‘Toto — comment vas-tu?’ — ‘Si heureux de vous voir, Madame Martinengo!’ He was what Pombal scornfully called ‘a Gentleman of the Second Declension.’ His smile dug one’s grave, his kindness was anaesthetic. Though his fortune was small, his excesses trivial, yet he was right in the social swim. There was, I suppose, nothing to be done with him for he was a woman: yet had he been born one he would long since have cried himself into a decline. Lacking charm, his pederasty gave him a kind of illicit25 importance. ‘Homme serviable, homme gracieux’ (Count Banubula, General Cervoni — what more does one want?). Though without humour, he found one day that he could split sides. He spoke26 indifferent English and French, but whenever at loss for a word he would put in one whose meaning he did not know and the grotesque27 substitution was often delightful28. This became his standard mannerism29. In it, he almost reached poetry — as when he said ‘Some flies have come off my typewriter’ or ‘The car is trepanned today’ or ‘I ran so fast I got dandruff.’ He could do this in three languages. It excused him from learning them. He spoke a Toto-tongue of his own. Invisible behind the lens itself that morning stood Keats — the world’s sort of Good Fellow, empty of ill intentions. He smelt30 lightly of perspiration31. C’est le métier qui exige. Once he had wanted to be a writer but took the wrong turning, and now his profession had so trained him to stay on the superficies of real life (acts and facts about acts) that he had developed the typical journalist’s neurosis (they drink to still it): namely that Something has happened, or is about to happen, in the next street, and that they will not know about it until it is too late to ‘send’. This haunting fear of missing a fragment of reality which one knows in advance will be trivial, even meaningless, had given our friend the conventional tic one sees in children who want to go to the lavatory32 — shifting about in a chair, crossing and uncrossing of legs. After a few moments of conversation he would nervously33 rise and say ‘I’ve just forgotten something — I won’t be a minute.’ In the street he would expel his breath in a swish of relief. He never went far but simply walked around the block to still the unease. Everything always seemed normal enough, to be sure. He would wonder whether to phone Mahmoud Pasha about the defence estimates or wait till Tomorrow…. He had a pocketful of peanuts which he cracked in his teeth and spat34 out, feeling restless, unnerved, he did not know why. After a walk he would come trotting35 back into the café, or barber’s shop, beaming shyly, apologetically: an ‘Agency Man’ — our best-integrated modern type. There was nothing wrong with John except the level on which he had chosen to live his life — but you could say the same about his famous namesake, could you not? I owe this faded photograph to him. The mania36 to perpetuate37, to record, to photograph everything! I suppose this must come from the feeling that you don’t enjoy anything fully24, indeed are taking the bloom off it with every breath you draw. His ‘files’ were enormous, bulging38 with signed menus, bands off memorial cigars, postage stamps, picture postcards…. Later this proved useful, for somehow he had captured some of Pursewarden’s obiter dicta. Farther to the east sits good old big-bellied Pombal, under each eye a veritable diplomatic bag. Now here is someone on whom one can really lavish40 a bit of affection. His only preoccupation is with losing his job or being impuissant: the national worry of every Frenchman since Jean-Jacques. We quarrel a good deal, though amicably41, for we share his little flat which is always full of unconsidered trifles and trifles more considered: les femmes. But he is a good friend, a tender-hearted man, and really loves women. When I have insomnia42 or am ill: ‘Dis donc, tu vas bien?’ Roughly, in the manner of a bon copain. ‘Ecoute — tu veux une aspirine?’ or else ‘Ou bien — j’ai une jeune amie dans ma chambre si tu veux….’ (Not a misprint: Pombal called all poules ‘jeunes femmes’.)‘Hein? Elle n’est pas mal — et c’est tout43 payé, mon cher. Mais ce matin, moi je me sens un tout petit peu antiféministe — j’en ai marre, hein!’ Satiety44 fell upon him at such times. ‘Je deviens de plus en plus anthropophage’ he would say, rolling that comical eye. Also, his job worried him; his reputation was pretty bad, people were beginning to talk, especially after what he calls ‘l’affaire Sveva’; and yesterday the Consul-General walked in on him while he was cleaning his shoes on the Chancery curtains…. ‘Monsieur Pombal! Je suis obligé de vous faire quelques observations sur votre comportement officiel!’ Ouf! A reproof46 of the first grade…. It explains why Pombal now sits heavily in the photograph, debating all this with a downcast expression. Lately we have become rather estranged47 because of Melissa. He is angry that I have fallen in love with her, for she is only a dancer in a night-club, and as such unworthy of serious attention. There is also a question of snobbery48, for she is virtually living at the flat now and he feels this to be demeaning: perhaps even diplomatically unwise. ‘Love’ says Toto ‘is a liquid fossil’ — a felicitous49 epigram in all conscience. Now to fall in love with a banker’s wife, that would be forgivable, though ridiculous…. Or would it? In Alexandria, it is only intrigue50 per se which is wholeheartedly admired; but to fall in love renders one ridiculous in society. (Pombal is a provincial51 at heart.) I think of the tremendous repose52 and dignity of Melissa in death, the slender body bandaged and swaddled as if after some consuming and irreparable accident. Well. And Justine? On the day this picture was taken, Clea’s painting was interrupted by a kiss, as Balthazar says. How am I to make this comprehensible when I can only visualize53 these scenes with such difficulty? I must, it seems, try to see a new Justine, a new Pursewarden, a new Clea…. I mean that I must try and strip the opaque54 membrane55 which stands between me and the reality of their actions — and which I suppose is composed of my own limitations of vision and temperament56. My envy of Pursewarden, my passion for Justine, my pity for Melissa. Distorting mirrors, all of them…. The way is through fact. I must record what more I know and attempt to render it comprehensible or plausible57 to myself, if necessary, by an act of the imagination. Or can facts be left to themselves? Can you say ‘he fell in love’ or ‘she fell in love’ without trying to divine its meaning, to set it in a context of plausibilities? ‘That bitch’ Pombal said once of Justine. ‘Elle a l’air d’être bien chambrée!’ And of Melissa ‘Une pauvre petite poule quelconque …’ He was right, perhaps, yet the true meaning of them resides elsewhere. Here, I hope, on this scribbled58 paper which I have woven, spider-like, from my inner life. And Scobie? Well, he at least has the comprehensibility of a diagram — plain as a national anthem59. He looks particularly pleased this morning for he has recently achieved apotheosis60. After years as a Bimbashi in the Egyptian Police, in what he calls ‘the evening of his life’ he has just been appointed to … I hardly dare to write the words for I can see his shudder62 of secrecy63, can see his glass eye rolling portentously65 round in its socket66 … the Secret Service. He is not alive any more, thank God, to read the words and tremble. Yes, the Ancient Mariner67, the secret pirate of Tatwig Street, the man himself. How much the city misses him. (His use of the word ‘uncanny’!)…. Elsewhere I have recounted how I answered a mysterious summons to find myself in a room of splendid proportions with my erstwhile pirate friend facing me across a desk, whistling through his ill-fitting dentures. I think his new assignment was as much a puzzle to him as it was to me, his only confidant. It is true of course that he had been long in Egypt and knew Arabic well; but his career had been comparatively obscure. What could an intelligence agency hope to get out of him? More than this — what did he hope to get out of me? I had already explained in detail that the little circle which met every month to hear Balthazar expound68 the principles of the Cabbala had no connection with espionage69; it was simply a group of hermetic students drawn70 by their interest in the matter of the lectures. Alexandria is a city of sects71 — and the shallowest inquiry72 would have revealed to him the existence of other groups akin18 to the one concerned with the hermetic philosophy which Balthazar addressed: Steinerites, Christian73 Scientists, Ouspenskyists, Adventists…. What was it that riveted74 attention particularly on Nessim, Justine, Balthazar, Capodistria, etc.? I could not tell, nor could he tell me. ‘They’re up to something’ he repeated weakly. ‘Cairo says so.’ Apparently75, he did not even know who his own masters were. His work was invisibly dictated76 by a scrambler telephone, as far as I could understand. But whatever ‘Cairo’ was it paid him well: and if he had money to throw about on nonsensical investigations77 who was I to prevent him throwing it to me? I thought that my first few reports on Balthazar’s Cabal78 would successfully damp all interest in it — but no. They wanted more and again more. And this very morning, the old sailor in the photograph was celebrating his new post and the increase of salary it carried by having a haircut in the upper town, at the most expensive of shops — Mnemjian’s. I must not forget that this photograph also records a ‘Secret Rendezvous’; no wonder Scobie looks distraught. For he is surrounded by the very spies into whose activities it is necessary to inquire — not to mention a French diplomat39 who is widely rumoured79 to be head of the French Deuxième…. Normally Scobie would have found this too expensive an establishment to patronize, living as he did upon a tiny nautical80 pension and his exiguous81 Police salary. But now he is a great man. He did not dare even to wink82 at me in the mirror as the hunchback, tactful as a diplomat, elaborated a full-scale haircut out of mere83 air — for Scobie’s glittering dome84 was very lightly fringed by the kind of fluff one sees on a duckling’s bottom, and he had of late years sacrificed the torpedo85 beard of a wintry sparseness86. ‘I must say’ he is about to say throatily (in the presence of so many suspicious people we ‘spies’ must speak ‘normally’), ‘I must say, old man, you get a spiffing treatment here, Mnemjian really does understand.’ Clearing his throat, ‘The whole art.’ His voice became portentous64 in the presence of technical terms. ‘It’s all a question of Graduation — I had a close friend who told me, a barber in Bond Street. You simply got to graduate.’ Mnemjian thanked him in his pinched ventriloquist’s voice. ‘Not at all’ said the old man largely. ‘I know the wrinkles.’ Now he could wink at me. I winked87 back. We both looked away. Released, he stood up, his bones creaking, and set his piratical jaw88 in a look of full-blooded health. He examined his reflection in the mirror with complacence. ‘Yes’ he said, giving a short authoritative89 nod, ‘it’ll do.’ ‘Electric friction90 for scalp, sir?’ Scobie shook his head masterfully as he placed his red flowerpot tarbush on his skull91. ‘It brings me out in goose pimples’ he said, and then, with a smirk92, ‘I’ll nourish what’s left with arak.’ Mnemjian saluted93 this stroke of wit with a little gesture. We were free. But he was really not elated at all. He drooped94 as we walked slowly down Chérif Pacha together towards the Grande Corniche. He struck moodily95 at his knee with the horsehair fly-swatter, puffing96 moodily at his much-mended briar. Thought. All he said with sudden petulance97 was ‘I can’t stand that Toto fellow. He’s an open nancy-boy. In my time we would have….’ He grumbled98 away into his skin for a long time and then petered into silence again. ‘What is it, Scobie?’ I said. ‘I’m troubled’ he admitted. ‘Really troubled.’ When he was in the upper town his walk and general bearing had an artificial swagger — it suggested a White Man at large, brooding upon problems peculiar99 to White Men — their Burden as they call it. To judge by Scobie, it hung heavy. His least gesture had a resounding100 artificiality, tapping his knees, sucking his lip, falling into brooding attitudes before shop windows. He gazed at the people around him as if from stilts101. These gestures reminded me in a feeble way of the heroes of domestic English fiction who stand before a Tudor fireplace, impressively whacking102 their riding-boots with a bull’s pizzle. By the time we had reached the outskirts103 of the Arab quarter, however, he had all but shed these mannerisms. He relaxed, tipped his tarbush up to mop his brow, and gazed around him with the affection of long familiarity. Here he belonged by adoption104, here he was truly at home. He would defiantly105 take a drink from the leaden spout106 sticking out of a wall near the Goharri mosque107 (a public drinking fountain) though the White Man in him must have been aware that the water was far from safe to drink. He would pick a stick of sugar-cane off a stall as he passed, to gnaw108 it in the open street: or a sweet locust-bean. Here, everywhere, the cries of the open street greeted him and he responded radiantly. ‘Y’alla, effendi, Skob’ ‘Naharak said, ya Skob’ ‘Allah salimak.’ He would sigh and say ‘Dear people’; and ‘How I love the place you have no idea!’ dodging109 a liquid-eyed camel as it humped down the narrow street threatening to knock us down with its bulging sumpters of bercim, the wild clover which is used as fodder110. ‘May your prosperity increase’ ‘By your leave, my mother’ ‘May your day be blessed’ ‘Favour me, O sheik.’ Scobie walked here with the ease of a man who has come into his own estate, slowly, sumptuously111, like an Arab. Today we sat together for a while in the shade of the ancient mosque listening to the clicking of the palms and the hooting112 of sea-going liners in the invisible basin below. ‘I’ve just seen a directive’ said Scobie at last, in a sad withered little voice ‘about what they call a Peddyrast. It’s rather shaken me, old man. I don’t mind admitting it — I didn’t know the word. I had to look it up. At all costs, it says, we must exclude them. They are dangerous to the security of the net.’ I gave a laugh and for a moment the old man showed signs of wanting to respond with a weak giggle113, but his depression overtook the impulse, to leave it buried, a small hollowness in those cherry-red cheeks. He puffed114 furiously at his pipe. ‘Peddyrast’ he repeated with scorn, and groped for his matchbox. ‘I don’t think they quite understand at Home’ he said sadly. ‘Now the Egyptians, they don’t give a damn about a man if he has Tendencies — provided he’s the Soul of Honour, like me.’ He meant it. ‘But now, old man, if I am to work for the … You Know What … I ought to tell them — what do you say?’ ‘Don’t be a fool, Scobie.’ ‘Well, I don’t know’ he said sadly. ‘I want to be honest with them. It isn’t that I cause any harm. I suppose one shouldn’t have Tendencies — any more than warts115 or a big nose. But what can I do?’ ‘Surely at your age very little?’ ‘Below the belt’ said the pirate with a flash of his old form. ‘Dirty. Cruel. Narky.’ He looked archly at me round his pipe and suddenly cheered up. He began one of those delightful rambling116 monologues118 — another chapter in the saga120 he had composed around his oldest friend, the by now mythical121 Toby Mannering. ‘Toby was once Driven Medical by his excesses — I think I told you. No? Well, he was. Driven Medical.’ He was obviously quoting and with relish122. ‘Lord how he used to go it as a young man. Stretched the limit in beating the bounds. Finally he found himself under the Doctor, had to wear an Appliance.’ His voice rose by nearly an octave. ‘He went about in a leopard-skin muff when he had shore leave until the Merchant Navy rose in a body. He was put away for six months. Into a Home. They said “You’ll have to have Traction” — whatever that is. You could hear him scream all over Tewkesbury, so Toby says. They say they cure you but they don’t. They didn’t him at any rate. After a bit, they sent him back. Couldn’t do anything with him. He was afflicted123 with Dumb Insolence124, they said. Poor Toby!’ He had fallen effortlessly asleep now, leaning back against the wall of the Mosque. (‘A cat-nap’ he used to say, ‘but always woken by the ninth wave.’ For how much longer, I wondered?) After a moment the ninth wave brought him back through the surf of his dreams to the beach. He gave a start and sat up. ‘What was I saying? Yes, about Toby. His father was an M.P. Very High Placed. Rich man’s son. Toby tried to go into the Church first. Said he felt The Call. I think it was just the costume, myself — he was a great amateur theatrical125, was Toby. Then he lost his faith and slipped up and had a tragedy. Got run in. He said the Devil prompted him. “See he doesn’t do it again” says the Beak126. “Not on Tooting Common, anyway.” They wanted to put him in chokey — they said he had a rare disease — cornucopia127 I think they called it. But luckily his father went to the Prime Minister and had the whole thing hushed up. It was lucky, old man, that at that time the whole Cabinet had Tendencies too. It was uncanny. The Prime Minister, even the Archbishop of Canterbury. They sympathized with poor Toby. It was lucky for him. After that, he got his master’s ticket and put to sea.’ Scobie was asleep once more; only to wake again after a few seconds with a histrionic start. ‘It was old Toby’ he went on, without a pause, though now crossing himself devoutly128 and gulping129 ‘who put me on to the Faith. One night when we were on watch together on the Meredith (fine old ship) he says to me: “Scurvy, there’s something you should know. Ever heard of the Virgin130 Mary?” I had of course, vaguely131. I didn’t know what her duties were, so to speak….’ Once more he fell asleep and this time there issued from between his lips a small croaking132 snore. I carefully took his pipe from between his fingers and lit myself a cigarette. This appearance and disappearance133 into the simulacrum of death was somehow touching134. These little visits paid to an eternity135 which he would soon be inhabiting, complete with the comfortable forms of Toby and Budgie, and a Virgin Mary with specified136 duties…. And to be obsessed137 by such problems at an age when, as far as I could judge, there was little beyond verbal boasting to make him a nuisance. (I was wrong — Scobie was indomitable.) After a while he woke again from this deeper sleep, shook himself and rose, knuckling138 his eyes. We made our way together to the sordid139 purlieus of the town where he lived, in Tatwig Street, in a couple of tumbledown rooms. ‘And yet’ he said once more, carrying his chain of thought perfectly140, ‘it’s all very well for you to say I shouldn’t tell them. But I wonder.’ (Here he paused to inhale141 the draught142 of cooking Arab bread from the doorway143 of a shop and the old man exclaimed ‘It smells like mother’s lap!’) His ambling117 walk kept pace with his deliberations. ‘You see the Egyptians are marvellous, old man. Kindly144. They know me well. From some points of view, they might look like felons145, old man, but felons in a state of grace, that’s what I always say. They make allowances for each other. Why, Nimrod Pasha himself said to me the other day “Peddyrasty is one thing — hashish quite another.” He’s serious, you see. Now I never smoke hashish when I’m on duty — that would be bad. Of course, from another point of view, the British couldn’t do anything to a man with an official position like me. But if the Gyppos once thought they were — well, critical about me — old man, I might lose both jobs, and both salaries. That’s what troubles me.’ We mounted the fly-blown staircase with its ragged146 rat-holes. ‘It smells a bit’ he agreed, ‘but you get quite used to it. It’s the mice. No, I’m not going to move. I’ve lived in this quarter for years now — years! Everybody knows me and likes me. And besides, old Abdul is only round the corner.’ He chuckled147 and stopped for breath on the first landing, taking off his flowerpot the better to mop his brow. Then he hung downwards148, sagging149 as he always did when he was thinking seriously as if the very weight of the thought itself bore down upon him. He sighed. ‘The thing’ he said slowly, and with the air of a man who wishes at all costs to be explicit150, to formulate151 an idea as clearly as lies within his power, ‘the thing is about Tendencies — you only realize it when you’re not a hot-blooded young sprig any more.’ He sighed again. ‘It’s the lack of tenderness, old man. It all depends on cunning somehow, you get lonely. Now Abdul is a true friend.’ He chuckled and cheered up once more. ‘I call him the Bui Bui Emir. I set him up in his business, just out of friendly affection. Bought him everything: his shop, his little wife. Never laid a finger on him nor ever could, because I love the man. I’m glad I did now, because though I’m getting on, I still have a true friend. I pop in every day to see them. It’s uncanny how happy it makes me. I really do enjoy their happiness, old man. They are like son and daughter to me, the poor perishing coons. I can’t hardly bear to hear them quarrel. It makes me anxious about their kids. I think Abdul is jealous of her, and not without cause, mark you. She looks flirty152 to me. But then, sex is so powerful in this heat — a spoonful goes a long way as we used to say about rum in the Merchant Navy. You lie and dream about it like ice-cream, sex, not rum. And these Moslem153 girls — old boy — they circumcise them. It’s cruel. Really cruel. It only makes them harp154 on the subject. I tried to get her to learn knitting or crewel-work, but she’s so stupid she didn’t understand. They made a joke of it. Not that I mind. I was only trying to help. Two hundred pounds it took me to set Abdul up — all my savings155. But he’s doing well now — yes, very well.’ The monologue119 had had the effect of allowing him to muster156 his energies for the final assault. We addressed the last ten stairs at a comfortable pace and Scobie unlocked the door of his rooms. Originally he had only been able to rent one — but with his new salary he had rented the whole shabby floor. The largest was the old Arab room which served as a bedroom and reception-room in one. It was furnished by an uncomfortable looking truckle bed and an old-fashioned cake-stand. A few joss-sticks, a police calendar, and Clea’s as yet unfinished portrait of the pirate stood upon the crumbling157 mantelpiece. Scobie switched on a single dusty electric light bulb — a recent innovation of which he was extremely proud (‘Paraffin gets in the food’) — and looked round him with unaffected pleasure. Then he tiptoed to the far corner. In the gloom I had at first overlooked the room’s other occupant: a brilliant green Amazonian parrot in a brass158 cage. It was at present shrouded159 in a dark cloth, and this the old man now removed with a faintly defensive160 air. ‘I was telling you about Toby’ he said ‘because last week he came through Alex on the Yokohama run. I got this from him — he had to sell — the damn bird caused such a riot. It’s a brilliant conversationalist, aren’t you Ron, eh? Crisp as a fart, aren’t you?’ The parrot gave a low whistle and ducked. ‘That’s the boy’ said Scobie with approval and turning to me added ‘I got Ron for a very keen price, yes, a very keen price. Shall I tell you why?’ Suddenly, inexplicably161, he doubled up with laughter, nearly joining nose to knee and whizzing soundlessly like a small human top, to emerge at last with an equally soundless slap on his own thigh162 — a sudden paroxysm. ‘You’d never imagine the row Ron caused’ he said. ‘Toby brought the bird ashore163. He knew it could talk, but not Arabic. By God. We were sitting at a café yarning164 (I haven’t seen Toby for five whole years) when Ron suddenly started. In Arabic. You know, he recited the Kalima, a very sacred, not to mention holy, text from the Koran. The Kalima. And at every other word, he gives a fart, didn’t you Ron?’ The parrot agreed with another whistle. ‘It’s so sacred, the Kalima’ explained Scobie gravely, ‘that the next thing was a raging crowd round us. It was lucky I knew what was going on. I knew that if a non-Moslem was caught reciting this particular text he was liable to Instant Circumcision!’ His eye flashed. ‘It was a pretty poor outlook for Toby to be circumcised like that while one was taking shore leave and I was worried. (I’m circumcised already.) However, my presence of mind didn’t desert me. He wanted to punch a few heads, but I restrained him. I was in police uniform you see, and that made it easier. I made a little speech to the crowd saying that I was going to take the infidel and this perishing bird into chokey to hand them over to the Parquet165. That satisfied them. But there was no way of silencing Ron, even under his little veil, was there Ron? The little bastard166 recited the Kalima all the way back here. We had to run for it. My word, what an experience!’ He was changing out of his police rig as he talked, placing his tarbush on the rusty167 iron nail above his bed, above the crucifix in the little alcove168 where a stone jar of drinking-water also stood. He put on a frayed169 old blazer with tin buttons, and still mopping his head went on: ‘I must say — it was wonderful to see old Toby again after so long. He had to sell the bird, of course, after such a riot. Didn’t dare go through the dock area again with it. But now I’m doubtful, for I daren’t take it out of the room hardly for fear of what more it knows.’ He sighed. ‘Another good thing’ he went on ‘was the recipe Toby brought for Mock Whisky — ever heard of it? Nor had I. Better than Scotch170 and dirt cheap, old man. From now on I’m going to brew171 all my own drinks, thanks to Toby. Here. Look at this.’ He indicated a grubby bottle full of some fieryIooking liquid. ‘It’s home-made beer’ he said, ‘and jolly good too. I made three, but the other two exploded. I’m going to call it Plaza172 beer.’ ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Are you going to sell it?’ ‘Good Lord, no!’ said Scobie. ‘Just for home use.’ He rubbed his stomach reflectively and licked his lips. ‘Try a glass’ he said. ‘No thanks.’ The old man now consulted a huge watch and pursed his lips. ‘In a little while I must say an Ave Maria. I’ll have to push you out, old man. But just let’s have a look and see how the Mock Whisky is getting on for a moment, shall we?’ I was most curious to see how he was conducting these new experiments and willingly followed him out on to the landing again and into the shabby alcove which now housed a gaunt galvanized iron bath which he must have bought specially45 for these illicit purposes. It stood under a grimy closet window, and the shelves around it were crowded with the impedimenta of the new trade — a dozen empty beer bottles, two broken, and the huge chamberpot which Scobie always called ‘the Heirloom’; not to mention a tattered173 beach umbrella and a pair of goloshes. ‘What part do these play?’ I could not help asking, indicating the latter. ‘Do you tread the grapes or potatoes in them?’ Scobie took on an old-maidish, squinting-down-the-nose expression which always meant that levity174 on the topic under discussion was out of place. He listened keenly for a moment, as if to sounds of fermentation. Then he got down on one shaky knee and regarded the contents of the bath with a doubtful but intense eye. His glass eye gave him a more than mechanical expression as it stared into the rather tired-looking mixture with which the bath was brimming. He sniffed175 dispassionately and tutted once before rising again with creaking joints176. ‘It doesn’t look as good as I hoped’ he admitted. ‘But give it time, it has to be given time.’ He tried some on his finger and rolled his glass eye. ‘It seems to have gone a bit turpid’ he admitted. ‘As if someone had peed in it.’ As Abdul and himself shared the only key to this illicit still I was able to look innocent. ‘Do you want to try it?’ he asked doubtfully. ‘Thank you, Scobie — no.’ ‘Ah well’ he said philosophically177, ‘maybe the copper178 sulphate wasn’t fresh. I had to order the rhubarb from Blighty. Forty pounds. That looked pretty tired when it got here, I don’t mind telling you. But I know the proportions are right because I went into it all thoroughly179 with young Toby before he left. It needs time, that’s what it needs.’ And made buoyant once more by the hope, he led the way back into the bedroom, whistling under his breath a few staves of the famous song which he only sang aloud when he was drunk on brandy. It went something like this: ‘I want Someone to match my fancy I want Someone to match my style I’ve been good for an awful long while Now I’ll take her in my arms Tum ti Tum Tum ti charms….’ Somewhere here the melody fell down a cliff and was lost to sight, though Scobie hummed out the stave and beat time with his finger. He was sitting down on the bed now and staring at his shabby shoes. Abruptly180, without apparent premeditation (though he closed his eyes fast as if to shut the subject away out of sight forever) Scobie lay back on the bed, hands behind his head, and said: ‘Before you go, there’s a small confession181 I’d like to make to you, old man. Right?’ I sat down on the uncomfortable chair and nodded. ‘Right’ he said emphatically and drew a breath. ‘Well then: sometimes at the full moon, I’m Took. I come under An Influence.’ This was on the face of it a somewhat puzzling departure from accepted form, for the old man looked quite disturbed by his own revelation. He gobbled for a moment and then went on in a small humbled182 voice devoid183 of his customary swagger. ‘I don’t know what comes over me.’ I did not quite understand all this. ‘Do you mean you walk in your sleep, or what?’ He shook his head and gulped184 again. ‘Do you turn into a werewolf, Scobie?’ Once more he shook his head like a child upon the point of tears. ‘I slip on female duds and my Dolly Varden’ he said, and opened his eyes fully to stare pathetically at me. ‘You what?’ I said. To my intense surprise he rose now and walked stiffly to a cupboard which he unlocked. Inside, hanging up, moth-eaten and unbrushed, was a suit of female clothes of ancient cut, and on a nail beside it a greasy185 old cloche hat which I took to be the so-called ‘Dolly Varden’. A pair of antediluvian186 court shoes with very high heels and long pointed61 toes completed this staggering outfit187. He did not know how quite to respond to the laugh which I was now compelled to utter. He gave a weak giggle. ‘It’s silly, isn’t it?’ he said, still hovering188 somewhere on the edge of tears despite his smiling face, and still by his tone inviting189 sympathy in misfortune. ‘I don’t know what comes over me. And yet, you know, it’s always the old thrill’ A sudden and characteristic change of mood came over him at the words: his disharmony, his discomfiture190 gave place to a new jauntiness191. His look became arch now, not wistful, and crossing to the mirror before my astonished eyes, he placed the hat upon his bald head. In a second he replaced his own image with that of a little old tart1, button-eyed and razor-nosed — a tart of the Waterloo Bridge epoch192, a veritable Tuppeny Upright. Laughter and astonishment193 packed themselves into a huge parcel inside me, neither finding expression. ‘For God’s sake!’ I said at last. ‘You don’t go around like that, do you, Scobie?’ ‘Only’ said Scobie, sitting helplessly down on the bed again and relapsing into a gloom which gave his funny little face an even more comical expression (he still wore the Dolly Varden), ‘only when the Influence comes over me. When I’m not fully Answerable, old man.’ He sat there looking crushed. I gave a low whistle of surprise which the parrot immediately copied. This was indeed serious. I understood now why the deliberations which had consumed him all morning had been so full of heart-searching. Obviously if one went around in a rig like that in the Arab quarter…. He must have been following my train of thought, for he said ‘It’s only sometimes when the Fleet’s in.’ Then he went on with a touch of self-righteousness : ‘Of course, if there was ever any trouble, I’d say I was in disguise. I am a policeman when you come to think of it. After all, even Lawrence of Arabia wore a nightshirt, didn’t he?’ I nodded. ‘But not a Dolly Varden’ I said. ‘You must admit, Scobie, it’s most original …’ and here the laughter overtook me. Scobie watched me laugh, still sitting on the bed in that fantastic headpiece. ‘Take if off!’ I implored194. He looked serious and preoccupied195 now, but made no motion. ‘Now you know all’ he said. ‘The best and the worst in the old skipper. Now what I was going to ——’ At this moment there came a knock at the landing door. With surprising presence of mind Scobie leaped spryly into the cupboard, locking himself noisily in. I went to the door. On the landing stood a servant with a pitcher196 full of some liquid which he said was for the Effendi Skob. I took it from him and got rid of him, before returning to the room and shouting to the old man who emerged once more — now completely himself, bareheaded and blazered. ‘That was a near shave’ he breathed. ‘What was it?’ I indicated the pitcher. ‘Oh, that — it’s for the Mock Whisky. Every three hours.’ ‘Well,’ I said at last, still struggling with these new and indigestible revelations of temperament, ‘I must be going.’ I was still hovering explosively between amazement197 and laughter at the thought of Scobie’s second life at full moon — how had he managed to avoid a scandal all these years? — when he said: ‘Just a minute, old man. I only told you all this because I want you to do me a favour.’ His false eye rolled around earnestly now under the pressure of thought. He sagged198 again. ‘A thing like that could do me Untold199 Harm’ he said. ‘Untold Harm, old man.’ ‘I should think it could.’ ‘Old man,’ said Scobie, ‘I want you to confiscate200 my duds. It’s the only way of controlling the Influence.’ ‘Confiscate them?’ ‘Take them away. Lock them up. It’ll save me, old man. I know it will. The whim201 is too strong for me otherwise, when it comes.’ ‘All right’ I said. ‘God bless you, son.’ Together we wrapped his full-moon regalia in some newspapers and tied the bundle up with string. His relief was tempered with doubt. ‘You won’t lose them?’ he said anxiously. ‘Give them to me’ I said firmly and he handed me the parcel meekly202. As I went down the stairs he called after me to express relief and gratitude203, adding the words: ‘I’ll say a little prayer for you, son.’ I walked back slowly through the dock-area with the parcel under my arm, wondering whether I would ever dare to confide204 this wonderful story to someone worth sharing it with. The warships205 turned in their inky reflections — the forest of masts and rigging in the Commercial Port swayed softly among the mirror-images of the water: somewhere a ship’s radio was blaring out the latest jazz-hit to reach Alexandria: Old Tiresias No-one half so breezy as, Half so free and easy as Old Tiresias.
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1
tart
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| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
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memorably
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| 难忘的 | |
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impoverished
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| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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minaret
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| n.（回教寺院的）尖塔 | |
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bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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mimicry
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| n.（生物）拟态，模仿 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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renovated
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| 翻新，修复，整修( renovate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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brokers
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| n.（股票、外币等）经纪人( broker的名词复数 )；中间人；代理商；（订合同的）中人v.做掮客（或中人等）( broker的第三人称单数 )；作为权力经纪人进行谈判；以中间人等身份安排… | |
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14
totter
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| v.蹒跚， 摇摇欲坠；n.蹒跚的步子 | |
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consulate
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| n.领事馆 | |
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16
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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pestles
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| n.（捣碎或碾磨用的）杵( pestle的名词复数 ) | |
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21
curdling
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| n.凝化v.（使）凝结( curdle的现在分词 ) | |
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22
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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24
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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25
illicit
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| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
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26
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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27
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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28
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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mannerism
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| n.特殊习惯，怪癖 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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31
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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32
lavatory
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| n.盥洗室，厕所 | |
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33
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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34
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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35
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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36
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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37
perpetuate
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| v.使永存，使永记不忘 | |
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38
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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39
diplomat
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| n.外交官，外交家；能交际的人，圆滑的人 | |
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40
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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41
amicably
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| adv.友善地 | |
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42
insomnia
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| n.失眠，失眠症 | |
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43
tout
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| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
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44
satiety
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| n.饱和；(市场的)充分供应 | |
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45
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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46
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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47
estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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48
snobbery
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| n. 充绅士气派, 俗不可耐的性格 | |
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49
felicitous
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| adj.恰当的，巧妙的；n.恰当，贴切 | |
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50
intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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51
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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52
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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53
visualize
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| vt.使看得见，使具体化，想象，设想 | |
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54
opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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55
membrane
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| n.薄膜，膜皮，羊皮纸 | |
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56
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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57
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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58
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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59
anthem
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| n.圣歌，赞美诗，颂歌 | |
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60
apotheosis
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| n.神圣之理想；美化；颂扬 | |
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61
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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62
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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63
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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64
portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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portentously
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socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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67
mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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expound
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| v.详述；解释；阐述 | |
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espionage
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| n.间谍行为，谍报活动 | |
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70
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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sects
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| n.宗派，教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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72
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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74
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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75
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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76
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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77
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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78
cabal
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| n.政治阴谋小集团 | |
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79
rumoured
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| adj.谣传的；传说的；风 | |
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80
nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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81
exiguous
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| adj.不足的，太少的 | |
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82
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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83
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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84
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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85
torpedo
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| n.水雷，地雷；v.用鱼雷破坏 | |
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86
sparseness
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| n.稀疏，稀少 | |
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87
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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88
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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89
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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91
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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92
smirk
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| n.得意地笑；v.傻笑；假笑着说 | |
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93
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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94
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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96
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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97
petulance
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| n.发脾气，生气，易怒，暴躁，性急 | |
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98
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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99
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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100
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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101
stilts
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| n.（支撑建筑物高出地面或水面的）桩子，支柱( stilt的名词复数 )；高跷 | |
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102
whacking
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| adj.（用于强调）巨大的v.重击，使劲打( whack的现在分词 ) | |
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103
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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104
adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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105
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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106
spout
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| v.喷出，涌出；滔滔不绝地讲；n.喷管；水柱 | |
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107
mosque
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| n.清真寺 | |
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108
gnaw
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| v.不断地啃、咬；使苦恼，折磨 | |
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109
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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110
fodder
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| n.草料；炮灰 | |
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111
sumptuously
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| 奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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112
hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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113
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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114
puffed
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| 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 | |
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115
warts
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| n.疣( wart的名词复数 )；肉赘；树瘤；缺点 | |
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116
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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117
ambling
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的现在分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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118
monologues
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| n.（戏剧）长篇独白( monologue的名词复数 )；滔滔不绝的讲话；独角戏 | |
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119
monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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120
saga
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| n.(尤指中世纪北欧海盗的)故事，英雄传奇 | |
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121
mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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122
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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123
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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125
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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126
beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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127
cornucopia
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| n.象征丰收的羊角 | |
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128
devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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129
gulping
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的现在分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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130
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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131
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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132
croaking
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的现在分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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133
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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134
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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135
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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136
specified
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| adj.特定的 | |
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137
obsessed
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| adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
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138
knuckling
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| n.突球v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的现在分词 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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139
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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140
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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141
inhale
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| v.吸入(气体等)，吸(烟) | |
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142
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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143
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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144
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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145
felons
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| n.重罪犯( felon的名词复数 )；瘭疽；甲沟炎；指头脓炎 | |
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146
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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147
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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148
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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149
sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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150
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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151
formulate
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| v.用公式表示；规划；设计；系统地阐述 | |
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152
flirty
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| adj.爱调戏的，轻浮的 | |
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153
Moslem
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| n.回教徒，穆罕默德信徒；adj.回教徒的，回教的 | |
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154
harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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155
savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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156
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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157
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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158
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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159
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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160
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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161
inexplicably
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| adv.无法说明地，难以理解地，令人难以理解的是 | |
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162
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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163
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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164
yarning
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| vi.讲故事（yarn的现在分词形式） | |
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165
parquet
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| n.镶木地板 | |
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166
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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167
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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168
alcove
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| n.凹室 | |
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169
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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170
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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171
brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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172
plaza
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| n.广场，市场 | |
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173
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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174
levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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175
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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176
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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177
philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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178
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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179
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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180
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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181
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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182
humbled
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| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
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183
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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184
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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185
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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186
antediluvian
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| adj.史前的，陈旧的 | |
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187
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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188
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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189
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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190
discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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191
jauntiness
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| n.心满意足；洋洋得意；高兴；活泼 | |
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192
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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193
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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194
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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195
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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196
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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197
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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198
sagged
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| 下垂的 | |
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199
untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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200
confiscate
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| v.没收(私人财产)，把…充公 | |
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201
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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202
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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203
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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204
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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205
warships
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| 军舰，战舰( warship的名词复数 )； 舰只 | |
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