"Good Lord!" I retorted, twisting the motor car round a corner. "Since when has the British subaltern given up his leisure to reading Beaconsfield's novels?"
Cannington serenely2 puffed3 his cigarette into a brighter glow. "I don't know what you're talking about, old chap," said he indifferently.
"I talk of 'Ixion in Heaven,' or--if you prefer it--of 'Coningsby.' Beaconsfield was so enamoured of his apothegm that he inserted it in both tales."
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Cannington again, and his puzzled look proved that he spoke4 the truth. "A chap called Marr wrote that in my sister's album, and told her it was his own."
"I daresay; more ideas are stolen than pocket-handkerchiefs, according to Balzac. And, after all, Beaconsfield may have cribbed the saying."
"Oh! I see what you are driving at: Marr copied it out of a book."
"Undoubtedly5, unless he lived before 'Coningsby' and 'Ixion' were written--somewhere about the beginning of the nineteenth century."
"Oh! Marr isn't so old as that," protested the boy, chuckling6; "although he isn't a spring chicken, by any means. What Mabel sees in him, I can't for the life of me imagine."
"Humph! You were never renowned7 for imagination, Cannington," I said kindly8, "and in your particular case it doesn't much matter. You're the man behind the gun, and all you have to do is to fire against the seen enemy."
"Huh! Why, half the firing is against the unseen enemy. If I haven't got your rotten imagination, Vance, I've got common-sense, and that's what you jolly well need."
"Rash youth, to speak thus to the man at the wheel. Don't you know that, with a little dexterity9, I could shoot you into yonder ditch?"
"You'd travel with me," he sniggered.
"Why not? It would be an excellent advertisement for a popular playwright10."
"Playwright be hanged! You only write beastly melodramas12."
"Precisely13; that is why I am popular. And if I'm not a playwright, what am I?"
"A carpenter. You collar other people's ideas----"
"Like your friend Marr," I interpolated.
"And knock them into weird14 shapes for second-rate theatres."
"Not at all," I rejoined tartly15, for the criticism piqued16 me. "I scour17 the country in search of flesh and blood tragedies, and improve them into moral lessons for the British Public. But you're talking all round the shop, my lad. Who is this Marr, of whom your sister approves, and why does he write down other people's ideas in her album?"
"Wentworth Marr." Cannington lighted another cigarette, and explained: "He's a well-preserved old buck18 of--I should say--fifty, and looks forty. Unmarried, with heaps of tin and no family. Mabel likes him."
"And he likes Lady Mabel, or loves her. Which is it?"
"Well"--Cannington drawled this out reluctantly--"he's in love with her, sure enough. And, of course, Mabel is as poor as I am, and Marr having no end of shekels, you see----"
"What about Dick Weston?" I broke in abruptly19.
"Oh, he's too much taken up with his inventions to bother about love. Poor Mab feels it," sighed Cannington, "so she flirts20 with Marr."
"To keep her hand in, I suppose. She'll burn her fingers. Tell me all about it, boy, if it will relieve your mind."
"I have told you all. Mabel wants to marry Dick Weston, and I think he wants to marry her, only he's too much taken up with his airship to trouble about proposing. Wentworth Marr is wealthy and a gentleman and all that, and wants to make Mabel his wife. She likes him, but she doesn't love him. Still there's the money, you see, Vance."
"Weston is also rich," I suggested.
"Well, I know that," snapped Cannington testily21, "but he's an absent-minded beggar, who lives in the clouds along with his bally airship, and won't come up to the scratch. I say," he broke off, "don't secure a paragraph for your confounded transpontine plays by running over that child."
"Little beast!" The child in question was playing "Who's across first," and I had considerable difficulty in dodging22 him. However, I just managed to avoid a Coroner's Inquest and swung the machine along the straight Roman road, while the escaped infant shouted insultingly behind.
Cannington giggled23, but I was too much taken up with steering24 the Rippler through a somewhat crowded village street to tell him that he was several kinds of ass25. I had known the boy since he was a forward brat26 at Eton, and we were intimate friends, as can be judged from the way in which he confided27 in me. At the present moment I was conveying him from Gattlingsands to Murchester, as he had been stopping at the former place for some days and now sought his own Mess. Previously28 I had motored from London to remain the night at Tarhaven, which is four miles from Gattlingsands, and thus was enabled to save Cannington a train fare. Considering that he and Lady Mabel Watton had about sixpence between them, he was duly grateful, although pointedly29 saucy30. I was always sorry for Cannington's poverty, as he was a thoroughly31 healthy-minded sporting boy, who keenly enjoyed such good things of this life as he could lay hands on. A pauper32 commoner is an object to be met with everywhere; but a pauper lord is a more unusual spectacle. Certainly the boy was not yet knocking at the workhouse door, but, for his position, he was assuredly desperately33 hard-up. And thinking of these things, I made a remark when clear of the village.
"You must marry a dollar heiress, Cannington."
"O Lord! what rot. Who'd marry a pauper with a tumbledown family mansion34, next to nothing a year, and several hundred waste acres?"
"You have forgotten one asset," I said dryly; "your title."
"Huh! Who cares for that in these democratic days?"
"Heaps of rich spinsters, American, Colonial, and otherwise. Besides, you're not altogether as ugly as sin, though you might be better-looking."
"Thanks, awfully35. But would you mind being less personal?"
I kicked his ankles. "If I am to advise you I must quote your looks, your title, your qualities, and all the rest of it. You've got precious little money, and as a gunner subaltern it will be ages before you get promotion36. Why not use what advantages you have and exchange them for an income? A rich wife--"
"Not much," interrupted the boy, with a flush. "I fancy I see myself living on a woman. Besides, I'm having a jolly time now, and see no reason to tie myself up. When I do, it will be a girl I can love, no end."
"Didn't know you had got that far."
"Well, I haven't. But one never knows."
"I agree. At four and twenty one never knows."
"Oh, stop your rotting, Vance," said he crossly. "I haven't been through the Shop and out in the cold world for nothing. One would think I was an idiot, which I certainly am not. Don't you bother your silly head about me. It's Mab I'm thinking about. She wants money, as I do; but I should hate to see her marry a fellow old enough to be her grandfather, just because he's rich. I wish you'd see her and drop a hint," he ended hesitatingly.
"My dear Cannington, I know you better than I do your sister. She might resent my hints. If you really don't want her to marry this man Marr--I never heard of him, for my part--shake Dick Weston into a proposal and he can take his wife in his new airship for the honeymoon37."
"It would end in a funeral," grinned Cannington cheerfully. "Dicky's always having smashes. I don't want him to experiment with Mabel, you know, old chap. Hi! Here's Murchester, and yonder's a policeman. Slow down, Vance, you can't romp38 up the High Street at thirty miles an hour."
"I don't see why not," I retorted, obeying orders, for the policeman really looked a suspicious character. "There! We're crawling along like a condemned39 snail40, if that's what you want."
"I want my tea," said Cannington irrelevantly41, "don't you?"
"No! I'll drop you at the Barracks and travel on to Clankton. There I put up for the night, and go up Norfolk way to-morrow."
"What's your objective?"
"I haven't got one. That is, I am simply looking round to see if I can poach on real life for a melodramatic plot. 'Adventures to the adventurous.'"
Cannington nodded. "I thought old Marr wasn't clever enough to have made that up out of his own blessed head. But, I say, how do you expect to find your plot in a motor car?"
"The latter-day vehicle of romance, my boy. Formerly42 your knight43 rode a horse, and went into the Unknown in search of the unexpected. Now he--that's me, you know--takes out his machine and looks for the expected in the Known. You understand?"
"No, confound you. What do you hope to run across?"
"An adventure."
"What sort of one?"
"How the Charles Dickens can I tell?"
"Yet you said that the Known--"
"Cannington, you wish me to spoil my epigrams by explanation. I decline to satisfy your morbid44 curiosity. All I know is, that the fountains of my imagination are dried up, and that I can't write a play which ought to be written if I am to earn enough to keep this car in petrol. I am, therefore--like Balzac--chasing my genius, and who knows upon what glorious adventure I may stumble."
Cannington laughed scornfully. "All the adventure you'll drop across will be in running over some old woman, or in exceeding the speed-limit."
"I care not," was my reckless reply. "I am prepared for anything."
"Don't be an ass," urged the boy politely, as we spun45 through the Barrack gates. "Stop here for the night, and I'll put you up. Then we can go to London to-morrow and have a ripping time. . . . What?"
"It's good of you, Cannington, and if I hadn't an income to earn I should accept with pleasure. As things are"--I stopped the car before the Mess door--"you can get down and send out a man to carry in your portmanteau."
"Have a cup of tea, anyhow," said Cannington, slipping to the ground.
I looked at my watch. "No, thanks. It's nearing six, and I have some distance to go. Don't delay me, boy."
"Oh, very well, confound you. Wait till I get my baggage and then you can buzz off. When am I to see you again?"
"The Fates will arrange that. I'll turn up sooner or later."
"If you aren't smashed up, or locked up, meanwhile," said the boy, swinging his portmanteau off the back of the car. "I'll keep an eye on the police news for the next few days. I daresay I'll have to bail46 you out. Well," he gave my hand a grip, "thanks awfully, old son, for bringing me over."
"Only too pleased," I muttered, beginning to move away. "Good-bye."
I had been to Murchester before, and knew the locality moderately well. Therefore, after leaving Cannington I spun through the Barrack grounds and emerged on to a somewhat suburban47 road, which led towards the outskirts48 of the town. A dampish August twilight49 filled the air with rapidly darkening shadows, and a marked chill in the warmth hinted at the coming night. The sun had already withdrawn50 behind a bank of western clouds, before vanishing over the verge51 of the world. I drove the machine at half speed, as there were many country carts about, and ran down a lengthy52 sloping hill towards a distant glimpse of green. Clankton, which is a fishing village rapidly rising into notoriety as a seaside resort, was over thirty miles away, so if I wished to be seated at my dinner by seven o'clock, it behooved53 me to use all the power of which the Rippler was capable. Hunger forced me to increase the pace.
Motoring was the one form of amusement which I truly enjoyed, and which a somewhat limited income earned by hard brain-work enabled me to indulge in. But the indulgence precluded54 my partaking in many other pleasures of this luxurious55 age, for the Rippler had cost much to buy and cost a considerable sum monthly to keep going. But motoring is less expensive than horse-racing and doctors' bills; and the fresh air, after enforced sedentary deskwork, swept away possible illness. As a moderately popular playwright I made a tolerably good income, although less than I was credited with earning. Still by devoting myself to two machines, a motor and a type-writer, one for play and the other for work, I managed to keep out of debt and keep my Rippler at the same time. But because the machine was a smart one, and because I was constantly on the move between whiles of manufacturing melodramas, people declared that I was a literary millionaire. As though any writer ever became a Cr?sus.
I must say that I had greater ambitions than to write cheap sensational56 plays, and that I did write them at all was due--as it would seem--to mere57 chance. After I left Oxford58 my parents died, and--owing to their extravagances--everything was sold. I came to London with an income of fifty pounds a year. I could not exactly starve on one pound a week, but I had a sufficiently59 bad time, and tried to supplement my income by writing for the papers. An old actor, boarding at a house wherein I had taken up my abode60, suggested that I should attempt a melodrama11. I did so with his assistance, and between us we managed to get it staged at a small theatre in the East End. To my surprise, the play was a great success, being sufficiently lurid61 to capture the tastes of the somewhat rough audience. Since that time I had been committed to this particular form of entertainment, and try as I might I could not escape from the memory of my first hit.
But I did not surrender my earlier ambitions, as I have before stated. I worked hard at the cheap sensational plays, which were produced at second-class theatres, and saved all the money I could, in the hope of gathering62 together sufficient principal to give me an assured income of five hundred a year. When independent, I determined63 to devote myself to writing really good plays--high-class comedies and poetic64 dramas for choice--but meanwhile served my apprenticeship65 to the writing craft under the eye of the public. On the whole, I had very little to complain about, and my portion of the viands66 at Life's Banquet was moderately tempting67, if not superlatively delicate.
I do not think there is anything more to explain about myself, save that I was not handsome, that I had never been in love, and that I occupied a tiny flat in West Kensington, where the rents are moderate. As a rule I wrote furiously every day until a play was completed, then attended to the rehearsing and saw the production. Afterwards I took to my motor, and scoured68 the country, partly to get fresh air, and partly because I had a chance of stumbling across incidents in real life which afforded me material for plots, situations, scenes, and characters.
At the present moment I was in search of the new and the real, intending to weave actual facts into the sort of melodrama for which Cyrus Vance was famous, or shall we say notorious, as the penny-dreadful success I had won could scarcely be dignified69 by an adjective applicable only to the career of Napoleon or C?sar. But I little thought when leaving Murchester, that I was also leaving the long lane of petty success down which I had plodded70 so soberly, and that the new road opening out before me was one which led to--but I really cannot say just now what it led to. And in this last sentence you will see the cunning of the story-teller, who desires to keep the solution of his mystery until the last chapter. But I am a playwright and not a novelist--two very different beings. Destiny is writing this tale, and I am simply the amanuensis. Therefore you will see how infinitely71 more ingenious is the goddess than the mere mortal, in constructing an intricate scheme of life and in dealing72 with the puppets entangled73 therein.
So in this life-story, which starts in the middle, as it were, and travels both ways to beginning and end, blame Destiny for whatever does not please. I merely recount what happened--simply describe the various scenic75 backgrounds and rough out the characters. But Destiny weaves the happenings, brings about the unexpected, and solves the mystery, which is of her ingenious contrivance. And throughout I am only the clay which she, the potter, moulds at her will.
In a motor car it is much easier to go wrong on the outskirts of a town than amidst any other surroundings that I know of. When in the open, one can rise in the car and see one's way; but bewildered by streets and houses and traffic and wary76 policemen, and misled by those who do not know their own locality over-well, one finds a town somewhat perplexing. Making for the west, you get twisted round and emerge into open country towards the east. A single wrong road in the suburbs will lead the complete motorist astray, and will introduce him to a new country of whose geography he is entirely77 ignorant. Therefore some miles beyond perplexing Murchester I became aware, by questioning an intelligent rustic78, that I was going away from Clankton. After some swearing and a close examination of the map, I lighted the lamps and turned on my tracks. Having gone so far out of my way, I had unnecessarily used up a lot of power, and then the inevitable79 happened--I discovered, to my dismay, that I was short of petrol in the tank. I had no further supply, worse luck! and unless I could obtain some, I began to see that I should have to camp in the fields, or at all events in the nearest village. But, thanks to motoring, petrol is fairly plentiful80 in unexpected places. If I could discover some village, I made sure of chancing upon a shop wherein to purchase petrol, and therefore was hopeful.
But as I drove the machine slowly on--for the motive81 power was dwindling82 rapidly--I found that the necessary village was conspicuous83 by its absence. I crawled up narrow lanes, the twists and turns of which necessitated84 careful steering; I dropped down the inclines of wide roads; I skirted stagnant85 ponds, weedy under dank boughs86; and worked my slow way past mouldering87 brick walls, which shut in lordly parks. It grew darker every minute and was long after six o'clock, so I soon became unpleasantly aware that I needed food as much as the Rippler needed petrol. I seemed to be in for some kind of adventure, and as I had come out to look for one in the interests of the British Public, I had no reason to be dissatisfied. But I sincerely trusted that it would be a romantic one, out of which I could weave a sufficiently good plot to recompense me for the damnable circumstances in which I found myself.
The Rippler feeling hungry, as I did, groaned88 complainingly up a gentle ascent89, topped the rise, and stopped dead after proceeding90 a few yards. And now mark the cunning of Destiny. If she had not brought me to my goal, she had at least led me to a place where I could obtain motive power, for in front of me I beheld91 a tiny old-fashioned house of weather-board walls shaded by a mellow92 red-tiled roof. It stood directly on the road, and was backed by a circle of high trees--elms, I fancy they were; a quaint93, odd, dreary-looking cottage, which had been awkwardly converted into a shop. Taking one of the lamps I flashed the light on to a narrow door, which stood open, on to a small window to the left of the door, and on to a right-handed wider one, behind the glass of which were displayed the various goods which one usually finds in these village stores. But the sight amazed me, especially when I saw the name of Anne Caldershaw inscribed94 on a broad board over the window, for I could espy95 no village. Why did Anne Caldershaw set up her stall here, where there was no one to buy; and why was her shop not lighted up, seeing that the door was open for any chance customer? I could not answer these questions, and became aware that here was the start of a promising96 adventure. I felt like Alice in Wonderland, for such a shop in such a lonely woody locality was just such a thing as Alice would have chanced upon.
However I had no time to bother over the romance of things, for I wanted petrol, and luckily saw a red board on which it was announced in black lettering that petrol was for sale. Stepping into the dark shop with my brilliant lamp, I rapped on the mean little counter. No one came. Although I called out as loudly as I could, there was still an eerie97 silence, so I walked towards a small door set in the inside wall and knocked. As there was still no answer I tried to open the door, and found that it was locked. A flight of steps, narrow and rude, ran up the side of the wall to some upstairs rooms, and I sang up the stairs. As this final shout produced no better result than the others, I made up my mind to waste no further time, but to fill my tank with petrol and leave the money on the counter. But even as I searched for the liquid, I kept marvelling98 at the strange silence of Anne Caldershaw's shop. There was not only no one to buy, but there was not even anyone to sell. The circumstances were odd in the extreme, and I scented99 the unexpected in the damp air.
My part of the adventure--as it seemed--was to fill my tank and get the Rippler ready to start. Whether Destiny, who was arranging details, would permit her to get under way, or me to reach Clankton in time for dinner, was quite another matter. However I was actor and not author, so I fulfilled my part--my appointed part, I presumed--by searching for the petrol. I soon discovered the orthodox red case, and having unscrewed it with some difficulty, I walked back to the car, which stood, some little distance away, directly in front of Anne Caldershaw's shop. It took me some minutes to fill up, but during that time I did not hear a single sound. And yet, as I conjectured100, while replacing the cap of the tank, there must be some house or houses about, since the shop argued customers. Perhaps when I turned the corner--for the shop stood just on the angle of the road--I would find a collection of cottages, not likely to be so deserted101 as Anne Caldershaw's emporium.
Shortly the tank was filled, and after seeing that all was ready to start, I took the empty can back to the dark house and placed the necessary money on the counter. I would have shouted again, but that it seemed useless, as apparently102 no one was about, for my former cries would have awakened103 the dead. For one or two minutes I stood in the darkness listening for some sound in the house, and stared through the open door at the streams of light from the acetylene lamps of the Rippler. There was something very weird about the situation.
Suddenly I heard a soft faint moan, which seemed to come from behind the locked door at the back of the shop. On the impulse of the moment and with rather a grue--as the Scotch104 call it, for the sound was sinister105 and unexpected--I sprang forward and gripped the handle of the door. To my surprise, the moment I twisted it the door opened at once, and yet I swear that it was locked when I had last tried it. I looked into a dark room, and could see faintly to the right a barred window, which showed against the fast darkening evening sky. No further moan could I hear, although I listened with all my ears. Wondering if I had been mistaken, and yet uneasy about the now unlocked door, I stepped into the back room, holding on to the inside handle. As it afterwards turned out the floor of the room was lower than that of the shop, and reached by three shallow steps. I therefore stumbled, and pulling the door after me with some violence, so that it clicked to, I fell sprawling106, and bruised107 my elbow somewhat painfully.
Still I heard no sound, but seated on the floor to collect my senses--somewhat dazed by the unexpected fall--I put out my hand to explore the darkness. It fell on soft flesh, warm to the touch, and on rough tangled74 hair. Thoroughly startled, and with every excuse, I withdrew my hand, and fumbled108 in my pockets for a match, regretting that I had not brought one of the lamps. I had half a mind to go out and fetch it, but my curiosity was so great and--to be plain--my nerves were so unstrung, that I struck the lucifer, anxious to know the best or the worst at once.
As the pale tiny light grew stronger, I beheld the form of a woman lying on the stone floor, face uppermost. And that face--I shuddered109 as I looked, for it was distorted into an expression of pain, with a twisted mouth and glassy, expressionless eyes. Framed in loose masses of iron-grey hair, it glimmered110 milky111 white, and bore the stamp of death on every feature. The woman was dead, and judging from the moan I had heard and the still warm flesh, she had just died. While I stared the match-light went out, and I fancied that I heard a faint click. I lighted another match hastily looking towards the door leading to the shop. It was still closed, and I turned again to gaze at the dead woman, who was old, ill-favoured, and eminently112 plebeian113.
At that moment I heard the buzz of the Rippler. At once, in astonishment114 and alarm, I sprang towards the door. It was locked, and I was a prisoner. While I was still trying to grasp this astounding115 fact, the drone of my motor car died away in the distance.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
adventurous
|
|
| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
serenely
|
|
| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
puffed
|
|
| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
undoubtedly
|
|
| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
chuckling
|
|
| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
renowned
|
|
| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
dexterity
|
|
| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
playwright
|
|
| n.剧作家，编写剧本的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
melodrama
|
|
| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
melodramas
|
|
| 情节剧( melodrama的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
weird
|
|
| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
tartly
|
|
| adv.辛辣地，刻薄地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
piqued
|
|
| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
scour
|
|
| v.搜索；擦，洗，腹泻，冲刷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
buck
|
|
| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
flirts
|
|
| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
testily
|
|
| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
dodging
|
|
| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
giggled
|
|
| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
steering
|
|
| n.操舵装置 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
ass
|
|
| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
brat
|
|
| n.孩子；顽童 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
confided
|
|
| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
previously
|
|
| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
pointedly
|
|
| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
saucy
|
|
| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
pauper
|
|
| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
desperately
|
|
| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
mansion
|
|
| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
awfully
|
|
| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
promotion
|
|
| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
honeymoon
|
|
| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
romp
|
|
| n.欢闹；v.嬉闹玩笑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
condemned
|
|
| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
snail
|
|
| n.蜗牛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
irrelevantly
|
|
| adv.不恰当地，不合适地；不相关地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
formerly
|
|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
knight
|
|
| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
morbid
|
|
| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
spun
|
|
| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
bail
|
|
| v.舀（水），保释；n.保证金，保释，保释人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
suburban
|
|
| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
outskirts
|
|
| n.郊外，郊区 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
withdrawn
|
|
| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
verge
|
|
| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
lengthy
|
|
| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
behooved
|
|
| v.适宜( behoove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
precluded
|
|
| v.阻止( preclude的过去式和过去分词 )；排除；妨碍；使…行不通 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
luxurious
|
|
| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
sensational
|
|
| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
Oxford
|
|
| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
abode
|
|
| n.住处，住所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
lurid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
poetic
|
|
| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
apprenticeship
|
|
| n.学徒身份；学徒期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
viands
|
|
| n.食品，食物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
tempting
|
|
| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
scoured
|
|
| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
plodded
|
|
| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
dealing
|
|
| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
entangled
|
|
| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
tangled
|
|
| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
scenic
|
|
| adj.自然景色的，景色优美的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
wary
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
rustic
|
|
| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
plentiful
|
|
| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
motive
|
|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
dwindling
|
|
| adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
conspicuous
|
|
| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
necessitated
|
|
| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
stagnant
|
|
| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
boughs
|
|
| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
mouldering
|
|
| v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
groaned
|
|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
ascent
|
|
| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
proceeding
|
|
| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
beheld
|
|
| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
mellow
|
|
| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
inscribed
|
|
| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
espy
|
|
| v.（从远处等）突然看到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
promising
|
|
| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
eerie
|
|
| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
marvelling
|
|
| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
scented
|
|
| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
conjectured
|
|
| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
scotch
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
sinister
|
|
| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
sprawling
|
|
| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
bruised
|
|
| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
fumbled
|
|
| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
shuddered
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
glimmered
|
|
| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
milky
|
|
| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
eminently
|
|
| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
plebeian
|
|
| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
astounding
|
|
| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |