It is not too much to say that the room was of the nature of a temple, for here a very essential and withdrawn12 part of himself passed hours of praise and worship. Born in the humblest circumstances, he had, from the days when he slept on a piece of sacking below the counter in his father’s most unprofitable shop, devoted14 all the push, all the activity of his energies to the grappling of business problems and the pursuit of money-making. To many this becomes by the period of{33} middle age a passion not less incurable15 than drug drinking, and not less ruinous than that to the nobler appetites of life. But Keeling had never allowed it thus to usurp16 and swamp him; he always had guarded his secret garden, fencing it impenetrably off from the clatter17 of the till. Here, though undeveloped and sundered18 from the rest of his life, grew the rose of romance, namely the sense of beauty in books; here shone for him the light which never was on sea or land, which inspires every artist’s dream. He was not in any degree creative, he had not the desire any more than the skill to write or to draw when he lost himself in reverie over the printed page or the illustrations in his sumptuous19 editions. But the sense of wonder and admiration20 which is the oil in the artist’s lamp burned steadily21 for him, and lit with a never-flickering flame the hours he passed among his books. Above all, when he was here he lost completely a certain sense of loneliness which was his constant companion.
To-day he did not at once pass through the doors beyond which lay the garden of enchantment22. Mrs Goodford had irritated him beyond endurance, and what irritated him even more than her rudeness was the fact that he had allowed it to upset him. He had thought himself safe from annoyance23 by virtue24 of his own contempt, but her gibe25 about the stale fish had certainly pricked26 him in spite of its utter falsity. He would have{34} liked to cut off his usual Christmas present which enabled her to live in comfort at Blenheim, and tell her she need not expect more till she had shown herself capable of politeness. But he knew he would not do this, and with an effort dismissed the ill-mannered old lady from his mind.
But other things extraneous27 to the temple had come in with him as he entered, like flies through an opened door, and still buzzed about him. His wife’s want of comprehension was one of them. It was not often that Mrs Goodford had the power to annoy him so thoroughly28 as she had done to-day, but when she did, all that Emmeline had to contribute to the situation was such a sentence as, ‘What a pity you and Mamma worry each other so.’ She did not understand, and though he told himself that in thirty years he should have got used to that, he found now and then, and to-day with unusual vividness, that he had not done so. She had never become a companion to him; he had never found in her that for which ultimately a man is seeking, though at the time he may not know it, when he goes a-wooing. A mouth, an eyebrow29, the curve of a limb may be his lure30, and having attained31 it he may think for a few years of passion that in gaining it he has gained what he sought, but unless he has indeed got that which unconsciously he desired, he will find some day when the gray ash begins to grow moss-like on his burning coals, that though his children{35} are round him, there is but a phantom32 opposite to him. The romance of passion has burned itself out, and from the ashes has no ph?nix arisen with whom he can soar to the sun. He desired the mouth or the eyebrow: he got them, and now in the changing lineaments he can scarcely remember what that which so strangely moved him was like, while in the fading of its brightness nothing else has emerged.
It was this undoubtedly33 which had occurred in the domestic history of Keeling’s house. He had been infatuated with Emmeline’s prettiness at a time when as a young man of sternly moral principles and strong physical needs, the only possible course was to take a wife, while Emmeline, to tell the truth, had no voice in the matter at all. Certainly she had liked him, but of love in any ardent34, compelling sense, she had never, in the forty-seven years of her existence, shown the smallest symptom in any direction whatever, and it was not likely that she was going to develop the malady35 now. She had supposed (and her mother quite certainly had supposed too) that she was going to marry somebody sometime, and when this strong and splendidly handsome young man insisted that she was going to marry him, she had really done little more than conclude that he must be right, especially when her mother agreed with him. Events had proved that as far as her part of the matter was concerned, she had{36} acted extremely wisely, for, since anything which might ever so indulgently be classed under the broad heading of romance, was foreign to her nature, she had secured the highest prize that life conceivably held for her in enjoying years of complete and bovine36 content. When she wanted a thing very much indeed, such as driving home after church on Sunday morning instead of walking, she generally got it, and probably the acutest of her trials were when John had the measles37, or her husband and mother worried each other. But being almost devoid38 of imagination she had never thought that John was going to die of the measles or that her husband was going to cut off his annual Christmas present to her mother. Things as uncomfortable as that never really came near her; she seemed to be as little liable to either sorrow or joy as if when a baby she had been inoculated39 with some spiritual serum40 that rendered her permanently41 immune. She was fond of her children, her card-bearing crocodile in the hall, her husband, her comfort, and she quite looked forward to being Lady Mayoress next year. There would always be sufficient strawberries and iced coffee at her garden parties; her husband need not be under any apprehension42 that she would not have proper provision made. Dreadful scenes had occurred this year, when Mrs Alington gave her last garden-party, and two of her guests had been seen almost pulling the last strawberry in half.{37}
Such in outline was the woman whom, nearly thirty years ago, Keeling had carried off by the mere43 determination of his will, and in her must largely be found the cause of the loneliness which so often beset44 him. He was too busy a man to waste time over regretting it, but he knew that it was there, and it formed the background in front of which the action of his life took place. His wife had been to him the mother of his children and an excellent housekeeper45, but never had a spark of intellectual sympathy passed between them, still less the light invisible of romantic comprehension. Had he been as incapable46 of it as she their marriage might have been as successful as to all appearance it seemed to be. But he was capable of it; hence he felt alone. Only among his books did he get relief from this secret chronic47 aching. There he could pursue the quest of that which can never be attained, and thus is both pursuit and quarry48 in one.
And now in his fiftieth year he was as friendless outside his home as he was companionless there. The years during which friendships can be made, that is to say, from boyhood up till about the age of forty, had passed for him in a practically incessant49 effort of building up the immense business which was his own property. And even if he had not been so employed, it is doubtful whether he would ever have made friends. Partly a certain stark50 austerity innate51 in him would have kept{38} intimacy52 at a distance, partly he had never penetrated53 into circles at Bracebridge where he would have met his intellectual equals. Till now Keeling of the fish-shop had but expanded into Mr Keeling, proprietor54 of the Universal Stores, that reared such lofty terra-cotta cupolas in the High Street, and the men he met, those with whom he habitually55 came in contact, he met on purely56 business grounds, and they would have felt as little at ease in the secret atmosphere of his library as he would have been in entertaining them there. They looked up to him as the shrewdest as well as the richest of the prosperous tradesmen of Bracebridge, and his contributions and suggestions at the meetings of the Town Council were received with the respect that their invariable common sense merited. But there their intercourse57 terminated; he could not conceive what was the pleasure of hitting a golf-ball over four miles of downland, and faced with blank incomprehension the fact that those who had been exercising their brains all day in business should sit up over games of cards to find themselves richer or poorer by a couple of pounds at one o’clock in the morning. He would willingly have drawn13 a cheque for such a sum in order to be permitted to go to bed at eleven as usual. He had no notion of sport in any form, neither had he the bonhomie, the pleasure in the company of cheerful human beings as such, which really lies at the root of the{39} pursuits which he so frankly58 despised, nor any zeal59 for the chatter60 of social intercourse. To him a glass of whisky and soda61 was no more than half a pint62 of effervescing63 fluid, which you were better without: it had to him no value or existence as a symbol of good fellowship. There was never a man less clubbable. But in spite of the bleakness64 of nature here indicated, and the severity of his aspect towards his fellow men, he had a very considerable fund of kindly65 impulses towards any who treated him with sincerity66. An appeal for help, whether it implied the expenditure67 of time or money was certainly subjected to a strict scrutiny68, but if it passed that, it was as certainly responded to. He was as reticent69 about such acts of kindness as he was about the pleasures of his secret garden, or the steady increase in his annual receipts from his stores. But all three gave him considerable satisfaction, and the luxury of giving was to him no whit70 inferior to that of getting.
Charles Propert, who presently arrived from the kitchen-passage in charge of the boy in buttons, was one of those who well knew his employer’s generosity71, for Keeling in a blunt and shamefaced way had borne all the expense of a long illness which had incapacitated him the previous winter, not only continuing to pay him his salary as head of the book department at the stores during the weeks in which he was invalided72, but taking{40} on himself all the charges for medical treatment and sea-side convalescence73. He was an exceedingly well-educated man of two or three-and-thirty, and Keeling was far more at ease with him than with any other of his acquaintances, because he frankly enjoyed his society. He could have imagined himself sitting up till midnight talking to young Propert, because he had admitted him into the secret garden: Propert might indeed be described as the head gardener. Keeling nodded as the young man entered, and from under his big eyebrows74 observed that he was dressed entirely75 in black.
‘Good-afternoon, Propert,’ he said. ‘I got that edition of the Morte d’Arthur you told me of. But they made me pay for it.’
‘The Singleton Press edition, sir?’ asked Propert.
‘Yes; sit down and have a look at it. It’s a fine page, you know.’
‘Yes, sir, and if you’ll excuse me, I really think you got it rather cheap.’
‘H’m! I wonder if you’d have thought that if you had been the purchaser.’
Propert laughed.
‘I think so. As you said to me the other day, sir, good work is always cheap in comparison with bad work.’
Keeling bent76 over the book, and with his eyes on the page, just touched the arm of Propert’s black coat.{41}
‘No trouble, I hope?’ he said.
‘Yes, sir. I heard yesterday of my mother’s death.’
‘Very sorry. If you want a couple of days off, just arrange in your department. Then the copy of the Rape77 of the Lock illustrated78 by Beardsley came yesterday too. I like it better than anything I’ve seen of his.’
‘There’s a very fine Morte d’Arthur of his which you haven’t got, sir,’ said Propert.
‘Order it for me, please. The man could draw, couldn’t he? Look at the design of embroidery79 on the coat of that fellow kneeling there. There’s nothing messy about that. But it doesn’t seem much of a poem as far as I can judge. Not my idea of poetry; there’s more poetry in the prose of the Morte d’Arthur. Take a cigarette and make yourself comfortable.’
He paused a moment.
‘Or perhaps you’d sooner not stop and talk to-day after your news,’ he said.
Propert shook his head.
‘No, sir, I should like to stop.... Of course the Rape of the Lock is artificial: it belongs to its age: it’s got no more reality than a Watteau picture——’
‘Watteau?’ asked Keeling.
‘Yes; you’ve got a book of reproductions of Watteau drawings. I don’t think you cared for it much. Picnics and fêtes, and groups of people under trees.{42}’
Keeling nodded.
‘I remember. Stupid, insipid80 sort of thing. I never could make out why you recommended me to buy it.’
‘I can sell it again for more than you paid for it, sir. The price of it has gone up considerably81.’
This savoured a little of business.
‘No, you needn’t do that,’ he said. ‘It’s a handsome book enough. And then there is another Omar Khayyam.’
‘Indeed, sir; you’ve got a quantity of editions of that. But I know it’s useless for me to urge you to get hold of the original edition.’
Mr Keeling passed him this latest acquisition.
‘Quite useless,’ he said. ‘What a man wants first editions for, unless they’ve got some special beauty, I can’t understand. I would as soon spend my money in getting postage-stamps because they are rare. But I wanted to talk to you about that poem. What’s he after? Is it some philosophy? Or is it a love poem? Or is he just a tippler?’
The conference lasted some time. Keeling was but learning now, through this one channel of books, that attitude of mind which through instinct, whetted82 and primed by education, came naturally to the younger man, and it was just this that made these talks the very essence of the secret garden. Propert, for all that he was but an employee at a few pounds a week,{43} was gardener there; he knew the names of the flowers, and what was more, he had that comprehension and love of them which belongs to the true gardener and not the specimen83 grower or florist84 only. It was that which Keeling sought to acquire, and among the prosperous family friends, who were associated with him in the management of civic85 affairs, or in business relationships, he found no opportunity of coming in contact with a similar mind. But Propert was freeborn in this republic of art and letters, and Keeling was eager to acquire at any cost the sense of native, unconscious citizenship86. He felt he belonged there, but he had to win his way back there.... He must have learned the language in some psychically87 dim epoch88 of his existence, for exploration among these alleys89 in his garden had to him the thrill not of discovery, but the more delicate sense of recollection, of revisiting forgotten scenes which were remembered as soon as they disentangled themselves again from the jungle of materialistic91 interests that absorbed him all the week. Mr Keeling had very likely hardly heard of the theory of reincarnation, and had some modern Pythagoras spoken to him of beans, he would undoubtedly have considered it great nonsense. But he would have confessed to the illusion (the fancy he would have called it) of having known something of all this before when Propert, with his handsome face{44} aglow93 and his eyes alight, sat and turned over books with him thus, forgetting, as his own absorption increased, to interject his sentences with the respectful ‘sir’ of their ordinary week-day intercourse. Keeling ceased to be the proprietor and master of the universal stores, he ceased even to be the proprietor of his own books. They and their pictures and their binding and their aroma of the kingdom of intellect and beauty, were common possessions of all who chose to claim them, and belonged to neither of them individually any more than the French language belongs to the teacher who instructs and the pupil who learns.
The hour that Propert usually stayed had to-day lengthened94 itself out (so short was it) to two before the young man looked at his watch, and jumped up from his chair.
‘I’m afraid I’ve been staying a very long time, sir,’ he said. ‘I had no idea it was so late.’
Mr Keeling got up also, and walked to the window, where he spoke92 with his back towards him.
‘I should like to know a little more about your family trouble,’ he said. ‘Any other children beside yourself? I remember you once told me your mother was a widow.’
‘Yes, sir, one sister,’ said Propert.
‘Unmarried? Work for her living?’ asked Keeling.
‘Yes, sir. I think she’ll come and live here{45} with me,’ said he. ‘She’s got work in London, but I don’t want her to live there alone.’
‘No; quite proper. What’s her work?’
‘Clerical work, including shorthand and typewriting.’
‘Efficient?’
‘Yes, sir. The highest certificates in both. She’s a bit of an artist too in drawing and wood-cutting.’
Mr Keeling ceased to address the larch-trees that were the sponsors of his house’s name, and turned round.
‘And a book-worm like you?’ he asked.
Propert laughed.
‘I wish I was a book-worm like her,’ he said. ‘But in London you get so much more opportunity for study of all sorts. She had a British Museum ticket, and studied at the Polytechnic95.’
Keeling picked up the Singleton Morte d’Arthur and carefully blew a grain of cigarette ash from the opened page.
‘Let me know when she comes,’ he said. ‘I might be able to find her some job, if she still wants work. Perhaps your mother’s death has made her independent.’
He paused a moment.
‘Naturally I don’t want to be impertinent in inquiring into your affairs, Propert,’ he said. ‘Don’t think that. But if I can help, let me{46} know. Going, are you? Good-bye; don’t forget to order me Beardsley’s Morte d’Arthur.’
He walked out with him into the square Gothic hall with its hideous96 tiles, its castellated chimney-piece, its painted wheelbarrow, its card-bearing crocodile, and observed Propert going towards the green-baize door that led to the kitchen passage.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Keeling.
‘I always come and go this way, sir,’ said Propert.
Keeling opened the front door for him.
‘This is the proper door to use, when you come to see me,’ he said.
He stood a minute or two at the front door, with broken melodies from Omar Khayyam lingering like fragments of half-remembered tunes97 in his head. ‘And Thou, beside me singing in the wilderness98,’ was one that sang itself again and again to him. But no one had ever sung to him in the wilderness. The chink of money, the flattering rustle99 of bank-notes had sung to him in the High Street, and he could remember certain ardours of his early manhood, when the thought that Emmeline was waiting for him at home made him hurry back from the establishment which had been the nucleus-cell which had developed into the acres of show-rooms and passages that he now controlled. But Emmeline’s presence at home never made him arrive at his work{47} later than nine o’clock next morning. No emotion, caused either by Emmeline or ledger-entries, had ever dominated him: there had always been something beyond, something to which perhaps his books and his Sunday afternoon dimly led. And they could scarcely lead anywhere except to the Wilderness where the ‘Thou’ yet unencountered, made Paradise with singing.... Then with a swift and sudden return to normal consciousness, he became aware that Mrs Goodford’s bath-chair was no longer drawn up on the grass below the larches100, and that he might, without risk of being worried again, beyond the usual power of Emmeline to worry him, take his cup of tea in the drawing-room before going to evening service.
He found Emmeline alone, just beginning to make tea in the heavily fluted101 tea-pot with its equipage of harlequin cups and saucers. Alice and John were somewhere in the ‘grounds.’ Hugh had gone to see his young lady (the expression was Mrs Keeling’s), and she herself had suffered a slight eclipse from her usual geniality102 owing to her mother having stopped the whole afternoon, and having thus interrupted her reading, by which she meant going gently to sleep on the sofa, with her book periodically falling off her lap. The first two times that this happened she almost invariably picked it up, on the third occasion she{48} had really gone to sleep, and the rumble103 of its avalanche104 did not disturb her. But the loss of this intellectual refreshment105 had rendered her rather querulous, and since she was not of very vigorous vitality106, her querulousness oozed107 in a leaky manner from her instead of discharging itself at high pressure. A tea-leaf had stuck, too, in the spout108 of the tea-pot, which made that handsome piece contribute to the general impression of dribbling109 at Mrs Keeling’s tea-table; it also provided her with another grievance110, though not quite so acute as that which took its rise from what had occurred at lunch.
‘I’m sure it’s years since I’ve been so upset as I’ve been to-day, Thomas,’ she said, ‘for what with you and Mamma worrying each other so at lunch, and Mamma stopping all afternoon and biting my head off, if I said as much as to hope that her rheumatism111 hadn’t troubled her lately, and it’s wonderful how little it does trouble her really, for I’m sure that though I don’t complain, I suffer twice as much as she does when we get that damp November weather—Dear me, this tea-pot was always a bad pourer: I should have been wiser to get a less handsome one with a straight spout. Well, there’s your cup of tea, I’m sure you’ll be glad of it. But there are some days when everything combines to vex112 one, and it will all be in a piece with what has gone before, if Alice forgets and takes some salmon113-mayonnaise,{49} and Mr Silverdale goes away thinking that I’m a stingy housekeeper, which has never been said of me yet.’
Keeling failed to find any indication of ‘singing in the wilderness’ here, nor had he got that particular sense of humour which could find provender114 for itself in these almost majestic115 structures of incoherence. At all times his wife’s ideas ran softly into each other like the marks left by words on blotting116 paper; now they exhibited a somewhat greater energy and ran into each other with something of the vigour117 of vehicles moving in opposing directions.
‘I do not know whether you wish to talk to me about your mother, your rheumatism, your teapot, or your housekeeping,’ he remarked. ‘I will talk about any you please, but one at a time.’
Mrs Keeling gave him his cup of tea, and waited a little before pouring out her own. It was necessary to hold the teapot so long in the air in order to extract a ration11 of fluid from it.
‘Yes, it’s very pleasant for you, Thomas,’ she said, ‘spending the afternoon quietly among your books and leaving me to stand up to Mamma for the way you spoke to her at lunch, when we might have been such a pleasant family party. I don’t deny that Mamma gets worried at times, {50}and speaks when she had better have been silent, but——’
Her husband decided118 that it was her mother she wished to talk about, and interrupted.
‘You may tell your mother this,’ he said, ‘that I won’t be called a seller of bad goods by anybody. If another man did that I’d bring a libel action against him to-morrow. Your mother should remember that she’s largely dependent on me, and though she may detest119 me, she must keep a civil tongue in her head about me in my presence. She may say what she pleases of me behind my back, but don’t you repeat it to me.’
Mrs Keeling, fractious from her afternoon of absolute insomnia120, forced a small tear out of one of her eyes.
‘And there’s a word to me!’ she said. ‘Fancy telling me that my mother detests121 my husband. That’s an un-Christian122 thing to say about anybody.’
‘It’s an un-Christian feeling, maybe, to have about anybody,’ said he, ‘but that’s your mother’s affair and not mine. She may feel about me what she pleases, but I wish her to know she must speak properly to me, or not speak at all. I shouldn’t have referred to it again, unless you had begun, but now that you’ve begun it’s best you should know what my opinion on the subject is. Before the children, too: I had better manners than that when I was in the fish-shop myself.’
Mrs Keeling began to fear the worst, and forced a twin tear from her other eye.{51}
‘Well, what Mamma will do unless you help her this Christmas, is more than I can tell,’ she said. ‘Coal is up now to winter prices, and Mamma’s cellar is so small that she can’t get in enough to last her through. And it’s little enough that I can do for her, for with John at home it’s like having two young lions to feed, and how to save from the house-money you give me I don’t see. I dare say it would be better if Mamma got rid of Blenheim for what it would fetch and went into furnished lodgings123.’
‘Now who’s been talking about my not behaving properly to your mother except yourself?’ said Keeling.
‘There’s other ways of saying a thing than saying it,’ said Mrs Keeling cryptically124. ‘You speak of Mamma detesting125 you, and not having the manners of a fishmonger, and what’s that but another way of saying you’re set against her?’
Mr Keeling regarded his wife with a faint twinkle lurking126 behind his gray eyes.
‘Take your tea, Emmeline,’ he said, ‘and you’ll feel better. You haven’t had your nap this afternoon, but have been listening to your mother talking all sorts of rabid stuff against me. Don’t you deny it now, but just remember I don’t care two straws what she says about me behind my back. But I won’t stand her impertinence to my face. And as for coal in the winter I can tell you that she still owes me for what she bought{52} at the Stores last January. Perhaps I’ll county-court her for the bill. I’m glad you talked about coal, I had almost forgotten about that bill.’
It dawned faintly and vaguely127 on Mrs Keeling’s mind, as on summits remote from where she transacted128 her ordinary mental processes, that her husband did not quite mean what he said about that county-courting. Possibly there lurked129 in those truculent130 remarks some recondite131 sort of humour.
‘Certainly Mamma has no call to be so rude to you, when you do so much for her,’ she said.
‘Just tell Mamma that,’ said he, rising. ‘That’s what I want her to understand.’
The prospect132 of Mr Silverdale’s presence at dinner that night had filled Alice with secret and gentle flutterings, and accounted for the fact that she wore her amethyst133 cross and practised several of Mendelssohn’s Songs Without Words before evening service, in case she was asked to play after dinner. She reaped her due reward for these prudent134 steps, since Mr Silverdale expressed his admiration for amethysts135 at dinner, and afterwards came and sat close by the piano, beating time with scarcely perceptible movements of a slim white hand, not in the manner of one assisting her with the rhythm, but as if he himself pulsated136 with it. He had produced an extraordinarily137 unfavourable impression on John by constantly{53} calling him by his Christian name, by talking about Tom Brown when he heard he was at Rugby, and by using such fragments of schoolboy slang as he happened to recollect90 from his boyish days. These in the rapidly changing vernacular138 of schoolboys were now chiefly out of date, but John saw quite clearly that the design was to be ‘boys together,’ and despised him accordingly. On Mr Keeling he produced merely the impression of a very ladylike young man of slightly inane139 disposition140, and as Hugh was away, spending the evening at the house of his fiancée, Mr Silverdale was thrown on the hands of the ladies for mutual141 entertainment. With them he succeeded as signally as he had failed with John, saying that though preaching a sermon might be dry work for his hearers it was hungry work for the performer, eating salmon mayonnaise with great gusto, and remarking across the table to John, ‘Jolly good grub, isn’t it, John?’ a remark that endeared him to Mrs Keeling, though it made John feel slightly sick, and caused him to leave in a pointed142 manner on his plate the portion of the ‘good grub’ which he had not yet consumed. Like a wise tactician143, therefore, Mr Silverdale abandoned the impregnable, and delivered his assaults where he was more likely to be successful. He had an eager and joyful144 manner, as of one who found the world an excellent joke.
‘Such a scolding as I had before church from{54} my housekeeper,’ he said, ‘because I didn’t eat the buttered scones145 she sent me up for tea. I know some one who would have polished them off, eh, John?’
John’s eye, which had exactly as much expression in it as a dead codfish’s, cowed him for a moment, but he quickly recovered.
‘Such a scolding!’ he said. ‘She said I didn’t take sufficient care of myself, and naturally I told her that I had so many others to look after that I must take my turn with the rest. But when I told her that Mrs Keeling was going to take care of me this evening, she thought no more about the scones I hadn’t eaten! She knew I should be well looked after.’
Mrs Keeling had had a good nap before dinner, and her geniality had quite returned. She had also seen that Mrs Bellaway was right, and that there was plenty of mayonnaise.
‘Well, that does put me in a responsible position,’ she said. ‘At least I must insist on your having just a morsel146 more of the mayonnaise before they take it away. It’s a very simple dinner I’m giving you to-night: there’s but a chicken and a slice of cold meat and a meringue and a savoury to follow.’
Mr Silverdale laughed gleefully.
‘Dear me, this is absolute starvation,’ he exclaimed. ‘I should have eaten my scones.’
Mrs Keeling instantly saw that this was a joke.{55}
‘I’ll leave my husband to starve you over the port afterwards,’ she said.
Again he laughed.
‘You and Mr Keeling are spoiling me,’ he declared, though it must have required a singularly vivid imagination to trace in Keeling’s face any symptom of that indulgent tendency.
Alice, in the depths of her shy, silly heart, found that in spite of his appreciation of the salmon, the chicken, the cold meat, and the meringue, the Galahad aspect of this morning was growing. His housekeeper had told him he did not sufficiently147 look after himself; it was clear that he was wearing himself out, while the enthusiasm with which presently he spoke of his work deepened the knightly148 impression. His voice thrilled her; so, too, did the boyish gaiety with which he spoke of serious things.
‘I adore my new parish,’ he said. ‘I was almost afraid when I took the living I should find too little to do. But coming home late last night from a bedside, if I saw one drunken man I must have seen twenty, some roaring drunk, some simply stupidly drunk, dear fellows! I asked two of them to come home with me, and have another drink, and there was I in the middle with two drunken lads, one with a black eye, reeling along Alfred Street. I don’t know what my parishioners must have thought of their new pastor149. You should seen my housekeeper’s face, when I{56} told her that I had brought two friends home with me.’
Mrs Keeling paused, laying down on her plate the piece of meringue which was actually en route for her mouth.
‘But you never gave them another drink, Mr Silverdale?’ she said.
‘Yes, my dear lady, I did. “Ho! Every one that thirsteth!” That was the drink I had for them. Dear lads! They were too tipsy to kneel, but there were tears in the eyes of one of them, before they had been with me five minutes.’
‘Was that the one with the black eye?’ thought John. If his mouth had not been full he would have said so.
‘I saw them home, of course, and next Saturday I’m going to have a regular beano in those slums beyond the church. Don’t be shocked, Mrs Keeling, if it’s your priest who has a black eye on Sunday morning.’
‘And the bedside where you had been before?’ asked Alice.
‘My dear Miss Alice, I wish you could have been with me. There was such an atmosphere of terror in that room when I went in, that I felt half stifled151: the place was thick with the fear of death. I fought against it, it was given me to overcome it, and ten minutes later that disreputable old sinner who lay dying there had such{57} a smile of peace and rapture152 on his face that I cannot but believe that he saw the angels standing153 round him.’
‘And he got better?’ asked Mrs Keeling, with breathless interest, but feeling that this was very daring conversation.
Mr Silverdale laughed as if this was an excellent joke.
‘Better?’ he asked. ‘He got well, and sang his psalms154 in Heaven this morning. I felt in church as if I could hear his voice.’
Alice remembered the rapt look she had seen there, which her mother almost profanely155 had taken to be the sign of an insufficient156 breakfast, and thrilled at knowing the true interpretation157 of it. The rapt look was there again now, and seemed to her the most adorable expression she had ever seen on a human countenance158. Mrs Keeling was more impressed now, and the moisture stood in her kind mild eyes.
‘Well, I call that beautiful,’ she said, ‘and if you’ll let me know when the funeral is, I’ll send a wreath.’
Mr Silverdale laughed again: John considered he was for ever laughing at nothing at all.
‘That would be delightful159 of you,’ he said, ‘but pray let us get rid of the dreadful word funeral. Birthday should it not be?’
This was too much for John.
‘Oh, I thought birthday was the day you were{58} born, not the day you were buried,’ he said politely.
‘John!’ said his mother.
Mr Silverdale beamed on him.
‘John has had enough shop from his pastor, haven’t you, my dear boy?’ he said, with the greatest good humour. ‘We clergy160 are terrible people for talking shop, and we don’t seem to mind how boring and tiresome161 we are. You get enough jaw162 at school, pi’jaw we used to call it, without being preached at when you come home.’
But Alice fixed163 earnest eyes on him.
‘Oh, do tell us a little more,’ she said.
Again he laughed.
‘My dear Miss Alice, I must come to you and your mother,’ he said, ‘to learn about my new parishioners. You’ve got to tell me all about them. I want you to point out to me every disreputable man, woman, and child in the place, and the naughtier they are the better I shall be pleased. We’ll rout150 them out, won’t we, and not give them a minute’s peace, till they promise to be good.’
Mr Keeling was almost as surfeited164 with this conversation as was John. It appeared to him that though Mr Silverdale wished to give the impression that he was talking about his flock, he was really talking about himself, and seemed to find it an unusually engrossing165 topic. This notion was strongly confirmed when he found{59} himself with him afterwards over a cigarette and a glass of port, for Mr Silverdale seemed to have a never-ending fund of anecdotes166 about besotted wife-beaters and scoffing167 atheists who were really dear fellows with any quantity of good in them, as was proved from the remarkable168 response they invariably made to his ministrations. These stories seemed to be about them, but in each the point was that their floods of tears and subsequent baptism, confirmation169, or death-bed, as the case might be, were the result of the moment when they first came across Mr Silverdale, who, as he told those edifying170 occurrences, had an air of boisterous171 jollity, cracking nuts in his teeth to impress John, and sipping172 his port with the air of a connoisseur173 to impress his host, and interspersing174 the conversions175 with knowing allusions176 to famous vintages. Subconsciously177 or consciously (probably the latter) he was living up to the idea of being all things to all men, without considering that it was possible to be the wrong thing to the wrong man.
This sitting, though full of sparkle, was but brief, for Keeling was sure that his guest’s presence would be more welcome to his wife and daughter than it was to him, and before long he conducted him to the drawing-room where Alice happened to be sitting at the piano, dreamily recalling fragments of Mendelssohn (which she knew very accurately178 by heart) with both pedals down. She{60} had been watching the door, and so when she saw it opening, she looked towards the window, so that Mr Silverdale was half-way across the room to the piano before she perceived his entrance. Then, very naturally, she got up, and under threat of Mr Silverdale instantly going home if she did not consent to sit down again and continue, resumed her melodies. He came and sat on a low stool close to her, clasped one knee with his slim white hands, and half closed his eyes.
‘Now for a breath of Heaven!’ he said. ‘I am quite wicked about music: I adore it too much. Little bits of anything you can remember, dear Miss Alice; what a delicious touch you have.’
Alice could do better than give him little bits, thanks to her excellent memory and her practice this afternoon, and in addition to several Songs Without Words, gave him a couple of pretty solid slow movements out of Beethoven’s Sonatas179. It was not altogether her fault that she went on so long, for once when she attempted to get up, he said quite aloud so that everybody could hear, ‘You naughty girl, sit down and play that other piece at once.’ But when eventually the concert came to a close, he pressed her hand for quite a considerable time behind the shelter of the piano, and said almost in a whisper, ‘Oh, such rest, such refreshment!’ Then instantly he became not so much the brisk man of the world as the brisk{61} boy of the world again, and playfully insisted on performing that remarkable duet called ‘Chopsticks’ with her, and made her promise that if Mr Keeling lost all his money, and she had to work for her living, she would give him lessons on the piano at seven-and-sixpence an hour. There was a little chaffering over this, for as a poor priest he said that he ought not to give more than five shillings an hour, while Mrs Keeling, joining in the pleasantries, urged Alice to charge ten. The only possible term to the argument seemed to be to split the difference and call it seven-and-sixpence, cash prepaid.... Mr Keeling was appealed to and thought that fair. But he thought it remarkably180 foolish also.
Alice’s music had lasted so long that already the respectable hour of half-past ten, at which in Bracebridge parties, the crunch181 of carriage wheels on the gravel182 was invariably heard, had arrived, Mr Silverdale had received such rest and refreshment that he sat on the edge of his chair and talked buoyantly and boyishly for another half-hour. The Galahad-aspect had vanished, so, too, had the entranced listener to slow movements, and his conversation was more like that of a rather fast young woman than a man of any kind. He told a Limerick-rhyme with a distinct point to it, having warned them that it was rather naughty, and eventually jumped up with a little scream when the ormolu clock struck eleven, saying that{62} he would get no end of a scolding from his housekeeper for being late.
‘And I shall never be asked here again, either,’ he said, ‘if I inflict183 myself on you so long. Good-night, Mrs Keeling: I have had a dear evening, a dear evening, though I have wasted so much of it in silly chatter. But if ever I am asked again, I will show you I can be serious as well.’
He shook hands with her and Alice, just whispering to the latter, ‘Thank you once more,’ and went out with his host. Through the open window of the drawing-room they could hear him whistling ‘Oh, happy band of pilgrims,’ as he ran lightly along Alfred Road to be scolded by his housekeeper.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
sanctuary
|
|
| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
exquisitely
|
|
| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
binding
|
|
| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
appreciation
|
|
| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
crumpled
|
|
| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
maidenly
|
|
| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
outrage
|
|
| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
advertising
|
|
| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
aroma
|
|
| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
consecration
|
|
| n.供献，奉献，献祭仪式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
ration
|
|
| n.定量(pl.)给养，口粮；vt.定量供应 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
withdrawn
|
|
| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
incurable
|
|
| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
usurp
|
|
| vt.篡夺，霸占；vi.篡位 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
clatter
|
|
| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
sundered
|
|
| v.隔开，分开( sunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
sumptuous
|
|
| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
enchantment
|
|
| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
annoyance
|
|
| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
gibe
|
|
| n.讥笑；嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
pricked
|
|
| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
extraneous
|
|
| adj.体外的；外来的；外部的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
eyebrow
|
|
| n.眉毛，眉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
lure
|
|
| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
attained
|
|
| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
phantom
|
|
| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
undoubtedly
|
|
| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
ardent
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
malady
|
|
| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
bovine
|
|
| adj.牛的；n.牛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
measles
|
|
| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
devoid
|
|
| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
inoculated
|
|
| v.给…做预防注射( inoculate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
serum
|
|
| n.浆液，血清，乳浆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
permanently
|
|
| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
apprehension
|
|
| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
beset
|
|
| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
housekeeper
|
|
| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
incapable
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
chronic
|
|
| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
quarry
|
|
| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
incessant
|
|
| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
stark
|
|
| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
innate
|
|
| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
penetrated
|
|
| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
proprietor
|
|
| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
habitually
|
|
| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
purely
|
|
| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
intercourse
|
|
| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
zeal
|
|
| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
chatter
|
|
| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
soda
|
|
| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
pint
|
|
| n.品脱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
effervescing
|
|
| v.冒气泡，起泡沫( effervesce的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
bleakness
|
|
| adj. 萧瑟的, 严寒的, 阴郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
sincerity
|
|
| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
expenditure
|
|
| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
scrutiny
|
|
| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
reticent
|
|
| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
whit
|
|
| n.一点，丝毫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
generosity
|
|
| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
invalided
|
|
| 使伤残（invalid的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
convalescence
|
|
| n.病后康复期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
rape
|
|
| n.抢夺，掠夺，强奸；vt.掠夺，抢夺，强奸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
illustrated
|
|
| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
embroidery
|
|
| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
insipid
|
|
| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
considerably
|
|
| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
whetted
|
|
| v.（在石头上）磨（刀、斧等）( whet的过去式和过去分词 )；引起，刺激（食欲、欲望、兴趣等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
specimen
|
|
| n.样本，标本 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
florist
|
|
| n.花商；种花者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
civic
|
|
| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
citizenship
|
|
| n.市民权，公民权，国民的义务(身份) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
psychically
|
|
| adv.精神上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
epoch
|
|
| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
alleys
|
|
| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
recollect
|
|
| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
materialistic
|
|
| a.唯物主义的，物质享乐主义的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
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： |
|
|
|
|
93
aglow
|
|
| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
lengthened
|
|
| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
polytechnic
|
|
| adj.各种工艺的，综合技术的；n.工艺(专科)学校；理工(专科)学校 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
tunes
|
|
| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
wilderness
|
|
| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
rustle
|
|
| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
larches
|
|
| n.落叶松（木材）( larch的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
fluted
|
|
| a.有凹槽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
geniality
|
|
| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
rumble
|
|
| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
avalanche
|
|
| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
refreshment
|
|
| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
vitality
|
|
| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
oozed
|
|
| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
spout
|
|
| v.喷出，涌出；滔滔不绝地讲；n.喷管；水柱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
dribbling
|
|
| n.（燃料或油从系统内）漏泄v.流口水( dribble的现在分词 )；（使液体）滴下或作细流；运球，带球 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
grievance
|
|
| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
rheumatism
|
|
| n.风湿病 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
vex
|
|
| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
salmon
|
|
| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
provender
|
|
| n.刍草；秣料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
majestic
|
|
| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
blotting
|
|
| 吸墨水纸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
vigour
|
|
| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
detest
|
|
| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
insomnia
|
|
| n.失眠，失眠症 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
detests
|
|
| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
lodgings
|
|
| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
cryptically
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
detesting
|
|
| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
lurking
|
|
| 潜在 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
transacted
|
|
| v.办理（业务等）( transact的过去式和过去分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
lurked
|
|
| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
truculent
|
|
| adj.野蛮的，粗野的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
recondite
|
|
| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
amethyst
|
|
| n.紫水晶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
prudent
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
amethysts
|
|
| n.紫蓝色宝石( amethyst的名词复数 )；紫晶；紫水晶；紫色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
pulsated
|
|
| v.有节奏地舒张及收缩( pulsate的过去式和过去分词 )；跳动；脉动；受（激情）震动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
extraordinarily
|
|
| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
vernacular
|
|
| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
inane
|
|
| adj.空虚的，愚蠢的，空洞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
mutual
|
|
| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
tactician
|
|
| n. 战术家, 策士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
joyful
|
|
| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
scones
|
|
| n.烤饼，烤小圆面包( scone的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
morsel
|
|
| n.一口，一点点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
knightly
|
|
| adj. 骑士般的 adv. 骑士般地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
pastor
|
|
| n.牧师，牧人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
rout
|
|
| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
stifled
|
|
| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
rapture
|
|
| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
psalms
|
|
| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
profanely
|
|
| adv.渎神地，凡俗地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
insufficient
|
|
| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
interpretation
|
|
| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
clergy
|
|
| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
tiresome
|
|
| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
jaw
|
|
| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
surfeited
|
|
| v.吃得过多( surfeit的过去式和过去分词 )；由于过量而厌腻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
engrossing
|
|
| adj.使人全神贯注的，引人入胜的v.使全神贯注( engross的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
anecdotes
|
|
| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
scoffing
|
|
| n. 嘲笑, 笑柄, 愚弄 v. 嘲笑, 嘲弄, 愚弄, 狼吞虎咽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
confirmation
|
|
| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
edifying
|
|
| adj.有教训意味的，教训性的，有益的v.开导，启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
boisterous
|
|
| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
sipping
|
|
| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
connoisseur
|
|
| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
interspersing
|
|
| v.散布，散置( intersperse的现在分词 )；点缀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
175
conversions
|
|
| 变换( conversion的名词复数 )； （宗教、信仰等）彻底改变； （尤指为居住而）改建的房屋； 橄榄球（触地得分后再把球射中球门的）附加得分 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
allusions
|
|
| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
subconsciously
|
|
| ad.下意识地，潜意识地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
accurately
|
|
| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
sonatas
|
|
| n.奏鸣曲( sonata的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
remarkably
|
|
| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
crunch
|
|
| n.关键时刻；艰难局面；v.发出碎裂声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
gravel
|
|
| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
inflict
|
|
| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |