It would have been easy, so the simple and obviously-minded person would think, for her to have turned on the electric light, and have saved her eyes. But there were subtler and more compelling reasons which stood in the way of doing that. The first was that the light would almost certainly awaken21 her mother, who, by beginning to talk again, as she always did when a nap had refreshed her, would put an end to Alice’s private reflections which flourished best in dusk and in silence. A second reason was that it was more than likely that Mr Silverdale would presently drop in for tea, and it was decidedly more interesting to be found sitting at work, with her profile outlined against the smouldering glow of sunset, than to be sitting under the less becoming glare of{99} an electric lamp. For the same reason she did not put on the spectacles which she would otherwise have worn.
The leaf was all but finished when her mother began to talk with such suddenness that Alice wondered for the moment whether she was but talking in her sleep. But the gist22 of her remarks was slightly too consecutive23 to admit of that supposition.
‘Though it looks very odd,’ she said, beginning to give utterance24 to her reflections in the middle of a sentence, ‘that your father and Hugh should go to Cathedral, while you and I go to St Thomas’s. But the Cathedral is very draughty, that’s what I always say, and with my autumn cold due, if not overdue25, it would be flying in the face of Providence26 to encourage it by sitting in draughts27. As for incense and confession11 and——’
Her voice suddenly ceased again, as if a tap been turned off by some external agency, and Alice wisely made no reply of any kind, feeling sure that in a minute or two her mother would begin to give vent28 to that faint snoring which betokened29 that she had gone to sleep again. That did not interrupt the flow of her ecstatic musings, whereas her mother’s general attitude to all the novel institutions which were so precious to her gave her a tendency to strong shudderings. Only half an hour ago Mrs Keeling had said that she was sure she saw nothing wrong in confession and{100} would not mind going herself if she could think of anything worth telling Mr Silverdale about.... Alice had drawn30 in her breath sharply when her mother said that, as if with a pang31 of spiritual toothache.
There came a slight sound from the drawing-room next door which would have been inaudible to any but expectant ears, and Alice bent32 over her work with more intense industry. Then the door opened very softly, and Mr Silverdale looked in. He was dressed in a black cassock and had a long wooden shepherd’s crook33 in his hand. He saw Alice seated in the window, he saw Mrs Keeling with her mouth slightly open and her eyes completely shut in a corner of the sofa, and rose to his happiest level.
‘Hush!’ he said, very gently, and tiptoed across the room to where Alice sat. He took her hand in his, pressing it, and spoke34 in the golden whisper which she was getting to know so well in the vestry.
‘My dear girl,’ he said, ‘how good and industrious35 you are.’
‘I shall get it done well before Christmas,’ whispered Alice.
‘How pleased the herald36 angels will be!’ he answered.
Alice gave a great jerk of emotion which most unfortunately upset her embroidery-frame, which fell off the table with a crash that might have{101} awaked the dead, and certainly awoke the living.
‘And vestments,’ said Mrs Keeling again going on precisely37 at the point where sleep had overtaken her, ‘I can’t see that there’s any harm in them, though your father——’
There was a moment’s dead silence as she became drowsily38 aware that there was somebody else in the room. Mr Silverdale’s gay laugh, as he gave a final pressure to Alice’s hand, told her who it was.
‘Dear lady,’ he said. ‘Go on with your Protestant exhortations39. I have been exhorting40 all afternoon, and I am so tired of my own exhortations. We will listen, and try to agree with you, won’t we, Miss Alice?’
Mrs Keeling got up in some confusion.
‘Bless me, to imagine your having come in while I was so busy thinking about what I had been reading that I never heard the door open,’ she said, hastily picking up the book which had fallen face downwards41 on the floor. ‘Well, I’m sure it’s time for tea. How the evenings draw in! But there are unpleasanter things than a muffin and a chat by the fire when all’s said and done.’
Alice seemed inclined to prefer her pomegranates to muffins, and had to be personally conducted from her work, and told she was naughty by Mr Silverdale, who sat on the hearthrug with woollen stockings and very muddy boots protruding42 from{102} below his cassock, for he had had a game of football with his boys’ club before his afternoon preaching. He had only just had time to put on his cassock and snatch up his shepherd’s crook when the game was over, and ran to church, getting there in the nick of time. But he had kicked two goals at his football, and talked to twice that number of penitent43 souls afterwards in the vestry, so, as he delightedly exclaimed, he had had excellent sport. And he poked44 the fire with his shepherd’s crook.
‘And you didn’t go home and change after your football?’ asked Alice. ‘You are too bad! You promised me you would!’
He held up apologetic hands, and spoke in baby voice.
‘I vewy sowwy,’ he said. ‘I be dood to-morrow!’
‘I’m not sure I shall forgive you,’ said Alice radiantly.
‘Please! If I have another cup of tea to keep the cold out?’
‘Well, just this once,’ said Alice, pouring him out another cup.
He fixed45 his fine eyes on the fire, and became so like the figure of Jonah in the stained-glass window that Alice almost felt herself in Nineveh.
‘I’m getting spoiled here,’ he said, ‘all you dear ladies of Bracebridge positively46 spoil me with your altar-cloths and our extra cups of tea. I’m getting too comfortable. And here’s Miss Alice with{103} a cigarette at my elbow. But I don’t know whether it’s allowed. Have one with me, Miss Alice, and then your mother will have to scold us both, and I know she’s too fond of you to scold you.’
This was slightly too daring an experiment for Alice, but she resolved to have a try in her bedroom that night.
‘Indeed, it’s allowed,’ said Mrs Keeling, ‘but as for Alice smoking, well, that is a good joke. And as for your being too comfortable I call that another joke.’
‘I call it a very bad one,’ said Alice delightedly. ‘Mr Silverdale is very naughty. You mustn’t encourage him, Mamma, to think he is funny when he is only naughty!’
She went to the window and brought back her strip of pomegranates.
‘You’re naughty too,’ he said. ‘This is play-time. And now there’s something else I want to talk about. You ladies are the queens of your homes: don’t you think you could persuade Mr Keeling not to think me the thin edge of the Pope, so to speak?’
‘Delicious!’ said Alice, beginning to be naughty with her pomegranates.
Mrs Keeling shook her head.
‘It’s no use,’ she said. ‘You can have incense or Mr Keeling, but not both. And such a draughty pew as he’s got in the Cathedral!’
‘It isn’t only his attendance there that I mean,{104}’ said Mr Silverdale. ‘But you know his Stores are in my parish, and he employs some four hundred work-people there. I went to see him at his office this morning, and asked him if I couldn’t have a daily service for them.’
‘He didn’t refuse?’ said Alice.
‘He said they might all do what they liked, out of their work hours, but he couldn’t have them encroached on. I was tempted47 to give him a good rap with my shepherd’s crook, but there was a lady present. So I appealed to her for her assistance in persuading him.’
‘Indeed, and who was that?’ asked Mrs Keeling.
‘He introduced me: it was his secretary. Such a handsome girl. I think she tried to snub me, but we poor parsons are unsnubbable. She told me that she quite agreed with Mr Keeling.’
‘His typewriter dared to say that!’ hissed48 Alice. ‘Oh——’
‘Then he began dictating49 to her something about linoleums. But I’ve not done with him yet. The dear man! I’ll plague his life out for him if you’ll only help me.’
A pink lustre51 clock of horrible aspect suddenly chimed six, and he jumped up.
‘Evensong at half-past!’ he said. ‘Blow evensong! There!’
He picked up his crook.
‘I’ve got to get hold of all you dear people, he said, grasping Alice’s long lean fingers in one hand,{105} and Mrs Keeling’s plump ones in the other and, kissing them both. ‘What an hour of refreshment52 I have had. Blessings53! Blessings!’
He ran lightly across the room, kissed his hand at the door, and they heard him running across the drawing room.
‘Blow evensong!’ said Alice ecstatically. ‘Wasn’t that delicious of him. And the Pope, too; the thin end of the Pope. But how could father be so rude as to begin dictating about linoleum50?’
‘Your father doesn’t like working hours interfered54 with, my dear,’ said Mrs Keeling. ‘But we’ll do what we can. Anyhow, Mr Silverdale will have to change before he goes to church.’
‘Oh, I hope so,’ said Alice, extending her long neck over her embroidery.
‘Not that it will do any good talking to your father,’ continued Mrs Keeling placidly55, ‘for I’m sure in all these thirty years I never saw him so vexed56 as when you and I said we should keep on going to St Thomas’s after the incense and the dressing-up began. But I had made up my mind too.’
Alice flushed a little.
‘I wish you would not call it dressings-up, Mamma,’ she said. ‘You know perfectly57 well that they are vestments. They all signify something: they have a spiritual meaning.’
‘Very likely, my dear,’ said Mrs Keeling{106} amiably58, ‘and I’m sure that’s a beautiful bit of figured silk which he has his coat made of.’
Alice drew in her breath sharply.
‘Cope, Mamma,’ she said.
‘Yes, dear, I said coat,’ rejoined her mother, who was not aware that she was a little deaf.
Alice did not pursue the subject, and since there was now no chance of Mr Silverdale’s coming in again, she put on her spectacles, which enabled her to see the lines of the pomegranate foliage with far greater distinctness. Never before had she had so vivid an interest in life as during these last two months; indeed the greater part of the female section of the congregation at St Thomas’s had experienced a similar quickening of their emotions, and a ‘livelier iris59’ burnished60 up the doves of the villas61 in Alfred Road. The iris in question, of course, was the effect of the personality of Cuthbert Silverdale, and if he was not, as he averred62, being spoiled, the blame did not lie with his parishioners. They had discovered, as he no doubt meant them to do, that a soldier-saint had come among them, a missioner, a crusader, and they vied with each other in adoring and decorative63 obedience64, making banners and embroideries65 for his church (for he allowed neither slippers66 nor neckties for himself) and in flocking to his discourses67, and working under his guidance in the parish. There had been frantic68 discussions and quarrels over rites69 and doctrines70; households had{107} been divided among themselves, and, as at The Cedars71, sections of families had left St Thomas’s altogether and attached themselves to places of simpler ceremonial. The Bishop72 had been appealed to on the subject of lights, with the effect that the halo of a martyr73 had encircled Mr Silverdale’s head, without any of the inconveniences that generally attach to martyrdom, since the Bishop had not felt himself called upon to take any steps in the matter. Even a protesting round-robin, rather sparsely74 attested75, had been sent him, in counterblast to which Alice Keeling with other enthusiastic young ladies had forwarded within a couple of days a far more voluminously signed document, quoting the prayer-book of Edward VI. in support of their pastor77, according to their pastor’s interpretation78 of it at his Wednesday lectures on the history of the English Church.
Cuthbert Silverdale was not unaware79 of the emotion which he had roused in so many female breasts, and it is impossible to acquit80 him of a sort of clerical complacency in the knowledge that so many young ladies gazed and gazed on him with a mixture of religious and personal devotion. Though a firm believer in the celibacy81 of the clergy82, he did not feel himself debarred from sentimental83 relations with both married and unmarried members of his flock, indeed the very fact that nothing could conceivably come of these little mawkishnesses made them appear perfectly{108} licit. He held their hands, and took their arms, and sat at their knees, and called them ‘dear girls’ two or three at a time, finding safety perhaps in numbers, and not wishing to encourage false hopes. He was an incorrigible84 if an innocent flirt85; a licensed86 lap-dog practising familiarities which, if indulged in by the ordinary layman87, would assuredly have led to kickings. In some curious manner he quite succeeded in deceiving himself as to the propriety88 of those affectionate demonstrations89, and considered himself a sort of brother to all those young ladies, who worked for him with the industry (and more than the excitement) of devoted90 sisters. To do him justice he was just as familiar with the male members of his congregation, and patted his boys on the back, and linked his arm in theirs, but it would be idle to contend that he got as much satisfaction out of those male embraces.
There was no question, however, about the devotion and strenuousness91 of his life. His congregation, in spite of the secession of such plain men as Mr Keeling, crammed92 his church to the doors and spilt into the street, and he kindled93 a religious fervour in the parish, which all the terrors of hell as set forth94 by his predecessor95 had been unable to fan into a blaze. In a thoroughly96 cheap but in a masterly and intelligible97 manner he preached the gospel, and in his life practised it, by incessant98 personal exertions99, of which others as{109} well as himself were very conscious. It was more his surface than his essential self which was so deplorable a mass of affectation and amorousness100, and the horror he inspired in minds of a certain calibre by his skippings and his shepherd’s crook and his little caresses101 was really too pitiless a condemnation102. Indeed, the gravest of his errors was not so much in what he did, as his omission103 to consider what effect his affectionate dabs104 and touches and pawings might have on their recipients105. He would, in fact, have been both amazed and shocked if he could have been an unseen witness of Alice Keeling’s proceedings106 when she found herself in the privacy of her own bedroom that night.
She had gone up to bed early, feeling that nameless stir of the spirit which can only find expansion in solitude107. She wanted to let herself go, to be herself, and the presence of her family forced her to wear the carapace108 of convention. But having pleaded fatigue109 at ten o’clock, though her eyes sparkled behind her spectacles, she escaped from the cramping110 influence of the drawing room, and locked herself into her own bedroom with her thoughts and her glowing altar-cloth.
She spread it over the side of her bed, and in front of it proceeded to her evening devotions. In the pre-Silverdale days these were the briefest and most tepid111 orisons, now they were invested with sincerity112 and heart-felt worship. First she{110} thought over her misdoings for the day, a series of the most harmless omissions113 and commissions, which she set honestly before herself. She had not got up with the punctuality she had vowed114: she had not kept her mind free from irritation115 when she went to see her grandmother: she had been guilty of gluttony with regard to jam pancakes; she had said she was tired just now when she never had felt fresher in her life. Then followed her prayers; like the rest of her vicar’s numerous Bible-class she read a chapter from the Gospels, and she finished up with the appointed meditation116 from the devotional book which Mr Silverdale had given her.
Up to this point there would have been nothing to surprise or amaze him; he might not even have blushed to see how, when her meditations117 were done, she pored over the title page where he had written her name with good wishes from her friend C. S. She kissed that page before putting the book away in a box, which contained two or three notes from him, which she read through before locking them up again. They were perfectly harmless little notes, only no man should ever have written them. One had been received only this morning, and she had not read it more than a dozen times yet. It ran—
‘Won’t I just come in this afternoon after my football and my preachment, and get some{111} opodeldoc for my bruises118 and some muffins for my little Mary, and some refreshment for my silly tired brain. God bless you!
‘Your friend,
‘Cuthbert S.’
That required much study. He had never signed himself like that before. She wondered if she could ever venture to call him Mr Cuthbert, and said ‘Mr Cuthbert’ out aloud several times in order to get used to the unfamiliar119 syllables120. ‘Preachment’ too: that was a word he often used; once when he came to see them he entered the room chanting,—
‘I admit the soft impeachment121
That I’ve been making preachment.’
Alice thought that quite lovely, even when she subsequently found out that the identical effusion had already been chanted on his arrival at the house of Mrs Fyson the day before. Julia Fyson, her most intimate friend and co-adorer of the vicar, had told her.
She locked up those treasures, and going to the window drew aside the curtain and looked out. The autumnal fall of the leaf from the trees in the garden had brought into view houses in the town hidden before; among these was St Thomas’s Vicarage, that stood slightly apart from the others and was easily recognisable. With the aid of an opera glass she could distinguish the windows, and{112} saw that a light was burning behind the blinds of his study. He had come in, then, and for a full minute she contemplated122 the luminous76 oblong. Later, she had sometimes seen that a window exactly above that was lit. She liked seeing that, for it meant that he was going to bed, and would soon be asleep, for he had mentioned that he went to sleep the moment he got into bed. Once she had watched till that light went out also.
She let the curtain fall into place again, and sat by the fire for a little feeling alive to the very tips of her fingers. To-morrow would be a busy day; she had her lesson for her Sunday-school to get ready (she and Julia Fyson were going to prepare that together); there was a hockey-match for girls in the afternoon, at which Mr Silverdale—she said ‘Mr Cuthbert’ aloud again—had promised to be referee123, she was going to read the paper to her grandmother (this was now a daily task directly traceable to the vicar), and her altar-cloth would fill up any spare time.
But as the fire began to die down, the invigorating prospect124 of next day lost its quality, and there began to stir in her mind a vague disquiet125. Hitherto it had really been enough for her that Mr Silverdale existed; to put him on a pedestal and adore in company with other reverential worshippers had satisfied her, and the inspiration had resulted in many useful activities. But to-night she began to wish that there had not been{113} so many other worshippers, towards whom he exhibited the same benignant and affectionate aspect. There was Julia Fyson, for instance: he would walk between them with an arm for each, and a pressure of the hand for Julia as well as herself. In moments of expansion she and Julia had confided126 to each other their adoration127 and its rewards; they had sung their hymns128 of praise together, and had bewailed to each other the rare moments when he seemed to be cold and distant with them, each administering comfort to the other, and being secretly rather pleased. But now Alice felt that any story of his coldness to Julia would give her more than a little pleasure. She would like him to be always cold to Julia. She wanted him herself. And at that moment the truth struck her: she was in love with him. Till then, she had not known it: till then, perhaps, there had been nothing definite and personal to know. But now, as the fire died down, she was aware of nothing else, and her heart starved and cried out. She had admired and adored before; those were self-supporting emotions. But this cried out for its due sustenance129.
She got up and went to her looking-glass, turning on the electric light above it. Certainly Julia was much prettier than she, with her mutinous130 little pink and white face and her violet eyes. But she was such a little thing, she hardly came above Alice’s shoulder, and Alice, who knew her so{114} well, had often thought, in spite of her apparent earnestness nowadays, that she was flighty and undependable. With the self-consciousness that was the unfortunate fruit of her newly found habits of self-examination and confession, she told herself that Julia had not a quarter of her own grit131 and character. Only the other day, when he was walking between them, he had said, ‘I always think of my friends by nicknames.’ Then he had undeniably squeezed Julia’s arm and said, ‘You are “Sprite,” just “Sprite.”’ Julia had liked this, and with the anticipation132 of a less attractive nickname for Alice, had said, ‘And what is she?’ Then had come a memorable133 reply, for he had answered, ‘We must call her Alice in Wonderland: she lives in a fairyland of her own.’ And he had squeezed Alice’s arm too.
It was comforting to remember that, and Alice saw wonder and wistful pensiveness134 steal into the reflection of her face. There was the girl who would upset all his convictions about a celibate135 clergy; indeed, he had said that he did not think it morally wrong for them to marry. It was a case of the thin end of the wedge again, not this time of the Pope, but of Benedick, the married man.
Alice went once more to the window, and lifted the curtain. There was an oblong of light in the window above his study. She kissed her hand to {115}it, and once more said aloud, ‘Good-night, Mr Cuthbert.’... But it would have been juster if she had wished him a nightmare.
Had Alice been in a condition to observe any windows and the lights in them, except those of the dark study and the illuminated136 bedroom at the Vicarage, she would have seen that, late as it was, there was a patch of gravel137 on the garden-wall outside her father’s library window which smouldered amid the darkness of the night and showed there was another wakeful inhabitant in the house. He had gone to his room very shortly after Alice’s disappearance138 from the drawing room, leaving his wife talking about table linen139 to Hugh. He, like Alice, wanted, though more dimly than she, the expansion of solitude. But when he got into that retreat, he found he was not quite alone in it. He had intended to look through the Leonardo publication which had just arrived, and for which he thought he thirsted. But it still lay unturned on the table. He had but unpacked140 and identified it, and in ten minutes had forgotten about it altogether. Another presence haunted the room and disquieted141 him.
It was nearly a month since the Sunday afternoon when he had held conference with the two Properts here. He had gone back to his office on the following Monday morning, feeling that he had shown a human side to Norah. She had done the same to him: she had talked to ‘Mr{116} Keeling’; not to ‘sir’; there was some kind of communication between them other than orders from an employer to an employed, and obedience, swift and deft142 from the employed to the employer. When he arrived at the office, punctual to nine o’clock, with a large post awaiting his perusal143, he had found she had not yet come, and had prepared a little friendly speech to her on the lines of Mr Keeling. She arrived not five minutes afterwards, and he had consciously enjoyed the sound of her steps running along the passage, from the lift. But when she entered she had no trace of the previous afternoon.
‘I am late, sir,’ she said. ‘I am exceedingly sorry.’
At that, despite himself, the Sunday afternoon mood dried up also. She was in the office again, was she? Well, so was he. If she had only looked at him, had called him Mr Keeling, he would have been Mr Keeling. As it was, he became ‘sir’ with a vengeance144.
‘I hope it won’t happen again,’ he said. ‘I cannot allow unpunctuality. Open the rest of the letters, and give me them.’
She had frozen into the perfect secretary. With incredible speed she had the sheaf of letters before him, and with her writing pad in her hand awaited his dictation. Twice during the next hour she, with downcast eyes, corrected some error of his, once producing an impeccable file to show him{117} that a week before he had demanded a reduction on certain wholesale145 terms, once to set him right in a date regarding previous correspondence. She had been five minutes late that morning, but she had saved him fifty in future correspondence. She seemed to know her files by heart: it was idle to challenge her for proof when she made a correction.
Then she had gone back with her shorthand notes to her room, and all morning the noise of her nimble fingers disturbed him through the felt-lined door. He was in two minds about that: sometimes he thought he would send her into Hugh’s room, where another typewriter worked. Hugh was accustomed to the clack of the machine, and two would be no worse than one. Then again he thought that the muffling146 of the noise alone disturbed him, that if she sat at the table in the window, and did her work there, he would not notice it. It was the concealed147 clacking of the keys that worried him. Perhaps it would even help him to attend to his own business to see how zealously148 she attended to hers. Those deft long fingers! They were the incarnation of the efficiency which to him was the salt of life.
Five days had passed thus, and on the next Saturday he had asked her brother and her, this time giving the invitation to her, to visit his library again. She had refused with thanks and a ‘sir,’ but Charles had come. Keeling had{118} determined149 not to allude150 to his sister’s refusal, but had suddenly found himself doing so, and Charles, with respect, believed that she was having a friend to tea. And again, despite himself, he had said on Charles’s departure, ‘I hope I shall see you both again some Sunday soon.’
Well, he was not going to ask twice after one refusal of his favours, but, as the next week went by, he found the ‘sir’ and the dropped eyes altogether intolerable. These absolutely impersonal151 relationships were mysteriously worrying. She had shown herself a compatriot of the secret garden, and now she had retreated into the shell of the secretary again. This week the weather turned suddenly cold, and since there was no fireplace in her room, he invited her to sit at the table by the window in his, which was close to the central-heating hot-water pipes. A certain employer-sense of pride had come to his aid, and now he hardly ever glanced at her. But one day the whole card-house of this pride fell softly on the table, just as he took his hat and stick after the day’s work.
‘I wonder if you would do a book-plate for me, Miss Propert,’ he said. ‘I should like to have a book-plate for my library.’
She paused in her work but did not look at him.
‘Yes, sir, I will gladly do you one,’ she said. ‘Shall I draw a design and see if you approve of it?’
‘No, I know nothing of these things. But I{119} should like a book-plate. Similar to the sort of thing you did for Lord Inverbroom.’
He hesitated a moment.
‘As regards size,’ he said, ‘perhaps you will come up and have a look at my books again, and get a guide from them.’
She smiled, or he thought she smiled, and that together with her reply enraged152 him.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ she said. ‘Book-plates will suit any volume except duodecimos. I don’t think you have any. If so, I could cut the margin153 down, sir. But I should like to submit my design to you before I cut the block.’
‘That also will not be necessary,’ he said. ‘Something in the style of Lord Inverbroom’s. Good-afternoon, Miss Propert.’
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ said she.
It was extraordinary to him how this girl got on his mind. He thought he disliked her, but in some obscure way he could not help being interested in her. There was somebody there, somebody from whom there came a call to him. He wanted to know how she regarded him, what effect he had on her. And there were no data: she sat behind her impenetrable mask, and did her work in a manner more perfect than any secretary who had ever served him. She declined to come to his house with her brother, she had retreated again inside that beautiful shell. He noticed infinitesimal things about her: sometimes{120} she wore a hat, sometimes she left it in her room. One day she had a bandage round a finger of her left hand, and he wondered if she had cut herself. But her reserve and reticence154 permitted him no further approach to her: only he waited with something like impatience155 for the day when she would bring the block of his book-plate or an impression of it. There would surely be an opportunity for the personal relation to come in there.
He had begun to know that moment which few men of fifty, and those the luckiest of all, are unaware of. He wanted a companion, somebody who satisfied his human, not his corporal needs. While we are young, the youthful vital force feeds itself by its own excursions, satisfies itself with the fact of its travel and explorations. It is enough to go on, to lead the gipsy life and make the supper hot under the hedge-side, and sleep sound in the knowledge that next day there will be more travel and fresh horizons, and a dawn that shines on new valleys and hillsides. But when the plateau of life is reached, those are the fortunate ones who have their home already made. For thirty years he had had his own fireside and his wife, and his growing children. But never had he found his home: some spirit of the secret garden had inspired him, and now he felt mateless and all his money was dust and ashes in his mouth. Two things he wanted, one to be{121} different in breed from that which he was, the other to find a companion. The shadow of a companion lurked156 in his room, where were the piles of his books. Somewhere in that direction lay the lodestone.
Another week passed, and still he waited for some word from his secretary about the book-plate. He was not going to be eager about it, for he would not confess to himself the anxiety with which he awaited an opportunity that his twenty-five shillings a week secretary had denied him. But day by day he scrutinized157 her face, and wondered if she was going to say that the book-plate was finished.
The event occurred at the most inopportune moment. He had concluded a bargain, a day or two before, for the purchase of the entire vintage of a French vine-grower in the Bordeaux district, and had just opened a letter to say that owing to the absence of a certain payment in advance, the stock had been disposed of to another purchaser, and he had lost one of the best bargains he had ever made. But he felt sure that he had drawn the cheque in question: he remembered drawing it in his private cheque-book, just before leaving one afternoon, when the cashier had already gone home. He opened the drawer where he kept his cheque-book and examined it. There it was: it was true he had drawn the cheque, but he had forgotten to tear it out and despatch158 it, meaning no doubt to do so in the morning.{122}
Never in all his years of successful business had he made so stupid an omission, an omission for which he would at once have dismissed any of his staff, telling him that a man who was capable of doing that was of no use to Keeling. And it was himself who had deserved dismissal. He could remember it all now: he had locked the cheque up again as it was necessary to send a certain order form with it, and that was inaccessible159 now that his secretary had gone. He would do it in the morning, but when morning came he had thought of nothing but the request he was going to make that Norah should do him a book-plate. That, that trivial trumpery160 affair, utterly drove out of his head this important business transaction. He was furious with himself for his carelessness: it was not only that he had lost a considerable sum of money, it was the loss of self-respect that worried him. He could hardly believe that he had shown himself so rotten a business man: he might as well have sold stale fish, according to the amiable161 hint of his mother-in-law as have done this. And at that unfortunate moment when he was savage162 with himself and all the world Norah Propert appeared. Instantly he looked at his watch to see if she was again late. But it had not yet struck nine, it was he himself who was before his time.
She carried a small parcel with her, of which she untied163 the string.{123}
‘I have brought the block of your book-plate, sir,’ she said, ‘with a couple of impressions of it.’
He held out his hand for it without a word. She had produced a charming design, punning on his name. A ship lay on its side with its keel showing: in the foreground was a faun squatting164 on the sand reading: behind was a black sky with stars and a large moon. He knew it to be a charming piece of work, but his annoyance165 at himself clouded everything.
‘Yes, I see,’ he said. ‘What do you charge for it?’
‘Ten pounds,’ she said. ‘That will include a thousand copies.’
He looked at the block in silence for a moment. There did not seem to be much work on it: he could get a woodcut that size for half of the price. It was but three inches by two.
‘Ten pounds!’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t dream of giving more than seven for it. Even that would be a fancy price.’
He put the block down, laid the two impressions on the top of it, and turned over the leaves of his cheque-book in order to pay for the thing at once. But she picked up her work, and without a word began wrapping it up in the paper she had just taken off it. Already he knew he had made a blunder, and the blunder was the act of a cad. It had been his business to ask the price beforehand, if he wanted to know it, not to{124} quarrel with it afterwards. But the cad in him had full possession just then.
‘What are you doing?’ he said, and glancing up he found that for once she was looking at him with contemptuous anger, held perfectly in control.
‘I am going to take my work away again, sir, as you do not care to pay the price I ask for it,’ she said.
‘Nonsense. Seven pounds is a very good price. I know the cost of woodcuts.’
He had written the cheque and passed it over to her. She took no notice whatever of it, tied the string round her parcel and put it on the table in the window. Then, still without a word, she took up her pencil and her writing-pad, and sat down to receive his dictation.
In his heart he knew he was beaten. She had given him even a sharper lesson than he had given himself in the matter of the cheque he had forgotten to post. And that was but business; the error was expensive, but it was merely a matter of money as far as its effects went. He very much doubted whether money would settle this. He still thought that ten pounds was an excessive charge, but that did not detract from the fact that he had behaved meanly. His pride still choked him, but he knew that sooner or later he would be obliged to capitulate. He would have to apologize, and hope that his apology would be accepted.{125}
The morning’s work went on precisely as usual, and not by the tremor166 of an eyelash did she betray whatever she might be feeling. Just that one look had she given him of sovereign disdain167, and the remembrance of it stiffened168 him against her, and he battled against the surrender that he knew must come. If she was going to be proud, he could match her in that, and again he told himself that seven pounds was a very good price. He was not going to be imposed on....
All the morning the see-saw went on within him, and when she rose to go for her hour’s interval169 he noticed that she took the parcel containing the wood-block with her. And very ill-inspired he made an attempt at surrender.
‘Come, Miss Propert,’ he said. ‘Let’s have an end of this. I should have asked the price before I commissioned you to do the work. Let me give you a cheque for ten pounds.’
She smiled: there was no doubt about that.
‘I’m afraid that’s quite impossible, sir,’ she said, ‘now that you have told me that you don’t consider my work worth that. Good-morning, sir.’
Up flamed his temper again at this. What on earth did the girl want more? He had offered her the price she asked; he had said he was wrong in not inquiring about it before. She might go hang, she and her niceties and her contempt.
She had come back in the afternoon without her parcel, and his imagination pictured her{126} telling her brother all that had happened. He felt he must have cut a sorry figure. ‘That’s the end of his books and his book-plates for me,’ would be the sort of way Norah would sum it all up. Probably they did not discuss it much: there really was very little need for comment on what he had done. The simple facts were sufficient: perhaps she had smiled again as she smiled when she rejected his first overtures170.
All afternoon they worked within a few yards of each other, all afternoon his accusing conscience battered171 at his pride; and as she rose to go when the day’s work was over, he capitulated. He stood up also, grim and stern to the view, but beset172 with a shy pathetic anxiety that she would accept his regrets.
‘I want to ask your pardon, Miss Propert,’ he said, ‘for my conduct to you this morning. I am sure you did not charge me more than your work was worth. I like your design very much. I shall be truly grateful to you if you will let me have that plate. I am sorry. That’s all.... I am sorry.’
It cost him a good deal to say that, but at every word his burden lightened, though his anxiety to know how she would deal with him increased.
She raised her eyes to his, quite in the secret garden manner, and she smiled not as she had smiled when she left him this morning.
‘Thank you so much, Mr Keeling,’ she said.{127} ‘I shall be delighted to let you have the block if you feel like that about it. I will bring it back with me to-morrow, shall I?’
To-night as he thought over this, when the hour was quiet, and upstairs Alice kept vigil, Norah’s presence seemed to haunt the room. She had only been here once, but he could remember with such distinctness the trivial details of that afternoon, that his imagination gave him her again, now standing173 by the book-shelves, now seated in one of the chairs he had brought in that day, and kept here since. They would be needed again, he hoped, next Sunday, for with the arrival of the Leonardo book he had an adequate excuse for asking her again, and, he hoped, an adequate cause for her acceptance. There it lay on the table still unopened, and in the clinking of the ashes in the grate, and the night-wind that stirred in the bushes outside, he heard with the inward ear the sound of her voice, just a word or two spoken through the wind.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
sumptuous
|
|
| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
foliage
|
|
| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
fowls
|
|
| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
tacked
|
|
| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
embroidery
|
|
| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
edifice
|
|
| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
incense
|
|
| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
permanently
|
|
| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
copiously
|
|
| adv.丰富地，充裕地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
confession
|
|
| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
undoubtedly
|
|
| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
improper
|
|
| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
piety
|
|
| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
dozed
|
|
| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
relinquish
|
|
| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
shreds
|
|
| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
awaken
|
|
| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
gist
|
|
| n.要旨；梗概 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
consecutive
|
|
| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
overdue
|
|
| adj.过期的，到期未付的；早该有的，迟到的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
draughts
|
|
| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
vent
|
|
| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
betokened
|
|
| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
pang
|
|
| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
crook
|
|
| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
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： |
|
|
|
|
35
industrious
|
|
| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
herald
|
|
| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
drowsily
|
|
| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
exhortations
|
|
| n.敦促( exhortation的名词复数 )；极力推荐；（正式的）演讲；（宗教仪式中的）劝诫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
exhorting
|
|
| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
downwards
|
|
| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
protruding
|
|
| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
penitent
|
|
| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
poked
|
|
| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
tempted
|
|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
hissed
|
|
| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
dictating
|
|
| v.大声讲或读( dictate的现在分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
linoleum
|
|
| n.油布，油毯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
lustre
|
|
| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
refreshment
|
|
| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
blessings
|
|
| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
interfered
|
|
| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
placidly
|
|
| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
vexed
|
|
| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
amiably
|
|
| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
iris
|
|
| n.虹膜，彩虹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
burnished
|
|
| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
villas
|
|
| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
averred
|
|
| v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
decorative
|
|
| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
obedience
|
|
| n.服从，顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
embroideries
|
|
| 刺绣( embroidery的名词复数 )； 刺绣品； 刺绣法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
slippers
|
|
| n. 拖鞋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
discourses
|
|
| 论文( discourse的名词复数 )； 演说； 讲道； 话语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
frantic
|
|
| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
rites
|
|
| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
doctrines
|
|
| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
cedars
|
|
| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
bishop
|
|
| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
martyr
|
|
| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
sparsely
|
|
| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
attested
|
|
| adj.经检验证明无病的，经检验证明无菌的v.证明( attest的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；声称…属实；使宣誓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
luminous
|
|
| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
pastor
|
|
| n.牧师，牧人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
interpretation
|
|
| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
unaware
|
|
| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
acquit
|
|
| vt.宣判无罪；(oneself)使(自己)表现出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
celibacy
|
|
| n.独身(主义) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
clergy
|
|
| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
sentimental
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
incorrigible
|
|
| adj.难以纠正的，屡教不改的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
flirt
|
|
| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
licensed
|
|
| adj.得到许可的v.许可，颁发执照(license的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
layman
|
|
| n.俗人，门外汉，凡人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
propriety
|
|
| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
demonstrations
|
|
| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
strenuousness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
crammed
|
|
| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
kindled
|
|
| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
predecessor
|
|
| n.前辈，前任 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
intelligible
|
|
| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
incessant
|
|
| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
exertions
|
|
| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
amorousness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
caresses
|
|
| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
condemnation
|
|
| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
omission
|
|
| n.省略，删节；遗漏或省略的事物，冗长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
dabs
|
|
| 少许( dab的名词复数 )； 是…能手； 做某事很在行； 在某方面技术熟练 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
recipients
|
|
| adj.接受的；受领的；容纳的；愿意接受的n.收件人；接受者；受领者；接受器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
proceedings
|
|
| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
carapace
|
|
| n.（蟹或龟的）甲壳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
fatigue
|
|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
cramping
|
|
| 图像压缩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
tepid
|
|
| adj.微温的，温热的，不太热心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
sincerity
|
|
| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
omissions
|
|
| n.省略( omission的名词复数 )；删节；遗漏；略去或漏掉的事（或人） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
vowed
|
|
| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
irritation
|
|
| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
meditation
|
|
| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
meditations
|
|
| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
bruises
|
|
| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
unfamiliar
|
|
| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
syllables
|
|
| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
impeachment
|
|
| n.弹劾；控告；怀疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
contemplated
|
|
| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
referee
|
|
| n.裁判员．仲裁人，代表人，鉴定人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
disquiet
|
|
| n.担心，焦虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
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： |
|
|
|
|
127
adoration
|
|
| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
hymns
|
|
| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
sustenance
|
|
| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
mutinous
|
|
| adj.叛变的，反抗的；adv.反抗地，叛变地；n.反抗，叛变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
grit
|
|
| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
anticipation
|
|
| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
memorable
|
|
| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
pensiveness
|
|
| n.pensive（沉思的）的变形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
celibate
|
|
| adj.独身的，独身主义的；n.独身者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
illuminated
|
|
| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
gravel
|
|
| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
disappearance
|
|
| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
linen
|
|
| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
unpacked
|
|
| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
disquieted
|
|
| v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
deft
|
|
| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
perusal
|
|
| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
vengeance
|
|
| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
wholesale
|
|
| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
muffling
|
|
| v.压抑，捂住( muffle的现在分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
zealously
|
|
| adv.热心地；热情地；积极地；狂热地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
allude
|
|
| v.提及，暗指 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
impersonal
|
|
| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
enraged
|
|
| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
margin
|
|
| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
reticence
|
|
| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
lurked
|
|
| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
scrutinized
|
|
| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
despatch
|
|
| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
inaccessible
|
|
| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
trumpery
|
|
| n.无价值的杂物；adj.（物品）中看不中用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
untied
|
|
| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
squatting
|
|
| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
annoyance
|
|
| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
tremor
|
|
| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
disdain
|
|
| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
stiffened
|
|
| 加强的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
interval
|
|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
overtures
|
|
| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
battered
|
|
| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
beset
|
|
| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |