Thus excluded from the only society for which he cared, Bergan did not, as a weaker character might have done, betake himself for consolation8 to the lower circles of vice9 and dissipation that would have welcomed him rapturously. He could better afford to stand alone, he thought, than to throw himself into arms whose embrace would soil, and whose seeming support was an insidious10 undermining. Besides, it was much more in accordance with his character to regard the exclusion11 from which he suffered as a challenge to be answered, an adversary12 to be overcome, rather than a verdict to be acquiesced13 in. He would prove to the world that it had been mistaken.
Day after day, therefore, he spent in his office,—as many a new-fledged lawyer has done before him,—waiting with what patience he might for the clients that never came, and reading hard, by way of preparation for the cases that never presented themselves. It was dull and lonely work; yet it did him good service, in giving him time for thought and reflection, and in making him acquainted with his own resources of will, courage, patience, and energy.
The only persons who came within the circle of loneliness that surrounded him, were Mrs. Lyte, Cathie, and Dr. Remy. The first showed him much gentle, unobtrusive kindness, chiefly manifesting itself in a motherly oversight14 of his rooms and prevision of his wants. The second fluttered in and out of his office, like a bird or a butterfly, affording him much amusing, and often opportune15, distraction16 from hard study or sober-hued thought. But neither of these two, for obvious reasons, could give him just the close, helpful friendship, of which he stood in need.
Neither did he find it in Dr. Remy. Though he met the physician daily, and often engaged with him in hour-long colloquies17 upon all sorts of topics, he never felt that he really knew him any better than on the first day of their acquaintance. The doctor's peculiar18 frankness, which had seemed, at first sight, to promise such facility of intimacy19, proved to be really more of the nature of an elastic20 barrier, yielding everywhere to the slightest pressure, but nowhere completely giving way. Or, it might be still more fitly characterized as a deceitful quagmire21, wherein the curious explorer sank indefinitely, but never touched solid bottom.
Not that the doctor was at all reticent22 in regard to the main facts of his outward life. In a desultory23 way he had furnished Bergan with a sufficiently24 distinct outline sketch25 of his somewhat eventful career, up to the present moment,—a career which, for shifts and turns, outdid that of Gil Blas. According to this, he was born in New Orleans, the posthumous26 son of a French refugee, by an American wife. When he was twelve years old, his mother had presented him with a stepfather. The gift proved so little to his taste that, two years later, he ran away from the pair, and flung himself into that El Dorado of boyish imagination—life at sea. In one capacity or another, during the next twelve years, he not only contrived27 to visit most of the countries of Europe, but also by dint28 of natural aptitude29 for study, to pick up a language or two, and to acquaint himself with the essential part of a college curriculum. It now occurred to him to return to New Orleans, and claim the modest patrimony30 awaiting him there, in the hands of his father's executors. He found that his stepfather had been dead for three or four years, and his mother, after having exhausted31 her own scanty32 resources, was sinking, with her two children, into the dreary33 depths of poverty. It cost her some effort to recognize the slender stripling of her memory in the brown, bearded, broad-shouldered man, who now presented himself before her as her son. However, his identity was satisfactorily established, both by certain indisputable personal marks, and by the presumptive evidence of his willingness to assume the burden of her support.
His next step had been to place himself in a lawyer's office, where, in virtue34 of close application, he made months do the work of years. Admitted by-and-by to the Bar, he had practised his profession for a brief space, but finding the legal life not wholly to his taste, he had flung it aside; and with the ready facility which had characterized his whole career, had betaken himself to the study and the practice of medicine. Here, he averred35, he had found his true vocation37, the rightful mistress of his intellect, and should undergo no more transformations38, and indulge in no more wanderings.
So far, Dr. Remy gave quite as frank an account of himself as could be expected or desired. But when it came to his inner life of thought, opinion, principle, his frankness was of the sort that obscures, rather than explains. It put forth39 jest and earnest, reason and sophistry40, airy spirituality and dead materialism41, with equal readiness, and with as much show of interest in one as the other. If Bergan caught at what seemed to be substance, it turned to shadow in his grasp. If he grappled with apparent earnest, it quickly resolved itself into a hollow helmet of sudden championship, or a thin mask of irony42. He was often startled with a doubt whether the doctor had any settled opinions or principles. He pulled down, but he built not up; he attacked, but he rarely defended,—or, if he defended a thing to-day, more likely than not, he would assault it to-morrow. All Bergan's own opinions and beliefs seemed to lose their consistency44 in the universal solvent45 of the doctor's talk, and only took shape again after a protracted46 process of precipitation, in his own mind and heart.
If the latter organ made any part of Doctor Remy's bodily system, it never manifested itself to Bergan by any noticeable throb47 or sensible warmth. The young man was often puzzled by the question whence came the doctor's evident interest in himself, since it seemed so plain that it did not spring from any warm personal liking48. He felt himself to be the object of his careful study, frequently; of his spontaneous affection and sympathy, never. He could not but wonder at such an amount and duration of a purely49 intellectual interest,—for such he decided50 it to be,—when it promised so little result.
However, the doctor's was the only society, worthy51 of the name, that was offered to him; his, too, the only friendship, or semblance52 thereof, that came within his reach. He gratefully availed himself of both, even while conscious that neither fully53 met his wants, or would have been the object of his deliberate choice. Without this resource, the flow of Bergan's life would have been characterized by a drearier54 monotony, even, than at present.
The first slight break in its placid55 current, occurred one morning, on his return from breakfasting at the hotel. To his surprise, Vic was tied before Mrs. Lyte's gate, arching her neck, and twisting her ears about, in her usual wild and nervous fashion. In most confiding57 proximity58 to her restless heels, Brick lay fast asleep on the sunshiny sward.
Roused by the sound of approaching footsteps, the latter sprang to his feet, and donned the palm-leaf debris59 that he termed his hat, in time to doff60 it in deferential61 acknowledgment of Bergan's surprised greeting.
"Why, Brick! how do you do? Is anything the matter at the Hall?"
"No, massa Harry62, nothing 't all. Only, ole massa, he say we's gittin lazy,—Vic an' me;—an' he tought you'd better be gettin' some good out ob us, dan to leab us in de stable—no, I mean, in the cabin, no, one in de stable and turrer in de cabin—a-eatin' our heads off;—dat's jes' what he said, massa. So he clared us off in a hurry, an' tole us to gib you his lub, and tell you dat he 'sposed you'd kinder forgotten 'bout56 us."
There could be no question but that the overture63 was kindly64 meant, on the Major's part, but it was one that Bergan could not possibly accept. Judging from present indications, it would be long before his professional income would suffice for his own support, to say nothing of the additional expense of a servant and horse. Besides, he had never regarded either Brick or the filly as actual gifts, but only convenient loans, for his use while at the Hall. Any other view of the matter would, by no means, have suited his independent character. And, if this had been the case before the rupture65 with his uncle, it was doubly so, now. Major Bergan must not be suffered to think that his resentment66 had given way, or that his good will had been restored, by the aid of any gifts, however valuable, or kindly bestowed67.
Yet he would be glad to send his uncle a friendly message, to show that he was really grateful for his kindness, and ready to accept any overture which would not burden him with too heavy a sense of obligation. To ensure its safe delivery, without the risk of hopeless travesty68, at Brick's hands, he went to his desk, and wrote:
"DEAR UNCLE: Thank you for sending me your love; that is a thing which I am glad to get and keep. But I cannot keep either Brick or Vic,—I have no present use for them, and no means of providing for them, if I had. Besides, I never regarded either as mine, except while I remained at the Hall. Many thanks, all the same, for your kind intentions.
"Your affectionate nephew,
'HARRY.'"
The signature was written only after considerable hesitation69. His note would be sure to fail of the desired conciliatory effect, if it wholly ignored the name upon which his uncle had so strenuously70 insisted. Yet he could not bring himself to incorporate it with his lawful71 sign-manual. He was forced to compromise matters by thus using it as a sort of sobriquet72.
Giving the note to Brick, he bade him take it straightway to his master. The negro's face instantly fell; then, it brightened again with the light of a plausible73 explanation.
"I 'spec I'se to come back, arter I'se 'livered it?" he asked, anxiously.
"No, Brick," Bergan gravely answered. "I cannot afford to keep you; it is as much as I can do, just now, to keep myself."
"But, massa Harry," remonstrated74 Brick, "don't you know I 'longs to you? I'se your nigger, sure as deff; ole massa gib me to you, an' tole me to wait on you, don' you 'member? An' how's I a goin' to wait on you, I'd jes' like to know, wid tree good miles atween us? 'Sides, I'd feel so mortify75 to go right back dar, like a dog dat don' own no massa, arter I done tole 'em all I's coming to lib wid you."
It was not without difficulty that Brick was convinced of the inevitableness of his return to Major Bergan. Not only did his heart yearn76 to be in the service of his young master, but he was fully persuaded that he could help, rather than hinder, his fortunes. He forcibly expressed his willingness to work his fingers off in the cause, and gravely proposed to put himself on a course of semi-starvation, in the matter of "keep." All this being of no avail, he was finally forced to mount Vic, and turn homeward, a picture of the blackest despair.
On the way, his mind was illumined with a gleam of hope. Like all the negroes of the plantation77, he had large faith in the occult power of old Rue36. His present journey, he well knew, was mainly owing to her influence. If she could be made to see the propriety78 of his immediate79 return to Bergan's service, as he did, no doubt she could find a way to bring it to pass. And her conversion80 to his views could be effected, he shrewdly thought, by a skilful81 use of Bergan's confession82 of straitened circumstances, as well as a certain suggestive increase of gravity that he had observed in the young man's manner. His smile had not come quite so readily and brightly to his lips as in the old days at Bergan Hall. No doubt he was poor, lonely, and troubled. He needed some one to take care of him, and watch over him. And who so eligible to this position as himself? For Brick had inherited his grandmother's devotion to the Bergan blood, and believed that the chief end of his being was to live and die loyally in its service. Moreover, his young master had not only taken tenacious83 hold of his affections, but also of that still stronger faculty84 of the negro mind—his imagination. Though he might be a distressed85 knight86, just at present, Brick's faith was firm that his time of triumph was not far off; and then, he wanted to be "there to see!"
He lost no time, therefore, in presenting himself before Rue, on his arrival at Bergan Hall. And so dexterously87 did he work upon her love and pride, by the deplorable picture that he drew of Bergan's sadness and poverty, that the faithful old nurse straightway betook herself to her master, and never left him till she had persuaded him to mount his horse, and set forth, at a brisk trot88, toward Berganton.
In truth, the Major was only too glad to be so persuaded. His anger towards his nephew had quickly burned out, by reason of its own fury; and in thinking the matter over, he had come to be more tickled89 by the young man's prowess than he had, at first, been displeased90 by his flight.
"You should have seen him knocking those fellows around, like so many ninepins!" he exclaimed, exultingly91, to Rue. "I couldn't have done it more neatly92 myself, in my best days. I tell you, he is a true Bergan at bottom, if he has got a few crinks and cranks at top. What a pity he could not make up his mind to stay quietly on the old place, where he belongs; and which he might have done what he pleased with, if he had only taken me on the right tack43! But he'll come back—he'll come back! Estates like Bergan Hall don't grow on every bush. It won't take him long to find out that he can't raise one from the law. And then, he'll be glad to come back to me; and I'll receive him as the father did the prodigal93 son!"
But, as time rolled on, and Bergan did not appear to claim this welcome, the Major began to feel a chagrin94 that would quickly have been intensified95 into anger, but for the happy suggestion that the young man delayed merely because he was dubious96 as to his reception. This view of the matter was an excellent salve to whatever of bitter or wounded feeling the Major still retained. Bergan longing97, yet fearing, to return to him, was a vision that gently soothed98 his pride, while it appealed powerfully to his sympathies.
Matters having reached this point, he yielded easily to Rue's suggestion that Bergan's horse and servant should be sent to him, as a hint that hostilities99 had ceased. And though their prompt return was, at first, new matter of wrath100, Bergan's note, Brick's report, and Rue's representations and entreaties101, availed to smother102 the half-kindled flame, and send him forth toward Berganton in a most forgiving and patronizing frame of mind. He was ready to make any concessions103 to his nephew's principles and habits. If Bergan would but return to the Hall, he might dictate104 his own terms, and order his life in his own way. The Major had missed him more than he would have been willing to allow. The old place had not seemed the same without him. Its present had lost a strong element of cheer and energy, and its future had faded into dimness.
Arriving, in due time, at Mrs. Lyte's gate, the Major dismounted, and was about to enter, when his eyes fell on the little tin plate, in Bergan's office window, which has before been mentioned. If it had been the head of Medusa, with all its supernatural powers intact, it could scarcely have wrought105 a more complete change in the expression of his face. First, he glared at it in incredulous wonder; then, he nearly choked with inarticulate rage; finally, words came to his relief. To the consternation106 of Mrs. Lyte, and the intense gratification of the crowd of boys and negroes which quickly gathered at a safe distance, he proceeded to pour forth a volley of the bitterest curses that he could frame upon the author of what he chose to consider an insult to himself, and a disgrace to his lineage.
"That I should live to see the name of Bergan on a snip107 of a tin sign, like that!" he growled108, shaking his fist at the offending plate, and trembling with rage;—"what right had the scoundrel to put it there, I should like to know? 'Attorney at Law,' indeed!—he shall have law enough, since he likes it so well! I'll sue him for trespass109, libel, forgery,—I'll horsewhip him, and then have him indicted110 for assault and battery,—I'll—." But here his indignation choked him, for a moment.
Recovering his voice, his anger took a new direction. "'Bergan Arling,' indeed!" he muttered,—"I suppose he was ashamed of the 'Harry,' though he could put it at the end of his note,—smooth-faced hypocrite that he is! Where is he?" he went on, lifting his voice. "Why don't he come out, and face me, like a man? Must I go in and drag him out, by the nape of the neck,—the mean, sneaking111, insulting puppy!"
"Mr. Arling is out, I regret to say," said Dr. Remy, appearing in the doorway112, and confronting the furious Major with his cool, cynical113 smile. "He went out for a walk some fifteen or twenty minutes ago. If he were here, no doubt it would give him great pleasure to meet you."
Major Bergan scowled114 in a way to show how willingly he would transfer his wrath to this timely object, if he could only find a reasonable excuse. But, discovering not the shadow of one in the doctor's polite, careless manner, he contented115 himself with growling,—
"Out, is he? I wish he were out of the county—and a good riddance! When will he be in?"
"Not under an hour or two," answered the doctor, wisely postponing116 the era of Bergan's return to the utmost limit.
"Umph! that's the way he spends his time, is it? loafing about the country when he should be in his office! Well, I've got something to do, besides wait for him. Just tell him, will you? that I owe him a good, sound horse-whipping, and I'll pay it to him the first time I meet him."
"I will take charge of your kind message with pleasure," returned the doctor, blandly117. "Any further commands?"
"No!" roared the Major, with a dim suspicion that he was being made to appear ridiculous,—"not unless you like to come out and take the horsewhipping yourself. On the whole, I'd just as soon give it to you."
"Many thanks," replied the doctor, with imperturbable118 coolness. "But I could not consent to appropriate anything designed for Mr. Arling."
"If it hurts your conscience, you can pass it over to him," rejoined Major Bergan, with grim humor.
"It would lose its flavor at second-hand," said the doctor, smiling.
"It would be your own fault, if it did," responded the Major. "At any rate, take care that my message don't lose anything, on the way. And while you're about it, just tell him that he shall never have Bergan Hall, nor an inch of ground that belongs to it, never! I'll give it to—Astra Lyte, first!"
The doctor slightly shrugged119 his shoulders, as an intimation that the Major's disposition120 of his property was a matter that did not interest him; but the latter mistook it for a sign of incredulity.
"I will! I swear I will!" he repeated, with an oath. "And why shouldn't I?" he went on, after a slight pause, as if the sudden idea had unexpectedly commended itself to him,—"why shouldn't I? Her father was my cousin; and he had Bergan blood in his veins121, too, through his mother; and he was a right good fellow, besides. Where is she?"
"Miss Lyte is in New York, on a visit," replied the doctor.
"Umph! I should like to see her. Is she growing up bright and handsome?"
"She is both," returned the doctor, briefly122.
"Then, she shall have it!" exclaimed the Major, with sudden decision. "I'll go home, and make my will. Tell Harry so, for his comfort, when he comes back."
And the Major, delighted that he had bethought himself of a revenge so swift and ample, mounted his horse, and rode off.
On Bergan's return, the scene was described to him by Doctor Remy, with a minuteness and accuracy of detail and coloring that did great credit to that gentleman's powers both of observation and description. Nevertheless, there was something of cynicism, or of satire123, that grated on his listener's ear; and he finally stopped the doctor's flow of eloquence124 with the question,—
"Who is Astra Lyte?"
The doctor looked at him, with much surprise. "Is it possible that you have not yet heard of her?" he asked. "She is Mrs. Lyte's eldest125 daughter; and a genius, too,—or, at least, an artist;—they are not always synonymous terms, I believe. But where have you been living, not to have become acquainted with her name before this? It is always on Mrs. Lyte's lips; at least, she is ready to talk of her by the hour, with a little encouragement."
"My conversations with Mrs. Lyte have not been many nor long," replied Bergan. "An artist, did you say?"
But Doctor Remy had fallen into a fit of thought. He merely answered the question by a nod; and very shortly, he left Bergan to his own reflections.
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1
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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3
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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eligible
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| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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insidious
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| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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oversight
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| n.勘漏，失察，疏忽 | |
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opportune
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| adj.合适的，适当的 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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colloquies
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| n.谈话，对话( colloquy的名词复数 ) | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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quagmire
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| n.沼地 | |
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reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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posthumous
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| adj.遗腹的；父亡后出生的；死后的，身后的 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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patrimony
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| n.世袭财产，继承物 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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averred
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| 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 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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transformations
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| n.变化( transformation的名词复数 )；转换；转换；变换 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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sophistry
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| n.诡辩 | |
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materialism
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| n.［哲］唯物主义，唯物论；物质至上 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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44
consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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45
solvent
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| n.溶剂；adj.有偿付能力的 | |
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46
protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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48
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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49
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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51
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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52
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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54
drearier
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| 使人闷闷不乐或沮丧的( dreary的比较级 )； 阴沉的； 令人厌烦的； 单调的 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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56
bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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58
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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59
debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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doff
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| v.脱，丢弃，废除 | |
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deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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overture
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| n.前奏曲、序曲，提议，提案，初步交涉 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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rupture
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| n.破裂；(关系的)决裂；v.(使)破裂 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
travesty
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| n.歪曲，嘲弄，滑稽化 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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strenuously
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| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
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lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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sobriquet
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| n.绰号 | |
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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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mortify
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| v.克制，禁欲，使受辱 | |
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yearn
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| v.想念；怀念；渴望 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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dexterously
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| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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exultingly
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| 兴高采烈地，得意地 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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hostilities
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| n.战争；敌意(hostility的复数)；敌对状态；战事 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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101
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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102
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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103
concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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104
dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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105
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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106
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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107
snip
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| n.便宜货，廉价货，剪，剪断 | |
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108
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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109
trespass
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| n./v.侵犯，闯入私人领地 | |
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110
indicted
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| 控告，起诉( indict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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112
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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113
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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114
scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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116
postponing
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| v.延期，推迟( postpone的现在分词 ) | |
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117
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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118
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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119
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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120
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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121
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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122
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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123
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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124
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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125
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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