On the eastern borders of Chancery Lane, that is to say, moreparticularly in Cook's Court, Cursitor Street, Mr. Snagsby, law-stationer, pursues his lawful1 calling. In the shade of Cook'sCourt, at most times a shady place, Mr. Snagsby has dealt in allsorts of blank forms of legal process; in skins and rolls ofparchment; in paper--foolscap, brief, draft, brown, white, whitey-brown, and blotting2; in stamps; in office-quills, pens, ink, India-rubber, pounce3, pins, pencils, sealing-wax, and wafers; in red tapeand green ferret; in pocket-books, almanacs, diaries, and law lists;in string boxes, rulers, inkstands--glass and leaden--pen-knives,scissors, bodkins, and other small office-cutlery; in short, inarticles too numerous to mention, ever since he was out of his timeand went into partnership4 with Peffer. On that occasion, Cook'sCourt was in a manner revolutionized by the new inscription5 in freshpaint, PEFFER AND SNAGSBY, displacing the time-honoured and noteasily to be deciphered legend PEFFER only. For smoke, which is theLondon ivy6, had so wreathed itself round Peffer's name and clung tohis dwelling-place that the affectionate parasite7 quite overpoweredthe parent tree.
Peffer is never seen in Cook's Court now. He is not expected there,for he has been recumbent this quarter of a century in thechurchyard of St. Andrews, Holborn, with the waggons8 and hackney-coaches roaring past him all the day and half the night like onegreat dragon. If he ever steal forth9 when the dragon is at rest toair himself again in Cook's Court until admonished10 to return by thecrowing of the sanguine11 cock in the cellar at the little dairy inCursitor Street, whose ideas of daylight it would be curious toascertain, since he knows from his personal observation next tonothing about it--if Peffer ever do revisit the pale glimpses ofCook's Court, which no law-stationer in the trade can positivelydeny, he comes invisibly, and no one is the worse or wiser.
In his lifetime, and likewise in the period of Snagsby's "time" ofseven long years, there dwelt with Peffer in the same law-stationering premises12 a niece--a short, shrewd niece, something tooviolently compressed about the waist, and with a sharp nose like asharp autumn evening, inclining to be frosty towards the end. TheCook's Courtiers had a rumour13 flying among them that the mother ofthis niece did, in her daughter's childhood, moved by too jealous asolicitude that her figure should approach perfection, lace her upevery morning with her maternal14 foot against the bed-post for astronger hold and purchase; and further, that she exhibitedinternally pints15 of vinegar and lemon-juice, which acids, they held,had mounted to the nose and temper of the patient. With whichsoeverof the many tongues of Rumour this frothy report originated, iteither never reached or never influenced the ears of young Snagsby,who, having wooed and won its fair subject on his arrival at man'sestate, entered into two partnerships16 at once. So now, in Cook'sCourt, Cursitor Street, Mr. Snagsby and the niece are one; and theniece still cherishes her figure, which, however tastes may differ,is unquestionably so far precious that there is mighty17 little of it.
Mr. and Mrs. Snagsby are not only one bone and one flesh, but, tothe neighbours' thinking, one voice too. That voice, appearing toproceed from Mrs. Snagsby alone, is heard in Cook's Court veryoften. Mr. Snagsby, otherwise than as he finds expression throughthese dulcet18 tones, is rarely heard. He is a mild, bald, timid manwith a shining head and a scrubby clump19 of black hair sticking outat the back. He tends to meekness20 and obesity21. As he stands at hisdoor in Cook's Court in his grey shop-coat and black calico sleeves,looking up at the clouds, or stands behind a desk in his dark shopwith a heavy flat ruler, snipping22 and slicing at sheepskin incompany with his two 'prentices, he is emphatically a retiring andunassuming man. From beneath his feet, at such times, as from ashrill ghost unquiet in its grave, there frequently arisecomplainings and lamentations in the voice already mentioned; andhaply, on some occasions when these reach a sharper pitch thanusual, Mr. Snagsby mentions to the 'prentices, "I think my littlewoman is a-giving it to Guster!"This proper name, so used by Mr. Snagsby, has before now sharpenedthe wit of the Cook's Courtiers to remark that it ought to be thename of Mrs. Snagsby, seeing that she might with great force andexpression be termed a Guster, in compliment to her stormycharacter. It is, however, the possession, and the only possessionexcept fifty shillings per annum and a very small box indifferentlyfilled with clothing, of a lean young woman from a workhouse (bysome supposed to have been christened Augusta) who, although she wasfarmed or contracted for during her growing time by an amiablebenefactor of his species resident at Tooting, and cannot fail tohave been developed under the most favourable23 circumstances, "hasfits," which the parish can't account for.
Guster, really aged24 three or four and twenty, but looking a roundten years older, goes cheap with this unaccountable drawback offits, and is so apprehensive25 of being returned on the hands of herpatron saint that except when she is found with her head in thepail, or the sink, or the copper26, or the dinner, or anything elsethat happens to be near her at the time of her seizure27, she isalways at work. She is a satisfaction to the parents and guardiansof the 'prentices, who feel that there is little danger of herinspiring tender emotions in the breast of youth; she is asatisfaction to Mrs. Snagsby, who can always find fault with her;she is a satisfaction to Mr. Snagsby, who thinks it a charity tokeep her. The law-stationer's establishment is, in Guster's eyes, atemple of plenty and splendour. She believes the little drawing-room upstairs, always kept, as one may say, with its hair in papersand its pinafore on, to be the most elegant apartment inChristendom. The view it commands of Cook's Court at one end (notto mention a squint28 into Cursitor Street) and of Coavinses' thesheriff's officer's backyard at the other she regards as a prospectof unequalled beauty. The portraits it displays in oil--and plentyof it too--of Mr. Snagsby looking at Mrs. Snagsby and of Mrs.
Snagsby looking at Mr. Snagsby are in her eyes as achievements ofRaphael or Titian. Guster has some recompenses for her manyprivations.
Mr. Snagsby refers everything not in the practical mysteries of thebusiness to Mrs. Snagsby. She manages the money, reproaches thetax-gatherers, appoints the times and places of devotion on Sundays,licenses Mr. Snagsby's entertainments, and acknowledges noresponsibility as to what she thinks fit to provide for dinner,insomuch that she is the high standard of comparison among theneighbouring wives a long way down Chancery Lane on both sides, andeven out in Holborn, who in any domestic passages of arms habituallycall upon their husbands to look at the difference between their(the wives') position and Mrs. Snagsby's, and their (the husbands')behaviour and Mr. Snagsby's. Rumour, always flying bat-like aboutCook's Court and skimming in and out at everybody's windows, doessay that Mrs. Snagsby is jealous and inquisitive29 and that Mr.
Snagsby is sometimes worried out of house and home, and that if hehad the spirit of a mouse he wouldn't stand it. It is even observedthat the wives who quote him to their self-willed husbands as ashining example in reality look down upon him and that nobody doesso with greater superciliousness30 than one particular lady whose lordis more than suspected of laying his umbrella on her as aninstrument of correction. But these vague whisperings may arisefrom Mr. Snagsby's being in his way rather a meditative31 and poeticalman, loving to walk in Staple32 Inn in the summer-time and to observehow countrified the sparrows and the leaves are, also to loungeabout the Rolls Yard of a Sunday afternoon and to remark (if in goodspirits) that there were old times once and that you'd find a stonecoffin or two now under that chapel33, he'll be bound, if you was todig for it. He solaces34 his imagination, too, by thinking of themany Chancellors35 and Vices36, and Masters of the Rolls who aredeceased; and he gets such a flavour of the country out of tellingthe two 'prentices how he HAS heard say that a brook37 "as clear ascrystial" once ran right down the middle of Holborn, when Turnstilereally was a turnstile, leading slap away into the meadows--getssuch a flavour of the country out of this that he never wants to gothere.
The day is closing in and the gas is lighted, but is not yet fullyeffective, for it is not quite dark. Mr. Snagsby standing38 at hisshop-door looking up at the clouds sees a crow who is out late skimwestward over the slice of sky belonging to Cook's Court. The crowflies straight across Chancery Lane and Lincoln's Inn Garden intoLincoln's Inn Fields.
Here, in a large house, formerly39 a house of state, lives Mr.
Tulkinghorn. It is let off in sets of chambers40 now, and in thoseshrunken fragments of its greatness, lawyers lie like maggots innuts. But its roomy staircases, passages, and antechambers stillremain; and even its painted ceilings, where Allegory, in Romanhelmet and celestial41 linen42, sprawls43 among balustrades and pillars,flowers, clouds, and big-legged boys, and makes the head ache--aswould seem to be Allegory's object always, more or less. Here,among his many boxes labelled with transcendent names, lives Mr.
Tulkinghorn, when not speechlessly at home in country-houses wherethe great ones of the earth are bored to death. Here he is to-day,quiet at his table. An oyster44 of the old school whom nobody canopen.
Like as he is to look at, so is his apartment in the dusk of thepresent afternoon. Rusty45, out of date, withdrawing from attention,able to afford it. Heavy, broad-backed, old-fashioned, mahogany-and-horsehair chairs, not easily lifted; obsolete46 tables withspindle-legs and dusty baize covers; presentation prints of theholders of great titles in the last generation or the last but one,environ him. A thick and dingy47 Turkey-carpet muffles48 the floorwhere he sits, attended by two candles in old-fashioned silvercandlesticks that give a very insufficient49 light to his large room.
The titles on the backs of his books have retired50 into the binding;everything that can have a lock has got one; no key is visible.
Very few loose papers are about. He has some manuscript near him,but is not referring to it. With the round top of an inkstand andtwo broken bits of sealing-wax he is silently and slowly working outwhatever train of indecision is in his mind. Now tbe inkstand topis in the middle, now the red bit of sealing-wax, now the black bit.
That's not it. Mr. Tulkinghorn must gather them all up and beginagain.
Here, beneath the painted ceiling, with foreshortened Allegorystaring down at his intrusion as if it meant to swoop51 upon him, andhe cutting it dead, Mr. Tulkinghorn has at once his house andoffice. He keeps no staff, only one middle-aged52 man, usually alittle out at elbows, who sits in a high pew in the hall and israrely overburdened with business. Mr. Tulkinghorn is not in acommon way. He wants no clerks. He is a great reservoir ofconfidences, not to be so tapped. His clients want HIM; he is allin all. Drafts that he requires to be drawn53 are drawn by special-pleaders in the temple on mysterious instructions; fair copies thathe requires to be made are made at the stationers', expense being noconsideration. The middle-aged man in the pew knows scarcely moreof the affairs of the peerage than any crossing-sweeper in Holborn.
The red bit, the black bit, the inkstand top, the other inkstandtop, the little sand-box. So! You to the middle, you to the right,you to the left. This train of indecision must surely be worked outnow or never. Now! Mr. Tulkinghorn gets up, adjusts hisspectacles, puts on his hat, puts the manuscript in his pocket, goesout, tells the middle-aged man out at elbows, "I shall be backpresently." Very rarely tells him anything more explicit54.
Mr. Tulkinghorn goes, as the crow came--not quite so straight, butnearly--to Cook's Court, Cursitor Street. To Snagsby's, Law-Stationer's, Deeds engrossed55 and copied, Law-Writing executed in allits branches, &c., &c., &c.
It is somewhere about five or six o'clock in the afternoon, and abalmy fragrance56 of warm tea hovers57 in Cook's Court. It hovers aboutSnagsby's door. The hours are early there: dinner at half-past oneand supper at half-past nine. Mr. Snagsby was about to descend58 intothe subterranean59 regions to take tea when he looked out of his doorjust now and saw the crow who was out late.
"Master at home?"Guster is minding the shop, for the 'prentices take tea in thekitchen with Mr. and Mrs. Snagsby; consequently, the robe-maker'stwo daughters, combing their curls at the two glasses in the twosecond-floor windows of the opposite house, are not driving the two'prentices to distraction60 as they fondly suppose, but are merelyawakening the unprofitable admiration61 of Guster, whose hair won'tgrow, and never would, and it is confidently thought, never will.
"Master at home?" says Mr. Tulkinghorn.
Master is at home, and Guster will fetch him. Guster disappears,glad to get out of the shop, which she regards with mingled62 dreadand veneration63 as a storehouse of awful implements64 of the greattorture of the law--a place not to be entered after the gas isturned off.
Mr. Snagsby appears, greasy65, warm, herbaceous, and chewing. Bolts abit of bread and butter. Says, "Bless my soul, sir! Mr.
Tulkinghorn!""I want half a word with you, Snagsby.""Certainly, sir! Dear me, sir, why didn't you send your young manround for me? Pray walk into the back shop, sir." Snagsby hasbrightened in a moment.
The confined room, strong of parchment-grease, is warehouse,counting-house, and copying-office. Mr. Tulkinghorn sits, facinground, on a stool at the desk.
"Jarndyce and Jarndyce, Snagsby.""Yes, sir." Mr. Snagsby turns up the gas and coughs behind hishand, modestly anticipating profit. Mr. Snagsby, as a timid man, isaccustomed to cough with a variety of expressions, and so to savewords.
"You copied some affidavits67 in that cause for me lately.""Yes, sir, we did.""There was one of them," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, carelessly feeling--tight, unopenable oyster of the old school!--in the wrong coat-pocket, "the handwriting of which is peculiar68, and I rather like.
As I happened to be passing, and thought I had it about me, I lookedin to ask you--but I haven't got it. No matter, any other time willdo. Ah! here it is! I looked in to ask you who copied this."'"Who copied this, sir?" says Mr. Snagsby, taking it, laying it flaton the desk, and separating all the sheets at once with a twirl anda twist of the left hand peculiar to lawstationers. "We gave thisout, sir. We were giving out rather a large quantity of work justat that time. I can tell you in a moment who copied it, sir, byreferring to my book."Mr. Snagsby takes his book down from the safe, makes another bolt ofthe bit of bread and butter which seemed to have stopped short, eyesthe affidavit66 aside, and brings his right forefinger69 travelling downa page of the book, "Jewby--Packer--Jarndyce.""Jarndyce! Here we are, sir," says Mr. Snagsby. "To be sure! Imight have remembered it. This was given out, sir, to a writer wholodges just over on the opposite side of the lane."Mr. Tulkinghorn has seen the entry, found it before the law-stationer, read it while the forefinger was coming down the hill.
"WHAT do you call him? Nemo?" says Mr. Tulkinghorn. "Nemo, sir.
Here it is. Forty-two folio. Given out on the Wednesday night ateight o'clock, brought in on the Thursday morning at half afternine.""Nemo!" repeats Mr. Tulkinghorn. "Nemo is Latin for no one.""It must be English for some one, sir, I think," Mr. Snagsby submitswith his deferential71 cough. "It is a person's name. Here it is,you see, sir! Forty-two folio. Given out Wednesday night, eighto'clock; brought in Thursday morning, half after nine."The tail of Mr. Snagsby's eye becomes conscious of the head of Mrs.
Snagsby looking in at the shop-door to know what he means bydeserting his tea. Mr. Snagsby addresses an explanatory cough toMrs. Snagsby, as who should say, "My dear, a customer!""Half after nine, sir," repeats Mr. Snagsby. "Our law-writers, wholive by job-work, are a queer lot; and this may not be his name, butit's the name he goes by. I remember now, sir, that he gives it ina written advertisement he sticks up down at the Rule Office, andthe King's Bench Office, and the Judges' Chambers, and so forth.
You know the kind of document, sir--wanting employ?"Mr. Tulkinghorn glances through the little window at the back ofCoavinses', the sheriff's officer's, where lights shine inCoavinses' windows. Coavinses' coffee-room is at the back, and theshadows of several gentlemen under a cloud loom72 cloudily upon theblinds. Mr. Snagsby takes the opportunity of slightly turning hishead to glance over his shoulder at his little woman and to makeapologetic motions with his mouth to this effect: "Tul-king-horn--rich--in-flu-en-tial!""Have you given this man work before?" asks Mr. Tulkinghorn.
"Oh, dear, yes, sir! Work of yours.""Thinking of more important matters, I forget where you said helived?""Across the lane, sir. In fact, he lodges70 at a--" Mr. Snagsby makesanother bolt, as if the bit of bread and buffer73 were insurmountable"--at a rag and bottle shop.""Can you show me the place as I go back?""With the greatest pleasure, sir!"Mr. Snagsby pulls off his sleeves and his grey coat, pulls on hisblack coat, takes his hat from its peg74. "Oh! Here is my littlewoman!" he says aloud. "My dear, will you be so kind as to tell oneof the lads to look after the shop while I step across the lane withMr. Tulkinghorn? Mrs. Snagsby, sir--I shan't be two minutes, mylove!"Mrs. Snagsby bends to the lawyer, retires behind the counter, peepsat them through the window-blind, goes softly into the back office,refers to the entries in the book still lying open. Is evidentlycurious.
"You will find that the place is rough, sir," says Mr. Snagsby,walking deferentially75 in the road and leaving the narrow pavement tothe lawyer; "and the party is very rough. But they're a wild lot ingeneral, sir. The advantage of this particular man is that he neverwants sleep. He'll go at it right on end if you want him to, aslong as ever you like."It is quite dark now, and the gas-lamps have acquired their fulleffect. Jostling against clerks going to post the day's letters,and against counsel and attorneys going home to dinner, and againstplaintiffs and defendants76 and suitors of all sorts, and against thegeneral crowd, in whose way the forensic77 wisdom of ages hasinterposed a million of obstacles to the transaction of thecommonest business of life; diving through law and equity78, andthrough that kindred mystery, the street mud, which is made ofnobody knows what and collects about us nobody knows whence or how--we only knowing in general that when there is too much of it we findit necessary to shovel79 it away--the lawyer and the law-stationercome to a rag and bottle shop and general emporium of muchdisregarded merchandise, lying and being in the shadow of the wallof Lincoln's Inn, and kept, as is announced in paint, to all whom itmay concern, by one Krook.
"This is where he lives, sir," says the law-stationer.
"This is where he lives, is it?" says the lawyer unconcernedly.
"Thank you.""Are you not going in, sir?""No, thank you, no; I am going on to the Fields at present. Goodevening. Thank you!" Mr. Snagsby lifts his hat and returns to hislittle woman and his tea.
But Mr. Tulkinghorn does not go on to the Fields at present. Hegoes a short way, turns back, comes again to the shop of Mr. Krook,and enters it straight. It is dim enough, with a blot-headed candleor so in the windows, and an old man and a cat sitting in the backpart by a fire. The old man rises and comes forward, with anotherblot-headed candle in his hand.
"Pray is your lodger80 within?""Male or female, sir?" says Mr. Krook.
"Male. The person who does copying."Mr. Krook has eyed his man narrowly. Knows him by sight. Has anindistinct impression of his aristocratic repute.
"Did you wish to see him, sir?""Yes.""It's what I seldom do myself," says Mr. Krook with a grin. "ShallI call him down? But it's a weak chance if he'd come, sir!""I'll go up to him, then," says Mr. Tulkinghorn.
"Second floor, sir. Take the candle. Up there!" Mr. Krook, withhis cat beside him, stands at the bottom of the staircase, lookingafter Mr. Tulkinghorn. "Hi-hi!" he says when Mr. Tulkinghorn hasnearly disappeared. The lawyer looks down over the hand-rail. Thecat expands her wicked mouth and snarls81 at him.
"Order, Lady Jane! Behave yourself to visitors, my lady! You knowwhat they say of my lodger?" whispers Krook, going up a step or two.
"What do they say of him?""They say he has sold himself to the enemy, but you and I knowbetter--he don't buy. I'll tell you what, though; my lodger is soblack-humoured and gloomy that I believe he'd as soon make thatbargain as any other. Don't put him out, sir. That's my advice!"Mr. Tulkinghorn with a nod goes on his way. He comes to the darkdoor on the second floor. He knocks, receives no answer, opens it,and accidentally extinguishes his candle in doing so.
The air of the room is almost bad enough to have extinguished it ifhe had not. It is a small room, nearly black with soot82, and grease,and dirt. In the rusty skeleton of a grate, pinched at the middleas if poverty had gripped it, a red coke fire burns low. In thecorner by the chimney stand a deal table and a broken desk, awilderness marked with a rain of ink. In another corner a raggedold portmanteau on one of the two chairs serves for cabinet orwardrobe; no larger one is needed, for it collapses84 like the cheeksof a starved man. The floor is bare, except that one old mat,trodden to shreds85 of rope-yarn, lies perishing upon the hearth86. Nocurtain veils the darkness of the night, but the discolouredshutters are drawn together, and through the two gaunt holes piercedin them, famine might be staring in--the banshee of the man upon thebed.
For, on a low bed opposite the fire, a confusion of dirty patchwork,lean-ribbed ticking, and coarse sacking, the lawyer, hesitating justwithin the doorway87, sees a man. He lies there, dressed in shirt andtrousers, with bare feet. He has a yellow look in the spectraldarkness of a candle that has guttered88 down until the whole lengthof its wick (still burning) has doubled over and left a tower ofwinding-sheet above it. His hair is ragged83, mingling89 with hiswhiskers and his beard--the latter, ragged too, and grown, like thescum and mist around him, in neglect. Foul90 and filthy91 as the roomis, foul and filthy as the air is, it is not easy to perceive whatfumes those are which most oppress the senses in it; but through thegeneral sickliness and faintness, and the odour of stale tobacco,there comes into the lawyer's mouth the bitter, vapid92 taste ofopium.
"Hallo, my friend!" he cries, and strikes his iron candlestickagainst the door.
He thinks he has awakened93 his friend. He lies a little turned away,but his eyes are surely open.
"Hallo, my friend!" he cries again. "Hallo! Hallo!"As he rattles94 on the door, the candle which has drooped95 so long goesout and leaves him in the dark, with the gaunt eyes in the shuttersstaring down upon the bed.
收听单词发音 |
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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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blotting
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| 吸墨水纸 | |
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pounce
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| n.猛扑；v.猛扑，突然袭击，欣然同意 | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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parasite
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| n.寄生虫；寄生菌；食客 | |
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waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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admonished
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| v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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premises
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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pints
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| n.品脱( pint的名词复数 )；一品脱啤酒 | |
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partnerships
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| n.伙伴关系( partnership的名词复数 )；合伙人身份；合作关系 | |
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mighty
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dulcet
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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meekness
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obesity
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snipping
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| n.碎片v.剪( snip的现在分词 ) | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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aged
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apprehensive
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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seizure
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squint
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| v. 使变斜视眼, 斜视, 眯眼看, 偏移, 窥视; n. 斜视, 斜孔小窗; adj. 斜视的, 斜的 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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superciliousness
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meditative
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staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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34
solaces
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| n.安慰，安慰物( solace的名词复数 ) | |
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chancellors
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| 大臣( chancellor的名词复数 )； （某些美国大学的）校长； （德国或奥地利的）总理； （英国大学的）名誉校长 | |
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36
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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sprawls
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| n.（城市）杂乱无序拓展的地区( sprawl的名词复数 )；随意扩展；蔓延物v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的第三人称单数 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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48
muffles
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| v.压抑，捂住( muffle的第三人称单数 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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49
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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50
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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51
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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hovers
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| 鸟( hover的第三人称单数 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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58
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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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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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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62
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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veneration
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| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
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implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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affidavit
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| n.宣誓书 | |
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affidavits
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| n.宣誓书，（经陈述者宣誓在法律上可采作证据的）书面陈述( affidavit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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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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lodges
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| v.存放( lodge的第三人称单数 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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72
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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buffer
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| n.起缓冲作用的人(或物)，缓冲器；vt.缓冲 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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deferentially
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| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
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76
defendants
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| 被告( defendant的名词复数 ) | |
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forensic
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| adj.法庭的，雄辩的 | |
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equity
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| n.公正，公平，（无固定利息的）股票 | |
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79
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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81
snarls
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| n.（动物的）龇牙低吼( snarl的名词复数 )；愤怒叫嚷（声）；咆哮（声）；疼痛叫声v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的第三人称单数 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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82
soot
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| n.煤烟，烟尘；vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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83
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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84
collapses
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| 折叠( collapse的第三人称单数 )； 倒塌； 崩溃； （尤指工作劳累后）坐下 | |
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shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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87
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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88
guttered
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| vt.形成沟或槽于…（gutter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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90
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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vapid
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| adj.无味的；无生气的 | |
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93
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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rattles
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| （使）发出格格的响声， （使）作嘎嘎声( rattle的第三人称单数 )； 喋喋不休地说话； 迅速而嘎嘎作响地移动，堕下或走动； 使紧张，使恐惧 | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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