It was three o'clock in the morning when the houses outside Londondid at last begin to exclude the country and to close us in withstreets. We had made our way along roads in a far worse conditionthan when we had traversed them by daylight, both the fall and thethaw having lasted ever since; but the energy of my companion neverslackened. It had only been, as I thought, of less assistance thanthe horses in getting us on, and it had often aided them. They hadstopped exhausted1 halfway2 up hills, they had been driven throughstreams of turbulent water, they had slipped down and becomeentangled with the harness; but he and his little lantern had beenalways ready, and when the mishap3 was set right, I had never heardany variation in his cool, "Get on, my lads!"The steadiness and confidence with which he had directed ourjourney back I could not account for. Never wavering, he nevereven stopped to make an inquiry4 until we were within a few miles ofLondon. A very few words, here and there, were then enough forhim; and thus we came, at between three and four o'clock in themorning, into Islington.
I will not dwell on the suspense5 and anxiety with which I reflectedall this time that we were leaving my mother farther and fartherbehind every minute. I think I had some strong hope that he mustbe right and could not fail to have a satisfactory object infollowing this woman, but I tormented6 myself with questioning itand discussing it during the whole journey. What was to ensue whenwe found her and what could compensate7 us for this loss of timewere questions also that I could not possibly dismiss; my mind wasquite tortured by long dwelling8 on such reflections when westopped.
We stopped in a high-street where there was a coach-stand. Mycompanion paid our two drivers, who were as completely covered withsplashes as if they had been dragged along the roads like thecarriage itself, and giving them some brief direction where to takeit, lifted me out of it and into a hackney-coach he had chosen fromthe rest.
"Why, my dear!" he said as he did this. "How wet you are!"I had not been conscious of it. But the melted snow had found itsway into the carriage, and I had got out two or three times when afallen horse was plunging9 and had to be got up, and the wet hadpenetrated my dress. I assured him it was no matter, but thedriver, who knew him, would not be dissuaded10 by me from runningdown the street to his stable, whence he brought an armful of cleandry straw. They shook it out and strewed11 it well about me, and Ifound it warm and comfortable.
"Now, my dear," said Mr. Bucket, with his head in at the windowafter I was shut up. "We're a-going to mark this person down. Itmay take a little time, but you don't mind that. You're prettysure that I've got a motive12. Ain't you?"I little thought what it was, little thought in how short a time Ishould understand it better, but I assured him that I hadconfidence in him.
"So you may have, my dear," he returned. "And I tell you what! Ifyou only repose13 half as much confidence in me as I repose in youafter what I've experienced of you, that'll do. Lord! You're notrouble at all. I never see a young woman in any station ofsociety--and I've seen many elevated ones too--conduct herself likeyou have conducted yourself since you was called out of your bed.
You're a pattern, you know, that's what you are," said Mr. Bucketwarmly; "you're a pattern."I told him I was very glad, as indeed I was, to have been nohindrance to him, and that I hoped I should be none now.
"My dear," he returned, "when a young lady is as mild as she'sgame, and as game as she's mild, that's all I ask, and more than Iexpect. She then becomes a queen, and that's about what you areyourself."With these encouraging words--they really were encouraging to meunder those lonely and anxious circumstances--he got upon the box,and we once more drove away. Where we drove I neither knew thennor have ever known since, but we appeared to seek out thenarrowest and worst streets in London. Whenever I saw himdirecting the driver, I was prepared for our descending14 into adeeper complication of such streets, and we never failed to do so.
Sometimes we emerged upon a wider thoroughfare or came to a largerbuilding than the generality, well lighted. Then we stopped atoffices like those we had visited when we began our journey, and Isaw him in consultation15 with others. Sometimes he would get downby an archway or at a street corner and mysteriously show the lightof his little lantern. This would attract similar lights fromvarious dark quarters, like so many insects, and a freshconsultation would be held. By degrees we appeared to contract oursearch within narrower and easier limits. Single police-officerson duty could now tell Mr. Bucket what he wanted to know and pointto him where to go. At last we stopped for a rather longconversation between him and one of these men, which I supposed tobe satisfactory from his manner of nodding from time to time. Whenit was finished he came to me looking very busy and very attentive16.
"Now, Miss Summerson, he said to me, "you won't be alarmed whatevercomes off, I know. It's not necessary for me to give you anyfurther caution than to tell you that we have marked this persondown and that you may be of use to me before I know it myself. Idon't like to ask such a thing, my dear, but would you walk alittle way?"Of course I got out directly and took his arm.
"It ain't so easy to keep your feet," said Mr. Bucket, "but taketime."Although I looked about me confusedly and hurriedly as we crossedthe street, I thought I knew the place. "Are we in Holborn?" Iasked him.
"Yes," said Mr. Bucket. "Do you know this turning?""It looks like Chancery Lane.""And was christened so, my dear," said Mr. Bucket.
We turned down it, and as we went shuffling17 through the sleet18, Iheard the clocks strike half-past five. We passed on in silenceand as quickly as we could with such a foothold, when some onecoming towards us on the narrow pavement, wrapped in a cloak,stopped and stood aside to give me room. In the same moment Iheard an exclamation19 of wonder and my own name from Mr. Woodcourt.
I knew his voice very well.
It was so unexpected and so--I don't know what to call it, whetherpleasant or painful--to come upon it after my feverish20 wanderingjourney, and in the midst of the night, that I could not keep backthe tears from my eyes. It was like hearing his voice in a strangecountry.
"My dear Miss Summerson, that you should be out at this hour, andin such weather!"He had heard from my guardian21 of my having been called away on someuncommon business and said so to dispense22 with any explanation. Itold him that we had but just left a coach and were going--but thenI was obliged to look at my companion.
"Why, you see, Mr. Woodcourt"--he had caught the name from me--"weare a-going at present into the next street. Inspector23 Bucket."Mr. Woodcourt, disregarding my remonstrances24, had hurriedly takenoff his cloak and was putting it about me. "That's a good move,too," said Mr. Bucket, assisting, "a very good move.""May I go with you?" said Mr. Woodcourt. I don't know whether tome or to my companion.
"Why, Lord!" exclaimed Mr. Bucket, taking the answer on himself.
"Of course you may."It was all said in a moment, and they took me between them, wrappedin the cloak.
"I have just left Richard," said Mr. Woodcourt. "I have beensitting with him since ten o'clock last night.""Oh, dear me, he is ill!""No, no, believe me; not ill, but not quite well. He was depressedand faint--you know he gets so worried and so worn sometimes--andAda sent to me of course; and when I came home I found her note andcame straight here. Well! Richard revived so much after a littlewhile, and Ada was so happy and so convinced of its being my doing,though God knows I had little enough to do with it, that I remainedwith him until he had been fast asleep some hours. As fast asleepas she is now, I hope!"His friendly and familiar way of speaking of them, his unaffecteddevotion to them, the grateful confidence with which I knew he hadinspired my darling, and the comfort he was to her; could Iseparate all this from his promise to me? How thankless I musthave been if it had not recalled the words he said to me when hewas so moved by the change in my appearance: "I will accept him asa trust, and it shall be a sacred one!"We now turned into another narrow street. "Mr. Woodcourt," saidMr. Bucket, who had eyed him closely as we came along, "ourbusiness takes us to a law-stationer's here, a certain Mr.
Snagsby's. What, you know him, do you?" He was so quick that hesaw it in an instant.
"Yes, I know a little of him and have called upon him at thisplace.""Indeed, sir?" said Mr. Bucket. "Then you will be so good as tolet me leave Miss Summerson with you for a moment while I go andhave half a word with him?"The last police-officer with whom he had conferred was standingsilently behind us. I was not aware of it until he struck in on mysaying I heard some one crying.
"Don't be alarmed, miss," he returned. "It's Snagsby's servant.""Why, you see," said Mr. Bucket, "the girl's subject to fits, andhas 'em bad upon her to-night. A most contrary circumstance it is,for I want certain information out of that girl, and she must bebrought to reason somehow.""At all events, they wouldn't be up yet if it wasn't for her, Mr.
Bucket," said the other man. "She's been at it pretty well allnight, sir.""Well, that's true," he returned. "My light's burnt out. Showyours a moment."All this passed in a whisper a door or two from the house in whichI could faintly hear crying and moaning. In the little round oflight produced for the purpose, Mr. Bucket went up to the door andknocked. The door was opened after he had knocked twice, and hewent in, leaving us standing25 in the street.
"Miss Summerson," said Mr. Woodcourt, "if without obtruding26 myselfon your confidence I may remain near you, pray let me do so.""You are truly kind," I answered. "I need wish to keep no secretof my own from you; if I keep any, it is another's.""I quite understand. Trust me, I will remain near you only so longas I can fully27 respect it.""I trust implicitly28 to you," I said. "I know and deeply feel howsacredly you keep your promise.
After a short time the little round of light shone out again, andMr. Bucket advanced towards us in it with his earnest face.
"Please to come in, Miss Summerson," he said, "and sit down by thefire. Mr. Woodcourt, from information I have received I understandyou are a medical man. Would you look to this girl and see ifanything can be done to bring her round. She has a lettersomewhere that I particularly want. It's not in her box, and Ithink it must be about her; but she is so twisted and clenched29 upthat she is difficult to handle without hurting."We all three went into the house together; although it was cold andraw, it smelt30 close too from being up all night. In the passagebehind the door stood a scared, sorrowful-looking little man in agrey coat who seemed to have a naturally polite manner and spokemeekly.
"Downstairs, if you please, Mr. Bucket," said he. "The lady willexcuse the front kitchen; we use it as our workaday sitting-room31.
The back is Guster's bedroom, and in it she's a-carrying on, poorthing, to a frightful32 extent!"We went downstairs, followed by Mr. Snagsby, as I soon found thelittle man to be. In the front kitchen, sitting by the fire, wasMrs. Snagsby, with very red eyes and a very severe expression offace.
"My little woman," said Mr. Snagsby, entering behind us, "to wave--not to put too fine a point upon it, my dear--hostilities for onesingle moment in the course of this prolonged night, here isInspector Bucket, Mr. Woodcourt, and a lady."She looked very much astonished, as she had reason for doing, andlooked particularly hard at me.
"My little woman," said Mr. Snagsby, sitting down in the remotestcorner by the door, as if he were taking a liberty, "it is notunlikely that you may inquire of me why Inspector Bucket, Mr.
Woodcourt, and a lady call upon us in Cook's Court, CursitorStreet, at the present hour. I don't know. I have not the leastidea. If I was to be informed, I should despair of understanding,and I'd rather not be told."He appeared so miserable33, sitting with his head upon his hand, andI appeared so unwelcome, that I was going to offer an apology whenMr. Bucket took the matter on himself.
"Now, Mr. Snagsby," said he, "the best thing you can do is to goalong with Mr. Woodcourt to look after your Guster--""My Guster, Mr. Bucket!" cried Mr. Snagsby. "Go on, sir, go on. Ishall be charged with that next.""And to hold the candle," pursued Mr. Bucket without correctinghimself, "or hold her, or make yourself useful in any way you'reasked. Which there's not a man alive more ready to do, for you'rea man of urbanity and suavity34, you know, and you've got the sort ofheart that can feel for another. Mr. Woodcourt, would you be sogood as see to her, and if you can get that letter from her, to letme have it as soon as ever you can?"As they went out, Mr. Bucket made me sit down in a corner by thefire and take off my wet shoes, which he turned up to dry upon thefender, talking all the time.
"Don't you be at all put out, miss, by the want of a hospitablelook from Mrs. Snagsby there, because she's under a mistakealtogether. She'll find that out sooner than will be agreeable toa lady of her generally correct manner of forming her thoughts,because I'm a-going to explain it to her." Here, standing on thehearth with his wet hat and shawls in his hand, himself a pile ofwet, he turned to Mrs. Snagsby. "Now, the first thing that I sayto you, as a married woman possessing what you may call charms, youknow--'Believe Me, if All Those Endearing,' and cetrer--you're wellacquainted with the song, because it's in vain for you to tell methat you and good society are strangers--charms--attractions, mindyou, that ought to give you confidence in yourself--is, that you'vedone it."Mrs. Snagsby looked rather alarmed, relented a little and faltered,what did Mr. Bucket mean.
"What does Mr. Bucket mean?" he repeated, and I saw by his facethat all the time he talked he was listening for the discovery ofthe letter, to my own great agitation35, for I knew then howimportant it must be; "I'll tell you what he means, ma'am. Go andsee Othello acted. That's the tragedy for you."Mrs. Snagsby consciously asked why.
"Why?" said Mr. Bucket. "Because you'll come to that if you don'tlook out. Why, at the very moment while I speak, I know what yourmind's not wholly free from respecting this young lady. But shallI tell you who this young lady is? Now, come, you're what I callan intellectual woman--with your soul too large for your body, ifyou come to that, and chafing36 it--and you know me, and yourecollect where you saw me last, and what was talked of in thatcircle. Don't you? Yes! Very well. This young lady is thatyoung lady."Mrs. Snagsby appeared to understand the reference better than I didat the time.
"And Toughey--him as you call Jo--was mixed up in the samebusiness, and no other; and the law-writer that you know of wasmixed up in the same business, and no other; and your husband, withno more knowledge of it than your great grandfather, was mixed up(by Mr. Tulkinghorn, deceased, his best customer) in the samebusiness, and no other; and the whole bileing of people was mixedup in the same business, and no other. And yet a married woman,possessing your attractions, shuts her eyes (and sparklers too),and goes and runs her delicate-formed head against a wall. Why, Iam ashamed of you! (I expected Mr. Woodcourt might have got it bythis time.)"Mrs. Snagsby shook her head and put her handkerchief to her eyes.
"Is that all?" said Mr. Bucket excitedly. "No. See what happens.
Another person mixed up in that business and no other, a person ina wretched state, comes here to-night and is seen a-speaking toyour maid-servant; and between her and your maid-servant therepasses a paper that I would give a hundred pound for, down. Whatdo you do? You hide and you watch 'em, and you pounce38 upon thatmaid-servant--knowing what she's subject to and what a little thingwill bring 'em on--in that surprising manner and with that severitythat, by the Lord, she goes off and keeps off, when a life may behanging upon that girl's words!"He so thoroughly39 meant what he said now that I involuntarilyclasped my hands and felt the room turning away from me. But itstopped. Mr. Woodcourt came in, put a paper into his hand, andwent away again.
"Now, Mrs, Snagsby, the only amends40 you can make," said Mr. Bucket,rapidly glancing at it, "is to let me speak a word to this younglady in private here. And if you know of any help that you cangive to that gentleman in the next kitchen there or can think ofany one thing that's likelier than another to bring the girl round,do your swiftest and best!" In an instant she was gone, and he hadshut the door. "Now my dear, you're steady and quite sure ofyourself?""Quite," said I.
"Whose writing is that?"It was my mother's. A pencil-writing, on a crushed and torn pieceof paper, blotted41 with wet. Folded roughly like a letter, anddirected to me at my guardian's.
"You know the hand," he said, "and if you are firm enough to readit to me, do! But be particular to a word."It had been written in portions, at different times. I read whatfollows:
"I came to the cottage with two objects. First, to see the dearone, if I could, once more--but only to see her--not to speak toher or let her know that I was near. The other object, to eludepursuit and to be lost. Do not blame the mother for her share.
The assistance that she rendered me, she rendered on my strongestassurance that it was for the dear one's good. You remember herdead child. The men's consent I bought, but her help was freelygiven.""'I came.' That was written," said my companion, "when she restedthere. It bears out what I made of it. I was right."The next was written at another time:
"I have wandered a long distance, and for many hours, and I knowthat I must soon die. These streets! I have no purpose but todie. When I left, I had a worse, but I am saved from adding thatguilt to the rest. Cold, wet, and fatigue43 are sufficient causesfor my being found dead, but I shall die of others, though I sufferfrom these. It was right that all that had sustained me shouldgive way at once and that I should die of terror and my conscience.
"Take courage," said Mr. Bucket. "There's only a few words more."Those, too, were written at another time. To all appearance,almost in the dark:
"I have done all I could do to be lost. I shall be soon forgottenso, and shall disgrace him least. I have nothing about me by whichI can be recognized. This paper I part with now. The place whereI shall lie down, if I can get so far, has been often in my mind.
Farewell. Forgive."Mr. Bucket, supporting me with his arm, lowered me gently into mychair. "Cheer up! Don't think me hard with you, my dear, but assoon as ever you feel equal to it, get your shoes on and be ready."I did as he required, but I was left there a long time, praying formy unhappy mother. They were all occupied with the poor girl, andI heard Mr. Woodcourt directing them and speaking to her often. Atlength he came in with Mr. Bucket and said that as it was importantto address her gently, he thought it best that I should ask her forwhatever information we desired to obtain. There was no doubt thatshe could now reply to questions if she were soothed44 and notalarmed. The questions, Mr. Bucket said, were how she came by theletter, what passed between her and the person who gave her theletter, and where the person went. Holding my mind as steadily45 asI could to these points, I went into the next room with them. Mr.
Woodcourt would have remained outside, but at my solicitation46 wentin with us.
The poor girl was sitting on the floor where they had laid herdown. They stood around her, though at a little distance, that shemight have air. She was not pretty and looked weak and poor, butshe had a plaintive47 and a good face, though it was still a littlewild. I kneeled on the ground beside her and put her poor headupon my shoulder, whereupon she drew her arm round my neck andburst into tears.
"My poor girl," said I, laying my face against her forehead, forindeed I was crying too, and trembling, "it seems cruel to troubleyou now, but more depends on our knowing something about thisletter than I could tell you in an hour."She began piteously declaring that she didn't mean any harm, shedidn't mean any harm, Mrs. Snagsby!
"We are all sure of that," said I. "But pray tell me how you gotit.""Yes, dear lady, I will, and tell you true. I'll tell true,indeed, Mrs. Snagsby.""I am sure of that," said I. "And how was it?""I had been out on an errand, dear lady--long after it was dark--quite late; and when I came home, I found a common-looking person,all wet and muddy, looking up at our house. When she saw me comingin at the door, she called me back and said did I live here. And Isaid yes, and she said she knew only one or two places about here,but had lost her way and couldn't find them. Oh, what shall I do,what shall I do! They won't believe me! She didn't say any harmto me, and I didn't say any harm to her, indeed, Mrs. Snagsby!"It was necessary for her mistress to comfort her--which she did, Imust say, with a good deal of contrition--before she could be gotbeyond this.
"She could not find those places," said I.
"No!" cried the girl, shaking her head. "No! Couldn't find them.
And she was so faint, and lame42, and miserable, Oh so wretched, thatif you had seen her, Mr. Snagsby, you'd have given her half acrown, I know!""Well, Guster, my girl," said he, at first not knowing what to say.
"I hope I should.""And yet she was so well spoken," said the girl, looking at me withwide open eyes, "that it made a person's heart bleed. And so shesaid to me, did I know the way to the burying ground? And I askedher which burying ground. And she said, the poor burying ground.
And so I told her I had been a poor child myself, and it wasaccording to parishes. But she said she meant a poor buryingground not very far from here, where there was an archway, and astep, and an iron gate."As I watched her face and soothed her to go on, I saw that Mr.
Bucket received this with a look which I could not separate fromone of alarm.
"Oh, dear, dear!" cried the girl, pressing her hair back with herhands. "What shall I do, what shall I do! She meant the buryingground where the man was buried that took the sleeping-stuff--thatyou came home and told us of, Mr. Snagsby--that frightened me so,Mrs. Snagsby. Oh, I am frightened again. Hold me!""You are so much better now," sald I. "Pray, pray tell me more.""Yes I will, yes I will! But don't be angry with me, that's a dearlady, because I have been so ill."Angry with her, poor soul!
"There! Now I will, now I will. So she said, could I tell her howto find it, and I said yes, and I told her; and she looked at mewith eyes like almost as if she was blind, and herself all wavingback. And so she took out the letter, and showed it me, and saidif she was to put that in the post-office, it would be rubbed outand not minded and never sent; and would I take it from her, andsend it, and the messenger would be paid at the house. And so Isaid yes, if it was no harm, and she said no--no harm. And so Itook it from her, and she said she had nothing to give me, and Isaid I was poor myself and consequently wanted nothing. And so shesaid God bless you, and went.""And did she go--""Yes," cried the girl, anticipating the inquiry. "Yes! She wentthe way I had shown her. Then I came in, and Mrs. Snagsby camebehind me from somewhere and laid hold of me, and I wasfrightened."Mr. Woodcourt took her kindly48 from me. Mr. Bucket wrapped me up,and immediately we were in the street. Mr. Woodcourt hesitated,but I said, "Don't leave me now!" and Mr. Bucket added, "You'll bebetter with us, we may want you; don't lose time!"I have the most confused impressions of that walk. I recollectthat it was neither night nor day, that morning was dawning but thestreet-lamps were not yet put out, that the sleet was still fallingand that all the ways were deep with it. I recollect37 a few chilledpeople passing in the streets. I recollect the wet house-tops, theclogged and bursting gutters49 and water-spouts, the mounds50 ofblackened ice and snow over which we passed, the narrowness of thecourts by which we went. At the same time I remember that the poorgirl seemed to be yet telling her story audibly and plainly in myhearing, that I could feel her resting on my arm, that the stainedhouse-fronts put on human shapes and looked at me, that greatwater-gates seemed to be opening and closing in my head or in theair, and that the unreal things were more substantial than thereal.
At last we stood under a dark and miserable covered way, where onelamp was burning over an iron gate and where the morning faintlystruggled in. The gate was closed. Beyond it was a burial ground--a dreadful spot in which the night was very slowly stirring, butwhere I could dimly see heaps of dishonoured51 graves and stones,hemmed in by filthy52 houses with a few dull lights in their windowsand on whose walls a thick humidity broke out like a disease. Onthe step at the gate, drenched53 in the fearful wet of such a place,which oozed54 and splashed down everywhere, I saw, with a cry of pityand horror, a woman lying--Jenny, the mother of the dead child.
I ran forward, but they stopped me, and Mr. Woodcourt entreated55 mewith the greatest earnestness, even with tears, before I went up tothe figure to listen for an instant to what Mr. Bucket said. I didso, as I thought. I did so, as I am sure.
"Miss Summerson, you'll understand me, if you think a moment. Theychanged clothes at the cottage."They changed clothes at the cottage. I could repeat the words inmy mind, and I knew what they meant of themselves, but I attachedno meaning to them in any other connexion.
"And one returned," said Mr. Bucket, "and one went on. And the onethat went on only went on a certain way agreed upon to deceive andthen turned across country and went home. Think a moment!"I could repeat this in my mind too, but I had not the least ideawhat it meant. I saw before me, lying on the step, the mother ofthe dead child. She lay there with one arm creeping round a bar ofthe iron gate and seeming to embrace it. She lay there, who had solately spoken to my mother. She lay there, a distressed,unsheltered, senseless creature. She who had brought my mother'sletter, who could give me the only clue to where my mother was;she, who was to guide us to rescue and save her whom we had soughtso far, who had come to this condition by some means connected withmy mother that I could not follow, and might be passing beyond ourreach and help at that moment; she lay there, and they stopped me!
I saw but did not comprehend the solemn and compassionate56 look inMr. Woodcourt's face. I saw but did not comprehend his touchingthe other on the breast to keep him back. I saw him standuncovered in the bitter air, with a reverence57 for something. Butmy understanding for all this was gone.
I even heard it said between them, "Shall she go?""She had better go. Her hands should be the first to touch her.
They have a higher right than ours."I passed on to the gate and stooped down. I lifted the heavy head,put the long dank hair aside, and turned the face. And it was mymother, cold and dead.
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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halfway
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mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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suspense
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tormented
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compensate
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dwelling
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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dissuaded
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strewed
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motive
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repose
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descending
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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attentive
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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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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obtruding
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| v.强行向前，强行，强迫( obtrude的现在分词 ) | |
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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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implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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suavity
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| n.温和；殷勤 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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chafing
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| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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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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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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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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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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solicitation
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| n.诱惑；揽货；恳切地要求；游说 | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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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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gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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dishonoured
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| a.不光彩的，不名誉的 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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