MARLOW. - BISHAM ABBEY. - THE MEDMENHAM MONKS1. - MONTMORENCY THINKS HEWILL MURDER AN OLD TOM CAT. - BUT EVENTUALLY DECIDES THAT HE WILL LET ITLIVE. - SHAMEFUL2 CONDUCT OF A FOX TERRIER AT THE CIVIL SERVICE STORES. -OUR DEPARTURE FROM MARLOW. - AN IMPOSING3 PROCESSION. - THE STEAM LAUNCH,USEFUL RECEIPTS FOR ANNOYING AND HINDERING IT. - WE DECLINE TO DRINK THERIVER. - A PEACEFUL DOG. - STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE4 OF HARRIS AND A PIE.
MARLOW is one of the pleasantest river centres I know of. It is abustling, lively little town; not very picturesque5 on the whole, it istrue, but there are many quaint6 nooks and corners to be found in it,nevertheless - standing7 arches in the shattered bridge of Time, overwhich our fancy travels back to the days when Marlow Manor9 owned SaxonAlgar for its lord, ere conquering William seized it to give to QueenMatilda, ere it passed to the Earls of Warwick or to worldly-wise LordPaget, the councillor of four successive sovereigns.
There is lovely country round about it, too, if, after boating, you arefond of a walk, while the river itself is at its best here. Down toCookham, past the Quarry12 Woods and the meadows, is a lovely reach. Dearold Quarry Woods! with your narrow, climbing paths, and little windingglades, how scented13 to this hour you seem with memories of sunny summerdays! How haunted are your shadowy vistas14 with the ghosts of laughingfaces! how from your whispering leaves there softly fall the voices oflong ago!
From Marlow up to Sonning is even fairer yet. Grand old Bisham Abbey,whose stone walls have rung to the shouts of the Knights15 Templars, andwhich, at one time, was the home of Anne of Cleves and at another ofQueen Elizabeth, is passed on the right bank just half a mile aboveMarlow Bridge. Bisham Abbey is rich in melodramatic properties. Itcontains a tapestry16 bed-chamber, and a secret room hid high up in thethick walls. The ghost of the Lady Holy, who beat her little boy todeath, still walks there at night, trying to wash its ghostly hands cleanin a ghostly basin.
Warwick, the king-maker, rests there, careless now about such trivialthings as earthly kings and earthly kingdoms; and Salisbury, who did goodservice at Poitiers. Just before you come to the abbey, and right on theriver's bank, is Bisham Church, and, perhaps, if any tombs are worthinspecting, they are the tombs and monuments in Bisham Church. It waswhile floating in his boat under the Bisham beeches17 that Shelley, who wasthen living at Marlow (you can see his house now, in West street),composed THE REVOLT OF ISLAM.
By Hurley Weir18, a little higher up, I have often thought that I couldstay a month without having sufficient time to drink in all the beauty ofthe scene. The village of Hurley, five minutes' walk from the lock, isas old a little spot as there is on the river, dating, as it does, toquote the quaint phraseology of those dim days, "from the times of KingSebert and King Offa." Just past the weir (going up) is Danes' Field,where the invading Danes once encamped, during their march toGloucestershire; and a little further still, nestling by a sweet cornerof the stream, is what is left of Medmenham Abbey.
The famous Medmenham monks, or "Hell Fire Club," as they were commonlycalled, and of whom the notorious Wilkes was a member, were a fraternitywhose motto was "Do as you please," and that invitation still stands overthe ruined doorway19 of the abbey. Many years before this bogus abbey,with its congregation of irreverent jesters, was founded, there stoodupon this same spot a monastery20 of a sterner kind, whose monks were of asomewhat different type to the revellers that were to follow them, fivehundred years afterwards.
The Cistercian monks, whose abbey stood there in the thirteenth century,wore no clothes but rough tunics21 and cowls, and ate no flesh, nor fish,nor eggs. They lay upon straw, and they rose at midnight to mass. Theyspent the day in labour, reading, and prayer; and over all their livesthere fell a silence as of death, for no one spoke22.
A grim fraternity, passing grim lives in that sweet spot, that God hadmade so bright! Strange that Nature's voices all around them - the softsinging of the waters, the whisperings of the river grass, the music ofthe rushing wind - should not have taught them a truer meaning of lifethan this. They listened there, through the long days, in silence,waiting for a voice from heaven; and all day long and through the solemnnight it spoke to them in myriad23 tones, and they heard it not.
From Medmenham to sweet Hambledon Lock the river is full of peacefulbeauty, but, after it passes Greenlands, the rather uninteresting lookingriver residence of my newsagent - a quiet unassuming old gentleman, whomay often be met with about these regions, during the summer months,sculling himself along in easy vigorous style, or chatting genially24 tosome old lock-keeper, as he passes through - until well the other side ofHenley, it is somewhat bare and dull.
We got up tolerably early on the Monday morning at Marlow, and went for abathe before breakfast; and, coming back, Montmorency made an awful assof himself. The only subject on which Montmorency and I have any seriousdifference of opinion is cats. I like cats; Montmorency does not.
When I meet a cat, I say, "Poor Pussy25!" and stop down and tickle26 the sideof its head; and the cat sticks up its tail in a rigid27, cast-iron manner,arches its back, and wipes its nose up against my trousers; and all isgentleness and peace. When Montmorency meets a cat, the whole streetknows about it; and there is enough bad language wasted in ten seconds tolast an ordinarily respectable man all his life, with care.
I do not blame the dog (contenting myself, as a rule, with merelyclouting his head or throwing stones at him), because I take it that itis his nature. Fox-terriers are born with about four times as muchoriginal sin in them as other dogs are, and it will take years and yearsof patient effort on the part of us Christians28 to bring about anyappreciable reformation in the rowdiness of the fox-terrier nature.
I remember being in the lobby of the Haymarket Stores one day, and allround about me were dogs, waiting for the return of their owners, whowere shopping inside. There were a mastiff, and one or two collies, anda St. Bernard, a few retrievers and Newfoundlands, a boar-hound, a Frenchpoodle, with plenty of hair round its head, but mangy about the middle; abull-dog, a few Lowther Arcade30 sort of animals, about the size of rats,and a couple of Yorkshire tykes.
There they sat, patient, good, and thoughtful. A solemn peacefulnessseemed to reign11 in that lobby. An air of calmness and resignation - ofgentle sadness pervaded31 the room.
Then a sweet young lady entered, leading a meek-looking little fox-terrier, and left him, chained up there, between the bull-dog and thepoodle. He sat and looked about him for a minute. Then he cast up hiseyes to the ceiling, and seemed, judging from his expression, to bethinking of his mother. Then he yawned. Then he looked round at theother dogs, all silent, grave, and dignified32.
He looked at the bull-dog, sleeping dreamlessly on his right. He lookedat the poodle, erect33 and haughty34, on his left. Then, without a word ofwarning, without the shadow of a provocation35, he bit that poodle's nearfore-leg, and a yelp36 of agony rang through the quiet shades of thatlobby.
The result of his first experiment seemed highly satisfactory to him, andhe determined37 to go on and make things lively all round. He sprang overthe poodle and vigorously attacked a collie, and the collie woke up, andimmediately commenced a fierce and noisy contest with the poodle. ThenFoxey came back to his own place, and caught the bull-dog by the ear, andtried to throw him away; and the bull-dog, a curiously38 impartial39 animal,went for everything he could reach, including the hall-porter, which gavethat dear little terrier the opportunity to enjoy an uninterrupted fightof his own with an equally willing Yorkshire tyke.
Anyone who knows canine40 nature need hardly, be told that, by this time,all the other dogs in the place were fighting as if their hearths41 andhomes depended on the fray42. The big dogs fought each otherindiscriminately; and the little dogs fought among themselves, and filledup their spare time by biting the legs of the big dogs.
The whole lobby was a perfect pandemonium43, and the din8 was terrific. Acrowd assembled outside in the Haymarket, and asked if it was a vestrymeeting; or, if not, who was being murdered, and why? Men came withpoles and ropes, and tried to separate the dogs, and the police were sentfor.
And in the midst of the riot that sweet young lady returned, and snatchedup that sweet little dog of hers (he had laid the tyke up for a month,and had on the expression, now, of a new-born lamb) into her arms, andkissed him, and asked him if he was killed, and what those great nastybrutes of dogs had been doing to him; and he nestled up against her, andgazed up into her face with a look that seemed to say: "Oh, I'm so gladyou've come to take me away from this disgraceful scene!"She said that the people at the Stores had no right to allow great savagethings like those other dogs to be put with respectable people's dogs,and that she had a great mind to summon somebody.
Such is the nature of fox-terriers; and, therefore, I do not blameMontmorency for his tendency to row with cats; but he wished he had notgiven way to it that morning.
We were, as I have said, returning from a dip, and half-way up the HighStreet a cat darted44 out from one of the houses in front of us, and beganto trot45 across the road. Montmorency gave a cry of joy - the cry of astern warrior46 who sees his enemy given over to his hands - the sort ofcry Cromwell might have uttered when the Scots came down the hill - andflew after his prey47.
His victim was a large black Tom. I never saw a larger cat, nor a moredisreputable-looking cat. It had lost half its tail, one of its ears,and a fairly appreciable29 proportion of its nose. It was a long, sinewy-looking animal. It had a calm, contented48 air about it.
Montmorency went for that poor cat at the rate of twenty miles an hour;but the cat did not hurry up - did not seem to have grasped the idea thatits life was in danger. It trotted49 quietly on until its would-beassassin was within a yard of it, and then it turned round and sat downin the middle of the road, and looked at Montmorency with a gentle,inquiring expression, that said:
"Yes! You want me?"Montmorency does not lack pluck; but there was something about the lookof that cat that might have chilled the heart of the boldest dog. Hestopped abruptly50, and looked back at Tom.
Neither spoke; but the conversation that one could imagine was clearly asfollows:-THE CAT: "Can I do anything for you?"MONTMORENCY: "No - no, thanks."THE CAT: "Don't you mind speaking, if you really want anything, youknow."MONTMORENCY (BACKING DOWN THE HIGH STREET): "Oh, no - not at all -certainly - don't you trouble. I - I am afraid I've made a mistake. Ithought I knew you. Sorry I disturbed you."THE CAT: "Not at all - quite a pleasure. Sure you don't want anything,now?"MONTMORENCY (STILL BACKING): "Not at all, thanks - not at all - very kindof you. Good morning."THE CAT: "Good-morning."Then the cat rose, and continued his trot; and Montmorency, fitting whathe calls his tail carefully into its groove51, came back to us, and took upan unimportant position in the rear.
To this day, if you say the word "Cats!" to Montmorency, he will visiblyshrink and look up piteously at you, as if to say:
"Please don't."We did our marketing52 after breakfast, and revictualled the boat for threedays. George said we ought to take vegetables - that it was unhealthynot to eat vegetables. He said they were easy enough to cook, and thathe would see to that; so we got ten pounds of potatoes, a bushel of peas,and a few cabbages. We got a beefsteak pie, a couple of gooseberrytarts, and a leg of mutton from the hotel; and fruit, and cakes, andbread and butter, and jam, and bacon and eggs, and other things weforaged round about the town for.
Our departure from Marlow I regard as one of our greatest successes. Itwas dignified and impressive, without being ostentatious. We hadinsisted at all the shops we had been to that the things should be sentwith us then and there. None of your "Yes, sir, I will send them off atonce: the boy will be down there before you are, sir!" and then foolingabout on the landing-stage, and going back to the shop twice to have arow about them, for us. We waited while the basket was packed, and tookthe boy with us.
We went to a good many shops, adopting this principle at each one; andthe consequence was that, by the time we had finished, we had as fine acollection of boys with baskets following us around as heart coulddesire; and our final march down the middle of the High Street, to theriver, must have been as imposing a spectacle as Marlow had seen for manya long day.
The order of the procession was as follows:-Montmorency, carrying a stick.
Two disreputable-looking curs, friends of Montmorency's.
George, carrying coats and rugs, and smoking a short pipe.
Harris, trying to walk with easy grace,while carrying a bulged-out Gladstone bag in one handand a bottle of lime-juice in the other.
Greengrocer's boy and baker's boy,with baskets.
Boots from the hotel, carrying hamper53.
Confectioner's boy, with basket.
Grocer's boy, with basket.
Long-haired dog.
Cheesemonger's boy, with basket.
Odd man carrying a bag.
Bosom companion of odd man, with his hands in his pockets,smoking a short clay.
Fruiterer's boy, with basket.
Myself, carrying three hats and a pair of boots,and trying to look as if I didn't know it.
Six small boys, and four stray dogs.
When we got down to the landing-stage, the boatman said:
"Let me see, sir; was yours a steam-launch or a house-boat?"On our informing him it was a double-sculling skiff, he seemed surprised.
We had a good deal of trouble with steam launches that morning. It wasjust before the Henley week, and they were going up in large numbers;some by themselves, some towing houseboats. I do hate steam launches: Isuppose every rowing man does. I never see a steam launch but I feel Ishould like to lure54 it to a lonely part of the river, and there, in thesilence and the solitude55, strangle it.
There is a blatant56 bumptiousness57 about a steam launch that has the knackof rousing every evil instinct in my nature, and I yearn58 for the good olddays, when you could go about and tell people what you thought of themwith a hatchet59 and a bow and arrows. The expression on the face of theman who, with his hands in his pockets, stands by the stern, smoking acigar, is sufficient to excuse a breach60 of the peace by itself; and thelordly whistle for you to get out of the way would, I am confident,ensure a verdict of "justifiable61 homicide" from any jury of river men.
They used to HAVE to whistle for us to get out of their way. If I may doso, without appearing boastful, I think I can honestly say that our onesmall boat, during that week, caused more annoyance62 and delay andaggravation to the steam launches that we came across than all the othercraft on the river put together.
"Steam launch, coming!" one of us would cry out, on sighting the enemy inthe distance; and, in an instant, everything was got ready to receiveher. I would take the lines, and Harris and George would sit down besideme, all of us with our backs to the launch, and the boat would drift outquietly into mid-stream.
On would come the launch, whistling, and on we would go, drifting. Atabout a hundred yards off, she would start whistling like mad, and thepeople would come and lean over the side, and roar at us; but we neverheard them! Harris would be telling us an anecdote63 about his mother, andGeorge and I would not have missed a word of it for worlds.
Then that launch would give one final shriek64 of a whistle that wouldnearly burst the boiler65, and she would reverse her engines, and blow offsteam, and swing round and get aground; everyone on board of it wouldrush to the bow and yell at us, and the people on the bank would standand shout to us, and all the other passing boats would stop and join in,till the whole river for miles up and down was in a state of franticcommotion. And then Harris would break off in the most interesting partof his narrative66, and look up with mild surprise, and say to George:
"Why, George, bless me, if here isn't a steam launch!"And George would answer:
"Well, do you know, I THOUGHT I heard something!"Upon which we would get nervous and confused, and not know how to get theboat out of the way, and the people in the launch would crowd round andinstruct us:
"Pull your right - you, you idiot! back with your left. No, not YOU -the other one - leave the lines alone, can't you - now, both together.
NOT THAT way. Oh, you - !"Then they would lower a boat and come to our assistance; and, afterquarter of an hour's effort, would get us clean out of their way, so thatthey could go on; and we would thank them so much, and ask them to giveus a tow. But they never would.
Another good way we discovered of irritating the aristocratic type ofsteam launch, was to mistake them for a beanfeast, and ask them if theywere Messrs. Cubit's lot or the Bermondsey Good Templars, and could theylend us a saucepan.
Old ladies, not accustomed to the river, are always intensely nervous ofsteam launches. I remember going up once from Staines to Windsor - astretch of water peculiarly rich in these mechanical monstrosities - witha party containing three ladies of this description. It was veryexciting. At the first glimpse of every steam launch that came in view,they insisted on landing and sitting down on the bank until it was out ofsight again. They said they were very sorry, but that they owed it totheir families not to be fool-hardy.
We found ourselves short of water at Hambledon Lock; so we took our jarand went up to the lock-keeper's house to beg for some.
George was our spokesman. He put on a winning smile, and said:
"Oh, please could you spare us a little water?""Certainly," replied the old gentleman; "take as much as you want, andleave the rest.""Thank you so much," murmured George, looking about him. "Where - wheredo you keep it?""It's always in the same place my boy," was the stolid67 reply: "justbehind you.""I don't see it," said George, turning round.
"Why, bless us, where's your eyes?" was the man's comment, as he twistedGeorge round and pointed68 up and down the stream. "There's enough of itto see, ain't there?""Oh!" exclaimed George, grasping the idea; "but we can't drink the river,you know!""No; but you can drink SOME of it," replied the old fellow. "It's whatI've drunk for the last fifteen years."George told him that his appearance, after the course, did not seem asufficiently good advertisement for the brand; and that he would preferit out of a pump.
We got some from a cottage a little higher up. I daresay THAT was onlyriver water, if we had known. But we did not know, so it was all right.
What the eye does not see, the stomach does not get upset over.
We tried river water once, later on in the season, but it was not asuccess. We were coming down stream, and had pulled up to have tea in abackwater near Windsor. Our jar was empty, and it was a case of goingwithout our tea or taking water from the river. Harris was for chancingit. He said it must be all right if we boiled the water. He said thatthe various germs of poison present in the water would be killed by theboiling. So we filled our kettle with Thames backwater, and boiled it;and very careful we were to see that it did boil.
We had made the tea, and were just settling down comfortably to drink it,when George, with his cup half-way to his lips, paused and exclaimed:
"What's that?""What's what?" asked Harris and I.
"Why that!" said George, looking westward69.
Harris and I followed his gaze, and saw, coming down towards us on thesluggish current, a dog. It was one of the quietest and peacefullestdogs I have ever seen. I never met a dog who seemed more contented -more easy in its mind. It was floating dreamily on its back, with itsfour legs stuck up straight into the air. It was what I should call afull-bodied dog, with a well-developed chest. On he came, serene,dignified, and calm, until he was abreast70 of our boat, and there, amongthe rushes, he eased up, and settled down cosily71 for the evening.
George said he didn't want any tea, and emptied his cup into the water.
Harris did not feel thirsty, either, and followed suit. I had drunk halfmine, but I wished I had not.
I asked George if he thought I was likely to have typhoid.
He said: "Oh, no;" he thought I had a very good chance indeed of escapingit. Anyhow, I should know in about a fortnight, whether I had or hadnot.
We went up the backwater to Wargrave. It is a short cut, leading out ofthe right-hand bank about half a mile above Marsh72 Lock, and is well worthtaking, being a pretty, shady little piece of stream, besides savingnearly half a mile of distance.
Of course, its entrance is studded with posts and chains, and surroundedwith notice boards, menacing all kinds of torture, imprisonment73, anddeath to everyone who dares set scull upon its waters - I wonder some ofthese riparian boors74 don't claim the air of the river and threateneveryone with forty shillings fine who breathes it - but the posts andchains a little skill will easily avoid; and as for the boards, youmight, if you have five minutes to spare, and there is nobody about, takeone or two of them down and throw them into the river.
Half-way up the backwater, we got out and lunched; and it was during thislunch that George and I received rather a trying shock.
Harris received a shock, too; but I do not think Harris's shock couldhave been anything like so bad as the shock that George and I had overthe business.
You see, it was in this way: we were sitting in a meadow, about ten yardsfrom the water's edge, and we had just settled down comfortably to feed.
Harris had the beefsteak pie between his knees, and was carving75 it, andGeorge and I were waiting with our plates ready.
"Have you got a spoon there?" says Harris; "I want a spoon to help thegravy with."The hamper was close behind us, and George and I both turned round toreach one out. We were not five seconds getting it. When we lookedround again, Harris and the pie were gone!
It was a wide, open field. There was not a tree or a bit of hedge forhundreds of yards. He could not have tumbled into the river, because wewere on the water side of him, and he would have had to climb over us todo it.
George and I gazed all about. Then we gazed at each other.
"Has he been snatched up to heaven?" I queried76.
"They'd hardly have taken the pie too," said George.
There seemed weight in this objection, and we discarded the heavenlytheory.
"I suppose the truth of the matter is," suggested George, descending77 tothe commonplace and practicable, "that there has been an earthquake."And then he added, with a touch of sadness in his voice: "I wish hehadn't been carving that pie."With a sigh, we turned our eyes once more towards the spot where Harrisand the pie had last been seen on earth; and there, as our blood froze inour veins78 and our hair stood up on end, we saw Harris's head - andnothing but his head - sticking bolt upright among the tall grass, theface very red, and bearing upon it an expression of great indignation!
George was the first to recover.
"Speak!" he cried, "and tell us whether you are alive or dead - and whereis the rest of you?""Oh, don't be a stupid ass10!" said Harris's head. "I believe you did iton purpose.""Did what?" exclaimed George and I.
" Why, put me to sit here - darn silly trick! Here, catch hold of thepie."And out of the middle of the earth, as it seemed to us, rose the pie -very much mixed up and damaged; and, after it, scrambled79 Harris -tumbled, grubby, and wet.
He had been sitting, without knowing it, on the very verge80 of a smallgully, the long grass hiding it from view; and in leaning a little backhe had shot over, pie and all.
He said he had never felt so surprised in all his life, as when he firstfelt himself going, without being able to conjecture81 in the slightestwhat had happened. He thought at first that the end of the world hadcome.
Harris believes to this day that George and I planned it all beforehand.
Thus does unjust suspicion follow even the most blameless for, as thepoet says, "Who shall escape calumny82?"Who, indeed!
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monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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shameful
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imposing
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disappearance
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picturesque
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quaint
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standing
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din
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manor
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ass
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reign
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quarry
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scented
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vistas
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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tapestry
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beeches
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weir
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doorway
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monastery
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tunics
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spoke
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myriad
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genially
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pussy
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tickle
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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arcade
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| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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yelp
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| vi.狗吠 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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hearths
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| 壁炉前的地板，炉床，壁炉边( hearth的名词复数 ) | |
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fray
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| v.争吵；打斗；磨损，磨破；n.吵架；打斗 | |
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pandemonium
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| n.喧嚣，大混乱 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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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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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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marketing
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| n.行销，在市场的买卖，买东西 | |
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hamper
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| vt.妨碍，束缚，限制；n.(有盖的)大篮子 | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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blatant
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| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
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bumptiousness
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yearn
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| v.想念；怀念；渴望 | |
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hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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justifiable
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| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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cosily
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| adv.舒适地，惬意地 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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boors
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| n.农民( boor的名词复数 )；乡下佬；没礼貌的人；粗野的人 | |
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carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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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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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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calumny
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| n.诽谤，污蔑，中伤 | |
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