In Mrs. Peniston's youth, fashion had returned to town in October; therefore on the tenth day of the month the blinds of her Fifth Avenue residence were drawn1 up, and the eyes of the Dying Gladiator in bronze who occupied the drawing-room window resumed their survey of that deserted2 thoroughfare.
The first two weeks after her return represented to Mrs. Peniston the domestic equivalent of a religious retreat. She "went through" the linen3 and blankets in the precise spirit of the penitent4 exploring the inner folds of conscience; she sought for moths5 as the stricken soul seeks for lurking6 infirmities. The topmost shelf of every closet was made to yield up its secret, cellar and coal-bin were probed to their darkest depths and, as a final stage in the lustral rites7, the entire house was swathed in penitential white and deluged8 with expiatory9 soapsuds.
It was on this phase of the proceedings10 that Miss Bart entered on the afternoon of her return from the Van Osburgh wedding. The journey back to town had not been calculated to soothe11 her nerves. Though Evie Van Osburgh's engagement was still officially a secret, it was one of which the innumerable intimate friends of the family were already possessed12; and the trainful of returning guests buzzed with allusions13 and anticipations14. Lily was acutely aware of her own part in this drama of innuendo15: she knew the exact quality of the amusement the situation evoked16. The crude forms in which her friends took their pleasure included a loud enjoyment17 of such complications: the zest18 of surprising destiny in the act of playing a practical joke. Lily knew well enough how to bear herself in difficult situations. She had, to a shade, the exact manner between victory and defeat: every insinuation was shed without an effort by the bright indifference19 of her manner. But she was beginning to feel the strain of the attitude; the reaction was more rapid, and she lapsed21 to a deeper self-disgust.
As was always the case with her, this moral repulsion found a physical outlet22 in a quickened distaste for her surroundings. She revolted from the complacent23 ugliness of Mrs. Peniston's black walnut24, from the slippery gloss25 of the vestibule tiles, and the mingled26 odour of sapolio and furniture-polish that met her at the door.
The stairs were still carpetless, and on the way up to her room she was arrested on the landing by an encroaching tide of soapsuds. Gathering27 up her skirts, she drew aside with an impatient gesture; and as she did so she had the odd sensation of having already found herself in the same situation but in different surroundings. It seemed to her that she was again descending28 the staircase from Selden's rooms; and looking down to remonstrate29 with the dispenser of the soapy flood, she found herself met by a lifted stare which had once before confronted her under similar circumstances. It was the char-woman of the Benedick who, resting on crimson30 elbows, examined her with the same unflinching curiosity, the same apparent reluctance31 to let her pass. On this occasion, however, Miss Bart was on her own ground.
"Don't you see that I wish to go by? Please move your pail," she said sharply.
The woman at first seemed not to hear; then, without a word of excuse, she pushed back her pail and dragged a wet floor-cloth across the landing, keeping her eyes fixed32 on Lily while the latter swept by. It was insufferable that Mrs. Peniston should have such creatures about the house; and Lily entered her room resolved that the woman should be dismissed that evening.
Mrs. Peniston, however, was at the moment inaccessible33 to remonstrance34: since early morning she had been shut up with her maid, going over her furs, a process which formed the culminating episode in the drama of household renovation35. In the evening also Lily found herself alone, for her aunt, who rarely dined out, had responded to the summons of a Van Alstyne cousin who was passing through town. The house, in its state of unnatural36 immaculateness and order, was as dreary37 as a tomb, and as Lily, turning from her brief repast between shrouded38 sideboards, wandered into the newly-uncovered glare of the drawing-room she felt as though she were buried alive in the stifling39 limits of Mrs. Peniston's existence.
She usually contrived40 to avoid being at home during the season of domestic renewal41. On the present occasion, however, a variety of reasons had combined to bring her to town; and foremost among them was the fact that she had fewer invitations than usual for the autumn. She had so long been accustomed to pass from one country-house to another, till the close of the holidays brought her friends to town, that the unfilled gaps of time confronting her produced a sharp sense of waning42 popularity. It was as she had said to Selden--people were tired of her. They would welcome her in a new character, but as Miss Bart they knew her by heart. She knew herself by heart too, and was sick of the old story. There were moments when she longed blindly for anything different, anything strange, remote and untried; but the utmost reach of her imagination did not go beyond picturing her usual life in a new setting. She could not figure herself as anywhere but in a drawing-room, diffusing43 elegance44 as a flower sheds perfume.
Meanwhile, as October advanced she had to face the alternative of returning to the Trenors or joining her aunt in town. Even the desolating45 dulness of New York in October, and the soapy discomforts46 of Mrs. Peniston's interior, seemed preferable to what might await her at Bellomont; and with an air of heroic devotion she announced her intention of remaining with her aunt till the holidays.
Sacrifices of this nature are sometimes received with feelings as mixed as those which actuate them; and Mrs. Peniston remarked to her confidential47 maid that, if any of the family were to be with her at such a crisis (though for forty years she had been thought competent to see to the hanging of her own curtains), she would certainly have preferred Miss Grace to Miss Lily. Grace Stepney was an obscure cousin, of adaptable48 manners and vicarious interests, who "ran in" to sit with Mrs. Peniston when Lily dined out too continuously; who played bezique, picked up dropped stitches, read out the deaths from the Times, and sincerely admired the purple satin drawing-room curtains, the Dying Gladiator in the window, and the seven-by-five painting of Niagara which represented the one artistic49 excess of Mr. Peniston's temperate50 career.
Mrs. Peniston, under ordinary circumstances, was as much bored by her excellent cousin as the recipient51 of such services usually is by the person who performs them. She greatly preferred the brilliant and unreliable Lily, who did not know one end of a crochet-needle from the other, and had frequently wounded her susceptibilities by suggesting that the drawing-room should be "done over." But when it came to hunting for missing napkins, or helping52 to decide whether the backstairs needed re-carpeting, Grace's judgment53 was certainly sounder than Lily's: not to mention the fact that the latter resented the smell of beeswax and brown soap, and behaved as though she thought a house ought to keep clean of itself, without extraneous54 assistance.
Seated under the cheerless blaze of the drawing-room chandelier--Mrs. Peniston never lit the lamps unless there was "company"--Lily seemed to watch her own figure retreating down vistas55 of neutral-tinted dulness to a middle age like Grace Stepney's. When she ceased to amuse Judy Trenor and her friends she would have to fall back on amusing Mrs. Peniston; whichever way she looked she saw only a future of servitude to the whims57 of others, never the possibility of asserting her own eager individuality.
A ring at the door-bell, sounding emphatically through the empty house, roused her suddenly to the extent of her boredom58. It was as though all the weariness of the past months had culminated59 in the vacuity60 of that interminable evening. If only the ring meant a summons from the outer world--a token that she was still remembered and wanted!
After some delay a parlour-maid presented herself with the announcement that there was a person outside who was asking to see Miss Bart; and on Lily's pressing for a more specific description, she added:
"It's Mrs. Haffen, Miss; she won't say what she wants."
Lily, to whom the name conveyed nothing, opened the door upon a woman in a battered61 bonnet62, who stood firmly planted under the hall-light. The glare of the unshaded gas shone familiarly on her pock-marked face and the reddish baldness visible through thin strands63 of straw-coloured hair. Lily looked at the char-woman in surprise.
"Do you wish to see me?" she asked.
"I should like to say a word to you, Miss." The tone was neither aggressive nor conciliatory: it revealed nothing of the speaker's errand. Nevertheless, some precautionary instinct warned Lily to withdraw beyond ear-shot of the hovering64 parlour-maid.
She signed to Mrs. Haffen to follow her into the drawing-room, and closed the door when they had entered.
"What is it that you wish?" she enquired65.
The char-woman, after the manner of her kind, stood with her arms folded in her shawl. Unwinding the latter, she produced a small parcel wrapped in dirty newspaper.
"I have something here that you might like to see, Miss Bart." She spoke66 the name with an unpleasant emphasis, as though her knowing it made a part of her reason for being there. To Lily the intonation67 sounded like a threat.
"You have found something belonging to me?" she asked, extending her hand.
Mrs. Haffen drew back. "Well, if it comes to that, I guess it's mine as much as anybody's," she returned.
Lily looked at her perplexedly. She was sure, now, that her visitor's manner conveyed a threat; but, expert as she was in certain directions, there was nothing in her experience to prepare her for the exact significance of the present scene. She felt, however, that it must be ended as promptly68 as possible.
"I don't understand; if this parcel is not mine, why have you asked for me?"
The woman was unabashed by the question. She was evidently prepared to answer it, but like all her class she had to go a long way back to make a beginning, and it was only after a pause that she replied: "My husband was janitor69 to the Benedick till the first of the month; since then he can't get nothing to do."
Lily remained silent and she continued: "It wasn't no fault of our own, neither: the agent had another man he wanted the place for, and we was put out, bag and baggage, just to suit his fancy. I had a long sickness last winter, and an operation that ate up all we'd put by; and it's hard for me and the children, Haffen being so long out of a job."
After all, then, she had come only to ask Miss Bart to find a place for her husband; or, more probably, to seek the young lady's intervention70 with Mrs. Peniston. Lily had such an air of always getting what she wanted that she was used to being appealed to as an intermediary, and, relieved of her vague apprehension71, she took refuge in the conventional formula.
"I am sorry you have been in trouble," she said.
"Oh, that we have, Miss, and it's on'y just beginning. If on'y we'd 'a got another situation--but the agent, he's dead against us. It ain't no fault of ours, neither, but---"
At this point Lily's impatience72 overcame her. "If you have anything to say to me---" she interposed.
The woman's resentment73 of the rebuff seemed to spur her lagging ideas.
"Yes, Miss; I'm coming to that," she said. She paused again, with her eyes on Lily, and then continued, in a tone of diffuse74 narrative75: "When we was at the Benedick I had charge of some of the gentlemen's rooms; leastways, I swep' 'em out on Saturdays. Some of the gentlemen got the greatest sight of letters: I never saw the like of it. Their waste-paper baskets 'd be fairly brimming, and papers falling over on the floor. Maybe havin' so many is how they get so careless. Some of 'em is worse than others. Mr. Selden, Mr. Lawrence Selden, he was always one of the carefullest: burnt his letters in winter, and tore 'em in little bits in summer. But sometimes he'd have so many he'd just bunch 'em together, the way the others did, and tear the lot through once--like this."
While she spoke she had loosened the string from the parcel in her hand, and now she drew forth76 a letter which she laid on the table between Miss Bart and herself. As she had said, the letter was torn in two; but with a rapid gesture she laid the torn edges together and smoothed out the page.
A wave of indignation swept over Lily. She felt herself in the presence of something vile77, as yet but dimly conjectured79--the kind of vileness80 of which people whispered, but which she had never thought of as touching81 her own life. She drew back with a motion of disgust, but her withdrawal82 was checked by a sudden discovery: under the glare of Mrs. Peniston's chandelier she had recognized the hand-writing of the letter. It was a large disjointed hand, with a flourish of masculinity which but slightly disguised its rambling83 weakness, and the words, scrawled84 in heavy ink on pale-tinted notepaper, smote85 on Lily's ear as though she had heard them spoken.
At first she did not grasp the full import of the situation. She understood only that before her lay a letter written by Bertha Dorset, and addressed, presumably, to Lawrence Selden. There was no date, but the blackness of the ink proved the writing to be comparatively recent. The packet in Mrs. Haffen's hand doubtless contained more letters of the same kind--a dozen, Lily conjectured from its thickness. The letter before her was short, but its few words, which had leapt into her brain before she was conscious of reading them, told a long history--a history over which, for the last four years, the friends of the writer had smiled and shrugged86, viewing it merely as one among the countless87 "good situations" of the mundane88 comedy. Now the other side presented itself to Lily, the volcanic89 nether90 side of the surface over which conjecture78 and innuendo glide91 so lightly till the first fissure92 turns their whisper to a shriek93. Lily knew that there is nothing society resents so much as having given its protection to those who have not known how to profit by it: it is for having betrayed its connivance94 that the body social punishes the offender95 who is found out. And in this case there was no doubt of the issue. The code of Lily's world decreed that a woman's husband should be the only judge of her conduct: she was technically96 above suspicion while she had the shelter of his approval, or even of his indifference. But with a man of George Dorset's temper there could be no thought of condonation--the possessor of his wife's letters could overthrow97 with a touch the whole structure of her existence. And into what hands Bertha Dorset's secret had been delivered! For a moment the irony98 of the coincidence tinged99 Lily's disgust with a confused sense of triumph. But the disgust prevailed--all her instinctive100 resistances, of taste, of training, of blind inherited scruples101, rose against the other feeling. Her strongest sense was one of personal contamination.
She moved away, as though to put as much distance as possible between herself and her visitor. "I know nothing of these letters," she said; "I have no idea why you have brought them here."
Mrs. Haffen faced her steadily102. "I'll tell you why, Miss. I brought 'em to you to sell, because I ain't got no other way of raising money, and if we don't pay our rent by tomorrow night we'll be put out. I never done anythin' of the kind before, and if you'd speak to Mr. Selden or to Mr. Rosedale about getting Haffen taken on again at the Benedick--I seen you talking to Mr. Rosedale on the steps that day you come out of Mr. Selden's rooms---"
The blood rushed to Lily's forehead. She understood now--Mrs. Haffen supposed her to be the writer of the letters. In the first leap of her anger she was about to ring and order the woman out; but an obscure impulse restrained her. The mention of Selden's name had started a new train of thought. Bertha Dorset's letters were nothing to her--they might go where the current of chance carried them! But Selden was inextricably involved in their fate. Men do not, at worst, suffer much from such exposure; and in this instance the flash of divination103 which had carried the meaning of the letters to Lily's brain had revealed also that they were appeals--repeated and therefore probably unanswered--for the renewal of a tie which time had evidently relaxed. Nevertheless, the fact that the correspondence had been allowed to fall into strange hands would convict Selden of negligence104 in a matter where the world holds it least pardonable; and there were graver risks to consider where a man of Dorset's ticklish105 balance was concerned.
If she weighed all these things it was unconsciously: she was aware only of feeling that Selden would wish the letters rescued, and that therefore she must obtain possession of them. Beyond that her mind did not travel. She had, indeed, a quick vision of returning the packet to Bertha Dorset, and of the opportunities the restitution106 offered; but this thought lit up abysses from which she shrank back ashamed.
Meanwhile Mrs. Haffen, prompt to perceive her hesitation107, had already opened the packet and ranged its contents on the table. All the letters had been pieced together with strips of thin paper. Some were in small fragments, the others merely tom in half. Though there were not many, thus spread out they nearly covered the table. Lily's glance fell on a word here and there--then she said in a low voice: "What do you wish me to pay you?"
Mrs. Haffen's face reddened with satisfaction. It was clear that the young lady was badly frightened, and Mrs. Haffen was the woman to make the most of such fears. Anticipating an easier victory than she had foreseen, she named an exorbitant108 sum.
But Miss Bart showed herself a less ready prey109 than might have been expected from her imprudent opening. She refused to pay the price named, and after a moment's hesitation, met it by a counter-offer of half the amount.
Mrs. Haffen immediately stiffened111. Her hand travelled toward the outspread letters, and folding them slowly, she made as though to restore them to their wrapping.
"I guess they're worth more to you than to me, Miss, but the poor has got to live as well as the rich," she observed sententiously.
Lily was throbbing112 with fear, but the insinuation fortified113 her resistance.
"You are mistaken," she said indifferently. "I have offered all I am willing to give for the letters; but there may be other ways of getting them."
Mrs. Haffen raised a suspicious glance: she was too experienced not to know that the traffic she was engaged in had perils114 as great as its rewards, and she had a vision of the elaborate machinery115 of revenge which a word of this commanding young lady's might set in motion.
She applied116 the corner of her shawl to her eyes, and murmured through it that no good came of bearing too hard on the poor, but that for her part she had never been mixed up in such a business before, and that on her honour as a Christian117 all she and Haffen had thought of was that the letters mustn't go any farther.
Lily stood motionless, keeping between herself and the char-woman the greatest distance compatible with the need of speaking in low tones. The idea of bargaining for the letters was intolerable to her, but she knew that, if she appeared to weaken, Mrs. Haffen would at once increase her original demand.
She could never afterward118 recall how long the duel119 lasted, or what was the decisive stroke which finally, after a lapse20 of time recorded in minutes by the clock, in hours by the precipitate120 beat of her pulses, put her in possession of the letters; she knew only that the door had finally closed, and that she stood alone with the packet in her hand.
She had no idea of reading the letters; even to unfold Mrs. Haffen's dirty newspaper would have seemed degrading. But what did she intend to do with its contents? The recipient of the letters had meant to destroy them, and it was her duty to carry out his intention. She had no right to keep them--to do so was to lessen121 whatever merit lay in having secured their possession. But how destroy them so effectually that there should be no second risk of their falling in such hands? Mrs. Peniston's icy drawing-room grate shone with a forbidding lustre122: the fire, like the lamps, was never lit except when there was company.
Miss Bart was turning to carry the letters upstairs when she heard the opening of the outer door, and her aunt entered the drawing-room. Mrs. Peniston was a small plump woman, with a colourless skin lined with trivial wrinkles. Her grey hair was arranged with precision, and her clothes looked excessively new and yet slightly old-fashioned. They were always black and tightly fitting, with an expensive glitter: she was the kind of woman who wore jet at breakfast. Lily had never seen her when she was not cuirassed in shining black, with small tight boots, and an air of being packed and ready to start; yet she never started.
She looked about the drawing-room with an expression of minute scrutiny123. "I saw a streak124 of light under one of the blinds as I drove up: it's extraordinary that I can never teach that woman to draw them down evenly."
Having corrected the irregularity, she seated herself on one of the glossy125 purple arm-chairs; Mrs. Peniston always sat on a chair, never in it.
Then she turned her glance to Miss Bart. "My dear, you look tired; I suppose it's the excitement of the wedding. Cornelia Van Alstyne was full of it: Molly was there, and Gerty Farish ran in for a minute to tell us about it. I think it was odd, their serving melons before the CONSOMME: a wedding breakfast should always begin with CONSOMME. Molly didn't care for the bridesmaids' dresses. She had it straight from Julia Melson that they cost three hundred dollars apiece at Celeste's, but she says they didn't look it. I'm glad you decided126 not to be a bridesmaid; that shade of salmon-pink wouldn't have suited you." Mrs. Peniston delighted in discussing the minutest details of festivities in which she had not taken part. Nothing would have induced her to undergo the exertion127 and fatigue128 of attending the Van Osburgh wedding, but so great was her interest in the event that, having heard two versions of it, she now prepared to extract a third from her niece. Lily, however, had been deplorably careless in noting the particulars of the entertainment. She had failed to observe the colour of Mrs. Van Osburgh's gown, and could not even say whether the old Van Osburgh Sevres had been used at the bride's table: Mrs. Peniston, in short, found that she was of more service as a listener than as a narrator.
"Really, Lily, I don't see why you took the trouble to go to the wedding, if you don't remember what happened or whom you saw there. When I was a girl I used to keep the MENU of every dinner I went to, and write the names of the people on the back; and I never threw away my cotillion favours till after your uncle's death, when it seemed unsuitable to have so many coloured things about the house. I had a whole closet-full, I remember; and I can tell to this day what balls I got them at. Molly Van Alstyne reminds me of what I was at that age; it's wonderful how she notices. She was able to tell her mother exactly how the wedding-dress was cut, and we knew at once, from the fold in the back, that it must have come from Paquin."
Mrs. Peniston rose abruptly129, and, advancing to the ormolu clock surmounted130 by a helmeted Minerva, which throned on the chimney-piece between two malachite vases, passed her lace handkerchief between the helmet and its visor.
"I knew it--the parlour-maid never dusts there!" she exclaimed, triumphantly131 displaying a minute spot on the handkerchief; then, reseating herself, she went on: "Molly thought Mrs. Dorset the best-dressed woman at the wedding. I've no doubt her dress DID cost more than any one else's, but I can't quite like the idea--a combination of sable132 and POINT DE MILAN. It seems she goes to a new man in Paris, who won't take an order till his client has spent a day with him at his villa133 at Neuilly. He says he must study his subject's home life--a most peculiar134 arrangement, I should say! But Mrs. Dorset told Molly about it herself: she said the villa was full of the most exquisite135 things and she was really sorry to leave. Molly said she never saw her looking better; she was in tremendous spirits, and said she had made a match between Evie Van Osburgh and Percy Gryce. She really seems to have a very good influence on young men. I hear she is interesting herself now in that silly Silverton boy, who has had his head turned by Carry Fisher, and has been gambling136 so dreadfully. Well, as I was saying, Evie is really engaged: Mrs. Dorset had her to stay with Percy Gryce, and managed it all, and Grace Van Osburgh is in the seventh heaven--she had almost despaired of marrying Evie."
Mrs. Peniston again paused, but this time her scrutiny addressed itself, not to the furniture, but to her niece.
"Cornelia Van Alstyne was so surprised: she had heard that you were to marry young Gryce. She saw the Wetheralls just after they had stopped with you at Bellomont, and Alice Wetherall was quite sure there was an engagement. She said that when Mr. Gryce left unexpectedly one morning, they all thought he had rushed to town for the ring."
Lily rose and moved toward the door.
"I believe I AM tired: I think I will go to bed," she said; and Mrs. Peniston, suddenly distracted by the discovery that the easel sustaining the late Mr. Peniston's crayon-portrait was not exactly in line with the sofa in front of it, presented an absent-minded brow to her kiss.
In her own room Lily turned up the gas-jet and glanced toward the grate. It was as brilliantly polished as the one below, but here at least she could burn a few papers with less risk of incurring137 her aunt's disapproval138. She made no immediate110 motion to do so, however, but dropping into a chair looked wearily about her. Her room was large and comfortably-furnished--it was the envy and admiration139 of poor Grace Stepney, who boarded; but, contrasted with the light tints140 and luxurious141 appointments of the guest-rooms where so many weeks of Lily's existence were spent, it seemed as dreary as a prison. The monumental wardrobe and bedstead of black walnut had migrated from Mr. Peniston's bedroom, and the magenta142 "flock" wall-paper, of a pattern dear to the early 'sixties, was hung with large steel engravings of an anecdotic character. Lily had tried to mitigate143 this charmless background by a few frivolous144 touches, in the shape of a lace-decked toilet table and a little painted desk surmounted by photographs; but the futility145 of the attempt struck her as she looked about the room. What a contrast to the subtle elegance of the setting she had pictured for herself--an apartment which should surpass the complicated luxury of her friends' surroundings by the whole extent of that artistic sensibility which made her feel herself their superior; in which every tint56 and line should combine to enhance her beauty and give distinction to her leisure! Once more the haunting sense of physical ugliness was intensified146 by her mental depression, so that each piece of the offending furniture seemed to thrust forth its most aggressive angle.
Her aunt's words had told her nothing new; but they had revived the vision of Bertha Dorset, smiling, flattered, victorious147, holding her up to ridicule148 by insinuations intelligible149 to every member of their little group. The thought of the ridicule struck deeper than any other sensation: Lily knew every turn of the allusive150 jargon151 which could flay152 its victims without the shedding of blood. Her cheek burned at the recollection, and she rose and caught up the letters. She no longer meant to destroy them: that intention had been effaced153 by the quick corrosion154 of Mrs. Peniston's words.
Instead, she approached her desk, and lighting155 a taper156, tied and sealed the packet; then she opened the wardrobe, drew out a despatch-box, and deposited the letters within it. As she did so, it struck her with a flash of irony that she was indebted to Gus Trenor for the means of buying them.
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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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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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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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penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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deluged
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| v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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expiatory
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| adj.赎罪的，补偿的 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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innuendo
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| n.暗指，讽刺 | |
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evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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24
walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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25
gloss
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| n.光泽，光滑；虚饰；注释；vt.加光泽于；掩饰 | |
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26
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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27
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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28
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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29
remonstrate
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| v.抗议，规劝 | |
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30
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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31
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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32
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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33
inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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34
remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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35
renovation
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| n.革新，整修 | |
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36
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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37
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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38
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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39
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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40
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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41
renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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42
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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43
diffusing
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| （使光）模糊，漫射，漫散( diffuse的现在分词 )； （使）扩散； （使）弥漫； （使）传播 | |
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44
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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45
desolating
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| 毁坏( desolate的现在分词 )； 极大地破坏； 使沮丧； 使痛苦 | |
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46
discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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48
adaptable
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| adj.能适应的，适应性强的，可改编的 | |
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49
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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50
temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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51
recipient
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| a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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52
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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53
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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54
extraneous
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| adj.体外的；外来的；外部的 | |
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55
vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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56
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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57
WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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58
boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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59
culminated
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| v.达到极点( culminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
vacuity
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| n.(想象力等)贫乏，无聊，空白 | |
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61
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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62
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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63
strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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64
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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65
enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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66
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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67
intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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68
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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69
janitor
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| n.看门人，管门人 | |
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70
intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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71
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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72
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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73
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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74
diffuse
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| v.扩散；传播；adj.冗长的；四散的，弥漫的 | |
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75
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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76
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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77
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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78
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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79
conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
vileness
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| n.讨厌，卑劣 | |
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81
touching
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|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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82
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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83
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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84
scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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86
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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87
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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88
mundane
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|
| adj.平凡的；尘世的；宇宙的 | |
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89
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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90
nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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91
glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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92
fissure
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| n.裂缝；裂伤 | |
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93
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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94
connivance
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| n.纵容；默许 | |
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95
offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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96
technically
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| adv.专门地，技术上地 | |
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97
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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98
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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99
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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101
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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102
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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103
divination
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| n.占卜，预测 | |
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104
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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105
ticklish
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|
| adj.怕痒的；问题棘手的；adv.怕痒地；n.怕痒，小心处理 | |
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106
restitution
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| n.赔偿；恢复原状 | |
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107
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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108
exorbitant
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| adj.过分的；过度的 | |
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109
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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110
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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111
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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112
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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113
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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114
perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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115
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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116
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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117
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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118
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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119
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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120
precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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121
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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122
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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123
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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124
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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125
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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126
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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127
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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128
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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129
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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130
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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131
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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132
sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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133
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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134
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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135
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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136
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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137
incurring
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| 遭受，招致，引起( incur的现在分词 ) | |
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138
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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139
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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140
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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141
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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142
magenta
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| n..紫红色（的染料）；adj.紫红色的 | |
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143
mitigate
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| vt.（使）减轻，（使）缓和 | |
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144
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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145
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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146
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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147
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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148
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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149
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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150
allusive
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| adj.暗示的；引用典故的 | |
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151
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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152
flay
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| vt.剥皮；痛骂 | |
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153
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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154
corrosion
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| n.腐蚀，侵蚀；渐渐毁坏，渐衰 | |
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155
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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156
taper
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| n.小蜡烛，尖细，渐弱；adj.尖细的；v.逐渐变小 | |
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