PROTECTED BY THE TREE OF ANGELS AND BY the photo of the unknown pretty lady, Fric woke unharmed, with his body and soul intact.
Over the center of the library, the elaborate stained-glass dome1 brightened with the dawn, but the colors were muted because the early light fell weak and gray.
After studying the photograph of his dream mother for a moment, Fric folded it and returned it to a back pocket of his jeans.
He got up from the armchair. He yawned and stretched. He took a moment to be amazed that he was alive.
At the back of the library, he removed the bracing3 chair from under the knob of the powder-room door. He did not, however, enter that mirrored space to use the facilities.
Following a quick look around to be certain that he remained unobserved, he peed on the potted palm that he had begun to kill the previous evening. The experience was satisfying for him, but surely not for the tree.
He could think of no water closet in the mansion4 that could be reached without going through a bathroom with mirrors.
This unconventional toileting would be all right for a while, but [335] only as long as he could stand up to do what needed to be done. The moment sitting was required, he would be in trouble.
If the rain ended at last—or if it didn’t—he might venture outside to the grouping of deodar cedars5 beyond the rose garden. There he could do what bears did in the woods, by which he didn’t mean hibernate6 or guzzle7 honey from bee hives.
Security guards would see him going to and from the cedars. Fortunately, no cameras were positioned inside that little grove8.
If anyone asked why he’d gone out in the rain to the woods, he would say without hesitation9 that he’d been bird watching. He must remember to take with him a pair of binoculars10 for cover.
No one would doubt his story. People expected a geeky-looking kid like him to be a bird watcher, a math whiz, a builder of plastic model-kit monsters, a secret reader of body-building magazines, and a collector of his own boogers, among other things.
With his toilet strategy now devised, he plugged in the library phone, which he had unplugged the previous night. He expected his line to ring at once, but it didn’t.
He dragged the armchair away from the Christmas tree and returned it to its proper position. After turning out the lights, he left the library.
As he closed the door, some of the dangling11 angels glimmered12 softly in the gloom, barely touched by storm light filtering through the stained-glass dome.
Moloch was coming.
Preparations must be made.
He went down the main stairs, across the rotunda13, and along the hall to the kitchen. En route, he switched off the lights that he had left on during the night.
The post-dawn stillness in the great house was deeper even than the silence that, during the long night, had made it seem like such a perfect haunt for ghosts of all intentions.
In the kitchen, passing a window, he noticed a lull14 in the rain, and [336] he glimpsed the grove of cedars in the distance. At the moment, however, he felt no urge to engage in any bird watching.
Usually Fric avoided the kitchen on days when Mr. Hachette, the diabolical15 chef, was on the job. Here be the lair16 of the beast, where the many ovens could not help but bring to mind Hansel and Gretel and their close call, where you were reminded that a rolling pin was also a wicked bludgeon, where you expected to discover that the knives and the cleavers17 and the meat forks were engraved18 with the words PROPERTY OF THE BATES MOTEL.
This morning, the territory was safe because Mr. Hachette—late of the Cordon19 Bleu school of culinary arts and more recently released from an equally prestigious20 asylum—would not be present to prepare breakfast for either family or staff. He would begin his day skulking21 from the farmers’ market to a series of specialty22 shops, selecting—and arranging for the delivery of—the fruits, vegetables, meats, delicacies23, and no doubt poisons needed to prepare the series of holiday feasts that he had planned with his usual sinister24 secrecy25. Mr. Hachette would not arrive at Palazzo Rospo before noon.
Although short, Fric could nevertheless reach the faucets26 at the kitchen sink. He adjusted the water until it was pleasantly warm.
If the kitchen had featured a mirror, he wouldn’t have dared to bathe here. You were so vulnerable when you were taking a bath, all defenses down.
The stainless-steel fronts of the six refrigerators and the numerous ovens had a brushed rather than a polished finish. They didn’t serve as mirrors and were therefore unlikely to offer cheap and easy travel to spirits good or evil.
Fric stripped off his shirt and undershirt, but nothing more. He was not an exhibitionist. Even if he had been an exhibitionist, the kitchen didn’t seem like a suitable place to exhibit.
Using paper towels and lemon-scented ooze28 from the liquid-soap dispenser, he washed his arms and upper body, with special attention to his armpits. He used more paper towels to rinse29 and dry himself.
[337] No sooner had he shut off the water and finished blotting30 his torso than he heard someone approaching. The footsteps came not from the hall but through the butler’s pantry, where the china, crystal, and fine silverware were stored.
Grabbing his shirt and undershirt, Fric dropped to the floor and crawled as fast as a skittering skink, away from the butler’s pantry and around the corner of the nearest of three granite-topped center islands.
Atop this particular island were four deep-well French fryers, a griddle large enough to prepare two dozen pancakes side by side, and an acre of work surface. Cowering31 here, discovered by a grinning Mr. Hachette, Fric could be skinned, gutted32, French fried, and eaten while the few people currently in the house snoozed on undisturbed, blissfully unaware34 that an extraterrestrial gourmet35 was whipping up a grisly breakfast for itself.
When he dared peek36 around the corner of the island, he saw not Mr. Hachette but Mrs. McBee.
He was doomed37.
Mrs. McBee had dressed for her early-morning drive to Santa Barbara. She crossed the kitchen to her office, entered, and left the door standing38 open behind her.
She would smell Fric. Smell him, hear him, sense him somehow. She would discover the water beaded in the sink, would open the trash compactor and see the damp paper towels, and would instantly know what he’d done and where he now hid.
Nothing escaped the notice of Mrs. McBee or foiled her powers of deduction39.
She would not gut33 him and French fry him, of course, because she was a good person and entirely40 human. Instead she would insist upon knowing why he was stripped to the waist in the kitchen, freshly washed, and looking as guilty as a stupid cat with canary crumbs41 on its lips.
Because she was Ghost Dad’s employee, Fric could have made the [338] argument that technically42 she worked for him, too, and that he didn’t have to answer her questions. If he resorted to that argument, he would be in deep meide, as Mr. Hachette would say with glee. Mrs. McBee knew that she served in loco parentis, and while she was not quite power mad with that authority, she took it seriously.
Whether Fric concocted43 a false explanation or tried to get away with telling only part of the truth, Mrs. McBee would see through his deception44 as clearly as he himself could see through a window, and she would intuitively know everything that he’d been up to at least since he’d awakened45 in the armchair. Twenty seconds later, with one of his ears pinched firmly between the thumb and forefinger46 of Mrs. McBee’s right hand, he would find himself standing before the potted palm in the library, sweating like a lowlife scumbag as he tried to explain why he had attempted to assassinate47 the plant with a double volley of urine.
Minutes thereafter, she would have succeeded in getting him to spill the entire story from Moloch to mirror man to the phone call from Hell. Then there would be no going back.
Even Mrs. McBee, with her scary ability to see through any lie or evasion48, would not recognize the truth in this case. His story was too outrageous49 to be believed. He would sound like a bigger lunatic than any of the uncountable entertainment-industry lunatics who, on visiting Palazzo Rospo, had astonished Mrs. McBee with their lunacy during the past six years.
He didn’t want Mrs. McBee to be disappointed in him or to think that he was mentally deranged51. Her opinion of Fric mattered to him.
Besides, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that if he tried to convince anyone that he was in communication with a mirror-traveling guardian52 angel, he’d be hand-carried into a group-therapy session. The group would be six psychiatrists53 and he would be the only patient.
Ghost Dad was almost as big on shrinks as he was on spiritual advisers54.
[339] Now Mrs. McBee stepped out of her office, closed the door, and paused to look around the kitchen.
Fric ducked back behind the fryer-and-griddle island. He held his breath. He wished that he could as easily close down his pores and prevent them from spewing out his scent27.
The main kitchen was not quite a maze2 to rival the labyrinth55 of memorabilia in the attic56, though it boasted not only six large Sub-Zero refrigerators but also two upright freezers, more ovens of more types than you would find in a bakery, three widely separated cooking areas with a total of twenty high-intensity gas burners, a planning station, a baking station, a clean-up station with four sinks and four dishwashers, three islands, prep tables, and a shitload of restaurant-quality equipment.
A Beverly Hills caterer57 and forty of his employees could work here with Mr. Hachette and the household staff, with little sense of being crowded. At a party, they prepared, plated, and served three hundred sit-down dinners, on a timely basis, from this space. Fric had seen it happen many times, and it never failed to dazzle him.
If two or even three ordinary people had set out to search the kitchen for him, Fric’s chances of eluding58 them would have been good. Mrs. McBee was in no way ordinary.
Holding his breath, he thought that he could hear her sniffing59 the air. Fee-fie-fo-fum.
He was glad that he had not turned on the kitchen lights, though she was certain to smell the fresh water that remained in the central sink.
Footsteps.
Fric almost bolted to his feet, almost announced his presence, which seemed a wiser course of action than waiting here to be found lurking60 like a sleazeball criminal, stripped to the waist and clearly up to no good.
Then he realized the footsteps were moving away from him.
He heard the butler’s-pantry door swing shut.
[340] The footsteps faded into silence.
Stunned61 and strangely dismayed to discover that Mrs. McBee was fallible, Fric breathed again.
After a while, he crept to the hall door, which he cracked open. He stood listening.
When he heard the distant hum of the service elevator, he knew that Mrs. McBee and Mr. McBee were descending62 to the lower garage. Soon they would be off to Santa Barbara.
He waited a few minutes before he ventured from the kitchen to the laundry room in the nearby west wing, which also contained the McBees’ apartment.
Whereas the kitchen was gigantic, the laundry was only huge.
He liked the smell of this place. Detergent63, bleach64, starch65, the lingering scent of hot cotton under a steam iron ...
Fric would happily have worn the same jeans and shirt a second day. But he worried that Mr. Truman might notice, and inquire.
Mrs. McBee would have noticed in an instant. She would have insisted on knowing the reason for this slovenliness66.
Mr. Truman couldn’t help but be slower on the uptake than Mrs. McBee. Still, he was an ex-cop, so he wouldn’t long overlook day-old, dirty, rumpled67 clothes.
The possibility might be slim that something evil and supremely68 slimy was waiting for Fric in his suite69, but he didn’t intend to find out anytime soon. He would not return there to change clothes.
Monday had been a scheduled wash day. Mrs. Carstairs, one of the day maids and in fact the laundress, processed laundry one day and returned it promptly70 to family members and to staff the following morning.
Fric found his pressed blue jeans, pants, and shirts hanging from a cart similar to those with which hotel bellmen move suit bags and luggage. His folded underwear and socks were arranged under the hanging items, on the bed of the cart.
Red-faced, feeling like a pervert71 for sure, he stripped naked right there in the laundry. He changed into fresh underwear, jeans, and a [341] blue-and-green checkered72 flannel73 shirt with a straight-cut tail that allowed it to be worn out, Hawaiian style.
He transferred his wallet and the folded photograph from his old jeans before dropping the soiled garments into the collection basket under the laundry chiite that served the second and third floors.
Emboldened74 by having successfully toileted, bathed, and changed clothes under these desperate wartime conditions, Fric returned to the kitchen.
He entered cautiously, expecting to find Mrs. McBee waiting for him: Ah, laddie, did ya truly think I was such a fool as to be that easily deceived!
She had not returned.
From the appliance pantry, he fetched a small stainless-steel cart with two shelves. He traveled the kitchen, loading the cart with items that he would need in his deep and special secret place.
He considered including a six-pack of Coke among his provisions, but warm cola didn’t taste good. Instead, he selected a four-pack of Stewart’s Diet Orange ’N Cream soda75, which was fabulous76 even at room temperature, and six twelve-ounce bottles of water.
After he put a few apples and a bag of pretzels on the cart, he realized his mistake. When hiding from a demented psycho killer77 who had the sharply honed senses of a stalking panther, eating noisy food was no wiser than singing Christmas songs to pass the time.
Fric replaced the apples and pretzels with bananas, a box of chocolate-covered doughnuts, and several chewy granola bars.
He added a quart-size Hefty OneZip plastic bag in which to store the peels after he ate the fruit. Left in the open air, peels would give off an intense banana scent as they darkened. According to the movies, every serial78 killer had a sense of smell keener than that of a wolf. Banana peels might be the death of Fric if he didn’t stow them in an airtight container.
A roll of paper towels. Several foil-wrapped moist towelettes. Even in hiding, he would want to be neat.
[342] From a cupboard filled with Rubbermaid containers, he chose a pair of one-quart, soft-plastic jars with screw-on lids. They would serve in place of the library palm tree.
Mr. Hachette, being a deeply unstable79 person, had stocked the kitchen with ten times more cutlery than would ever be needed even if the entire staff developed knife-throwing acts and ran off to work in carnival80 sideshows. Three wall racks and four drawers offered enough blades to arm the entire coconut-rich nation of Tuvalu.
Fric selected a butcher knife. Proportionate to his size, the blade was as large as a machete—scary to look at, but unwieldy.
Instead, he chose a smaller but formidable knife with a six-inch blade, a wickedly pointed50 tip, and an edge sharp enough to split a human hair. The thought of cutting a person with it made him queasy81.
He put the knife on the lower shelf of the cart and covered it with a dishtowel.
For the time being, he could think of nothing additional that he needed from the kitchen. Mr. Hachette—busy shopping and no doubt also shedding his skin for a new set of scales—wasn’t due to slither back to Palazzo Rospo for hours yet, but Fric remained eager to get out of the chef’s domain82.
Using the service elevator would be too dangerous because it was in the west wing, not far from Mr. Truman’s apartment. He hoped to avoid the security chief. The public elevator, toward the east end of the north hall, would be safer.
In sudden guilty haste, he pushed the cart through the swinging door into the hallway, turned right, and nearly collided with Mr. Truman.
“You’re up early this morning, Fric.”
“Ummm, things to do, things, you know, ummm,” Fric muttered, silently cursing himself for sounding devious83, guilty, and more than a little like an absentminded Hobbit.
“What’s all this?” Mr. Truman asked, indicating the stuff piled on the cart.
[343] “Yeah. For my room, things I need, you know, stuff for my room.” Fric shamed himself; he was pathetic, transparent84, stupid. “Just some soda and snacks and stuff,” he added, and he wanted to smack85 himself upside the head.
“You’re going to put one of the maids out of work.”
“Gee, no, that’s not what I want.” Shut up, shut up, shut up! he warned himself, yet he couldn’t resist adding, “I like the maids.”
“Are you all right, Fric?”
“Sure. I’m all right. Are you all right?”
Frowning at the items on the cart, Mr. Truman said, “I’d like to talk to you a little more about those calls.”
Glad that he had covered the knife with a dishtowel, Fric said, “What calls?”
“From the heavy breather.”
“Oh. Yeah. The breather.”
“Are you sure he didn’t say anything to you?”
“Breathed. He just, you know, breathed.”
“The odd thing is—none of the calls you told me about are on the computerized telephone log.”
Well, of course, now that Fric understood these calls were being made by a supernatural, mirror-walking being who referred to himself as a guardian angel and who only used the idea of a telephone, he was not surprised that they weren’t recorded as entries in the log. He also wasn’t any longer puzzled about why Mr. Truman hadn’t picked up on the call the previous night, even though it had rung just about forever: Mysterious Caller always knew where Fric was—train room, wine cellar, library—and using his uncanny powers and only the idea of a phone, he made Fric’s line ring not throughout the house but only in the room where Fric could hear it.
Fric longed to explain this crazy situation to Mr. Truman and to reveal all the weird86 events of the previous evening. Even as he worked up the courage to spill his guts87, however, he thought of the six psychiatrists who would be eager to earn hundreds of thousands of bucks88 [344] by keeping him on a couch, talking about the stress of being the only child of the biggest movie star in the world, until he either exploded into bloody89 pieces or escaped to Goose Crotch.
“Don’t get me wrong, Fric. I’m not saying you invented those calls. In fact, I’m sure you didn’t.”
Clenched90 tightly around the cart handle, Fric’s hands had grown damp. He blotted91 them on his pants—and realized that he should not have done so. Every crummy, sleazy criminal in the world probably got sweaty palms in the presence of a cop.
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Mr. Truman continued, “because last night someone rang me up on one of my private lines, and it didn’t show on the log, either.”
Surprised by this news, Fric stopped blotting his hands and said, “You heard from the breather?”
“Not the breather, no. Someone else.”
“Who?”
“Probably a wrong number.”
Fric looked at the security chief’s hands. He couldn’t tell whether or not they were sweaty.
“Evidently,” Mr. Truman continued, “something’s wrong with the telephone-log software.”
“Unless he’s like a ghost or something,” Fric blurted92.
The expression that crossed Mr. Truman’s face was hard to read. He said, “Ghost? What makes you say that?”
On the trembling edge of divulging93 all, Fric remembered that his mother had once been in a booby hatch. She had stayed there only ten days, and she hadn’t been chop-’em-up-with-an-ax crazy or anything as bad as that.
Nevertheless, if Fric started babbling94 about recent freaky events, Mr. Truman would surely recall that Freddie Nielander had spent some time in a clinic for the temporarily wacko. He would think, Like mother, like son.
For sure, he would immediately contact the biggest movie star in [345] the world on location in Florida. Then Ghost Dad would send in a powerful SWAT team of psychiatrists.
“Fric,” Mr. Truman pressed, “what did you mean—ghost?”
Shoveling manure95 over the seed of truth that he’d spoken, hoping to grow a half-convincing lie from it, Fric said, “Well, you know, my dad keeps a special phone for messages from ghosts. I just meant like maybe one of them called the wrong line.”
Mr. Truman stared at him as though trying to decide whether he could be as stupid as he was pretending to be.
Not as great an actor as his father, Fric knew he couldn’t long stand up to interrogation by an ex-cop. He was so nervous that in a minute he’d need to take a leak in one of the Rubbermaid jars.
“Ummm, well, gotta go, things to do, things up in my room, you know,” he muttered, once more sounding like a cousin from the feeble-minded branch of the Hobbit clan96.
He swung the cart around Mr. Truman and pushed it east along the main hall. He didn’t look back.
收听单词发音 |
1
dome
|
|
| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
maze
|
|
| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
bracing
|
|
| adj.令人振奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
mansion
|
|
| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
cedars
|
|
| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
hibernate
|
|
| v.冬眠，蛰伏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
guzzle
|
|
| v.狂饮，暴食 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
grove
|
|
| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
binoculars
|
|
| n.双筒望远镜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
dangling
|
|
| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
glimmered
|
|
| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
rotunda
|
|
| n.圆形建筑物；圆厅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
lull
|
|
| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
diabolical
|
|
| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
lair
|
|
| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
cleavers
|
|
| n.猪殃殃（其茎、实均有钩刺）；砍肉刀，剁肉刀( cleaver的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
engraved
|
|
| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
cordon
|
|
| n.警戒线，哨兵线 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
prestigious
|
|
| adj.有威望的，有声望的，受尊敬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
skulking
|
|
| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
specialty
|
|
| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
delicacies
|
|
| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
sinister
|
|
| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
secrecy
|
|
| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
faucets
|
|
| n.水龙头( faucet的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
scent
|
|
| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
ooze
|
|
| n.软泥，渗出物；vi.渗出，泄漏；vt.慢慢渗出，流露 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
rinse
|
|
| v.用清水漂洗，用清水冲洗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
blotting
|
|
| 吸墨水纸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
cowering
|
|
| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
gutted
|
|
| adj.容易消化的v.毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的过去式和过去分词 )；取出…的内脏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
gut
|
|
| n.[pl.]胆量；内脏；adj.本能的；vt.取出内脏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
unaware
|
|
| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
gourmet
|
|
| n.食物品尝家；adj.出于美食家之手的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
peek
|
|
| vi.偷看，窥视；n.偷偷的一看，一瞥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
doomed
|
|
| 命定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
deduction
|
|
| n.减除，扣除，减除额；推论，推理，演绎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
crumbs
|
|
| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
technically
|
|
| adv.专门地，技术上地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
concocted
|
|
| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的过去式和过去分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
deception
|
|
| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
forefinger
|
|
| n.食指 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
assassinate
|
|
| vt.暗杀，行刺，中伤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
evasion
|
|
| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
outrageous
|
|
| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
deranged
|
|
| adj.疯狂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
guardian
|
|
| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
psychiatrists
|
|
| n.精神病专家，精神病医生( psychiatrist的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
advisers
|
|
| 顾问，劝告者( adviser的名词复数 )； （指导大学新生学科问题等的）指导教授 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
labyrinth
|
|
| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
attic
|
|
| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
caterer
|
|
| n. 备办食物者，备办宴席者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
eluding
|
|
| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的现在分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
sniffing
|
|
| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
lurking
|
|
| 潜在 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
stunned
|
|
| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
descending
|
|
| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
detergent
|
|
| n.洗涤剂；adj.有洗净力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
bleach
|
|
| vt.使漂白；vi.变白；n.漂白剂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
starch
|
|
| n.淀粉；vt.给...上浆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
slovenliness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
rumpled
|
|
| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
supremely
|
|
| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
suite
|
|
| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
promptly
|
|
| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
pervert
|
|
| n.堕落者，反常者；vt.误用，滥用；使人堕落，使入邪路 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
checkered
|
|
| adj.有方格图案的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
flannel
|
|
| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
emboldened
|
|
| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
soda
|
|
| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
fabulous
|
|
| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
killer
|
|
| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
serial
|
|
| n.连本影片，连本电视节目；adj.连续的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
unstable
|
|
| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
carnival
|
|
| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
queasy
|
|
| adj.易呕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
domain
|
|
| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
devious
|
|
| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
transparent
|
|
| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
smack
|
|
| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
weird
|
|
| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
guts
|
|
| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
bucks
|
|
| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
bloody
|
|
| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
clenched
|
|
| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
blotted
|
|
| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
blurted
|
|
| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
divulging
|
|
| v.吐露，泄露( divulge的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
babbling
|
|
| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
manure
|
|
| n.粪，肥，肥粒；vt.施肥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
clan
|
|
| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |