In the old town of Natchez there is a slice of land below a bluff1, near the river, known as Under-the-Hill. It has a long and colorful history that begins with the earliest days of steamboat traffic on the Mississippi. It attracted all the characters-the merchants, traders, boat captains, speculators, and gamblers-headed to New Orleans.
Because money was changing hands, it also attracted ruffians, vagabonds, swindlers, bootleggers, gunrunners, whores, and every imaginable misfit from the underworld.
Natchez was rich with cotton, most of which was shipped and traded through its port, Under-the-Hill. Easy money created the need for bars, gambling2 dens3, brothels, and flophouses. A young Mark Twain was a regular during his days as a steamboat pilot.
Then the Civil War killed river traffic. It also wiped out the fortunes in Natchez, and most of its nightlife. Under-the-Hill suffered a long period of decline.
In 1990, the Mississippi legislature approved a bill that allowed riverboat gambling, the idea being that a handful of fake paddle wheelers would churn up and down the river while their cargo4 of retirees played bingo and blackjack. Along the Mississippi River, businessmen rushed to establish these floating casinos. Remarkably6, once the legislation was actually read and analyzed7, it was discovered that the boats would not be required to physically8 leave the shore. Nor were they required to be equipped with any type of engine to propel them. As long as they touched the river, or any of its chutes, sloughs9, oxbow lakes, man-made canals, or backwaters, the structures qualified10 as riverboats under the legislation. Under-the-Hill made a brief comeback.
Unfortunately, upon further analysis, the legislation accidentally approved full-fledged Vegas-style casino gambling, and within a few years this roaring new industry had settled itself along the Gulf11 Coast and in Tunica County, near Memphis. Natchez and the other river towns missed the boom, but did manage to hang on to a few of their engineless, stationary12 casinos.
One such establishment was the Lucky Jack5. There, at his favorite blackjack table with his favorite dealer13, Clete Coley sat hunched14 over a stack of $25 chips and sipped15 a rum and soda16. He was up $1,800 and it was time to quit. He watched the door, waiting on his appointment.
Coley was a member of the bar. He had a degree, a license17, a name in the yellow pages, an office with the word "Attorney" on the door, a secretary who answered the occasional phone call with an unenthusiastic "Law Office," and business cards with all the necessary data. But Clete Coley wasn't a real lawyer. He had few clients to speak of. He wouldn't draft a will, or a deed, or a contract, at gunpoint. He didn't hang around the courthouse, and he disliked most of the other lawyers in Natchez. Clete was simply a rogue18, a big, loud, hard-drinking rogue of a lawyer who made more money at the casinos than he did at the office. He'd once dabbled19 in politics, and barely missed an indictment20.
He'd dabbled in government contracts, and dodged21 another one. In his early years, after college, he'd done some pot smuggling22, but abruptly23 abandoned that career when a partner was found dead. In fact, his conversion24 was so complete that he became an undercover narcotics25 officer. He went to law school at night and finally passed the bar exam on his fourth attempt.
He doubled-down on an eight and a three, drew a jack, and collected another $100.
His favorite cocktail27 waitress brought him another drink. No one spent as much time in the Lucky Jack as Mr. Coley. Anything for Mr. Coley. He watched the door, checked his watch, and kept gambling.
"You expecting someone?" asked Ivan, the dealer.
"Would I tell you?”
"Reckon not.”
The man he was expecting had also escaped a few indictments28. They went back almost twenty years, though they were anything but friends. This would be their second meeting.
The first had gone well enough to lead to this one.
Ivan was showing fourteen when he drew a queen and went bust29. Another $100 for Clete.
He had his rules. When he won $2,000 he quit, and when he lost $500 he quit. Anything between those limits and he would play and drink all night. The IRS would never know it, but he was up eighty grand for the year. Plus, all the rum was free.
He flipped30 two chips to Ivan and began the elaborate task of freeing his massive body from the elevated chair.
"Thanks, Mr. Coley," Ivan said.
"Always a pleasure." Clete stuffed the rest of the chips into the pockets of his light brown suit. Always brown, always a suit, always with shiny Lucchese cowboy boots. At six feet four, he weighed at least 280, though no one knew for sure, but he was more thick than fat. He lumbered31 away toward the bar, where his appointment had arrived. Marlin was taking a seat at a corner table, one with a view of the floor.
No greetings of any sort, no eye contact. Clete dropped into a chair and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. A waitress brought them drinks.
"I have the money," Marlin said, finally.
"How much?”
"Same deal, Clete. Nothing's changed. We're just waiting on you to say yes or no.”
"And I'll ask you again. Who is 'we'?”
"It's not me. I'm an independent contractor32, paid a fee for a job well done. I'm on no one's payroll33. I've been hired to recruit you for the race, and if you say no, then I might be hired to recruit someone else.”
"Who's paying you?”
"That's confidential34, Clete. I explained this a dozen times last week.”
"You did. Maybe I'm a little dense35. Or maybe I'm just a little nervous. Perhaps I want answers. Otherwise, I'm not in.”
Based on their first meeting, Mariin was doubtful that Clete Coley would eventually say no to $100,000 in cash in unmarked bills. Mariin had virtually put it on the table. A hundred grand to get in the race and stir things up. Coley would make a beautiful candidate-loud, outrageous37, colorful, able to say anything with no concern about the fallout. An anti-politician the press would follow like ants.
"Here's what I can tell you," Mariin said, with a rare eyeball-to-eyeball glance at Clete. "Fifteen years ago, in a county far away from here, a young man and his young family returned home from church one night. They didn't know it, but two black punks were in the house, a very nice house, and they were burglarizing the hell out of it. The punks were hopped38 up on crack, pistols in every pocket, nasty characters.
When the young family came home and surprised them, things got out of control. The girls got raped39. Everybody got a bullet in the head, then the punks set the house on fire. Cops caught them the next day. Full confessions40, DNA41, the works. They've been on death row at Parchman ever since. Turns out the young man's family has serious money. His father had a nervous breakdown42, went insane, poor guy. But he's back and he's pissed. He's furious that the punks are still alive. He's livid that his beloved state never executes anybody. He hates the judicial43 system, and he especially hates the nine honorable members of the supreme44 court. He, Clete, is where the money is coming from.”
It was all a lie, but lying was a part of the job.
"I like that story," Clete said, nodding.
"The money is peanuts to him. It's yours if you jump in the race and talk about nothing but the death penalty. Hell, it's a natural. The people here love the death penalty. We got polls that show almost 70 percent believe in it and more than that are upset because we don't use it enough in Mississippi.
You can blame it on the supreme court. It's a perfect issue.”
Clete was still nodding. For a week he'd thought of little else. It was indeed the perfect issue, and the court was the perfect target. A race would be a hell of a lot of fun.
"You mentioned a couple of groups," he said, slugging his double rum.
"There are several, but two in particular. One is Victims Watching, a tough bunch who've lost loved ones and been chewed up by the system. They don't have a lot of members, but they are committed. Between me and you, Mr. X is also secretly funding this group. The other is the Law Enforcement Coalition45, a very legitimate46 law-and-order group with some clout47. Both of these will jump on board.”
Clete was nodding, grinning, watching a cocktail waitress glide48 by with a tray loaded with drinks. "Such balance," he said, just loud enough to be heard.
"I really have nothing else to add," Marlin said without pushing.
"Where's the money?”
Marlin took a deep breath and couldn't conceal49 a smile. "In the trunk of my car.
Half of it, fifty grand. Take that now, and the day you officially announce, you get the other fifty.”
"Fair enough.”
They shook hands, then both grabbed their drinks. Marlin pulled keys out of a pocket.
"My car is a green Mustang with a black top, on your left when you leave. Take the keys, take the car, take the money, I don't want to see it. I'll sit here and play blackjack until you return.”
Clete grabbed the keys, struggled to his feet, then strutted50 across the casino floor and out the door.
Marlin waited for fifteen minutes, then called the cell phone of Tony Zachary "Looks like we've hooked us one," he said.
"He took the money?" Tony asked.
"The deal is going down now, but, yes, you'll never see that money again. I suspect that the Lucky Jack will get its share, but, regardless, he's in.”
"Excellent.”
"This guy is going to be a scream, you know? The cameras will love him.”
"Let's hope so. I'll see you tomorrow.”
Marlin found a spot at a $5 table and managed to lose a hundred bucks51 in half an hour.
Clete was back, grinning, the happiest man in Natchez. Marlin was certain that his trunk was now empty.
They returned to the bar and drank until midnight.
Two weeks later, Ron Fisk was leaving baseball practice when his cell phone rang.
He was the head coach of his son Josh's Little League team, the Raiders, and the first game was a week away. Josh was in the backseat with two of his teammates, sweaty and dirty and very happy.
At first, Ron ignored the phone, then glanced at the caller ID. It was Tony Zachary.
They talked at least twice a day. "Hello, Tony," he said.
"Ron, you got a minute?" Tony always asked this, as if he were willing to call back later. Ron had learned that Tony was never willing to call back later. Every call was urgent.
"Sure.”
"A bit of a wrinkle, I'm afraid. Looks like the race might be more crowded than we thought. Are you there?”
"Yes.”
"Just got it from a good source that some crackpot named Clete Coley, from Natchez, I believe, will announce tomorrow that he is running against Judge McCarthy.”
Ron took a deep breath, then pulled onto the street next to the city's baseball complex.
"Okay, I'm listening.”
"Ever heard of him?”
"No." Ron knew several lawyers in Natchez, but not this one.
"Me neither. We're doing a background check now. The preliminary stuff is not too impressive. Sole practitioner52, not much of a reputation, at least as a lawyer. Got his license suspended eight years ago for six months, something to do with neglecting clients. Two divorces. No bankruptcies53. One DUI but no other criminal record. That's about all we know, but we're digging.”
"Where does this fit?”
"Don't know. Let's wait and see. I'll call when I hear more.”
Ron dropped off Josh's friends, then rushed home to tell Doreen. They fretted54 over dinner, then stayed up late tossing around scenarios55.
At ten the following morning, Clete Coley wheeled to a stop at the edge of High Street, directly in front of the Carroll Gartin Justice Building. Two rented vans were behind him. All three vehicles were parked illegally, but then their drivers were looking for trouble. A half-dozen volunteers quickly spilled out of the vans and began carrying large posters up a few steps to the sweeping56 concrete terrace that surrounded the building. Another volunteer hauled up a makeshift podium.
A capitol policeman noticed this activity and strolled over to inquire.
"I'm announcing my candidacy for the supreme court," Clete explained at full volume.
He was flanked by two beefy young men in dark suits, one white, one black, both almost as large as Clete himself.
"You got a permit?" the officer asked.
"Yep. Got it from the attorney general's office.”
The cop disappeared, in no particular hurry. The display was put together rapidly, and when it was complete, it stood twenty feet high, thirty feet long, and was nothing but faces. High school graduation portraits, candid36 snapshots, family photos, all enlarged and in color. The faces of the dead.
As the volunteers scurried57 about, the reporters began arriving. Cameras were mounted on tripods. Microphones were mounted on the podium. Photographers began snapping away, and Clete was ecstatic More volunteers arrived, some with homemade posters with proclamations such as "Vote the Liberals Out," "Support the Death Penalty," and "Victims Have Voices.”
The cop was back. "I can't seem to find anyone who knows anything about your permit,”
he said to Clete.
"Well, you found me, and I'm telling you that I have permission.”
"From who?”
"One of those assistant attorney generals in there.”
"You got a name?”
"Oswalt.”
The cop left to go find Mr. Oswalt.
The commotion58 attracted the attention of those inside the building, and work came to a halt. Rumors59 flew, and when word reached the fourth floor that someone was about to announce a campaign for a seat on the court, three of its justices dropped everything and hustled60 to a window. The other six, those whose terms expired in later years, likewise ventured over out of curiosity.
Sheila McCarthy's office faced High Street, and it was soon filled with her clerks and staff, all suddenly alarmed. She whispered to Paul, "Why don't you go down there and see what's up?”
Others, from the court and from the attorney general's office, eased down, too, and Clete was thrilled with the mob that was quickly gathering61 in front of his podium.
The cop returned with reinforcements, and just as Clete was about to give his speech, he was confronted by the officers. "Sir, we're gonna have to ask you to leave.”
"Hang on, boys, I'll be through in ten minutes.”
"No, sir. This is an illegal gathering. Disband it now, or else.”
Clete stepped forward, chest to chest with the much smaller officer, and said, "Don't show your ass26, okay? You got four television cameras watching everything. Just be cool, and I'll be outta here before you know it.”
"Sorry.”
With that, Clete strode to the podium, and a wall of volunteers closed ranks behind him. He smiled at the cameras and said, "Good morning, and thanks for coming. My name is Clete Coley. I'm a lawyer from Natchez, and I'm announcing my candidacy for the supreme court. My opponent is Judge Sheila McCarthy, without a doubt the most liberal member of this criminal-coddling, do-nothing supreme court.”
The volunteers roared with approval. The reporters smiled at their good fortune.
A few almost laughed.
Paul swallowed hard at this unbelievable volley. The man was loud, fearless, and colorful and was loving every second of the attention.
And he was just warming up. "Behind me you see the faces of one hundred and eighty-three people. Black, white, grandmothers, babies, educated, illiterate62, from all over the state and from all walks of life. All innocent, all dead, all murdered. Their killers63 are, as we speak, preparing for lunch up at Parchman, on death row. All duly convicted by juries in this state, all properly sent to death row to be executed.”
He paused and grandly waved at the faces of the innocents.
"In Mississippi, we have sixty-eight men and two women on death row. They're safe there, because this state refuses to execute them. Other states do not. Other states are serious about following their laws. Since 1978, Texas has executed 334 killers.
Virginia, 81; Oklahoma, 76; Florida, 55; North Carolina, 41; Georgia, 37; Alabama, 32; and Arkansas, 24. Even northern states like Missouri, Ohio, and Indiana. Hell, Delaware has executed 14 killers. Where is Mississippi? Currently in nineteenth place.
We have executed only 8 killers, and that, my friends, is why I'm running for the supreme court.”
The capitol police now numbered almost a dozen, but they seemed content to watch and listen. Riot control was not a specialty64, and besides, the man was sounding pretty good.
"Why don't we execute?" Clete yelled at the crowd. "I'll tell you why. It's because our supreme court pampers65 these thugs and allows their appeals to drag on forever.
Bobby Ray Root killed two people in cold blood during the robbery of a liquor store.
Twenty-seven years ago. He's still on death row, getting three meals a day, seeing his mother once a month, with no execution date in sight. Willis Briley murdered his four-year-old stepdaughter." He stopped and pointed66 to the photo of a little black girl at the top of the display. "That's her, cute little thing in the pink dress. She'd be thirty years old now. Her murderer, a man she trusted, has been on death row for twenty-four years. I could go on and on, but the point is well made. It's time to shake up this court and show all of those who have committed murder or who might do so that, in this state, we're serious about enforcing our laws.”
He paused for another boisterous67 round of applause, one that obviously inspired him.
"Justice Sheila McCarthy has voted to reverse more murder convictions than any other member of the court. Her opinions are filled with legalistic nit-pickings that warm the soul of every criminal defense68 lawyer in the state. The ACLU loves her. Her opinions drip with sympathy for these murderers. They give hope to the thugs on death row.
It is time, ladies and gentlemen, to take away her robe, her pen, her vote, her power to trample69 the rights of the victims.”
Paul considered scribbling70 down some of this, but he was too petrified71 to move. He wasn't sure his boss voted so often in favor of capital defendants72, but he was certain that virtually all of their convictions were affirmed. Regardless of shoddy police work, racism73, malice74 by prosecutors75, stacked juries, and boneheaded rulings by presiding judges, regardless of how horribly defective76 the trial was, the supreme court rarely reversed a conviction. Paul found it sickening. The split was usually 6-3, with Sheila leading a vocal77 but overmatched minority. Two of the justices had never voted to reverse a capital conviction. One had never voted to reverse a criminal conviction.
Paul knew that privately78 his boss was opposed to capital punishment, but she was also committed to upholding the laws of the state. A great deal of her time was spent on death cases, and he had never once seen her substitute her personal beliefs for a strict following of the law. If the trial record was clean, she did not hesitate to join the majority and affirm a conviction.
Clete did not yield to the temptation of speaking too long. He'd made his points.
His announcement was a fabulous79 success. He lowered his voice, grew more sincere, and finished by saying: "I urge all Mississippians who care about law and order, all who are sick of random80, senseless crimes, to join with me in turning this court upside down. Thank you." More applause.
Two of the larger officers moved in close to the podium. The reporters began to throw questions. "Have you ever served as ajudge? How much financial support do you have?
Who are these volunteers? Do you have specific proposals to shorten the appeals?”
Clete was about to begin with his answers when an officer grabbed his arm and said, "That's it, sir. Party's over.”
"Go to hell," Clete said as he yanked his arm away. The rest of the police contingent81 scurried forward, jostling through the volunteers, many of whom began yelling at them.
"Let's go, buddy," the officer said.
"Get lost." Then to the cameras he boomed, "Look at this. Soft on crime but to hell with the freedom of speech.”
"You're under arrest.”
"Arrest! You're arresting me because I'm making a speech." As he said this, he gently, and voluntarily, placed both hands behind his back.
"You don't have a permit, sir," one officer said as two more slapped on the handcuffs.
"Look at these supreme court guards, sent down from the fourth floor by the very people I'm running against.”
"Let's go, sir.”
As he moved from the podium, Clete kept yelling, "I won't be in jail long, and when I get out, I'll hit the streets telling the truth about these liberal bastards82. You can count on that.”
Sheila watched the spectacle from the safety of her window. Another clerk, standing83 near the reporters, relayed the news via cell phone.
That nut down there had chosen her.
Paul lingered until the display was removed and the crowd drifted away, then he raced up the steps to Sheila's office. She was at her desk, with the other clerk and Justice McElwayne. The air was heavy, the mood somber84. They looked at Paul as if he might by chance have some good news.
"This guy's crazy," he said. They nodded their agreement.
"He doesn't appear to be a pawn85 for big business," McElwayne said.
"I've never heard of him," Sheila said softly. She appeared to be in shock. "I guess an easy year just became very complicated.”
The idea of starting a campaign from scratch was overwhelming.
"How much did your race cost?" Paul asked. He had just joined the court two years earlier, when Justice McElwayne was under assault.
"One point four million.”
Sheila grunted86 and laughed. "I have $6,000 in my campaign account. It's been there for years.”
"But I had a legitimate opponent," McElwayne added. "This guy is a nut.”
"Nuts get elected.”
Twenty minutes later, Tony Zachary watched the show in his locked office, four blocks away. Marlin had captured it all on video, and was more than pleased to see it again.
"We've created a monster," Tony said, laughing.
"He's good.”
"Maybe too good.”
"Anybody else you want in the race?”
"No, I think the ballot87 is complete at this point. Nice work.”
Marlin left, and Tony punched the number for Ron Fisk. Not surprisingly, the busy lawyer answered after the first ring. "I'm afraid it's true," Tony said gravely, then recounted the announcement and the arrest.
"The guy must be crazy," Ron said.
"Definitely. My first impression is that this is not all bad. In fact, it could help us. This clown will generate a lot of coverage88, and he seems perfectly89 willing to take a hatchet90 to McCarthy.”
"Why do I have a knot in my stomach?”
"Politics is a rough game, Ron, something you're about to learn. I'm not worried, not right now. We stick to our game plan, nothing changes.”
"It seems to me that a crowded field only helps the incumbent," Ron observed. And he was right, as a general rule.
"Not necessarily. There's no reason to panic. Besides, we can't do anything about others who jump in. Stay focused. Let's sleep on it and talk tomorrow.”
收听单词发音 |
1
bluff
|
|
| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
gambling
|
|
| n.赌博；投机 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
dens
|
|
| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
cargo
|
|
| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
jack
|
|
| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
remarkably
|
|
| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
analyzed
|
|
| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
physically
|
|
| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
sloughs
|
|
| n.沼泽( slough的名词复数 )；苦难的深渊；难以改变的不良心情；斯劳(Slough)v.使蜕下或脱落( slough的第三人称单数 )；舍弃；除掉；摒弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
qualified
|
|
| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
gulf
|
|
| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
stationary
|
|
| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
dealer
|
|
| n.商人，贩子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
hunched
|
|
| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
sipped
|
|
| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
soda
|
|
| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
license
|
|
| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
rogue
|
|
| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
dabbled
|
|
| v.涉猎( dabble的过去式和过去分词 )；涉足；浅尝；少量投资 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
indictment
|
|
| n.起诉；诉状 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
dodged
|
|
| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
smuggling
|
|
| n.走私 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
conversion
|
|
| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
narcotics
|
|
| n.麻醉药( narcotic的名词复数 )；毒品；毒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
ass
|
|
| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
cocktail
|
|
| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
indictments
|
|
| n.（制度、社会等的）衰败迹象( indictment的名词复数 )；刑事起诉书；公诉书；控告 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
bust
|
|
| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
flipped
|
|
| 轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
lumbered
|
|
| 砍伐（lumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
contractor
|
|
| n.订约人，承包人，收缩肌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
payroll
|
|
| n.工资表，在职人员名单，工薪总额 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
confidential
|
|
| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
dense
|
|
| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
candid
|
|
| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
outrageous
|
|
| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
hopped
|
|
| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
raped
|
|
| v.以暴力夺取，强夺( rape的过去式和过去分词 )；强奸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
confessions
|
|
| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
DNA
|
|
| (缩)deoxyribonucleic acid 脱氧核糖核酸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
breakdown
|
|
| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
judicial
|
|
| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
coalition
|
|
| n.结合体，同盟，结合，联合 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
legitimate
|
|
| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
clout
|
|
| n.用手猛击；权力，影响力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
glide
|
|
| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
strutted
|
|
| 趾高气扬地走，高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
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： |
|
|
|
|
52
practitioner
|
|
| n.实践者，从事者；(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
bankruptcies
|
|
| n.破产( bankruptcy的名词复数 )；倒闭；彻底失败；（名誉等的）完全丧失 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
fretted
|
|
| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
scenarios
|
|
| n.[意]情节；剧本；事态；脚本 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
sweeping
|
|
| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
scurried
|
|
| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
commotion
|
|
| n.骚动，动乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
rumors
|
|
| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
hustled
|
|
| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
illiterate
|
|
| adj.文盲的；无知的；n.文盲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
killers
|
|
| 凶手( killer的名词复数 )； 消灭…者； 致命物； 极难的事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
specialty
|
|
| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
pampers
|
|
| v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
boisterous
|
|
| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
defense
|
|
| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
trample
|
|
| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
scribbling
|
|
| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
petrified
|
|
| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
defendants
|
|
| 被告( defendant的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
racism
|
|
| n.民族主义；种族歧视(意识) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
malice
|
|
| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
prosecutors
|
|
| 检举人( prosecutor的名词复数 )； 告发人； 起诉人； 公诉人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
defective
|
|
| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
vocal
|
|
| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
privately
|
|
| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
fabulous
|
|
| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
random
|
|
| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
contingent
|
|
| adj.视条件而定的；n.一组，代表团，分遣队 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
bastards
|
|
| 私生子( bastard的名词复数 )； 坏蛋； 讨厌的事物； 麻烦事 （认为别人走运或不幸时说）家伙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
somber
|
|
| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
pawn
|
|
| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
grunted
|
|
| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
ballot
|
|
| n.（不记名）投票，投票总数，投票权；vi.投票 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
coverage
|
|
| n.报导，保险范围，保险额，范围，覆盖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
hatchet
|
|
| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |