"What, no fucking?" Dixon acting1 far too astonish'd, as some other?worldly Accompaniment jingles2 to a halt.
"Why, happen our vow4 of Chastity's the very thing that allows us to approach the Transcendent...?"
"Happen," growls6 Emerson, "it's what makes you so mean, methodi?cal, and without pity."
"Rubbish. You like glamor7 jobs? travel, excitement? chance to look into any number of things you may have been wond'ring about both inside and outside. Your success with the Transit8 of Venus was a mark of God, that he remains9 in Sympathy with our Designs, which now are entwin'd with the Projected Boundary-Line Survey in America. You are a perfect candidate for the Position,— a working Land-Surveyor with astronomical10 experience. I can assure you of Calvert approval,— that you come of a Quaker Family must appeal to at least one major faction11 in Pennsylva?nia,— and further, to the morbid12 delight of certain devotees of monarchies13 past, your Family is closely associated with Raby Castle, and thereby14 the melancholy15 yet darkly inspirational Tale of Sir Henry Vane the younger.”
"What, Jacobites in America? thought all thah' was over with...?" Dixon puzzles.
"Rather does the Tale go on, accumulating Power, told sweetly to Jacobite babes between the prayers and the Lullaby,— for Jacobites, like the Forces invisible that must ever create them, will persist. The Dispute did not end with Cromwell, nor Restoration,— nor William of Orange, nor Hanovers,— if English Soil has seen its last arm'd encoun?ters, then the fighting-ground is now remov'd to America,— yet another use for the damn'd Place,— with Weapons likewise new, including fan?ciful Stuart Charters to American Adventurers, launch'd upon Futurity's Sea like floating Mines, their purposes not to be met for years, perhaps for more than one Life-span, their Mischief16 incalculable."
"Young Vane was never a Regicide," Dixon insists.
"0, thou Fool," needles Emerson, "he was treacherous17 as a Serpent."
"Yet 'round Raby, most believe 'twas the baseness of the father, in pursuing the destruction of Strafford, that caus'd the same fate to descend18 upon the son."
' 'Twas your Vane Junior gave Pym the notes, for Heaven's sake," Emerson grumbles19.
"A copy of a copy,— " says Dixon, "useless as evidence, wouldn't you call thah' at least a venial20 sin, Friend Maire?"
"Wrong!" Emerson feigning21 horror, "now we'll be here all week...?"
The Jesuit, who has never master'd the European Art of expressive22 shrugging, spreads his hands. "What man may ever know, how much the son may have shared his father's resentment23, when the Barony of Raby went to Strafford? It seems a shabby enough motive24 for one man, let alone two, to feel it worth another's life. Young Vane was twenty-seven,— about your age, Jeremiah. Had he no idea, of how easily those who pur?sue the Business of the World may resort to Murder? Perhaps he thought Pym and his people would use it only in private, as a negotiating point."
"Murder...?" Dixon perplex'd.
"Judicial25 Murder, Whelp," Emerson glares, ' - words cost them nothing, Scriveners only a little more,— and lo! another Bill of Attainder or Sentence of Death, both in this our Day common as washing-bills, for the human life figures as nothing,— that being all the secret to Gover?nance26 upon Earth.”
"Whilst Heaven," Maire reminds him, "sets the worth of a Soul at Everything."
"Why aye, unless it be Indians of Paraguay, or Jews of Spain, or Jansenists across the way, and y' knaah I'd love to sit about and talk of Religion till Hell freezeth oahver,— especially Newton's Views upon Gravity and the Holy Ghost, tho' yese'll have to wait for my Volume upon the Subject, alas27. Meantime, there being no Ale in the House,—
"As if there ever would be," mutters the Jesuit.
- and as in any case I find this standing28 Bitch quite soon a source of fatigue,— better," proposes Emerson, "we repair to my Local, The Cudgel and Throck." A moment Dixon has been dreading29, for those who drink at this Ale-Grotto of terrible Reputation, do so out of a Melan?choly advanc'd beyond his understanding. He has not quite made a con30?nection between himself, in his own Publick-House Habitude, and these other but provisionally vertical31 Blurs32 of Sentiment, beyond a com?mon fatality33, for as many as might present themselves, of the doubtful comforts of Sadness.
Fr. Maire now removes his Cloak, revealing the snuff-color'd coat and breeches of a middling Town-Dweller. From an inner pocket he produces a costly34 Ramillies Wig35, shakes it out in a brisk Cloud of scented36 Litharge, and claps it on, with a minimum of fuss, over his ascetic's Crop. "There. I am now Mr. Emerson's distant Cousin Ambrose, of Godless London."
'' 'Godless' being just the note for the old Cudge," nods Emerson, as they go, "- - 'tis the Poahpish, that's not overly welcome.”
Indeed, one look at the place is enough to reconcile Fr. Maire to the pos?sibility of having to leave it. As a member of the Society of Jesus, he has been in and out of some all but intolerable taverns37, among which he believes he has seen the worst Great Britain has to offer,— withal, as a native of County Durham, he has been hearing Tales of this iniquitous38 Sink all his Life, tho' having till now successfully avoided it.
"Awhrr, God's blood, it's old Back-to-Front," they are greeted upon
entering, "wi' two bumbailiffs he'll lose before sundown,— yet an honest
Tapster has to put up wi' all sorts,— I imagine 'twill be Porter won't it,
yes it would be...? Goblin! bloody39 bastard40, do not even be thinking of
biting my valued guests, or you shall be smit wi' the Gin Bottle again, yes
y'shall...? Eeh, mind your Boots, lads, bit of unpleasantness there from
last night, servants haven't quite gotten to it yet "
"Lovely day, Mr. Brain."
"Aye happen that'll change, too. Lud Oafery's been in and out,— and as nearly as we could understand him, he'd be looking for you, Doctor."
"He'll want another Spell," Emerson guesses. "That's if the last 'un work'd, of course— "
"William, William," his "Cousin" admonishes41.
"He buys me a Pint42. Where's the Harm? This is Hurworth, not Lon?don, Namby. I do Horoscopes as well.”
"Did mine," the Landlord avers43, " 'twas all there in the Stars, the whole miserable44 story, but did I pay attention? Nooaahh...! was regret?ting the Sixpence, a fool with his eyes in the glaur."
Fr. Maire's eyebrows45 do take a Bounce when he hears the Price.
"Whah' then?" Emerson mischievously46, "only the Church of Rome could quoahte yese any better."
"This place is even more depressing than I remember it," Dixon mut?ters, just audibly, in case anyone cares to discuss it.
"Oh, aye, 'tis no Jolly Pitman," Emerson snorts, naming Dixon's pre-ferr'd Haunt at the edge of Cockfield Fell, close by the Road, where Min?ers and Waggoners seek refuge from a Nightfall pass'd alone, and where Travelers, no matter how many Miles they'll have to make up next day, choose to put in, rather than enter at Night that Looming47 Heath.
"There's Musick at the Pitman, anyway."
"Hold, hold, stand easy, we've Musick here," Mr. Brain producing from behind the Bar a batter'd Hurdy-Gurdy or Hum-Strum of antique design, left years ago by a Gypsy to settle a tab, "aye, Musick a-plenty, you need but ask,— wonderful to have Quality in,— Spot of Handel, perhaps?" whereupon he begins vigorously, though with no clear idea of how the Instrument works, to crank and finger, all in a G-dawful Uproar48. The Dog Goblin, cowering49 eagerly, howls along. Emerson bears the Recital50 with an unexpected Calm, gazing at a Wall, as if imagining the Notes as they might appear upon some Staff as yet undevis'd, thumping51 time upon his knee. Dixon, whose mother, Mary Hunter, play'd each Day to her Children upon the Clavier, is less entertain'd.
"Ye'd find nothing like this in China, Jeremiah, Lad," cries Emerson.
"Mr. Dixon," declares the Jesuit, "at present, owing to the pernicious Cult52 of Feng Shui, you would find it a Surveyor's Bad Dream,— nowhere may a Geometer encounter an honest 36o-Degree Circle,— rather, incomprehensibly and perversely53, in willful denial of God's Disposition54 of Time and Space, preferring 365 and a Quarter."
"That being the number of Days in a year, what Human Surveyor, down here upon the Earth, would reject thah',— each Day a single, per?fect Chinese Degree,— were 360 not vastly more convenient, of course, to figure with? Surely God, being Omniscient55, has little trouble with
either...? all the Log Tables right there in His Nob, doesn't he,— Dixon, having been out tramping over the Fields and Fells for the past few weeks, with Table and Circumferentor, still enjoying a certain orthogonal Momentum56, "and 365 and a quarter seems the sort of Divi?sion Jesuits might embrace,— the discomfort57 of all that extra calcula?tion...? sort of mental Cilice, perhaps...?"
"Oh dear," Emerson's voice echoing within his Ale-can.
"Then again," says Maire, "there is a nice lad in Wigan who'd like the Job."
"Bonnie then, and please convey my best.— Most Geordie Surveyors make terrible Jesuit spies, I'm told."
"Look ye, Jeremiah," the Jesuit placing upon his sleeve a hand Dixon briefly58 considers biting, "we would expect no reports, no Espionage59, no action of any kind,— for the marking of this Line will be undertaken, with or without our Engagement,— we only wish Assurance that some?one we know is there, materially, upon the Parallel. No more."
"Why, teach thy Grandam to grope Ducks... ? If we're to have no com?munication, what matter where I may be?"
The meek60 Nod again. "In the all but inconceivably remote event we did wish to reach you,— why aye, one does hear of Devices already in position, which could find you faster than any known Packet or Express."
"And...t'would be merely to say 'Whatcheer,' inquire after the Weather, perhaps pass a few Spiritual Remarks, I presume,— not to issue commands tha must already know I'd never o-bey."
"I'll send your Thoughts along. You don't seem eager for this."
"Ask Mr. Emerson. I'm but a county Surveyor,— not really at m' best upon the grand and global type of expedition, content here at home, old Geordie a-slog thro' the darts61, now and then, as if by magic, able to calculate lines that may not be chain'd,— the Surveyor's form of walk?ing upon Water.— May your Lancashire Lalande prove more boldly dispos'd...?"
Emerson lifts his head, the ends of his Hair a-sop with Ale, and leers at the Priest. "We had a wager62 upon this very Topick, I believe."
"No,— " gesturing with his own head at Dixon, "this is the one, William, God's Instrument if ever I saw one. I'm not ready to concede,”
"Hold,— am I a horse, in a horse-race, here? Friend Emerson's bet upon a sure thing then, for I don't fancy working for Jesuits,— no more than having others believe it's what I'm doing."
"You see?" Emerson beams, " Tis the Coldness, if you ask me,— aye, more than anything,— that absence of Pity."
"Pity? Oh, as to Pity,— " The Phiz of the Jesuit, who hasn't been missing too many Rounds, may be observ'd now in a certain state of Beefiness.
"You are twiddling about with that Wig," mutters Emerson, "so as to draw attention. Pray moderate it, Coz."
"You wonder why I'm stuck over in Flanders, with a herd63 of Boys, all of them with Erections more or less twenty-four hours a day? a sinners' Paradise to some,— to others a form of Penance64. Yea, 'tis Penance I do, for having once or twice, when it matter'd, unreflectively shewn an instant of this Pity whose value you cry up so... ? well, I have learn'd, 'tis not for any of us to presume to act as Christ alone may,— for Christ's true Pity lies so beyond us, that we may at best jump and whimper like Dogs who cannot quite catch the Trick of it."
"What a Relief!" cries Dixon, "Whoo! no more Pity? Eehh, where's me Pistols, then...."
"The simpler explanation," Emerson with a distinct uvular compo?nent in his Sigh, "may be that none of you people has ever known a moment of Transcendence in his life, nor would re-cognize one did it walk up and bite yese in the Arse,— and in the long sorry Silence, grows the suspicion that Jesuits are but the latest instance of a true Christian65 passion evaporated away, leaving no more than the usual hol?low desires for Authority and mindless O-bedience. Poh, Cousin,— Poh, Sir."
In now strolls Lud Oafery's friend and occasional Translator Mr. Whike, crying, "Eeh! were we having a little discussion as to the,— surely I heard the word,— Jesuits? not them again? that, that same secret cabal66 of traitorous67 Serpents, who seek ever to subvert68 our blessed England before the Interests of Rome, and the Whore-House they call a Church,— those Jesuits? Why, here we'd thought there was no deep Conversation at The Cudgel and Throck."
"Hullo, Whike, I'm told Lud's been asking for me.”
"His Mum, actually. Lud had to go down to Thornton-le-Beans, but he'll be back. Who's your not quite credibly69 turn'd-out Friend here? (Tis the Wig, Sir,— needs the immediate70 Attentions of a Professional....) Just when I imagin'd I'd had all you lot sorted out at last!"
"Did I forget to introduce yese? And ordinarily I've the manners of a Lord."
"Which Lord was that?"
"Hadn't plann'd on this so early in the Day," Dixon in a low voice to Maire. To Whike, "Shall we get the Festivities going now, do tha guess, or would tha rather wait for thy Friend Lud,— 'tis all the same to me."
"Was yere Stu-dent ever like this, Sir? One of these big Lads that needs to be thumping away so at us smaller, wee-er folk? Sad, it is."
"Some might find it amusing, Whike," Emerson replies.
"Jeremiah. I am astonish'd. Were you actually planning to strike this perfectly71 pleasant, tho' strangely idle, young man? And I thought Lon?don taverns were quarrelsome!"
"Years ago, once and once only,— all in a spirit of Scientifick Inquiry,— I did, well, take hold of him,—
Jumping back apprehensively72, "Didn't ask me, did you?"
"Nor have tha let me forget it,— I only wish'd to pick him up, and throw him at that very Dart-Board over there, to see if his Head, which seem'd pointed73 enough, might stick...? And he's been on about it ever since,— all right then, Whike? Whike, I admit 'twas the improper74 way to test thee for Cranial Acuity,— I ought to have ta'en the Board from the Wall, brought it to thee, and then clash'd it upon thy Nob,— tha Bugger."
"I knew one day he'd feel remorse," carols Whike. "I accept yeer Apology most Graceful75, Sir."
"Apology!" Dixon's face, as all would swear to later, having com-menc'd to glow in the Murk. "Why, You little— "
All light from the outside vanishes, as something fills the Doorway76. "Gaahhrrhh!" it says.
'' 'Here then, don't be laying a finger on my Mate,' " Whike trans?lates,— for 'tis Lud, back from Thornton-le-Beans, and his Mother, Ma Oafery, with him.
In the days of the '45,— guessing that the Young Pretender would
travel ev'rywhere he could by way of those secret Tunnels known to
Papists from ancient times, which ran from most parish Churches away to other points of interest,— thro' that wond'rous Summer, Lads after Adventure haunted these dank passages, all over England, day and night, Dixon among them, walking his own Patrol up and down the Tun?nel that ran from Raby Castle to Staindrop Church, down amid whose elegant Stone Facing and Root-Aromas he and Lud Oafery first met. Dixon was carrying a Torch,— Lud was not.
"Why bother," Lud explain'd, "when there's enough like you, who've brought their own light...? How much light can anyone need, just to get thro' a Tunnel, unless of course one stops to admire the Mason-work. Which is what you're doing, ain't it." He had a look. "This dates back to the time when Staindrop was the Metropolis77 of Stayndropshire with a y, and the very Pearl of Wearside. Right clash amid the best pool of Boring talent in England,— outside the House of Lords, of course,— where would this ancient Drift have gone, if not between Castle and Church?— either of which could afford it easily, for far less than a single Week's revenue—"
Lud in his ramblings claim'd to've been up and down ev'ry Tunnel in the County Palatinate of Durham,— some of them connected one to another, he said, so that any who truly needed to keep out of a Day-light so often perilous78, might travel for great Distances, all under Ground.
"Ahrahr AHR, ahr-ahrahr," adds Lud, years later, in The Cudgel and Throck.
"Very old, these Diggings,— " reports Whike, "yet never wandering about under Ground, all bearing true as an Italian Miner's Compass between their Termini."
A Knowledge of Tunneling became more and more negotiable, as more of the Surface succumb'd to Enclosure, Sub-Division, and the sim?ple Exhaustion79 of Space,— Down Below, where no property Lines existed, lay a World as yet untravers'd, that would clearly belong to those Pioneers who possess'd the Will, and had master'd the Arts of Pluto,— with the Availability of good Equipment besides, ever a Blessing80. So, beneath the surfaces of English Parish-Towns, Bands of Pickmen once came a-stir like giant Worms, addressing themselves to Faces that would take them where they must.. .Fire-lit Earth Walls that betray'd nothing of what might lie a Shovel-ful away. Sometimes, 'twas told, a lucky Spade-
man might find buried Treasure,— "Huzzah, no more of this Earth-worming for me, tell the Master I'm off to London and the High Life, and oh yes here's a shilling for your Trouble,— " And sometimes, 'twas told, the Devil sent his own Dodmen, to lead the Diggers in grisly play 'round the Corner again and into the Church-yard, where Death in its full unpleasantness waited them, a Skull81, in the instant of any Spade's bur?den5, emerging from the Mud just at Eye-Level, smiling widely as in recognition, the Torches all at that instant guttering82 in some Vile83 breath out of the suburbs of Hell.
"The Diggers never knew what was likely to be ahead. They had to trust the Surveyors who kept above. Remember when I told you, Jere, that they were the Conscience of the Community, you pip'd up, that that was what ye'd be. And damme, so ye were!" Thus Whike's Version. Lud's merriment, even at half-voice, acts less to invite, than to intimidate84.
"Is thah' what he said?" Emerson blinking his way into the Discussion.
"Thanking Whike for his good Faith, 'tis it, to the Comma. Lud, tha predicted then, solemnly, that our Ways would part,— that I would find my Destiny above, upon the Surface of the Earth,— whilst your own must lie quite the other way."
"Bit further down," nods Lud.
"How's Business been, down there?"
"Brisk as ever it gets upon thy Surface," replies Ma Oafery. "And thoo, Jere Dixon,— 'tis said tha'll be going to America, to build them a Visto of an Hundred Leagues or more...?"
"Sort of long Property-Line, Ma. Both sides want the Trees out of the way. Easier for getting Sights, tho' Ah wouldn't call it a Visto, exactly."
Lud beams. "When tha're down there in the Tunneling and can't see a thing...?" as Whike puts it, "tha feel ever one Foot-fall, ever one Turning, from collecting the Scheme Altogether." They whisper together, casting quick Glances at Father Maire. "Lud wishes to know," Whike relays at last, "Mr. Emerson's Cousin's Views, upon the Structure of the World."
"A Spheroid, the last I heard of it, Sir."
"Ahr Ahr ahr, 'ahr ahhrr!"
" 'And I say, 'tis Flat,' " the Jesuit smoothly85 translates. "Why of course, Sir, flat as you like, flat as a Funnel-Cake, flat as a Pizza, for all that— “
"Apologies, Sir,— " Whike all Unctuosity, "the foreign Word again, was...?"
"The apology is mine,— Pizza being a Delicacy86 of Cheese, Bread, and
Fish ubiquitous in the region 'round Mount Vesuvius In my Distrac?
tion, I have reach'd for the Word as the over-wrought Child for its Doll."
"You are from Italy, then, sir?" inquires Ma.
"In my Youth I pass'd some profitable months there, Madam."
"Do you recall by chance how it is they cook this 'Pizza'? My Lads and Lasses grow weary of the same Daily Gruel87 and Haggis, so a Mother is ever upon the Lurk88 for any new Receipt."
"Why, of course. If there be a risen Loaf about...?"
Mrs. Brain reaches 'neath the Bar and comes up with a Brown Batch-Loaf, rising since Morning, which she presents to "Cousin Ambrose," who begins to punch it out flat upon the Counter-Top. Lud, fascinated, offers to assault the Dough89 himself, quickly slapping it into a very thin Disk of remarkable90 Circularity.
"Excellent, Sir," Maire beams, "I don't suppose anyone has a Tomato?"
"A what?"
"Saw one at Darlington Fair, once," nods Mr. Brain.
"No good, in that case,— eaten by now."
"The one I saw, they might not have wanted to eat...?"
Dixon, rummaging91 in his Surveyor's Kit92, has come up with the Bottle of Ketjap, that he now takes with him ev'rywhere. "This do?"
"That was a Torpedo93, Husband."
"That Elecktrickal Fish? Oh.. .then this thing he's making isn't eleck-trical?"
"Tho' there ought to be Fish, such as those styl'd by the Neopolitans,
Cicinielli "
"Will Anchovy94 do?" Mrs. Brain indicates a Cask of West Channel 'Chovies from Devon, pickl'd in Brine.
"Capital. And Cheese?"
"That would be what's left of the Stilton, from the Ploughman's Lunch."
"Very promising95 indeed," Maire wringing96 his Hands to conceal97 their trembling. "Well then, let us just...”
By the Time what is arguably the first British Pizza is ready to come out of the Baking-Oven beside the Hearth98, the Road outside has gone quiet and the Moorland dark, several Rounds have come and pass'd, and Lud is beginning to show signs of Apprehension99. "At least 'tis cloudy tonight, no Moonlight'll be getting thro'," his Mother whispers to Mr. Emerson.
"Canny100 Luck, it may have bought us Time." As both Teacher and res?olute Rationalist, Pace Bourquelet and Nynauld, Emerson is convinc'd that the ancient popular belief in Were-Wolves, if it does not stem from, is at least reinforced by, the alarm'd reactions of mothers to the onset101 of Puberty in their sons. Once, at his first sight of it, he was alarm'd, too. Hair sprouting102 ev'rywhere, voices deepening, often to Growls, Boys who once went to bed early, now grown nocturnal. Mysterious absences occur. The family dog begins acting peculiar103. Unusual Attention is paid
to the Roast, just before it's popp'd in the Oven "Lord's sake, Betsy,
what're you saying, that our Ludowick's a werewolf? Get a grip on y'self, woman!"
"Well there's none of it upon my side, is there."
"Oh, I see,— poor Uncle Lonsdale again,— who was releas'd, as you'll recall, with all apologies, the Blood proving to be, but from a hap3?less Chicken in the Road...."
"Yet the Vicar did testify, Dear, at the Assizes, that for five genera?tions past,—
"RRRR!"
"— oh good evening, Lud, my one would scarcely recognize you...."
"And that was when I said, 'We must go to Dr. Emerson,— he'll knaah whah' to do...?'
"Lud says, that he cannot tell, if you did know what to do. He adds, do not worry, for it amuses him."
"Lud, you're alive, are you not?"
"That wasn't quite his Question," Ma declares. "Would you pass me one of those pointed things?"
"Where's that bright Light coming from?" someone asks.
"The Clouds!" Ma Oafery running out to look. "Where'd they go? Oh, no! Look at that, will yese!" "That" being the Full Moon, just rising into a cloudless Night.
"Quick, the Shutters," squeals104 Whike, running to and fro.
"Lud, look ye what's over here, more 'Pizza,'—
"Too late!" For Lud has seen the Full Moon, and now pursues it out into the Street, Whike at his Heels.
"I can't bear it when the Change conies," Ma laments105. "It's getting harder for me even to look, tho' his own Mum must, mustn't she?—
"He's changing," Whike calls back indoors to the rest of them, - first, the Teeth, aye, and the Snout, and Claws,— now there goes the Hair, good, and he's, yes he's up on two legs now,— he's tying his Stock, fixing a Buckle106, and here he is,— Master Ludowick,—
In trips this shaven, somewhat narrow Youth, a Durham Dandy in Sil?ver Brocade, Chinese Fastenings ev'rywhere in bright Gold, for Con?trast,— and as a Finial, a curiously107 cock'd Hat with a long green Parrot Plume108 extending from it further than anyone present has even known a Feather to go. "Mother!" pipes the 'morphos'd Lud. "When will you do something about your Hair? Whike, stop touching109 me. Mr. Emerson, well met, turn about, so we may admire thy Buttons,— who's that, Jere Dixon? going over to America! knew they'd pop you one day, what was it, another Raid upon another Larder110, I expect,— yet better than being hang'd, what-what, old Turnip111?"
"Two, call it three nights," groans112 Ma Oafery, "ev'ry Month, no worse than the Flux113, really,— he has memoriz'd several current Theatrickal Music-Pieces, and sings them to me thro' the Day. He tells Joaks I do not understand. He quizzes with me in Foreign Tongues. Yet am I a Mum,— I can tolerate it.”
The most metaphysickal thing Mason will ever remember Dixon saying is, "I owe my Existence to a pair of Shoes." His Father, George Dixon, Sr., having ridden in late to Quarterly Meeting,— a wet night, ev'ryone gone to bed, a pile of Shoes left out to be clean'd,— in all the great quaquaversal Array, he sees only the pair belonging to Mary Hunter. Without planning it he has stoop'd, pick'd them up, pretending to move them back from the Fire lest they dry and crack. Who would own a pair of shoes like that, who'd have decided114 to wear them here to Meeting? Fancies herself a bit? A bit too much? He'll have to find out, won't he...?
George can tell a good deal by a pair of Shoes. As 'twas ever the cus?tom Easter Mondays in County Durham, he'd run about Staindrop with other boys of the Fell to pull off the shoes of any Girls they met, and keep them till redeem'd with a gift. Older boys ask'd for a Kiss, younger boys were content with a Sweet, which Girls learn'd to carry a Bag of with them, upon that Day.
The minute he steps into Breakfast next morning,— so, one day, their daughter Elizabeth will come to believe,— they 'spy each other. More likely he's been up before the first bird, to ask the fellow cleaning all the Shoes,— finding out that she's Mary Hunter, from Newcastle. 'Tis a rela?tive who introduces them at last. "Something about thy Shoes, Mary...?"
"My Shoes...?" A direct gaze.
收听单词发音 |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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jingles
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| 叮当声( jingle的名词复数 )； 节拍十分规则的简单诗歌 | |
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hap
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| n.运气；v.偶然发生 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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growls
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的第三人称单数 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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glamor
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| n.魅力，吸引力 | |
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transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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astronomical
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| adj.天文学的，（数字）极大的 | |
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faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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monarchies
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| n. 君主政体, 君主国, 君主政治 | |
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14
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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18
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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19
grumbles
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| 抱怨( grumble的第三人称单数 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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20
venial
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| adj.可宽恕的；轻微的 | |
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21
feigning
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| 假装，伪装( feign的现在分词 )； 捏造（借口、理由等） | |
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22
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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23
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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24
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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25
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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26
nance
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| n.娘娘腔的男人，男同性恋者 | |
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27
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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28
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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29
dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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30
con
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| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
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31
vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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32
blurs
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| n.模糊( blur的名词复数 )；模糊之物；（移动的）模糊形状；模糊的记忆v.（使）变模糊( blur的第三人称单数 )；（使）难以区分 | |
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33
fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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34
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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35
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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36
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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37
taverns
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| n.小旅馆，客栈，酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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38
iniquitous
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| adj.不公正的；邪恶的；高得出奇的 | |
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39
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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40
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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41
admonishes
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| n.劝告( admonish的名词复数 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责v.劝告( admonish的第三人称单数 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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42
pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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43
avers
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| v.断言( aver的第三人称单数 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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44
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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45
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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46
mischievously
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| adv.有害地；淘气地 | |
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47
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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48
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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49
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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50
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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51
thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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52
cult
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| n.异教，邪教；时尚，狂热的崇拜 | |
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53
perversely
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| adv. 倔强地 | |
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54
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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55
omniscient
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| adj.无所不知的；博识的 | |
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56
momentum
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| n.动力，冲力，势头；动量 | |
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57
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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58
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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59
espionage
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| n.间谍行为，谍报活动 | |
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60
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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61
darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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62
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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63
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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64
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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65
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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66
cabal
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| n.政治阴谋小集团 | |
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67
traitorous
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| adj. 叛国的, 不忠的, 背信弃义的 | |
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68
subvert
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| v.推翻；暗中破坏；搅乱 | |
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69
credibly
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| ad.可信地；可靠地 | |
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70
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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71
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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72
apprehensively
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| adv.担心地 | |
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73
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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74
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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75
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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76
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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77
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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78
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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79
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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80
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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81
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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82
guttering
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| n.用于建排水系统的材料；沟状切除术；开沟 | |
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83
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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84
intimidate
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| vt.恐吓，威胁 | |
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85
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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86
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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87
gruel
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| n.稀饭，粥 | |
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88
lurk
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| n.潜伏，潜行；v.潜藏，潜伏，埋伏 | |
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89
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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90
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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91
rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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92
kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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93
torpedo
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| n.水雷，地雷；v.用鱼雷破坏 | |
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94
anchovy
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| n.凤尾鱼 | |
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95
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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96
wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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97
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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98
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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99
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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100
canny
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| adj.谨慎的，节俭的 | |
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101
onset
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| n.进攻，袭击，开始，突然开始 | |
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102
sprouting
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| v.发芽( sprout的现在分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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103
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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104
squeals
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| n.长而尖锐的叫声( squeal的名词复数 )v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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105
laments
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| n.悲恸，哀歌，挽歌( lament的名词复数 )v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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106
buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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107
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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108
plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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109
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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110
larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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111
turnip
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| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
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112
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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113
flux
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| n.流动；不断的改变 | |
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114
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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