Now, what if I am a prostitute, what business has so-ciety to abuse me? Have I received any favors at the hands of society? If I am a hideous1 cancer in society, are not the causes of the disease to be sought in the rottenness of the carcass? Am I not its legitimate2 child; no bastard3, Sir?
—From a letter in The Times (February 24th, 1858) *
[* The substance of this famous and massively sarcastic4 letter, al-legedly written by a successful prostitute, but more probably by some-one like Henry Mayhew, may be read in Human Documents of the Victorian Golden Age.]
Milk punch and champagne5 may not seem a very profound philosophical6 conclusion to such soul-searching; but they had been perennially7 prescribed at Cambridge as a solution to all known problems, and though Charles had learned a good deal more about the problems since leaving the university he had not bettered the solution. Fortunately his club, like so many English gentlemen’s clubs, was founded on the very simple and profitable presumption8 that a man’s student days are his best. It had all the amenities9 of a rich college without any of its superfluous10 irritations11 (such as dons, deans and examinations). It pandered12, in short, to the adolescent in man. It also provided excellent milk punch.
It so happened that the first two fellow members Charles set eyes on when he entered the smoking room had also been his fellow students; one was the younger son of a bishop13 and a famous disgrace to his father. The other was what Charles had until recently expected to be: a baronet. Born with a large lump of Northumberland in his pocket, Sir Thomas Burgh had proved far too firm a rock for history to move. The immemorial pursuits of his ancestors had been hunting, shooting, drinking and whoring; and he still pursued them with a proper sense of tradition. He had in fact been a leader of the fast set into which Charles had drifted during his time at Cambridge. His escapades, of both the Mytton and the Casanova kind, were notorious. There had been several moves to get him ejected from the club; but since he provided its coal from one of his mines, and at a rate that virtually made a present of it, wiser counsels always pre-vailed. Besides, there was something honest about his manner of life. He sinned without shame, but also without hypocrisy14. He was generous to a fault; half the younger members of the club had at one time or another been in his debt—and his loans were a gentleman’s loans, indefinitely prolongable and without interest. He was always the first to start a book when there was something to bet on; and in a way he reminded all but the most irredeemably sober members of their less sober days. He was stocky, short, perpetually flushed by wine and weather; and his eyes had that splendid innocence15, that opaque16 blue candor17 of the satanically fallen. These eyes crinkled when they saw Charles enter.
“Charley! Now what the devil are you doing out of the matrimonial lock up?”
Charles smiled, not without a certain sense of wan18 foolish-ness. “Good evening, Tom. Nathaniel, how are you?” Eternal cigar in mouth, the thorn in the unlucky bishop’s side raised a languid hand. Charles turned back to the baronet. “On parole, you know. The dear girl’s down in Dorset taking the waters.”
Tom winked19. “While you take spirit—and spirits, eh? But I hear she’s the rose of the season. Nat says. He’s green, y’know. Demmed Charley, he says. Best girl and best match— ain’t fair, is it, Nat?” The bishop’s son was notoriously short of money and Charles guessed it was not Ernestina’s looks he was envied. Nine times out of ten he would at this point have moved on to the newspapers or joined some less iniquitous21 acquaintance. But today he stayed where he was. Would they “discuss” a punch and bubbly? They would. And so he sat with them.
“And how’s the esteemed22 uncle, Charles?” Sir Tom winked again, but in a way so endemic to his nature that it was impossible to take offense23. Charles murmured that he was in the best of health.
“How goes he for hounds? Ask him if he needs a brace24 of the best Northumberland. Real angels, though I says it wot bred ‘em. Tornado25—you recall Tornado? His grandpups.” Tornado had spent a clandestine26 term in Sir Tom’s rooms one summer at Cambridge.
“I recall him. So do my ankles.”
Sir Tom grinned broadly. “Aye, he took a fancy to you. Always bit what he loved. Dear old Tornado—God rest his soul.” And he downed his tumbler of punch with a sadness that made his two companions laugh. Which was cruel, since the sadness was perfectly27 genuine.
In such talk did two hours pass—and two more bottles of champagne, and another bowl of punch, and sundry28 chops and kidneys (the three gentlemen moved on to the dining room) which required a copious29 washing-down of claret, which in turn needed purging30 by a decanter or two of port.
Sir Tom and the bishop’s son were professional drinkers and took more than Charles. Outwardly they seemed by the end of the second decanter more drunk than he. But in fact his facade31 was sobriety, while theirs was drunkenness, exact-ly the reverse of the true comparative state, as became clear when they wandered out of the dining room for what Sir Tom called vaguely32 “a little drive round town.” Charles was the one who was unsteady on his feet. He was not too far gone not to feel embarrassed; somehow he saw Mr. Freeman’s gray assessing eyes on him, though no one as closely connected with trade as Mr. Freeman would ever have been allowed in that club.
He was helped into his cape33 and handed his hat, gloves, and cane34; and then he found himself in the keen outside air—the promised fog had not materialized, though the mist remained—staring with an intense concentration at the coat of arms on the door of Sir Tom’s town brougham. Winsyatt meanly stabbed him again, but then the coat of arms swayed towards him. His arms were taken, and a moment later he found himself sitting beside Sir Tom and facing the bishop’s son. He was not too drunk to note an exchanged wink20 between his two friends; but too drunk to ask what it meant. He told himself he did not care. He was glad he was drunk, that everything swam a little, that everything past and to come was profoundly unimportant. He had a great desire to tell them both about Mrs. Bella Tomkins and Winsyatt; but he was not drunk enough for that, either. A gentleman remains35 a gentleman, even in his cups. He turned to Tom.
“Tom ... Tom, dear old fellow, you’re a damn’ lucky fellow.”
“So are you, my Charley boy. We’re all damn lucky fellows.”
“Where we going?”
“Where damn lucky fellows always go of a jolly night. Eh, Nat, ain’t that so?”
There was a silence then, as Charles tried dimly to make out in which direction they were heading. This time he did not see the second wink exchanged. The key words in Sir Tom’s last sentence slowly registered. He turned solemnly.
“Jolly night?”
“We’re going to old Ma Terpsichore’s, Charles. Worship at the muses’ shrine36, don’t y’know?”
Charles stared at the smiling face of the bishop’s son.
“Shrine?”
“So to speak, Charles.”
“Metonymia. Venus for puella,” put in the bishop’s son.
Charles stared at them, then abruptly37 smiled. “Excellent idea.” But then he resumed his rather solemn stare out of the window. He felt he ought to stop the carriage and say good night to them. He remembered, in a brief flash of proportion, what their reputation was. Then there came out of nowhere Sarah’s face; that face with its closed eyes tended to his, the kiss ... so much fuss about nothing. He saw what all his troubles were caused by: he needed a woman, he needed intercourse38. He needed a last debauch39, as he sometimes needed a purge40. He looked round at Sir Tom and the bishop’s son. The first was sprawled41 back in his corner, the second had put his legs up across his seat. The top hats of both were cocked at flyly dissolute angles. This time the wink went among all three.
Soon they were in the press of carriages heading for that area of Victorian London we have rather mysteriously—since it was central in more ways than one—dropped from our picture of the age: an area of casinos (meeting places rather than gaming rooms), assembly cafes, cigar “divans” in its more public parts (the Haymarket and Regent Street) and very nearly unrelieved brothel in all the adjoining back streets. They passed the famous Oyster42 Shop in the Haymar-ket (“Lobsters, Oysters43, Pickled and Kippered Salmon”) and the no less celebrated44 Royal Albert Potato Can, run by the Khan, khan indeed of the baked-potato sellers of London, behind a great scarlet-and-brass stand that dominated and proclaimed the vista45. They passed (and the bishop’s son took his lorgnette out of its shagreen case) the crowded daughters of folly46, the great whores in their carriages, the lesser47 ones in their sidewalk droves ... from demure48 little milky-faced millinery girls to brandy-cheeked viragoes49. A torrent50 of color —of fashion, for here unimaginable things were allowed. Women dressed as Parisian bargees, in bowler51 and trousers, as sailors, as se?oritas, as Sicilian peasant girls; as if the entire casts of the countless52 neighboring penny-gaffs had poured out into the street. Far duller the customers—the numerically equal male sex, who, stick in hand and “weed” in mouth, eyed the evening’s talent. And Charles, though he wished he had not drunk so much, and so had to see every-thing twice over, found it delicious, gay, animated53, and above all, unFreemanish.
Terpsichore, I suspect, would hardly have bestowed54 her patronage55 on the audience of whom our three in some ten minutes formed part; for they were not alone. Some six or seven other young men, and a couple of old ones, one of whom Charles recognized as a pillar of the House of Lords, sat in the large salon56, appointed in the best Parisian taste, and reached through a narrow and noisome57 alley58 off a street some little way from the top of the Haymarket. At one end of the chandeliered room was a small stage hidden by deep red curtains, on which were embroidered59 in gold two pairs of satyrs and nymphs. One showed himself eminently60 in a state to take possession of his shepherdess; and the other had already been received. In black letters on a gilt61 cartouche above the curtains was written Carmina Priapea XLIV:
Velle quid hanc dicas, quamvis sim ligneus, hastam, oscula dat medio si qua puella mihi?
augure non opus est: “in me,” mihi credite, dixit, “utetur veris viribus hasta rudis.”*
[*It is the god Priapus who speaks: small wooden images of him with erect62 phallus, both to frighten away thieves and bring fertility, were common features of the Roman orchard63. “You’d like to know why the girl kisses this spear of mine, even though I’m made of wood? You don’t need to be clairvoyant64 to work that one out. ‘Let’s hope,’ she’s thinking, ‘that men will use this spear on me—and brutally65.’”]
The copulatory theme was repeated in various folio prints in gilt frames that hung between the curtained windows. Already a loose-haired girl in Camargo petticoats was serving the waiting gentlemen with Roederer’s champagne. In the background a much rouged66 but more seemingly dressed lady of some fifty years of age cast a quiet eye over her clientele. In spite of her very different profession she had very much the mind of Mrs. Endicott down in Exeter, albeit67 her assess-ments were made in guineas rather than shillings.
Such scenes as that which followed have probably changed less in the course of history than those of any other human activity; what was done before Charles that night was done in the same way before Heliogabalus—and no doubt before Agamemnon as well; and is done today in countless Soho dives. What particularly pleases me about the unchangingness of this ancient and time-honored form of entertainment is that it allows one to borrow from someone else’s imagina-tion. I was nosing recently round the best kind of secondhand bookseller’s—a careless one. Set quietly under “Medicine,” between an Introduction to Hepatology and a Diseases of the Bronchial System, was the even duller title The History of the Human Heart. It is in fact the very far from dull history of a lively human penis. It was originally published in 1749, the same year as Cleland’s masterpiece in the genre68, Fanny Hill. The author lacks his skill, but he will do.
The first House they entered was a noted69 Bagnio, where they met with a Covey of Town Partridges, which Camillo liked better than all he had ever drawn70 a Net over in the Country, and amongst them Miss M., the famous Posture71 Girl, whose Presence put our Company of Ramblers upon the Crochet72 of shewing their new Associate a Scene, of which he had never so much as dreamed before.
They were showed a large Room, Wine was brought in, the Drawer dismissed, and after a Bumper73 the Ladies were ordered to prepare. They immediately stripped stark74 naked, and mounted themselves on the middle of the Table. Camillo was greatly surprised at this Apparatus75, and not less puzzled in guessing for what Purpose the Girls had posted themselves on that Eminence76. They were clean limbed, fresh complec-tioned, and had Skins as white as the driven Snow, which was heightened by the jet-black Color of their Hair. They had very good Faces, and the natural Blush which glowed on their Cheeks rendered them in Camillo’s Mind, finished Beau-ties, and fit to rival Venus herself. From viewing their Faces, he bashfully cast his Eyes on the Altar of Love, which he had never had so fair a View of as this present Time...
The Parts of the celebrated Posture Girl had something about them which attracted his Attention more than any things he had either felt or seen. The Throne of Love was thickly covered with jet-black Hair, at least a quarter of a Yard long, which she artfully spread asunder78, to display the Entrance into the Magic Grotto79. The uncommon80 Figure of this bushy spot afforded a very odd sort of Amusement to Camillo, which was more heightened by the Rest of the Ceremony which these Wantons went through. They each filled a Glass of Wine, and laying themselves in an extended Posture placed their Glasses on the Mount of Venus, every Man in the Company drinking off the Bumper, as it stood on that tempting81 Protuberance, while the Wenches were not wanting in their lascivious82 Motions to heighten the Diversion. Then they went thro’ the several Postures83 and Tricks made use of to raise debilitated84 Lust85 when cloyed86 with natural Enjoyment87, and afterwards obliged poor Camillo to shoot the Bridge, and pass under the warm Cataracts88, which discom-posed him more than if he had been overset in a Gravesend Wherry. However, tho’ it raised the Laugh of the whole Company, he bore this Frolick with a good deal of patience, as he was told it was necessary for all new Members to be thus initiated89 into the Mysteries of their Society. Camillo began now to be disgusted at the prodigious90 Impudence91 of the Women; he found in himself no more of that uneasy Emotion he felt at their first setting out, and was desirous of the Company’s dismissing them; but his Companions would not part with them, till they had gone through with the whole of their Exercise; the Nymphs, who raised a fresh Contribu-tion on every new Discovery of their impudent92 Inventions, required no Entreaties93 to gratify the young Rakes, but pro-ceeded, without the least Sense of Shame, to shew them how far Human Nature could debase itself.
Their last Exploit inflamed94 these Sons of Debauchery so far that they proposed, as a Conclusion of the Scene, that each Man should chuse his Posture, and go through what they had only seen imitated before. But this was a Step the Nymphs would not comply with, it being the Maxim95 of these Damsels, never to admit of the Embraces of the Men, for fear of spoiling their Trade. This very much surprised Camil-lo, who from their former Behavior, persuaded himself there could not be invented any Species of Wickedness with which they would not comply for the Sake of Money; and though before this Refusal, their abandoned Obscenity had quite stifled96 all thoughts of lying with them, yet now his Desires were as strong as if they had been modest Virgins97, and he had seen nothing of their Wantonness; so that he became as earnest to oblige them to comply as any Man in the Com-pany.
This gives the general idea of what went on at Ma Terpsi-chore’s, though it omits a particular of difference: the girls of 1867, not so squeamish as those of 1749, were willingly auctioned98 off in a final tableau99.
However, Charles was not there to make a bid. The less obscene preambles100 he had quite enjoyed. He put on his much-traveled face, he had seen better things in Paris (or so he whispered to Sir Tom), he played the blase101 young know-all. But as the clothes fell, so did his drunkenness; he glanced at the lecherously102 parted mouths of the shadowed men beside him, he heard Sir Tom already indicating his pick to the bishop’s son. The white bodies embraced, contorted, mimicked103; but it seemed to Charles that there was a despair behind the fixed104 suggestive smiles of the performers. One was a child who could only just have reached puberty; and there seemed in her assumption of demure innocence something genuinely virginal, still agonized105, not fully77 hardened by her profession.
Yet as he was revolted, so was he sexually irritated. He loathed106 the public circumstance of this exhibition; but he was enough of an animal to be privately107 disturbed and excited. Some time before the end he rose and quietly left the room, as if it were to relieve himself. In the anteroom outside the little danseuse who had served the champagne sat by a table with the gentlemen’s cloaks and canes108. An artificial smile creased109 her painted face as she rose. Charles stared a mo-ment at her elaborately disordered ringlets, her bare arms and almost bare bosom110. He seemed about to speak, but then changed his mind and brusquely gestured for his things. He threw a half sovereign on the table beside the girl and blundered out.
In the street at the alley’s end he found several expectant cabs waiting. He took the first, shouted up (such was the cautious Victorian convention) the name of a Kensington street near to the one where he lived, and then threw himself into the seat. He did not feel nobly decent; but as if he had swallowed an insult or funked a duel111. His father had lived a life in which such evenings were a commonplace; that he could not stomach them proved he was unnatural112. Where now was the traveled man of the world? Shrunk into a miserable113 coward. And Ernestina, his engagement vows114? But to recall them was to be a prisoner waking from a dream that he was free and trying to stand, only to be jerked down by his chains back into the black reality of his cell.
The hansom threaded its way slowly down a narrow street. It was crowded with other hansoms and carriages, for this was still very much in the area of sin. Under each light, in every doorway115, stood prostitutes. From the darkness Charles watched them. He felt himself boiling, intolerable. If there had been a sharp spike116 in front of him he would, echoing Sarah before the thorn tree, have run his hand through it, so strong was his feeling for maceration117, punishment, some action that would lance his bile.
A quieter street. And they passed a gaslight under which stood a solitary118 girl. Perhaps because of the flagrant fre-quency of the women in the street they had left she seemed forlorn, too inexperienced to venture closer. Yet her profes-sion was unmistakable. She wore a dingy119 pink cotton dress with imitation roses at the breast; a white shawl round her shoulders. A black hat in the new style, small and masculine, perched over a large netted chignon of auburn hair. She stared at the passing hansom; and something about the shade of the hair, the alert dark-shadowed eyes, the vaguely wistful stance, made Charles crane forward and keep her in view through the oval side-window as the hansom passed. He had an intolerable moment, then he seized his stick and knocked hard with it on the roof above him. The driver stopped at once. There were hurried footsteps; and then the face ap-peared, slightly below him, beside the open front of the hansom.
She was not really like Sarah. He saw the hair was too red to be natural; and there was a commonness about her, an artificial boldness in her steady eyes and red-lipped smile; too red, like a gash120 of blood. But just a tinge—something in the firm eyebrows121, perhaps, or the mouth.
“You have a room?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell him where to go.”
She disappeared from his sight a moment and said some-thing to the driver behind. Then she stepped up, making the hansom rock, and got in beside him, filling the narrow space with cheap perfume. He felt the light cloth of her sleeve and skirt brush him, but they did not touch. The hansom moved on. There was a silence for a hundred yards or more.
“Is it for all night, sir?”
“Yes.”
“I asks ‘cause I adds the price of the fare back if it ain’t.”
He nodded, and stared into the darkness ahead of him. They passed another clopping hundred yards in silence. He felt her relax a little, the smallest pressure against his arm.
“Terrible cold for the time of year.”
“Yes.” He glanced at her. “You must notice such things.”
“I don’t do no work when it snows. Some does. But I don’t.”
More silence. This time Charles spoke122.
“You have been long... ?”
“Since I was eighteen, sir. Two years come May.”
“Ah.”
He stole another look at her during the next silence. A horrid123 mathematics gnawed124 at Charles’s mind: three hundred and sixty-five, say three hundred “working,” multiply by two ... it was six hundred to one that she did not have some disease. Was there some delicate way he could ask? There was not. He glanced at her again in an advanta-geous moment of outside light. Her complexion125 seemed unblemished. But he was a fool; as regards syphilis he knew he would have been ten times safer at a luxury establishment like the one he had left. To pick up a mere126 Cockney streetwalker ... but his fate was sealed. He wished it so. They were heading north, towards the Tottenham Court Road.
“Do you wish me to pay you now?”
“I ain’t partickler, sir. Just as you fancy.”
“Very well. How much?”
She hesitated. Then: “Normal, sir?”
He flashed a look at her; nodded.
“All night I usual charges ...” and her tiny hesitation127 was pathetically dishonest, “... a sovereign.”
He felt inside his frock coat and passed her the coin.
“Thank you, sir.” She put it discreetly128 away in her reticule. And then she managed an oblique129 answer to his secret fear. “I only go with gentlemen, sir. You don’t need no worries like that.”
In his turn he said, “Thank you.”
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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legitimate
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bastard
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sarcastic
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champagne
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philosophical
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perennially
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presumption
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amenities
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| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
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superfluous
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irritations
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pandered
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bishop
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hypocrisy
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innocence
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opaque
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candor
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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winked
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wink
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iniquitous
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esteemed
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offense
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brace
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tornado
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clandestine
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perfectly
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sundry
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copious
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purging
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| 清洗； 清除； 净化； 洗炉 | |
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facade
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vaguely
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cape
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cane
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remains
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shrine
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abruptly
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intercourse
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debauch
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purge
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| n.整肃，清除，泻药，净化；vt.净化，清除，摆脱；vi.清除，通便，腹泻，变得清洁 | |
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41
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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42
oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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43
oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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44
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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45
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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46
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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47
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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48
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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49
viragoes
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| n.泼妇( virago的名词复数 ) | |
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50
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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51
bowler
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| n.打保龄球的人，（板球的）投（球）手 | |
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52
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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53
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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54
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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56
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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57
noisome
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| adj.有害的，可厌的 | |
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58
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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59
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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60
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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61
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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62
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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63
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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64
clairvoyant
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| adj.有预见的；n.有预见的人 | |
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65
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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66
rouged
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| 胭脂，口红( rouge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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68
genre
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| n.(文学、艺术等的)类型，体裁，风格 | |
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69
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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70
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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71
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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72
crochet
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| n.钩针织物；v.用钩针编制 | |
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73
bumper
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| n.(汽车上的)保险杠；adj.特大的，丰盛的 | |
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74
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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75
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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76
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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77
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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78
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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79
grotto
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| n.洞穴 | |
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80
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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81
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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82
lascivious
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| adj.淫荡的，好色的 | |
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83
postures
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| 姿势( posture的名词复数 )； 看法； 态度； 立场 | |
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84
debilitated
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| adj.疲惫不堪的，操劳过度的v.使（人或人的身体）非常虚弱( debilitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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86
cloyed
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| v.发腻，倒胃口( cloy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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88
cataracts
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| n.大瀑布( cataract的名词复数 )；白内障 | |
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89
initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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90
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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91
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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92
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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93
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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94
inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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96
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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97
virgins
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| 处女，童男( virgin的名词复数 )； 童贞玛利亚（耶稣之母） | |
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98
auctioned
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| v.拍卖( auction的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
tableau
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| n.画面，活人画（舞台上活人扮的静态画面） | |
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100
preambles
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| n.序( preamble的名词复数 )；绪言；（法令、文件等的）序文；前言 | |
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101
blase
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| adj.厌烦于享乐的 | |
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102
lecherously
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| adj.好色的，淫荡的 | |
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103
mimicked
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的过去式和过去分词 )；酷似 | |
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104
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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105
agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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106
loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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107
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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108
canes
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| n.（某些植物，如竹或甘蔗的）茎( cane的名词复数 )；（用于制作家具等的）竹竿；竹杖 | |
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109
creased
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 皱皱巴巴 | |
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110
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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111
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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112
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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113
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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114
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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115
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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116
spike
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| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
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117
maceration
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| n.泡软，因绝食而衰弱 | |
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118
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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119
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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120
gash
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| v.深切，划开；n.(深长的)切(伤)口；裂缝 | |
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121
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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122
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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123
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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124
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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125
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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126
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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127
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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128
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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129
oblique
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| adj.斜的，倾斜的，无诚意的，不坦率的 | |
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