His dreams are shallow, furtive1 things. His legs switch. His lips move a little against the pillow. The skin of his eyelids2 shudders3 as his eyeballs turn, surveying the inner wall of vision. Otherwise he is as dead, beyond harm. The slash4 of sun on the wall above him slowly knifes down, cuts across his chest, becomes a coin on the floor, and vanishes. In shadow he suddenly awakes, his ghostly blue irises5 searching the unfamiliar6 planes for the source of men's voices. These voices are downstairs, and a rumble7 suggests that they are moving the furniture, tramping in circles, hunting him. But a familiar bulbous basso rings out, it is Tothero, and around this firm center the noises downstairs crystallize as the sounds of card?playing, drinking, horseplay, companionship. Rabbit rolls in his hot hollow and turns his face to his cool companion, the wall, and through a red cone8 of consciousness falls asleep again.
"Harry9! Harry!" The voice is plucking at his shoulder, rumpling10 his hair. He rolls away from the wall, squinting11 upward into vanished sunshine. Tothero sits in the shadows, a hulk of darkness dense12 with some anxiousness. His dirty?milk face leans forward, scarred by a lopsided smile. There is a smell of whisky. "Harry, I've got a girl for you!"
"Great. Bring her in."
The old man laughs, uneasily? What does he mean?
"You mean Janice?"
"It's after six o'clock. Get up, get up, Harry; you've slept like a beautiful baby. We're going out."
"Why?" Rabbit meant to ask "Where?"
"To eat, Harry, to dine. D, I, N, E. Rise, my boy. Aren't you hungry? Hunger. Hunger." He's a madman. "Oh Harry, you can't understand an old man's hunger, you eat and eat and it's never the right food. You can't understand that." He walks to the window and looks down into the alley13, his lumpy profile leaden in the dull light.
Rabbit slides back the covers, angles his naked legs over the edge, and holds himself in a sitting position. The sight of his thighs14, parallel, pure, aligns16 his groggy17 brain. The hair on his legs, once a thin blond fur, is getting dark and whiskery. The odor of his sleepsoaked body rises to him. "Whatsis girl business?" he asks.
"What is it, yes, what is it? Cunt," Tothero exclaims in a stream, and in the gray light by the window his face falls; he seems amazed to hear himself say such an abrupt18 ugly thing. Yet he's also watching, as if this was some sort of test. The result determined19, he corrects himself, "No. I have an acquaintance, an acquaintance in Brewer20, a lady?love perhaps, whom I stand to a meal once in a blue moon. But it's nothing more than that, little more than that. Harry, you're so innocent."
Rabbit begins to be afraid of Tothero; these phrases don't follow. He stands up in his underclothes. "I think I just better run along." The floor?fluff sticks to the soles of his bare feet.
"Oh Harry, Harry," Tothero cries in a rich voice mixed ofpain and affection, and comes forward and hugs him with one arm. "You and I are two of a kind." The big lopsided face looks up into his with eager confidence, but Rabbit doesn't understand. Yet his memory of the man as his coach still disposes him to listen. "You and I know what the score is, we know -" And right here, arriving at the kernel21 of his lesson, Tothero is balked22, and becomes befuddled23. He repeats, "We know," and removes his arm.
Rabbit says, "I thought we were going to talk about Janice when I woke up." He retrieves24 his trousers from the floor and puts them on. Their being rumpled25 disturbs him, reminds him that he has taken a giant step, and makes nervous wrinkles in his stomach and throat.
"We will, we will," Tothero says, "the moment our social obligations are satisfied." A pause. "Do you want to go back now? You must tell me if you do."
Rabbit remembers the dumb slot of her mouth, the way the closet door bumps against the television set. "No. God."
Tothero is overjoyed; it is happiness making him talk so much. "Well then, well then; get dressed. We can't go to Brewer undressed. Do you need a fresh shirt?"
"Yours wouldn't fit me, would it?"
"No, Harry, no? What's your size?"
"Fifteen three."
"Mine! Mine exactly. You have short arms for your height. Oh, this is wonderful, Harry. I can't tell you how much it means to me that you came to me when you needed help. All those years," he says, taking a shirt from the bureau made of beer cases and stripping off the cellophane, "all those years, all those boys, they pass through your hands and into the blue. And never come back, Harry; they never come back."
Rabbit is startled to feel and to see in Tothero's wavy27 mirror that the shirt fits. Their difference must be all in their legs. With the rat-tling tongue of a proud mother Tothero watches him dress. His talk makes more sense, now that the embarrassment28 of explaining what they're going to do is past. "It does my heart good," he says. "Youth before the mirror. How long has it been, Harry, now tell me truly, since you had a good time? A long time?"
"I had a good time last night," Rabbit says. "I drove to West Virginia and back."
"You'll like my lady, I know you will, a city petunia," Tothero goes on. "The girl she's bringing I've never met. She says she's fat. All the world looks fat to my lady ? how she eats, Harry: the appetite of the young. That's a fascinating knot, you young people have so many tricks I never learned."
"It's just a Windsor." Dressed, Rabbit feels a return of calm. Waking up had in a way returned him to the world he deserted29. He had missed Janice's crowding presence, the kid and his shrill30 needs, his own walls. He had wondered what he was doing. But now these reflexes, shallowly scratched, are spent, and deeper instincts flood forward, telling him he is right. He feels freedom like oxygen everywhere around him; Tothero is an eddy31 of air, and the building he is in, the streets of the town, are mere32 stair-ways and alleyways in space. He adjusts his necktie with infinite attention, as if the little lines of this juncture33 of the Windsor knot, the collar of Tothero's shirt, and the base of his own throat were the arms of a star that will, when he is finished, extend outward to the rim34 of the universe. He is the Dalai Lama. Like a cloud breaking in the corner of his vision Tothero drifts to the window. "Is my car still there?" Rabbit asks.
"Your car is blue. Yes. Put on your shoes."
"I wonder if anybody saw it there. While I was asleep, did you hear anything around town?" For in the vast blank of his freedom there remain a few imperfections: his wife, their apartment, their child ? clots35 of concern. It seems impossible that the passage of time should have so soon dissolved them, but Tothero's answer implies it.
"No," he says. He adds, "But then of course I didn't go where there would have been talk of you."
It annoys Rabbit that Tothero shows no interest in him except as a partner on a joyride. "I should have gone to work today," he says in a pointed36 voice, as if blaming the old man. "Saturday's my big day."
"What do you do?"
"I demonstrate a kitchen gadget37 called the MagiPeel Peeler in five and dime38 stores."
"A noble calling," Tothero says, and turns from the window. "Splendid, Harry. You're dressed at last."
"Is there a comb anywhere, Mr. Tothero? I ought to use the can."
Under their feet the men in the Sunshine Athletic39 Association laugh and catcall at some foolishness. Rabbit pictures passing among them and asks, "Say, should everybody see me?"
Tothero becomes indignant, as he used to now and then at practice, when everybody was just fooling around the basket and not going into the drills. "What are you afraid of, Harry? That poor little Janice Springer? You overestimate40 people. Nobody cares about her. Now we'll just go down there and don't be too long in the toilet. And I haven't heard any thanks from you for all I've done for you, and all I am doing." He takes the comb stuck in the brush bristles41 and gives it to Harry.
A dread42 of marring his freedom blocks the easy gesture of expressing gratitude43. Thin?upped, Rabbit pronounces, "Thanks."
They go downstairs. Contrary to what Tothero had promised, all of the men ?old men, mostly, but not very old, so their misshapen bodies have a nasty vigor44 ? look up with interest at him. Insanely, Tothero introduces him repeatedly: "Fred, this is my finest boy, a wonderful basketball player, Harry Angstrom, you probably remember his name from the papers, he twice set a county record, in 1950 and then he broke it in 1951, a wonderful accomplishment45."
"Is that right, Marty?"
"Harry, an honor to meet you."
Their alert colorless eyes, little dark smears46 like their mouths, feed on the strange sight of him and send acid impressions down to be digested in their disgusting big beer?tough stomachs. Rabbit sees that Tothero is a fool to them, and is ashamed of his friend and of himself. He hides in the lavatory47. The paint is worn off the toilet seat and the wash?basin is stained by the hot?water faucet's rusty48 tears; the walls are oily and the towel?rack empty. There is something terrible in the height of the tiny ceiling: a square yard of a dainty metal pattern covered with cobwebs in which a few white husks of insects are suspended. His depression deepens, becomes a kind of paralysis49; he walks out and rejoins Tothero limping and stiffly grimacing50, and they leave the place in a dream. He feels affronted51, vaguely52 invaded, when Tothero gets into his car. But, just as in a dream he never stops to question, Rabbit slides in behind the wheel. In the renewed relation of his arms and legs to the switches and pedals, he finds power. His wet?combed hair feels chilly53 on his head.
He says sharply, "So you think I should've drunk with Janice."
"Do what the heart commands," Tothero says. "The heart is our only guide." He sounds weary and far away.
"Into Brewer?"
There is no answer.
Rabbit drives up the alley, coming to Potter Avenue, where the water from the ice plant used to run down. He goes right, away from Wilbur Street, where his apartment is, and two more turns bring him into Central Street heading around the mountain to Brewer. On the left, land drops away into a chasm54 floored by the slick still width of the Running Horse River; on the right, gasoline stations glow, twirlers flicker55 on strings56, spotlights57 protest.
As the town thins, Tothero's tongue loosens. "The ladies we're going to meet, now Harry, I have no conception ofwhat the other one will be like, but I know you'll be a gentleman. And I guarantee you'll like my friend. She is a remarkable58 girl, Harry, with seven strikes against her from birth, but she's done a remarkable thing."
"What?"
"She's come to grips. Isn't that the whole secret, Harry; to come to grips? It makes me happy, happy and humble59, to have, as I do, this very tenuous60 association with her. Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you realize, Harry, that a young woman has hair on every part of her body?"
"I hadn't thought about it." Distaste stains his throat.
"Do," Tothero says. "Do think about it. They are monkeys, Harry. Women are monkeys."
He says it so solemn, Rabbit has to laugh.
Tothero laughs too, and comes closer on the seat. "Yet we love them, Harry, don't we? Harry, why do we love them? Answer that, and you'll answer the riddle61 of life." He is squirming around, crossing and uncrossing his legs, leaning over and tapping Rabbit's shoulder and then jerking back and glancing out the side window and turning and tapping again. "I am a hideous62 person, Harry. A person to be abhorred63. Harry, let me tell you something." As a coach he was always telling you something. "My wife calls me a person to be abhorred. But do you know when it began? It began with her skin. One day in the spring, in nineteen forty?three or four, it was during the war, without warning it was hideous. It was like the hides of a thousand lizards64 stitched together. Stitched together clumsily. Can you picture that? That sense of it being in pieces horrified65 me, Harry. Are you listening? You're not listening. You're wondering why you came to me."
"What you said about Janice this morning kind of worries me."
` Janice! Let's not talk about little mutts like Janice Springer, Harry boy. This is the night. This is no time for pity. The real women are dropping down out of the trees." With his hands he imitates things falling out of trees. "Plip, plip, plippity!"
Even discounting the man as a maniac66, Rabbit becomes expectant. They park the car off Weiser Avenue and meet the girls in front of a Chinese restaurant.
The girls waiting under crimson67 neon have a floral delicacy69; like a touch of wilt70 the red light rims68 their fluffy71 hair. Rabbit's heart thumps72 ahead of him down the pavement. They all come together and Tothero introduces Margaret: "Margaret Kosko, Harry Angstrom, my finest athlete, it's a pleasure for me to be able to introduce two such wonderful young people to one another." The old man's manner is queerly shy; his voice has a cough waiting in it.
After Tothero's build?up Rabbit is amazed that Margaret is just another Janice ? the same sallow density73, that stubborn smallness. Scarcely moving her lips, she says, "This is Ruth Leonard. Marty Tothero, and you, whatever your name is."
"Harry," Rabbit says. "Or Rabbit."
"That's right!" Tothero cries. "The other boys used to call you Rabbit. I had forgotten." He coughs.
"Well you're a big bunny," Ruth remarks. She is fat alongside Margaret, but not that fat. Chunky, more. But tall, five eight or nine. She has flat blue eyes in square?cut sockets74. Her thighs fill the front of her pseudo?silk pale?green dress so that even standing75 up she has a lap. Her hair, kind of a dirty ginger76 color, is bundled in a roll at the back of her head. Beyond her the parking meters with their red tongues recede77 along the curb78, and at her feet, pinched in lavender straps79, four sidewalk squares meet in an X.
"Just big outside," he said.
"That's me too," she says.
"God I'm hungry," Rabbit tells them all, just to say something. From somewhere he's got the jitters80.
"Hunger, hunger," Tothero says, as if grateful for the cue. "Where shall my little ones go?"
"Here?" Harry asks. He sees from the way the two girls look at him that he is expected to take charge. Tothero is moving back and forth81 like a crab82 sideways and bumps into a middle?aged83 couple strolling along. His face shows such surprise at the collision, and he is so elaborately apologetic, that Ruth laughs; her laugh rings on the street like a handful of change thrown down. At the sound Rabbit begins to loosen up; the space between the muscles of his chest feels padded with warm air. Tothero pushes into the glass door first, Margaret follows, and Ruth takes his arm and says, "I know you. I went to West Brewer High and got out in fifty?one."
"That's my class." Like the touch of her hand on his arm, her being his age pleases him, as if, even in high schools on opposite sides of the city, they have learned the same things and gained the same view of life. The Class of '51 view.
"You beat us," she says.
"You had a lousy team."
"No we didn't. I went with three of the players."
"Three at once?"
"In a way."
"Well. They looked tired."
She laughs again, the coins thrown down, though he feels ashamed of what he has said, she is so good?natured and maybe was pretty then. Her complexion84 isn't good now. But her hair is thick, and that's the sign.
A young Chinaman in a drab linen85 coat blocks their way past the glass counter where an American girl in a kimono sits counting threadbare bills. "Please, how many?"
"Four," Rabbit says, when Tothero is silent.
In an unexpected trusting gesture Ruth slips off her short white coat and gives it to Rabbit; soft, bunched cloth. The motion stirs up a smell of perfume on her.
"Four, yes please, this way," and the waiter leads them to a red booth. The place has just recently reopened as Chinese; pink paintings of Paris are still on the wall. Ruth staggers a little; Rabbit sees from behind that her heels, yellow with strain, tend to slip sideways in the net of lavender straps that pin her feet to the spikes86 of her shoes. But under the silky stretch of her mint?green dress her broad bottom packs the cloth with a certain composure. Her waist tucks in trimly, squarely, like the lines of her face. The cut of the dress bares a big V?shaped piece of fat fair back. In arriving at the booth, he bumps against her; the top of her head comes to his nose. The prickly smell of her hair stitches the store?bought scent87 stirred up on her. They bump because Tothero is ushering88 Margaret into her seat too ceremoniously, a gnome89 at the mouth of his cave. Standing there waiting, Rabbit is elated to think that a stranger passing outside the restaurant window, like himself last night outside that West Virginia diner, would see him with a woman. He seems to be that stranger, staring in, envying himself his body and his woman's body. Ruth bends down and slides over. The skin of her shoulders gleams and then dims in the shadow of the booth. Rabbit sits down too and feels her rustle90 beside him, settling in, the way women do, fussily91, as if making a nest.
He discovers he has held on to her coat. Pale limp pelt92, it sleeps in his lap. Without rising he reaches up and hangs it on the coatpole hook above him.
"Nice to have a long arm," she says, and looks in her purse and takes out a pack of Newports.
"Tothero says I have short arms."
"Where'd you meet that old bum26?" This so Tothero can hear if he cares.
"He's not a bum, he's my old coach."
"Want one?" A cigarette.
He wavers. "I've stopped."
"So that old bum was your coach," she sighs. She draws a cigarette from the turquoise93 pack of Newports and hangs it between her orange lips and frowns at the sulphur tip as she strikes a match, with curious feminine clumsiness, away from her, holding the paper match sideways and thus bending it. It flares94 on the third scratch.
Margaret says, "Ruth."
"Bum?" Tothero says, and his heavy face looks unwell and lopsided in cagey mirth, as if he's started to melt. "I am, I am. A vile95 old bum fallen among princesses."
Margaret sees nothing against her in this and puts her hand on top of his on the table and in a solemn dead voice insists, "You're nothing like a bum."
"Where is our young Confucian?" Tothero asks and looks around with his free arm uplifted. When the boy comes he asks, "Can we be served alcoholic96 beverages97 here?"
"We bring in from next door," the boy says. Funny the way the eyebrows98 of Chinese people look embedded99 in the skin instead of sticking out from it.
"Double Scotch100 whisky," Tothero says. "My dear?"
"Daiquiri," Margaret says; it sounds like a wisecrack.
"Children?"
Rabbit looks at Ruth. Her face is caked with orange dust. Her hair, her hair which seemed at first glance dirty blonde or faded brown, is in fact many colors, red and yellow and brown and black, each hair passing in the light through a series of tints101, like the hair of a dog. "Hell," she says. "I guess a Daiquiri."
"Three," Rabbit tells the boy, thinking a Daiquiri will be like a limeade.
The waiter recites, "Three Daiquiri, one double whisky Scotch on the rock," and goes.
Rabbit asks Ruth, "When's your birthday?"
"August. Why?"
"Mine's February," he says. "I win."
"You Win." She agrees as if she knows how he feels: that you can't be master, quite, of a woman who's older.
"If you recognized me," he asks, "why didn't you recognize Mr. Tothero? He was coach of that team."
` "Who looks at coaches? They don't do any good, do they?"
"Don't do any good? A high?school team is all coach; isn't it?"
Tothero answers, "It's all boy, Harry. You can't make gold out of lead. You can't make gold out of lead."
"Sure you can," Rabbit says. "When I came out in my freshman102 year I didn't know my head from my" ? he stops himself, after all these are ladies of a sort ?"elbow."
"Yes you did, Harry, yes you did. I had nothing to teach you; I just let you run." He keeps looking around. "You were a young deer," he continues, "with big feet."
Ruth asks, "How big?"
Rabbit tells her, "Twelve D. How big are yours?"
"They're tiny," she says. "Teeny weeny little."
"It looked to me like they were falling out of your shoes." He pulls his head back and slumps103 slightly, to look down past the table edge, into the submarine twilight104 where her foreshortened calves105 hang like tan fish. They dart106 back under the seat.
"Don't look too hard, you'll fall out of the booth," she says, ruffled107, which is good. Women like being mussed. They never say they do, but they do.
The waiter comes with the drinks and begins laying their places with paper placemats and lusterless silver. He does Margaret and is halfway108 done on Tothero when Tothero takes the whisky glass away from his lips and says in a freshened, tougher voice, "Cutlery? For Oriental dishes? Don't you have chopsticks?"
"Chopsticks, yes."
"Chopsticks all around," Tothero says positively109. "When in Rome."
"Don't take mine!" Margaret cries, slapping her hand with a clatter110 across her spoon and fork when the waiter reaches. "I don't want any sticks."
"Harry and Ruth?" Tothero asks. "Your preference?"
The Daiquiri does have the taste of limeade, riding like oil on the top of a raw transparent111 taste. "Sticks," Rabbit says in a deep voice, delighted to annoy Margaret. "In Texas we never touched metal to chicken hoo phooey."
"Ruth?" Tothero's facial attitude toward her is timid and forced.
"Oh I guess. If this dope can I can." She grinds out her cigarette and fishes for another.
The waiter goes away like a bridesmaid with his bouquet112 of unwanted silver. Margaret is alone in her choice, and this preys113 on her. Rabbit is glad; she is a shadow on his happiness.
"You ate Chinese food in Texas?" Ruth asks.
"All the time. Give me a cigarette."
"You've stopped."
"I've started. Give me a dime."
"A dime! The hell 1 will."
The needless urgency of her refusal offends him, it sounds as if she wants a profit. Why does she think he'd steal from her? What would he steal? He dips into his coat pocket and comes up with coins and takes a dime and puts it into the little ivory jukebox that bums114 mildly on the wall by their table. Leaning over, close to her face, he turns the leaves listing titles and finally punches the buttons, B and 7, for "Rocksville, P?A." "Chinese food in Texas is the best Chinese food in the United States except Boston," he says.
"Listen to the big traveller," Ruth says. She gives him a cigarette. He forgives her about the dime.
"So you think," Tothero says steadily115, "that coaches don't do anything."
"They're worthless," Ruth says.
"Hey come on," Rabbit says.
The waiter comes back with their chopsticks and two menus. Rabbit is disappointed in the chopsticks; they feel like plastic instead of wood. The cigarette tastes rough, a noseful of straw. He puts it out. Never again.
"We'll each order a dish and then share it," Tothero tells them. "Now who has favorites?"
"Sweet and sour pork," Margaret says. One thing about her, she is very definite.
"Harry?"
"I don't know."
"Where's the big Chinese?food specialist?" Ruth asks.
"This is in English. I'm used to ordering from a Chinese menu.
"Come on, come on, tell me what's good."
"Hey cut it out; you're getting me rattled117." `
"You were never in Texas," she says.
He remembers the house on that strange treeless residential118 street, the green night growing up from the prairie, the flowers in the window, and says, "Absolutely I was."
"Doing what?"
"Serving Uncle."
"Oh, in the Army; well that doesn't count. Everybody's been to Texas with the Army."
"You order whatever you think is good," Rabbit tells Tothero. He is irritated by all these Army veterans Ruth seems to know, and strains to hear the final bars of the song he spent a dime to play. In this Chinese place he can just make out a hint, coming it seems from the kitchen, of the jangling melody that lifted his spirits last night in the car.
Tothero gives the waiter the order and when he goes away tries to give Ruth the word. The old man's thin lips are wet with whisky. "The coach," he says, "the coach is concerned with developing the three tools we are given in life: the head, the body, and the heart."
"And the crotch," Ruth says. Margaret, of all people, laughs. She really gives Rabbit the creeps.
"Young woman, you've challenged me, and I deserve the respect of your attention." He speaks with grave weight.
"Shit," she says softly, and looks down. "Don't bleed on me." He has hurt her. The wings of her nostrils119 whiten; her coarse make?up darkens.
"One. The head. Strategy. Most boys come to a basketball coach from alley games and have no conception of the, of the elegance120 of the game played on a court with two baskets. Won't you bear me out, Harry?"
"Yeah, sure. just yesterday –"
"Second ? let me finish, Harry, and then you can talk second, the body. Work the boys into condition. Make their legs hard." He clenches121 his fist on the slick table. "Hard. Run, run, run. Run every minute their feet are on the floor. You can't run enough. Thirdly" ? he puts the index finger and thumb of one hand to the corners of his mouth and flicks122 away the moisture "the heart. And here the good coach, which I, young lady, certainly tried to be and some say was, has his most solemn opportunity. Give the boys the will to achieve. I've always liked that better than the will to win, for there can be achievement even in defeat. Make them feel the ? yes, I think the word is good- the sacredness of achievement, in the form of giving our best." He dares a pause now, and wins through it, glancing at each of them in turn to freeze their tongues. "A boy who has had his heart enlarged by an inspiring coach," he concludes, "can never become, in the deepest sense, a failure in the greater game of life.". He lifts his plump hand. "And now may the peace of God, et cetera. . ." He draws on his glass, which is mostly ice cubes. As he tilts123 it up they ride forward and rattle116 against his lips.
Ruth turns to Rabbit and asks quietly, as if to change the subject, "What do you do?"
He laughs. "Well I'm not sure I do anything any more. I should have gone to work this morning. I, uh, it's kind of hard to describe, I demonstrate something called the MagiPeel Kitchen Peeler."
"And I'm sure he does it well," Tothero says. "I'm sure that when the MagiPeel Corporation board sits down at their annual meeting and ask themselves, `Now who has done the most to further our cause with the American public?' the name of Harry Rabbit Angstrom leads the list."
"What do you do?" Rabbit asks her in turn.
"Nothing," Ruth answers. "Nothing." And her eyelids make a greasy124 blue curtain as she sips125 her Daiquiri. Her chin takes something of the liquid's green light.
The Chinese food arrives. Eager saliva126 fills his mouth. He really hasn't had any since Texas. He loves this food that contains no disgusting proofs of slain127 animals, no bloody128 slab129 of cow haunch or hen's sinewy130 skeleton; these ghosts have been minced131 and destroyed and painlessly merged132 with the shapes of mute vegetables, plump green bodies that invite his appetite's innocent gusto. Candy. Heaped on a smoking breast of rice. Each is given such a tidy hot breast, and Margaret is in a special hurry to muddle133 hers with glazed134 chunks135; all eat well. Their faces take color and strength from the oval plates of dark pork, sugar peas, chicken, stiff sweet sauce, shrimp136, water chestnuts137, who knows what else. Their talk grows hearty138.
"He was terrific," Rabbit says of Tothero. "He was the greatest coach in the county. I would've been nothing without him."
"No, Harry, no. You did more for me than I did for you. Girls, the first game he played he scored twenty points."
"Twenty?three," Harry says.
"Twenty?three points! Think of it." The women eat on. "Remember, Harry, the state tournaments in Harrisburg; Dennistown and their little set?shot artist?"
"He was tiny," Harry tells Ruth. "About five two and ugly as a monkey. Really a dirty player too."
"Ah, but he knew his trade," Tothero says, "he knew his trade. Harry had met his match."
"Then he tripped me, remember?"
"So he did," Tothero says. "I'd forgotten."
"This runt trips me, and over I go, bonk, against the mat. If the walls hadn't been padded I'd'a been killed."
"Then what happened, Harry? Did you cream him? I've forgotten this whole incident." Tothero's mouth is full of food and his hunger for revenge is ugly.
"Why, no," Rabbit says slowly. "I never fouled140. The ref saw it and it was his fifth foul139 and he was out. Then we smothered141 'em."
Something fades in Tothero's expression; his face goes slack. "That's right, you never fouled. He never did. Harry was always the idealist."
Rabbit shrugs143. "I didn't have to."
"The other strange thing about Harry," Tothero tells the two women. "He was never hurt."
"No, I once sprained144 my wrist," Rabbit corrects. "The thing you said that really helped me -"
"What happened next in the tournaments? I'm frightened at how I've forgotten this."
"Next? Pennoak, I think. Nothing happened. They beat us."
"They won? Didn't we beat them?"
"Oh hell no. They were good. They had five good players. What'd we have? Just me, really. We had Harrison, who was O.K., but after that football injury he never had the touch, really."
"Ronnie Harrison?" Ruth asks.
Rabbit is startled. "You know him?" Harrison had been a notorious bedbug.
"I'm not sure," she says, complacently145 enough.
"Shortish guy with kinky hair. A little bitty limp."
"No, I don't know," she says. "I don't think so." She is pleasingly dexterous146 with the chopsticks, and keeps one hand lying palm up on her lap. He loves when she ducks her head, that thick simple neck moving forward making the broad tendons on her shoulder jump up, to get her lips around a piece of something. Pinched with just the right pressure between the sticks; funny how plump women have that delicate touch. Margaret shovels147 it in with her dull bent148 silver.
"We didn't win," Tothero repeats, and calls, "Waiter." When the boy comes Tothero asks for another round of the same drinks.
"No, not for me, thanks," Rabbit says. "I'm high enough on this as it is."
"You're just a big clean?living kid, aren't you, you," Margaret says. She doesn't even know his name yet. God, he hates her.
"The thing, I started to say, the thing you said that really helped me,"Rabbit says to Tothero, "is that business about almost touching149 your thumbs on the two?handers. That's the whole secret, really, getting the ball in front of your hands, where you get that nice lifty feeling. Just zwoops off." His hands show how.
"Oh, Harry," Tothero says sadly, "you could shoot when you came to me. All I gave you was the will to win. The will to achievement."
"You know my best night," Rabbit says, "my best night wasn't that forty?pointer that time against Allenville, it was in my junior year, we went down to end of the county real early in the season to play, a funny little hick school, about a hundred in all six grades; what was its name? Bird's Nest? Something like that. You'll remember."
"Bird's Nest," Tothero says. "No."
"It was the only time I think we ever scheduled them. Funny little square gymnasium where the crowd sat up on the stage. Some name that meant something."
"Bird's Nest," Tothero says. He is bothered. He keeps touching his ear.
"Oriole!" Rabbit exclaims, perfect in joy. "Oriole High. This little kind of spread?out town, and it was early in the season, so it was kind of warm still, and going down in the bus you could see the things of corn like wigwams out in the fields. And the school itself kind of smelled of cider; I remember you made some joke about it. You told me to take it easy, we were down there for practice, and we weren't supposed to try, you know, to smother142 'em."
"Your memory is better than mine," Tothero says. The waiter comes back and Tothero takes his drink right off the tray, before the boy has a chance to give it to him.
"So," Rabbit says. "We go out there and there are these five farmers clumping150 up and down, and we get about fifteen points up right away and I just take it easy. And there are just a couple dozen people sitting up on the stage and the game isn't a league game so nothing matters much, and I get this funny feeling I can do anything, just drifting around, passing the ball, and all of a sud-den I know, you see, I know I can do anything. The second half I take maybe just ten shots, and every one goes right in, not just bounces in, but doesn't touch the rim, like I'm dropping stones down a well. And these farmers running up and down getting up a sweat, they didn't have more than two substitutes, but we're not in their league either, so it doesn't matter much to them, and the one ref just leans over against the edge of the stage talking to their coach. Oriole High. Yeah, and then afterwards their coach comes down into the locker151 room where both teams are chang-ing and gets a jug152 of cider out of a locker and we all passed it around. Don't you remember?" It puzzles him, yet makes him want to laugh, that he can't make the others feel what was so special. He resumes eating. The others are done and on their second drinks.
"Yes, sir, Whosie, you're a real sweet kid," Margaret tells him.
"Pay no attention, Harry," Tothero says, "that's the way tramps talk."
Margaret hits him: her hand flies up from the table and across her body into his mouth, flat, but without a slapping noise.
"Touché," Ruth says. Her voice is indifferent. The whole thing is so quiet that the Chinaman, clearing their dishes away, doesn't look up, and seems to hear nothing.
"We're going, by jingo," Tothero announces, and tries to stand up, but the edge of the table hits his thighs, and he can stand no higher than a hunchback. The slap has left a little twist in his mouth that Rabbit can't bear to look at, it's so ambiguous and blurred153, such a sickly mixture of bravado154 and shame and, worst, pride or less than pride, conceit155. This deathly smirk156 emits the words, "Are you coming, my dear?"
"Son of a bitch," Margaret says, yet her little hard nut of a body slides over, and she glances behind her to see if she is leaving any-thing, cigarettes or a purse. "Son of a bitch," she repeats, and there is something friendly in the level way she says it. Both she and Tothero seem calmer now, on the move.
Rabbit starts to push up from the table, but Tothero sets a rigid157 urgent hand on his shoulder, the coach's touch, that Rabbit had so often felt on the bench, just before the pat on the bottom that sent him into the game. "No, no, Harry. You stay. One apiece. Don't let our vulgarity distract you. I couldn't borrow your car, could I?"
"Huh? How would I get anywhere?"
"Quite right, you're quite right. Forgive my asking."
"No, I mean, you can if you want =" In fact he feels deeply reluctant to part with a car that is only half his.
Tothero sees this. "No no. It was an insane thought. Good night."
"You bloated old bastard," Margaret says to him. He glances toward her, then down fuzzily. She is right, Harry realizes, he is bloated; his face is lopsided like a tired balloon. Yet this balloon peers down at him as if there was some message bulging158 it, heavy and vague like water.
"Where will you go?" Tothero asks.
"I'll be fine. I have money. I'll get a hotel," Rabbit tells him. He wishes, now that he has refused him a favor, that Tothero would go.
"The door of my mansion159 is open," Tothero says. "There's the one cot only, but we can make a mattress160 –"
"No, look," Rabbit says severely161. "You've saved my life, but I don't want to saddle you. I'll be fine. I can't thank you enough anyway."
"We'll talk sometime," Tothero promises. His hand twitches162, and accidentally taps Margaret's thigh15.
"I could kill you," Margaret says at his side, and they go off, looking from the back like father and daughter, past the counter where the waiter whispers with the American girl, and out the glass door, Margaret first. The whole thing seems so settled: like little wooden figures going in and out of a barometer163.
"God, he's in sad shape."
"Who isn't?" Ruth asks.
"You don't seem to be."
"I eat, is what you mean."
"No, listen, you have some kind of complex about being big. You're not fat. You're right in proportion."
She laughs, catches herself, looks at him, laughs again and squeezes his arm and says, "Rabbit, you're a Christian164 gentleman." Her using his own name enters his ears with unsettling warmth.
"What she hit him for?" he asks, giggling165 in fear that her hands, resting on his forearm, will playfully poke166 his side. He feels in her grip the tension of this possibility.
"She likes to hit people. She once hit me."
"Yeah, but you probably asked for it."
She replaces her hands on the table. "So did he. He likes being hit."
He asks, "You know him?"
"I've heard her talk about him."
"Well, that's not knowing him. That girl is dumb."
"Isn't she. She's dumber than you can know."
"Look, I know. I'm married to her twin."
"Ohhh. Married."
"Hey, what's this about Ronnie Harrison? Do you know him?"
"What's this about you being married?"
"Well, I was. Still am." He regrets that they have started talking about it. A big bubble, the enormity of it, crowds his heart. It's like when he was a kid and suddenly thought, coming back from somewhere at the end of a Saturday afternoon, that this these trees, this pavement ? was life, the real and only thing.
"Where is she?"
This makes it worse, picturing Janice; where would she go? "Probably with her parents. I just left her last night."
"Oh. Then this is just a holiday. You haven't left her."
"Don't be too sure about that."
The waiter brings them a plate of sesame cakes. Rabbit takes one tentatively, thinking they will be hard, and is delighted to have it become in his mouth mild elastic167 jelly, through the shell of bIand seeds. The waiter asks, "Gone for good, your friends?"
"It's O.K., I'll pay," Rabbit says.
The Chinaman lifts his sunken eyebrows and puckers168 into a smile and retreats.
"You're rich?" Ruth asks.
"No, poor."
"Are you really going to a hotel?" They both take several sesame cakes. There are perhaps twenty on the plate.
"I guess. I'll tell you about Janice. I never thought of leaving her until the minute I did; all of a sudden it seemed obvious. She's about five six, sort of dark?complected ="
"I don't want to hear about it." Her voice is positive; her many?colored hair, as she tilts back her head and squints169 at a ceiling light, settles into one grave shade. The light flatters her hair more than her face; on this side of her nose there are some spots in her skin, blemishes170 that make bumps through her powder.
"You don't," he says. The bubble rolls off his chest. If it doesn't worry anybody else why should it worry him? "O.K. What shall we talk about? What's your weight?"
"One forty?seven."
"Ruth, you're tiny. You're just a welterweight. No kidding. Nobody wants you to be all bones. Every pound you have on is priceless."
He's talking just for happiness, but something he says makes her tense up. "You're pretty wise, aren't you?" she asks, tilting171 her empty glass toward her eyes. The glass is a shallow cup on a short stem, like an ice?cream dish at a fancy birthday party. It sends pale arcs of reflection skidding172 across her thoughtful face.
"You don't want to talk about your weight, either. Huh." He pops another sesame cake into his mouth, and waits until the first pang173, the first taste of jelly, subsides174. "Let's try this. What you need, typical American homemaker, is the MagiPeel Kitchen Peeler. Preserve those vitamins. Shave off fatty excess. A simple adjustment of the plastic turn screw, and you can grate carrots and sharpen your husband's pencils. A host of uses."
"Don't. Don't be so funny."
"O.K. "
"Let's be nice."
"O.K. You start."
She plops a cake in and looks at him with a funny full?mouth smile, the corners turned down tight, and a frantic175 look of agreeableness strains her features while she chews. She swallows, her blue eyes widened round, and gives a little gasp176 before launching into what he thinks will be a remark but turns out to be a laugh, right in his face. "Wait," she begs. "I'm trying." And returns to looking into the shell of her glass, thinking, and the best she can do, after all that, is to say, "Don't live in a hotel."
"I got to. Tell me a good one." He instinctively177 thinks she knows about hotels. At the side of her neck where it shades into her shoulder there is a shallow white hollow where his attention curls and rests.
"They're all expensive," she said. "Everything is. Just my little apartment is expensive."
"Where do you have an apartment?"
"Oh a few blocks from here. On Summer Street. It's one flight up, above a doctor."
"It's yours alone?"
"Yeah. My girlfriend got married."
"So you're stuck with all the rent and you don't do anything."
"Which means what?"
"Nothing. You just said you did nothing. How expensive is it?"
She looks at him curiously178, with that alertness he had noticed right off, out by the parking meters.
"The apartment," he says.
"A hundred?ten a month. Then they make you pay for light and gas."
"And you don't do anything."
She gazes into her glass, making reflected light run around the rim with a rocking motion of her hands.
"Whaddeya thinking?" he asks.
"Just wondering."
"Wondering what?"
"How wise you are."
Right here, without moving his head, he feels the wind blow. So this is the drift; he hadn't been sure. He says, "Well I'll tell ya. Why don't you let me give you something toward your rent?"
"Why should you do that?"
"Big heart," he says. "Ten?"
"I need fifteen."
"For the light and gas. O.K. O.K." He is uncertain what to do now. They sit looking at the empty plate that had held a pyramid of sesame cakes. They have eaten them all. The waiter, when he comes, is surprised to see this; his eyes go from the plate to Rabbit to Ruth, all in a second. The check amounts to $9.60. Rabbit puts a ten and a one on top of it, and beside these bills he puts a ten and a five. He counts what's left in his wallet; three tens and four ones. When he looks up, Ruth's money has vanished from the slick table. He stands up and takes her little soft coat and holds it for her, and like a great green fish, his prize, she heaves across and up out of the booth and coldly lets herself be fitted into it. He calculates, A dime a pound.
And that's not counting the restaurant bill. He takes the bill to the counter and gives the girl the ten. She makes change with a studious frown. The purple simplicity179 of her kimono does not go with her complicated permed hair and rouged180, sweet?and?sour American face. When she puts his coins on the pink cleats of the change pad, he flicks his hand in the air above the silver, adds the dollar to it, and nods at the young Chinese waiter, who is perched attentively181 beside her. "Tank you vewy much, sir. We tank you vewy much," the boy says to him. But his gratitude does not even last until they are out of sight. As they move toward the glass door he turns to the cashier and in a reedy, perfectly182 inflected voice completes his story: "? and then this other cat says, `But man, mine was helium!' "
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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shudders
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| n.颤动，打颤，战栗( shudder的名词复数 )v.战栗( shudder的第三人称单数 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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slash
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| vi.大幅度削减；vt.猛砍，尖锐抨击，大幅减少；n.猛砍，斜线，长切口，衣衩 | |
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irises
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| n.虹( iris的名词复数 )；虹膜；虹彩；鸢尾（花） | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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cone
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| n.圆锥体，圆锥形东西，球果 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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rumpling
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的现在分词 ) | |
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squinting
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| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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aligns
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| 使成一线( align的第三人称单数 )； 排整齐； 校准； 公开支持（某人、集体或观点） | |
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groggy
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| adj.体弱的；不稳的 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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brewer
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| n. 啤酒制造者 | |
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kernel
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| n.(果实的)核，仁；(问题)的中心，核心 | |
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balked
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| v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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befuddled
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| adj.迷糊的，糊涂的v.使烂醉( befuddle的过去式和过去分词 )；使迷惑不解 | |
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retrieves
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| v.取回( retrieve的第三人称单数 )；恢复；寻回；检索（储存的信息） | |
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rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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eddy
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| n.漩涡，涡流 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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clots
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| n.凝块( clot的名词复数 )；血块；蠢人；傻瓜v.凝固( clot的第三人称单数 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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gadget
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| n.小巧的机械，精巧的装置，小玩意儿 | |
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dime
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| n.（指美国、加拿大的钱币）一角 | |
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athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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overestimate
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| v.估计过高，过高评价 | |
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bristles
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| 短而硬的毛发，刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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smears
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| 污迹( smear的名词复数 )； 污斑； （显微镜的）涂片； 诽谤 | |
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lavatory
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| n.盥洗室，厕所 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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grimacing
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的现在分词 ) | |
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51
affronted
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| adj.被侮辱的，被冒犯的v.勇敢地面对( affront的过去式和过去分词 )；相遇 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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spotlights
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| n.聚光灯（的光）( spotlight的名词复数 )；公众注意的中心v.聚光照明( spotlight的第三人称单数 )；使公众注意，使突出醒目 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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tenuous
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| adj.细薄的，稀薄的，空洞的 | |
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riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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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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abhorred
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| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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lizards
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| n.蜥蜴( lizard的名词复数 ) | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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rims
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| n.（圆形物体的）边( rim的名词复数 )；缘；轮辋；轮圈 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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72
thumps
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| n.猪肺病；砰的重击声( thump的名词复数 )v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的第三人称单数 ) | |
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73
density
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| n.密集，密度，浓度 | |
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74
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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75
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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76
ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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77
recede
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| vi.退(去)，渐渐远去；向后倾斜，缩进 | |
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78
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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79
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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80
jitters
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| n.pl.紧张(通常前面要有the) | |
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81
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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82
crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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83
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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84
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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85
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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86
spikes
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| n.穗( spike的名词复数 )；跑鞋；（防滑）鞋钉；尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
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87
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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88
ushering
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的现在分词 ) | |
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89
gnome
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| n.土地神；侏儒，地精 | |
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90
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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91
fussily
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| adv.无事空扰地，大惊小怪地，小题大做地 | |
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92
pelt
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| v.投掷，剥皮，抨击，开火 | |
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93
turquoise
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| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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94
flares
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| n.喇叭裤v.（使）闪耀( flare的第三人称单数 )；（使）（船舷）外倾；（使）鼻孔张大；（使）（衣裙、酒杯等）呈喇叭形展开 | |
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95
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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96
alcoholic
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| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
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97
beverages
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| n.饮料( beverage的名词复数 ) | |
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98
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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99
embedded
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| a.扎牢的 | |
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100
scotch
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|
| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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101
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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102
freshman
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| n.大学一年级学生(可兼指男女) | |
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103
slumps
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| 萧条期( slump的名词复数 )； （个人、球队等的）低潮状态； （销售量、价格、价值等的）骤降； 猛跌 | |
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104
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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105
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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106
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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107
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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108
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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109
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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110
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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111
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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112
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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113
preys
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| v.掠食( prey的第三人称单数 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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114
bums
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| n. 游荡者，流浪汉，懒鬼，闹饮，屁股 adj. 没有价值的，不灵光的，不合理的 vt. 令人失望，乞讨 vi. 混日子，以乞讨为生 | |
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115
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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116
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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117
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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118
residential
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| adj.提供住宿的；居住的；住宅的 | |
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119
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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120
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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121
clenches
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的第三人称单数 ) | |
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122
flicks
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的第三人称单数 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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123
tilts
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| （意欲赢得某物或战胜某人的）企图，尝试( tilt的名词复数 ) | |
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124
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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125
sips
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| n.小口喝，一小口的量( sip的名词复数 )v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的第三人称单数 ) | |
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126
saliva
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| n.唾液，口水 | |
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127
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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128
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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129
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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130
sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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131
minced
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| v.切碎( mince的过去式和过去分词 )；剁碎；绞碎；用绞肉机绞（食物，尤指肉） | |
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132
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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133
muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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134
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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135
chunks
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| 厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 )； （某物）相当大的数量或部分 | |
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136
shrimp
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| n.虾，小虾；矮小的人 | |
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137
chestnuts
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| n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 )；栗色；栗树；栗色马 | |
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138
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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139
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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140
fouled
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| v.使污秽( foul的过去式和过去分词 )；弄脏；击球出界；（通常用废物）弄脏 | |
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141
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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142
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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143
shrugs
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| n.耸肩（以表示冷淡，怀疑等）( shrug的名词复数 ) | |
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144
sprained
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| v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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145
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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146
dexterous
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| adj.灵敏的；灵巧的 | |
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147
shovels
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| n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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148
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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149
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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150
clumping
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| v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的现在分词 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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151
locker
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| n.更衣箱，储物柜，冷藏室，上锁的人 | |
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152
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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153
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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154
bravado
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| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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155
conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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156
smirk
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| n.得意地笑；v.傻笑；假笑着说 | |
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157
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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158
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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159
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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160
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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161
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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162
twitches
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| n.（使）抽动， （使）颤动， （使）抽搐( twitch的名词复数 ) | |
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163
barometer
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| n.气压表，睛雨表，反应指标 | |
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164
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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165
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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166
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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167
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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168
puckers
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的第三人称单数 ) | |
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169
squints
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| 斜视症( squint的名词复数 )； 瞥 | |
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170
blemishes
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| n.（身体的）瘢点( blemish的名词复数 )；伤疤；瑕疵；污点 | |
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171
tilting
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| 倾斜，倾卸 | |
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172
skidding
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| n.曳出，集材v.（通常指车辆） 侧滑( skid的现在分词 )；打滑；滑行；（住在）贫民区 | |
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173
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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174
subsides
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的第三人称单数 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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175
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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176
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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177
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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178
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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179
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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180
rouged
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| 胭脂，口红( rouge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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181
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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182
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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