FOR A LONG TIME he lay on his back smoking, staring into the blackness of the cavernous roof. The corporals’ snores rose and fell in counterpoint. He was exhausted1, but not sleepy. The wound throbbed2 uncomfortably, each beat precise and tight. Whatever was in there was sharp and close to the surface, and he wanted to touch it with a fingertip. Exhaustion3 made him vulnerable to the thoughts he wanted least. He was thinking about the French boy asleep in his bed, and about the indifference4 with which men could lob shells into a landscape. Or empty their bomb bays over a sleeping cottage by a railway, without knowing or caring who was there. It was an industrial process. He had seen their own RA units at work, tightly knit groups, working all hours, proud of the speed with which they could set up a line, and proud of their discipline, drills, training, teamwork. They need never see the end result—a vanished boy. Vanished. As he formed the word in his thoughts, sleep snatched him under, but only for seconds. Then he was awake, on his bed, on his back, staring at the darkness in his cell. He could feel he was back there. He could smell the concrete floor, and the piss in the bucket, and the gloss6 paint on the walls, and hear the snores of the men along the row. Three and a half years of nights like these, unable to sleep, thinking of another vanished boy, another vanished life that was once his own, and waiting for dawn, and slop-out and another wasted day. He did not know how he survived the daily stupidity of it. The stupidity and claustrophobia. The hand squeezing on his throat. Being here, sheltering in a barn, with an army in rout7, where a child’s limb in a tree was something that ordinary men could ignore, where a whole country, a whole civilization was about to fall, was better than being there, on a narrow bed under a dim electric light, waiting for nothing. Here there were wooded valleys, streams, sunlight on the poplars which they could not take away unless they killed him. And there was hope. I’ll wait for you. Come back. There was a chance, just a chance, of getting back. He had her last letter in his pocket and her new address. This was why he had to survive, and use his cunning to stay off the main roads where the circling dive-bombers waited like raptors.
Later, he got up from under his greatcoat, pulled on his boots and groped his way through the barn to relieve himself outside. He was dizzy with fatigue8, but he was still not ready for sleep. Ignoring the snarling9 farm dogs, he found his way along a track to a grassy10 rise to watch the flashes in the southern sky. This was the approaching storm of German armor. He touched his top pocket where the poem she sent was enfolded in her letter. In the nightmare of the dark, / All the dogs of Europe bark. The rest of her letters were buttoned into the inside pocket of his greatcoat. By standing11 on the wheel of an abandoned trailer he was able to see other parts of the sky. The gun flashes were everywhere but the north. The defeated army was running up a corridor that was bound to narrow, and soon must be cut off. There would be no chance of escape for the stragglers. At best, it would be prison again. Prison camp. This time, he wouldn’t last. When France fell there would be no end of the war in sight. No letters from her, and no way back. No bargaining an early release in return for joining the infantry12. The hand on his throat again. The prospect13 would be of a thousand, or thousands of incarcerated14 nights, sleeplessly15 turning over the past, waiting for his life to resume, wondering if it ever would. Perhaps it would make sense to leave now before it was too late, and keep going, all night, all day until he reached the Channel. Slip away, leave the corporals to their fate. He turned and began to make his way back down the slope and thought better of it. He could barely see the ground in front of him. He would make no progress in the dark and could easily break a leg. And perhaps the corporals weren’t such complete dolts—Mace with his straw mattresses16, Nettle17 with his gift for the brothers.
Guided by their snores, he shuffled18 back to his bed. But still sleep would not come, or came only in quick plunges19 from which he emerged, giddy with thoughts he could not choose or direct. They pursued him, the old themes. Here it was again, his only meeting with her. Six days out of prison, one day before he reported for duty near Aldershot. When they arranged to meet at Joe Lyons teahouse in the Strand21 in 1939, they had not seen each other for three and a half years. He was at the café early and took a corner seat with a view of the door. Freedom was still a novelty. The pace and clatter22, the colors of coats, jackets and skirts, the bright, loud conversations of West End shoppers, the friendliness23 of the girl who served him, the spacious24 lack of threat—he sat back and enjoyed the embrace of the everyday. It had a beauty he alone could appreciate.
During his time inside, the only female visitor he was permitted was his mother. In case he was inflamed25, they said. Cecilia wrote every week. In love with her, willing himself to stay sane26 for her, he was naturally in love with her words. When he wrote back, he pretended to be his old self, he lied his way into sanity27. For fear of his psychiatrist28 who was also their censor29, they could never be sensual, or even emotional. His was considered a modern, enlightened prison, despite its Victorian chill. He had been diagnosed, with clinical precision, as morbidly30 oversexed, and in need of help as well as correction. He was not to be stimulated31. Some letters—both his and hers—were confiscated32 for some timid expression of affection. So they wrote about literature, and used characters as codes. At Cambridge, they had passed each other by in the street. All those books, those happy or tragic33 couples they had never met to discuss! Tristan and Isolde, the Duke Orsino and Olivia (and Malvolio too), Troilus and Criseyde, Mr. Knightley and Emma, Venus and Adonis. Turner and Tallis. Once, in despair, he referred to Prometheus, chained to a rock, his liver devoured34 daily by a vulture. Sometimes she was patient Griselde. Mention of “a quiet corner in a library” was a code for sexual ecstasy35. They charted the daily round too, in boring, loving detail. He described the prison routine in every aspect, but he never told her of its stupidity. That was plain enough. He never told her that he feared he might go under. That too was clear. She never wrote that she loved him, though she would have if she thought it would get through. But he knew it.
She told him she had cut herself off from her family. She would never speak to her parents, brother or sister again. He followed closely all her steps along the way toward her nurse’s qualification. When she wrote, “I went to the library today to get the anatomy37 book I told you about. I found a quiet corner and pretended to read,” he knew she was feeding on the same memories that consumed him every night, beneath thin prison blankets.
When she entered the café, wearing her nurse’s cape5, startling him from a pleasant daze38, he stood too quickly and knocked his tea. He was conscious of the oversized suit his mother had saved for. The jacket did not seem to touch his shoulders at any point. They sat down, looked at each other, smiled and looked away. Robbie and Cecilia had been making love for years—by post. In their coded exchanges they had drawn39 close, but how artificial that closeness seemed now as they embarked40 on their small talk, their helpless catechism of polite query41 and response. As the distance opened up between them, they understood how far they had run ahead of themselves in their letters. This moment had been imagined and desired for too long, and could not measure up. He had been out of the world, and lacked the confidence to step back and reach for the larger thought. I love you, and you saved my life. He asked about her lodgings42. She told him.
“And do you get along all right with your landlady43?”
He could think of nothing better, and feared the silence that might come down, and the awkwardness that would be a prelude44 to her telling him that it had been nice to meet up again. Now she must be getting back to work. Everything they had, rested on a few minutes in a library years ago. Was it too frail45? She could easily slip back into being a kind of sister. Was she disappointed? He had lost weight. He had shrunk in every sense. Prison made him despise himself, while she looked as adorable as he remembered her, especially in a nurse’s uniform. But she was miserably46 nervous too, incapable47 of stepping around the inanities48. Instead, she was trying to be lighthearted about her landlady’s temper. After a few more such exchanges, she really was looking at the little watch that hung above her left breast, and telling him that her lunch break would soon be over. They had had half an hour.
He walked with her to Whitehall, toward the bus stop. In the precious final minutes he wrote out his address for her, a bleak49 sequence of acronyms50 and numbers. He explained that he would have no leave until his basic training was over. After that, he was granted two weeks. She was looking at him, shaking her head in some exasperation51, and then, at last, he took her hand and squeezed. The gesture had to carry all that had not been said, and she answered it with pressure from her own hand. Her bus came, and she did not let go. They were standing face to face. He kissed her, lightly at first, but they drew closer, and when their tongues touched, a disembodied part of himself was abjectly52 grateful, for he knew he now had a memory in the bank and would be drawing on it for months to come. He was drawing on it now, in a French barn, in the small hours. They tightened53 their embrace and went on kissing while people edged past them in the queue. Some card squawked in his ear. She was crying onto his cheek, and her sorrow stretched her lips against his. Another bus arrived. She pulled away, squeezed his wrist, and got on without a word and didn’t look back. He watched her find her seat, and as the bus began to move realized he should have gone with her, all the way to the hospital. He had thrown away minutes in her company. He must learn again how to think and act for himself. He began to run along Whitehall, hoping to catch up with her at the next stop. But her bus was far ahead, and soon disappearing toward Parliament Square.
Throughout his training, they continued to write. Liberated54 from censorship and the need to be inventive, they proceeded cautiously. Impatient with living on the page, mindful of the difficulties, they were wary55 of getting ahead of the touch of hands and a single bus-stop kiss. They said they loved each other, used “darling” and “dearest,” and knew their future was together, but they held back from wilder intimacies56. Their business now was to remain connected until those two weeks. Through a Girton friend she found a cottage in Wiltshire they could borrow, and though they thought of little else in their moments of free time, they tried not to dream it away in their letters. Instead, they spoke57 of their routines. She was now on the maternity58 ward36, and every day brought commonplace miracles, as well as moments of drama or hilarity59. There were tragedies too, against which their own troubles faded to nothing: stillborn babies, mothers who died, young men weeping in the corridors, dazed mothers in their teens discarded by their families, infant deformities that evoked60 shame and love in confusing measure. When she described a happy outcome, that moment when the battle was over and an exhausted mother took the child in her arms for the first time, and gazed in rapture61 into a new face, it was the unspoken call to Cecilia’s own future, the one she would share with him, which gave the writing its simple power, though in truth, his thoughts dwelled less on birth than conception.
He in turn described the parade ground, the rifle range, the drills, the “bull,” the barracks. He was not eligible62 for officer training, which was as well, for sooner or later he would have met someone in an officers’ mess who knew about his past. In the ranks he was anonymous63, and it turned out that to have been inside conferred a certain status. He discovered he was already well adapted to an army regime, to the terrors of kit64 inspection65 and the folding of blankets into precise squares, with the labels lined up. Unlike his fellows, he thought the food not bad at all. The days, though tiring, seemed rich in variety. The cross-country marches gave him a pleasure that he dared not express to the other recruits. He was gaining in weight and strength. His education and age marked him down, but his past made up for that and no one gave him trouble. Instead, he was regarded as a wise old bird who knew the ways of “them,” and who was handy when it came to filling out a form. Like her, he confined his letters to the daily round, interrupted by the funny or alarming anecdote66: the recruit who came on parade with a boot missing; the sheep that ran amok in the barracks and could not be chased out, the sergeant67 instructor68 almost hit by a bullet on the range.
But there was one external development, one shadow that he had to refer to. After Munich last year, he was certain, like everyone else, that there would be a war. Their training was being streamlined and accelerated, a new camp was being enlarged to take more recruits. His anxiety was not for the fighting he might have to do, but the threat to their Wiltshire dream. She mirrored his fears with descriptions of contingency69 arrangements at the hospital—more beds, special courses, emergency drills. But for both of them there was also something fantastical about it all, remote even though likely. Surely not again, was what many people were saying. And so they continued to cling to their hopes.
There was another, closer matter that troubled him. Cecilia had not spoken to her parents, brother or sister since November 1935 when Robbie was sentenced. She would not write to them, nor would she let them know her address. Letters reached her through his mother who had sold the bungalow70 and moved to another village. It was through Grace that she let her family know she was well and did not wish to be contacted. Leon had come to the hospital once, but she would not speak to him. He waited outside the gates all afternoon. When she saw him, she retreated inside until he went away. The following morning he was outside the nurses’ hostel71. She pushed past him and would not even look in his direction. He took her elbow, but she wrenched72 her arm free and walked on, outwardly unmoved by his pleading.
Robbie knew better than anyone how she loved her brother, how close she was to her family, and how much the house and the park meant to her. He could never return, but it troubled him to think that she was destroying a part of herself for his sake. A month into his training he told her what was on his mind. It wasn’t the first time they had been through this, but the issue had become clearer.
She wrote in reply, “They turned on you, all of them, even my father. When they wrecked73 your life they wrecked mine. They chose to believe the evidence of a silly, hysterical74 little girl. In fact, they encouraged her by giving her no room to turn back. She was a young thirteen, I know, but I never want to speak to her again. As for the rest of them, I can never forgive what they did. Now that I’ve broken away, I’m beginning to understand the snobbery75 that lay behind their stupidity. My mother never forgave you your first. My father preferred to lose himself in his work. Leon turned out to be a grinning, spineless idiot who went along with everyone else. When Hardman decided76 to cover for Danny, no one in my family wanted the police to ask him the obvious questions. The police had you to prosecute77. They didn’t want their case messed up. I know I sound bitter, but my darling, I don’t want to be. I’m honestly happy with my new life and my new friends. I feel I can breathe now. Most of all, I have you to live for. Realistically, there had to be a choice—you or them. How could it be both? I’ve never had a moment’s doubt. I love you. I believe in you completely. You are my dearest one, my reason for life. Cee.”
He knew these last lines by heart and mouthed them now in the darkness. My reason for life. Not living, but life. That was the touch. And she was his reason for life, and why he must survive. He lay on his side, staring at where he thought the barn’s entrance was, waiting for the first signs of light. He was too restless for sleep now. He wanted only to be walking to the coast.
There was no cottage in Wiltshire for them. Three weeks before his training ended, war was declared. The military response was automatic, like the reflexes of a clam78. All leave was canceled. Sometime later, it was redefined as postponed79. A date was given, changed, canceled. Then, with twenty-four hours’ notice, railway passes were issued. They had four days before reporting back for duty with their new regiment80. The rumor81 was they would be on the move. She had tried to rearrange her holiday dates, and partly succeeded. When she tried again she could not be accommodated. By the time his card arrived, telling her of his arrival, she was on her way to Liverpool for a course in severe trauma82 nursing at the Alder20 Hey Hospital. The day after he reached London he set out to follow her north, but the trains were impossibly slow. Priority was for military traffic moving southward. At Birmingham New Street station he missed a connection and the next train was canceled. He would have to wait until the following morning. He paced the platforms for half an hour in a turmoil83 of indecision. Finally, he chose to turn back. Reporting late for duty was a serious matter.
By the time she returned from Liverpool, he was disembarking at Cherbourg and the dullest winter of his life lay before him. The distress84 of course was shared between them, but she felt it her duty to be positive and soothing85. “I’m not going to go away,” she wrote in her first letter after Liverpool. “I’ll wait for you. Come back.” She was quoting herself. She knew he would remember. From that time on, this was how she ended every one of her letters to Robbie in France, right through to the last, which arrived just before the order came to fall back on Dunkirk.
It was a long bitter winter for the British Expeditionary Force in northern France. Nothing much happened. They dug trenches86, secured supply lines and were sent out on night exercises that were farcical for the infantrymen because the purpose was never explained and there was a shortage of weapons. Off-duty, every man was a general. Even the lowliest private soldier had decided that the war would not be fought in the trenches again. But the antitank weapons that were expected never arrived. In fact, they had little heavy weaponry at all. It was a time of boredom87 and football matches against other units, and daylong marches along country roads with full pack, and nothing to do for hours on end but to keep in step and daydream88 to the beat of boots on asphalt. He would lose himself in thoughts of her, and plan his next letter, refining the phrases, trying to find comedy in the dullness.
It may have been the first touches of green along the French lanes and the haze89 of bluebells90 glimpsed through the woods that made him feel the need for reconciliation91 and fresh beginnings. He decided he should try again to persuade her to make contact with her parents. She needn’t forgive them, or go back over the old arguments. She should just write a short and simple letter, letting them know where and how she was. Who could tell what changes might follow over the years to come? He knew that if she did not make her peace with her parents before one of them died, her remorse92 would be endless. He would never forgive himself if he did not encourage her.
So he wrote in April, and her reply did not reach him until mid-May, when they were already falling back through their own lines, not long before the order came to retreat all the way to the Channel. There had been no contact with enemy fire. The letter was in his top pocket now. It was her last to reach him before the post delivery system broke down.
. . . I wasn’t going to tell you about this now. I still don’t know what to think and I wanted to wait until we’re together. Now I have your letter, it doesn’t make sense not to tell you. The first surprise is that Briony isn’t at Cambridge. She didn’t go up last autumn, she didn’t take her place. I was amazed because I’d heard from Dr. Hall that she was expected. The other surprise is that she’s doing nurse’s training at my old hospital. Can you imagine Briony with a bedpan? I suppose they all said the same thing about me. But she’s such a fantasist, as we know to our cost. I pity the patient who receives an injection from her. Her letter is confused and confusing. She wants to meet. She’s beginning to get the full grasp of what she did and what it has meant. Clearly, not going up has something to do with it. She’s saying that she wants to be useful in a practical way. But I get the impression she’s taken on nursing as a sort of penance93. She wants to come and see me and talk. I might have this wrong, and that’s why I was going to wait and go through this with you face to face, but I think she wants to recant. I think she wants to change her evidence and do it officially or legally. This might not even be possible, given that your appeal was dismissed. We need to know more about the law. Perhaps I should see a solicitor94. I don’t want us to get our hopes up for nothing. She might not mean what I think she does, or she might not be prepared to see it through. Remember what a dreamer she is.
I’ll do nothing until I’ve heard from you. I wouldn’t have told you any of this, but when you wrote to tell me again that I should be in touch with my parents (I admire your generous spirit), I had to let you know because the situation could change. If it’s not legally possible for Briony to go before a judge and tell him she’s had second thoughts, then she can at least go and tell our parents. Then they can decide what they want to do. If they can bring themselves to write a proper apology to you, then perhaps we may have the beginning of a new start.
I keep thinking of her. To go into nursing, to cut herself off from her background, is a bigger step for her than it was for me. I had my three years at Cambridge at least, and I had an obvious reason to reject my family. She must have her reasons too. I can’t deny that I’m curious to find out. But I’m waiting for you, my darling, to tell me your thoughts. Yes, and by the way, she also said she’s had a piece of writing turned down by Cyril Connolly at Horizon. So at least someone can see through her wretched fantasies.
Do you remember those premature95 twins I told you about? The smaller one died. It happened in the night, when I was on. The mother took it very badly indeed. We’d heard that the father was a bricklayer’s mate, and I suppose we were expecting some cheeky little chap with a fag stuck on his lower lip. He’d been in East Anglia with contractors96 seconded to the army, building coastal97 defenses, which was why he was so late coming to the hospital. He turned out to be a very handsome fellow, nineteen years old, more than six feet tall, with blond hair that flopped98 over his forehead. He has a clubfoot like Byron, which was why he hadn’t joined up. Jenny said he looked like a Greek god. He was so sweet and gentle and patient comforting his young wife. We were all touched by it. The saddest part was that he was just getting somewhere, calming her down, when visiting time ended and Sister came through and made him leave along with everyone else. That left us to pick up the pieces. Poor girl. But four o’clock, and rules are rules.
I’m going to rush down with this to the Balham sorting office in the hope that it will be across the Channel before the weekend. But I don’t want to end on a sad note. I’m actually very excited by this news about my sister and what it could mean for us. I enjoyed your story about the sergeants’ latrines. I read that bit to the girls and they laughed like lunatics. I’m so glad the liaison99 officer has discovered your French and given you a job that makes use of it. Why did they take so long to find out about you? Did you hang back? You’re right about French bread—ten minutes later and you’re hungry again. All air and no substance. Balham isn’t as bad as I said it was, but more about that next time. I’m enclosing a poem by Auden on the death of Yeats cut out from an old London Mercury from last year. I’m going down to see Grace at the weekend and I’ll look in the boxes for your Housman. Must dash. You’re in my thoughts every minute. I love you. I’ll wait for you. Come back. Cee.
收听单词发音 |
1
exhausted
|
|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
throbbed
|
|
| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
exhaustion
|
|
| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
cape
|
|
| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
gloss
|
|
| n.光泽，光滑；虚饰；注释；vt.加光泽于；掩饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
rout
|
|
| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
fatigue
|
|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
snarling
|
|
| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
grassy
|
|
| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
infantry
|
|
| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
incarcerated
|
|
| 钳闭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
sleeplessly
|
|
| adv.失眠地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
mattresses
|
|
| 褥垫，床垫( mattress的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
nettle
|
|
| n.荨麻；v.烦忧，激恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
shuffled
|
|
| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
plunges
|
|
| n.跳进，投入vt.使投入，使插入，使陷入vi.投入，跳进，陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
alder
|
|
| n.赤杨树 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
strand
|
|
| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
clatter
|
|
| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
friendliness
|
|
| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
spacious
|
|
| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
inflamed
|
|
| 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 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
sane
|
|
| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
sanity
|
|
| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
psychiatrist
|
|
| n.精神病专家；精神病医师 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
censor
|
|
| n./vt.审查，审查员；删改 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
morbidly
|
|
| adv.病态地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
stimulated
|
|
| a.刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
confiscated
|
|
| 没收，充公( confiscate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
tragic
|
|
| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
devoured
|
|
| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
ecstasy
|
|
| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
ward
|
|
| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
anatomy
|
|
| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
daze
|
|
| v.(使)茫然，(使)发昏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
embarked
|
|
| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
query
|
|
| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
lodgings
|
|
| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
landlady
|
|
| n.女房东，女地主 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
prelude
|
|
| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
frail
|
|
| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
miserably
|
|
| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
incapable
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
inanities
|
|
| n.空洞( inanity的名词复数 )；浅薄；愚蠢；空洞的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
49
bleak
|
|
| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
acronyms
|
|
| n.首字母缩略词( acronym的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
exasperation
|
|
| n.愤慨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
abjectly
|
|
| 凄惨地； 绝望地； 糟透地； 悲惨地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
tightened
|
|
| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
liberated
|
|
| a.无拘束的，放纵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
wary
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
intimacies
|
|
| 亲密( intimacy的名词复数 )； 密切； 亲昵的言行； 性行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
maternity
|
|
| n.母性，母道，妇产科病房；adj.孕妇的，母性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
hilarity
|
|
| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
evoked
|
|
| [医]诱发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
rapture
|
|
| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
eligible
|
|
| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
anonymous
|
|
| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
kit
|
|
| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
inspection
|
|
| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
anecdote
|
|
| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
sergeant
|
|
| n.警官，中士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
instructor
|
|
| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
contingency
|
|
| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
bungalow
|
|
| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
hostel
|
|
| n.（学生）宿舍，招待所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
wrenched
|
|
| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
wrecked
|
|
| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
hysterical
|
|
| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
snobbery
|
|
| n. 充绅士气派, 俗不可耐的性格 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
prosecute
|
|
| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
clam
|
|
| n.蛤，蛤肉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
postponed
|
|
| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
regiment
|
|
| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
rumor
|
|
| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
trauma
|
|
| n.外伤，精神创伤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
turmoil
|
|
| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
distress
|
|
| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
soothing
|
|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
trenches
|
|
| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
boredom
|
|
| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
daydream
|
|
| v.做白日梦，幻想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
haze
|
|
| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
bluebells
|
|
| n.圆叶风铃草( bluebell的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
reconciliation
|
|
| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
remorse
|
|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
penance
|
|
| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
solicitor
|
|
| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
premature
|
|
| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
contractors
|
|
| n.（建筑、监造中的）承包人( contractor的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
coastal
|
|
| adj.海岸的，沿海的，沿岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
flopped
|
|
| v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的过去式和过去分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
liaison
|
|
| n.联系，（未婚男女间的）暖昧关系，私通 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |