SHE KNEW FROM her map that Balham lay at the far end of the Common, in the direction the vicar was walking. It was not very far, and this fact alone made her reluctant to continue. She would arrive too soon. She had eaten nothing, she was thirsty, and her heel was throbbing1 and had glued itself to the back of her shoe. It was warm now, and she would be crossing a shadeless expanse of grass, broken by straight asphalt paths and public shelters. In the distance was a bandstand where men in dark blue uniforms were milling about. She thought of Fiona whose day off she had taken, and of their afternoon in St. James’s Park. It seemed a far-off, innocent time, but it was no more than ten days ago. Fiona would be doing the second bedpan round by now. Briony remained in the shade of the portico2 and thought about the little present she would buy her friend—something delicious to eat, a banana, oranges, Swiss chocolate. The porters knew how to get these things. She had heard them say that anything, everything, was available, if you had the right money. She watched the file of traffic moving round the Common, along her route, and she thought about food. Slabs3 of ham, poached eggs, the leg of a roast chicken, thick Irish stew4, lemon meringue. A cup of tea. She became aware of the nervy, fidgeting music behind her the moment it ceased, and in the sudden new measure of silence, which seemed to confer freedom, she decided5 she must eat breakfast. There were no shops that she could see in the direction she had to walk, only dull mansion6 blocks of flats in deep orange brick.
Some minutes passed, and the organist came out holding his hat in one hand and a heavy set of keys in the other. She would have asked him the way to the nearest café, but he was a jittery-looking man at one with his music, who seemed determined7 to ignore her as he slammed the church door shut and stooped over to lock it. He rammed8 his hat on and hurried away.
Perhaps this was the first step in the undoing9 of her plans, but she was already walking back, retracing10 her steps, in the direction of Clapham High Street. She would have breakfast, and she would reconsider. Near the tube station she passed a stone drinking trough and could happily have sunk her face in it. She found a drab little place with smeared11 windows, and cigarette butts12 all over the floor, but the food could be no worse than what she was used to. She ordered tea, and three pieces of toast and margarine, and strawberry jam of palest pink. She heaped sugar into the tea, having diagnosed herself as suffering from hypoglycemia. The sweetness did not quite conceal13 a taste of disinfectant.
She drank a second cup, glad that it was lukewarm so she could gulp14 it down, then she made use of a reeking15 seatless lavatory16 across a cobbled courtyard behind the café. But there was no stench that could impress a trainee17 nurse. She wedged lavatory paper into the heel of her shoe. It would see her another mile or two. A handbasin with a single tap was bolted to a brick wall. There was a gray-veined lozenge of soap she preferred not to touch. When she ran the water, the waste fell straight out onto her shins. She dried them with her sleeves, and combed her hair, trying to imagine her face in the brickwork. However, she couldn’t reapply her lipstick18 without a mirror. She dabbed19 her face with a soaked handkerchief, and patted her cheeks to bring up the color. A decision had been made—without her, it seemed. This was an interview she was preparing for, the post of beloved younger sister.
She left the café, and as she walked along the Common she felt the distance widen between her and another self, no less real, who was walking back toward the hospital. Perhaps the Briony who was walking in the direction of Balham was the imagined or ghostly persona. This unreal feeling was heightened when, after half an hour, she reached another High Street, more or less the same as the one she had left behind. That was all London was beyond its center, an agglomeration21 of dull little towns. She made a resolution never to live in any of them.
The street she was looking for was three turnings past the tube station, itself another replica23. The Edwardian terraces, net-curtained and seedy, ran straight for half a mile. 43 Dudley Villas24 was halfway25 down, with nothing to distinguish it from the others except for an old Ford26 8, without wheels, supported on brick piles, which took up the whole of the front garden. If there was no one in, she could go away, telling herself she had tried. The doorbell did not work. She let the knocker fall twice and stood back. She heard a woman’s angry voice, then the slam of a door and the thud of footsteps. Briony took another pace back. It was not too late to retreat up the street. There was a fumbling27 with the catch and an irritable28 sigh, and the door was opened by a tall, sharp-faced woman in her thirties who was out of breath from some terrible exertion29. She was in a fury. She had been interrupted in a row, and was unable to adjust her expression—the mouth open, the upper lip slightly curled—as she took Briony in.
“What do you want?”
“I’m looking for a Miss Cecilia Tallis.”
Her shoulders sagged30, and she turned her head back, as though recoiling31 from an insult. She looked Briony up and down.
“You look like her.”
Bewildered, Briony simply stared at her.
The woman gave another sigh that was almost like a spitting sound, and went along the hallway to the foot of the stairs.
“Tallis!” she yelled. “Door!”
She came halfway back along the corridor to the entrance to her sitting room, flashed Briony a look of contempt, then disappeared, pulling the door violently behind her.
The house was silent. Briony’s view past the open front door was of a stretch of floral lino, and the first seven or eight stairs which were covered in deep red carpet. The brass32 rod on the third step was missing. Halfway along the hall was a semicircular table against the wall, and on it was a polished wooden stand, like a toast rack, for holding letters. It was empty. The lino extended past the stairs to a door with a frosted-glass window which probably opened onto the kitchen out the back. The wallpaper was floral too—a posy of three roses alternating with a snowflake design. From the threshold to the beginning of the stairs she counted fifteen roses, sixteen snowflakes. Inauspicious.
At last, she heard a door opening upstairs, possibly the one she had heard slammed when she had knocked. Then the creak of a stair, and feet wearing thick socks came into view, and a flash of bare skin, and a blue silk dressing33 gown that she recognized. Finally, Cecilia’s face tilting34 sideways as she leaned down to make out who was at the front door and spare herself the trouble of descending35 further, improperly36 dressed. It took her some moments to recognize her sister. She came down slowly another three steps.
“Oh my God.”
She sat down and folded her arms.
Briony remained standing37 with one foot still on the garden path, the other on the front step. A wireless38 in the landlady39’s sitting room came on, and the laughter of an audience swelled40 as the valves warmed. There followed a comedian’s wheedling41 monologue42, broken at last by applause, and a jolly band striking up. Briony took a step into the hallway.
She murmured, “I have to talk to you.”
Cecilia was about to get up, then changed her mind. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“You didn’t answer my letter, so I came.”
She drew her dressing gown around her, and patted its pocket, probably in the hope of a cigarette. She was much darker in complexion43, and her hands too were brown. She had not found what she wanted, but for the moment she did not make to rise.
Marking time rather than changing the subject, she said, “You’re a probationer.”
“Yes.”
“Sister Drummond’s.”
There was no telling whether Cecilia was familiar with this name, or whether she was displeased45 that her younger sister was training at the same hospital. There was another obvious difference—Cecilia had always spoken to her in a motherly or condescending47 way. Little Sis! No room for that now. There was a hardness in her tone that warned Briony off asking about Robbie. She took another step further into the hallway, conscious of the front door open behind her.
“And where are you?”
“Near Morden. It’s an EMS.”
An Emergency Medical Services hospital, a commandeered place, most likely dealing48 with the brunt, the real brunt of the evacuation. There was too much that couldn’t be said, or asked. The two sisters looked at each other. Even though Cecilia had the rumpled49 look of someone who had just got out of bed, she was more beautiful than Briony remembered her. That long face always looked odd, and vulnerable, horsey everyone said, even in the best of lights. Now it looked boldly sensual, with an accentuated50 bow of the full purplish lips. The eyes were dark and enlarged, by fatigue51 perhaps. Or sorrow. The long fine nose, the dainty flare52 of the nostrils—there was something masklike and carved about the face, and very still. And hard to read. Her sister’s appearance added to Briony’s unease, and made her feel clumsy. She barely knew this woman whom she hadn’t seen in five years. Briony could take nothing for granted. She was searching for another neutral topic, but there was nothing that did not lead back to the sensitive subjects—the subjects she was going to have to confront in any case—and it was because she could no longer bear the silence and the staring that she said at last,
“Have you heard from the Old Man?”
“No, I haven’t.”
The downward tone implied she didn’t want to, and wouldn’t care or reply if she did.
Cecilia said, “Have you?”
“I had a scribbled53 note a couple of weeks ago.”
“Good.”
So there was no more to be said on that. After another pause, Briony tried again.
“What about from home?”
“No. I’m not in touch. And you?”
“She writes now and then.”
“And what’s her news, Briony?”
The question and the use of her name was sardonic54. As she forced her memory back, she felt she was being exposed as a traitor55 to her sister’s cause.
“They’ve taken in evacuees56 and Betty hates them. The park’s been plowed57 up for corn.” She trailed away. It was inane58 to be standing there listing these details.
But Cecilia said coldly, “Go on. What else?”
“Well, most of the lads in the village have joined the East Surreys, except for . . .”
“Except for Danny Hardman. Yes, I know all about that.” She smiled in a bright, artificial way, waiting for Briony to continue.
“They’ve built a pillbox by the post office, and they’ve taken up all the old railings. Um. Aunt Hermione’s living in Nice, and oh yes, Betty broke Uncle Clem’s vase.”
Only now was Cecilia roused from her coolness. She uncrossed her arms and pressed a hand against her cheek.
“Broke?”
“She dropped it on a step.”
“You mean properly broken, in lots of pieces?”
“Yes.”
Cecilia considered this. Finally she said, “That’s terrible.”
“Yes,” Briony said. “Poor Uncle Clem.” At least her sister was no longer derisive60. The interrogation continued.
“Did they keep the pieces?”
“I don’t know. Emily said the Old Man shouted at Betty.”
At that moment, the door snapped open and the landlady stood right in front of Briony, so close to her that she could smell peppermint61 on the woman’s breath. She pointed62 at the front door.
“This isn’t a railway station. Either you’re in, young lady, or you’re out.”
Cecilia was getting to her feet without any particular hurry, and was retying the silk cord of her dressing gown. She said languidly, “This is my sister, Briony, Mrs. Jarvis. Try and remember your manners when you speak to her.”
“In my own home I’ll speak as I please,” Mrs. Jarvis said. She turned back to Briony. “Stay if you’re staying, otherwise leave now and close the door behind you.”
Briony looked at her sister, guessing that she was unlikely to let her go now. Mrs. Jarvis had turned out to be an unwitting ally.
Cecilia spoke46 as though they were alone. “Don’t mind the landlady. I’m leaving at the end of the week. Close the door and come up.”
Watched by Mrs. Jarvis, Briony began to follow her sister up the stairs.
“And as for you, Lady Muck,” the landlady called up.
But Cecilia turned sharply and cut her off. “Enough, Mrs. Jarvis. Now that’s quite enough.”
Briony recognized the tone. Pure Nightingale, for use on difficult patients or tearful students. It took years to perfect. Cecilia had surely been promoted to ward sister.
On the first-floor landing, as she was about to open her door, she gave Briony a look, a cool glance to let her know that nothing had changed, nothing had softened63. From the bathroom across the way, through its half-open door, drifted a humid scented64 air and a hollow dripping sound. Cecilia had been about to take a bath. She led Briony into her flat. Some of the tidiest nurses on the ward lived in stews65 in their own rooms, and she would not have been surprised to see a new version of Cecilia’s old chaos66. But the impression here was of a simple and lonely life. A medium-sized room had been divided to make a narrow strip of a kitchen and, presumably, a bedroom next door. The walls were papered with a design of pale vertical67 strips, like a boy’s pajamas68, which heightened the sense of confinement69. The lino was irregular offcuts from downstairs, and in places, gray floorboards showed. Under the single sash window was a sink with one tap and a one-ring gas cooker. Against the wall, leaving little room to squeeze by, was a table covered with a yellow gingham cloth. On it was a jam jar of blue flowers, harebells perhaps, and a full ashtray70, and a pile of books. At the bottom were Gray’s Anatomy71 and a collected Shakespeare, and above them, on slenderer spines72, names in faded silver and gold—she saw Housman and Crabbe. By the books were two bottles of stout73. In the corner furthest from the window was the door to the bedroom on which was tacked74 a map of northern Europe.
Cecilia took a cigarette from a packet by the cooker, and then, remembering that her sister was no longer a child, offered one to her. There were two kitchen chairs by the table, but Cecilia, who leaned with her back to the sink, did not invite Briony to sit down. The two women smoked and waited, so it seemed to Briony, for the air to clear of the landlady’s presence.
Cecilia said in a quiet level voice, “When I got your letter I went to see a solicitor75. It’s not straightforward76, unless there’s hard new evidence. Your change of heart won’t be enough. Lola will go on saying she doesn’t know. Our only hope was old Hardman and now he’s dead.”
“Hardman?” The contending elements—the fact of his death, his relevance77 to the case—confused Briony and she struggled with her memory. Was Hardman out that night looking for the twins? Did he see something? Was something said in court that she didn’t know about?
“Didn’t you know he was dead?”
“No. But . . .”
“Unbelievable.”
Cecilia’s attempts at a neutral, factual tone were coming apart. Agitated78, she came away from the cooking area, squeezed past the table and went to the other end of the room and stood by the bedroom door. Her voice was breathy as she tried to control her anger.
“How odd that Emily didn’t include that in her news along with the corn and the evacuees. He had cancer. Perhaps with the fear of God in him he was saying something in his last days that was rather too inconvenient79 for everyone at this stage.”
“But Cee . . .”
She snapped, “Don’t call me that!” She repeated in a softer voice, “Please don’t call me that.” Her fingers were on the handle of the bedroom door and it looked like the interview was coming to an end. She was about to disappear.
With an implausible display of calm, she summarized for Briony.
“What I paid two guineas to discover is this. There isn’t going to be an appeal just because five years on you’ve decided to tell the truth.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying . . .” Briony wanted to get back to Hardman, but Cecilia needed to tell her what must have gone through her head many times lately.
“It isn’t difficult. If you were lying then, why should a court believe you now? There are no new facts, and you’re an unreliable witness.”
Briony carried her half-smoked cigarette to the sink. She was feeling sick. She took a saucer for an ashtray from the plate rack. Her sister’s confirmation80 of her crime was terrible to hear. But the perspective was unfamiliar81. Weak, stupid, confused, cowardly, evasive—she had hated herself for everything she had been, but she had never thought of herself as a liar44. How strange, and how clear it must seem to Cecilia. It was obvious, and irrefutable. And yet, for a moment she even thought of defending herself. She hadn’t intended to mislead, she hadn’t acted out of malice82. But who would believe that?
She stood where Cecilia had stood, with her back to the sink and, unable to meet her sister’s eye, said, “What I did was terrible. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”
“Don’t worry about that,” she said soothingly84, and in the second or two during which she drew deeply on her cigarette, Briony flinched85 as her hopes lifted unreally. “Don’t worry,” her sister resumed. “I won’t ever forgive you.”
“And if I can’t go to court, that won’t stop me telling everyone what I did.”
As her sister gave a wild little laugh, Briony realized how frightened she was of Cecilia. Her derision was even harder to confront than her anger. This narrow room with its stripes like bars contained a history of feeling that no one could imagine. Briony pressed on. She was, after all, in a part of the conversation she had rehearsed.
“I’ll go to Surrey and speak to Emily and the Old Man. I’ll tell them everything.”
“Yes, you said that in your letter. What’s stopping you? You’ve had five years. Why haven’t you been?”
“I wanted to see you first.”
Cecilia came away from the bedroom door and stood by the table. She dropped her stub into the neck of a stout bottle. There was a brief hiss86 and a thin line of smoke rose from the black glass. Her sister’s action made Briony feel nauseous again. She had thought the bottles were full. She wondered if she had ingested something unclean with her breakfast.
Cecilia said, “I know why you haven’t been. Because your guess is the same as mine. They don’t want to hear anything more about it. That unpleasantness is all in the past, thank you very much. What’s done is done. Why stir things up now? And you know very well they believed Hardman’s story.”
Briony came away from the sink and stood right across the table from her sister. It was not easy to look into that beautiful mask.
She said very deliberately87, “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What’s he got to do with this? I’m sorry he’s dead, I’m sorry I didn’t know . . .”
At a sound, she started. The bedroom door was opening and Robbie stood before them. He wore army trousers and shirt and polished boots, and his braces88 hung free at his waist. He was unshaven and tousled, and his gaze was on Cecilia only. She had turned to face him, but she did not go toward him. In the seconds during which they looked at each other in silence, Briony, partly obscured by her sister, shrank into her uniform.
He spoke to Cecilia quietly, as though they were alone. “I heard voices and I guessed it was something to do with the hospital.”
“That’s all right.”
He looked at his watch. “Better get moving.”
As he crossed the room, just before he went out onto the landing, he made a brief nod in Briony’s direction. “Excuse me.”
They heard the bathroom door close. Into the silence Cecilia said, as if there were nothing between her and her sister, “He sleeps so deeply. I didn’t want to wake him.” Then she added, “I thought it would be better if you didn’t meet.”
Briony’s knees were actually beginning to tremble. Supporting herself with one hand on the table, she moved away from the kitchen area so that Cecilia could fill the kettle. Briony longed to sit down. She would not do so until invited, and she would never ask. So she stood by the wall, pretending not to lean against it, and watched her sister. What was surprising was the speed with which her relief that Robbie was alive was supplanted89 by her dread90 of confronting him. Now she had seen him walk across the room, the other possibility, that he could have been killed, seemed outlandish, against all the odds91. It would have made no sense. She was staring at her sister’s back as she moved about the tiny kitchen. Briony wanted to tell her how wonderful it was that Robbie had come back safely. What deliverance. But how banal92 that would have sounded. And she had no business saying it. She feared her sister, and her scorn.
Still feeling nauseous, and now hot, Briony pressed her cheek against the wall. It was no cooler than her face. She longed for a glass of water, but she did not want to ask her sister for anything. Briskly, Cecilia moved about her tasks, mixing milk and water to egg powder, and setting out a pot of jam and three plates and cups on the table. Briony registered this, but it gave her no comfort. It only increased her foreboding of the meeting that lay ahead. Did Cecilia really think that in this situation they could sit together and still have an appetite for scrambled93 eggs? Or was she soothing83 herself by being busy? Briony was listening out for footsteps on the landing, and it was to distract herself that she attempted a conversational94 tone. She had seen the cape95 hanging on the back of the door.
“Cecilia, are you a ward sister now?”
“Yes, I am.”
She said it with a downward finality, closing off the subject. Their shared profession was not going to be a bond. Nothing was, and there was nothing to talk about until Robbie came back.
At last she heard the click of the lock on the bathroom door. He was whistling as he crossed the landing. Briony moved away from the door, further down toward the darker end of the room. But she was in his sight line as he came in. He had half raised his right hand in order to shake hers, and his left trailed, about to close the door behind him. If it was a double take, it was undramatic. As soon as their eyes met, his hands dropped to his sides and he gave a little winded sigh as he continued to look at her hard. However intimidated96, she felt she could not look away. She smelled the faint perfume of his shaving soap. The shock was how much older he looked, especially round the eyes. Did everything have to be her fault? she wondered stupidly. Couldn’t it also be the war’s?
“So it was you,” he said finally. He pushed the door closed behind him with his foot. Cecilia had come to stand by his side and he looked at her.
She gave an exact summary, but even if she had wanted, she would not have been able to withhold97 her sarcasm98.
“Briony’s going to tell everybody the truth. She wanted to see me first.”
He turned back to Briony. “Did you think I might be here?”
Her immediate99 concern was not to cry. At that moment, nothing would have been more humiliating. Relief, shame, self-pity, she didn’t know which it was, but it was coming. The smooth wave rose, tightening100 her throat, making it impossible to speak, and then, as she held on, tensing her lips, it fell away and she was safe. No tears, but her voice was a miserable101 whisper.
“I didn’t know if you were alive.”
Cecilia said, “If we’re going to talk we should sit down.”
“I don’t know that I can.” He moved away impatiently to the adjacent wall, a distance of seven feet or so, and leaned against it, arms crossed, looking from Briony to Cecilia. Almost immediately he moved again, down the room to the bedroom door where he turned to come back, changed his mind and stood there, hands in pockets. He was a large man, and the room seemed to have shrunk. In the confined space he was desperate in his movements, as though suffocating102. He took his hands from his pockets and smoothed the hair at the back of his neck. Then he rested his hands on his hips103. Then he let them drop. It took all this time, all this movement, for Briony to realize that he was angry, very angry, and just as she did, he said,
“What are you doing here? Don’t talk to me about Surrey. No one’s stopping you going. Why are you here?”
She said, “I had to talk to Cecilia.”
“Oh yes. And what about?”
“The terrible thing that I did.”
Cecilia was going toward him. “Robbie,” she whispered. “Darling.” She put her hand on his arm, but he pulled it clear.
“I don’t know why you let her in.” Then to Briony, “I’ll be quite honest with you. I’m torn between breaking your stupid neck here and taking you outside and throwing you down the stairs.”
If it had not been for her recent experience, she would have been terrified. Sometimes she heard soldiers on the ward raging against their helplessness. At the height of their passion, it was foolish to reason with them or try to reassure104 them. It had to come out, and it was best to stand and listen. She knew that even offering to leave now could be provocative105. So she faced Robbie and waited for the rest, her due. But she was not frightened of him, not physically106.
He did not raise his voice, though it was straining with contempt. “Have you any idea at all what it’s like inside?”
She imagined small high windows in a cliff face of brick, and thought perhaps she did, the way people imagined the different torments107 of hell. She shook her head faintly. To steady herself she was trying to concentrate on the details of his transformation108. The impression of added height was due to his parade-ground posture109. No Cambridge student ever stood so straight. Even in his distraction110 his shoulders were well back, and his chin was raised like an old-fashioned boxer’s.
“No, of course you don’t. And when I was inside, did that give you pleasure?”
“No.”
“But you did nothing.”
She had thought about this conversation many times, like a child anticipating a beating. Now it was happening at last, and it was as if she wasn’t quite here. She was watching from far away and she was numb111. But she knew his words would hurt her later.
Cecilia had stood back. Now she put her hand again on Robbie’s arm. He had lost weight, though he looked stronger, with a lean and stringy muscular ferocity. He half turned to her.
“Remember,” Cecilia was starting to say, but he spoke over her.
“Do you think I assaulted your cousin?”
“No.”
“Did you think it then?”
She fumbled112 her words. “Yes, yes and no. I wasn’t certain.”
“And what’s made you so certain now?”
She hesitated, conscious that in answering she would be offering a form of defense113, a rationale, and that it might enrage114 him further.
“Growing up.”
He stared at her, lips slightly parted. He really had changed in five years. The hardness in his gaze was new, and the eyes were smaller and narrower, and in the corners were the firm prints of crow’s feet. His face was thinner than she remembered, the cheeks were sunken, like an Indian brave’s. He had grown a little toothbrush mustache in the military style. He was startlingly handsome, and there came back to her from years ago, when she was ten or eleven, the memory of a passion she’d had for him, a real crush that had lasted days. Then she confessed it to him one morning in the garden and immediately forgot about it.
She had been right to be wary115. He was gripped by the kind of anger that passes itself off as wonderment.
“Growing up,” he echoed. When he raised his voice she jumped. “Goddamnit! You’re eighteen. How much growing up do you need to do? There are soldiers dying in the field at eighteen. Old enough to be left to die on the roads. Did you know that?”
“Yes.”
It was a pathetic source of comfort, that he could not know what she had seen. Strange, that for all her guilt116, she should feel the need to withstand him. It was that, or be annihilated117.
She barely nodded. She did not dare speak. At the mention of dying, a surge of feeling had engulfed118 him, pushing him beyond anger into an extremity119 of bewilderment and disgust. His breathing was irregular and heavy, he clenched120 and unclenched his right fist. And still he stared at her, into her, with a rigidity121, a savagery122 in his look. His eyes were bright, and he swallowed hard several times. The muscles in his throat tensed and knotted. He too was fighting off an emotion he did not want witnessed. She had learned the little she knew, the tiny, next-to-nothing scraps123 that came the way of a trainee nurse, in the safety of the ward and the bedside. She knew enough to recognize that memories were crowding in, and there was nothing he could do. They wouldn’t let him speak. She would never know what scenes were driving this turmoil124. He took a step toward her and she shrank back, no longer certain of his harmlessness—if he couldn’t talk, he might have to act. Another step, and he could have reached her with his sinewy125 arm. But Cecilia slid between them. With her back to Briony, she faced Robbie and placed her hands on his shoulders. He turned his face away from her.
“Look at me,” she murmured. “Robbie. Look at me.”
The reply he made was lost to Briony. She heard his dissent126 or denial. Perhaps it was an obscenity. As Cecilia gripped him tighter, he twisted his whole body away from her, and they seemed like wrestlers as she reached up and tried to turn his head toward her. But his face was tilted127 back, his lips retracted128 and teeth bared in a ghoulish parody129 of a smile. Now with two hands she was gripping his cheeks tightly, and with an effort she turned his face and drew it toward her own. At last he was looking into her eyes, but still she kept her grip on his cheeks. She pulled him closer, drawing him into her gaze, until their faces met and she kissed him lightly, lingeringly on the lips. With a tenderness that Briony remembered from years ago, waking in the night, Cecilia said, “Come back . . . Robbie, come back.”
He nodded faintly, and took a deep breath which he released slowly as she relaxed her grip and withdrew her hands from his face. In the silence, the room appeared to shrink even smaller. He put his arms around her, lowered his head and kissed her, a deep, sustained and private kiss. Briony moved away quietly to the other end of the room, toward the window. While she drank a glass of water from the kitchen tap, the kiss continued, binding130 the couple into their solitude131. She felt obliterated132, expunged133 from the room, and was relieved.
She turned her back and looked out at the quiet terraced houses in full sunlight, at the way she had come from the High Street. She was surprised to discover that she had no wish to leave yet, even though she was embarrassed by the long kiss, and dreaded134 what more there was to come. She watched an old woman dressed in a heavy overcoat, despite the heat. She was on the far pavement walking an ailing59 swag-bellied dachshund on a lead. Cecilia and Robbie were talking in low voices now, and Briony decided that to respect their privacy she would not turn from the window until she was spoken to. It was soothing to watch the woman unfasten her front gate, close it carefully behind her with fussy135 exactitude, and then, halfway to her front door, bend with difficulty to pull up a weed from the narrow bed that ran the length of her front path. As she did so, the dog waddled136 forward and licked her wrist. The lady and her dog went indoors, and the street was empty again. A blackbird dropped down onto a privet hedge and, finding no satisfactory foothold, flew away. The shadow of a cloud came and swiftly dimmed the light, and passed on. It could be any Saturday afternoon. There was little evidence of a war in this suburban137 street. A glimpse of blackout blinds in a window across the way, the Ford 8 on its blocks, perhaps.
Briony heard her sister say her name and turned round.
“There isn’t much time. Robbie has to report for duty at six tonight and he’s got a train to catch. So sit down. There are some things you’re going to do for us.”
It was the ward sister’s voice. Not even bossy138. She simply described the inevitable139. Briony took the chair nearest her, Robbie brought over a stool, and Cecilia sat between them. The breakfast she had prepared was forgotten. The three empty cups stood in the center of the table. He lifted the pile of books to the floor. As Cecilia moved the jam jar of harebells to one side where it could not be knocked over, she exchanged a look with Robbie.
He was staring at the flowers as he cleared his throat. When he began to speak, his voice was purged140 of emotion. He could have been reading from a set of standing orders. He was looking at her now. His eyes were steady, and he had everything under control. But there were drops of sweat on his forehead, above his eyebrows141.
“The most important thing you’ve already agreed to. You’re to go to your parents as soon as you can and tell them everything they need to know to be convinced that your evidence was false. When’s your day off?”
“Sunday week.”
“That’s when you’ll go. You’ll take our addresses and you’ll tell Jack142 and Emily that Cecilia is waiting to hear from them. The second thing you’ll do tomorrow. Cecilia says you’ll have an hour at some point. You’ll go to a solicitor, a commissioner143 for oaths, and make a statement which will be signed and witnessed. In it you’ll say what you did wrong, and how you’re retracting144 your evidence. You’ll send copies to both of us. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll write to me in much greater detail. In this letter you’ll put in absolutely everything you think is relevant. Everything that led up to you saying you saw me by the lake. And why, even though you were uncertain, you stuck to your story in the months leading up to my trial. If there were pressures on you, from the police or your parents, I want to know. Have you got that? It needs to be a long letter.”
“Yes.”
He met Cecilia’s look and nodded. “And if you can remember anything at all about Danny Hardman, where he was, what he was doing, at what time, who else saw him—anything that might put his alibi145 in question, then we want to hear it.”
Cecilia was writing out the addresses. Briony was shaking her head and starting to speak, but Robbie ignored her and spoke over her. He had got to his feet and was looking at his watch.
“There’s very little time. We’re going to walk you to the tube. Cecilia and I want the last hour together alone before I have to leave. And you’ll need to spend the rest of today writing your statement, and letting your parents know you’re coming. And you could start thinking about this letter you’re sending me.”
With this brittle146 précis of her obligations he left the table and went toward the bedroom.
Briony stood too and said, “Old Hardman was probably telling the truth. Danny was with him all that night.”
Cecilia was about to pass the folded sheet of paper she had been writing on. Robbie had stopped in the bedroom doorway147.
Cecilia said, “What do you mean by that? What are you saying?”
“It was Paul Marshall.”
During the silence that followed, Briony tried to imagine the adjustments that each would be making. Years of seeing it a certain way. And yet, however startling, it was only a detail. Nothing essential was changed by it. Nothing in her own role.
Robbie came back to the table. “Marshall?”
“Yes.”
“You saw him?”
“I saw a man his height.”
“My height.”
“Yes.”
Cecilia now stood and looked around her—a hunt for the cigarettes was about to start. Robbie found them and tossed the packet across the room. Cecilia lit up and said as she exhaled148, “I find it difficult to believe. He’s a fool, I know . . .”
“He’s a greedy fool,” Robbie said. “But I can’t imagine him with Lola Quincey, even for the five minutes it took . . .”
Given all that had happened, and all its terrible consequences, it was frivolous149, she knew, but Briony took calm pleasure in delivering her clinching150 news.
“I’ve just come from their wedding.”
Again, the amazed adjustments, the incredulous repetition. Wedding? This morning? Clapham? Then reflective silence, broken by single remarks.
“I want to find him.”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
“I want to kill him.”
And then, “It’s time to go.”
There was so much more that could have been said. But they seemed exhausted151, by her presence, or by the subject. Or they simply longed to be alone. Either way, it was clear they felt their meeting was at an end. All curiosity was spent. Everything could wait until she wrote her letter. Robbie fetched his jacket and cap from the bedroom. Briony noted152 the corporal’s single stripe.
Cecilia was saying to him, “He’s immune. She’ll always cover for him.”
Minutes were lost while she searched for her ration22 book. Finally, she gave up and said to Robbie, “I’m sure it’s in Wiltshire, in the cottage.”
As they were about to leave, and he was holding the door open for the sisters, Robbie said, “I suppose we owe an apology to Able Seaman153 Hardman.”
Downstairs, Mrs. Jarvis did not appear from her sitting room as they went by. They heard clarinets playing on her wireless. Once through the front door, it seemed to Briony that she was stepping into another day. There was a strong, gritty breeze blowing, and the street was in harsh relief, with even more sunlight, fewer shadows than before. There was not enough room on the pavement to go three abreast154. Robbie and Cecilia walked behind her, hand in hand. Briony felt her blistered155 heel rubbing against her shoe, but she was determined they should not see her limp. She had the impression of being seen off the premises156. At one point she turned and told them she would be happy to walk to the tube on her own. But they insisted. They had purchases to make for Robbie’s journey. They walked on in silence. Small talk was not an option. She knew that she did not have the right to ask her sister about her new address, or Robbie where the train was taking him, or about the cottage in Wiltshire. Was that where the harebells came from? Surely there had been an idyll. Nor could she ask when the two of them would see each other again. Together, she and her sister and Robbie had only one subject, and it was fixed157 in the unchangeable past.
They stood outside Balham tube station, which in three months’ time would achieve its terrible form of fame in the Blitz. A thin stream of Saturday shoppers moved around them, causing them, against their will, to stand closer. They made a cool farewell. Robbie reminded her to have money with her when she saw the commissioner for oaths. Cecilia told her she was not to forget to take the addresses with her to Surrey. Then it was over. They stared at her, waiting for her to leave. But there was one thing she had not said.
She spoke slowly. “I’m very very sorry. I’ve caused you such terrible distress158.” They continued to stare at her, and she repeated herself. “I’m very sorry.”
It sounded so foolish and inadequate159, as though she had knocked over a favorite houseplant, or forgotten a birthday.
Robbie said softly, “Just do all the things we’ve asked.”
It was almost conciliatory, that “just,” but not quite, not yet.
She said, “Of course,” and then turned and walked away, conscious of them watching her as she entered the ticket hall and crossed it. She paid her fare to Waterloo. When she reached the barrier, she looked back and they had gone.
She showed her ticket and went through into the dirty yellow light, to the head of the clanking, creaking escalator, and it began to take her down, into the man-made breeze rising from the blackness, the breath of a million Londoners cooling her face and tugging160 at her cape. She stood still and let herself be carried down, grateful to be moving without scouring161 her heel. She was surprised at how serene162 she felt, and just a little sad. Was it disappointment? She had hardly expected to be forgiven. What she felt was more like homesickness, though there was no source for it, no home. But she was sad to leave her sister. It was her sister she missed—or more precisely163, it was her sister with Robbie. Their love. Neither Briony nor the war had destroyed it. This was what soothed164 her as she sank deeper under the city. How Cecilia had drawn165 him to her with her eyes. That tenderness in her voice when she called him back from his memories, from Dunkirk, or from the roads that led to it. She used to speak like that to her sometimes, when Cecilia was sixteen and she was a child of six and things went impossibly wrong. Or in the night, when Cecilia came to rescue her from a nightmare and take her into her own bed. Those were the words she used. Come back. It was only a bad dream. Briony, come back. How easily this unthinking family love was forgotten. She was gliding166 down now, through the soupy brown light, almost to the bottom. There were no other passengers in sight, and the air was suddenly still. She was calm as she considered what she had to do. Together, the note to her parents and the formal statement would take no time at all. Then she would be free for the rest of the day. She knew what was required of her. Not simply a letter, but a new draft, an atonement, and she was ready to begin.
BT
London, 1999
收听单词发音 |
1
throbbing
|
|
| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
portico
|
|
| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
slabs
|
|
| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
stew
|
|
| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
mansion
|
|
| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
rammed
|
|
| v.夯实（土等）( ram的过去式和过去分词 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
undoing
|
|
| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
retracing
|
|
| v.折回( retrace的现在分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
smeared
|
|
| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
butts
|
|
| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
gulp
|
|
| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
reeking
|
|
| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
lavatory
|
|
| n.盥洗室，厕所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
trainee
|
|
| n.受训练者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
lipstick
|
|
| n.口红，唇膏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
dabbed
|
|
| （用某物）轻触( dab的过去式和过去分词 )； 轻而快地擦掉（或抹掉）； 快速擦拭； （用某物）轻而快地涂上（或点上）… | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
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： |
|
|
|
|
21
agglomeration
|
|
| n.结聚，一堆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
ration
|
|
| n.定量(pl.)给养，口粮；vt.定量供应 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
replica
|
|
| n.复制品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
villas
|
|
| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
halfway
|
|
| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
Ford
|
|
| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
fumbling
|
|
| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
irritable
|
|
| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
exertion
|
|
| n.尽力，努力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
sagged
|
|
| 下垂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
recoiling
|
|
| v.畏缩( recoil的现在分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
brass
|
|
| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
tilting
|
|
| 倾斜，倾卸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
descending
|
|
| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
improperly
|
|
| 不正确地，不适当地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
wireless
|
|
| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
landlady
|
|
| n.女房东，女地主 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
swelled
|
|
| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
wheedling
|
|
| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
monologue
|
|
| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
complexion
|
|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
liar
|
|
| n.说谎的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
displeased
|
|
| a.不快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
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： |
|
|
|
|
47
condescending
|
|
| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
dealing
|
|
| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
rumpled
|
|
| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
accentuated
|
|
| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
fatigue
|
|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
flare
|
|
| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
scribbled
|
|
| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
sardonic
|
|
| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
traitor
|
|
| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
evacuees
|
|
| n.被疏散者( evacuee的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
plowed
|
|
| v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
inane
|
|
| adj.空虚的，愚蠢的，空洞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
ailing
|
|
| v.生病 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
derisive
|
|
| adj.嘲弄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
peppermint
|
|
| n.薄荷，薄荷油，薄荷糖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
softened
|
|
| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
scented
|
|
| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
stews
|
|
| n.炖煮的菜肴( stew的名词复数 )；烦恼，焦虑v.炖( stew的第三人称单数 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
chaos
|
|
| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
vertical
|
|
| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
pajamas
|
|
| n.睡衣裤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
confinement
|
|
| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
ashtray
|
|
| n.烟灰缸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
anatomy
|
|
| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
spines
|
|
| n.脊柱( spine的名词复数 )；脊椎；（动植物的）刺；书脊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
tacked
|
|
| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
solicitor
|
|
| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
straightforward
|
|
| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
relevance
|
|
| n.中肯，适当，关联，相关性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
inconvenient
|
|
| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
confirmation
|
|
| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
unfamiliar
|
|
| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
malice
|
|
| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
soothing
|
|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
soothingly
|
|
| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
flinched
|
|
| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
hiss
|
|
| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
braces
|
|
| n.吊带，背带；托架( brace的名词复数 )；箍子；括弧；（儿童）牙箍v.支住( brace的第三人称单数 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
supplanted
|
|
| 把…排挤掉，取代( supplant的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
odds
|
|
| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
banal
|
|
| adj.陈腐的，平庸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
scrambled
|
|
| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
conversational
|
|
| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
cape
|
|
| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
intimidated
|
|
| v.恐吓；威胁adj.害怕的；受到威胁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
withhold
|
|
| v.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
sarcasm
|
|
| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
tightening
|
|
| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
suffocating
|
|
| a.使人窒息的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
hips
|
|
| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
reassure
|
|
| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
provocative
|
|
| adj.挑衅的，煽动的，刺激的，挑逗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
physically
|
|
| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
torments
|
|
| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
transformation
|
|
| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
posture
|
|
| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
distraction
|
|
| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
numb
|
|
| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
fumbled
|
|
| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
defense
|
|
| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
enrage
|
|
| v.触怒，激怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
wary
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
guilt
|
|
| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
annihilated
|
|
| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
engulfed
|
|
| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
extremity
|
|
| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
clenched
|
|
| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
rigidity
|
|
| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
savagery
|
|
| n.野性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
scraps
|
|
| 油渣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
turmoil
|
|
| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
sinewy
|
|
| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
dissent
|
|
| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
tilted
|
|
| v. 倾斜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
retracted
|
|
| v.撤回或撤消( retract的过去式和过去分词 )；拒绝执行或遵守；缩回；拉回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
parody
|
|
| n.打油诗文，诙谐的改编诗文，拙劣的模仿；v.拙劣模仿，作模仿诗文 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
binding
|
|
| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
obliterated
|
|
| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
expunged
|
|
| v.擦掉( expunge的过去式和过去分词 )；除去；删去；消除 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
dreaded
|
|
| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
fussy
|
|
| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
waddled
|
|
| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
suburban
|
|
| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
bossy
|
|
| adj.爱发号施令的，作威作福的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
purged
|
|
| 清除（政敌等）( purge的过去式和过去分词 )； 涤除（罪恶等）； 净化（心灵、风气等）； 消除（错事等）的不良影响 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
jack
|
|
| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
commissioner
|
|
| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
retracting
|
|
| v.撤回或撤消( retract的现在分词 )；拒绝执行或遵守；缩回；拉回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
alibi
|
|
| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
brittle
|
|
| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
exhaled
|
|
| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
frivolous
|
|
| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
clinching
|
|
| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的现在分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
exhausted
|
|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
noted
|
|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
seaman
|
|
| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
abreast
|
|
| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
blistered
|
|
| adj.水疮状的，泡状的v.（使）起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 )；（使表皮等）涨破，爆裂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
premises
|
|
| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
distress
|
|
| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
inadequate
|
|
| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
tugging
|
|
| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
scouring
|
|
| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
serene
|
|
| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
soothed
|
|
| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
gliding
|
|
| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |