PURGED1 of all the ill-humors of her mind, Mrs. Swiggs finds herself, on the morning following the excellent little gathering2 at Sister Scudder's, restored to the happiest of tempers. The flattery administered by Brother Spyke, and so charmingly sprinkled with his pious3 designs on the heathen world, has had the desired effect. This sort of drug has, indeed, a wonderful efficacy in setting disordered constitutions to rights. It would not become us to question the innocence4, or the right to indulge in such correctives; it is enough that our venerable friend finds herself in a happy vein5, and is resolved to spend the day for the benefit of that heathen world, the darkness of which Brother Spyke pictured in colors so terrible.
Breakfast is scarcely over when Sister Slocum, in great agitation6, comes bustling7 into the parlor8, offers the most acceptable apologies for her absence, and pours forth9 such a vast profusion10 of solicitude11 for Mrs. Swiggs' welfare, that that lady is scarce able to withstand the kindness. She recounts the numerous duties that absorb her attention, the missions she has on hand, the means she uses to keep up an interest in them, the amount of funds necessary to their maintenance. A large portion of these funds she raises with her own energy. She will drag up the heathen world; she will drag down Satan. Furnishing Mrs. Swiggs with the address of the House of the Foreign Missions, in Centre street, she excuses herself. How superlatively happy she would be to accompany Mrs. Swiggs. A report to present to the committee on finance, she regrets, will prevent this. However, she will join her precisely12 at twelve o'clock, at the House. She must receive the congratulations of the Board. She must have a reception that will show how much the North respects her co-laborers of the South. And with this, Sister Slocum takes leave of her guest, assuring her that all she has to do is to get into the cars in the Bowery. They will set her down at the door.
Ten o'clock finds our indomitable lady, having preferred the less expensive mode of walking, entering a strange world. Sauntering along the Bowery she turns down Bayard street. Bayard street she finds lined with filthy14 looking houses, swarming15 with sickly, ragged17, and besotted poor; the street is knee-deep with corrupting18 mire19; carts are tilted20 here and there at intervals21; the very air seems hurling22 its pestilence23 into your blood. Ghastly-eyed and squallid children, like ants in quest of food, creep and swarm16 over the pavement, begging for bread or uttering profane24 oaths at one another. Mothers who never heard the Word of God, nor can be expected to teach it to their children, protrude25 their vicious faces from out reeking26 gin shops, and with bare breasts and uncombed hair, sweep wildly along the muddy pavement, disappear into some cavern-like cellar, and seek on some filthy straw a resting place for their wasting bodies. A whiskey-drinking Corporation might feast its peculative eyes upon hogs27 wallowing in mud; and cellars where swarming beggars, for six cents a night, cover with rags their hideous28 heads--where vice29 and crime are fostered, and into which your sensitive policeman prefers not to go, are giving out their seething30 miasma31. The very neighborhood seems vegetating32 in mire. In the streets, in the cellars, in the filthy lanes, in the dwellings33 of the honest poor, as well as the vicious, muck and mire is the predominating order. The besotted remnants of depraved men, covered with rags and bedaubed with mire, sit, half sleeping in disease and hunger on decayed door-stoops. Men with bruised34 faces, men with bleared eyes; men in whose every feature crime and dissipation is stamped, now drag their waning35 bodies from out filthy alleys36, as if to gasp38 some breath of air, then drag themselves back, as if to die in a desolate39 hiding-place. Engines of pestilence and death the corporation might see and remove, if it would, are left here to fester--to serve a church-yard as gluttonous40 as its own belly41. The corporation keeps its eyes in its belly, its little sense in its big boots, and its dull action in the whiskey-jug. Like Mrs. Swiggs, it cannot afford to do anything for this heathen world in the heart of home. No, sir! The corporation has the most delicate sense of its duties. It is well paid to nurture42 the nucleus43 of a pestilence that may some day break out and sweep over the city like an avenging44 enemy. It thanks kind Providence45, eating oysters46 and making Presidents the while, for averting47 the dire48 scourge49 it encourages with its apathy50. Like our humane51 and very fashionable preachers, it contents itself with looking into the Points from Broadway. What more would you ask of it?
Mrs. Swiggs is seized with fear and trembling. Surely she is in a world of darkness. Can it be that so graphically52 described by Brother Syngleton Spyke? she questions within herself. It might, indeed, put Antioch to shame: but the benighted53 denizens54 with which it swarms55 speak her own tongue. "It is a deal worse in Orange street."
"Now called Baxter street Marm-a deal, I assure you!" speaks a low, muttering voice. Lady Swiggs is startled. She only paused a moment to view this sea of vice and wretchedness she finds herself surrounded with. Turning quickly round she sees before her a man, or what there is left of a man. His tattered57 garments, his lean, shrunken figure, his glassy eyes, and pale, haggard face, cause her to shrink back in fright. He bows, touches his shattered hat, and says, "Be not afraid, good Madam. May I ask if you have not mistaken your way?" Mrs. Swiggs looks querulously through her spectacles and says, "Do tell me where I am?" "In the Points, good Madam. You seem confused, and I don't wonder. It's a dreadful place. I know it, madam, to my sorrow." There is a certain politeness in the manner of this man-an absence of rudeness she is surprised to find in one so dejected. The red, distended58 nose, the wild expression of his countenance59, his jagged hair, hanging in tufts over his ragged coat collar, give him a repulsiveness60 not easily described. In answer to an inquiry61 he says, "They call me, Madam, and I'm contented62 with the name,--they call me Tom Toddleworth, the Chronicle. I am well down-not in years, but sorrow. Being sick of the world I came here, have lived, or rather drifted about, in this sea of hopeless misery63, homeless and at times foodless, for ten years or more. Oh! I have seen better days, Madam. You are a stranger here. May God always keep you a stranger to the sufferings of those who dwell with us. I never expect to be anything again, owe nothing to the world, and never go into Broadway."
"Never go into Broadway," repeats Mrs. Swiggs, her fingers wandering to her spectacles. Turning into Orange street, Mr. Toddleworth tenders his services in piloting Mrs. Swiggs into Centre street, which, as he adds, will place her beyond harm. As they advance the scene becomes darker and darker. Orange street seems that centre from which radiates the avenues of every vice known to a great city. One might fancy the world's outcasts hurled64 by some mysterious hand into this pool of crime and misery, and left to feast their wanton appetites and die. "And you have no home, my man?" says Mrs. Swiggs, mechanically. "As to that, Madam," returns the man, with a bow, "I can't exactly say I have no home. I kind of preside over and am looked up to by these people. One says, 'come spend a night with me, Mr. Toddleworth;' another says, 'come spend a night with me, Mr. Tom Toddleworth.' I am a sort of respectable man with them, have a place to lay down free, in any of their houses. They all esteem65 me, and say, come spend a night with me, Mr. Toddleworth. It's very kind of them. And whenever they get a drop of gin I'm sure of a taste. Surmising66 what I was once, they look up to me, you see. This gives me heart." And as he says this he smiles, and draws about him the ragged remnants of his coat, as if touched by shame. Arrived at the corner of Orange street, Mr. Toddleworth pauses and begs his charge to survey the prospect67. Look whither she will nothing but a scene of desolation-a Babylon of hideous, wasting forms, mucky streets, and reeking dens68, meet her eye. The Jews have arranged themselves on one side of Orange street, to speculate on the wasted harlotry of the other. "Look you, Madam!" says Mr. Toddleworth, leaning on his stick and pointing towards Chatham street. "A desert, truly," replies the august old lady, nervously69 twitching70 her head. She sees to the right ("it is wantonness warring upon misery," says Mr. Toddleworth) a long line of irregular, wooden buildings, black and besmeared with mud. Little houses with decrepid door-steps; little houses with decayed platforms in front; little dens that seem crammed71 with rubbish; little houses with black-eyed, curly-haired, and crooked-nosed children looking shyly about the doors; little houses with lusty and lecherous-eyed Jewesses sitting saucily72 in the open door; little houses with open doors, broken windows, and shattered shutters73, where the devil's elixir74 is being served to ragged and besotted denizens; little houses into which women with blotched faces slip suspiciously, deposit their almost worthless rags, and pass out to seek the gin-shop; little houses with eagle-faced men peering curiously75 out at broken windows, or beckoning77 some wayfarer78 to enter and buy from their door; little houses piled inside with the cast-off garments of the poor and dissolute, and hung outside with smashed bonnets79, old gowns, tattered shawls; flaunting-red, blue, and yellow, in the wind, emblematic80 of those poor wretches81, on the opposite side, who have pledged here their last offerings, and blazed down into that stage of human degradation82, which finds the next step the grave-all range along, forming a picturesque83 but sad panorama84. Mr. Moses, the man of the eagle face, who keeps the record of death, as the neighbors call it, sits opulently in his door, and smokes his cigar; while his sharp-eyed daughters estimate exactly how much it is safe to advance on the last rag some lean wretch56 would pledge. He will tell you just how long that brawny85 harlot, passing on the opposite side, will last, and what the few rags on her back will be worth when she is "shoved into Potters' Field." At the sign of the "Three Martyrs86" Mr. Levy87 is seen, in his fashionable coat, and a massive chain falling over his tight waistcoat, registering the names of his grotesque88 customers, ticketing their little packages, and advancing each a shilling or two, which they will soon spend at the opposite druggery. Thus bravely wages the war. London has nothing so besotted, Paris nothing so vicious, Naples nothing so dark and despairing, as this heathen world we pass by so heedlessly. Beside it even the purlieus of Rome sink into insignificance89. Now run your eye along the East side of Orange street. A sidewalk sinking in mire; a long line of one-story wooden shanties90, ready to cave-in with decay; dismal91 looking groceries, in which the god, gin, is sending his victims by hundreds to the greedy grave-yard; suspicious looking dens with dingy92 fronts, open doors, and windows stuffed with filthy rags-in which crimes are nightly perpetrated, and where broken-hearted victims of seduction and neglect, seeking here a last refuge, are held in a slavery delicacy93 forbids our describing; dens where negro dancers nightly revel94, and make the very air re-echo their profaning95 voices; filthy lanes leading to haunts up alleys and in narrow passages, where thieves and burglars hide their vicious heads; mysterious looking steps leading to cavern-like cellars, where swarm and lay prostrate96 wretched beings made drunk by the "devil's elixir"--all these beset97 the East side of Orange street. Wasted nature, blanched98 and despairing, ferments99 here into one terrible pool. Women in gaudy-colored dresses, their bared breasts and brawny arms contrasting curiously with their wicked faces, hang lasciviously100 over "half-doors," taunt101 the dreamy policeman on his round, and beckon76 the unwary stranger into their dens. Piles of filth13 one might imagine had been thrown up by the devil or the street commissioners102 and in which you might bury a dozen fat aldermen without missing one; little shops where unwholesome food is sold; corner shops where idlers of every color, and sharpers of all grades, sit dreaming out the day over their gin-are here to be found. Young Ireland would, indeed, seem to have made this the citadel103 from which to vomit104 his vice over the city.
"They're perfectly105 wild, Madam-these children are," says Mr. Toddleworth, in reply to a question Mrs. Swiggs put respecting the immense number of ragged and profaning urchins107 that swarm the streets. "They never heard of the Bible, nor God, nor that sort of thing. How could they hear of it? No one ever comes in here-that is, they come in now and then, and throw a bit of a tract108 in here and there, and are glad to get out with a whole coat. The tracts109 are all Greek to the dwellers110 here. Besides that, you see, something must be done for the belly, before you can patch up the head. I say this with a fruitful experience. A good, kind little man, who seems earnest in the welfare of these wild little children that you see running about here-not the half of them know their parents-looks in now and then, acts as if he wasn't afraid of us, (that is a good deal, Madam,) and the boys are beginning to take to him. But, with nothing but his kind heart and earnest resolution, he'll find a rugged111 mountain to move. If he move it, he will deserve a monument of fairest marble erected112 to his memory, and letters of gold to emblazon his deeds thereon. He seems to understand the key to some of their affections. It's no use mending the sails without making safe the hull113."
"At this moment Mrs. Swiggs' attention is attracted by a crowd of ragged urchins and grotesque-looking men, gathered about a heap of filth at that corner of Orange street that opens into the Points.
"They are disinterring his Honor, the Mayor," says Mr. Toddleworth. "Do this sort of thing every day, Madam; they mean no harm, you see."
Mrs. Swiggs, curious to witness the process of disinterring so distinguished114 a person, forgets entirely115 her appointment at the House of the Foreign Missions, crowds her way into the filthy throng116, and watches with intense anxiety a vacant-looking idiot, who has seen some sixteen sumers, lean and half clad, and who has dug with his staff a hole deep in the mud, which he is busy piling up at the edges.
"Deeper, deeper!" cries out a dozen voices, of as many mischievous117 urchins, who are gathered round in a ring, making him the victim of their sport. Having cast his glassy eyes upward, and scanned vacantly his audience, he sets to work again, and continues throwing out dead cats by the dozen, all of which he exults118 over, and pauses now and then for the approbation119 of the bystanders, who declare they bear no resemblance to his Honor, or any one of the Board of Aldermen. One chubby120 urchin106, with a bundle of Tribunes under his arm, looks mischievously121 into the pit, and says, "His 'Onor 'ill want the Tribune." Another, of a more taciturn disposition122, shrugs123 his shoulders, gives his cap a pull over his eyes, and says, spicing his declaration with an oath, "He'll buy two Heralds124!--he will." The taciturn urchin draws them from his bundle with an air of independence, flaunts125 them in the face of his rival, and exults over their merits. A splashing of mud, followed by a deafening126 shout, announces that the persevering127 idiot has come upon the object he seeks. One proclaims to his motley neighbors that the whole corporation is come to light; another swears it is only his Honor and a dead Alderman. A third, more astute128 than the rest, says it is only the head and body of the Corporation-a dead pig and a decaying pumpkin129! Shout after shout goes up as the idiot, exultingly130, drags out the prostrate pig, following it with the pumpkin. Mr. Toddleworth beckons131 Lady Swiggs away. The wicked-faced harlots are gathering about her in scores. One has just been seen fingering her dress, and hurrying away, disappearing suspiciously into an Alley37.
"You see, Madam," says Mr. Toddleworth, as they gain the vicinity of Cow Bay, "it is currently reported, and believed by the dwellers here, that our Corporation ate itself out of the world not long since; and seeing how much they suffer by the loss of such--to have a dead Corporation in a great city, is an evil, I assure you--an institution, they adopt this method of finding it. It affords them no little amusement. These swarming urchins will have the filthy things laid out in state, holding with due ceremony an inquest over them, and mischievously proposing to the first policeman who chances along, that he officiate as coroner. Lady Swiggs has not a doubt that light might be valuably reflected over this heathen world. Like many other very excellent ladies, however, she has no candles for a heathen world outside of Antioch."
Mr. Toddleworth escorts her safely into Centre street, and directs her to the House of the Foreign Missions.
"Thank you! thank you!--may God never let you want a shilling," he says, bowing and touching132 his hat as Mrs. Swiggs puts four shillings into his left hand.
"One shilling, Madam," he pursues, with a smile, "will get me a new collar. A clean collar now and then, it must be said, gives a body a look of respectability."
Mr. Toddleworth has a passion for new collars, regards them as a means of sustaining his respectability. Indeed, he considers himself in full dress with one mounted, no matter how ragged the rest of his wardrobe. And when he walks out of a morning, thus conditioned, his friends greet him with: "Hi! ho!--Mister Toddleworth is uppish this morning." He has bid his charge good morning, and hurries back to his wonted haunts. There is a mysterious and melancholy133 interest in this man's history, which many have attempted but failed to fathom134. He was once heard to say his name was not Toddleworth-that he had sunk his right name in his sorrows. He was sentimental135 at times, always used good language, and spoke136 like one who had seen better days and enjoyed a superior education. He wanted, he would say, when in one of his melancholy moods, to forget the world, and have the world forget him. Thus he shut himself up in the Points, and only once or twice had he been seen in the Bowery, and never in Broadway during his sojourn137 among the denizens who swarm that vortex of death. How he managed to obtain funds, for he was never without a shilling, was equally involved in mystery. He had no very bad habits, seemed inoffensive to all he approached, spoke familiarly on past events, and national affairs, and discovered a general knowledge of the history of the world. And while he was always ready to share his shilling with his more destitute138 associates, he ever maintained a degree of politeness and civility toward those he was cast among not common to the place. He was ready to serve every one, would seek out the sick and watch over them with a kindness almost paternal139, discovering a singular familiarity with the duties of a physician. He had, however, an inveterate140 hatred141 of fashionable wives; and whenever the subject was brought up, which it frequently was by the denizens of the Points, he would walk away, with a sigh. "Fashionable wives," he would mutter, his eyes filling with tears, "are never constant. Ah! they have deluged142 the world with sorrow, and sent me here to seek a hiding place."
收听单词发音 |
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purged
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| 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 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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corrupting
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的现在分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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protrude
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| v.使突出，伸出，突出 | |
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reeking
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| 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） | |
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hogs
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| n.（尤指喂肥供食用的）猪( hog的名词复数 )；（供食用的）阉公猪；彻底地做某事；自私的或贪婪的人 | |
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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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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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miasma
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| n.毒气；不良气氛 | |
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vegetating
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| v.过单调呆板的生活( vegetate的现在分词 )；植物似地生长；（瘤、疣等）长大 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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gluttonous
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| adj.贪吃的，贪婪的 | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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nurture
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| n.养育，照顾，教育；滋养，营养品；vt.养育，给与营养物，教养，扶持 | |
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nucleus
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| n.核，核心，原子核 | |
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avenging
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| adj.报仇的，复仇的v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 )；为…报复 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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averting
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| 防止，避免( avert的现在分词 )； 转移 | |
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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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50
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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51
humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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52
graphically
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| adv.通过图表；生动地，轮廓分明地 | |
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53
benighted
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| adj.蒙昧的 | |
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54
denizens
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| n.居民，住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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55
swarms
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| 蜂群，一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
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56
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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57
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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58
distended
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| v.（使）膨胀，肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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60
repulsiveness
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61
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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62
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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63
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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64
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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65
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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66
surmising
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的现在分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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67
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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68
dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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69
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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70
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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71
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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72
saucily
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| adv.傲慢地，莽撞地 | |
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73
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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74
elixir
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| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
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75
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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76
beckon
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| v.(以点头或打手势)向...示意，召唤 | |
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77
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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78
wayfarer
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| n.旅人 | |
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79
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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80
emblematic
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| adj.象征的，可当标志的；象征性 | |
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81
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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82
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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83
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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84
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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85
brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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86
martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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87
levy
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| n.征收税或其他款项，征收额 | |
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88
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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insignificance
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| n.不重要；无价值；无意义 | |
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90
shanties
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| n.简陋的小木屋( shanty的名词复数 )；铁皮棚屋；船工号子；船歌 | |
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91
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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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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revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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95
profaning
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| v.不敬( profane的现在分词 )；亵渎，玷污 | |
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96
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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97
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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98
blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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99
ferments
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| n.酵素( ferment的名词复数 )；激动；骚动；动荡v.（使）发酵( ferment的第三人称单数 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
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100
lasciviously
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101
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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102
commissioners
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| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
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103
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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104
vomit
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| v.呕吐，作呕；n.呕吐物，吐出物 | |
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105
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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106
urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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107
urchins
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| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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108
tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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109
tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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110
dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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111
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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112
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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113
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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114
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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115
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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116
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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117
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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118
exults
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的第三人称单数 ) | |
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119
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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120
chubby
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| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
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121
mischievously
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| adv.有害地；淘气地 | |
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122
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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123
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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124
heralds
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| n.使者( herald的名词复数 )；预报者；预兆；传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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125
flaunts
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的第三人称单数 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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126
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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127
persevering
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| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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128
astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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129
pumpkin
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| n.南瓜 | |
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130
exultingly
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| 兴高采烈地，得意地 | |
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131
beckons
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的第三人称单数 ) | |
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132
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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133
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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134
fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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135
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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136
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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137
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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138
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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139
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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140
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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141
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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142
deluged
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| v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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