Whose razor's only equall'd by his beer;
And where, in either sense, the cockney-put
May, if he pleases, get confounded cut.
On the sign of an Alehouse kept by a Barber.
We are under the necessity of transporting our readers to the habitation of Benjamin Suddlechop, the husband of the active and efficient Dame1 Ursula, and who also, in his own person, discharged more offices than one. For, besides trimming locks and beards, and turning whiskers upward into the martial3 and swaggering curl, or downward into the drooping4 form which became mustaches of civil policy; besides also occasionally letting blood, either by cupping or by the lancet, extracting a stump5, and performing other actions of petty pharmacy6, very nearly as well as his neighbour Raredrench, the apothecary7: he could, on occasion, draw a cup of beer as well as a tooth, tap a hogshead as well as a vein8, and wash, with a draught9 of good ale, the mustaches which his art had just trimmed. But he carried on these trades apart from each other.
His barber's shop projected its long and mysterious pole into Fleet Street, painted party-coloured-wise, to represent the ribbons with which, in elder times, that ensign was garnished10. In the window were seen rows of teeth displayed upon strings11 like rosaries—cups with a red rag at the bottom, to resemble blood, an intimation that patients might be bled, cupped, or blistered12, with the assistance of “sufficient advice;” while the more profitable, but less honourable14 operations upon the hair of the head and beard, were briefly15 and gravely announced. Within was the well-worn leather chair for customers, the guitar, then called a ghittern or cittern, with which a customer might amuse himself till his predecessor16 was dismissed from under Benjamin's hands, and which, therefore, often flayed18 the ears of the patient metaphorically19, while his chin sustained from the razor literal scarification. All, therefore, in this department, spoke20 the chirurgeon-barber, or the barber-chirurgeon.
But there was a little back-room, used as a private tap-room, which had a separate entrance by a dark and crooked21 alley22, which communicated with Fleet Street, after a circuitous23 passage through several by-lanes and courts. This retired24 temple of Bacchus had also a connexion with Benjamin's more public shop by a long and narrow entrance, conducting to the secret premises25 in which a few old topers used to take their morning draught, and a few gill-sippers their modicum26 of strong waters, in a bashful way, after having entered the barber's shop under pretence27 of being shaved. Besides, this obscure tap-room gave a separate admission to the apartments of Dame Ursley, which she was believed to make use of in the course of her multifarious practice, both to let herself secretly out, and to admit clients and employers who cared not to be seen to visit her in public. Accordingly, after the hour of noon, by which time the modest and timid whetters, who were Benjamin's best customers, had each had his draught, or his thimbleful, the business of the tap was in a manner ended, and the charge of attending the back-door passed from one of the barber's apprentices28 to the little mulatto girl, the dingy30 Iris31 of Dame Suddlechop. Then came mystery thick upon mystery; muffled32 gallants, and masked females, in disguises of different fashions, were seen to glide35 through the intricate mazes36 of the alley; and even the low tap on the door, which frequently demanded the attention of the little Creole, had in it something that expressed secrecy37 and fear of discovery.
It was the evening of the same day when Margaret had held the long conference with the Lady Hermione, that Dame Suddlechop had directed her little portress to “keep the door fast as a miser's purse-strings; and, as she valued her saffron skin, to let in none but—-” the name she added in a whisper, and accompanied it with a nod. The little domestic blinked intelligence, went to her post, and in brief time thereafter admitted and ushered38 into the presence of the dame, that very city-gallant33 whose clothes sat awkwardly upon him, and who had behaved so doughtily39 in the fray40 which befell at Nigel's first visit to Beaujeu's ordinary. The mulatto introduced him—“Missis, fine young gentleman, all over gold and velvet41 “—then muttered to herself as she shut the door, “fine young gentleman, he!—apprentice29 to him who makes the tick-tick.”
It was indeed—we are sorry to say it, and trust our readers will sympathize with the interest we take in the matter—it was indeed honest Jin Vin, who had been so far left to his own devices, and abandoned by his better angel, as occasionally to travesty42 himself in this fashion, and to visit, in the dress of a gallant of the day, those places of pleasure and dissipation, in which it would have been everlasting43 discredit44 to him to have been seen in his real character and condition; that is, had it been possible for him in his proper shape to have gained admission. There was now a deep gloom on his brow, his rich habit was hastily put on, and buttoned awry45; his belt buckled46 in a most disorderly fashion, so that his sword stuck outwards47 from his side, instead of hanging by it with graceful48 negligence49; while his poniard, though fairly hatched and gilded50, stuck in his girdle like a butcher's steel in the fold of his blue apron51. Persons of fashion had, by the way, the advantage formerly52 of being better distinguished53 from the vulgar than at present; for, what the ancient farthingale and more modern hoop54 were to court ladies, the sword was to the gentleman; an article of dress, which only rendered those ridiculous who assumed it for the nonce, without being in the habit of wearing it. Vincent's rapier got between his legs, and, as he stumbled over it, he exclaimed—“Zounds! 'tis the second time it has served me thus—I believe the damned trinket knows I am no true gentleman, and does it of set purpose.”
“Come, come, mine honest Jin Vin—come, my good boy,” said the dame, in a soothing55 tone, “never mind these trankums—a frank and hearty56 London 'prentice is worth all the gallants of the inns of court.”
“I was a frank and hearty London 'prentice before I knew you, Dame Suddlechop,” said Vincent; “what your advice has made me, you may find a name for; since, fore17 George! I am ashamed to think about it myself.”
“A-well-a-day,” quoth the dame, “and is it even so with thee?—nay, then, I know but one cure;” and with that, going to a little corner cupboard of carved wainscoat, she opened it by the assistance of a key, which, with half-a-dozen besides, hung in a silver chain at her girdle, and produced a long flask57 of thin glass cased with wicker, bringing forth58 at the same time two Flemish rummer glasses, with long stalks and capacious wombs. She filled the one brimful for her guest, and the other more modestly to about two-thirds of its capacity, for her own use, repeating, as the rich cordial trickled59 forth in a smooth oily stream—“Right Rosa Solis, as ever washed mulligrubs out of a moody60 brain!”
But, though Jin Vin tossed off his glass without scruple61, while the lady sippped hers more moderately, it did not appear to produce the expected amendment62 upon his humour. On the contrary, as he threw himself into the great leathern chair, in which Dame Ursley was wont63 to solace64 herself of an evening, he declared himself “the most miserable65 dog within the sound of Bow-bell.”
“And why should you be so idle as to think yourself so, silly boy?” said Dame Suddlechop; “but 'tis always thus—fools and children never know when they are well. Why, there is not one that walks in St. Paul's, whether in flat cap, or hat and feather, that has so many kind glances from the wenches as you, when ye swagger along Fleet Street with your bat under your arm, and your cap set aside upon your head. Thou knowest well, that, from Mrs. Deputy's self down to the waist-coateers in the alley, all of them are twiring and peeping betwixt their fingers when you pass; and yet you call yourself a miserable dog! and I must tell you all this over and over again, as if I were whistling the chimes of London to a pettish66 child, in order to bring the pretty baby into good-humour!”
The flattery of Dame Ursula seemed to have the fate of her cordial—it was swallowed, indeed, by the party to whom she presented it, and that with some degree of relish67, but it did not operate as a sedative68 on the disturbed state of the youth's mind. He laughed for an instant, half in scorn, and half in gratified vanity, but cast a sullen69 look on Dame Ursley as he replied to her last words,
“You do treat me like a child indeed, when you sing over and over to me a cuckoo song that I care not a copper-filing for.”
“Aha!” said Dame Ursley; “that is to say, you care not if you please all, unless you please one—You are a true lover, I warrant, and care not for all the city, from here to Whitechapel, so you could write yourself first in your pretty Peg-a-Ramsay's good-will. Well, well, take patience, man, and be guided by me, for I will be the hoop will bind70 you together at last.”
“It is time you were so,” said Jenkin, “for hitherto you have rather been the wedge to separate us.”
Dame Suddlechop had by this time finished her cordial—it was not the first she had taken that day; and, though a woman of strong brain, and cautious at least, if not abstemious71, in her potations, it may nevertheless be supposed that her patience was not improved by the regimen which she observed.
“Why, thou ungracious and ingrate72 knave73,” said Dame Ursley, “have not I done every thing to put thee in thy mistress's good graces? She loves gentry74, the proud Scottish minx, as a Welshman loves cheese, and has her father's descent from that Duke of Daldevil, or whatsoever75 she calls him, as close in her heart as gold in a miser's chest, though she as seldom shows it—and none she will think of, or have, but a gentleman—and a gentleman I have made of thee, Jin Vin, the devil cannot deny that.”
“You have made a fool of me,” said poor Jenkin, looking at the sleeve of his jacket.
“Never the worse gentleman for that,” said Dame Ursley, laughing.
“And what is worse,” said he, turning his back to her suddenly, and writhing76 in his chair, “you have made a rogue77 of me.”
“Never the worse gentleman for that neither,” said Dame Ursley, in the same tone; “let a man bear his folly78 gaily79 and his knavery80 stoutly81, and let me see if gravity or honesty will look him in the face now-a-days. Tut, man, it was only in the time of King Arthur or King Lud, that a gentleman was held to blemish82 his scutcheon by a leap over the line of reason or honesty—It is the bold look, the ready hand, the fine clothes, the brisk oath, and the wild brain, that makes the gallant now-a-days.”
“I know what you have made me,” said Jin Vin; “since I have given up skittles and trap-ball for tennis and bowls, good English ale for thin Bordeaux and sour Rhenish, roast-beef and pudding for woodcocks and kickshaws—my bat for a sword, my cap for a beaver83, my forsooth for a modish84 oath, my Christmas-box for a dice85-box, my religion for the devil's matins, and mine honest name for—Woman, I could brain thee, when I think whose advice has guided me in all this!”
“Whose advice, then? whose advice, then? Speak out, thou poor, petty cloak-brusher, and say who advised thee!” retorted Dame Ursley, flushed and indignant—“Marry come up, my paltry86 companion—say by whose advice you have made a gamester of yourself, and a thief besides, as your words would bear—The Lord deliver us from evil!” And here Dame Ursley devoutly87 crossed herself.
“Hark ye, Dame Ursley Suddlechop,” said Jenkin, starting up, his dark eyes flashing with anger; “remember I am none of your husband—and, if I were, you would do well not to forget whose threshold was swept when they last rode the Skimmington [Footnote: A species of triumphal procession in honour of female supremacy88, when it rose to such a height as to attract the attention of the neighbourhood. It is described at full length in Hudibras. (Part II. Canto89 II.) As the procession passed on, those who attended it in an official capacity were wont to sweep the threshold of the houses in which Fame affirmed the mistresses to exercise paramount90 authority, which was given and received as a hint that their inmates91 might, in their turn, be made the subject of a similar ovation92. The Skimmington, which in some degree resembled the proceedings93 of Mumbo Jumbo in an African village, has been long discontinued in England, apparently94 because female rule has become either milder or less frequent than among our ancestors.] upon such another scolding jade95 as yourself.”
“I hope to see you ride up Holborn next,” said Dame Ursley, provoked out of all her holiday and sugar-plum expressions, “with a nosegay at your breast, and a parson at your elbow!”
“That may well be,” answered Jin Vin, bitterly, “if I walk by your counsels as I have begun by them; but, before that day comes, you shall know that Jin Vin has the brisk boys of Fleet Street still at his wink96.—Yes, you jade, you shall be carted for bawd and conjurer, double-dyed in grain, and bing off to Bridewell, with every brass97 basin betwixt the Bar and Paul's beating before you, as if the devil were banging them with his beef-hook.”
Dame Ursley coloured like scarlet98, seized upon the half-emptied flask of cordial, and seemed, by her first gesture, about to hurl99 it at the head of her adversary100; but suddenly, and as if by a strong internal effort, she checked her outrageous101 resentment102, and, putting the bottle to its more legitimate103 use, filled, with wonderful composure, the two glasses, and, taking up one of them, said, with a smile, which better became her comely104 and jovial105 countenance106 than the fury by which it was animated107 the moment before—
“Here is to thee, Jin Vin, my lad, in all loving kindness, whatever spite thou bearest to me, that have always been a mother to thee.”
Jenkin's English good-nature could not resist this forcible appeal; he took up the other glass, and lovingly pledged the dame in her cup of reconciliation108, and proceeded to make a kind of grumbling109 apology for his own violence—
“For you know,” he said, “it was you persuaded me to get these fine things, and go to that godless ordinary, and ruffle110 it with the best, and bring you home all the news; and you said, I, that was the cock of the ward2, would soon be the cock of the ordinary, and would win ten times as much at gleek and primero, as I used to do at put and beggar-my-neighbour—and turn up doublets with the dice, as busily as I was wont to trowl down the ninepins in the skittle-ground—and then you said I should bring you such news out of the ordinary as should make us all, when used as you knew how to use it—and now you see what is to come of it all!”
“'Tis all true thou sayest, lad,” said the dame; “but thou must have patience. Rome was not built in a day—you cannot become used to your court-suit in a month's time, any more than when you changed your long coat for a doublet and hose; and in gaming you must expect to lose as well as gain—'tis the sitting gamester sweeps the board.”
“The board has swept me, I know,” replied Jin Vin, “and that pretty clean out.—I would that were the worst; but I owe for all this finery, and settling-day is coming on, and my master will find my accompt worse than it should be by a score of pieces. My old father will be called in to make them good; and I—may save the hangman a labour and do the job myself, or go the Virginia voyage.”
“Do not speak so loud, my dear boy,” said Dame Ursley; “but tell me why you borrow not from a friend to make up your arrear111. You could lend him as much when his settling-day came round.”
“No, no—I have had enough of that work,” said Vincent. “Tunstall would lend me the money, poor fellow, an he had it; but his gentle, beggarly kindred, plunder112 him of all, and keep him as bare as a birch at Christmas. No—my fortune may be spelt in four letters, and these read, RUIN.”
“Now hush113, you simple craven,” said the dame; “did you never hear, that when the need is highest the help is nighest? We may find aid for you yet, and sooner than you are aware of. I am sure I would never have advised you to such a course, but only you had set heart and eye on pretty Mistress Marget, and less would not serve you—and what could I do but advise you to cast your city-slough, and try your luck where folks find fortune?”
“Ay, ay—I remember your counsel well,” said Jenkin; “I was to be introduced to her by you when I was perfect in my gallantries, and as rich as the king; and then she was to be surprised to find I was poor Jin Vin, that used to watch, from matin to curfew, for one glance of her eye; and now, instead of that, she has set her soul on this Scottish sparrow-hawk of a lord that won my last tester, and be cursed to him; and so I am bankrupt in love, fortune, and character, before I am out of my time, and all along of you, Mother Midnight.”
“Do not call me out of my own name, my dear boy, Jin Vin,” answered Ursula, in a tone betwixt rage and coaxing,—“do not; because I am no saint, but a poor sinful woman, with no more patience than she needs, to carry her through a thousand crosses. And if I have done you wrong by evil counsel, I must mend it and put you right by good advice. And for the score of pieces that must be made up at settling-day, why, here is, in a good green purse, as much as will make that matter good; and we will get old Crosspatch, the tailor, to take a long day for your clothes; and—”
“Mother, are you serious?” said Jin Vin, unable to trust either his eyes or his ears.
“In troth am I,” said the dame; “and will you call me Mother Midnight now, Jin Vin?”
“Mother Midnight!” exclaimed Jenkin, hugging the dame in his transport, and bestowing114 on her still comely cheek a hearty and not unacceptable smack115, that sounded like the report of a pistol,—“Mother Midday, rather, that has risen to light me out of my troubles—a mother more dear than she who bore me; for she, poor soul, only brought me into a world of sin and sorrow, and your timely aid has helped me out of the one and the other.” And the good-natured fellow threw himself back in his chair, and fairly drew his hand across his eyes.
“You would not have me be made to ride the Skimmington then,” said the dame; “or parade me in a cart, with all the brass basins of the ward beating the march to Bridewell before me?”
“Why, then, sit up like a man, and wipe thine eyes; and, if thou art pleased with what I have done, I will show thee how thou mayst requite117 me in the highest degree.”
“How?” said Jenkin Vincent, sitting straight up in his chair.—“You would have me, then, do you some service for this friendship of yours?”
“Ay, marry would I,” said Dame Ursley; “for you are to know, that though I am right glad to stead you with it, this gold is not mine, but was placed in my hands in order to find a trusty agent, for a certain purpose; and so—But what's the matter with you?—are you fool enough to be angry because you cannot get a purse of gold for nothing? I would I knew where such were to come by. I never could find them lying in my road, I promise you.”
“No, no, dame,” said poor Jenkin, “it is not for that; for, look you, I would rather work these ten bones to the knuckles118, and live by my labour; but—” (and here he paused.)
“But what, man?” said Dame Ursley. “You are willing to work for what you want; and yet, when I offer you gold for the winning, you look on me as the devil looks over Lincoln.”
“It is ill talking of the devil, mother,” said Jenkin. “I had him even now in my head—for, look you, I am at that pass, when they say he will appear to wretched ruined creatures, and proffer120 them gold for the fee-simple of their salvation121. But I have been trying these two days to bring my mind strongly up to the thought, that I will rather sit down in shame, and sin, and sorrow, as I am like to do, than hold on in ill courses to get rid of my present straits; and so take care, Dame Ursula, how you tempt122 me to break such a good resolution.”
“I tempt you to nothing, young man,” answered Ursula; “and, as I perceive you are too wilful123 to be wise, I will e'en put my purse in my pocket, and look out for some one that will work my turn with better will, and more thankfulness. And you may go your own course,—break your indenture124, ruin your father, lose your character, and bid pretty Mistress Margaret farewell, for ever and a day.”
“Stay, stay,” said Jenkin “the woman is in as great a hurry as a brown baker125 when his oven is overheated. First, let me hear that which you have to propose to me.”
“Why, after all, it is but to get a gentleman of rank and fortune, who is in trouble, carried in secret down the river, as far as the Isle126 of Dogs, or somewhere thereabout, where he may lie concealed127 until he can escape aboard. I know thou knowest every place by the river's side as well as the devil knows an usurer, or the beggar knows his dish.”
“A plague of your similes128, dame,” replied the apprentice; “for the devil gave me that knowledge, and beggary may be the end on't.—But what has this gentleman done, that he should need to be under hiding? No Papist, I hope—no Catesby and Piercy business—no Gunpowder129 Plot?”
“Fy, fy!—what do you take me for?” said Dame Ursula. “I am as good a churchwoman as the parson's wife, save that necessary business will not allow me to go there oftener than on Christmas-day, heaven help me!—No, no—this is no Popish matter. The gentleman hath but struck another in the Park—”
“Ha! what?” said Vincent, interrupting her with a start.
“Ay, ay, I see you guess whom I mean. It is even he we have spoken of so often—just Lord Glenvarloch, and no one else.”
Vincent sprung from his seat, and traversed the room with rapid and disorderly steps.
“There, there it is now—you are always ice or gunpowder. You sit in the great leathern armchair, as quiet as a rocket hangs upon the frame in a rejoicing-night till the match be fired, and then, whizz! you are in the third heaven, beyond the reach of the human voice, eye, or brain.—When you have wearied yourself with padding to and fro across the room, will you tell me your determination, for time presses? Will you aid me in this matter, or not?”
“No—no—no—a thousand times no,” replied Jenkin. “Have you not confessed to me, that Margaret loves him?”
“Ay,” answered the dame, “that she thinks she does; but that will not last long.”
“And have I not told you but this instant,” replied Jenkin, “that it was this same Glenvarloch that rooked me, at the ordinary, of every penny I had, and made a knave of me to boot, by gaining more than was my own?—O that cursed gold, which Shortyard, the mercer, paid me that morning on accompt, for mending the clock of Saint Stephen's! If I had not, by ill chance, had that about me, I could but have beggared my purse, without blemishing130 my honesty; and, after I had been rooked of all the rest amongst them, I must needs risk the last five pieces with that shark among the minnows!”
“Granted,” said Dame Ursula. “All this I know; and I own, that as Lord Glenvarloch was the last you played with, you have a right to charge your ruin on his head. Moreover, I admit, as already said, that Margaret has made him your rival. Yet surely, now he is in danger to lose his hand, it is not a time to remember all this?”
“By my faith, but it is, though,” said the young citizen. “Lose his hand, indeed? They may take his head, for what I care. Head and hand have made me a miserable wretch119!”
“Now, were it not better, my prince of flat-caps,” said Dame Ursula, “that matters were squared between you; and that, through means of the same Scottish lord, who has, as you say, deprived you of your money and your mistress, you should in a short time recover both?”
“And how can your wisdom come to that conclusion, dame?” said the apprentice. “My money, indeed, I can conceive—that is, if I comply with your proposal; but—my pretty Marget!—how serving this lord, whom she has set her nonsensical head upon, can do me good with her, is far beyond my conception.”
“That is because, in simple phrase,” said Dame Ursula, “thou knowest no more of a woman's heart than doth a Norfolk gosling. Look you, man. Were I to report to Mistress Margaret that the young lord has miscarried through thy lack of courtesy in refusing to help him, why, then, thou wert odious131 to her for ever. She will loathe132 thee as she will loathe the very cook who is to strike off Glenvarloch's hand with his cleaver—and then she will be yet more fixed133 in her affections towards this lord. London will hear of nothing but him—speak of nothing but him—think of nothing but him, for three weeks at least, and all that outcry will serve to keep him uppermost in her mind; for nothing pleases a girl so much as to bear relation to any one who is the talk of the whole world around her. Then, if he suffer this sentence of the law, it is a chance if she ever forgets him. I saw that handsome, proper young gentleman Babington, suffer in the Queen's time myself, and though I was then but a girl, he was in my head for a year after he was hanged. But, above all, pardoned or punished, Glenvarloch will probably remain in London, and his presence will keep up the silly girl's nonsensical fancy about him. Whereas, if he escapes—”
“Ay, show me how that is to avail me?” said Jenkin. “If he escapes,” said the dame, resuming her argument, “he must resign the Court for years, if not for life; and you know the old saying, 'out of sight, and out of mind.'”
“Ay, ay, I knew you would hear reason at last,” said the wily dame; “and then, when this same lord is off and away for once and for ever, who, I pray you, is to be pretty pet's confidential135 person, and who is to fill up the void in her affections?—why, who but thou, thou pearl of 'prentices! And then you will have overcome your own inclinations136 to comply with hers, and every woman is sensible of that—and you will have run some risk, too, in carrying her desires into effect—and what is it that woman likes better than bravery, and devotion to her will? Then you have her secret, and she must treat you with favour and observance, and repose137 confidence in you, and hold private intercourse138 with you, till she weeps with one eye for the absent lover whom she is never to see again, and blinks with the other blithely139 upon him who is in presence; and then if you know not how to improve the relation in which you stand with her, you are not the brisk lively lad that all the world takes you for—Said I well?”
“You have spoken like an empress, most mighty140 Ursula,” said Jenkin Vincent; “and your will shall be obeyed.”
“You know Alsatia well?” continued his tutoress.
“Well enough, well enough,” replied he with a nod; “I have heard the dice rattle141 there in my day, before I must set up for gentleman, and go among the gallants at the Shavaleer Bojo's, as they call him,—the worse rookery of the two, though the feathers are the gayest.”
“And they will have a respect for thee yonder, I warrant?”
“Ay, ay,” replied Vin, “when I am got into my fustian142 doublet again, with my bit of a trunnion under my arm, I can walk Alsatia at midnight as I could do that there Fleet Street in midday—they will not one of them swagger with the prince of 'prentices, and the king of clubs—they know I could bring every tall boy in the ward down upon them.”
“And you know all the watermen, and so forth?”
“Can converse143 with every sculler in his own language, from Richmond to Gravesend, and know all the water-cocks, from John Taylor the Poet to little Grigg the Grinner, who never pulls but he shows all his teeth from ear to ear, as if he were grimacing144 through a horse-collar.”
“And you can take any dress or character upon you well, such as a waterman's, a butcher's, a foot-soldier's,” continued Ursula, “or the like?”
“Not such a mummer as I am within the walls, and thou knowest that well enough, dame,” replied the apprentice. “I can touch the players themselves, at the Ball and at the Fortune, for presenting any thing except a gentleman. Take but this d—d skin of frippery off me, which I think the devil stuck me into, and you shall put me into nothing else that I will not become as if I were born to it.”
“Well, we will talk of your transmutation by and by,” said the dame, “and find you clothes withal, and money besides; for it will take a good deal to carry the thing handsomely through.”
“But where is that money to come from, dame?” said Jenkin; “there is a question I would fain have answered before I touch it.”
“Why, what a fool art thou to ask such a question! Suppose I am content to advance it to please young madam, what is the harm then?”
“I will suppose no such thing,” said Jenkin, hastily; “I know that you, dame, have no gold to spare, and maybe would not spare it if you had—so that cock will not crow. It must be from Margaret herself.”
“Well, thou suspicious animal, and what if it were?” said Ursula.
“Only this,” replied Jenkin, “that I will presently to her, and learn if she has come fairly by so much ready money; for sooner than connive145 at her getting it by any indirection, I would hang myself at once. It is enough what I have done myself, no need to engage poor Margaret in such villainy—I'll to her, and tell her of the danger—I will, by heaven!”
“You are mad to think of it,” said Dame Suddlechop, considerably146 alarmed—“hear me but a moment. I know not precisely147 from whom she got the money; but sure I am that she obtained it at her godfather's.”
“Why, Master George Heriot is not returned from France,” said Jenkin.
“No,” replied Ursula, “but Dame Judith is at home—and the strange lady, whom they call Master Heriot's ghost—she never goes abroad.”
“It is very true, Dame Suddlechop,” said Jenkin; “and I believe you have guessed right—they say that lady has coin at will; and if Marget can get a handful of fairy-gold, why, she is free to throw it away at will.”
“Ah, Jin Vin,” said the dame, reducing her voice almost to a whisper, “we should not want gold at will neither, could we but read the riddle148 of that lady!”
“They may read it that list,” said Jenkin, “I'll never pry149 into what concerns me not—Master George Heriot is a worthy150 and brave citizen, and an honour to London, and has a right to manage his own household as he likes best.—There was once a talk of rabbling him the fifth of November before the last, because they said he kept a nunnery in his house, like old Lady Foljambe; but Master George is well loved among the 'prentices, and we got so many brisk boys of us together as should have rabbled the rabble151, had they had but the heart to rise.”
“Well, let that pass,” said Ursula; “and now, tell me how you will manage to be absent from shop a day or two, for you must think that this matter will not be ended sooner.”
“Why, as to that, I can say nothing,” said Jenkin, “I have always served duly and truly; I have no heart to play truant152, and cheat my master of his time as well as his money.”
“Nay, but the point is to get back his money for him,” said Ursula, “which he is not likely to see on other conditions. Could you not ask leave to go down to your uncle in Essex for two or three days? He may be ill, you know.”
“Why, if I must, I must,” said Jenkin, with a heavy sigh; “but I will not be lightly caught treading these dark and crooked paths again.”
“Hush thee, then,” said the dame, “and get leave for this very evening; and come back hither, and I will introduce you to another implement153, who must be employed in the matter.—Stay, stay!—the lad is mazed—you would not go into your master's shop in that guise34, surely? Your trunk is in the matted chamber154, with your 'prentice things—go and put them on as fast as you can.”
“I think I am bewitched,” said Jenkin, giving a glance towards his dress, “or that these fool's trappings have made as great an ass13 of me as of many I have seen wear them; but let line once be rid of the harness, and if you catch me putting it on again, I will give you leave to sell me to a gipsy, to carry pots, pans, and beggar's bantlings, all the rest of my life.” So saying, he retired to change his apparel.
点击收听单词发音
1 dame | |
n.女士 | |
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2 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 | |
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3 martial | |
adj.战争的,军事的,尚武的,威武的 | |
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4 drooping | |
adj. 下垂的,无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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5 stump | |
n.残株,烟蒂,讲演台;v.砍断,蹒跚而走 | |
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6 pharmacy | |
n.药房,药剂学,制药业,配药业,一批备用药品 | |
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7 apothecary | |
n.药剂师 | |
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8 vein | |
n.血管,静脉;叶脉,纹理;情绪;vt.使成脉络 | |
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9 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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10 garnished | |
v.给(上餐桌的食物)加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11 strings | |
n.弦 | |
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12 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 | |
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13 ass | |
n.驴;傻瓜,蠢笨的人 | |
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14 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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15 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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16 predecessor | |
n.前辈,前任 | |
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17 fore | |
adv.在前面;adj.先前的;在前部的;n.前部 | |
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18 flayed | |
v.痛打( flay的过去式和过去分词 );把…打得皮开肉绽;剥(通常指动物)的皮;严厉批评 | |
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19 metaphorically | |
adv. 用比喻地 | |
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20 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 | |
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21 crooked | |
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
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22 alley | |
n.小巷,胡同;小径,小路 | |
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23 circuitous | |
adj.迂回的路的,迂曲的,绕行的 | |
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24 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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25 premises | |
n.建筑物,房屋 | |
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26 modicum | |
n.少量,一小份 | |
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27 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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28 apprentices | |
学徒,徒弟( apprentice的名词复数 ) | |
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29 apprentice | |
n.学徒,徒弟 | |
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30 dingy | |
adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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31 iris | |
n.虹膜,彩虹 | |
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32 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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33 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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34 guise | |
n.外表,伪装的姿态 | |
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35 glide | |
n./v.溜,滑行;(时间)消逝 | |
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36 mazes | |
迷宫( maze的名词复数 ); 纷繁复杂的规则; 复杂难懂的细节; 迷宫图 | |
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37 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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38 ushered | |
v.引,领,陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39 doughtily | |
adv.强地,勇敢地 | |
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40 fray | |
v.争吵;打斗;磨损,磨破;n.吵架;打斗 | |
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41 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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42 travesty | |
n.歪曲,嘲弄,滑稽化 | |
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43 everlasting | |
adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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44 discredit | |
vt.使不可置信;n.丧失信义;不信,怀疑 | |
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45 awry | |
adj.扭曲的,错的 | |
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46 buckled | |
a. 有带扣的 | |
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47 outwards | |
adj.外面的,公开的,向外的;adv.向外;n.外形 | |
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48 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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49 negligence | |
n.疏忽,玩忽,粗心大意 | |
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50 gilded | |
a.镀金的,富有的 | |
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51 apron | |
n.围裙;工作裙 | |
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52 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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53 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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54 hoop | |
n.(篮球)篮圈,篮 | |
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55 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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56 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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57 flask | |
n.瓶,火药筒,砂箱 | |
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58 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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59 trickled | |
v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 );淌;使)慢慢走;缓慢移动 | |
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60 moody | |
adj.心情不稳的,易怒的,喜怒无常的 | |
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61 scruple | |
n./v.顾忌,迟疑 | |
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62 amendment | |
n.改正,修正,改善,修正案 | |
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63 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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64 solace | |
n.安慰;v.使快乐;vt.安慰(物),缓和 | |
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65 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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66 pettish | |
adj.易怒的,使性子的 | |
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67 relish | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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68 sedative | |
adj.使安静的,使镇静的;n. 镇静剂,能使安静的东西 | |
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69 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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70 bind | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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71 abstemious | |
adj.有节制的,节俭的 | |
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72 ingrate | |
n.忘恩负义的人 | |
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73 knave | |
n.流氓;(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
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74 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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75 whatsoever | |
adv.(用于否定句中以加强语气)任何;pron.无论什么 | |
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76 writhing | |
(因极度痛苦而)扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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77 rogue | |
n.流氓;v.游手好闲 | |
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78 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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79 gaily | |
adv.欢乐地,高兴地 | |
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80 knavery | |
n.恶行,欺诈的行为 | |
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81 stoutly | |
adv.牢固地,粗壮的 | |
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82 blemish | |
v.损害;玷污;瑕疵,缺点 | |
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83 beaver | |
n.海狸,河狸 | |
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84 modish | |
adj.流行的,时髦的 | |
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85 dice | |
n.骰子;vt.把(食物)切成小方块,冒险 | |
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86 paltry | |
adj.无价值的,微不足道的 | |
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87 devoutly | |
adv.虔诚地,虔敬地,衷心地 | |
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88 supremacy | |
n.至上;至高权力 | |
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89 canto | |
n.长篇诗的章 | |
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90 paramount | |
a.最重要的,最高权力的 | |
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91 inmates | |
n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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92 ovation | |
n.欢呼,热烈欢迎,热烈鼓掌 | |
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93 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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94 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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95 jade | |
n.玉石;碧玉;翡翠 | |
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96 wink | |
n.眨眼,使眼色,瞬间;v.眨眼,使眼色,闪烁 | |
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97 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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98 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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99 hurl | |
vt.猛投,力掷,声叫骂 | |
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100 adversary | |
adj.敌手,对手 | |
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101 outrageous | |
adj.无理的,令人不能容忍的 | |
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102 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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103 legitimate | |
adj.合法的,合理的,合乎逻辑的;v.使合法 | |
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104 comely | |
adj.漂亮的,合宜的 | |
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105 jovial | |
adj.快乐的,好交际的 | |
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106 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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107 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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108 reconciliation | |
n.和解,和谐,一致 | |
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109 grumbling | |
adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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110 ruffle | |
v.弄皱,弄乱;激怒,扰乱;n.褶裥饰边 | |
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111 arrear | |
n.欠款 | |
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112 plunder | |
vt.劫掠财物,掠夺;n.劫掠物,赃物;劫掠 | |
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113 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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114 bestowing | |
砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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115 smack | |
vt.拍,打,掴;咂嘴;vi.含有…意味;n.拍 | |
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116 penitent | |
adj.后悔的;n.后悔者;忏悔者 | |
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117 requite | |
v.报酬,报答 | |
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118 knuckles | |
n.(指人)指关节( knuckle的名词复数 );(指动物)膝关节,踝v.(指人)指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 );(指动物)膝关节,踝 | |
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119 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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120 proffer | |
v.献出,赠送;n.提议,建议 | |
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121 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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122 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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123 wilful | |
adj.任性的,故意的 | |
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124 indenture | |
n.契约;合同 | |
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125 baker | |
n.面包师 | |
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126 isle | |
n.小岛,岛 | |
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127 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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128 similes | |
(使用like或as等词语的)明喻( simile的名词复数 ) | |
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129 gunpowder | |
n.火药 | |
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130 blemishing | |
v.有损…的完美,玷污( blemish的现在分词 ) | |
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131 odious | |
adj.可憎的,讨厌的 | |
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132 loathe | |
v.厌恶,嫌恶 | |
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133 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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134 oracle | |
n.神谕,神谕处,预言 | |
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135 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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136 inclinations | |
倾向( inclination的名词复数 ); 倾斜; 爱好; 斜坡 | |
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137 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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138 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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139 blithely | |
adv.欢乐地,快活地,无挂虑地 | |
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140 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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141 rattle | |
v.飞奔,碰响;激怒;n.碰撞声;拨浪鼓 | |
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142 fustian | |
n.浮夸的;厚粗棉布 | |
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143 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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144 grimacing | |
v.扮鬼相,做鬼脸( grimace的现在分词 ) | |
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145 connive | |
v.纵容;密谋 | |
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146 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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147 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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148 riddle | |
n.谜,谜语,粗筛;vt.解谜,给…出谜,筛,检查,鉴定,非难,充满于;vi.出谜 | |
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149 pry | |
vi.窥(刺)探,打听;vt.撬动(开,起) | |
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150 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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151 rabble | |
n.乌合之众,暴民;下等人 | |
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152 truant | |
n.懒惰鬼,旷课者;adj.偷懒的,旷课的,游荡的;v.偷懒,旷课 | |
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153 implement | |
n.(pl.)工具,器具;vt.实行,实施,执行 | |
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154 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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