The case of my father and mother was not normal. You understand they had been separated for some years, and though they were not young in age—indeed, before my childish eyes they loomed1 quite ancient folk, and in fact my father must have been nearly forty and my mother quit of thirty—yet, as you will come to think yourself, no doubt, during the course of my story, they were in all the essentials of life little more than boy and girl. This I came to see later on, but at that time, had I been consulted by enquiring2 maid or bachelor, I might unwittingly have given wrong impressions concerning marriage in the general. I should have described a husband as a man who could never rest quite content unless his wife were by his side; who twenty times a day would call from his office door: “Maggie, are you doing anything important? I want to talk to you about a matter of business.” ... “Maggie, are you alone? Oh, all right, I'll come down.” Of a wife I should have said she was a woman whose eyes were ever love-lit when resting on her man; who was glad where he was and troubled where he was not. But in every case this might not have been correct.
Also, I should have had something to say concerning the alarms and excursions attending residence with any married couple. I should have recommended the holding up of feet under the table lest, mistaken for other feet, they should be trodden on and pressed. Also, I should have advised against entry into any room unpreceded by what in Stageland is termed “noise without.” It is somewhat disconcerting to the nervous incomer to be met, the door still in his hand, by a sound as of people springing suddenly into the air, followed by a weird3 scuttling4 of feet, and then to discover the occupants sitting stiffly in opposite corners, deeply engaged in book or needlework. But, as I have said, with regard to some households, such precautions might be needless.
Personally, I fear, I exercised little or no controlling influence upon my parents in this respect, my intrusions coming soon to be greeted with: “Oh, it's only Spud,” in a tone of relief, accompanied generally by the sofa cushion; but of my aunt they stood more in awe5. Not that she ever said anything, and, indeed, to do her justice, in her efforts to spare their feelings she erred6, if at all, on the side of excess. Never did she move a footstep about the house except to the music of a sustained and penetrating7 cough. As my father once remarked, ungratefully, I must confess, the volume of bark produced by my aunt in a single day would have done credit to the dying efforts of a hospital load of consumptives; to a robust8 and perfectly9 healthy lady the cost in nervous force must have been prodigious10. Also, that no fear should live with them that her eyes had seen aught not intended for them, she would invariably enter backwards11 any room in which they might be, closing the door loudly and with difficulty before turning round: and through dark passages she would walk singing. No woman alive could have done more; yet—such is human nature!—neither my father nor my mother was grateful to her, so far as I could judge.
Indeed, strange as it may appear, the more sympathetic towards them she showed herself, the more irritated against her did they become.
“I believe, Fanny, you hate seeing Luke and me happy together,” said my mother one day, coming up from the kitchen to find my aunt preparing for entry into the drawing-room by dropping teaspoons12 at five-second intervals14 outside the door: “Don't make yourself so ridiculous.” My mother spoke15 really quite unkindly.
“Hate it!” replied my aunt. “Why should I? Why shouldn't a pair of turtle doves bill and coo, when their united age is only a little over seventy, the pretty dears?” The mildness of my aunt's answers often surprised me.
As for my father, he grew positively16 vindictive17. I remember the occasion well. It was the first, though not the last time I knew him lose his temper. What brought up the subject I forget, but my father stopped suddenly; we were walking by the canal bank.
“Your aunt”—my father may not have intended it, but his tone and manner when speaking of my aunt always conveyed to me the impression that he regarded me as personally responsible for her existence. This used to weigh upon me. “Your aunt is the most cantankerous18, the most—” he broke off, and shook his fist towards the setting sun. “I wish to God,” said my father, “your aunt had a comfortable little income of her own, with a freehold cottage in the country, by God I do!” But the next moment, ashamed, I suppose, of his brutality19: “Not but what sometimes, of course, she can be very nice, you know,” he added; “don't tell your mother what I said just now.”
Another who followed with sympathetic interest the domestic comedy was Susan, our maid-of-all-work, the first of a long and varied21 series, extending unto the advent22 of Amy, to whom the blessing23 of Heaven. Susan was a stout24 and elderly female, liable to sudden fits of sleepiness, the result, we were given to understand, of trouble; but her heart, it was her own proud boast, was always in the right place. She could never look at my father and mother sitting anywhere near each other but she must flop25 down and weep awhile; the sight of connubial26 bliss27 always reminding her, so she would explain, of the past glories of her own married state.
Though an earnest enquirer28, I was never able myself to grasp the ins and outs of this past married life of Susan's. Whether her answers were purposely framed to elude29 curiosity, or whether they were the result of a naturally incoherent mind, I cannot say. Their tendency was to convey confusion.
On Monday I have seen Susan shed tears of regret into the Brussels sprouts30, that she had been debarred by the pressure of other duties from lately watering “his” grave, which, I gathered, was at Manor31 Park. While on Tuesday I have listened, blood chilled, to the recital32 of her intentions should she ever again enjoy the luxury of getting her fingers near the scruff of his neck.
“But, I thought, Susan, he was dead,” was my very natural comment upon this outbreak.
“So did I, Master Paul,” was Susan's rejoinder; “that was his artfulness.”
“Not yet; but he'll wish he was, the half-baked monkey, when I get hold of him.”
“Then he wasn't a good man?”
“Who?”
“Your husband.”
“Who says he ain't a good man?” It was Susan's flying leaps from tense to tense that most bewildered me. “If anybody says he ain't I'll gouge34 their eye out!”
I hastened to assure Susan that my observation had been intended in the nature of enquiry, not of assertion.
“Brings me a bottle of gin—for my headaches—every time he comes home,” continued Susan, showing cause for opinion, “every blessed time.”
And at some such point as this I would retire to the clearer atmosphere of German grammar or mixed fractions.
We suffered a good deal from Susan one way and another; for having regard to the admirable position of her heart, we all felt it our duty to overlook mere35 failings of the flesh—all but my aunt, that is, who never made any pretence36 of being a sentimentalist.
“She's a lazy hussy,” was the opinion expressed of her one morning by my aunt, who was rinsing37; “a gulping38, snorting, lazy hussy, that's what she is.” There was some excuse for my aunt's indignation. It was then eleven o'clock and Susan was still sleeping off an attack of what she called “new-ralgy.”
“She has seen a good deal of trouble,” said my mother, who was wiping.
“And if she was my cook and housemaid,” replied my aunt, “she would see more, the slut!”
“She's not a good servant in many respects,” admitted my mother, “but I think she's good-hearted.”
“Oh, drat her heart,” was my aunt's retort. “The right place for that heart of hers is on the doorstep. And that's where I'd put it, and her and her box alongside it, if I had my way.”
The departure of Susan did take place not long afterwards. It occurred one Saturday night. My mother came upstairs looking pale.
“Luke,” she said, “do please run for the doctor.”
“What's the matter?” asked my father.
“Susan,” gasped39 my mother, “she's lying on the kitchen floor breathing in the strangest fashion and quite unable to speak.”
“I'll go for Washburn,” said my father; “if I am quick I shall catch him at the dispensary.”
Five minutes later my father came back panting, followed by the doctor. This was a big, black-bearded man; added to which he had the knack40 of looking bigger than even he really was. He came down the kitchen stairs two at a time, shaking the whole house. He brushed my mother aside, and bent41 over the unconscious Susan, who was on her back with her mouth wide open. Then he rose and looked at my father and mother, who were watching him with troubled faces; and then he opened his mouth, and there came from it a roar of laughter, the like of which sound I had never heard.
The next moment he had seized a pail half full of water and had flung it over the woman. She opened her eyes and sat up.
“Feeling better?” said the doctor, with the pail still in his hand; “have another dose?”
Susan began to gather herself together with the evident intention of expressing her feelings; but before she could find the first word, he had pushed the three of us outside and slammed the door behind us.
From the top of the stairs we could hear Susan's thick, rancorous voice raging fiercer and fiercer, drowned every now and then by the man's savage42 roar of laughter. And, when for want of breath she would flag for a moment, he would yell out encouragement to her, shouting: “Bravo! Go it, my beauty, give it tongue! Bark, bark! I love to hear you,” applauding her, clapping his hands and stamping his feet.
“What a beast of a man,” said my mother.
“He is really a most interesting man when you come to know him,” explained my father.
Replied my mother, stiffly: “I don't ever mean to know him.” But it is only concerning the past that we possess knowledge.
The riot from below ceased at length, and was followed by a new voice, speaking quietly and emphatically, and then we heard the doctor's step again upon the stairs.
My mother held her purse open in her hand, and as the man entered the room she went forward to meet him.
“How much do we owe you, Doctor?” said my mother. She spoke in a voice trembling with severity.
He closed the purse and gently pushed it back towards her.
“A glass of beer and a chop, Mrs. Kelver,” he answered, “which I am coming back in an hour to cook for myself. And as you will be without any servant,” he continued, while my mother stood staring at him incapable43 of utterance44, “you had better let me cook some for you at the same time. I am an expert at grilling45 chops.”
“But, really, Doctor—” my mother began. He laid his huge hand upon her shoulder, and my mother sat down upon the nearest chair.
“My dear lady,” he said, “she's a person you never ought to have had inside your house. She's promised me to be gone in half an hour, and I'm coming back to see she keeps her word. Give her a month's wages, and have a clear fire ready for me.” And before my mother could reply, he had slammed the front door.
“What a very odd sort of a man,” said my mother, recovering herself.
“He's a character,” said my father; “you might not think it, but he's worshipped about here.”
“I hardly know what to make of him,” said my mother; “I suppose I had better go out and get some chops;” which she did.
Susan went, as sober as a judge on Friday, as the saying is, her great anxiety being to get out of the house before the doctor returned. The doctor himself arrived true to his time, and I lay awake—for no human being ever slept or felt he wanted to sleep while Dr. Washburn was anywhere near—and listened to the gusts46 of laughter that swept continually through the house. Even my aunt laughed that supper time, and when the doctor himself laughed it seemed to me that the bed shook under me. Not liking47 to be out of it, I did what spoilt little boys and even spoilt little girls sometimes will do under similar stress of feeling, wrapped the blanket round my legs and pattered down, with my face set to express the sudden desire of a sensitive and possibly short-lived child for parents' love. My mother pretended to be angry, but that I knew was only her company manners. Besides, I really had, if not exactly a pain, an extremely uncomfortable sensation (one common to me about that period) as of having swallowed the dome20 of St. Paul's. The doctor said it was a frequent complaint with children, the result of too early hours and too much study; and, taking me on his knee, wrote then and there a diet chart for me, which included one tablespoonful of golden syrup48 four times a day, and one ounce of sherbet to be placed upon the tongue and taken neat ten minutes before each meal.
That evening will always live in my remembrance. My mother was brighter than I had ever seen her. A flush was on her cheek and a sparkle in her eye, and looking across at her as she sat holding a small painted screen to shield her face from the fire, the sense of beauty became suddenly born within me, and answering an impulse I could not have explained, I slipped down, still with my blanket around me, from the doctor's knee, and squatted49 on the edge of the fender, from where, when I thought no one was noticing me, I could steal furtive50 glances up into her face.
So also my father seemed to me to have become all at once bigger and more dignified51, talking with a vigour52 and an enjoyment53 that sat newly on him. Aunt Fan was quite witty54 and agreeable—for her; and even I asked one or two questions, at which, for some reason or another, everybody laughed; which determined55 me to remember and ask those same questions again on some future occasion.
That was the great charm of the man, that by the magnetic spell of his magnificent vitality56 he drew from everyone their best. In his company clever people waxed intellectual giants, while the dull sat amazed at their own originality57. Conversing58 with him, Podsnap might have been piquant59, Dogberry incisive60. But better than all else, I found it listening to his own talk. Of what he spoke I could tell you no more than could the children of Hamelin have told the tune61 the Pied Piper played. I only know that at the tangled62 music of his strong voice the walls of the mean room faded away, and that beyond I saw a brave, laughing world that called to me; a world full of joyous63 fight, where some won and some lost. But that mattered not a jot64, because whatever else came of it there was a right royal game for all; a world where merry gentlemen feared neither life nor death, and Fate was but the Master of the Revels65.
Such was my first introduction to Dr. Washburn, or to give him the name by which he was known in every slum and alley66 of that quarter, Dr. Fighting Hal; and in a minor67 key that evening was an index to the whole man. Often he would wrinkle his nose as a dog before it bites, and then he was more brute68 than man—brutish in his instincts, in his appetites, brutish in his pleasure, brutish in his fun. Or his deep blue eyes would grow soft as a mother's, and then you might have thought him an angel in a soft felt hat and a coat so loose-fitting as to suggest the possibility of his wings being folded away underneath69. Often have I tried to make up my mind whether it has been better for me or worse that I ever came to know him; but as easy would it be for the tree to say whether the rushing winds and the wild rains have shaped it or mis-shaped.
Susan's place remained vacant for some time. My mother would explain to the few friends who occasionally came from afar to see us, that her “housemaid” she had been compelled to suddenly discharge, and that we were waiting for the arrival of a new and better specimen70. But the months passed and we still waited, and my father on the rare days when a client would ring the office bell, would, after pausing a decent interval13, open the front door himself, and then call downstairs indignantly and loudly, to know why “Jane” or “Mary” could not attend to their work. And my mother, that the bread-boy or the milkman might not put it about the neighbourhood that the Kelvers in the big corner house kept no servant, would hide herself behind a thick veil and fetch all things herself from streets a long way off.
For this family of whom I am writing were, I confess, weak and human. Their poverty they were ashamed of as though it were a crime, and in consequence their life was more full of paltry71 and useless subterfuge72 than should be perhaps the life of brave men and women. The larder73, I fancy, was very often bare, but the port and sherry with the sweet biscuits stood always on the sideboard; and the fire had often to be low in the grate that my father's tall hat might shine resplendent and my mother's black silk rustle74 on Sundays.
But I would not have you sneer75 at them, thinking all pretence must spring from snobbishness76 and never from mistaken self-respect. Some fine gentleman writers there be—men whose world is bounded on the east by Bond Street—who see in the struggles of poverty to hide its darns only matter for jest. But myself, I cannot laugh at them. I know the long hopes and fears that centre round the hired waiter; the long cost of the cream and the ice jelly ordered the week before from the confectioner's. But to me it is pathetic, not ridiculous. Heroism77 is not all of one pattern. Dr. Washburn, had the Prince of Wales come to see him, would have put his bread and cheese and jug78 of beer upon the table, and helped His Royal Highness to half. But my father and mother's tea was very weak that Mr. Jones or Mr. Smith might have a glass of wine should they come to dinner. I remember the one egg for breakfast, my mother arguing that my father should have it because he had his business to attend to; my father insisting that my mother should eat it, she having to go out shopping, a compromise being effected by their dividing it between them, each clamouring for the white as the most nourishing. And I know however little the meal looked upon the table when we started I always rose well satisfied. These are small things to speak of, but then you must bear in mind this is a story moving in narrow ways.
To me this life came as a good time. That I was encouraged to eat treacle79 in preference to butter seemed to me admirable. Personally, I preferred sausages for dinner; and a supper of fried fish and potatoes, brought in stealthily in a carpet bag, was infinitely80 more enjoyable than the set meal where nothing was of interest till one came to the dessert. What fun there was about it all! The cleaning of the doorstep by night, when from the ill-lit street a gentleman with a piece of sacking round his legs might very well pass for a somewhat tall charwoman. I would keep watch at the gate to give warning should any one looking like a possible late caller turn the corner of the street, coming back now and then in answer to a low whistle to help my father grope about in the dark for the hearthstone; he was always mislaying the hearthstone. How much better, helping82 to clean the knives or running errands than wasting all one's morning dwelling83 upon the shocking irregularity of certain classes of French verbs; or making useless calculations as to how long X, walking four and a quarter miles an hour, would be overtaking Y, whose powers were limited to three and a half, but who had started two and three quarter hours sooner; the whole argument being reduced to sheer pedantry84 by reason of no information being afforded to the student concerning the respective thirstiness of X and Y.
Even my father and mother were able to take it lightly with plenty of laughter and no groaning85 that I ever heard. For over all lay the morning light of hope, and what prisoner, escaping from his dungeon86, ever stayed to think of his torn hands and knees when beyond the distant opening he could see the sunlight glinting through the brambles?
“I had no idea,” said my mother, “there was so much to do in a house. In future I shall arrange for the servants to have regular hours, and a little time to themselves, for rest. Don't you think it right, Luke?”
“Quite right,” replied my father; “and I'll tell you another thing we'll do. I shall insist on the landlord's putting a marble doorstep to the next house we take; you pass a sponge over marble and it is always clean.”
“Or tesselated,” suggested my mother.
Only once, can I recall a cloud. That was one Sunday when my mother, speaking across the table in the middle of dinner, said to my father, “We might save the rest of that stew88, Luke; there's an omelette coming.”
My father laid down the spoon. “An omelette!”
“Yes,” said my mother. “I thought I would like to try again.”
My father stepped into the back kitchen—we dined in the kitchen, as a rule, it saved much carriage—returning with the wood chopper.
“What ever are you going to do, Luke, with the chopper?” said my mother.
“Divide the omelette,” replied my father.
My mother began to cry.
“Why, Maggie—!” said my father.
“I know the other one was leathery,” said my mother, “but it was the fault of the oven, you know it was, Luke.”
“My dear,” said my father, “I only meant it as a joke.”
“I don't like that sort of joke,” said my mother; “it isn't nice of you, Luke.”
I don't think, to be candid89, my mother liked much any joke that was against herself. Indeed, when I come to think of it, I have never met a woman who did, nor man, either.
There had soon grown up a comradeship between my father and myself for he was the youngest thing I had met with as yet. Sometimes my mother seemed very young, and later I met boys and girls nearer to my own age in years; but they grew, while my father remained always the same. The hair about his temples was turning grey, and when you looked close you saw many crow's feet and lines, especially about the mouth. But his eyes were the eyes of a boy, his laugh the laugh of a boy, and his heart the heart of a boy. So we were very close to each other.
In a narrow strip of ground we called our garden we would play a cricket of our own, encompassed90 about by many novel rules, rendered necessary by the locality. For instance, all hitting to leg was forbidden, as tending to endanger neighbouring windows, while hitting to off was likewise not to be encouraged, as causing a temporary adjournment91 of the game, while batter92 and bowler93 went through the house and out into the street to recover the ball from some predatory crowd of urchins94 to whom it had evidently appeared as a gift direct from Heaven. Sometimes rising very early we would walk across the marshes95 to bathe in a small creek96 that led down to the river, but this was muddy work, necessitating97 much washing of legs on the return home. And on rare days we would, taking the train to Hackney and walking to the bridge, row up the river Lea, perhaps as far as Ponder's End.
But these sports being hedged around with difficulties, more commonly for recreation we would take long walks. There were pleasant nooks even in the neighbourhood of Plaistow marshes in those days. Here and there a graceful98 elm still clung to the troubled soil. Surrounded on all sides by hideousness99, picturesque100 inns still remained hidden within green walls where, if you were careful not to pry101 too curiously102, you might sit and sip103 your glass of beer beneath the oak and dream yourself where reeking104 chimneys and mean streets were not. During such walks my father would talk to me as he would talk to my mother, telling me all his wild, hopeful plans, discussing with me how I was to lodge105 at Oxford106, to what particular branches of study and of sport I was to give my preference, speaking always with such catching107 confidence that I came to regard my sojourn108 in this brick and mortar109 prison as only a question of months.
One day, talking of this future, and laughing as we walked briskly, through the shrill110 streets, I told him the words my mother had said—long ago, as it seemed to me, for life is as a stone rolling down-hill, and moves but slowly at first; she and I sitting on the moss111 at the foot of old “Jacob's Folly”—that he was our Prince fighting to deliver us from the grim castle called “Hard Times,” guarded by the dragon Poverty.
My father laughed and his boyish face flushed with pleasure.
“And she was right, Paul,” he whispered, pressing my small hand in his—it was necessary to whisper, for the street where we were was very crowded, but I knew that he wanted to shout. “I will fight him and I will slay81 him.” My father made passes in the air with his walking-stick, and it was evident from the way they drew aside that the people round about fancied he was mad. “I will batter down the iron gates and she shall be free. I will, God help me, I will.”
The gallant112 gentleman! How long and how bravely he fought! But in the end it was the Dragon triumphed, the Knight113 that lay upon the ground, his great heart still. I have read how, with the sword of Honest Industry, one may always conquer this grim Dragon. But such was in foolish books. In truth, only with the sword of Chicanery114 and the stout buckler of Unscrupulousness shall you be certain of victory over him. If you care not to use these, pray to your Gods, and take what comes with a stout heart.
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1
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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enquiring
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| a.爱打听的，显得好奇的 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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4
scuttling
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| n.船底穿孔，打开通海阀（沉船用）v.使船沉没( scuttle的现在分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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5
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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erred
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| 犯错误，做错事( err的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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teaspoons
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| n.茶匙( teaspoon的名词复数 )；一茶匙的量 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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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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15
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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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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cantankerous
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| adj.爱争吵的，脾气不好的 | |
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brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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flop
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| n.失败(者)，扑通一声；vi.笨重地行动，沉重地落下 | |
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connubial
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| adj.婚姻的，夫妇的 | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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enquirer
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| 寻问者，追究者 | |
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elude
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| v.躲避，困惑 | |
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sprouts
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| n.新芽，嫩枝( sprout的名词复数 )v.发芽( sprout的第三人称单数 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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33
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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34
gouge
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| v.凿；挖出；n.半圆凿；凿孔；欺诈 | |
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35
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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36
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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37
rinsing
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| n.清水，残渣v.漂洗( rinse的现在分词 )；冲洗；用清水漂洗掉（肥皂泡等）；（用清水）冲掉 | |
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38
gulping
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的现在分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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39
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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40
knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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41
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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42
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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43
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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44
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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45
grilling
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| v.烧烤( grill的现在分词 )；拷问，盘问 | |
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46
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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47
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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48
syrup
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| n.糖浆，糖水 | |
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49
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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50
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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51
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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52
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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53
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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54
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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55
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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56
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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57
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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58
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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59
piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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60
incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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61
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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62
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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63
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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64
jot
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| n.少量；vi.草草记下；vt.匆匆写下 | |
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65
revels
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| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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66
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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67
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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68
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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69
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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70
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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71
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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72
subterfuge
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| n.诡计；藉口 | |
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73
larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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74
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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75
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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76
snobbishness
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| 势利； 势利眼 | |
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77
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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78
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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79
treacle
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| n.糖蜜 | |
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80
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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81
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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82
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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83
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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84
pedantry
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| n.迂腐，卖弄学问 | |
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85
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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86
dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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87
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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88
stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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89
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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90
encompassed
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| v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 )；包围；包含；包括 | |
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91
adjournment
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| 休会； 延期； 休会期； 休庭期 | |
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92
batter
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| v.接连重击；磨损；n.牛奶面糊；击球员 | |
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93
bowler
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| n.打保龄球的人，（板球的）投（球）手 | |
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94
urchins
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| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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95
marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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96
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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97
necessitating
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的现在分词 ) | |
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98
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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99
hideousness
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100
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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101
pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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102
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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103
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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104
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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105
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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106
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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107
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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108
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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109
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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110
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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111
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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112
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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113
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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114
chicanery
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| n.欺诈，欺骗 | |
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