For one more cruise with his buccaneers,
And capture another Dean of Jaen
And sell him in Algiers.—A Dutch Picture.—Longfellow
The Soudan campaign and Dick’s broken head had been some months ended and mended, and the Central Southern Syndicate had paid Dick a certain sum on account for work done, which work they were careful to assure him was not altogether up to their standard. Dick heaved the letter into the Nile at Cairo, cashed the draft in the same town, and bade a warm farewell to Torpenhow at the station.
“I am going to lie up for a while and rest,” said Torpenhow. “I don’t know where I shall live in London, but if God brings us to meet, we shall meet. Are you staying here on the off-chance of another row? There will be none till the Southern Soudan is reoccupied by our troops. Mark that. Good-bye; bless you; come back when your money’s spent; and give me your address.”
Dick loitered in Cairo, Alexandria, Ismailia, and Port Said,—especially Port Said. There is iniquity2 in many parts of the world, and vice3 in all, but the concentrated essence of all the iniquities4 and all the vices5 in all the continents finds itself at Port Said. And through the heart of that sand-bordered hell, where the mirage6 flickers7 day long above the Bitter Lake, move, if you will only wait, most of the men and women you have known in this life. Dick established himself in quarters more riotous9 than respectable. He spent his evenings on the quay10, and boarded many ships, and saw very many friends,—gracious Englishwomen with whom he had talked not too wisely in the veranda11 of Shepherd’s Hotel, hurrying war correspondents, skippers of the contract troop-ships employed in the campaign, army officers by the score, and others of less reputable trades.
He had choice of all the races of the East and West for studies, and the advantage of seeing his subjects under the influence of strong excitement, at the gaming-tables, saloons, dancing-hells, and elsewhere. For recreation there was the straight vista12 of the Canal, the blazing sands, the procession of shipping13, and the white hospitals where the English soldiers lay. He strove to set down in black and white and colour all that Providence14 sent him, and when that supply was ended sought about for fresh material. It was a fascinating employment, but it ran away with his money, and he had drawn15 in advance the hundred and twenty pounds to which he was entitled yearly. “Now I shall have to work and starve!” thought he, and was addressing himself to this new fate when a mysterious telegram arrived from Torpenhow in England, which said, “Come back, quick; you have caught on. Come.”
A large smile overspread his face. “So soon! that’s a good hearing,” said he to himself. “There will be an orgy to-night. I’ll stand or fall by my luck. Faith, it’s time it came!” He deposited half of his funds in the hands of his well-known friends Monsieur and Madame Binat, and ordered himself a Zanzibar dance of the finest. Monsieur Binat was shaking with drink, but Madame smiles sympathetically—“Monsieur needs a chair, of course, and of course Monsieur will sketch16; Monsieur amuses himself strangely.”
Binat raised a blue-white face from a cot in the inner room. “I understand,” he quavered. “We all know Monsieur. Monsieur is an artist, as I have been.” Dick nodded. “In the end,” said Binat, with gravity, “Monsieur will descend17 alive into hell, as I have descended18.” And he laughed.
“You must come to the dance, too,” said Dick; “I shall want you.”
“For my face? I knew it would be so. For my face? My God! and for my degradation19 so tremendous! I will not. Take him away. He is a devil. Or at least do thou, Celeste, demand of him more.” The excellent Binat began to kick and scream.
“All things are for sale in Port Said,” said Madame. “If my husband comes it will be so much more. Eh, “how you call—’alf a sovereign.”
The money was paid, and the mad dance was held at night in a walled courtyard at the back of Madame Binat’s house. The lady herself, in faded mauve silk always about to slide from her yellow shoulders, played the piano, and to the tin-pot music of a Western waltz the naked Zanzibari girls danced furiously by the light of kerosene20 lamps. Binat sat upon a chair and stared with eyes that saw nothing, till the whirl of the dance and the clang of the rattling21 piano stole into the drink that took the place of blood in his veins22, and his face glistened23. Dick took him by the chin brutally24 and turned that face to the light. Madame Binat looked over her shoulder and smiled with many teeth. Dick leaned against the wall and sketched25 for an hour, till the kerosene lamps began to smell, and the girls threw themselves panting on the hard-beaten ground. Then he shut his book with a snap and moved away, Binat plucking feebly at his elbow. “Show me,” he whimpered. “I too was once an artist, even I!” Dick showed him the rough sketch. “Am I that?” he screamed. “Will you take that away with you and show all the world that it is I,—Binat?” He moaned and wept.
“Monsieur has paid for all,” said Madame. “To the pleasure of seeing Monsieur again.”
The courtyard gate shut, and Dick hurried up the sandy street to the nearest gambling-hell, where he was well known. “If the luck holds, it’s an omen8; if I lose, I must stay here.” He placed his money picturesquely26 about the board, hardly daring to look at what he did. The luck held.
Three turns of the wheel left him richer by twenty pounds, and he went down to the shipping to make friends with the captain of a decayed cargo-steamer, who landed him in London with fewer pounds in his pocket than he cared to think about.
A thin gray fog hung over the city, and the streets were very cold; for summer was in England.
“It’s a cheerful wilderness27, and it hasn’t the knack28 of altering much,” Dick thought, as he tramped from the Docks westward29. “Now, what must I do?”
The packed houses gave no answer. Dick looked down the long lightless streets and at the appalling30 rush of traffic. “Oh, you rabbit-hutches!” said he, addressing a row of highly respectable semi-detached residences. “Do you know what you’ve got to do later on? You have to supply me with men-servants and maid-servants,”—here he smacked31 his lips,—“and the peculiar32 treasure of kings. Meantime I’ll find clothes and boots, and presently I will return and trample33 on you.” He stepped forward energetically; he saw that one of his shoes was burst at the side. As he stooped to make investigations34, a man jostled him into the gutter35. “All right,” he said.
“That’s another nick in the score. I’ll jostle you later on.”
Good clothes and boots are not cheap, and Dick left his last shop with the certainty that he would be respectably arrayed for a time, but with only fifty shillings in his pocket. He returned to streets by the Docks, and lodged36 himself in one room, where the sheets on the bed were almost audibly marked in case of theft, and where nobody seemed to go to bed at all. When his clothes arrived he sought the Central Southern Syndicate for Torpenhow’s address, and got it, with the intimation that there was still some money waiting for him.
“How much?” said Dick, as one who habitually37 dealt in millions.
“Between thirty and forty pounds. If it would be any convenience to you, of course we could let you have it at once; but we usually settle accounts monthly.”
“If I show that I want anything now, I’m lost,” he said to himself. “All I need I’ll take later on.” Then, aloud, “It’s hardly worth while; and I’m going to the country for a month, too. Wait till I come back, and I’ll see about it.”
Dick’s business in life was the study of faces, and he watched the speaker keenly. “That man means something,” he said. “I’ll do no business till I’ve seen Torpenhow. There’s a big deal coming.” So he departed, making no promises, to his one little room by the Docks. And that day was the seventh of the month, and that month, he reckoned with awful distinctness, had thirty-one days in it!
It is not easy for a man of catholic tastes and healthy appetites to exist for twenty-four days on fifty shillings. Nor is it cheering to begin the experiment alone in all the loneliness of London. Dick paid seven shillings a week for his lodging39, which left him rather less than a shilling a day for food and drink. Naturally, his first purchase was of the materials of his craft; he had been without them too long. Half a day’s investigations and comparison brought him to the conclusion that sausages and mashed40 potatoes, twopence a plate, were the best food. Now, sausages once or twice a week for breakfast are not unpleasant. As lunch, even, with mashed potatoes, they become monotonous41. At dinner they are impertinent. At the end of three days Dick loathed42 sausages, and, going forth43, pawned44 his watch to revel45 on sheep’s head, which is not as cheap as it looks, owing to the bones and the gravy46. Then he returned to sausages and mashed potatoes. Then he confined himself entirely47 to mashed potatoes for a day, and was unhappy because of pain in his inside. Then he pawned his waistcoat and his tie, and thought regretfully of money thrown away in times past. There are few things more edifying48 unto Art than the actual belly-pinch of hunger, and Dick in his few walks abroad,—he did not care for exercise; it raised desires that could not be satisfied—found himself dividing mankind into two classes,—those who looked as if they might give him something to eat, and those who looked otherwise. “I never knew what I had to learn about the human face before,” he thought; and, as a reward for his humility49, Providence caused a cab-driver at a sausage-shop where Dick fed that night to leave half eaten a great chunk50 of bread. Dick took it,—would have fought all the world for its possession,—and it cheered him.
The month dragged through at last, and, nearly prancing51 with impatience52, he went to draw his money. Then he hastened to Torpenhow’s address and smelt53 the smell of cooking meats all along the corridors of the chambers54. Torpenhow was on the top floor, and Dick burst into his room, to be received with a hug which nearly cracked his ribs55, as Torpenhow dragged him to the light and spoke56 of twenty different things in the same breath.
“But you’re looking tucked up,” he concluded.
“Got anything to eat?” said Dick, his eye roaming round the room.
“I shall be having breakfast in a minute. What do you say to sausages?”
“No, anything but sausages! Torp, I’ve been starving on that accursed horse-flesh for thirty days and thirty nights.”
“Now, what lunacy has been your latest?”
Dick spoke of the last few weeks with unbridled speech. Then he opened his coat; there was no waistcoat below. “I ran it fine, awfully57 fine, but I’ve just scraped through.”
“You haven’t much sense, but you’ve got a backbone58, anyhow. Eat, and talk afterwards.” Dick fell upon eggs and bacon and gorged60 till he could gorge59 no more. Torpenhow handed him a filled pipe, and he smoked as men smoke who for three weeks have been deprived of good tobacco.
“Ouf!” said he. “That’s heavenly! Well?”
“Why in the world didn’t you come to me?”
“Couldn’t; I owe you too much already, old man. Besides I had a sort of superstition61 that this temporary starvation—that’s what it was, and it hurt—would bring me luck later. It’s over and done with now, and none of the syndicate know how hard up I was. Fire away. What’s the exact state of affairs as regards myself?”
“You had my wire? You’ve caught on here. People like your work immensely. I don’t know why, but they do. They say you have a fresh touch and a new way of drawing things. And, because they’re chiefly home-bred English, they say you have insight. You’re wanted by half a dozen papers; you’re wanted to illustrate62 books.”
“You’re wanted to work up your smaller sketches64 and sell them to the dealers65. They seem to think the money sunk in you is a good investment.
“They’re a remarkably68 sensible people.”
“They are subject to fits, if that’s what you mean; and you happen to be the object of the latest fit among those who are interested in what they call Art. Just now you’re a fashion, a phenomenon, or whatever you please. I appeared to be the only person who knew anything about you here, and I have been showing the most useful men a few of the sketches you gave me from time to time. Those coming after your work on the Central Southern Syndicate appear to have done your business. You’re in luck.”
“Huh! call it luck! Do call it luck, when a man has been kicking about the world like a dog, waiting for it to come! I’ll luck ’em later on. I want a place to work first.”
“Come here,” said Torpenhow, crossing the landing. “This place is a big box room really, but it will do for you. There’s your skylight, or your north light, or whatever window you call it, and plenty of room to thrash about in, and a bedroom beyond. What more do you need?”
“Good enough,” said Dick, looking round the large room that took up a third of a top story in the rickety chambers overlooking the Thames. A pale yellow sun shone through the skylight and showed the much dirt of the place. Three steps led from the door to the landing, and three more to Torpenhow’s room. The well of the staircase disappeared into darkness, pricked69 by tiny gas-jets, and there were sounds of men talking and doors slamming seven flights below, in the warm gloom.
“Do they give you a free hand here?” said Dick, cautiously. He was Ishmael enough to know the value of liberty.
“Anything you like; latch-keys and license70 unlimited71. We are permanent tenants72 for the most part here. ’Tisn’t a place I would recommend for a Young Men’s Christian73 Association, but it will serve. I took these rooms for you when I wired.”
“You’re a great deal too kind, old man.”
“You didn’t suppose you were going away from me, did you?” Torpenhow put his hand on Dick’s shoulder, and the two walked up and down the room, henceforward to be called the studio, in sweet and silent communion. They heard rapping at Torpenhow’s door. “That’s some ruffian come up for a drink,” said Torpenhow; and he raised his voice cheerily. There entered no one more ruffianly than a portly middle-aged74 gentleman in a satin-faced frockcoat. His lips were parted and pale, and there were deep pouches75 under the eyes.
“Weak heart,” said Dick to himself, and, as he shook hands, “very weak heart. His pulse is shaking his fingers.”
The man introduced himself as the head of the Central Southern Syndicate and “one of the most ardent76 admirers of your work, Mr. Heldar. I assure you, in the name of the syndicate, that we are immensely indebted to you; and I trust, Mr. Heldar, you won’t forget that we were largely instrumental in bringing you before the public.” He panted because of the seven flights of stairs.
“I shan’t forget,” said Dick, every instinct of defence roused in him.
“You’ve paid me so well that I couldn’t, you know. By the way, when I am settled in this place I should like to send and get my sketches. There must be nearly a hundred and fifty of them with you.”
“That is er—is what I came to speak about. I fear we can’t allow it exactly, Mr. Heldar. In the absence of any specified78 agreement, the sketches are our property, of course.”
“Do you mean to say that you are going to keep them?”
“Yes; and we hope to have your help, on your own terms, Mr. Heldar, to assist us in arranging a little exhibition, which, backed by our name and the influence we naturally command among the press, should be of material service to you. Sketches such as yours——”
“Belong to me. You engaged me by wire, you paid me the lowest rates you dared. You can’t mean to keep them! Good God alive, man, they’re all I’ve got in the world!”
Torpenhow watched Dick’s face and whistled.
Dick walked up and down, thinking. He saw the whole of his little stock in trade, the first weapon of his equipment, annexed79 at the outset of his campaign by an elderly gentleman whose name Dick had not caught aright, who said that he represented a syndicate, which was a thing for which Dick had not the least reverence80. The injustice81 of the proceedings82 did not much move him; he had seen the strong hand prevail too often in other places to be squeamish over the moral aspects of right and wrong.
But he ardently83 desired the blood of the gentleman in the frockcoat, and when he spoke again, and when he spoke again it was with a strained sweetness that Torpenhow knew well for the beginning of strife84.
“Forgive me, sir, but you have no—no younger man who can arrange this business with me?”
“I speak for the syndicate. I see no reason for a third party to——”
“You will in a minute. Be good enough to give back my sketches.”
The man stared blankly at Dick, and then at Torpenhow, who was leaning against the wall. He was not used to ex-employees who ordered him to be good enough to do things.
“Yes, it is rather a cold-blooded steal,” said Torpenhow, critically; “but I’m afraid, I am very much afraid, you’ve struck the wrong man. Be careful, Dick; remember, this isn’t the Soudan.”
“Considering what services the syndicate have done you in putting your name before the world——”
This was not a fortunate remark; it reminded Dick of certain vagrant85 years lived out in loneliness and strife and unsatisfied desires. The memory did not contrast well with the prosperous gentleman who proposed to enjoy the fruit of those years.
“I don’t know quite what to do with you,” began Dick, meditatively86. “Of course you’re a thief, and you ought to be half killed, but in your case you’d probably die. I don’t want you dead on this floor, and, besides, it’s unlucky just as one’s moving in. Don’t hit, sir; you’ll only excite yourself.”
He put one hand on the man’s forearm and ran the other down the plump body beneath the coat. “My goodness!” said he to Torpenhow, “and this gray oaf dares to be a thief! I have seen an Esneh camel-driver have the black hide taken off his body in strips for stealing half a pound of wet dates, and he was as tough as whipcord. This things’ soft all over—like a woman.”
There are few things more poignantly87 humiliating than being handled by a man who does not intend to strike. The head of the syndicate began to breathe heavily. Dick walked round him, pawing him, as a cat paws a soft hearth-rug. Then he traced with his forefinger88 the leaden pouches underneath89 the eyes, and shook his head. “You were going to steal my things,—mine, mine, mine!—you, who don’t know when you may die. Write a note to your office,—you say you’re the head of it,—and order them to give Torpenhow my sketches,—every one of them. Wait a minute: your hand’s shaking. Now!” He thrust a pocket-book before him. The note was written. Torpenhow took it and departed without a word, while Dick walked round and round the spellbound captive, giving him such advice as he conceived best for the welfare of his soul. When Torpenhow returned with a gigantic portfolio90, he heard Dick say, almost soothingly91, “Now, I hope this will be a lesson to you; and if you worry me when I have settled down to work with any nonsense about actions for assault, believe me, I’ll catch you and manhandle you, and you’ll die. You haven’t very long to live, anyhow. Go! Imshi, Vootsak,—get out!” The man departed, staggering and dazed. Dick drew a long breath: “Phew! what a lawless lot these people are! The first thing a poor orphan92 meets is gang robbery, organised burglary! Think of the hideous93 blackness of that man’s mind! Are my sketches all right, Torp?”
“Yes; one hundred and forty-seven of them. Well, I must say, Dick, you’ve begun well.”
“He was interfering94 with me. It only meant a few pounds to him, but it was everything to me. I don’t think he’ll bring an action. I gave him some medical advice gratis95 about the state of his body. It was cheap at the little flurry it cost him. Now, let’s look at my things.”
Two minutes later Dick had thrown himself down on the floor and was deep in the portfolio, chuckling96 lovingly as he turned the drawings over and thought of the price at which they had been bought.
The afternoon was well advanced when Torpenhow came to the door and saw Dick dancing a wild saraband under the skylight.
“I builded better than I knew, Torp,” he said, without stopping the dance.
“They’re good! They’re damned good! They’ll go like flame! I shall have an exhibition of them on my own brazen97 hook. And that man would have cheated me out of it! Do you know that I’m sorry now that I didn’t actually hit him?”
“Go out,” said Torpenhow,—“go out and pray to be delivered from the sin of arrogance98, which you never will be. Bring your things up from whatever place you’re staying in, and we’ll try to make this barn a little more shipshape.”
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收听单词发音
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1
singe
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| v.(轻微地)烧焦；烫焦；烤焦 | |
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2
iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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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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iniquities
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| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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flickers
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| 电影制片业； （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的名词复数 ) | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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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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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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picturesquely
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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sever
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| v.切开，割开；断绝，中断 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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mashed
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| a.捣烂的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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pawned
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| v.典当，抵押( pawn的过去式和过去分词 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
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45
revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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46
gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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edifying
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| adj.有教训意味的，教训性的，有益的v.开导，启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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49
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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chunk
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| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
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prancing
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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52
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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56
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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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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gorged
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| v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的过去式和过去分词 )；作呕 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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64
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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fathomless
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| a.深不可测的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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75
pouches
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| n.（放在衣袋里或连在腰带上的）小袋( pouch的名词复数 )；（袋鼠等的）育儿袋；邮袋；（某些动物贮存食物的）颊袋 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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specified
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| adj.特定的 | |
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annexed
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| [法] 附加的，附属的 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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83
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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84
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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85
vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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86
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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87
poignantly
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88
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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89
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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92
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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93
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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94
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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95
gratis
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| adj.免费的 | |
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96
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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97
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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98
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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99
capering
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| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的现在分词 )；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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