Long ago he had given up luxury. He never put liquor to his withered5 lips, he ate only the plainest food, and surrounded himself with merely the bare necessities of life. All his aims were to gather money, to see it increase, to buy land, to screw the last penny out of unwilling6 tenants7, and to pick up a farthing, in whatever mud it might be lying. He never helped the poor, he grudged9 repairs to the property, he kept Lucy on short commons, and expressed such violent opinions concerning the rector's tithes10 that the poor man was afraid to come near him. As Sir Simon, like a godless old pagan, never went to church, the absence of the clerical element at the Hall troubled him little. He was a typical miser11 in looks, being bent12, withered and dry. As a young man he had bought, in his spendthrift days, a great number of suits, and these he was wearing out in his old age. The garments, once fashionable, looked queer in the eyes of a younger generation; but Sir Simon minded no one. He was always scrupulously13 dressed in his antique garb14, and looked, as the saying goes, as neat as a new pin. His health was tolerable, although he suffered from rheumatism15 and a constant cough. Owing to his total abstinence, he was free from gout, but could not have been worse tempered had he indeed suffered, as he assuredly deserved to. With his withered skin, his thin, high nose, his pinched features and his bent form he looked anything but agreeable. When walking he supported himself with an ebony cane16, and had been known on occasions to use it on the backs of underlings. From this practice, however, he had desisted, since the underlings, forgetful of the feudal17 system, brought actions for assault, which resulted in Sir Simon losing money. As the old Baronet said, radical18 opinions were ruining the country; for why should the lower orders not submit to the stick?
It was rarely that this agreeable old gentleman came to town. He lived at the Hall in Essex in savage19 seclusion20, and there ruled over a diminished household with a rod of iron. Mrs. Gilroy, who had been with him for many years, was—outwardly—as penurious21 as her master, so he trusted her as much as he trusted anyone. What between the grim old man and the silent housekeeper22, poor Lucy Randolph, who was only a connection, had a dreary23 time. But then, as the daughter of Sir Simon's niece, she was regarded as an interloper, and the old man grumbled24 at having to support poor relations. Bernard he had tolerated as his heir, Lucy he frankly25 disliked as a caterpillar26. Often would he call her this name.
As usual, Sir Simon came to town with the least expense to himself, since it agonized27 him to spend a penny. But an old friend of his, more open-handed than the baronet, had lent him his town house. This was a small residence in a quiet Kensington square, by no means fashionable. The central gardens, surrounded by rusty28 iron railings, were devoid29 of flowers and filled with ragged30 elms and sycamores, suffered to grow amidst rank grass untrimmed and unattended. The roads around were green with weeds, and the houses appeared to be deserted31. Indeed, many of them were, as few people cared to live in so dull a neighborhood; but others were occupied by elderly folk, who loved the quietness and retirement32. Crimea square—its name hinted at its age—was a kind of backwater into which drifted human derelicts. A few yards away the main thoroughfare roared with life and pulsed with vitality33, but the dwellers34 in the square lived as in the enchanted35 wood of the sleeping beauty.
No. 32 was the house occupied by Sir Simon, and it was distinguished36 from its neighbors by a coat of white paint. Its spurious, smart air was quite out of keeping with the neighborhood, and Sir Simon made ironical37 remarks when he saw its attempt at being up-to-date. But the house was small, and, although furnished in a gimcrack [pg 26]way, was good enough for a month's residence. Moreover, since he paid no rent, this enhanced its value in his avaricious38 eyes. It may be mentioned that the servants of the owner—a cook, a housemaid and a pageboy—had stopped on to oblige Sir Simon, and were ruled over by Mrs. Gilroy, much to their disgust. The housekeeper was by no means a pleasant mistress, and turned their intended holiday into a time of particularly hard work.
It was about the servants that Mrs. Gilroy spoke39 to her master one morning shortly after the occupation of the house. Sir Simon, accurately40 dressed as usual, and looking like a character out of Dickens as delineated by Phiz, was seated beside a comfortable fire supping a cup of plasmon cocoa, as containing the most nutriment in the least expensive form. While enjoying it, he mentally calculated various sums owing from various tenants about which he had come to see his lawyers.
The room was of no great size, on the ground floor, and had but two windows, which looked out on the dreary, untidy gardens. Like the exterior41 of the house, it had been newly painted and decorated, and was also furnished in a cheap way with chairs and tables, sofas and cabinets attractive to the uneducated eye, but detestable to anyone who could appreciate art. The scheme of color was garish42, and, but that the blinds were pulled half-way down, so as to exclude too searching a light, would have jarred on Sir Simon's nerves. Lucy Randolph, who sat reading near the window, shuddered43 at the newness and veneer44 of her surroundings and thought regretfully of the lovely, mellow45 old Hall, where everything was in keeping and hallowed by antiquity46. All the same, this too brilliantly-cheap room was cosy47 and comfortable, bright and cheery, and a pleasing contrast to the foggy, gray, damp weather. Perhaps it was this contrast which its decorator had desired to secure.
Mrs. Gilroy, with folded hands, stood at her master's elbow, a tall, thin, silent, demure48 woman with downcast eyes. Plainly dressed in black silk, somewhat worn, and with carefully-mended lace, she looked like a lady who had seen better days. Her hair, and eyes, and skin, and lips, were all of a drab color, by no means pleasing, and she moved with the stealthy step of a cat. Indeed, the servants openly expressed their opinion that she was one, and she certainly had a somewhat feline49 look. But, with all her softness and nun-like meekness51, an occasional glance from her light eyes showed that she could scratch when necessary. No one knew who she was or where she came from, but she looked like a woman with a history. What that was only she and Sir Simon knew, and neither was communicative. Lucy Randolph hated her, and indeed no love was lost between the two. Mrs. Gilroy looked on Lucy as a pauper52 living on Sir Simon's charity, and Miss Randolph regarded the silent housekeeper as a spy. Each annoyed the other on every occasion in that skilful53 way known to the sex. But the war was carried on out of the old man's sight. That autocrat54 would speedily have put an end to it had they dared to skirmish in his presence.
"Well! well! well!" snapped Sir Simon, who talked something like George III. in reiterating55 his words. "What's the matter? What?"
"I have to complain of the housemaid Jane, sir."
"Then don't. I pay you to keep the servants quiet, not to bother me with their goings-on. Well! well! well!" somewhat inconsistently, "what's Jane been doing?"
"Receiving a follower—a soldier—one of those new young men who are going to the war."
"An Imperial Yeoman?" put in Miss Randolph, looking up with interest.
"Yes, Miss," responded Mrs. Gilroy, not looking round. "Cook tells me the young man comes nearly every evening, and makes love to Jane!"
"What! what!" said the baronet, setting down his cup irritably56. "Tell the hussy to go at once. Love?" This in a tone of scorn. "As though I've not had enough worry over that with Bernard. Tell her to go."
Mrs. Gilroy shook her head. "We can't dismiss her, sir. She belongs to the house, and Mr. Jeffrey"—
"I'll see him about it later. If he knew he certainly would not allow such things. A soldier—eh—what? Turn him out, Gilroy, turn him out! Won't have it, won't have him! There! you can go."
"Will you be out to-day, sir?"
"Yes, I go to see my lawyers. Do you think I come to town to waste time, Gilroy? Go away."
But the housekeeper did not seem eager to go. She cast a look on Lucy eloquent57 of a desire to be alone with Sir Simon. That look Lucy took no notice of, although she understood it plainly. She suspected Mrs. Gilroy of hating Julius Beryl and of favoring Bernard. Consequently, all the influence of Mrs. Gilroy would be put forth58 to help the exiled heir. Lucy was fond of Bernard, but she was engaged to Julius, and, dragged both ways by liking59 and duty, she was forced to a great extent to remain neutral. But she did not intend to let Mrs. Gilroy have the honor and glory of bringing Bernard back to the Hall. Therefore she kept her seat by the window and her eyes on her book. Mrs. Gilroy tightened60 her thin lips and accepted defeat, for the moment. A ring at the door gave her an excuse to go.
"It's Julius," said Lucy, peeping out.
"What does he want?" asked Sir Simon, crossly. "Tell him to wait, Gilroy. I can't see him at once. Lucy, stop here, I want to speak."
The housekeeper left the room to detain Mr. Beryl, and Lucy obediently resumed her seat. She was a handsome, dark girl, with rather a high color and a temper to match. But she knew when she was well off and kept her temper in check for fear of Sir Simon turning her adrift. He would have done so without scruple61 had it suited him. Lucy was therefore astute62 and assumed a meekness she was far from possessing. Mrs. Gilroy saw through her, but Lucy—as the saying goes—pulled the wool over the old man's eyes.
Sir Simon took a turn up and down the room. "What about Bernard?" he asked, abruptly63 stopping before her.
Lucy looked up with an innocent smile. "Dear Bernard!" she said.
"Do you know where he is?" asked the baronet, taking no notice of the sweet smile and sweet speech.
"No, he has not written to me."
"But he has to that girl. You know her?"
"Alice! yes, but Alice doesn't like me. She refuses to speak to me about Bernard. You see," said Lucy, pensively64, "I am engaged to Julius, and as you have sent Bernard away—"
"Julius comes in for my money, is that it?"
"Not in my opinion," said Miss Randolph, frankly, "but Alice Malleson thinks so."
"Then she thinks rightly." Lucy started at this and colored with surprise at the outspoken65 speech. "Since Bernard has behaved so badly, Julius shall be my heir. The one can have the title, the other the money. All the same I don't want Bernard to starve. I daresay Julius knows where he is, Lucy. Find out, and then I can send the boy something to go on with."
"Oh!" said Lucy, starting to her feet and clasping her hands, "the Red Window,—I mean."
"I should very much like to know what you do mean," said Sir Simon, eyeing her. "The Red Window! Are you thinking of that ridiculous old legend of Sir Aymas and the ghost?"
"What has he to do with the matter?"
"He asked me, if you showed any signs of relenting, to put a light in the Red Window at the Hall. Then he would come back."
"Oh!" Sir Simon did not seem to be displeased67. "Then you can put the light in the window when we go back in three weeks."
"You will forgive him?"
"I don't say that. But I want to see him settled in some reputable way. After all," added the old man, sitting down, "I have been hard on the boy. He is young, and, like all fools, has fallen in love with a pretty face. This Miss Malleson—if she has any right to a name at all—is not the bride I should have chosen for Bernard. Now you, my dear Lucy—"
"I am engaged to Julius," she interposed quickly, and came towards the fire. "I love Julius."
"Hum! there's no accounting68 for tastes. I think Bernard is the better of the two."
"Bernard has always been a trouble," said Lucy, "and Julius has never given you a moment's uneasiness."
"Hum," said Sir Simon again, his eyes fixed69 on the fire. "I don't believe Julius is so good as you make him out to be. Now Bernard—"
"Uncle," said Lucy, who had long ago been instructed to call her relative by this name, "why don't you make it up with Bernard? I assure you Julius is so good, he doesn't want to have the money."
"And you?" The old man looked at her sharply.
"I don't either. Julius has his own little income, and earns enough as an architect to live very comfortably. Let me marry Julius, dear uncle, and we will be happy. Then you can take back Bernard and let him marry dear, sweet Alice."
"I doubt one woman when she praises another," said Sir Simon, dryly. "Alice may be very agreeable."
"She is beautiful and clever."
The baronet looked keenly at Lucy's flushed face, trying to fathom70 her reason for praising the other woman. He failed, for Miss Randolph's face was as innocent as that of a child. "She is no doubt a paragon71, my dear," he said; "but I won't have her marry Bernard. By this time the young fool must have come to his senses. Find out from Julius where he is, and—"
"Julius may not know!"
"If Julius wants my money he will keep an eye on Bernard."
"So as to keep Bernard away," said Lucy, impetuously. "Ah, uncle, how can you? Julius doesn't want the money—"
"You don't know that."
"Ask him yourself then."
"I will." Sir Simon rang the bell to intimate to Mrs. Gilroy that Julius could be shown up. "If he doesn't want it, of course I can leave it to someone else."
"To Bernard."
"Perhaps. And yet I don't know," fumed72 Sir Simon. "The rascal73 defied me! He offered to pitch me out of the window if I said a word against that Alice of his. I want Bernard to marry you—"
"I am engaged to Julius."
"So you said before," snapped the other. "Well, then, Miss Perry. She is an heiress."
"And as plain as Alice is handsome."
"What does that matter? She is good-tempered. However, it doesn't matter. I won't be friends with Bernard unless he does what I tell him. He must give up Alice and marry Miss Perry. Try the Red Window scheme when you go back to the Hall, Lucy. It will bring Bernard to see me, as you say."
"It will," said Lucy, but by no means willingly. "Bernard comes down at times to the Hall to watch for the light. But I can make a Red Window here."
"Bernard doesn't know the house."
"I am sure he does," said Lucy. "He has to go to the lawyers for what little money he inherits from his father, and Mr. Durham may have told him you are here. Then if I put the light behind a red piece of paper or chintz, Bernard will come here."
"It is all romantic rubbish," grumbled the old man, warming his hands. "But do what you like, child. I want to give Bernard a last chance." At this moment Julius appeared. He was a slim young man with a mild face, rather expressionless. His hair and eyes were brown. He was irreproachably74 dressed, and did not appear to have much brain power. Also, from the expression of his eyes he was of a sly nature. Finally, Mr. Beryl was guarded in his speech, being quite of the opinion that speech was given to hide thoughts. He saluted75 his uncle affectionately, kissed Lucy's cheek in a cold way, and sat down to observe what a damp, dull day it was and how bad for Sir Simon's rheumatism. A more colorless, timid, meek50 young saint it would have been hard to find in the whole of London.
"I have brought you some special snuff," he said, extending a packet to his host. "It comes from Taberley's."
"Ah, thank you. I know the shop. A very good one! Do you get your cigars there, Julius?"
"I never smoke," corrected the good young man, coldly.
Sir Simon sneered77. "You never do anything manly," he said contemptuously. "Well, why are you here?"
"I wish, with your permission, to take Lucy to the theatre on Friday," said Mr. Beryl. "Mrs. Webber is going with me, and she can act as chaperon."
"I should think she needed one herself. A nasty, flirting78 little cat of a woman," said Sir Simon, rudely. "Would you like to go, Lucy?"
"If you don't mind, uncle."
"Near at hand. The Curtain Theatre."
"Ah! That's only two streets away. What is the play?"
"As You Like It, by—"
"By Chaucer, I suppose," snapped the old man. "Don't you think I know my Shakespeare? What time will you call for Lucy?"
"At half-past seven in the carriage with Mrs. Webber."
"Your own carriage?"
"I am not rich enough to afford one," said Julius, smiling. "Mrs. Webber's carriage, uncle. We will call for Lucy and bring her back safely at eleven or thereabouts."
"Very good; but no suppers, mind. I don't approve of Mrs. Webber taking Lucy to the Cecil or the Savoy."
"There is no danger of that, uncle," said Lucy, delighted at gaining permission.
"I hope not," said the old man ungraciously. "You can go, Lucy. I want to speak to Julius."
A look, unseen by the baronet, passed between the two, and then Lucy left the room. When alone, Sir Simon turned to his nephew. "Where is Bernard?" he asked.
A less clever man than Julius would have fenced and feigned80 surprise, but this astute young gentleman answered at once. "He has enlisted82 in the Imperial Yeomanry and goes out to the war in a month."
Sir Simon turned pale and rose. "He must not—he must not," he said, considerably83 agitated84. "He will be killed, and then—"
"What does it matter?" said Julius coolly—"you have disinherited him—at least, I understand so."
"He defied me," shivered the baronet, warming his hands again and with a pale face; "but I did not think he would enlist81. I won't have him go to the war. He must be bought out."
"I think he would refuse to be bought out now," said Beryl, dryly. "I don't fancy Bernard, whatever his faults, is a coward."
"My poor boy!" said Sir Simon, who was less hard than he looked. "It is your fault that this has happened, Julius."
"Mine, uncle?"
"Yes. You told me about Miss Malleson."
"I knew you would not approve of the match," said Julius, quietly.
"And you wanted me to cut off Bernard with a shilling—"
"Not for my own sake," said Julius, calmly. "You need not leave a penny to me, Sir Simon."
"Don't you want the money? It's ten thousand a year."
"I should like it very much," assented Beryl, frankly; "but I do not want it at the price of my self-respect."
The old man looked at him piercingly, but could learn nothing from his inscrutable countenance85. But he did not trust Julius in spite of his meek looks, and inwardly resolved to meet craft by craft. He bore a grudge8 against this young man for having brought about the banishment86 of his grandson, and felt inclined to punish him. Yet if Julius did not want the money, Sir Simon did not know how to wound him. Yet he doubted if Julius scorned wealth so much as he pretended; therefore he arranged how to circumvent87 him.
"Very well," he said, "since Bernard has disobeyed me, you alone can be my heir. You will have the money without any loss of your self-respect. Come with me this morning to see Durham."
"I am at your service, uncle," said Julius, quietly, although his eyes flashed. "But Bernard?"
"We can talk of him later. Come!"
The attentive88 Beryl helped Sir Simon on with his overcoat and wrapped a muffler round his throat. Then he went out to select a special four-wheeler instead of sending the page-boy. When he was absent, Mrs. Gilroy appeared in the hall where Sir Simon waited, and, seeing he was alone, came close to him.
"Sir," she said quietly, "this girl Jane has described the young man's looks who comes to see her."
"Well! well! well!"
"The young man—the soldier," said Mrs. Gilroy, with emphasis—"has come only since we arrived here. Jane met him a week before our arrival, and since we have been in the house this soldier has visited her often."
"What has all this to do with me?" asked Sir Simon.
"Because she described the looks of the soldier. Miss Randolph says he is an Imperial Yeoman."
Sir Simon started. "Has Miss Randolph seen him?" he asked.
"No. She only goes by what I said this morning to you. But the description, Sir Simon—" Here Mrs. Gilroy sank her voice to a whisper and looked around—"suits Mr. Gore89."
"Bernard! Ah!" Sir Simon caught hold of a chair to steady himself. "Why—what—yes. Julius said he was an Imperial Yeoman and—"
"And he comes here to see the housemaid," said Mrs. Gilroy, nodding.
"To spy out the land," cried the baronet, in a rage. "Do you think that my grandson would condescend90 to housemaids? He comes to learn how I am disposed—if I am ill. The money—the money—all self—self—self!" He clenched91 his hand as the front door opened. "Good-bye, Mrs. Gilroy, if you see this Imperial Yeoman, say I am making a new will," and with a sneer76 Sir Simon went out.
Mrs. Gilroy looked up to heaven and caught sight of Lucy listening on the stairs.
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1
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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3
eschewed
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| v.（尤指为道德或实际理由而）习惯性避开，回避( eschew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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extorting
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| v.敲诈( extort的现在分词 )；曲解 | |
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5
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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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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grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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grudged
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| 怀恨（grudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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tithes
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| n.（宗教捐税）什一税，什一的教区税，小部分( tithe的名词复数 ) | |
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miser
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| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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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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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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penurious
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| adj.贫困的 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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caterpillar
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| n.毛虫，蝴蝶的幼虫 | |
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agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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avaricious
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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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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accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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42
garish
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| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
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43
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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veneer
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| n.(墙上的)饰面，虚饰 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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feline
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| adj.猫科的 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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meekness
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| n.温顺，柔和 | |
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pauper
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| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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autocrat
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| n.独裁者；专横的人 | |
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reiterating
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的现在分词 ) | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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outspoken
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| adj.直言无讳的，坦率的，坦白无隐的 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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accounting
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| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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paragon
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| n.模范，典型 | |
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fumed
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| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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irreproachably
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| adv.不可非难地，无过失地 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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banishment
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| n.放逐，驱逐 | |
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circumvent
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| vt.环绕，包围；对…用计取胜，智胜 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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gore
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| n.凝血，血污；v.（动物）用角撞伤，用牙刺破；缝以补裆；顶 | |
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condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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