Marcia was first to appear. She stepped on to the loggia with a little exclamation10 of delight at the beauty of the morning. In a pale summer gown, her hair burnished11 by the sun, she herself was not out of touch with the scene. She crossed the terrace and stood by the balustrade, looking off through a golden and purple haze12 to the speck13 on the 152 horizon of Rome and St. Peter’s. The peacock called her back, strutting14 insistently15 with wide-spread tail.
‘You ridiculous bird!’ she laughed. ‘I suppose you have been posing here for two hours, waiting for some one to come and admire,’ and she hurried off to the grove to make sure that Pietro had carried out her orders.
The table was spread by the fountain, where the green arched paths converged16 and the ilexes grew in an open circle. The sunlight flickering through on dainty linen17 and silver and glass and on little cakes of golden honey—fresh from a farm in the Alban hills—made a feast which would not have been out of place in a Watteau painting. Marcia echoed Bianca’s enthusiasm as her eyes fell upon the scene, and Pietro flew about with an unprecedented19 ardour, placing rugs and cushions and wicker chairs.
‘It is perfect,’ she cried, as she retreated down one of the paths to get a perspective. ‘But there are no flowers,’ she added. ‘That will never do; we must have some lilies-of-the-valley, Pietro. You fix a bowl in the centre, while I run and pick them,’ and she started off toward the garden borders.
Here Paul Dessart found her five minutes later. He greeted her with a friendly, ‘Felicissimo giorno, signorina!’ The transient clouds of yesterday had disappeared from his brow as well as from the sky, and he joined gaily21 in her task.
‘There!’ said Marcia as she rose to her feet and shook back the stray hair from her eyes. ‘Could anything be more in keeping with a sylvan22 breakfast than these?’ She held at arm’s length for him to admire a great bunch of delicate transparent23 bells sheathed24 in glistening25 green. ‘Come,’ she cried; ‘the artist must arrange them’; and together they turned toward the fountain.
A spray of bluest forget-me-nots hung over one of the garden borders. The young man stooped and, breaking it, presented it with his hand on his heart.
‘Signorina,’ he begged in a tone of mock-Italian sentiment—‘dearest signorina, I am going where duty calls—far, far away to Perugia. Non-te-scordar-di-me!’
She laughed as she put the flowers in her belt, but with a slightly deeper tinge26 on her cheek. Paul, in a mood like this, was very attractive.
153 As they entered the grove they heard the prattle27 of childish voices, and presently Gerald and Gervasio appeared down the walk, carrying each a saucer of crumbs28 for their scaly29 friends of the fountain. They stopped with big eyes at the sight of the table spread for breakfast.
‘Oh, Cousin Marcia!’ Gerald squealed30 delightedly, ‘are we doin’ to eat out uv doors? May Gervas’ an’ me eat wif you? Please! Please!’
‘Yes,’ said she finally, ‘this is my party, and if you’ll be good boys and not talk, I’ll invite you. And when you’ve finished your bread and milk, if you’ve been very good, you may have some—’ she paused and lowered her voice dramatically while the two hung upon her words—‘honey!’
Paul Dessart laughed at what struck him as an anticlimax32, but the boys received the assurance with acclamation. Gervasio was presented to the young painter, and he acknowledged the introduction with a grace equal to Gerald’s own. He had almost forgotten that he was not born a prince. As Gerald shook hands he invited the guest, with visible hesitancy, to throw the crumbs; but Paul generously refused the invitation, and two minutes later the little fellows were kneeling side by side on the coping of the fountain, while the arching pathways rang with their laughter.
The rest of their excellencies soon appeared in a humour to fit the morning, and the usually uneventful ‘first breakfast’ partook of the nature of a fête. Gerald’s and Gervasio’s laughter rang free and unchecked. The two were sitting side by side on a stone garden-seat (the broken-nosed bust33 of a forgotten emperor brooding over them), engaged for the present with twin silver bowls of bread and milk, but with speculative34 eyes turned honeyward. The ghost of overnight was resurrected and jeered35 at, while the ghost himself gravely passed the cups. The sedately36 stepping peacock, who had joined the feast uninvited, became the point of many morals as he lowered his feathers in the dust to scramble37 for crumbs. Before the party ended, Sybert and Dessart engaged in a good-natured bout18 on Sybert’s theme of yesterday concerning Italy’s baneful38 beauty.
154 ‘Paul has missed his calling!’ declared Eleanor Royston. ‘He should have been a ward20 politician in New York. It is a pity to see such a gift for impromptu39 eloquence40 wasted in private life.’
For a time Paul subsided41, but their controversy42 closed with the laugh on his side. Apropos43 of riots, his thesis was that they were on the whole very jolly. And he upheld this shockingly barbaric view with the plea that he always liked to see people having a good time, and that next to sleeping in the sun and eating macaroni the Italians were never so happy as when engaged in a row. For his part, he affirmed, he expected to find them tearing up the golden paving-stones of paradise to heave at each other!
The image wrung44 a smile from even Sybert’s gravity; It contained just enough of truth, and not too much, to make it funny. Pietro’s announcement, at this point, that the carriages were ready to drive their excellencies to the festa dissolved the party in a scurry45 for hats and wraps. Sybert at first had declined the festa, on the plea that he had business in Rome. Marcia had accepted his excuse with the simply polite statement that they would be sorry not to have him, but Eleanor Royston had refused to let him off.
‘I’ve known a great many diplomats,’ she affirmed; ‘and though they are supposed to be engaged with the business of nations, I have never yet seen one who was too busy to attend a party. We shan’t let you off on that score.’
Somewhat to Paul’s secret annoyance46, and not entirely47 to Marcia’s gratification, he finally consented to change his mind. As the carriage started, Marcia glanced back toward the loggia steps, where the two little boys, one with yellow curls and one with black, were standing48 hand in hand, wistfully watching the departure.
‘Good-bye, Gerald and Gervasio,’ she called. ‘If you are very good, I’ll bring you something nice from the festa.’
The Copley pilgrimage was not the only one bound for Genazzano that day. They passed on the road countless49 bands of contadini, both on foot and on donkey-back, journeying toward the festa, their babies and provisions in baskets on their heads. Genazzano, on St Mark’s day, wisely unites pleasure and piety50, with masses in the cathedral and jugglers in the piazza51. The party from 155 the villa devoted52 the larger share of their time to the piazza, laughing good-naturedly at the ‘Inglese! which was shouted after them at every turn. They lunched on the terrace of the very modest village inn, in company with a jovial53 party of young Irish students from the Propaganda who seemed to treat the miracles of the wonder-working Madonna in the light of an ecclesiastical joke. The afternoon found the sight-seeing ardour of the two elder ladies somewhat damped. There was to be a function in the cathedral at three, and they stated their intention of stopping quietly in the low-raftered parlour of the inn until it should commence. Eleanor Royston issued a frank invitation to Sybert to explore the old Colonna castle which surmounted54 the town, and he accepted with what struck Marcia as a flattering show of interest.
In regard to Laurence Sybert she herself was of many minds. A very considerable amount of her old antagonism55 for him remained, mixed with a curiosity and interest in his movements out of all proportion to the interest he had ever expended56 upon her. And to-day she was experiencing a fresh resentment57 in the feeling that his attitude toward Eleanor was more deferential58 than toward herself. It was a venturesome act for any man to awaken59 Marcia’s pique60.
Meanwhile she had Paul; and the slight cloud upon her brow vanished quickly as she and Margaret and the young man turned toward the piazza. Paul was in holiday humour, and the contagion61 of his fun was impossible to escape. He wore a favour in his hat and a gilt62 medal of the Madonna in his buttonhole; he laughed and joked with the people in the booths; he offered his assistance to a prestidigitator who called for volunteers; he shot dolls with an air-rifle and carried off the prize, a gaudily63 decorated pipe, which he presented with a courtly bow to a pretty peasant girl who, with frank admiration64, had applauded the feat8. Finally he brought to a triumphant65 close a bargain of Marcia’s. She had expressed a desire for a peculiar66 style of head-dress—a long silver pin with a closed fist on the end—worn by the women from the Volscian villages. Paul readily agreed to acquire one for her. The spillo was plucked from an astonished woman’s head and the bargaining began.
Sell it! But that was impossible. It was an heirloom! 156 it had been in the family for many generations; she could not think of parting with it—not perhaps for its weight in silver?—the money was jingled67 before her eyes. She wavered visibly. Paul demanded scales. They were brought from the tobacco-shop, the tobacconist importantly presiding. The spillo was placed on one side; lire on the other—six—seven—eight. The woman clasped her hands ecstatically as the pile grew. Nine—ten—the scales hesitated. At eleven they went down with a thud, and the bargain was completed. A pleased murmur68 rippled69 through the crowd, and some one suggested, ‘Now is the signorina sposata.’ For, according to Volscian etiquette70, only married woman might wear the head-dress.
Marcia shook her head with a laugh. She and Paul, standing side by side, made an effective couple, and the peasants noted71 it with pleased appreciation72. Italians are quick to sympathize with a romance. ‘Promessi sposi,’ some one murmured, this time with an accent of delighted assurance. Paul cast a sidewise glance at Marcia to see how she would accept this somewhat public betrothal73. She repudiated74 the charge again, but with a slightly heightened colour, and the crowd laughed gaily. As the two turned up the steep street toward the cathedral, Paul held out his hand.
‘Give me the pin,’ he said. ‘I will carry it in my pocket for you, since you are not entitled—as yet—to wear it.’
Marcia handed it over, trying not to look conscious of the undertone in his voice. He was very convincing to-day; she was reconsidering her problem.
In the crowded little piazza before the cathedral they found the rest of the party. They all mounted the steps and stood in a group, watching the processions of pilgrims with votive offerings. They came in bands of fifty and a hundred, bearing banners and chanting litanies. As they approached the church they broke off their singing to shout ‘Ave Marias,’ mounting on their knees and kissing the steps as they came. Marcia, looking down over the tossing mass of scarlet75 and yellow kerchiefs, compared it with the great function she had witnessed in St. Peter’s. These peasants approaching the Madonna’s shrine76 on their knees, shouting themselves hoarse77, their faces glowing with religious 157 ardour, were to her mind far the more impressive sight of the two. She turned into the church, half carried away by the movement and colour and intensity78 of the scene. There was something contagious79 about the simple energy of their devotion.
The interior was packed with closely kneeling peasants, the air filled with a blue haze of incense80 through which the candles on the altar glowed dimly. The Copley party wedged their way through and stood back at the shadow of one of the side chapels81, watching the scene. Paul dropped on his knees with the peasants, and, sketch-book in hand, set himself surreptitiously to copying the head of a girl in front. Marcia watched him for a few moments with an amused smile; then she glanced away over the sea of kneeling figures. There was no mechanical devotion here: it came from the heart, if any ever did. Ah, they were too believing! she thought suddenly. Their piety carried them too far; it robbed them of dignity, of individuality, of self-reliance. Almost at her feet a woman was prostrate82 on the floor, kissing the stones of the pavement in a frenzy83 of devotion. She turned away in a quick revulsion of feeling such as she had experienced in St. Peter’s. And as she turned her eyes met Laurence Sybert’s fixed84 upon her face. He was standing just behind her, and he bent85 over and whispered:
‘You’ve seen enough of this. Come, let’s get out,’ and he made a motion toward the sacristy entrance behind them. They stepped back, and the crowd closed into their places.
Out in the piazza he squared his shoulders with a little laugh. ‘The church must make itself over a bit before I shall be ready to be received into the fold. How about you, Miss Marcia?’
‘It seemed so beautiful, their simple faith; and then suddenly—that horrible woman—and you realize the ignorance and superstition86 underneath87. Everything is alike!’ she added. ‘Just as you begin to think how beautiful it is, you catch a glimpse below the surface. It’s awful to begin seeing hidden meanings; you can never stop.’
‘Look at that,’ he laughed, nodding toward a house where a pig was stretched asleep in the doorway88. ‘He’s evidently been left to keep guard while the family are at the festa. I suppose you’ve noticed that every house is 158 Genazzano has a separate door for the chickens cut in the bottom of the big door. It’s rather funny, isn’t it?’
Marcia regarded the pig with a laugh and a sigh.
‘Yes, it’s funny; but then, the first thing you know, you begin to think what a low standard of life the people must have who keep their pigs and their chickens in the house with them, and it doesn’t seem funny any more.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘You’re coming on.’
‘I’m afraid I am!’ she agreed.
As they strolled toward the upper part of the town, they came upon a group of men and boys talking and smoking and throwing dice89 in a prolonged noonday rest. It was a part of the pilgrimage from the village of Castel Vivalanti, and the group instantly recognized Marcia. The festal spirit of the day, joined to a double portion of wine, had made them more boisterous90 than usual; and one ragged91 little urchin92, who had been playing the part of buffoon93 for the crowd, fell upon the two signori as a fresh subject for pleasantries. He set up the usual beggar’s whine94, asking for soldi. The two paying no attention, he changed the form of his petition.
‘Signorina,’ he implored95, running along at Marcia’s side and keeping a dirty hand extended impudently96 in front of her, ‘I have hunger, signorina; I have hunger. Spare me, for the love of God, a few grains of wheat.’
‘That’s a new formula,’ Marcia laughed. ‘It’s usually bread they want; I never heard them ask for wheat before.’
Sybert turned on the boy, with an air of threatening, and he hastily scrambled97 out of reach, though he still persevered98 in his petition, to the noisy amusement of the crowd.
Marcia spread out empty hands.
‘I have no wheat,’ she said, with a shake of her head.
‘The signorina has no wheat,’ he cried. ‘Will no one give to the signorina? She is poor and she has hunger.’
‘Behold, signorina! This good man is poor, but he is generous. He offers you money to get some wheat.’
Marcia laughed at the play in thorough enjoyment101, while Sybert, with an angry light in his eye, seized the boy by the collar and cuffed102 him soundly.
159 ‘Mr. Sybert,’ she cried, ‘take care; you’ll hurt him!’
‘I mean to hurt him,’ he said grimly, as with a final cuff103 he dropped him over the side of the bank.
The crowd jeered at his downfall as loudly as they had jeered at his impudence104, and the two turned a corner and left them behind.
‘You needn’t have struck him,’ Marcia said. ‘The boy didn’t mean anything beyond being funny. He is one of my best friends; his name is Beppo, and he lives next door to the baker’s shop.’
‘If that is a specimen105 of your friends,’ Sybert answered dryly, ‘my advice is that you shake their acquaintance.’
‘I told you yesterday, Miss Marcia, that I didn’t think you ought to be running about the country alone—I think it even less to-day. It isn’t safe up here in the mountain towns, where the people aren’t used to foreigners.’
‘Why don’t you suggest to Uncle Howard that he engage a nurse for me?’
‘I begin to think you need one!’
Marcia laid a light hand on his arm.
‘Mr. Sybert, please don’t speak to me so harshly.’
‘I’ll speak to your uncle—that’s what I’ll do,’ he retorted.
They had by this time reached the castle, and having crossed the drawbridge and the stone courtyard, they came out on the other side, with the noisy little town left suddenly behind. The mountains rose above them, the valley lay beneath, and before them a straight, grassy107 road stretched into the hills, bordered by the tall arches of an old aqueduct. They strolled along, talking idly, Marcia well in command of the situation. There was a touch of audacity108, even of provocation109, underneath her glance, and Sybert was amusedly aware of the fact that he was being flirted110 with. Quite to Marcia’s astonishment111, he met her on her own ground; he accepted the half-challenge in her manner and was never the first to lower his eyes. They had come to a bank starred pink with cyclamen and backed by one of the tall arches of the aqueduct.
‘Suppose we sit down and look at the view,’ he suggested.
Marcia seated herself on a projecting block of masonry112, while Sybert lounged on the grass at her side.
160 ‘Mr. Melville told me the other day,’ he remarked presently, ‘that he remembers having seen your mother when she was a little girl.’
Marcia nodded and laughed. ‘He told me about it—he says she was the worst tom-boy he ever saw.’
‘It was a very pretty picture he drew—I wonder if you ever rode the colts bareback?’
‘My mother was brought up on a Southern plantation113; I, in a New York house and a Paris convent—there weren’t any colts to ride.’
‘And your mother died when you were a little girl?’
‘When I was twelve.’
‘Ah, that was hard,’ he said, with quick sympathy.
She glanced up in half surprise. It was the first time she had ever heard him say anything so kindly114.
‘And the convent in Paris?’ he asked. ‘How did that happen?’
‘Some one suggested it to my father, and I suppose it struck him as an excellent way to dispose of me. Not that he isn’t an appreciative115 parent,’ she added quickly, in response to an expression on his face; ‘but the education of a daughter is a problem to a business man.’
‘I should think it might be,’ he agreed. ‘And how did the convent go?’
‘Not very well. I didn’t learn anything but prayers and French, and I was dreadfully homesick.’
‘And then?’
‘Oh, one or two governesses and a boarding-school, and after that college.’ Marcia laughed. ‘You should have seen my father when I suggested the college. He clutched at the idea like a drowning man; it was another four years’ reprieve116.’
‘It’s a pity,’ he remarked, ‘that the French method of marrying one’s daughter offhand117 as soon as she gets out of school doesn’t prevail in America.’
‘I really did feel guilty when I graduated, the poor man looked so dazed through it all. He asked me if I would like to take a little trip into Venezuela with him to look into some mines. It would have been fun, wouldn’t it?’ she asked. ‘I should have liked to go.’
‘But, being charitable, you declined?’
‘Yes, and having another plan in my head. It had been 161 years since I had seen Uncle Howard, and I thought it would be nice to come over and live with him for a while.’
‘And so here you are in Genazzano.’
‘Here I am,’ she agreed. ‘But as soon as papa is ready to settle down respectably like other people, I am going back to keep house for him, and I shall take with me some fourteenth-century Italian furniture, and some nice Italian servants, and give nice little Italian dinners.’
‘And shall you invite me sometimes?’
‘drop in whenever you wish.’
Marcia began to laugh.
‘Well?’ he inquired. ‘What is so funny?’
‘To be talking to you this way—I shouldn’t have issued that invitation a week ago. You couldn’t help yourself yesterday,’ she added; ‘Aunt Katherine made you come; but really it’s your own fault to-day.’
‘Is that the impression I gave you? I am afraid I must have very bad manners.’
‘You have—rather bad,’ she agreed.
‘You hit straight,’ he laughed. ‘No,’ he added presently; ‘Aunt Katherine had nothing to do with our walk to-day. If you care to know, I’ll tell you why I wanted to come. Yesterday afternoon I took a ride with a most charming young woman, and I thought I’d like to renew the acquaintance.’
‘If that’s intended for a compliment, it’s of a very doubtful nature. You have known this same charming young woman for the last three months, and have never shown any marked desire for her company before.’
‘I was blind, but I have been made to see.’
He commenced rolling a cigarette in a lazy, half-amused fashion, while Marcia occupied an interval118 of silence by checking the progress of a black beetle119 who found himself on the stone beside her, and who seemed in a great hurry to get somewhere else. In whichever way he turned, a mountain of a green leaf sprang up in his path. He ran wildly in a circle, vainly seeking an outlet120, his six little legs twittering with anxiety.
Sybert stretched out a sympathetic hand and dropped him over the bank to a place of safety.
‘Now why must you do that?’ Marcia inquired.
‘A sense of fellow-feeling—I’ve watched too many women 162 playing with too many men not to know how the poor beast felt. His progress was thwarted121 at every turn, without his being able to comprehend any underlying122 motive123 or reason or law.’
‘It was good for him,’ she affirmed. ‘I was giving him a new experience—was widening his horizon. When I finally let him go he would have been so thankful to think of the danger he had escaped, that he would have been twice as happy a beetle as ever before.’
‘That is one way of looking at it,’ Sybert agreed.
Marcia watched him a moment speculatively124. She was thinking about the Contessa Torrenieri.
‘Mr. Sybert,’ she suggested, ‘there are a lot of things I should like to know about you.’
‘I can think of nothing in my past that ought to be hidden.’
‘These are things that you wouldn’t tell me.’
‘Try me and see.’
‘Anything I choose to ask?’
‘I am at your disposal.’
‘Have you ever been in love with any one?’
He glanced up from his cigarette with an amused stare. ‘What’s this—a confessional?’
‘Oh, no—only you don’t look as if you’d ever done such a foolish thing, and I just wondered——’
‘Half a dozen times.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh, I dare say not—really,’ he laughed. ‘In my cub126 days I used to be—well, interested sometimes.’
‘It would be a rash man who would affirm that! You never can tell what’s waiting for you around the next corner.’
She would have liked to put a question or so in regard to the contessa, but instead she remarked, ‘There are some other things I’d like to ask you.’
‘I’m not so sure I’ll answer if that’s a specimen.’
‘Why were you carrying a revolver yesterday?’
‘You strike me as a very inquisitive128 young woman, Miss Marcia.’
‘You strike me as a very mysterious man, Mr. Sybert.’
‘Why was I carrying a revolver? For a very simple reason. I have been travelling through the south, helping129 to quiet the rioters; and as that is not a popular occupation, 163 I thought it wisest to go armed. A revolver is an excellent thing with which to persuade people, though in all probability I shall never have any occasion to use it. I hope you are satisfied.’
‘Thank you,’ said Marcia. ‘Not that I believe you at all,’ she added with a laugh.
He regarded her a moment with a slightly perplexed130 frown. ‘What on earth do you take me for, Miss Marcia? An anarchist131, a bandit, a second Fra Diavolo in disguise? I am nothing so picturesque132, I assure you—merely a peaceful private citizen of the United States.’
‘How do you come to know the baker’s son, Tarquinio, so well?’
‘I think I’ve answered questions enough. Suppose we have a confession125 from you, Miss Marcia. Have you ever been in love?’
Marcia rose. ‘It’s a quarter past four, and we ought to be going back. The Roystons have to catch the evening train into Rome.’
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1
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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sprouting
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| v.发芽( sprout的现在分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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strutting
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| 加固，支撑物 | |
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insistently
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| ad.坚持地 | |
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converged
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| v.（线条、运动的物体等）会于一点( converge的过去式 )；（趋于）相似或相同；人或车辆汇集；聚集 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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sylvan
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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sheathed
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| adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的；覆盖的；铠装的；装鞘了的v.将（刀、剑等）插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 )；包，覆盖 | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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scaly
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| adj.鱼鳞状的；干燥粗糙的 | |
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squealed
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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anticlimax
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| n.令人扫兴的结局；突降法 | |
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33
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
sedately
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| adv.镇静地，安详地 | |
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37
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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38
baneful
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| adj.有害的 | |
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impromptu
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| adj.即席的，即兴的；adv.即兴的(地)，无准备的(地) | |
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40
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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41
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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42
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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apropos
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| adv.恰好地；adj.恰当的；关于 | |
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44
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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45
scurry
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| vi.急匆匆地走；使急赶；催促；n.快步急跑，疾走；仓皇奔跑声；骤雨，骤雪；短距离赛马 | |
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46
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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47
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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48
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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49
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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50
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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51
piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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52
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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53
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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54
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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55
antagonism
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| n.对抗，敌对，对立 | |
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56
expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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57
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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58
deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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59
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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61
contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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62
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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63
gaudily
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| adv.俗丽地 | |
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64
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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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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67
jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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68
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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69
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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71
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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72
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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73
betrothal
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| n. 婚约, 订婚 | |
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74
repudiated
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| v.（正式地）否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 )；拒绝接受；拒绝与…往来；拒不履行（法律义务） | |
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75
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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76
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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77
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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78
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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79
contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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80
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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81
chapels
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| n.小教堂， （医院、监狱等的）附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 )；（在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的）礼拜仪式 | |
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82
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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83
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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84
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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85
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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86
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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87
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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88
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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89
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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90
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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91
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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92
urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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93
buffoon
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| n.演出时的丑角 | |
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94
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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95
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
impudently
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97
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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98
persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
mimicking
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的现在分词 )；酷似 | |
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100
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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101
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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102
cuffed
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| v.掌打，拳打( cuff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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104
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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105
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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106
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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107
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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108
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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109
provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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110
flirted
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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112
masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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113
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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114
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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115
appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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116
reprieve
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| n.暂缓执行（死刑）；v.缓期执行；给…带来缓解 | |
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117
offhand
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| adj.临时，无准备的；随便，马虎的 | |
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118
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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119
beetle
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| n.甲虫，近视眼的人 | |
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120
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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121
thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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122
underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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123
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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124
speculatively
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| adv.思考地，思索地；投机地 | |
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125
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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126
cub
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| n.幼兽，年轻无经验的人 | |
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127
outgrew
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| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去式 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
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128
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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129
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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130
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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131
anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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132
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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