There were long benches down the room, with forms on either side of them. Big James, not without pomp, escorted a blushing Edwin to the end of one of these tables, near a small raised platform that occupied the extremity15 of the room. Over this platform was printed a legend: “As a bird is known by its note—”; and over the legend was a full-rigged ship in a glass case, and a pair of antlers. The walls of the room were dark brown, the ceiling grey with soot16 of various sorts, and the floor tiled red-and-black and sanded. Smoke rose in spirals from about a score of churchwarden pipes and as many cutties, which were charged from tin pouches18, and lighted by spills of newspaper from the three double gas-jets that hung down over the benches. Two middle-aged19 women, one in black and the other checked, served beer, porter, and stout20 in mugs, and gin in glasses, passing in and out through a side door. The company talked little, and it had not yet begun seriously to drink; but, sprawled21 about in attitudes of restful abeyance22, it was smoking religiously, and the flat noise of solemn expectorations punctuated23 the minutes. Edwin was easily the youngest person present—the average age appeared to be about fifty—but nobody’s curiosity seemed to be much stirred by his odd arrival, and he ceased gradually to blush. When, however, one of the women paused before him in silent question, and he had to explain that he required no drink because he had only called for a moment about a matter of business, he blushed again vigorously.
Two.
Then Mr Enoch Peake appeared. He was a short, stout old man, with fat hands, a red, minutely wrinkled face, and very small eyes. Greeted with the respect due to the owner of Cocknage Gardens, a sporting resort where all the best foot-racing and rabbit-coursing took place, he accepted it in somnolent24 indifference25, and immediately took off his coat and sat down in cotton shirt-sleeves. Then he pulled out a red handkerchief and his tobacco-box, and set them on the table. Big James motioned to Edwin.
“Evening, Mr Peake,” said Big James, crossing the floor, “and here’s a young gent wishful for two words with you.”
Mr Peake stared vacantly.
“Young Mr Clayhanger,” explained Big James.
“It’s about this card,” Edwin began, in a whisper, drawing the wedding-card sheepishly from his pocket. “Father had to go to Manchester,” he added, when he had finished.
Mr Enoch Peake seized the card in both hands, and examined it; and Edwin could hear his heavy breathing.
Mrs Louisa Loggerheads, a comfortable, smiling administrative26 woman of fifty, showed herself at the service-door, and nodded with dignity to a few of the habitués.
“Missis is at door,” said Big James to Mr Peake.
“Is her?” muttered Mr Peake, not interrupting his examination of the card.
One of the serving-women, having removed Mr Peake’s coat, brought a new church warden17, filled it, and carefully directed the tip towards his tight little mouth: the lips closed on it. Then she lighted a spill and applied27 it to the distant bowl, and the mouth puffed28; and then the woman deposited the bowl cautiously on the bench. Lastly, she came with a small glass of sloe gin. Mr Peake did not move.
“Aye!”
He continued to stare at the card, now held in one hand.
“And is it to be printed in silver?” Edwin asked.
“Aye!”
When he had stared further for a long time at the card, his hand moved slowly with it towards Edwin, and Edwin resumed possession of it.
Mrs Louisa Loggerheads had now vanished.
“Missis has gone,” said Big James.
“Has her?” muttered Mr Peake.
Edwin rose to leave, though unwillingly31; but Big James asked him in polite reproach whether he should not stay for the first song. He nodded, encouraged; and sat down. He did not know that the uppermost idea in Big James’s mind for an hour past had been that Edwin would hear him sing.
Mr Peake lifted his glass, held it from him, approached his lips towards it, and emptied it at a draught32. He then glanced round and said thickly—
“Gentlemen all, Mester Smallrice, Mester Harracles, Mester Rampick, and Mester Yarlett will now oblige with one o’ th’ ould favourites.”
There was some applause, a few coats were removed, and Mr Peake fixed33 himself in a contemplative attitude.
Three.
Messrs Arthur Smallrice, Abraham Harracles, Jos Rawnpike, and James Yarlett rose, stepped heavily on to the little platform, and stood in a line with their hands in their pockets. “As a bird is known by its note—” was hidden by the rampart of their shoulders. They had no music. They knew the music; they had sung it a thousand times. They knew precisely34 the effects which they wished to produce, and the means of production. They worked together like an inspired machine. Mr Arthur Smallrice gave a rapid glance into a corner, and from that corner a concertina spoke—one short note. Then began, with no hesitating shuffling35 preliminaries nor mute consultations36, the singing of that classic quartet, justly celebrated37 from Hull38 to Wigan and from Northallerton to Lichfield, “Loud Ocean’s Roar.” The thing was performed with absolute assurance and perfection. Mr Arthur Smallrice did the yapping of the short waves on the foam-veiled rocks, and Big James in fullest grandeur39 did the long and mighty40 rolling of the deep. It was majestic41, terrific, and overwhelming. Many bars before the close Edwin was thrilled, as by an exquisite42 and vast revelation. He tingled43 from head to foot. He had never heard any singing like it, or any singing in any way comparable to it. He had never guessed that song held such possibilities of emotion. The pure and fine essential qualities of the voices, the dizzying harmonies, the fugal calls and responses, the strange relief of the unisons, and above all the free, natural mien44 of the singers, proudly aware that they were producing something beautiful that could not be produced more beautifully, conscious of unchallenged supremacy,—all this enfevered him to an unprecedented45 and self-astonished enthusiasm.
He murmured under his breath, as “Loud Ocean’s Roar” died away and the little voices of the street supervened: “By Gad46! By Gad!”
The applause was generous. Edwin stamped and clapped with childlike violence and fury. Mr Peake slowly and regularly thumped47 one fist on the bench, puffing48 the while. Glasses and mugs could be seen, but not heard, dancing. Mr Arthur Smallrice, Mr Abraham Harracles, Mr Jos Rawnpike, and Mr James Yarlett, entirely49 inattentive to the acclamations, stepped heavily from the platform and sat down. When Edwin caught Big James’s eye he clapped again, reanimating the general approval, and Big James gazed at him with bland50 satisfaction. Mr Enoch Peake was now, save for the rise and fall of his great chest, as immobile and brooding as an Indian god.
Four.
Edwin did not depart. He reflected that, even if his father should come home earlier than the last train and prove curious, it would be impossible for him to know the exact moment at which his son had been able to have speech with Mr Enoch Peake on the important matter of business. For aught his father could ever guess he might have been prevented from obtaining the attention of the chairman of the proceedings51 until, say, eleven o’clock. Also, he meant to present his conduct to his father in the light of an enterprising and fearless action showing a marked aptitude52 for affairs. Mr Enoch Peake, whom his father was anxious to flatter, had desired his father’s company at the Dragon, and, to save the situation, Edwin had courageously53 gone instead: that was it.
Besides, he would have stayed in any case. His mind was elevated above the fear of consequences.
There was some concertina-playing, with a realistic imitation of church bells borne on the wind from a distance; and then the Bursley Prize Handbell Ringers (or Campanologists) produced a whole family of real bells from under a form, and the ostler and the two women arranged a special table, and the campanologists fixed their bells on it and themselves round it, and performed a selection of Scotch54 and Irish airs, without once deceiving themselves as to the precise note which a chosen bell would emit when duly shaken.
Singular as was this feat55, it was far less so than a young man’s performance of the ophicleide, a serpentine56 instrument that coiled round and about its player, and when breathed into persuasively57 gave forth58 prodigious59 brassy sounds that resembled the night-noises of beasts of prey60. This item roused the Indian god from his umbilical contemplations, and as the young ophicleide player, somewhat breathless, passed down the room with his brazen61 creature in his arms, Mr Enoch Peake pulled him by the jacket-tail.
“Eh!” said Mr Enoch Peake. “Is that the ophicleide as thy father used to play at th’ owd church?”
“Yes, Mr Peake,” said the young man, with bright respect.
Mr Peake dropped his eyes again, and when the young man had gone, he murmured, to his stomach—
“I well knowed it were th’ ophicleide as his father used to play at th’ owd church!” And suddenly starting up, he continued hoarsely62, “Gentlemen all, Mr James Yarlett will now kindly63 oblige with ‘The Miller64 of the Dee.’” And one of the women relighted his pipe and served him with beer.
Five.
Big James’s rendering65 of “The Miller of the Dee” had been renowned66 in the Five Towns since 1852. It was classical, hallowed. It was the only possible rendering of “The Miller of the Dee.” If the greatest bass67 in the world had come incognito68 to Bursley and sung “The Miller of the Dee,” people would have said, “Ah! But ye should hear Big James sing it!” It suited Big James. The sentiments of the song were his sentiments; he expressed them with natural simplicity69; but at the same time they underwent a certain refinement70 at his hands; for even when he sang at his loudest Big James was refined, natty71, and restrained. His instinctive72 gentlemanliness was invincible73 and all-pervading. And the real beauty and enormous power of his magnificent voice saved him by its mere13 distinction from the charge of being finicking. The simple sound of the voice gave pleasure. And the simple production of that sound was Big James’s deepest joy. Amid all the expected loud applause the giant looked naïvely for Edwin’s boyish mad enthusiasm, and felt it; and was thrilled, and very glad that he had brought Edwin. As for Edwin, Edwin was humbled74 that he should have been so blind to what Big James was. He had always regarded Big James as a dull, decent, somewhat peculiar75 fellow in a dirty apron76, who was his father’s foreman. He had actually talked once to Big James of the wonderful way in which Maggie and Clara sang, and Big James had been properly respectful. But the singing of Maggie and Clara was less than nothing, the crudest amateurism, compared to these public performances of Big James’s. Even the accompanying concertina was far more cleverly handled than the Clayhanger piano had ever been handled. Yes, Edwin was humbled. And he had a great wish to be able to do something brilliantly himself—he knew not what. The intoxication77 of the desire for glory was upon him as he sat amid those shirt-sleeved men, near the brooding Indian god, under a crawling bluish canopy78 of smoke, gazing absently at the legend: “As a bird is known by its note—”
After an interval, during which Mr Enoch Peake was roused more than once, a man with a Lancashire accent recited a poem entitled “The Patent Hairbrushing Machine,” the rotary79 hairbrush being at that time an exceedingly piquant80 novelty that had only been heard of in the barbers’ shops of the Five Towns, though travellers to Manchester could boast that they had sat under it. As the principle of the new machine was easily grasped, and the sensations induced by it easily imagined, the recitation had a success which was indicated by slappings of thighs81 and great blowings-off of mirth. But Mr Enoch Peake preserved his tranquillity82 throughout it, and immediately it was over he announced with haste—
“Gentlemen all, Miss Florence Simcox—or shall us say Mrs Offlow, wife of the gentleman who has just obliged—the champion female clog83-dancer of the Midlands, will now oblige.”
Six.
These words put every man whom they surprised into a state of unusual animation84; and they surprised most of the company. It may be doubted whether a female clog-dancer had ever footed it in Bursley. Several public-houses possessed85 local champions—of a street, of a village—but these were emphatically not women. Enoch Peake had arranged this daring item in the course of his afternoon’s business at Cocknage Gardens, Mr Offlow being an expert in ratting terriers, and Mrs Offlow happening to be on a tour with her husband through the realms of her championship, a tour which mingled86 the varying advantages derivable87 from terriers, recitations, and clogs88. The affair was therefore respectable beyond cavil89.
Nevertheless when Florence shone suddenly at the service-door, the shortness of her red-and-black velvet90 skirts, and the undeniable complete visibility of her rounded calves91 produced an uneasy and agreeable impression that Enoch Peake, for a chairman of the Mutual Burial Club, had gone rather far, superbly far, and that his moral ascendancy92 over Louisa Loggerheads must indeed be truly astonishing. Louisa now stood gravely behind the dancer, in the shadow of the doorway93, and the contrast between her and Florence was in every way striking enough to prove what a wonderful and mysterious man Enoch Peake was. Florence was accustomed to audiences. She was a pretty, doll-like woman, if inclined to amplitude94; but the smile between those shaking golden ringlets had neither the modesty95 nor the false modesty nor the docility96 that Bursley was accustomed to think proper to the face of woman. It could have stared down any man in the place, except perhaps Mr Peake.
The gestures of Mr Offlow, and her gestures, as he arranged and prepared the surface of the little square dancing-board that was her throne, showed that he was the husband of Florence Simcox rather than she the wife of Offlow the reciter and dog-fancier. Further, it was his rôle to play the concertina to her: he had had to learn the concertina—possibly a secret humiliation97 for one whose judgement in terriers was not excelled in many public-houses.
Seven.
She danced; and the service-doorway showed a vista98 of open-mouthed scullions. There was no sound in the room, save the concertina and the champion clogs. Every eye was fixed on those clogs; even the little eyes of Mr Peake quitted the button of his waistcoat and burned like diamond points on those clogs. Florence herself chiefly gazed on those clogs, but occasionally her nonchalant petulant99 gaze would wander up and down her bare arms and across her bosom100. At intervals101, with her ringed fingers she would lift the short skirt—a nothing, an imperceptibility, half an inch, with glance downcast; and the effect was profound, recondite102, inexplicable103. Her style was not that of a male clog-dancer, but it was indubitably clog-dancing, full of marvels104 to the connoisseur105, and to the profane106 naught107 but a highly complicated series of wooden noises. Florence’s face began to perspire109. Then the concertina ceased playing, so that an undistracted attention might be given to the supremely110 difficult final figures of the dance.
And thus was rendered back to the people in the charming form of beauty that which the instinct of the artist had taken from the sordid111 ugliness of the people. The clog, the very emblem112 of the servitude and the squalor of brutalised populations, was changed, on the light feet of this favourite, into the medium of grace. Few of these men but at some time of their lives had worn the clog, had clattered113 in it through winter’s slush, and through the freezing darkness before dawn, to the manufactory and the mill and the mine, whence after a day of labour under discipline more than military, they had clattered back to their little candle-lighted homes. One of the slatterns behind the doorway actually stood in clogs to watch the dancer. The clog meant everything that was harsh, foul114, and desolating115; it summoned images of misery116 and disgust. Yet on those feet that had never worn it seriously, it became the magic instrument of pleasure, waking dulled wits and forgotten aspirations117, putting upon everybody an enchantment118... And then, suddenly, the dancer threw up one foot as high as her head and brought two clogs down together like a double mallet119 on the board, and stood still. It was over.
Mrs Louisa Loggerheads turned nervously120 away, pushing her servants in front of her. And when the society of mutual buriers had recovered from the startling shameless insolence121 of that last high kick, it gave the rein122 to its panting excitement, and roared and stamped. Edwin was staggered. The blood swept into his face, a hot tide. He was ravished, but he was also staggered. He did not know what to think of Florence, the champion female clog-dancer. He felt that she was wondrous123; he felt that he could have gazed at her all night; but he felt that she had put him under the necessity of reconsidering some of his fundamental opinions. For example, he was obliged to admit within himself a lessening124 of scorn for the attitude toward each other of Miss Ingamells and her young man. He saw those things in a new light. And he reflected, dazzled by the unforeseen chances of existence: “Yesterday I was at school—and to-day I see this!” He was so preoccupied125 by his own intimate sensations that the idea of applauding never occurred to him, until he perceived his conspicuousness126 in not applauding, whereupon he clapped self-consciously.
Eight.
Miss Florence Simcox, somewhat breathless, tripped away, with simulated coyness and many curtseys. She had done her task, and as a woman she had to go: this was a gathering127 of members of the Mutual Burial Club, a masculine company, and not meet for females. The men pulled themselves together, remembering that their proudest quality was a stoic128 callousness129 that nothing could overthrow130. They refilled pipes, ordered more beer, and resumed the mask of invulnerable solemnity.
“Aye!” muttered Mr Enoch Peake.
Edwin, with a great effort, rose and walked out. He would have liked to say good night to Big James; he did not deny that he ought to have done so; but he dared not complicate108 his exit. On the pavement outside, in the warm damp night, a few loitering listeners stood doggedly131 before an open window, hearkening, their hands deep in their pockets, motionless. And Edwin could hear Mr Enoch Peake: “Gentlemen all, Mester Arthur Smallrice, Mester Abraham Harracles, Mester Jos Rampick, and Mester James Yarlett—”
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收听单词发音
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1
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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corporate
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| adj.共同的，全体的；公司的，企业的 | |
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3
subscriber
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| n.用户，订户；（慈善机关等的）定期捐款者；预约者；签署者 | |
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4
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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8
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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venue
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| n.犯罪地点，审判地，管辖地，发生地点，集合地点 | |
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10
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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slur
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| v.含糊地说；诋毁；连唱；n.诋毁；含糊的发音 | |
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cantankerousness
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| cantankerousness' S | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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soot
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| n.煤烟，烟尘；vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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17
warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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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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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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abeyance
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| n.搁置，缓办，中止，产权未定 | |
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punctuated
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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somnolent
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| adj.想睡的，催眠的；adv.瞌睡地；昏昏欲睡地；使人瞌睡地 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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administrative
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| adj.行政的，管理的 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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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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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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consultations
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| n.磋商（会议）( consultation的名词复数 )；商讨会；协商会；查找 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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tingled
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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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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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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51
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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52
aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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53
courageously
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| ad.勇敢地，无畏地 | |
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54
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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55
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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56
serpentine
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| adj.蜿蜒的，弯曲的 | |
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57
persuasively
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| adv.口才好地；令人信服地 | |
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58
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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60
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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62
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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63
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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64
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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65
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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66
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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67
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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incognito
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| adv.匿名地；n.隐姓埋名；adj.化装的，用假名的，隐匿姓名身份的 | |
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69
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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70
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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natty
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| adj.整洁的，漂亮的 | |
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72
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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73
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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74
humbled
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| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
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75
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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76
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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77
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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78
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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79
rotary
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| adj.(运动等)旋转的；轮转的；转动的 | |
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piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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81
thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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82
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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83
clog
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| vt.塞满，阻塞；n.[常pl.]木屐 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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85
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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86
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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derivable
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| adj.可引出的，可推论的，可诱导的 | |
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clogs
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| 木屐； 木底鞋，木屐( clog的名词复数 ) | |
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cavil
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| v.挑毛病，吹毛求疵 | |
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90
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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ascendancy
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| n.统治权，支配力量 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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amplitude
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| n.广大；充足；振幅 | |
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95
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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docility
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| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
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97
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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98
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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99
petulant
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| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
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100
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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101
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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102
recondite
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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103
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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104
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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105
connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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106
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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107
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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108
complicate
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| vt.使复杂化，使混乱，使难懂 | |
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109
perspire
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| vi.出汗，流汗 | |
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110
supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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111
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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112
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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113
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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114
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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115
desolating
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| 毁坏( desolate的现在分词 )； 极大地破坏； 使沮丧； 使痛苦 | |
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116
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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117
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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118
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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119
mallet
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| n.槌棒 | |
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120
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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121
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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122
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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123
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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124
lessening
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| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
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125
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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126
conspicuousness
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| 显著，卓越，突出； 显著性 | |
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127
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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128
stoic
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| n.坚忍克己之人，禁欲主义者 | |
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129
callousness
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130
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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131
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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