Certainly, this result was contrary to David’s own expectations. He had looked forward, you are aware, to a brilliant career among “the blacks”; but, either because they had already seen too many white men, or for some other reason, they did not at once recognize him as a superior order of human being; besides, there were no princesses among them. Nobody in Jamaica was anxious to maintain David for the mere2 pleasure of his society; and those hidden merits of a man which are so well known to himself were as little recognized there as they notoriously are in the effete3 society of the Old World. So that in the dark hints that David threw out at the Oyster4 Club about that life of Sultanic self-indulgence spent by him in the luxurious5 Indies, I really think he was doing himself a wrong; I believe he worked for his bread, and, in fact, took to cooking as, after all, the only department in which he could offer skilled labour. He had formed several ingenious plans by which he meant to circumvent7 people of large fortune and small faculty8; but then he never met with exactly the right circumstances. David’s devices for getting rich without work had apparently9 no direct relation with the world outside him, as his confectionery receipts had. It is possible to pass a great many bad half pennies and bad half-crowns, but I believe there has no instance been known of passing a halfpenny or a half-crown as a sovereign. A sharper can drive a brisk trade in this world: it is undeniable that there may be a fine career for him, if he will dare consequences; but David was too timid to be a sharper, or venture in any way among the mantraps of the law. He dared rob nobody but his mother. And so he had to fall back on the genuine value there was in him—to be content to pass as a good halfpenny, or, to speak more accurately10, as a good confectioner. For in spite of some additional reading and observation, there was nothing else he could make so much money by; nay11, he found in himself even a capability12 of extending his skill in this direction, and embracing all forms of cookery; while, in other branches of human labour, he began to see that it was not possible for him to shine. Fate was too strong for him; he had thought to master her inclination13 and had fled over the seas to that end; but she caught him, tied an apron14 round him, and snatching him from all other devices, made him devise cakes and patties in a kitchen at Kingstown. He was getting submissive to her, since she paid him with tolerable gains; but fevers and prickly heat, and other evils incidental to cooks in ardent15 climates, made him long for his native land; so he took ship once more, carrying his six years’ savings16, and seeing distinctly, this time, what were Fate’s intentions as to his career. If you question me closely as to whether all the money with which he set up at Grimworth consisted of pure and simple earnings17, I am obliged to confess that he got a sum or two for charitably abstaining18 from mentioning some other people’s misdemeanours. Altogether, since no prospects19 were attached to his family name, and since a new christening seemed a suitable commencement of a new life, Mr. David Faux thought it as well to call himself Mr. Edward Freely.
But lo! now, in opposition21 to all calculable probability, some benefit appeared to be attached to the name of David Faux. Should he neglect it, as beneath the attention of a prosperous tradesman? It might bring him into contact with his family again, and he felt no yearnings in that direction: moreover, he had small belief that the “something to his advantage” could be anything considerable. On the other hand, even a small gain is pleasant, and the promise of it in this instance was so surprising, that David felt his curiosity awakened22. The scale dipped at last on the side of writing to the lawyer, and, to be brief, the correspondence ended in an appointment for a meeting between David and his eldest23 brother at Mr. Strutt’s, the vague “something” having been defined as a legacy24 from his father of eighty-two pounds, three shillings.
David, you know, had expected to be disinherited; and so he would have been, if he had not, like some other indifferent sons, come of excellent parents, whose conscience made them scrupulous25 where much more highly-instructed people often feel themselves warranted in following the bent26 of their indignation. Good Mrs. Faux could never forget that she had brought this ill-conditioned son into the world when he was in that entirely27 helpless state which excluded the smallest choice on his part; and, somehow or other, she felt that his going wrong would be his father’s and mother’s fault, if they failed in one tittle of their parental28 duty. Her notion of parental duty was not of a high and subtle kind, but it included giving him his due share of the family property; for when a man had got a little honest money of his own, was he so likely to steal? To cut the delinquent29 son off with a shilling, was like delivering him over to his evil propensities30. No; let the sum of twenty guineas which he had stolen be deducted31 from his share, and then let the sum of three guineas be put back from it, seeing that his mother had always considered three of the twenty guineas as his; and, though he had run away, and was, perhaps, gone across the sea, let the money be left to him all the same, and be kept in reserve for his possible return. Mr. Faux agreed to his wife’s views, and made a codicil32 to his will accordingly, in time to die with a clear conscience. But for some time his family thought it likely that David would never reappear; and the eldest son, who had the charge of Jacob on his hands, often thought it a little hard that David might perhaps be dead, and yet, for want of certitude on that point, his legacy could not fall to his legal heir. But in this state of things the opposite certitude—namely, that David was still alive and in England—seemed to be brought by the testimony33 of a neighbour, who, having been on a journey to Cattelton, was pretty sure he had seen David in a gig, with a stout34 man driving by his side. He could “swear it was David,” though he could “give no account why, for he had no marks on him; but no more had a white dog, and that didn’t hinder folks from knowing a white dog.” It was this incident which had led to the advertisement.
The legacy was paid, of course, after a few preliminary disclosures as to Mr. David’s actual position. He begged to send his love to his mother, and to say that he hoped to pay her a dutiful visit by and by; but, at present, his business and near prospect20 of marriage made it difficult for him to leave home. His brother replied with much frankness.
“My mother may do as she likes about having you to see her, but, for my part, I don’t want to catch sight of you on the premises35 again. When folks have taken a new name, they’d better keep to their new ’quinetance.”
David pocketed the insult along with the eighty-two pounds three, and travelled home again in some triumph at the ease of a transaction which had enriched him to this extent. He had no intention of offending his brother by further claims on his fraternal recognition, and relapsed with full contentment into the character of Mr. Edward Freely, the orphan36, scion37 of a great but reduced family, with an eccentric uncle in the West Indies. (I have already hinted that he had some acquaintance with imaginative literature; and being of a practical turn, he had, you perceive, applied38 even this form of knowledge to practical purposes.)
It was little more than a week after the return from his fruitful journey, that the day of his marriage with Penny having been fixed39, it was agreed that Mrs. Palfrey should overcome her reluctance40 to move from home, and that she and her husband should bring their two daughters to inspect little Penny’s future abode41 and decide on the new arrangements to be made for the reception of the bride. Mr. Freely meant her to have a house so pretty and comfortable that she need not envy even a wool-factor’s wife. Of course, the upper room over the shop was to be the best sitting-room42; but also the parlour behind the shop was to be made a suitable bower43 for the lovely Penny, who would naturally wish to be near her husband, though Mr. Freely declared his resolution never to allow his wife to wait in the shop. The decisions about the parlour furniture were left till last, because the party was to take tea there; and, about five o’clock, they were all seated there with the best muffins and buttered buns before them, little Penny blushing and smiling, with her “crop” in the best order, and a blue frock showing her little white shoulders, while her opinion was being always asked and never given. She secretly wished to have a particular sort of chimney ornaments44, but she could not have brought herself to mention it. Seated by the side of her yellow and rather withered45 lover, who, though he had not reached his thirtieth year, had already crow’s-feet about his eyes, she was quite tremulous at the greatness of her lot in being married to a man who had travelled so much—and before her sister Letty! The handsome Letitia looked rather proud and contemptuous, thought her future brother-in-law an odious46 person, and was vexed47 with her father and mother for letting Penny marry him. Dear little Penny! She certainly did look like a fresh white-heart cherry going to be bitten off the stem by that lipless mouth. Would no deliverer come to make a slip between that cherry and that mouth without a lip?
“Quite a family likeness48 between the admiral and you, Mr. Freely,” observed Mrs. Palfrey, who was looking at the family portrait for the first time. “It’s wonderful! and only a grand-uncle. Do you feature the rest of your family, as you know of?”
“I can’t say,” said Mr. Freely, with a sigh. “My family have mostly thought themselves too high to take any notice of me.”
At this moment an extraordinary disturbance49 was heard in the shop, as of a heavy animal stamping about and making angry noises, and then of a glass vessel50 falling in shivers, while the voice of the apprentice51 was heard calling “Master” in great alarm.
Mr. Freely rose in anxious astonishment52, and hastened into the shop, followed by the four Palfreys, who made a group at the parlour-door, transfixed with wonder at seeing a large man in a smock-frock, with a pitchfork in his hand, rush up to Mr. Freely and hug him, crying out,—“Zavy, Zavy, b’other Zavy!”
It was Jacob, and for some moments David lost all presence of mind. He felt arrested for having stolen his mother’s guineas. He turned cold, and trembled in his brother’s grasp.
“Why, how’s this?” said Mr. Palfrey, advancing from the door. “Who is he?”
Jacob supplied the answer by saying over and over again—
“I’se Zacob, b’other Zacob. Come ’o zee Zavy”—till hunger prompted him to relax his grasp, and to seize a large raised pie, which he lifted to his mouth.
By this time David’s power of device had begun to return, but it was a very hard task for his prudence53 to master his rage and hatred54 towards poor Jacob.
“I don’t know who he is; he must be drunk,” he said, in a low tone to Mr. Palfrey. “But he’s dangerous with that pitchfork. He’ll never let it go.” Then checking himself on the point of betraying too great an intimacy55 with Jacob’s habits, he added “You watch him, while I run for the constable56.” And he hurried out of the shop.
“Why, where do you come from, my man?” said Mr. Palfrey, speaking to Jacob in a conciliatory tone. Jacob was eating his pie by large mouthfuls, and looking round at the other good things in the shop, while he embraced his pitchfork with his left arm, and laid his left hand on some Bath buns. He was in the rare position of a person who recovers a long absent friend and finds him richer than ever in the characteristics that won his heart.
“I’s Zacob—b’other Zacob—’t home. I love Zavy—b’other Zavy,” he said, as soon as Mr. Palfrey had drawn57 his attention. “Zavy come back from z’ Indies—got mother’s zinnies. Where’s Zavy?” he added, looking round and then turning to the others with a questioning air, puzzled by David’s disappearance58.
“It’s very odd,” observed Mr. Palfrey to his wife and daughters. “He seems to say Freely’s his brother come back from th’ Indies.”
“What a pleasant relation for us!” said Letitia, sarcastically59. “I think he’s a good deal like Mr. Freely. He’s got just the same sort of nose, and his eyes are the same colour.”
Poor Penny was ready to cry.
But now Mr. Freely re-entered the shop without the constable. During his walk of a few yards he had had time and calmness enough to widen his view of consequences, and he saw that to get Jacob taken to the workhouse or to the lock-up house as an offensive stranger might have awkward effects if his family took the trouble of inquiring after him. He must resign himself to more patient measures.
“On second thoughts,” he said, beckoning60 to Mr. Palfrey and whispering to him while Jacob’s back was turned, “he’s a poor half-witted fellow. Perhaps his friends will come after him. I don’t mind giving him something to eat, and letting him lie down for the night. He’s got it into his head that he knows me—they do get these fancies, idiots do. He’ll perhaps go away again in an hour or two, and make no more ado. I’m a kind-hearted man myself—I shouldn’t like to have the poor fellow ill-used.”
“Why, he’ll eat a sovereign’s worth in no time,” said Mr. Palfrey, thinking Mr. Freely a little too magnificent in his generosity61.
“Eh, Zavy, come back?” exclaimed Jacob, giving his dear brother another hug, which crushed Mr. Freely’s features inconveniently62 against the handle of the pitchfork.
“Aye, aye,” said Mr. Freely, smiling, with every capability of murder in his mind, except the courage to commit it. He wished the Bath buns might by chance have arsenic64 in them.
“Mother’s zinnies?” said Jacob, pointing to a glass jar of yellow lozenges that stood in the window. “Zive ’em me.”
David dared not do otherwise than reach down the glass jar and give Jacob a handful. He received them in his smock-frock, which he held out for more.
“They’ll keep him quiet a bit, at any rate,” thought David, and emptied the jar. Jacob grinned and mowed65 with delight.
“You’re very good to this stranger, Mr. Freely,” said Letitia; and then spitefully, as David joined the party at the parlour-door, “I think you could hardly treat him better, if he was really your brother.”
“I’ve always thought it a duty to be good to idiots,” said Mr. Freely, striving after the most moral view of the subject. “We might have been idiots ourselves—everybody might have been born idiots, instead of having their right senses.”
“I don’t know where there’d ha’ been victual for us all then,” observed Mrs. Palfrey, regarding the matter in a housewifely light.
“But let us sit down again and finish our tea,” said Mr. Freely. “Let us leave the poor creature to himself.”
They walked into the parlour again; but Jacob, not apparently appreciating the kindness of leaving him to himself, immediately followed his brother, and seated himself, pitchfork grounded, at the table.
“Well,” said Miss Letitia, rising, “I don’t know whether you mean to stay, mother; but I shall go home.”
“Oh, me too,” said Penny, frightened to death at Jacob, who had begun to nod and grin at her.
“Well, I think we had better be going, Mr. Palfrey,” said the mother, rising more slowly.
Mr. Freely, whose complexion67 had become decidedly yellower during the last half-hour, did not resist this proposition. He hoped they should meet again “under happier circumstances.”
“It’s my belief the man is his brother,” said Letitia, when they were all on their way home.
“Nonsense!” said Mr. Palfrey. “Freely’s got no brother—he’s said so many and many a time; he’s an orphan; he’s got nothing but uncles—leastwise, one. What’s it matter what an idiot says? What call had Freely to tell lies?”
Letitia tossed her head and was silent.
Mr. Freely, left alone with his affectionate brother Jacob, brooded over the possibility of luring68 him out of the town early the next morning, and getting him conveyed to Gilsbrook without further betrayals. But the thing was difficult. He saw clearly that if he took Jacob himself, his absence, conjoined with the disappearance of the stranger, would either cause the conviction that he was really a relative, or would oblige him to the dangerous course of inventing a story to account for his disappearance, and his own absence at the same time. David groaned69. There come occasions when falsehood is felt to be inconvenient63. It would, perhaps, have been a longer-headed device, if he had never told any of those clever fibs about his uncles, grand and otherwise; for the Palfreys were simple people, and shared the popular prejudice against lying. Even if he could get Jacob away this time, what security was there that he would not come again, having once found the way? O guineas! O lozenges! what enviable people those were who had never robbed their mothers, and had never told fibs! David spent a sleepless70 night, while Jacob was snoring close by. Was this the upshot of travelling to the Indies, and acquiring experience combined with anecdote71?
He rose at break of day, as he had once before done when he was in fear of Jacob, and took all gentle means to rouse this fatal brother from his deep sleep; he dared not be loud, because his apprentice was in the house, and would report everything. But Jacob was not to be roused. He fought out with his fist at the unknown cause of disturbance, turned over, and snored again. He must be left to wake as he would. David, with a cold perspiration72 on his brow, confessed to himself that Jacob could not be got away that day.
Mr. Palfrey came over to Grimworth before noon, with a natural curiosity to see how his future son-in-law got on with the stranger to whom he was so benevolently73 inclined. He found a crowd round the shop. All Grimworth by this time had heard how Freely had been fastened on by an idiot, who called him “Brother Zavy”; and the younger population seemed to find the singular stranger an unwearying source of fascination74, while the householders dropped in one by one to inquire into the incident.
“Why don’t you send him to the workhouse?” said Mr. Prettyman. “You’ll have a row with him and the children presently, and he’ll eat you up. The workhouse is the proper place for him; let his kin6 claim him, if he’s got any.”
“Those may be your feelings, Mr. Prettyman,” said David, his mind quite enfeebled by the torture of his position.
“What! is he your brother, then?” said Mr. Prettyman, looking at his neighbour Freely rather sharply.
“All men are our brothers, and idiots particular so,” said Mr. Freely, who, like many other travelled men, was not master of the English language.
“Come, come, if he’s your brother, tell the truth, man,” said Mr. Prettyman, with growing suspicion. “Don’t be ashamed of your own flesh and blood.”
Mr. Palfrey was present, and also had his eye on Freely. It is difficult for a man to believe in the advantage of a truth which will disclose him to have been a liar75. In this critical moment, David shrank from this immediate66 disgrace in the eyes of his future father-in-law.
“Mr. Prettyman,” he said, “I take your observations as an insult. I’ve no reason to be otherwise than proud of my own flesh and blood. If this poor man was my brother more than all men are, I should say so.”
A tall figure darkened the door, and David, lifting his eyes in that direction, saw his eldest brother, Jonathan, on the door-sill.
“I’ll stay wi’ Zavy,” shouted Jacob, as he, too, caught sight of his eldest brother; and, running behind the counter, he clutched David hard.
“What, he is here?” said Jonathan Faux, coming forward. “My mother would have no nay, as he’d been away so long, but I must see after him. And it struck me he was very like come after you, because we’d been talking of you o’ late, and where you lived.”
David saw there was no escape; he smiled a ghastly smile.
“What! is this a relation of yours, sir?” said Mr. Palfrey to Jonathan.
“Aye, it’s my innicent of a brother, sure enough,” said honest Jonathan. “A fine trouble and cost he is to us, in th’ eating and other things, but we must bear what’s laid on us.”
“And your name’s Freely, is it?” said Mr. Prettyman.
“Nay, nay, my name’s Faux, I know nothing o’ Freelys,” said Jonathan, curtly76. “Come,” he added, turning to David, “I must take some news to mother about Jacob. Shall I take him with me, or will you undertake to send him back?”
“Take him, if you can make him loose his hold of me,” said David, feebly.
“Is this gentleman here in the confectionery line your brother, then, sir?” said Mr. Prettyman, feeling that it was an occasion on which formal language must be used.
“I don’t want to own him,” said Jonathan, unable to resist a movement of indignation that had never been allowed to satisfy itself. “He ran away from home with good reasons in his pocket years ago: he didn’t want to be owned again, I reckon.”
Mr. Palfrey left the shop; he felt his own pride too severely77 wounded by the sense that he had let himself be fooled, to feel curiosity for further details. The most pressing business was to go home and tell his daughter that Freely was a poor sneak78, probably a rascal79, and that her engagement was broken off.
Mr. Prettyman stayed, with some internal self-gratulation that he had never given in to Freely, and that Mr. Chaloner would see now what sort of fellow it was that he had put over the heads of older parishioners. He considered it due from him (Mr. Prettyman) that, for the interests of the parish, he should know all that was to be known about this “interloper.” Grimworth would have people coming from Botany Bay to settle in it, if things went on in this way.
It soon appeared that Jacob could not be made to quit his dear brother David except by force. He understood, with a clearness equal to that of the most intelligent mind, that Jonathan would take him back to skimmed milk, apple-dumpling, broad beans, and pork. And he had found a paradise in his brother’s shop. It was a difficult matter to use force with Jacob, for he wore heavy nailed boots; and if his pitchfork had been mastered, he would have resorted without hesitation80 to kicks. Nothing short of using guile81 to bind82 him hand and foot would have made all parties safe.
“Let him stay,” said David, with desperate resignation, frightened above all things at the idea of further disturbances83 in his shop, which would make his exposure all the more conspicuous84. “You go away again, and to-morrow I can, perhaps, get him to go to Gilsbrook with me. He’ll follow me fast enough, I daresay,” he added, with a half-groan.
“Very well,” said Jonathan, gruffly. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t have some trouble and expense with him as well as the rest of us. But mind you bring him back safe and soon, else mother’ll never rest.”
On this arrangement being concluded, Mr. Prettyman begged Mr. Jonathan Faux to go and take a snack with him, an invitation which was quite acceptable; and as honest Jonathan had nothing to be ashamed of, it is probable that he was very frank in his communications to the civil draper, who, pursuing the benefit of the parish, hastened to make all the information he could gather about Freely common parochial property. You may imagine that the meeting of the Club at the Woolpack that evening was unusually lively. Every member was anxious to prove that he had never liked Freely, as he called himself. Faux was his name, was it? Fox would have been more suitable. The majority expressed a desire to see him hooted85 out of the town.
Mr. Freely did not venture over his door-sill that day, for he knew Jacob would keep at his side, and there was every probability that they would have a train of juvenile86 followers87. He sent to engage the Woolpack gig for an early hour the next morning; but this order was not kept religiously a secret by the landlord. Mr. Freely was informed that he could not have the gig till seven; and the Grimworth people were early risers. Perhaps they were more alert than usual on this particular morning; for when Jacob, with a bag of sweets in his hand, was induced to mount the gig with his brother David, the inhabitants of the market-place were looking out of their doors and windows, and at the turning of the street there was even a muster88 of apprentices89 and schoolboys, who shouted as they passed in what Jacob took to be a very merry and friendly way, nodding and grinning in return. “Huzzay, David Faux! how’s your uncle?” was their morning’s greeting. Like other pointed90 things, it was not altogether impromptu91.
Even this public derision was not so crushing to David as the horrible thought that though he might succeed now in getting Jacob home again there would never be any security against his coming back, like a wasp92 to the honey-pot. As long as David lived at Grimworth, Jacob’s return would be hanging over him. But could he go on living at Grimworth—an object of ridicule93, discarded by the Palfreys, after having revelled94 in the consciousness that he was an envied and prosperous confectioner? David liked to be envied; he minded less about being loved.
His doubts on this point were soon settled. The mind of Grimworth became obstinately95 set against him and his viands96, and the new school being finished, the eating-room was closed. If there had been no other reason, sympathy with the Palfreys, that respectable family who had lived in the parish time out of mind, would have determined97 all well-to-do people to decline Freely’s goods. Besides, he had absconded98 with his mother’s guineas: who knew what else he had done, in Jamaica or elsewhere, before he came to Grimworth, worming himself into families under false pretences99? Females shuddered100. Dreadful suspicions gathered round him: his green eyes, his bow-legs had a criminal aspect. The rector disliked the sight of a man who had imposed upon him; and all boys who could not afford to purchase, hooted “David Faux” as they passed his shop. Certainly no man now would pay anything for the “goodwill” of Mr. Freely’s business, and he would be obliged to quit it without a peculium so desirable towards defraying the expense of moving.
In a few months the shop in the market-place was again to let, and Mr. David Faux, alias101 Mr. Edward Freely, had gone—nobody at Grimworth knew whither. In this way the demoralization of Grimworth women was checked. Young Mrs. Steene renewed her efforts to make light mince-pies, and having at last made a batch102 so excellent that Mr. Steene looked at her with complacency as he ate them, and said they were the best he had ever eaten in his life, she thought less of bulbuls and renegades ever after. The secrets of the finer cookery were revived in the breasts of matronly house-wives, and daughters were again anxious to be initiated103 in them.
You will further, I hope, be glad to hear, that some purchases of drapery made by pretty Penny, in preparation for her marriage with Mr. Freely, came in quite as well for her wedding with young Towers as if they had been made expressly for the latter occasion. For Penny’s complexion had not altered, and blue always became it best.
Here ends the story of Mr. David Faux, confectioner, and his brother Jacob. And we see in it, I think, an admirable instance of the unexpected forms in which the great Nemesis104 hides herself.
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1
constellations
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| n.星座( constellation的名词复数 )；一群杰出人物；一系列（相关的想法、事物）；一群（相关的人） | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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effete
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| adj.无生产力的，虚弱的 | |
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4
oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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6
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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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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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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capability
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| n.能力；才能；(pl)可发展的能力或特性等 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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abstaining
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| 戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的现在分词 )； 弃权（不投票） | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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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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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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delinquent
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| adj.犯法的，有过失的；n.违法者 | |
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propensities
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| n.倾向，习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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deducted
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| v.扣除，减去( deduct的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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codicil
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| n.遗嘱的附录 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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35
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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scion
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| n.嫩芽，子孙 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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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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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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42
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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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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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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inconveniently
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| ad.不方便地 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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arsenic
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| n.砒霜，砷；adj.砷的 | |
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mowed
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| v.刈，割( mow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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luring
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的现在分词形式） | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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benevolently
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| adv.仁慈地，行善地 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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75
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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79
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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80
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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81
guile
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| n.诈术 | |
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82
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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disturbances
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| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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85
hooted
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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87
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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88
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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apprentices
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| 学徒，徒弟( apprentice的名词复数 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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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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92
wasp
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| n.黄蜂，蚂蜂 | |
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93
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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94
revelled
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| v.作乐( revel的过去式和过去分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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98
absconded
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| v.（尤指逃避逮捕）潜逃，逃跑( abscond的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
pretences
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| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
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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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101
alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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102
batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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103
initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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104
nemesis
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| n.给以报应者，复仇者，难以对付的敌手 | |
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