“Good God!” Unconsciously he repeated the word under his breath:
“Good God!”
Joy, with a fixed4 high-strung look, stepped down into the room. She stood beside Athlyne who, as she came close to him, turned with her so that together they faced her father. Colonel Ogilvie said in a slow whisper, the words dropping out one by one:
“Have—you—been—there—all—the—time? Did—you—hear—all—we—said?” She answered boldly:
“Yes! I was there and heard everything!” Again a long pause of silence, ended by Colonel Ogilvie’s next question:
“Why did you stay?” Joy answered at once; her quick speech following the slow tension sounded almost voluble.
“I could not get away. I wanted to; but there is no other door to the room. That is why I came out here when I woke. … I could not get my boots which the maid had taken last night, and I wanted to get away as quickly as possible. And, Father, being there, though I had to move about dressing5 myself, I could not help hearing everything!” Her father had evidently expected that she would say something more, for as she stopped there he looked at her expectantly. There was a sort of dry sob6 in his throat. Athlyne stood still and silent; he hardly dared to breathe lest he should unintentionally thwart8 Joy’s purpose. For with all his instincts he realised that she had a purpose. He knew that she understood her father and that she was the most potent9 force to deal with him; and knowing this he felt that the best thing he could do would be to leave her quite free and unhampered to take her own course. He kept his eyes on her face, gazing at her unwinkingly. Her face was fixed—not stern but set to a purpose. Somehow at that moment he began to realise how well he understood her. Without more help than his eyes could give him, he seemed to follow the workings of her mind. For her mind was changing. At the first her expression was of flinty fixedness10; but as she continued to look at the old man it softened11; and with the softening12 her intentioned silence gave way. Her lover’s thoughts translated thus:
“I will protect my—him against my father. He has threatened him; he is forcing him to death. I shall not help him by sparing him a pang13, an awkwardness. And yet—why that? He is an old man—and my father! That white hair demands respect. He is angry—hard and untender now; but his life has been a tender one to me—and he is my father! Though I am determined14 to save my lover—my husband, I need not in the doing cause that white head to sink in shame; I can spare him the pang of what he may think ingratitude15 in me. And, after all, he has what must seem to him just cause of offence. … He cannot—will not understand. … He is brave and proud, and has a code of honour which is more than a religion. And he my lover—my husband is brave too. And as unyielding as my father. And he is willing to die—for me. To die for me—my honour my happiness. Though his dying is worse—far worse than death to me. … But he is dying bravely, and I—that was to have been his wife—must die bravely, worthily16 too. If he can suffer and die in silence, so too must I. …”
It seemed a natural sequence of thought when she said to her father:
“Daddy, do you know you have not said a word to me yet. What have I ever done in my life that you should not trust me now? Have I ever lied to you that you cannot trust me to answer truly when you ask me—ask me anything. Why don’t you ask me now? I know that things do not look well. I realise that you must have been shocked when you came into the room. But, Daddy dear, there are few things in the world that cannot be explained—at any rate in part. Don’t forget that I am a woman now. I am no longer a child whose ignorance is her innocence17. Speak to me! Ask me what you will, and I will answer you truly! Hear me, even as you would listen to one dying! For indeed it is so. If you carry out your intention, as I have heard it expressed, I shall no longer live; there will be nothing for me to live for.”
“Do you mean that you will commit suicide?” said her father.
“Oh, no! I hope I have pluck enough to live—if I can. Do not fear for me, Daddy! I shall play the game full, as he will do.” As she spoke18, she pointed19 a finger at Athlyne. She felt now, and for the first time, acutely that she did not know what to call him before a third person—even her father. Athlyne looked relieved by her words. When she spoke of dying he had grown sadly white; he shared her father’s apprehension21. Colonel Ogilvie saw the change in his look, and took it ill. As may be surmised22 a part of his anger towards Athlyne arose from jealousy23. Until this man had appeared upon the scene his “little girl” was his alone; no other man shared in her affection. As she was an only child all his parental24 affection had been centred in her. Though he might have been prepared to see her mate with a man of his own choosing—or at any rate of his acceptance, he was jealous of the man who had stepped in, unaccredited and wanting in deference25 to himself. It must have been a tinge26 of this jealousy which prompted his next question. Turning with a bitter formality to Athlyne he said:
“I suppose you are satisfied, now, sir. Whatever may come, my daughter is estranged27 from me; and it is your doing!” In answer Joy and Athlyne spoke together. Said the latter:
“Oh sir!” There he stopped; he feared to say more lest his anger should master him. But the protest was effective; the old man flushed—over forehead and ears and neck. Joy spoke in a different vein28:
“There is no estrangement29, Daddy dear; and therefore it can be no one’s doing. Least of all could such a thing come from this man who loves me, and … and whom I love.” As she spoke she blushed divinely, and taking her lover’s right hand between both her hands held it tight. This seemed for some reason to infuriate her father afresh. He strode forward towards Athlyne as though about to strike him. But at the instant there came a quick rap on the door. Instinctively30 he drew away, and, having called out “Come!” stood expectingly and seemingly calm. The door opened slightly and the voice of the Sheriff was heard:
“May I come in? I am Alexander Fenwick, Sheriff of Galloway!” As he was speaking he entered the room with a formal bow to each in turn. He continued to speak to Colonel Ogilvie:
“You will pardon this intrusion I hope, sir. Indeed I trust you will not look upon it as an intrusion at all when you know the reason of my coming.” Colonel Ogilvie’s habit of old-fashioned courtesy came at once to the fore20 with the coming of a stranger. With a bow which to those reared in a newer and less formal school of manners seemed almost grandiloquent31 he spoke:
“I came here on some business, and on my arrival a few minutes ago was asked by our landlady—an old servant of my own—who on that account thought that she might ask what she thought a favour—to come up here. She thought, poor anxious soul, that some unpleasantness might be afoot as she heard high words, and feared a quarrel. All the more on account of a sudden arrival of a gentleman who seemed somewhat incensed32. This I took from her description of the personality, to be you sir. Indeed, I recognise all the points, except that of the anger!” As he spoke he bowed with pleasant courtesy. The other bowed too, partly in answer to the implied question and partly in recognition of the expressed courtesy of the words and manner.
Whilst he had been speaking, the Sheriff had been watching keenly those around him. He had been for so long a time in the habit of forming his opinion rather by looks than words that the situation seemed to explain itself; young lovers, angry father. This opinion was justified33 and sustained by the confidence which had been given to him by Athlyne on the previous afternoon. He had been, on entering the room, rather anxious at the state of affairs; but now he began to breathe more freely. He felt that his experience of life and of law might really be here of some service. But his profession had also taught him wariness34 and caution; also not to speak on side issues till he knew the ground thoroughly35. Joy he read like an open book. There was no mistaking her love, her anxiety, her apprehension. Athlyne he knew something of already, but he now saw in his face a warning look which bade him be silent regarding him. He diagnosed Colonel Ogilvie as a proud, masterful, vain, passionate36 man; something of a prig; tender, in a way he understood himself; faithful to his word; relentless37 to an expressed intention; just—according to his own ideas of right and wrong. Weighing these attributes for his own pacific purposes he came to the conclusion that his first effort at conciliation38 should be made with regard to the last-mentioned. So he began, speaking in a manner of courtly and deferential39 grace:
“I trust sir, you will yield to me the consideration often asked by, and sometimes granted to a well-intentioned man, however bungling40 the same might be in thought or method or manner.” Colonel Ogilvie conceded the favour with a gracious bow. Thus emboldened41, if not justified, he went on:
“I fain would ask that I might be allowed to make something in the nature of a short statement, and to make it without interruption or expostulation. You will understand why presently.” Again the gracious acquiescence42; he continued:
“You are, I take it, a stranger to this country; though, if I am not misled by name and lineament, claiming Scottish forbears?” Colonel Ogilvie’s bow came more naturally this time. His in-lying pride was coming to the rescue of common sense. The Sheriff understood, and went on with better heart:
“The experience which I have had in the performance of my duties as sheriff has shewn me that such a group as I see before me—father, daughter and lover, if I mistake not—is not uncommon43 in this part of Scotland.” No one answered his bow this time. All were grimly silent in expectancy44. He felt that it was a dangerous topic; but the fact had been stated without being denied. He hurried on:
“Just across the Border, as we are, we have had very many occasions of run-away marriages; I have had myself in earlier days to explain for the good of all parties how the law stands in such matters. More than once the knowledge enabled those interested in it to spare much pain to others; generally to those whom they loved best. I trust that now I may use that knowledge in your behalf—as a friend. I am not here in my official capacity—or perhaps I might not be so free to advise as I am now without, I trust, offence to any one.” Colonel Ogilvie’s gracious bow here answered for all the party. The Sheriff felt more at ease. He was now well into his subject; and the most difficult part of his duty had been, he thought, passed. All three of his hearers listened eagerly as he went on:
“A knowledge of the law can hurt no one; though it may now and again disappoint some one—when expounded45 too late. Well, there is a common belief in South Britain—and elsewhere that the marriage law in Scotland is a very filmy thing, with bounds of demarcation which are actually nebulous. This doubtless arises from the fact that all such laws are based on the theory that it is good to help such contracting parties to the secure and speedy fulfilment of their wishes. But anyone who thinks that they are loose in either purpose or action is apt to be rudely enlightened. The Scots’ Marriage laws demand that there be a manifest and honest intention of marriage on the part of the contractors46. This intention can be proved in many ways. Indeed the law in certain cases is willing to infer it, when direct proof is not attainable47, from subsequent acts of the parties. I may fairly say that in all such cases courts of law will hold that mutuality48 of intention is of the essence of marriage rite49. This followed by co-habitation is the marriage; though the latter to follow close on the declaration is not always deemed necessary. In our law the marriage may be either of two kinds. The most formal is that effected by a minister or proper official after due calling of banns, or by notice given to sheriff or registrar50. The other form is by what is known in the law as ‘Irregular marriage.’ This is in legal parlance—for which I make no apology as it is necessary that all married folk, or those intending to enter that honourable51 condition should understand it—is known as ‘intention followed by copula.’ Now you must know that either form of marriage is equally binding—equal in law and honour; and when the conditions attached to each form have been duly fulfilled such marriage is irrefragable. In old days this facility of marriage made Gretna Green, which is the first place across the Border, the objective for eloping lovers matrimonially inclined; and as till 1856 no previous residence in Scotland was required, romance was supposed to stop at the Border. That is, the marriage could be effected and parental objections—did such exist—were overborne. There were many cynical52 souls who held that repentance53 for the hasty marriage could then begin. I feel bound to say that this is an opinion in which I do not myself share.
“In 1856 an Act of Parliament, 20th Vict. Cap. 96, was passed, by which it became necessary for the validity of irregular marriage that at least one of the two contractors should have his or her usual residence in Scotland, or have been resident in Scotland for three full weeks next preceding the marriage.
“I thank you, Colonel Ogilvie, for having listened to me so patiently. But as I have no doubt that you three have much to say to each other I shall withdraw for the present. This will leave you free to discuss matters. And perhaps I may say, as an old man as well as a responsible officer of the Law, that I trust the effect will be to make for peace and amity54. I am staying here in the hotel and I shall take it as a great pleasure and a great honour if you will breakfast with me in say an hour’s time. All your family will be most welcome.” With a bow, in which deference and geniality55 were mingled56, he withdrew.
Each of the three left kept looking at each other in silence. Joy drew closer to Athlyne and took his hand. Colonel Ogilvie pretended not to notice the act—an effort on his part which made his daughter radiant with hope. The first words spoken were by the Colonel:
“That man is a gentleman!” The two others felt that silence was present discretion57; to agree with Colonel Ogilvie in his present mood was almost as dangerous as to disagree with him. His next words were in no way conciliatory though the arrière pensée made for hope.
“Now sir, what have you to say for yourself in this unhappy matter? Remember I in no way relax my intention of—of punishment; but I am willing to hear what you have to say.” Athlyne winced58 at the word “punishment,” which was not one which he was accustomed to hear applied59 to himself. But for Joy’s sake he made no comment. He even kept his face fixed so as not to betray his anger. He felt that any change of subject, or drifting off that before them, must be for the better; things could, he felt, hardly be worse than at present. Moreover, it might smooth matters somewhat if Colonel Ogilvie could be brought to recollect60 that he was not himself an undesirable61 person for alliance, and that his intention of matrimony had been already brought before Joy’s father. In this conviction he spoke:
“As in this country, sir, intention counts for so much, may I crave62 your indulgence for a moment and refer you back to my letter to you on the subject of a very dear wish of mine—a wish put before you with a very decided63 intention.” Colonel Ogilvie’s answer, given in manner of equal suavity64, was disconcerting; the bitterness behind it was manifest.
“I think sir, there must be some error—which is not mine. I never received any letter from you! Your epistolary efforts seem to have been confined to the ladies of my family.” With an effort Athlyne restrained himself. When he felt equal to the task he spoke, still with a manner of utmost deference:
“An error there surely is; but it is not mine either. I posted yesterday at the Ambleside post office a letter to you. …” He was interrupted by Colonel Ogilvie who said bluntly:
“I am not so sure, sir, that the fault of my not reading such a letter was not yours; though perhaps not in the direct manner you mean. When I arrived home last night and found the horrible state of things with regard to my daughter’s rash act—due to you” this with a look of actual malevolence65 “I was so upset that I did not look at the pile of letters awaiting me. I only read Joy’s messages.” As he said this Athlyne’s eyes flashed and there was an answering flash in the eyes of the woman who looked so keenly at him; this was the first time since his arrival that the father had condescended66 to even mention his daughter’s name. There might be some softening of that hard nature after all. Then the old man continued:
“I put them in my pocket; here they are!”—Whilst he looked at the envelopes in that futile67 way that some people unused to large correspondence love, Joy said with an easy calmness which made her lover glance at her in surprise:
“Daddy, hadn’t you better read your letters now; we shall wait.” The tone was so much that to which he was accustomed from her that he did not notice the compromising “we” which would otherwise have inflamed68 him afresh. Drawing a chair close to one of the windows he opened the letters and began to read. Athlyne and Joy, instinctively and with unity69 of thought, moved towards the other window which was behind him. There they stood hand in hand, their eyes following every movement of the old man. Joy did not know, of course, what was in the letter; but she had seen it before in the garden at Ambleside and when he had posted it before setting out on their motor ride. And so, piecing her information with the idea conveyed by her lover’s recent words, she was able to form some sort of idea of its general import. A soft, beautiful blush suffused70 her face, and her eyes glistened71 as she stood thinking; in the effort of thought she recalled many sweet passages. She now understood in a vague way what was the restraining influence which had moved her lover to reticence72 during all those hours when he had tried to tell her of his love and his hopes without actually speaking words, the knowledge of which given without his consent would have incensed her father against him, and so wrought73 further havoc74. So moved was she that Athlyne, whose eyes were instinctively drawn75 to her from the observation of her father, was amazed and not a little disconcerted. There must be some strange undercurrent of feeling in her which he could not understand. Joy saw the look on his face and seemed to understand. She raised to her lips the hand that she so strongly clasped in hers and kissed it. Then she raised a finger of her other hand and touched her lips. Thus reassured77 of her love and understanding, Athlyne followed with his eyes the trend of hers; and so together they continued to watch her father, trying to gather from his bearing some indication of his thoughts. Indeed this was not a difficult matter. Colonel Ogilvie seemed to have lost himself in his task, and expressed his comments on what he read by a series of childlike movements and ejaculations. Athlyne who knew what the letter contained could apply these enlightening comments, and even Joy in her ignorance of detail could inferentially follow the text. Colonel Ogilvie did say a word of definite speech, but the general tendency of his comment was that of surprise—astonishment. When he had finished reading Athlyne’s letter—it was the last of the batch—he sat for quite half a minute quite still and silent, holding the paper between finger and thumb of his dropped left hand. Then with a deep frown on his forehead he began to read it again. He was evidently looking for some passage, for when he had found it he stood up at once and turned to them. By this time Joy, warned by the movement, had dropped her lover’s hand and now stood some distance away from him. The old man began:
“Sir … There is a passage in a letter here which I understand to be yours. So far I must acknowledge that I have been wrong. You evidently did send the letter, and I evidently received it. Listen to this: ‘Having heard in a roundabout way that there was a woman in New York who was passing herself off as my wife I undertook a journey to that City to make investigation78 into the matter; and in order to secure the necessary secrecy79 as to my movements took for the time an assumed name—or rather used as Christian80 and surname two of those names in the middle of my full equipment which I do not commonly use.’ What does all that mean? No, do not speak. Wait and I shall tell you. You say the lady—woman you call her—took your name. For saying such a thing, and for the disrespect in her description as a woman, you will have to answer me. Either of them will cost you your life.” Athlyne answered with a quiet, impressive dignity which helped in some degree to reassure76 Joy who stood motionless in open-eyed wonder—her heart seeming to her as cold as ice at the horror of this new phase of danger. It was a veritable “bolt from the blue,” incomprehensible to her in every way:
“Colonel Ogilvie, I regret I shall be unable to meet your wishes in this respect!” As the old man looked astonished in his turn, he proceeded:
“I already owe you a life on another count; and I have but one. But if I had ten you should have them all, could they in any way assuage81 the sorrow which it seems must follow from my thoughtless act. I have told you already that I shall freely give my life in expiation82 of the wrong I have—all unintentionally—done to your daughter and yourself. And if any means could be found by which it could add to Joy’s happiness or lessen83 her sorrow I should in addition and as freely give my soul!”
Colonel Ogilvie’s reception of these words was characteristic of the man, as he took himself to be. He drew himself up to his full height and stood at attention. Then he saluted84, and followed his salute85 with a grave bow. The soldier in him spoke first, the man after. Both Joy and Athlyne noticed with new hope that he allowed the speaking of her name to pass unchallenged as a further cause of offence. Presently, and in a new tone, he said:
“I have taken it for granted from the allusions86 in your letter that you are the writer; and from your mentioning an alias87 have not been surprised at seeing a strange name in the signature. But I have been and am surprised at the familiarity from a man of your years to a man of mine of a mere88 Christian name.”
It was now Athlyne’s turn to be surprised.
“A Christian name!” he said with a puzzled pucker89 of his brows. “I am afraid I don’t understand.” Then a light dawning on him he said with a slight laugh: “But that is not my Christian name.”
“Nor my surname either.” His laugh was now more pronounced, more boyish.
“Oh I see; still another alias!” The words were bitter; the tone of manifest offence.
Athlyne laughed again; it was not intentional7 but purely91 spontaneous. He was recalled to seriousness by the look of pain and apprehension on Joy’s face and by the Colonel’s angry words, given with a look of fury:
“I am not accustomed to be laughed at—and to my face Mr.—Mr.—Mr. Richard Hardy92 Athlyne et cetera.”
“I ask your pardon, Colonel Ogilvie, very deeply, very truly. But the fact is that Athlyne is my proper signature, though it is neither Christian name nor surname. I do hope you will attribute my rudeness rather to national habit than to any personal wish to wound. Surely you will see that I would at least be foolish to transgress94 in such a direction, if it be only that I aim at so much that it is in your power to grant.” There was reason in this which there was no resisting. Colonel Ogilvie bowed—he felt that he could do no less. Athlyne wisely said no more; both men regarded the incident as closed.
With Joy it was different. The incident gave her the information she lacked for the completion of the circle of her knowledge. As with a flash she realised the whole secret: that this man who had saved her life and whom now her father wanted to kill was none other than the man whose name she had taken—at first in sport and only lately in order to protect herself from troubles of inquisitiveness95 and scandal. At the moment she was in reality the only one of the three—the only one at all—who had in her hand all the clues. Neither her father nor Athlyne knew that she had given to the maid at the hotel a name other than her own.
She began to have also an unconscious knowledge of something else. Something which she could not define, some intuition of some coming change; something which hinged on her giving of the name. Now, for the first time she realised how dangerous it may be for any one to take the name of any other person—for any purpose whatever, or from any cause. She could not see the end.
But though her brain did not classify the idea her blood did. She blushed so furiously that she had serious thoughts of escaping from the room. Nothing but the danger which might arise from such a step kept her in her place. But something must, she felt, be done. Things were so shaping towards reconciliation96 that it would be wise to prevent matters slipping back. For an instant she was puzzled as to what to do; then an inspiration came to her. Turning to her father she said:
“Daddy, let us ask the old Sheriff to come in again!” She felt that she could rely on his discretion, and that in his hands things might slide into calmer waters. Her father acquiesced97 willingly, and a courteous98 message was sent through a servant.
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《The Mystery of the Sea》
《The Mystery of the Sea》
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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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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dressing
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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intentional
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| adj.故意的，有意（识）的 | |
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thwart
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potent
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fixedness
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softened
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softening
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pang
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determined
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ingratitude
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worthily
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innocence
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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pointed
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apprehension
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jealousy
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estrangement
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instinctively
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grandiloquent
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incensed
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justified
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wariness
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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conciliation
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| n.调解，调停 | |
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deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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bungling
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| adj.笨拙的，粗劣的v.搞糟，完不成( bungle的现在分词 )；笨手笨脚地做；失败；完不成 | |
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41
emboldened
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| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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expounded
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| 论述，详细讲解( expound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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contractors
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| n.（建筑、监造中的）承包人( contractor的名词复数 ) | |
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attainable
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| a.可达到的，可获得的 | |
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mutuality
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| n.相互关系，相互依存 | |
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rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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registrar
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| n.记录员，登记员；(大学的)注册主任 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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amity
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| n.友好关系 | |
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geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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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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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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suavity
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| n.温和；殷勤 | |
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malevolence
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| n.恶意，狠毒 | |
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condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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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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reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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81
assuage
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| v.缓和，减轻，镇定 | |
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82
expiation
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| n.赎罪，补偿 | |
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83
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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84
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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87
alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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88
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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89
pucker
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| v.撅起，使起皱；n.（衣服上的）皱纹，褶子 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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92
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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94
transgress
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| vt.违反，逾越 | |
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95
inquisitiveness
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| 好奇，求知欲 | |
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96
reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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97
acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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