HE solemnly finished the last copy of the American Magazine, while his wife sighed, laid away her darning, and looked enviously1 at the lingerie designs in a women's magazine. The room was very still.
It was a room which observed the best Floral Heights standards. The gray walls were divided into artificial paneling by strips of white-enameled pine. From the Babbitts' former house had come two much-carved rocking-chairs, but the other chairs were new, very deep and restful, upholstered in blue and gold-striped velvet2. A blue velvet davenport faced the fireplace, and behind it was a cherrywood table and a tall piano-lamp with a shade of golden silk. (Two out of every three houses in Floral Heights had before the fireplace a davenport, a mahogany table real or imitation, and a piano-lamp or a reading-lamp with a shade of yellow or rose silk.)
On the table was a runner of gold-threaded Chinese fabric4, four magazines, a silver box containing cigarette-crumbs, and three “gift-books”—large, expensive editions of fairy-tales illustrated5 by English artists and as yet unread by any Babbitt save Tinka.
In a corner by the front windows was a large cabinet Victrola. (Eight out of every nine Floral Heights houses had a cabinet phonograph.)
Among the pictures, hung in the exact center of each gray panel, were a red and black imitation English hunting-print, an anemic imitation boudoir-print with a French caption7 of whose morality Babbitt had always been rather suspicious, and a “hand-colored” photograph of a Colonial room—rag rug, maiden8 spinning, cat demure9 before a white fireplace. (Nineteen out of every twenty houses in Floral Heights had either a hunting-print, a Madame Feit la Toilette print, a colored photograph of a New England house, a photograph of a Rocky Mountain, or all four.)
It was a room as superior in comfort to the “parlor” of Babbitt's boyhood as his motor was superior to his father's buggy. Though there was nothing in the room that was interesting, there was nothing that was offensive. It was as neat, and as negative, as a block of artificial ice. The fireplace was unsoftened by downy ashes or by sooty brick; the brass10 fire-irons were of immaculate polish; and the grenadier andirons were like samples in a shop, desolate12, unwanted, lifeless things of commerce.
Against the wall was a piano, with another piano-lamp, but no one used it save Tinka. The hard briskness13 of the phonograph contented14 them; their store of jazz records made them feel wealthy and cultured; and all they knew of creating music was the nice adjustment of a bamboo needle. The books on the table were unspotted and laid in rigid15 parallels; not one corner of the carpet-rug was curled; and nowhere was there a hockey-stick, a torn picture-book, an old cap, or a gregarious16 and disorganizing dog.
II
At home, Babbitt never read with absorption. He was concentrated enough at the office but here he crossed his legs and fidgeted. When his story was interesting he read the best, that is the funniest, paragraphs to his wife; when it did not hold him he coughed, scratched his ankles and his right ear, thrust his left thumb into his vest pocket, jingled17 his silver, whirled the cigar-cutter and the keys on one end of his watch chain, yawned, rubbed his nose, and found errands to do. He went upstairs to put on his slippers18—his elegant slippers of seal-brown, shaped like medieval shoes. He brought up an apple from the barrel which stood by the trunk-closet in the basement.
“An apple a day keeps the doctor away,” he enlightened Mrs. Babbitt, for quite the first time in fourteen hours.
“That's so.”
“An apple is Nature's best regulator.”
“Yes, it—”
“Trouble with women is, they never have sense enough to form regular habits.”
“Well, I—”
“George!” She looked up from her reading. “Did you have a light lunch to-day, like you were going to? I did!”
This malicious20 and unprovoked attack astounded21 him. “Well, maybe it wasn't as light as—Went to lunch with Paul and didn't have much chance to diet. Oh, you needn't to grin like a chessy cat! If it wasn't for me watching out and keeping an eye on our diet—I'm the only member of this family that appreciates the value of oatmeal for breakfast. I—”
“One thing I've done: cut down my smoking.
“Had kind of a run-in with Graff in the office. He's getting too darn fresh. I'll stand for a good deal, but once in a while I got to assert my authority, and I jumped him. 'Stan,' I said—Well, I told him just exactly where he got off.
“Funny kind of a day. Makes you feel restless.
“Wellllllllll, uh—” That sleepiest sound in the world, the terminal yawn. Mrs. Babbitt yawned with it, and looked grateful as he droned, “How about going to bed, eh? Don't suppose Rone and Ted6 will be in till all hours. Yep, funny kind of a day; not terribly warm but yet—Gosh, I'd like—Some day I'm going to take a long motor trip.”
“Yes, we'd enjoy that,” she yawned.
He looked away from her as he realized that he did not wish to have her go with him. As he locked doors and tried windows and set the heat regulator so that the furnace-drafts would open automatically in the morning, he sighed a little, heavy with a lonely feeling which perplexed25 and frightened him. So absent-minded was he that he could not remember which window-catches he had inspected, and through the darkness, fumbling26 at unseen perilous27 chairs, he crept back to try them all over again. His feet were loud on the steps as he clumped28 upstairs at the end of this great and treacherous29 day of veiled rebellions.
III
Before breakfast he always reverted30 to up-state village boyhood, and shrank from the complex urban demands of shaving, bathing, deciding whether the current shirt was clean enough for another day. Whenever he stayed home in the evening he went to bed early, and thriftily31 got ahead in those dismal32 duties. It was his luxurious33 custom to shave while sitting snugly34 in a tubful of hot water. He may be viewed to-night as a plump, smooth, pink, baldish, podgy goodman, robbed of the importance of spectacles, squatting35 in breast-high water, scraping his lather-smeared cheeks with a safety-razor like a tiny lawn-mower, and with melancholy36 dignity clawing through the water to recover a slippery and active piece of soap.
He was lulled37 to dreaming by the caressing38 warmth. The light fell on the inner surface of the tub in a pattern of delicate wrinkled lines which slipped with a green sparkle over the curving porcelain39 as the clear water trembled. Babbitt lazily watched it; noted40 that along the silhouette41 of his legs against the radiance on the bottom of the tub, the shadows of the air-bubbles clinging to the hairs were reproduced as strange jungle mosses42. He patted the water, and the reflected light capsized and leaped and volleyed. He was content and childish. He played. He shaved a swath down the calf43 of one plump leg.
The drain-pipe was dripping, a dulcet44 and lively song: drippety drip drip dribble45, drippety drip drip drip. He was enchanted46 by it. He looked at the solid tub, the beautiful nickel taps, the tiled walls of the room, and felt virtuous47 in the possession of this splendor48.
He roused himself and spoke49 gruffly to his bath-things. “Come here! You've done enough fooling!” he reproved the treacherous soap, and defied the scratchy nail-brush with “Oh, you would, would you!” He soaped himself, and rinsed51 himself, and austerely52 rubbed himself; he noted a hole in the Turkish towel, and meditatively53 thrust a finger through it, and marched back to the bedroom, a grave and unbending citizen.
There was a moment of gorgeous abandon, a flash of melodrama54 such as he found in traffic-driving, when he laid out a clean collar, discovered that it was frayed55 in front, and tore it up with a magnificent yeeeeeing sound.
Most important of all was the preparation of his bed and the sleeping-porch.
It is not known whether he enjoyed his sleeping-porch because of the fresh air or because it was the standard thing to have a sleeping-porch.
Just as he was an Elk56, a Booster, and a member of the Chamber57 of Commerce, just as the priests of the Presbyterian Church determined58 his every religious belief and the senators who controlled the Republican Party decided59 in little smoky rooms in Washington what he should think about disarmament, tariff60, and Germany, so did the large national advertisers fix the surface of his life, fix what he believed to be his individuality. These standard advertised wares—toothpastes, socks, tires, cameras, instantaneous hot-water heaters—were his symbols and proofs of excellence61; at first the signs, then the substitutes, for joy and passion and wisdom.
But none of these advertised tokens of financial and social success was more significant than a sleeping-porch with a sun-parlor below.
The rites62 of preparing for bed were elaborate and unchanging. The blankets had to be tucked in at the foot of his cot. (Also, the reason why the maid hadn't tucked in the blankets had to be discussed with Mrs. Babbitt.) The rag rug was adjusted so that his bare feet would strike it when he arose in the morning. The alarm clock was wound. The hot-water bottle was filled and placed precisely63 two feet from the bottom of the cot.
These tremendous undertakings64 yielded to his determination; one by one they were announced to Mrs. Babbitt and smashed through to accomplishment65. At last his brow cleared, and in his “Gnight!” rang virile66 power. But there was yet need of courage. As he sank into sleep, just at the first exquisite67 relaxation68, the Doppelbrau car came home. He bounced into wakefulness, lamenting69, “Why the devil can't some people never get to bed at a reasonable hour?” So familiar was he with the process of putting up his own car that he awaited each step like an able executioner condemned71 to his own rack.
The car insultingly cheerful on the driveway. The car door opened and banged shut, then the garage door slid open, grating on the sill, and the car door again. The motor raced for the climb up into the garage and raced once more, explosively, before it was shut off. A final opening and slamming of the car door. Silence then, a horrible silence filled with waiting, till the leisurely72 Mr. Doppelbrau had examined the state of his tires and had at last shut the garage door. Instantly, for Babbitt, a blessed state of oblivion.
IV
At that moment In the city of Zenith, Horace Updike was making love to Lucile McKelvey in her mauve drawing-room on Royal Ridge73, after their return from a lecture by an eminent74 English novelist. Updike was Zenith's professional bachelor; a slim-waisted man of forty-six with an effeminate voice and taste in flowers, cretonnes, and flappers. Mrs. McKelvey was red-haired, creamy, discontented, exquisite, rude, and honest. Updike tried his invariable first maneuver—touching her nervous wrist.
“Don't be an idiot!” she said.
“No! That's what I mind!”
He changed to conversation. He was famous at conversation. He spoke reasonably of psychoanalysis, Long Island polo, and the Ming platter he had found in Vancouver. She promised to meet him in Deauville, the coming summer, “though,” she sighed, “it's becoming too dreadfully banal76; nothing but Americans and frowsy English baronesses77.”
And at that moment in Zenith, a cocaine-runner and a prostitute were drinking cocktails78 in Healey Hanson's saloon on Front Street. Since national prohibition79 was now in force, and since Zenith was notoriously law-abiding, they were compelled to keep the cocktails innocent by drinking them out of tea-cups. The lady threw her cup at the cocaine-runner's head. He worked his revolver out of the pocket in his sleeve, and casually80 murdered her.
At that moment in Zenith, two men sat in a laboratory. For thirty-seven hours now they had been working on a report of their investigations81 of synthetic82 rubber.
At that moment in Zenith, there was a conference of four union officials as to whether the twelve thousand coal-miners within a hundred miles of the city should strike. Of these men one resembled a testy83 and prosperous grocer, one a Yankee carpenter, one a soda-clerk, and one a Russian Jewish actor The Russian Jew quoted Kautsky, Gene84 Debs, and Abraham Lincoln.
At that moment a G. A. R. veteran was dying. He had come from the Civil War straight to a farm which, though it was officially within the city-limits of Zenith, was primitive85 as the backwoods. He had never ridden in a motor car, never seen a bath-tub, never read any book save the Bible, McGuffey's readers, and religious tracts86; and he believed that the earth is flat, that the English are the Lost Ten Tribes of Israel, and that the United States is a democracy.
At that moment the steel and cement town which composed the factory of the Pullmore Tractor Company of Zenith was running on night shift to fill an order of tractors for the Polish army. It hummed like a million bees, glared through its wide windows like a volcano. Along the high wire fences, searchlights played on cinder-lined yards, switch-tracks, and armed guards on patrol.
At that moment Mike Monday was finishing a meeting. Mr. Monday, the distinguished87 evangelist, the best-known Protestant pontiff in America, had once been a prize-fighter. Satan had not dealt justly with him. As a prize-fighter he gained nothing but his crooked88 nose, his celebrated89 vocabulary, and his stage-presence. The service of the Lord had been more profitable. He was about to retire with a fortune. It had been well earned, for, to quote his last report, “Rev. Mr. Monday, the Prophet with a Punch, has shown that he is the world's greatest salesman of salvation90, and that by efficient organization the overhead of spiritual regeneration may be kept down to an unprecedented91 rock-bottom basis. He has converted over two hundred thousand lost and priceless souls at an average cost of less than ten dollars a head.”
Of the larger cities of the land, only Zenith had hesitated to submit its vices92 to Mike Monday and his expert reclamation93 corps94. The more enterprising organizations of the city had voted to invite him—Mr. George F. Babbitt had once praised him in a speech at the Boosters' Club. But there was opposition95 from certain Episcopalian and Congregationalist ministers, those renegades whom Mr. Monday so finely called “a bunch of gospel-pushers with dish-water instead of blood, a gang of squealers that need more dust on the knees of their pants and more hair on their skinny old chests.” This opposition had been crushed when the secretary of the Chamber of Commerce had reported to a committee of manufacturers that in every city where he had appeared, Mr. Monday had turned the minds of workmen from wages and hours to higher things, and thus averted97 strikes. He was immediately invited.
An expense fund of forty thousand dollars had been underwritten; out on the County Fair Grounds a Mike Monday Tabernacle had been erected98, to seat fifteen thousand people. In it the prophet was at this moment concluding his message:
“There's a lot of smart college professors and tea-guzzling slobs in this burg that say I'm a roughneck and a never-wuzzer and my knowledge of history is not-yet. Oh, there's a gang of woolly-whiskered book-lice that think they know more than Almighty99 God, and prefer a lot of Hun science and smutty German criticism to the straight and simple Word of God. Oh, there's a swell100 bunch of Lizzie boys and lemon-suckers and pie-faces and infidels and beer-bloated scribblers that love to fire off their filthy101 mouths and yip that Mike Monday is vulgar and full of mush. Those pups are saying now that I hog3 the gospel-show, that I'm in it for the coin. Well, now listen, folks! I'm going to give those birds a chance! They can stand right up here and tell me to my face that I'm a galoot and a liar70 and a hick! Only if they do—if they do!—don't faint with surprise if some of those rum-dumm liars102 get one good swift poke50 from Mike, with all the kick of God's Flaming Righteousness behind the wallop! Well, come on, folks! Who says it? Who says Mike Monday is a fourflush and a yahoo? Huh? Don't I see anybody standing103 up? Well, there you are! Now I guess the folks in this man's town will quit listening to all this kyoodling from behind the fence; I guess you'll quit listening to the guys that pan and roast and kick and beef, and vomit104 out filthy atheism105; and all of you 'll come in, with every grain of pep and reverence106 you got, and boost all together for Jesus Christ and his everlasting107 mercy and tenderness!”
At that moment Seneca Doane, the radical108 lawyer, and Dr. Kurt Yavitch, the histologist (whose report on the destruction of epithelial cells under radium had made the name of Zenith known in Munich, Prague, and Rome), were talking in Doane's library.
“Zenith's a city with gigantic power—gigantic buildings, gigantic machines, gigantic transportation,” meditated109 Doane.
“I hate your city. It has standardized110 all the beauty out of life. It is one big railroad station—with all the people taking tickets for the best cemeteries,” Dr. Yavitch said placidly111.
Doane roused. “I'm hanged if it is! You make me sick, Kurt, with your perpetual whine112 about 'standardization113.' Don't you suppose any other nation is 'standardized?' Is anything more standardized than England, with every house that can afford it having the same muffins at the same tea-hour, and every retired115 general going to exactly the same evensong at the same gray stone church with a square tower, and every golfing prig in Harris tweeds saying 'Right you are!' to every other prosperous ass11? Yet I love England. And for standardization—just look at the sidewalk cafes in France and the love-making in Italy!
“Standardization is excellent, per se. When I buy an Ingersoll watch or a Ford114, I get a better tool for less money, and I know precisely what I'm getting, and that leaves me more time and energy to be individual in. And—I remember once in London I saw a picture of an American suburb, in a toothpaste ad on the back of the Saturday Evening Post—an elm-lined snowy street of these new houses, Georgian some of 'em, or with low raking roofs and—The kind of street you'd find here in Zenith, say in Floral Heights. Open. Trees. Grass. And I was homesick! There's no other country in the world that has such pleasant houses. And I don't care if they ARE standardized. It's a corking116 standard!
“No, what I fight in Zenith is standardization of thought, and, of course, the traditions of competition. The real villains117 of the piece are the clean, kind, industrious118 Family Men who use every known brand of trickery and cruelty to insure the prosperity of their cubs119. The worst thing about these fellows is that they're so good and, in their work at least, so intelligent. You can't hate them properly, and yet their standardized minds are the enemy.
“Then this boosting—Sneakingly I have a notion that Zenith is a better place to live in than Manchester or Glasgow or Lyons or Berlin or Turin—”
“It is not, and I have lift in most of them,” murmured Dr. Yavitch.
“Well, matter of taste. Personally, I prefer a city with a future so unknown that it excites my imagination. But what I particularly want—”
“You,” said Dr. Yavitch, “are a middle-road liberal, and you haven't the slightest idea what you want. I, being a revolutionist, know exactly what I want—and what I want now is a drink.”
VI
At that moment in Zenith, Jake Offutt, the politician, and Henry T. Thompson were in conference. Offutt suggested, “The thing to do is to get your fool son-in-law, Babbitt, to put it over. He's one of these patriotic120 guys. When he grabs a piece of property for the gang, he makes it look like we were dyin' of love for the dear peepul, and I do love to buy respectability—reasonable. Wonder how long we can keep it up, Hank? We're safe as long as the good little boys like George Babbitt and all the nice respectable labor-leaders think you and me are rugged121 patriots122. There's swell pickings for an honest politician here, Hank: a whole city working to provide cigars and fried chicken and dry martinis for us, and rallying to our banner with indignation, oh, fierce indignation, whenever some squealer96 like this fellow Seneca Doane comes along! Honest, Hank, a smart codger like me ought to be ashamed of himself if he didn't milk cattle like them, when they come around mooing for it! But the Traction123 gang can't get away with grand larceny124 like it used to. I wonder when—Hank, I wish we could fix some way to run this fellow Seneca Doane out of town. It's him or us!”
At that moment in Zenith, three hundred and forty or fifty thousand Ordinary People were asleep, a vast unpenetrated shadow. In the slum beyond the railroad tracks, a young man who for six months had sought work turned on the gas and killed himself and his wife.
At that moment Lloyd Mallam, the poet, owner of the Hafiz Book Shop, was finishing a rondeau to show how diverting was life amid the feuds125 of medieval Florence, but how dull it was in so obvious a place as Zenith.
And at that moment George F. Babbitt turned ponderously126 in bed—the last turn, signifying that he'd had enough of this worried business of falling asleep and was about it in earnest.
Instantly he was in the magic dream. He was somewhere among unknown people who laughed at him. He slipped away, ran down the paths of a midnight garden, and at the gate the fairy child was waiting. Her dear and tranquil127 hand caressed128 his cheek. He was gallant129 and wise and well-beloved; warm ivory were her arms; and beyond perilous moors130 the brave sea glittered.
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1
enviously
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| adv.满怀嫉妒地 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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ted
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| vt.翻晒，撒，撒开 | |
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caption
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| n.说明，字幕，标题；v.加上标题，加上说明 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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demure
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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ass
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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briskness
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contented
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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gregarious
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jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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nibbling
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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malicious
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astounded
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piously
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gulped
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discoursing
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perplexed
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fumbling
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perilous
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clumped
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treacherous
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reverted
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thriftily
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dismal
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luxurious
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snugly
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squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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melancholy
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lulled
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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mosses
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| n. 藓类, 苔藓植物 名词moss的复数形式 | |
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43
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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44
dulcet
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| adj.悦耳的 | |
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45
dribble
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| v.点滴留下，流口水；n.口水 | |
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46
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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47
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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48
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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49
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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50
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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51
rinsed
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| v.漂洗( rinse的过去式和过去分词 )；冲洗；用清水漂洗掉（肥皂泡等）；（用清水）冲掉 | |
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52
austerely
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| adv.严格地，朴质地 | |
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53
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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54
melodrama
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| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
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55
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
elk
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| n.麋鹿 | |
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57
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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58
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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59
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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60
tariff
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| n.关税，税率；(旅馆、饭店等)价目表，收费表 | |
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61
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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62
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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63
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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64
undertakings
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| 企业( undertaking的名词复数 )； 保证； 殡仪业； 任务 | |
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65
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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66
virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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67
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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68
relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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69
lamenting
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| adj.悲伤的，悲哀的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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70
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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71
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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72
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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73
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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74
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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75
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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76
banal
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| adj.陈腐的，平庸的 | |
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77
baronesses
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| n.女男爵( baroness的名词复数 )；男爵夫人[寡妇] | |
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78
cocktails
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| n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 )；餐前开胃菜；混合物 | |
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79
prohibition
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| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
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80
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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81
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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82
synthetic
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| adj.合成的，人工的；综合的；n.人工制品 | |
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83
testy
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| adj.易怒的；暴躁的 | |
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84
gene
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| n.遗传因子，基因 | |
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85
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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86
tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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87
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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88
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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89
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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90
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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91
unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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92
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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93
reclamation
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| n.开垦；改造；（废料等的）回收 | |
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94
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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95
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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96
squealer
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| 发出尖叫声的人；雏鸽；小松鸡；小鹌鹑 | |
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97
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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98
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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99
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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100
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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101
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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102
liars
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| 说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
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103
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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104
vomit
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| v.呕吐，作呕；n.呕吐物，吐出物 | |
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105
atheism
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| n.无神论，不信神 | |
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106
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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107
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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108
radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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109
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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110
standardized
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| adj.标准化的 | |
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111
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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112
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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113
standardization
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| n.标准化 | |
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114
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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115
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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116
corking
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| adj.很好的adv.非常地v.用瓶塞塞住( cork的现在分词 ) | |
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117
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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118
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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119
cubs
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| n.幼小的兽，不懂规矩的年轻人( cub的名词复数 ) | |
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120
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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121
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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122
patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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123
traction
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| n.牵引；附着摩擦力 | |
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124
larceny
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| n.盗窃（罪） | |
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125
feuds
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| n.长期不和，世仇( feud的名词复数 ) | |
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126
ponderously
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127
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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128
caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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130
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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