The Babbitts were calling on the Rieslings at the Arms. It was a speculative7 venture to call on the Rieslings; interesting and sometimes disconcerting. Zilla was an active, strident, full-blown, high-bosomed blonde. When she condescended8 to be good-humored she was nervously9 amusing. Her comments on people were saltily satiric10 and penetrative of accepted hypocrisies11. “That's so!” you said, and looked sheepish. She danced wildly, and called on the world to be merry, but in the midst of it she would turn indignant. She was always becoming indignant. Life was a plot against her and she exposed it furiously.
She was affable to-night. She merely hinted that Orville Jones wore a toupe, that Mrs. T. Cholmondeley Frink's singing resembled a Ford12 going into high, and that the Hon. Otis Deeble, mayor of Zenith and candidate for Congress, was a flatulent fool (which was quite true). The Babbitts and Rieslings sat doubtfully on stone-hard brocade chairs in the small living-room of the flat, with its mantel unprovided with a fireplace, and its strip of heavy gilt13 fabric14 upon a glaring new player-piano, till Mrs. Riesling shrieked15, “Come on! Let's put some pep in it! Get out your fiddle16, Paul, and I'll try to make Georgie dance decently.”
The Babbitts were in earnest. They were plotting for the escape to Maine. But when Mrs. Babbitt hinted with plump smilingness, “Does Paul get as tired after the winter's work as Georgie does?” then Zilla remembered an injury; and when Zilla Riesling remembered an injury the world stopped till something had been done about it.
“Does he get tired? No, he doesn't get tired, he just goes crazy, that's all! You think Paul is so reasonable, oh, yes, and he loves to make out he's a little lamb, but he's stubborn as a mule17. Oh, if you had to live with him—! You'd find out how sweet he is! He just pretends to be meek18 so he can have his own way. And me, I get the credit for being a terrible old crank, but if I didn't blow up once in a while and get something started, we'd die of dry-rot. He never wants to go any place and—Why, last evening, just because the car was out of order—and that was his fault, too, because he ought to have taken it to the service-station and had the battery looked at—and he didn't want to go down to the movies on the trolley19. But we went, and then there was one of those impudent20 conductors, and Paul wouldn't do a thing.
“I was standing21 on the platform waiting for the people to let me into the car, and this beast, this conductor, hollered at me, 'Come on, you, move up!' Why, I've never had anybody speak to me that way in all my life! I was so astonished I just turned to him and said—I thought there must be some mistake, and so I said to him, perfectly22 pleasant, 'Were you speaking to me?' and he went on and bellowed23 at me, 'Yes, I was! You're keeping the whole car from starting!' he said, and then I saw he was one of these dirty ill-bred hogs24 that kindness is wasted on, and so I stopped and looked right at him, and I said, 'I—beg—your—pardon, I am not doing anything of the kind,' I said, 'it's the people ahead of me, who won't move up,' I said, 'and furthermore, let me tell you, young man, that you're a low-down, foul-mouthed, impertinent skunk,' I said, 'and you're no gentleman! I certainly intend to report you, and we'll see,' I said, 'whether a lady is to be insulted by any drunken bum25 that chooses to put on a ragged26 uniform, and I'd thank you,' I said, 'to keep your filthy27 abuse to yourself.' And then I waited for Paul to show he was half a man and come to my defense28, and he just stood there and pretended he hadn't heard a word, and so I said to him, 'Well,' I said—”
“Oh, cut it, cut it, Zill!” Paul groaned29. “We all know I'm a mollycoddle30, and you're a tender bud, and let's let it go at that.”
“Let it go?” Zilla's face was wrinkled like the Medusa, her voice was a dagger31 of corroded32 brass33. She was full of the joy of righteousness and bad temper. She was a crusader and, like every crusader, she exulted34 in the opportunity to be vicious in the name of virtue35. “Let it go? If people knew how many things I've let go—”
“Yes, a fine figure you'd cut if I didn't bully you! You'd lie abed till noon and play your idiotic37 fiddle till midnight! You're born lazy, and you're born shiftless, and you're born cowardly, Paul Riesling—”
“Oh, now, don't say that, Zilla; you don't mean a word of it!” protested Mrs. Babbitt.
“I will say that, and I mean every single last word of it!”
“Oh, now, Zilla, the idea!” Mrs. Babbitt was maternal38 and fussy39. She was no older than Zilla, but she seemed so—at first. She was placid40 and puffy and mature, where Zilla, at forty-five, was so bleached41 and tight-corseted that you knew only that she was older than she looked. “The idea of talking to poor Paul like that!”
“Poor Paul is right! We'd both be poor, we'd be in the poorhouse, if I didn't jazz him up!”
“Why, now, Zilla, Georgie and I were just saying how hard Paul's been working all year, and we were thinking it would be lovely if the Boys could run off by themselves. I've been coaxing42 George to go up to Maine ahead of the rest of us, and get the tired out of his system before we come, and I think it would be lovely if Paul could manage to get away and join him.”
At this exposure of his plot to escape, Paul was startled out of impassivity. He rubbed his fingers. His hands twitched43.
Zilla bayed, “Yes! You're lucky! You can let George go, and not have to watch him. Fat old Georgie! Never peeps at another woman! Hasn't got the spunk44!”
“The hell I haven't!” Babbitt was fervently45 defending his priceless immorality46 when Paul interrupted him—and Paul looked dangerous. He rose quickly; he said gently to Zilla:
“I suppose you imply I have a lot of sweethearts.”
“Yes, I do!”
“Well, then, my dear, since you ask for it—There hasn't been a time in the last ten years when I haven't found some nice little girl to comfort me, and as long as you continue your amiability47 I shall probably continue to deceive you. It isn't hard. You're so stupid.”
Zilla gibbered; she howled; words could not be distinguished48 in her slaver of abuse.
Then the bland49 George F. Babbitt was transformed. If Paul was dangerous, if Zilla was a snake-locked fury, if the neat emotions suitable to the Revelstoke Arms had been slashed50 into raw hatreds51, it was Babbitt who was the most formidable. He leaped up. He seemed very large. He seized Zilla's shoulder. The cautions of the broker52 were wiped from his face, and his voice was cruel:
“I've had enough of all this damn nonsense! I've known you for twenty-five years, Zil, and I never knew you to miss a chance to take your disappointments out on Paul. You're not wicked. You're worse. You're a fool. And let me tell you that Paul is the finest boy God ever made. Every decent person is sick and tired of your taking advantage of being a woman and springing every mean innuendo53 you can think of. Who the hell are you that a person like Paul should have to ask your PERMISSION to go with me? You act like you were a combination of Queen Victoria and Cleopatra. You fool, can't you see how people snicker at you, and sneer54 at you?”
“No, but that's the way they talk behind your back! Always! They say you're a scolding old woman. Old, by God!”
That cowardly attack broke her. Her eyes were blank. She wept. But Babbitt glared stolidly56. He felt that he was the all-powerful official in charge; that Paul and Mrs. Babbitt looked on him with awe57; that he alone could handle this case.
“They certainly do!”
“I've been a bad woman! I'm terribly sorry! I'll kill myself! I'll do anything. Oh, I'll—What do you want?”
She abased59 herself completely. Also, she enjoyed it. To the connoisseur60 of scenes, nothing is more enjoyable than a thorough, melodramatic, egoistic humility61.
“I want you to let Paul beat it off to Maine with me,” Babbitt demanded.
“How can I help his going? You've just said I was an idiot and nobody paid any attention to me.”
“Oh, you can help it, all right, all right! What you got to do is to cut out hinting that the minute he gets out of your sight, he'll go chasing after some petticoat. Matter fact, that's the way you start the boy off wrong. You ought to have more sense—”
“Oh, I will, honestly, I will, George. I know I was bad. Oh, forgive me, all of you, forgive me—”
She enjoyed it.
So did Babbitt. He condemned62 magnificently and forgave piously63, and as he went parading out with his wife he was grandly explanatory to her:
“Kind of a shame to bully Zilla, but course it was the only way to handle her. Gosh, I certainly did have her crawling!”
She said calmly, “Yes. You were horrid64. You were showing off. You were having a lovely time thinking what a great fine person you were!”
“Well, by golly! Can you beat it! Of course I might of expected you to not stand by me! I might of expected you'd stick up for your own sex!”
“Yes. Poor Zilla, she's so unhappy. She takes it out on Paul. She hasn't a single thing to do, in that little flat. And she broods too much. And she used to be so pretty and gay, and she resents losing it. And you were just as nasty and mean as you could be. I'm not a bit proud of you—or of Paul, boasting about his horrid love-affairs!”
He was sulkily silent; he maintained his bad temper at a high level of outraged65 nobility all the four blocks home. At the door he left her, in self-approving haughtiness66, and tramped the lawn.
With a shock it was revealed to him: “Gosh, I wonder if she was right—if she was partly right?” Overwork must have flayed67 him to abnormal sensitiveness; it was one of the few times in his life when he had queried68 his eternal excellence69; and he perceived the summer night, smelled the wet grass. Then: “I don't care! I've pulled it off. We're going to have our spree. And for Paul, I'd do anything.”
II
They were buying their Maine tackle at Ijams Brothers', the Sporting Goods Mart, with the help of Willis Ijams, fellow member of the Boosters' Club. Babbitt was completely mad. He trumpeted70 and danced. He muttered to Paul, “Say, this is pretty good, eh? To be buying the stuff, eh? And good old Willis Ijams himself coming down on the floor to wait on us! Say, if those fellows that are getting their kit3 for the North Lakes knew we were going clear up to Maine, they'd have a fit, eh? . . . Well, come on, Brother Ijams—Willis, I mean. Here's your chance! We're a couple of easy marks! Whee! Let me at it! I'm going to buy out the store!”
He gloated on fly-rods and gorgeous rubber hip-boots, on tents with celluloid windows and folding chairs and ice-boxes. He simple-heartedly wanted to buy all of them. It was the Paul whom he was always vaguely71 protecting who kept him from his drunken desires.
But even Paul lightened when Willis Ijams, a salesman with poetry and diplomacy72, discussed flies. “Now, of course, you boys know.” he said, “the great scrap73 is between dry flies and wet flies. Personally, I'm for dry flies. More sporting.”
“That's so. Lots more sporting,” fulminated Babbitt, who knew very little about flies either wet or dry.
“Now if you'll take my advice, Georgie, you'll stock up well on these pale evening dims, and silver sedges, and red ants. Oh, boy, there's a fly, that red ant!”
“You bet! That's what it is—a fly!” rejoiced Babbitt.
“Yes, sir, that red ant,” said Ijams, “is a real honest-to-God FLY!”
“Oh, I guess ole Mr. Trout74 won't come a-hustling when I drop one of those red ants on the water!” asserted Babbitt, and his thick wrists made a rapturous motion of casting.
“Yes, and the landlocked salmon75 will take it, too,” said Ijams, who had never seen a landlocked salmon.
“Salmon! Trout! Say, Paul, can you see Uncle George with his khaki pants on haulin' 'em in, some morning 'bout6 seven? Whee!”
III
They were on the New York express, incredibly bound for Maine, incredibly without their families. They were free, in a man's world, in the smoking-compartment of the Pullman.
Outside the car window was a glaze76 of darkness stippled77 with the gold of infrequent mysterious lights. Babbitt was immensely conscious, in the sway and authoritative78 clatter79 of the train, of going, of going on. Leaning toward Paul he grunted80, “Gosh, pretty nice to be hiking, eh?”
The small room, with its walls of ocher-colored steel, was filled mostly with the sort of men he classified as the Best Fellows You'll Ever Meet—Real Good Mixers. There were four of them on the long seat; a fat man with a shrewd fat face, a knife-edged man in a green velour hat, a very young young man with an imitation amber81 cigarette-holder, and Babbitt. Facing them, on two movable leather chairs, were Paul and a lanky82, old-fashioned man, very cunning, with wrinkles bracketing his mouth. They all read newspapers or trade journals, boot-and-shoe journals, crockery journals, and waited for the joys of conversation. It was the very young man, now making his first journey by Pullman, who began it.
“Say, gee83, I had a wild old time in Zenith!” he gloried. “Say, if a fellow knows the ropes there he can have as wild a time as he can in New York!”
“Yuh, I bet you simply raised the old Ned. I figured you were a bad man when I saw you get on the train!” chuckled84 the fat one.
The others delightedly laid down their papers.
“Well, that's all right now! I guess I seen some things in the Arbor85 you never seen!” complained the boy.
“Oh, I'll bet you did! I bet you lapped up the malted milk like a reg'lar little devil!”
Then, the boy having served as introduction, they ignored him and charged into real talk. Only Paul, sitting by himself, reading at a serial86 story in a newspaper, failed to join them and all but Babbitt regarded him as a snob87, an eccentric, a person of no spirit.
Which of them said which has never been determined88, and does not matter, since they all had the same ideas and expressed them always with the same ponderous89 and brassy assurance. If it was not Babbitt who was delivering any given verdict, at least he was beaming on the chancellor90 who did deliver it.
“At that, though,” announced the first “they're selling quite some booze in Zenith. Guess they are everywhere. I don't know how you fellows feel about prohibition91, but the way it strikes me is that it's a mighty92 beneficial thing for the poor zob that hasn't got any will-power but for fellows like us, it's an infringement93 of personal liberty.”
“That's a fact. Congress has got no right to interfere94 with a fellow's personal liberty,” contended the second.
A man came in from the car, but as all the seats were full he stood up while he smoked his cigarette. He was an Outsider; he was not one of the Old Families of the smoking-compartment. They looked upon him bleakly95 and, after trying to appear at ease by examining his chin in the mirror, he gave it up and went out in silence.
“Just been making a trip through the South. Business conditions not very good down there,” said one of the council.
“Is that a fact! Not very good, eh?”
“No, didn't strike me they were up to normal.”
“Not up to normal, eh?”
“No, I wouldn't hardly say they were.”
“Well, business conditions ain't what they ought to be out West, neither, not by a long shot.”
“That's a fact. And I guess the hotel business feels it. That's one good thing, though: these hotels that've been charging five bucks98 a day—yes, and maybe six—seven!—for a rotten room are going to be darn glad to get four, and maybe give you a little service.”
“That's a fact. Say, uh, speaknubout hotels, I hit the St. Francis at San Francisco for the first time, the other day, and, say, it certainly is a first-class place.”
“That's a fact. I'm right with you. It's a first-class place.”
“Yuh, but say, any of you fellows ever stay at the Rippleton, in Chicago? I don't want to knock—I believe in boosting wherever you can—but say, of all the rotten dumps that pass 'emselves off as first-class hotels, that's the worst. I'm going to get those guys, one of these days, and I told 'em so. You know how I am—well, maybe you don't know, but I'm accustomed to first-class accommodations, and I'm perfectly willing to pay a reasonable price. I got into Chicago late the other night, and the Rippleton's near the station—I'd never been there before, but I says to the taxi-driver—I always believe in taking a taxi when you get in late; may cost a little more money, but, gosh, it's worth it when you got to be up early next morning and out selling a lot of crabs—and I said to him, 'Oh, just drive me over to the Rippleton.'
“Well, we got there, and I breezed up to the desk and said to the clerk, 'Well, brother, got a nice room with bath for Cousin Bill?' Saaaay! You'd 'a' thought I'd sold him a second, or asked him to work on Yom Kippur! He hands me the cold-boiled stare and yaps, 'I dunno, friend, I'll see,' and he ducks behind the rigamajig they keep track of the rooms on. Well, I guess he called up the Credit Association and the American Security League to see if I was all right—he certainly took long enough—or maybe he just went to sleep; but finally he comes out and looks at me like it hurts him, and croaks100, 'I think I can let you have a room with bath.' 'Well, that's awful nice of you—sorry to trouble you—how much 'll it set me back?' I says, real sweet. 'It'll cost you seven bucks a day, friend,' he says.
“Well, it was late, and anyway, it went down on my expense-account—gosh, if I'd been paying it instead of the firm, I'd 'a' tramped the streets all night before I'd 'a' let any hick tavern101 stick me seven great big round dollars, believe me! So I lets it go at that. Well, the clerk wakes a nice young bell hop—fine lad—not a day over seventy-nine years old—fought at the Battle of Gettysburg and doesn't know it's over yet—thought I was one of the Confederates, I guess, from the way he looked at me—and Rip van Winkle took me up to something—I found out afterwards they called it a room, but first I thought there'd been some mistake—I thought they were putting me in the Salvation102 Army collection-box! At seven per each and every diem! Gosh!”
“Yuh, I've heard the Rippleton was pretty cheesy. Now, when I go to Chicago I always stay at the Blackstone or the La Salle—first-class places.”
“Say, any of you fellows ever stay at the Birchdale at Terre Haute? How is it?”
“Oh, the Birchdale is a first-class hotel.”
(Twelve minutes of conference on the state of hotels in South Bend, Flint, Dayton, Tulsa, Wichita, Fort Worth, Winona, Erie, Fargo, and Moose Jaw103.)
“Speaknubout prices,” the man in the velour hat observed, fingering the elk-tooth on his heavy watch-chain, “I'd like to know where they get this stuff about clothes coming down. Now, you take this suit I got on.” He pinched his trousers-leg. “Four years ago I paid forty-two fifty for it, and it was real sure-'nough value. Well, here the other day I went into a store back home and asked to see a suit, and the fellow yanks out some hand-me-downs that, honest, I wouldn't put on a hired man. Just out of curiosity I asks him, 'What you charging for that junk?' 'Junk,' he says, 'what d' you mean junk? That's a swell piece of goods, all wool—' Like hell! It was nice vegetable wool, right off the Ole Plantation104! 'It's all wool,' he says, 'and we get sixty-seven ninety for it.' 'Oh, you do, do you!' I says. 'Not from me you don't,' I says, and I walks right out on him. You bet! I says to the wife, 'Well,' I said, 'as long as your strength holds out and you can go on putting a few more patches on papa's pants, we'll just pass up buying clothes.”'
“That's right, brother. And just look at collars, frinstance—”
“Hey! Wait!” the fat man protested. “What's the matter with collars? I'm selling collars! D' you realize the cost of labor105 on collars is still two hundred and seven per cent. above—”
They voted that if their old friend the fat man sold collars, then the price of collars was exactly what it should be; but all other clothing was tragically106 too expensive. They admired and loved one another now. They went profoundly into the science of business, and indicated that the purpose of manufacturing a plow107 or a brick was so that it might be sold. To them, the Romantic Hero was no longer the knight108, the wandering poet, the cowpuncher, the aviator109, nor the brave young district attorney, but the great sales-manager, who had an Analysis of Merchandizing Problems on his glass-topped desk, whose title of nobility was “Go-getter,” and who devoted110 himself and all his young samurai to the cosmic purpose of Selling—not of selling anything in particular, for or to anybody in particular, but pure Selling.
The shop-talk roused Paul Riesling. Though he was a player of violins and an interestingly unhappy husband, he was also a very able salesman of tar-roofing. He listened to the fat man's remarks on “the value of house-organs and bulletins as a method of jazzing-up the Boys out on the road;” and he himself offered one or two excellent thoughts on the use of two-cent stamps on circulars. Then he committed an offense111 against the holy law of the Clan112 of Good Fellows. He became highbrow.
They were entering a city. On the outskirts113 they passed a steel-mill which flared114 in scarlet115 and orange flame that licked at the cadaverous stacks, at the iron-sheathed walls and sullen116 converters.
“My Lord, look at that—beautiful!” said Paul.
“You bet it's beautiful, friend. That's the Shelling-Horton Steel Plant, and they tell me old John Shelling made a good three million bones out of munitions117 during the war!” the man with the velour hat said reverently118.
“I didn't mean—I mean it's lovely the way the light pulls that picturesque119 yard, all littered with junk, right out of the darkness,” said Paul.
They stared at him, while Babbitt crowed, “Paul there has certainly got one great little eye for picturesque places and quaint120 sights and all that stuff. 'D of been an author or something if he hadn't gone into the roofing line.”
Paul looked annoyed. (Babbitt sometimes wondered if Paul appreciated his loyal boosting.) The man in the velour hat grunted, “Well, personally, I think Shelling-Horton keep their works awful dirty. Bum routing. But I don't suppose there's any law against calling 'em 'picturesque' if it gets you that way!”
Paul sulkily returned to his newspaper and the conversation logically moved on to trains.
“What time do we get into Pittsburg?” asked Babbitt.
“Pittsburg? I think we get in at—no, that was last year's schedule—wait a minute—let's see—got a time-table right here.”
“I wonder if we're on time?”
“Yuh, sure, we must be just about on time.”
“No, we aren't—we were seven minutes late, last station.”
“Were we? Straight? Why, gosh, I thought we were right on time.”
“No, we're about seven minutes late.”
“Yuh, that's right; seven minutes late.”
The porter entered—a negro in white jacket with brass buttons.
“'Deed, I don't know, sir. I think we're about on time,” said the porter, folding towels and deftly122 tossing them up on the rack above the washbowls. The council stared at him gloomily and when he was gone they wailed123:
“I don't know what's come over these niggers, nowadays. They never give you a civil answer.”
“That's a fact. They're getting so they don't have a single bit of respect for you. The old-fashioned coon was a fine old cuss—he knew his place—but these young dinges don't want to be porters or cotton-pickers. Oh, no! They got to be lawyers and professors and Lord knows what all! I tell you, it's becoming a pretty serious problem. We ought to get together and show the black man, yes, and the yellow man, his place. Now, I haven't got one particle of race-prejudice. I'm the first to be glad when a nigger succeeds—so long as he stays where he belongs and doesn't try to usurp124 the rightful authority and business ability of the white man.”
“That's the i.! And another thing we got to do,” said the man with the velour hat (whose name was Koplinsky), “is to keep these damn foreigners out of the country. Thank the Lord, we're putting a limit on immigration. These Dagoes and Hunkies have got to learn that this is a white man's country, and they ain't wanted here. When we've assimilated the foreigners we got here now and learned 'em the principles of Americanism and turned 'em into regular folks, why then maybe we'll let in a few more.”
“You bet. That's a fact,” they observed, and passed on to lighter125 topics. They rapidly reviewed motor-car prices, tire-mileage, oil-stocks, fishing, and the prospects126 for the wheat-crop in Dakota.
But the fat man was impatient at this waste of time. He was a veteran traveler and free of illusions. Already he had asserted that he was “an old he-one.” He leaned forward, gathered in their attention by his expression of sly humor, and grumbled127, “Oh, hell, boys, let's cut out the formality and get down to the stories!”
They became very lively and intimate.
Paul and the boy vanished. The others slid forward on the long seat, unbuttoned their vests, thrust their feet up on the chairs, pulled the stately brass cuspidors nearer, and ran the green window-shade down on its little trolley, to shut them in from the uncomfortable strangeness of night. After each bark of laughter they cried, “Say, jever hear the one about—” Babbitt was expansive and virile128. When the train stopped at an important station, the four men walked up and down the cement platform, under the vast smoky train-shed roof, like a stormy sky, under the elevated footways, beside crates129 of ducks and sides of beef, in the mystery of an unknown city. They strolled abreast130, old friends and well content. At the long-drawn “Alllll aboarrrrrd”—like a mountain call at dusk—they hastened back into the smoking-compartment, and till two of the morning continued the droll131 tales, their eyes damp with cigar-smoke and laughter. When they parted they shook hands, and chuckled, “Well, sir, it's been a great session. Sorry to bust132 it up. Mighty glad to met you.”
Babbitt lay awake in the close hot tomb of his Pullman berth133, shaking with remembrance of the fat man's limerick about the lady who wished to be wild. He raised the shade; he lay with a puffy arm tucked between his head and the skimpy pillow, looking out on the sliding silhouettes134 of trees, and village lamps like exclamation-points. He was very happy.
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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condensation
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| n.压缩，浓缩；凝结的水珠 | |
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kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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intermittently
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| adv.间歇地；断断续续 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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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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nervously
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satiric
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hypocrisies
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| n.伪善，虚伪( hypocrisy的名词复数 ) | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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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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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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mule
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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19
trolley
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| n.手推车，台车；无轨电车；有轨电车 | |
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20
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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21
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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22
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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23
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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24
hogs
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| n.（尤指喂肥供食用的）猪( hog的名词复数 )；（供食用的）阉公猪；彻底地做某事；自私的或贪婪的人 | |
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25
bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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26
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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27
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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28
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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29
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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30
mollycoddle
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| v.溺爱，娇养 | |
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31
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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32
corroded
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| 已被腐蚀的 | |
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33
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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34
exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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36
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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37
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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38
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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39
fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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40
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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41
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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42
coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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43
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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44
spunk
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| n.勇气，胆量 | |
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45
fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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46
immorality
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| n. 不道德, 无道义 | |
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47
amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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48
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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49
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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50
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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51
hatreds
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| n.仇恨，憎恶( hatred的名词复数 )；厌恶的事 | |
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52
broker
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| n.中间人，经纪人；v.作为中间人来安排 | |
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53
innuendo
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| n.暗指，讽刺 | |
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54
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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55
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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56
stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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57
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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58
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
abased
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| 使谦卑( abase的过去式和过去分词 )； 使感到羞耻； 使降低（地位、身份等）； 降下 | |
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60
connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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61
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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62
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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63
piously
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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64
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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65
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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66
haughtiness
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| n.傲慢；傲气 | |
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67
flayed
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| v.痛打( flay的过去式和过去分词 )；把…打得皮开肉绽；剥（通常指动物）的皮；严厉批评 | |
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68
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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69
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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70
trumpeted
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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71
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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72
diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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73
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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74
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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75
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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76
glaze
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| v.因疲倦、疲劳等指眼睛变得呆滞，毫无表情 | |
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77
stippled
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| v.加点、绘斑，加粒( stipple的过去式和过去分词 )；（把油漆、水泥等的表面）弄粗糙 | |
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78
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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79
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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80
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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81
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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82
lanky
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| adj.瘦长的 | |
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83
gee
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| n.马；int.向右！前进！，惊讶时所发声音；v.向右转 | |
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84
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
arbor
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| n.凉亭；树木 | |
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86
serial
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| n.连本影片，连本电视节目；adj.连续的 | |
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87
snob
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| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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88
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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89
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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90
chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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91
prohibition
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| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
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92
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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93
infringement
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| n.违反；侵权 | |
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94
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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95
bleakly
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| 无望地，阴郁地，苍凉地 | |
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96
sagely
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| adv. 贤能地，贤明地 | |
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97
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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98
bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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99
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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100
croaks
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的第三人称单数 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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101
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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102
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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103
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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104
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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105
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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106
tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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107
plow
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| n.犁，耕地，犁过的地；v.犁，费力地前进[英]plough | |
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108
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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109
aviator
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| n.飞行家，飞行员 | |
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110
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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111
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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112
clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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113
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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114
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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115
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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116
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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117
munitions
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| n.军火，弹药；v.供应…军需品 | |
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118
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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119
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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120
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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121
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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122
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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123
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
usurp
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| vt.篡夺，霸占；vi.篡位 | |
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125
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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126
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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127
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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128
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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129
crates
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| n. 板条箱, 篓子, 旧汽车 vt. 装进纸条箱 | |
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130
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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131
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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132
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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133
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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134
silhouettes
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| 轮廓( silhouette的名词复数 )； （人的）体形； （事物的）形状； 剪影 | |
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