He was a stoutish3, fair man, in his shirt-sleeves; his movements were resolute4, his mouth firm and his tones final; but his round, rather babyish blue eyes had a bewildered and even wistful look that rather contradicted all this. Nor indeed was the expression altogether misleading. It might truly be said of him, as for many journalists in authority, that his most familiar emotion was one of continuous fear; fear of libel actions, fear of lost advertisements, fear of misprints, fear of the sack.
His life was a series of distracted compromises between the proprietor5 of the paper (and of him), who was a senile soap-boiler with three ineradicable mistakes in his mind, and the very able staff he had collected to run the paper; some of whom were brilliant and experienced men and (what was even worse) sincere enthusiasts6 for the political policy of the paper.
A letter from one of these lay immediately before him, and rapid and resolute as he was, he seemed almost to hesitate before opening it. He took up a strip of proof instead, ran down it with a blue eye, and a blue pencil, altered the word “adultery” to the word “impropriety,” and the word “Jew” to the word “Alien,” rang a bell and sent it flying upstairs.
Then, with a more thoughtful eye, he ripped open the letter from his more distinguished7 contributor, which bore a postmark of Devonshire, and read as follows:
DEAR NUTT,—As I see you’re working Spooks and Dooks at the same time, what about an article on that rum business of the Eyres of Exmoor; or as the old women call it down here, the Devil’s Ear of Eyre? The head of the family, you know, is the Duke of Exmoor; he is one of the few really stiff old Tory aristocrats8 left, a sound old crusted tyrant9 it is quite in our line to make trouble about. And I think I’m on the track of a story that will make trouble.
Of course I don’t believe in the old legend about James I; and as for you, you don’t believe in anything, not even in journalism10. The legend, you’ll probably remember, was about the blackest business in English history—the poisoning of Overbury by that witch’s cat Frances Howard, and the quite mysterious terror which forced the King to pardon the murderers. There was a lot of alleged11 witchcraft12 mixed up with it; and the story goes that a man-servant listening at the keyhole heard the truth in a talk between the King and Carr; and the bodily ear with which he heard grew large and monstrous13 as by magic, so awful was the secret. And though he had to be loaded with lands and gold and made an ancestor of dukes, the elf-shaped ear is still recurrent in the family. Well, you don’t believe in black magic; and if you did, you couldn’t use it for copy. If a miracle happened in your office, you’d have to hush14 it up, now so many bishops15 are agnostics. But that is not the point. The point is that there really is something queer about Exmoor and his family; something quite natural, I dare say, but quite abnormal. And the Ear is in it somehow, I fancy; either a symbol or a delusion16 or disease or something. Another tradition says that Cavaliers just after James I began to wear their hair long only to cover the ear of the first Lord Exmoor. This also is no doubt fanciful.
The reason I point it out to you is this: It seems to me that we make a mistake in attacking aristocracy entirely17 for its champagne18 and diamonds. Most men rather admire the nobs for having a good time, but I think we surrender too much when we admit that aristocracy has made even the aristocrats happy. I suggest a series of articles pointing out how dreary19, how inhuman20, how downright diabolist, is the very smell and atmosphere of some of these great houses. There are plenty of instances; but you couldn’t begin with a better one than the Ear of the Eyres. By the end of the week I think I can get you the truth about it.—Yours ever, FRANCIS FINN.
Mr Nutt reflected a moment, staring at his left boot; then he called out in a strong, loud and entirely lifeless voice, in which every syllable21 sounded alike: “Miss Barlow, take down a letter to Mr Finn, please.”
DEAR FINN,—I think it would do; copy should reach us second post Saturday.—Yours, E. NUTT.
This elaborate epistle he articulated as if it were all one word; and Miss Barlow rattled22 it down as if it were all one word. Then he took up another strip of proof and a blue pencil, and altered the word “supernatural” to the word “marvellous”, and the expression “shoot down” to the expression “repress”.
In such happy, healthful activities did Mr Nutt disport23 himself, until the ensuing Saturday found him at the same desk, dictating24 to the same typist, and using the same blue pencil on the first instalment of Mr Finn’s revelations. The opening was a sound piece of slashing25 invective26 about the evil secrets of princes, and despair in the high places of the earth. Though written violently, it was in excellent English; but the editor, as usual, had given to somebody else the task of breaking it up into sub-headings, which were of a spicier27 sort, as “Peeress and Poisons”, and “The Eerie28 Ear”, “The Eyres in their Eyrie”, and so on through a hundred happy changes. Then followed the legend of the Ear, amplified29 from Finn’s first letter, and then the substance of his later discoveries, as follows:
I know it is the practice of journalists to put the end of the story at the beginning and call it a headline. I know that journalism largely consists in saying “Lord Jones Dead” to people who never knew that Lord Jones was alive. Your present correspondent thinks that this, like many other journalistic customs, is bad journalism; and that the Daily Reformer has to set a better example in such things. He proposes to tell his story as it occurred, step by step. He will use the real names of the parties, who in most cases are ready to confirm his testimony30. As for the headlines, the sensational31 proclamations—they will come at the end.
I was walking along a public path that threads through a private Devonshire orchard32 and seems to point towards Devonshire cider, when I came suddenly upon just such a place as the path suggested. It was a long, low inn, consisting really of a cottage and two barns; thatched all over with the thatch33 that looks like brown and grey hair grown before history. But outside the door was a sign which called it the Blue Dragon; and under the sign was one of those long rustic34 tables that used to stand outside most of the free English inns, before teetotallers and brewers between them destroyed freedom. And at this table sat three gentlemen, who might have lived a hundred years ago.
Now that I know them all better, there is no difficulty about disentangling the impressions; but just then they looked like three very solid ghosts. The dominant35 figure, both because he was bigger in all three dimensions, and because he sat centrally in the length of the table, facing me, was a tall, fat man dressed completely in black, with a rubicund36, even apoplectic37 visage, but a rather bald and rather bothered brow. Looking at him again, more strictly38, I could not exactly say what it was that gave me the sense of antiquity39, except the antique cut of his white clerical necktie and the barred wrinkles across his brow.
It was even less easy to fix the impression in the case of the man at the right end of the table, who, to say truth, was as commonplace a person as could be seen anywhere, with a round, brown-haired head and a round snub nose, but also clad in clerical black, of a stricter cut. It was only when I saw his broad curved hat lying on the table beside him that I realized why I connected him with anything ancient. He was a Roman Catholic priest.
Perhaps the third man, at the other end of the table, had really more to do with it than the rest, though he was both slighter in physical presence and more inconsiderate in his dress. His lank40 limbs were clad, I might also say clutched, in very tight grey sleeves and pantaloons; he had a long, sallow, aquiline41 face which seemed somehow all the more saturnine42 because his lantern jaws43 were imprisoned44 in his collar and neck-cloth more in the style of the old stock; and his hair (which ought to have been dark brown) was of an odd dim, russet colour which, in conjunction with his yellow face, looked rather purple than red. The unobtrusive yet unusual colour was all the more notable because his hair was almost unnaturally45 healthy and curling, and he wore it full. But, after all analysis, I incline to think that what gave me my first old-fashioned impression was simply a set of tall, old-fashioned wine-glasses, one or two lemons and two churchwarden pipes. And also, perhaps, the old-world errand on which I had come.
Being a hardened reporter, and it being apparently46 a public inn, I did not need to summon much of my impudence47 to sit down at the long table and order some cider. The big man in black seemed very learned, especially about local antiquities48; the small man in black, though he talked much less, surprised me with a yet wider culture. So we got on very well together; but the third man, the old gentleman in the tight pantaloons, seemed rather distant and haughty49, until I slid into the subject of the Duke of Exmoor and his ancestry50.
I thought the subject seemed to embarrass the other two a little; but it broke the spell of the third man’s silence most successfully. Speaking with restraint and with the accent of a highly educated gentleman, and puffing51 at intervals53 at his long churchwarden pipe, he proceeded to tell me some of the most horrible stories I have ever heard in my life: how one of the Eyres in the former ages had hanged his own father; and another had his wife scourged54 at the cart tail through the village; and another had set fire to a church full of children, and so on.
Some of the tales, indeed, are not fit for public print—, such as the story of the Scarlet55 Nuns56, the abominable57 story of the Spotted58 Dog, or the thing that was done in the quarry59. And all this red roll of impieties60 came from his thin, genteel lips rather primly62 than otherwise, as he sat sipping63 the wine out of his tall, thin glass.
I could see that the big man opposite me was trying, if anything, to stop him; but he evidently held the old gentleman in considerable respect, and could not venture to do so at all abruptly64. And the little priest at the other end of the-table, though free from any such air of embarrassment65, looked steadily66 at the table, and seemed to listen to the recital67 with great pain—as well as he might.
“You don’t seem,” I said to the narrator, “to be very fond of the Exmoor pedigree.”
He looked at me a moment, his lips still prim61, but whitening and tightening68; then he deliberately69 broke his long pipe and glass on the table and stood up, the very picture of a perfect gentleman with the framing temper of a fiend.
“These gentlemen,” he said, “will tell you whether I have cause to like it. The curse of the Eyres of old has lain heavy on this country, and many have suffered from it. They know there are none who have suffered from it as I have.” And with that he crushed a piece of the fallen glass under his heel, and strode away among the green twilight70 of the twinkling apple-trees.
“That is an extraordinary old gentleman,” I said to the other two; “do you happen to know what the Exmoor family has done to him? Who is he?”
The big man in black was staring at me with the wild air of a baffled bull; he did not at first seem to take it in. Then he said at last, “Don’t you know who he is?”
I reaffirmed my ignorance, and there was another silence; then the little priest said, still looking at the table, “That is the Duke of Exmoor.”
Then, before I could collect my scattered71 senses, he added equally quietly, but with an air of regularizing things: “My friend here is Doctor Mull, the Duke’s librarian. My name is Brown.”
“He seems really to believe,” answered the priest called Brown, “that they have left a curse on him.” Then he added, with some irrelevance74, “That’s why he wears a wig75.”
It was a few moments before his meaning dawned on me. “You don’t mean that fable76 about the fantastic ear?” I demanded. “I’ve heard of it, of course, but surely it must be a superstitious77 yarn78 spun79 out of something much simpler. I’ve sometimes thought it was a wild version of one of those mutilation stories. They used to crop criminals’ ears in the sixteenth century.”
“I hardly think it was that,” answered the little man thoughtfully, “but it is not outside ordinary science or natural law for a family to have some deformity frequently reappearing—such as one ear bigger than the other.”
The big librarian had buried his big bald brow in his big red hands, like a man trying to think out his duty. “No,” he groaned80. “You do the man a wrong after all. Understand, I’ve no reason to defend him, or even keep faith with him. He has been a tyrant to me as to everybody else. Don’t fancy because you see him sitting here that he isn’t a great lord in the worst sense of the word. He would fetch a man a mile to ring a bell a yard off—if it would summon another man three miles to fetch a matchbox three yards off. He must have a footman to carry his walking-stick; a body servant to hold up his opera-glasses—”
“But not a valet to brush his clothes,” cut in the priest, with a curious dryness, “for the valet would want to brush his wig, too.”
The librarian turned to him and seemed to forget my presence; he was strongly moved and, I think, a little heated with wine. “I don’t know how you know it, Father Brown,” he said, “but you are right. He lets the whole world do everything for him—except dress him. And that he insists on doing in a literal solitude81 like a desert. Anybody is kicked out of the house without a character who is so much as found near his dressing-room door.
“He seems a pleasant old party,” I remarked.
“No,” replied Dr Mull quite simply; “and yet that is just what I mean by saying you are unjust to him after all. Gentlemen, the Duke does really feel the bitterness about the curse that he uttered just now. He does, with sincere shame and terror, hide under that purple wig something he thinks it would blast the sons of man to see. I know it is so; and I know it is not a mere73 natural disfigurement, like a criminal mutilation, or a hereditary82 disproportion in the features. I know it is worse than that; because a man told me who was present at a scene that no man could invent, where a stronger man than any of us tried to defy the secret, and was scared away from it.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Mull went on in oblivion of me, speaking out of the cavern83 of his hands. “I don’t mind telling you, Father, because it’s really more defending the poor Duke than giving him away. Didn’t you ever hear of the time when he very nearly lost all the estates?”
The priest shook his head; and the librarian proceeded to tell the tale as he had heard it from his predecessor84 in the same post, who had been his patron and instructor85, and whom he seemed to trust implicitly86. Up to a certain point it was a common enough tale of the decline of a great family’s fortunes—the tale of a family lawyer. His lawyer, however, had the sense to cheat honestly, if the expression explains itself. Instead of using funds he held in trust, he took advantage of the Duke’s carelessness to put the family in a financial hole, in which it might be necessary for the Duke to let him hold them in reality.
The lawyer’s name was Isaac Green, but the Duke always called him Elisha; presumably in reference to the fact that he was quite bald, though certainly not more than thirty. He had risen very rapidly, but from very dirty beginnings; being first a “nark” or informer, and then a money-lender: but as solicitor87 to the Eyres he had the sense, as I say, to keep technically88 straight until he was ready to deal the final blow. The blow fell at dinner; and the old librarian said he should never forget the very look of the lampshades and the decanters, as the little lawyer, with a steady smile, proposed to the great landlord that they should halve89 the estates between them. The sequel certainly could not be overlooked; for the Duke, in dead silence, smashed a decanter on the man’s bald head as suddenly as I had seen him smash the glass that day in the orchard. It left a red triangular90 scar on the scalp, and the lawyer’s eyes altered, but not his smile.
He rose tottering91 to his feet, and struck back as such men do strike. “I am glad of that,” he said, “for now I can take the whole estate. The law will give it to me.”
Exmoor, it seems, was white as ashes, but his eyes still blazed. “The law will give it you,” he said; “but you will not take it.... Why not? Why? because it would mean the crack of doom92 for me, and if you take it I shall take off my wig.... Why, you pitiful plucked fowl93, anyone can see your bare head. But no man shall see mine and live.”
Well, you may say what you like and make it mean what you like. But Mull swears it is the solemn fact that the lawyer, after shaking his knotted fists in the air for an instant, simply ran from the room and never reappeared in the countryside; and since then Exmoor has been feared more for a warlock than even for a landlord and a magistrate94.
Now Dr Mull told his story with rather wild theatrical95 gestures, and with a passion I think at least partisan96. I was quite conscious of the possibility that the whole was the extravagance of an old braggart97 and gossip. But before I end this half of my discoveries, I think it due to Dr Mull to record that my two first inquiries98 have confirmed his story. I learned from an old apothecary99 in the village that there was a bald man in evening dress, giving the name of Green, who came to him one night to have a three-cornered cut on his forehead plastered. And I learnt from the legal records and old newspapers that there was a lawsuit100 threatened, and at least begun, by one Green against the Duke of Exmoor.
Mr Nutt, of the Daily Reformer, wrote some highly incongruous words across the top of the copy, made some highly mysterious marks down the side of it, and called to Miss Barlow in the same loud, monotonous101 voice: “Take down a letter to Mr Finn.”
DEAR FINN,—Your copy will do, but I have had to headline it a bit; and our public would never stand a Romanist priest in the story—you must keep your eye on the suburbs. I’ve altered him to Mr Brown, a Spiritualist.
Yours,
E. NUTT.
A day or two afterward102 found the active and judicious103 editor examining, with blue eyes that seemed to grow rounder and rounder, the second instalment of Mr Finn’s tale of mysteries in high life. It began with the words:
I have made an astounding104 discovery. I freely confess it is quite different from anything I expected to discover, and will give a much more practical shock to the public. I venture to say, without any vanity, that the words I now write will be read all over Europe, and certainly all over America and the Colonies. And yet I heard all I have to tell before I left this same little wooden table in this same little wood of apple-trees.
I owe it all to the small priest Brown; he is an extraordinary man. The big librarian had left the table, perhaps ashamed of his long tongue, perhaps anxious about the storm in which his mysterious master had vanished: anyway, he betook himself heavily in the Duke’s tracks through the trees. Father Brown had picked up one of the lemons and was eyeing it with an odd pleasure.
“What a lovely colour a lemon is!” he said. “There’s one thing I don’t like about the Duke’s wig—the colour.”
“I don’t think I understand,” I answered.
“I dare say he’s got good reason to cover his ears, like King Midas,” went on the priest, with a cheerful simplicity105 which somehow seemed rather flippant under the circumstances. “I can quite understand that it’s nicer to cover them with hair than with brass106 plates or leather flaps. But if he wants to use hair, why doesn’t he make it look like hair? There never was hair of that colour in this world. It looks more like a sunset-cloud coming through the wood. Why doesn’t he conceal107 the family curse better, if he’s really so ashamed of it? Shall I tell you? It’s because he isn’t ashamed of it. He’s proud of it”
“It’s an ugly wig to be proud of—and an ugly story,” I said.
“Consider,” replied this curious little man, “how you yourself really feel about such things. I don’t suggest you’re either more snobbish108 or more morbid109 than the rest of us: but don’t you feel in a vague way that a genuine old family curse is rather a fine thing to have? Would you be ashamed, wouldn’t you be a little proud, if the heir of the Glamis horror called you his friend? or if Byron’s family had confided110, to you only, the evil adventures of their race? Don’t be too hard on the aristocrats themselves if their heads are as weak as ours would be, and they are snobs111 about their own sorrows.”
“By Jove!” I cried; “and that’s true enough. My own mother’s family had a banshee; and, now I come to think of it, it has comforted me in many a cold hour.”
“And think,” he went on, “of that stream of blood and poison that spurted112 from his thin lips the instant you so much as mentioned his ancestors. Why should he show every stranger over such a Chamber113 of Horrors unless he is proud of it? He doesn’t conceal his wig, he doesn’t conceal his blood, he doesn’t conceal his family curse, he doesn’t conceal the family crimes—but—”
The little man’s voice changed so suddenly, he shut his hand so sharply, and his eyes so rapidly grew rounder and brighter like a waking owl’s, that it had all the abruptness114 of a small explosion on the table.
“But,” he ended, “he does really conceal his toilet.”
It somehow completed the thrill of my fanciful nerves that at that instant the Duke appeared again silently among the glimmering115 trees, with his soft foot and sunset-hued hair, coming round the corner of the house in company with his librarian. Before he came within earshot, Father Brown had added quite composedly, “Why does he really hide the secret of what he does with the purple wig? Because it isn’t the sort of secret we suppose.”
The Duke came round the corner and resumed his seat at the head of the table with all his native dignity. The embarrassment of the librarian left him hovering116 on his hind117 legs, like a huge bear. The Duke addressed the priest with great seriousness. “Father Brown,” he said, “Doctor Mull informs me that you have come here to make a request. I no longer profess118 an observance of the religion of my fathers; but for their sakes, and for the sake of the days when we met before, I am very willing to hear you. But I presume you would rather be heard in private.”
Whatever I retain of the gentleman made me stand up. Whatever I have attained119 of the journalist made me stand still. Before this paralysis120 could pass, the priest had made a momentarily detaining motion. “If,” he said, “your Grace will permit me my real petition, or if I retain any right to advise you, I would urge that as many people as possible should be present. All over this country I have found hundreds, even of my own faith and flock, whose imaginations are poisoned by the spell which I implore121 you to break. I wish we could have all Devonshire here to see you do it.”
“To see you take off your wig,” said Father Brown.
The Duke’s face did not move; but he looked at his petitioner123 with a glassy stare which was the most awful expression I have ever seen on a human face. I could see the librarian’s great legs wavering under him like the shadows of stems in a pool; and I could not banish124 from my own brain the fancy that the trees all around us were filling softly in the silence with devils instead of birds.
“I spare you,” said the Duke in a voice of inhuman pity. “I refuse. If I gave you the faintest hint of the load of horror I have to bear alone, you would lie shrieking125 at these feet of mine and begging to know no more. I will spare you the hint. You shall not spell the first letter of what is written on the altar of the Unknown God.”
“I know the Unknown God,” said the little priest, with an unconscious grandeur126 of certitude that stood up like a granite127 tower. “I know his name; it is Satan. The true God was made flesh and dwelt among us. And I say to you, wherever you find men ruled merely by mystery, it is the mystery of iniquity128. If the devil tells you something is too fearful to look at, look at it. If he says something is too terrible to hear, hear it. If you think some truth unbearable129, bear it. I entreat130 your Grace to end this nightmare now and here at this table.”
“If I did,” said the Duke in a low voice, “you and all you believe, and all by which alone you live, would be the first to shrivel and perish. You would have an instant to know the great Nothing before you died.”
“The Cross of Christ be between me and harm,” said Father Brown. “Take off your wig.”
I was leaning over the table in ungovernable excitement; in listening to this extraordinary duel131 half a thought had come into my head. “Your Grace,” I cried, “I call your bluff132. Take off that wig or I will knock it off.”
I suppose I can be prosecuted133 for assault, but I am very glad I did it. When he said, in the same voice of stone, “I refuse,” I simply sprang on him. For three long instants he strained against me as if he had all hell to help him; but I forced his head until the hairy cap fell off it. I admit that, whilst wrestling, I shut my eyes as it fell.
I was awakened134 by a cry from Mull, who was also by this time at the Duke’s side. His head and mine were both bending over the bald head of the wigless135 Duke. Then the silence was snapped by the librarian exclaiming: “What can it mean? Why, the man had nothing to hide. His ears are just like everybody else’s.”
“Yes,” said Father Brown, “that is what he had to hide.”
The priest walked straight up to him, but strangely enough did not even glance at his ears. He stared with an almost comical seriousness at his bald forehead, and pointed136 to a three-cornered cicatrice, long healed, but still discernible. “Mr Green, I think.” he said politely, “and he did get the whole estate after all.”
And now let me tell the readers of the Daily Reformer what I think the most remarkable137 thing in the whole affair. This transformation138 scene, which will seem to you as wild and purple as a Persian fairy-tale, has been (except for my technical assault) strictly legal and constitutional from its first beginnings. This man with the odd scar and the ordinary ears is not an impostor. Though (in one sense) he wears another man’s wig and claims another man’s ear, he has not stolen another man’s coronet. He really is the one and only Duke of Exmoor. What happened was this. The old Duke really had a slight malformation of the ear, which really was more or less hereditary. He really was morbid about it; and it is likely enough that he did invoke139 it as a kind of curse in the violent scene (which undoubtedly140 happened) in which he struck Green with the decanter. But the contest ended very differently. Green pressed his claim and got the estates; the dispossessed nobleman shot himself and died without issue. After a decent interval52 the beautiful English Government revived the “extinct” peerage of Exmoor, and bestowed141 it, as is usual, on the most important person, the person who had got the property.
This man used the old feudal142 fables—properly, in his snobbish soul, really envied and admired them. So that thousands of poor English people trembled before a mysterious chieftain with an ancient destiny and a diadem143 of evil stars—when they are really trembling before a guttersnipe who was a pettifogger and a pawnbroker144 not twelve years ago. I think it very typical of the real case against our aristocracy as it is, and as it will be till God sends us braver men.
Mr Nutt put down the manuscript and called out with unusual sharpness: “Miss Barlow, please take down a letter to Mr Finn.”
DEAR FINN,—You must be mad; we can’t touch this. I wanted vampires145 and the bad old days and aristocracy hand-in-hand with superstition146. They like that but you must know the Exmoors would never forgive this. And what would our people say then, I should like to know! Why, Sir Simon is one of Exmoor’s greatest pals147; and it would ruin that cousin of the Eyres that’s standing148 for us at Bradford. Besides, old Soap-Suds was sick enough at not getting his peerage last year; he’d sack me by wire if I lost him it with such lunacy as this. And what about Duffey? He’s doing us some rattling149 articles on “The Heel of the Norman.” And how can he write about Normans if the man’s only a solicitor? Do be reasonable.—Yours, E. NUTT.
As Miss Barlow rattled away cheerfully, he crumpled150 up the copy and tossed it into the waste-paper basket; but not before he had, automatically and by force of habit, altered the word “God” to the word “circumstances.”
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industrious
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tune
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stoutish
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resolute
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proprietor
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enthusiasts
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distinguished
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aristocrats
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tyrant
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journalism
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alleged
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witchcraft
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monstrous
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hush
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bishops
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delusion
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entirely
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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19
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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21
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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22
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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23
disport
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| v.嬉戏，玩 | |
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24
dictating
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的现在分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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25
slashing
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| adj.尖锐的；苛刻的；鲜明的；乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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26
invective
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| n.痛骂，恶意抨击 | |
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27
spicier
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| adj.用香料调味的( spicy的比较级 )；有香料味的；有刺激性的；（故事、新闻等） 刺激的 | |
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28
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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29
amplified
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| 放大，扩大( amplify的过去式和过去分词 )； 增强； 详述 | |
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30
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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31
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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32
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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33
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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34
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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35
dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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36
rubicund
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| adj.(脸色)红润的 | |
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37
apoplectic
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| adj.中风的；愤怒的；n.中风患者 | |
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38
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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39
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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40
lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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41
aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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42
saturnine
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| adj.忧郁的，沉默寡言的，阴沉的，感染铅毒的 | |
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43
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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44
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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46
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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47
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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48
antiquities
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| n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 )；古迹；古人们；古代的风俗习惯 | |
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49
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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50
ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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51
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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52
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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53
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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54
scourged
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| 鞭打( scourge的过去式和过去分词 )； 惩罚，压迫 | |
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55
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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56
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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57
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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58
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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59
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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60
impieties
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| n.不敬( impiety的名词复数 )；不孝；不敬的行为；不孝的行为 | |
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61
prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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62
primly
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| adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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63
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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64
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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65
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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66
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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67
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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68
tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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69
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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70
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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71
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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72
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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74
irrelevance
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| n.无关紧要；不相关；不相关的事物 | |
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75
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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76
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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77
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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78
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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79
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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80
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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81
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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82
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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83
cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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84
predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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85
instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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86
implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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87
solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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88
technically
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| adv.专门地，技术上地 | |
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89
halve
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| vt.分成两半，平分；减少到一半 | |
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90
triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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91
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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92
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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93
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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94
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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95
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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96
partisan
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| adj.党派性的；游击队的；n.游击队员；党徒 | |
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97
braggart
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| n.吹牛者；adj.吹牛的，自夸的 | |
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98
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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99
apothecary
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| n.药剂师 | |
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100
lawsuit
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| n.诉讼，控诉 | |
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101
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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102
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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103
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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104
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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105
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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106
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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107
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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108
snobbish
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| adj.势利的，谄上欺下的 | |
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109
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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110
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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111
snobs
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| （谄上傲下的）势利小人( snob的名词复数 )； 自高自大者，自命不凡者 | |
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112
spurted
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的过去式和过去分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺 | |
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113
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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114
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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115
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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116
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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117
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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118
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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119
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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120
paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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121
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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122
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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123
petitioner
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| n.请愿人 | |
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124
banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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125
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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126
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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127
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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128
iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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129
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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130
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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131
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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132
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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133
prosecuted
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| a.被起诉的 | |
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134
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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135
wigless
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| adj.无假发的，不戴假发（套）的 | |
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136
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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137
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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138
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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139
invoke
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| v.求助于(神、法律)；恳求，乞求 | |
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140
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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141
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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142
feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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143
diadem
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| n.王冠，冕 | |
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144
pawnbroker
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| n.典当商，当铺老板 | |
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145
vampires
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| n.吸血鬼( vampire的名词复数 )；吸血蝠；高利贷者；（舞台上的）活板门 | |
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146
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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147
pals
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| n.朋友( pal的名词复数 )；老兄；小子；（对男子的不友好的称呼）家伙 | |
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148
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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149
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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150
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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