One after another they rose and stretched themselves, and in a fewminutes divided more or less into two separate parties. One of theseparties was dominated by Hughling Elliot and Mrs. Thornbury, who,having both read the same books and considered the same questions,were now anxious to name the places beneath them and to hang upon themstores of information about navies and armies, political parties,natives and mineral products--all of which combined, they said,to prove that South America was the country of the future.
Evelyn M. listened with her bright blue eyes fixed1 upon the oracles2.
"How it makes one long to be a man!" she exclaimed.
Mr. Perrott answered, surveying the plain, that a country witha future was a very fine thing.
"If I were you," said Evelyn, turning to him and drawing her glovevehemently through her fingers, "I'd raise a troop and conquer somegreat territory and make it splendid. You'd want women for that.
I'd love to start life from the very beginning as it ought to be--nothing squalid--but great halls and gardens and splendid men and women.
But you--you only like Law Courts!""And would you really be content without pretty frocks and sweetsand all the things young ladies like?" asked Mr. Perrott,concealing a certain amount of pain beneath his ironical3 manner.
"I'm not a young lady," Evelyn flashed; she bit her underlip.
"Just because I like splendid things you laugh at me. Why are thereno men like Garibaldi now?" she demanded.
"Look here," said Mr. Perrott, "you don't give me a chance.
You think we ought to begin things fresh. Good. But I don'tsee precisely4--conquer a territory? They're all conquered already,aren't they?""It's not any territory in particular," Evelyn explained.
"It's the idea, don't you see? We lead such tame lives. And Ifeel sure you've got splendid things in you."Hewet saw the scars and hollows in Mr. Perrott's sagacious facerelax pathetically. He could imagine the calculations which eventhen went on within his mind, as to whether he would be justifiedin asking a woman to marry him, considering that he made no morethan five hundred a year at the Bar, owned no private means,and had an invalid5 sister to support. Mr. Perrott again knewthat he was not "quite," as Susan stated in her diary; not quitea gentleman she meant, for he was the son of a grocer in Leeds,had started life with a basket on his back, and now, though practicallyindistinguishable from a born gentleman, showed his origin to keeneyes in an impeccable neatness of dress, lack of freedom in manner,extreme cleanliness of person, and a certain indescribable timidityand precision with his knife and fork which might be the relic6 of dayswhen meat was rare, and the way of handling it by no means gingerly.
The two parties who were strolling about and losing their unitynow came together, and joined each other in a long stare overthe yellow and green patches of the heated landscape below.
The hot air danced across it, making it impossible to see the roofsof a village on the plain distinctly. Even on the top of the mountainwhere a breeze played lightly, it was very hot, and the heat, the food,the immense space, and perhaps some less well-defined cause produceda comfortable drowsiness7 and a sense of happy relaxation8 in them.
They did not say much, but felt no constraint9 in being silent.
"Suppose we go and see what's to be seen over there?" said Arthurto Susan, and the pair walked off together, their departure certainlysending some thrill of emotion through the rest.
"An odd lot, aren't they?" said Arthur. "I thought we shouldnever get 'em all to the top. But I'm glad we came, by Jove!
I wouldn't have missed this for something.""I don't _like_ Mr. Hirst," said Susan inconsequently. "I supposehe's very clever, but why should clever people be so--I expecthe's awfully10 nice, really," she added, instinctively11 qualifyingwhat might have seemed an unkind remark.
"Hirst? Oh, he's one of these learned chaps," said Arthur indifferently.
"He don't look as if he enjoyed it. You should hear him talkingto Elliot. It's as much as I can do to follow 'em at all.
. . . I was never good at my books."With these sentences and the pauses that came between them theyreached a little hillock, on the top of which grew several slim trees.
"D'you mind if we sit down here?" said Arthur, looking about him.
"It's jolly in the shade--and the view--" They sat down, and lookedstraight ahead of them in silence for some time.
"But I do envy those clever chaps sometimes," Arthur remarked.
"I don't suppose they ever . . ." He did not finish his sentence.
"I can't see why you should envy them," said Susan, with great sincerity12.
"Odd things happen to one," said Arthur. "One goes along smoothly13 enough,one thing following another, and it's all very jolly and plain sailing,and you think you know all about it, and suddenly one doesn't knowwhere one is a bit, and everything seems different from what itused to seem. Now to-day, coming up that path, riding behind you,I seemed to see everything as if--" he paused and plucked a pieceof grass up by the roots. He scattered14 the little lumps of earthwhich were sticking to the roots--"As if it had a kind of meaning.
You've made the difference to me," he jerked out, "I don't seewhy I shouldn't tell you. I've felt it ever since I knew you.
. . . It's because I love you."Even while they had been saying commonplace things Susan had beenconscious of the excitement of intimacy15, which seemed not only to laybare something in her, but in the trees and the sky, and the progressof his speech which seemed inevitable16 was positively17 painful to her,for no human being had ever come so close to her before.
She was struck motionless as his speech went on, and her heart gavegreat separate leaps at the last words. She sat with her fingerscurled round a stone, looking straight in front of her down themountain over the plain. So then, it had actually happened to her,a proposal of marriage.
Arthur looked round at her; his face was oddly twisted. She wasdrawing her breath with such difficulty that she could hardly answer.
"You might have known." He seized her in his arms; again and againand again they clasped each other, murmuring inarticulately.
"Well," sighed Arthur, sinking back on the ground, "that's the mostwonderful thing that's ever happened to me." He looked as if hewere trying to put things seen in a dream beside real things.
There was a long silence.
"It's the most perfect thing in the world," Susan stated, very gentlyand with great conviction. It was no longer merely a proposalof marriage, but of marriage with Arthur, with whom she was in love.
In the silence that followed, holding his hand tightly in hers,she prayed to God that she might make him a good wife.
"And what will Mr. Perrott say?" she asked at the end of it.
"Dear old fellow," said Arthur who, now that the first shock was over,was relaxing into an enormous sense of pleasure and contentment.
"We must be very nice to him, Susan."He told her how hard Perrott's life had been, and how absurdlydevoted he was to Arthur himself. He went on to tell her abouthis mother, a widow lady, of strong character. In return Susansketched the portraits of her own family--Edith in particular,her youngest sister, whom she loved better than any one else,"except you, Arthur. . . . Arthur," she continued, "what was itthat you first liked me for?""It was a buckle18 you wore one night at sea," said Arthur,after due consideration. "I remember noticing--it's an absurdthing to notice!--that you didn't take peas, because I don't either."From this they went on to compare their more serious tastes, or ratherSusan ascertained19 what Arthur cared about, and professed20 herselfvery fond of the same thing. They would live in London, perhaps havea cottage in the country near Susan's family, for they would findit strange without her at first. Her mind, stunned21 to begin with,now flew to the various changes that her engagement would make--how delightful22 it would be to join the ranks of the married women--no longer to hang on to groups of girls much younger than herself--to escape the long solitude23 of an old maid's life. Now and then heramazing good fortune overcame her, and she turned to Arthur with anexclamation of love.
They lay in each other's arms and had no notion that they were observed.
Yet two figures suddenly appeared among the trees above them.
"Here's shade," began Hewet, when Rachel suddenly stopped dead.
They saw a man and woman lying on the ground beneath them, rollingslightly this way and that as the embrace tightened24 and slackened.
The man then sat upright and the woman, who now appeared to be SusanWarrington, lay back upon the ground, with her eyes shut and an absorbedlook upon her face, as though she were not altogether conscious.
Nor could you tell from her expression whether she was happy, or hadsuffered something. When Arthur again turned to her, butting25 heras a lamb butts26 a ewe, Hewet and Rachel retreated without a word.
Hewet felt uncomfortably shy.
"I don't like that," said Rachel after a moment.
"I can remember not liking27 it either," said Hewet. "I can remember--"but he changed his mind and continued in an ordinary tone of voice,"Well, we may take it for granted that they're engaged. D'you thinkhe'll ever fly, or will she put a stop to that?"But Rachel was still agitated28; she could not get away from the sightthey had just seen. Instead of answering Hewet she persisted.
"Love's an odd thing, isn't it, making one's heart beat.""It's so enormously important, you see," Hewet replied.
"Their lives are now changed for ever.""And it makes one sorry for them too," Rachel continued, as thoughshe were tracing the course of her feelings. "I don't know eitherof them, but I could almost burst into tears. That's silly,isn't it?""Just because they're in love," said Hewet. "Yes," he added aftera moment's consideration, "there's something horribly patheticabout it, I agree."And now, as they had walked some way from the grove29 of trees,and had come to a rounded hollow very tempting30 to the back,they proceeded to sit down, and the impression of the loverslost some of its force, though a certain intensity31 of vision,which was probably the result of the sight, remained with them.
As a day upon which any emotion has been repressed is differentfrom other days, so this day was now different, merely because theyhad seen other people at a crisis of their lives.
"A great encampment of tents they might be," said Hewet, looking infront of him at the mountains. "Isn't it like a water-colour too--you know the way water-colours dry in ridges32 all across the paper--I've been wondering what they looked like."His eyes became dreamy, as though he were matching things,and reminded Rachel in their colour of the green flesh of a snail33.
She sat beside him looking at the mountains too. When it becamepainful to look any longer, the great size of the view seeming toenlarge her eyes beyond their natural limit, she looked at the ground;it pleased her to scrutinise this inch of the soil of SouthAmerica so minutely that she noticed every grain of earth and madeit into a world where she was endowed with the supreme34 power.
She bent35 a blade of grass, and set an insect on the utmost tasselof it, and wondered if the insect realised his strange adventure,and thought how strange it was that she should have bent that tasselrather than any other of the million tassels36.
"You've never told me you name," said Hewet suddenly.
"Miss Somebody Vinrace. . . . I like to know people's Christian37 names.""Rachel," she replied.
"Rachel," he repeated. "I have an aunt called Rachel, who putthe life of Father Damien into verse. She is a religious fanatic--the result of the way she was brought up, down in Northamptonshire,never seeing a soul. Have you any aunts?""I live with them," said Rachel.
"And I wonder what they're doing now?" Hewet enquired38.
"They are probably buying wool," Rachel determined39. She triedto describe them. "They are small, rather pale women," she began,"very clean. We live in Richmond. They have an old dog, too,who will only eat the marrow40 out of bones. . . . They arealways going to church. They tidy their drawers a good deal."But here she was overcome by the difficulty of describing people.
"It's impossible to believe that it's all going on still!"she exclaimed.
The sun was behind them and two long shadows suddenly lay upon theground in front of them, one waving because it was made by a skirt,and the other stationary41, because thrown by a pair of legs in trousers.
"You look very comfortable!" said Helen's voice above them.
"Hirst," said Hewet, pointing at the scissorlike shadow; he thenrolled round to look up at them.
"There's room for us all here," he said.
When Hirst had seated himself comfortably, he said:
"Did you congratulate the young couple?"It appeared that, coming to the same spot a few minutes after Hewetand Rachel, Helen and Hirst had seen precisely the same thing.
"No, we didn't congratulate them," said Hewet. "They seemedvery happy.""Well," said Hirst, pursing up his lips, "so long as I needn'tmarry either of them--""We were very much moved," said Hewet.
"I thought you would be," said Hirst. "Which was it, Monk42?
The thought of the immortal43 passions, or the thought of new-bornmales to keep the Roman Catholics out? I assure you," he saidto Helen, "he's capable of being moved by either."Rachel was a good deal stung by his banter44, which she felt to bedirected equally against them both, but she could think of no repartee45.
"Nothing moves Hirst," Hewet laughed; he did not seem to be stungat all. "Unless it were a transfinite number falling in love witha finite one--I suppose such things do happen, even in mathematics.""On the contrary," said Hirst with a touch of annoyance,"I consider myself a person of very strong passions."It was clear from the way he spoke46 that he meant it seriously;he spoke of course for the benefit of the ladies.
"By the way, Hirst," said Hewet, after a pause, "I have a terribleconfession to make. Your book--the poems of Wordsworth, which ifyou remember I took off your table just as we were starting,and certainly put in my pocket here--""Is lost," Hirst finished for him.
"I consider that there is still a chance," Hewet urged, slappinghimself to right and left, "that I never did take it after all.""No," said Hirst. "It is here." He pointed47 to his breast.
"Thank God," Hewet exclaimed. "I need no longer feel as thoughI'd murdered a child!""I should think you were always losing things," Helen remarked,looking at him meditatively48.
"I don't lose things," said Hewet. "I mislay them. That was thereason why Hirst refused to share a cabin with me on the voyage out.""You came out together?" Helen enquired.
"I propose that each member of this party now gives a short biographicalsketch of himself or herself," said Hirst, sitting upright.
"Miss Vinrace, you come first; begin."Rachel stated that she was twenty-four years of age, the daughterof a ship-owner, that she had never been properly educated;played the piano, had no brothers or sisters, and lived at Richmondwith aunts, her mother being dead.
"Next," said Hirst, having taken in these facts; he pointed at Hewet.
"I am the son of an English gentleman. I am twenty-seven,"Hewet began. "My father was a fox-hunting squire49. He died when Iwas ten in the hunting field. I can remember his body coming home,on a shutter50 I suppose, just as I was going down to tea,and noticing that there was jam for tea, and wondering whether Ishould be allowed--""Yes; but keep to the facts," Hirst put in.
"I was educated at Winchester and Cambridge, which I had to leaveafter a time. I have done a good many things since--""Profession?""None--at least--""Tastes?""Literary. I'm writing a novel.""Brothers and sisters?""Three sisters, no brother, and a mother.""Is that all we're to hear about you?" said Helen. She statedthat she was very old--forty last October, and her father had beena solicitor51 in the city who had gone bankrupt, for which reason shehad never had much education--they lived in one place after another--but an elder brother used to lend her books.
"If I were to tell you everything--" she stopped and smiled.
"It would take too long," she concluded. "I married when I was thirty,and I have two children. My husband is a scholar. And now--it's your turn," she nodded at Hirst.
"You've left out a great deal," he reproved her. "My name isSt. John Alaric Hirst," he began in a jaunty52 tone of voice.
"I'm twenty-four years old. I'm the son of the ReverendSidney Hirst, vicar of Great Wappyng in Norfolk. Oh, I gotscholarships everywhere--Westminster--King's. I'm now a fellowof King's. Don't it sound dreary53? Parents both alive (alas).
Two brothers and one sister. I'm a very distinguished54 young man," he added.
"One of the three, or is it five, most distinguished men in England,"Hewet remarked.
"Quite correct," said Hirst.
"That's all very interesting," said Helen after a pause.
"But of course we've left out the only questions that matter.
For instance, are we Christians55?""I am not," "I am not," both the young men replied.
"I am," Rachel stated.
"You believe in a personal God?" Hirst demanded, turning roundand fixing her with his eyeglasses.
"I believe--I believe," Rachel stammered56, "I believe there arethings we don't know about, and the world might change in a minuteand anything appear."At this Helen laughed outright57. "Nonsense," she said. "You're nota Christian. You've never thought what you are.--And there arelots of other questions," she continued, "though perhaps we can'task them yet." Although they had talked so freely they were alluncomfortably conscious that they really knew nothing about each other.
"The important questions," Hewet pondered, "the really interesting ones.
I doubt that one ever does ask them."Rachel, who was slow to accept the fact that only a very few thingscan be said even by people who know each other well, insisted onknowing what he meant.
"Whether we've ever been in love?" she enquired. "Is that the kindof question you mean?"Again Helen laughed at her, benignantly strewing58 her with handfulsof the long tasselled grass, for she was so brave and so foolish.
"Oh, Rachel," she cried. "It's like having a puppy in the househaving you with one--a puppy that brings one's underclothes downinto the hall."But again the sunny earth in front of them was crossed by fantasticwavering figures, the shadows of men and women.
"There they are!" exclaimed Mrs. Elliot. There was a touch ofpeevishness in her voice. "And we've had _such_ a hunt to find you.
Do you know what the time is?"Mrs. Elliot and Mr. and Mrs. Thornbury now confronted them; Mrs. Elliotwas holding out her watch, and playfully tapping it upon the face.
Hewet was recalled to the fact that this was a party for which hewas responsible, and he immediately led them back to the watch-tower,where they were to have tea before starting home again. A brightcrimson scarf fluttered from the top of the wall, which Mr. Perrottand Evelyn were tying to a stone as the others came up. The heathad changed just so far that instead of sitting in the shadow theysat in the sun, which was still hot enough to paint their faces redand yellow, and to colour great sections of the earth beneath them.
"There's nothing half so nice as tea!" said Mrs. Thornbury,taking her cup.
"Nothing," said Helen. "Can't you remember as a child choppingup hay--" she spoke much more quickly than usual, and kept her eyefixed upon Mrs. Thornbury, "and pretending it was tea, and gettingscolded by the nurses--why I can't imagine, except that nursesare such brutes59, won't allow pepper instead of salt though there'sno earthly harm in it. Weren't your nurses just the same?"During this speech Susan came into the group, and sat down byHelen's side. A few minutes later Mr. Venning strolled up fromthe opposite direction. He was a little flushed, and in the moodto answer hilariously60 whatever was said to him.
"What have you been doing to that old chap's grave?" he asked,pointing to the red flag which floated from the top of the stones.
"We have tried to make him forget his misfortune in having diedthree hundred years ago," said Mr. Perrott.
"It would be awful--to be dead!" ejaculated Evelyn M.
"To be dead?" said Hewet. "I don't think it would be awful.
It's quite easy to imagine. When you go to bed to-night fold yourhands so--breathe slower and slower--" He lay back with his handsclasped upon his breast, and his eyes shut, "Now," he murmured in aneven monotonous61 voice, "I shall never, never, never move again."His body, lying flat among them, did for a moment suggest death.
"This is a horrible exhibition, Mr. Hewet!" cried Mrs. Thornbury.
"More cake for us!" said Arthur.
"I assure you there's nothing horrible about it," said Hewet,sitting up and laying hands upon the cake.
"It's so natural," he repeated. "People with children should makethem do that exercise every night. . . . Not that I look forwardto being dead.""And when you allude62 to a grave," said Mr. Thornbury, who spoke almostfor the first time, "have you any authority for calling that ruin a grave?
I am quite with you in refusing to accept the common interpretationwhich declares it to be the remains63 of an Elizabethan watch-tower--any more than I believe that the circular mounds64 or barrowswhich we find on the top of our English downs were camps.
The antiquaries call everything a camp. I am always asking them,Well then, where do you think our ancestors kept their cattle?
Half the camps in England are merely the ancient pound or bartonas we call it in my part of the world. The argument that no onewould keep his cattle in such exposed and inaccessible65 spots hasno weight at all, if you reflect that in those days a man's cattlewere his capital, his stock-in-trade, his daughter's dowries.
Without cattle he was a serf, another man's man. . . ." His eyesslowly lost their intensity, and he muttered a few concluding wordsunder his breath, looking curiously66 old and forlorn.
Hughling Elliot, who might have been expected to engage the oldgentleman in argument, was absent at the moment. He now came upholding out a large square of cotton upon which a fine design wasprinted in pleasant bright colours that made his hand look pale.
"A bargain," he announced, laying it down on the cloth. "I've justbought it from the big man with the ear-rings. Fine, isn't it?
It wouldn't suit every one, of course, but it's just the thing--isn't it, Hilda?--for Mrs. Raymond Parry.""Mrs. Raymond Parry!" cried Helen and Mrs. Thornbury at the same moment.
They looked at each other as though a mist hitherto obscuringtheir faces had been blown away.
"Ah--you have been to those wonderful parties too?" Mrs. Elliotasked with interest.
Mrs. Parry's drawing-room, though thousands of miles away,behind a vast curve of water on a tiny piece of earth, came beforetheir eyes. They who had had no solidity or anchorage before seemedto be attached to it somehow, and at once grown more substantial.
Perhaps they had been in the drawing-room at the same moment;perhaps they had passed each other on the stairs; at any rate theyknew some of the same people. They looked one another up and downwith new interest. But they could do no more than look at each other,for there was no time to enjoy the fruits of the discovery.
The donkeys were advancing, and it was advisable to begin thedescent immediately, for the night fell so quickly that it wouldbe dark before they were home again.
Accordingly, remounting in order, they filed off down the hillside.
Scraps of talk came floating back from one to another. There werejokes to begin with, and laughter; some walked part of the way,and picked flowers, and sent stones bounding before them.
"Who writes the best Latin verse in your college, Hirst?" Mr. Elliotcalled back incongruously, and Mr. Hirst returned that he had no idea.
The dusk fell as suddenly as the natives had warned them, the hollowsof the mountain on either side filling up with darkness and the pathbecoming so dim that it was surprising to hear the donkeys' hooves stillstriking on hard rock. Silence fell upon one, and then upon another,until they were all silent, their minds spilling out into the deepblue air. The way seemed shorter in the dark than in the day;and soon the lights of the town were seen on the flat far beneath them.
Suddenly some one cried, "Ah!"In a moment the slow yellow drop rose again from the plain below;it rose, paused, opened like a flower, and fell in a shower of drops.
"Fireworks," they cried.
Another went up more quickly; and then another; they could almosthear it twist and roar.
"Some Saint's day, I suppose," said a voice. The rush and embraceof the rockets as they soared up into the air seemed like the fieryway in which lovers suddenly rose and united, leaving the crowdgazing up at them with strained white faces. But Susan and Arthur,riding down the hill, never said a word to each other, and keptaccurately apart.
Then the fireworks became erratic67, and soon they ceased altogether,and the rest of the journey was made almost in darkness,the mountain being a great shadow behind them, and bushes and treeslittle shadows which threw darkness across the road. Among theplane-trees they separated, bundling into carriages and driving off,without saying good-night, or saying it only in a half-muffled way.
It was so late that there was no time for normal conversationbetween their arrival at the hotel and their retirement68 to bed.
But Hirst wandered into Hewet's room with a collar in his hand.
"Well, Hewet," he remarked, on the crest69 of a gigantic yawn,"that was a great success, I consider." He yawned. "But take careyou're not landed with that young woman. . . . I don't reallylike young women. . . ."Hewet was too much drugged by hours in the open air to make any reply.
In fact every one of the party was sound asleep within ten minutesor so of each other, with the exception of Susan Warrington.
She lay for a considerable time looking blankly at the wall opposite,her hands clasped above her heart, and her light burning by her side.
All articulate thought had long ago deserted70 her; her heart seemedto have grown to the size of a sun, and to illuminate71 her entire body,shedding like the sun a steady tide of warmth.
"I'm happy, I'm happy, I'm happy," she repeated. "I love every one.
I'm happy."
收听单词发音 |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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oracles
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| 神示所( oracle的名词复数 )； 神谕； 圣贤； 哲人 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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drowsiness
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| n.睡意；嗜睡 | |
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relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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instinctively
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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butting
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| 用头撞人（犯规动作） | |
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butts
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| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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snail
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| n.蜗牛 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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tassels
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| n.穗( tassel的名词复数 )；流苏状物；（植物的）穗；玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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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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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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strewing
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| v.撒在…上( strew的现在分词 )；散落于；点缀；撒满 | |
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brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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hilariously
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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illuminate
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| vt.照亮，照明；用灯光装饰；说明，阐释 | |
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