We were finding it rather difficult to get down to actual, serious work on the book. The plot and the synopsis3, of course, were quite completely outlined; with ordinary intensity4 of purpose on my part the tale might have galloped5 through the introductory chapters with some clarity and decisiveness. But for some reason I lacked the power of concentration, or perhaps more properly speaking the power of initiative. I laid it to the hub-bub created by the final effort of the workmen to finish the job of repairing my castle before cold weather set in.
"That isn't it, Mr. Smart," said my secretary darkly. We were in the study and my pad of paper was lying idly on my knees. For half an hour I had been trying to think of a handy sentence with which to open the story; the kind of sentence that catches the unwary reader's attention at a glance and makes for interest.
"What is it, then?" I demanded, at once resenting an opinion.
He smiled mysteriously. "You were not thinking of the workmen just now, were you?"
"Certainly," said I, coldly. "What's that got to do with it?"
"Nothing, I suppose," said he resignedly.
I hesitated. "Of course it is the work that upsets me. What are you driving at?"
He stared for a long time at the portrait of Ludwig the Red. "Isn't it odd that the Countess, an American, should be descended9 from the old Rothhoefens? What a small world it is, after all!"
"I dare say. Still it is odd that she should be hiding in the castle of her ances—"
We lapsed11 into a prolonged spell of silence. I found myself watching him rather combatively12, as who would anticipate the move of an adversary13.
"Perfect rot," said I, at last, without rhyme or reason.
He grinned. "Nevertheless, it's the general opinion that you are," said he.
I sat up very straight. "What's that?"
"You're in love," said he succinctly14. It was like a bomb, and a bomb is the very last thing in succinctness15. It comes to the point without palaver16 or conjecture17, and it reduces havoc18 to a single synonymous syllable19.
"And the workmen haven't anything at all to do with it," he pronounced emphatically. It was a direct charge. I distinctly felt called upon to refute it. But while I was striving to collect my thoughts he went on, somewhat arbitrarily, I thought: "You don't think we're all blind, do you, Mr. Smart?" "We?" I murmured, a curious dampness assailing21 me.
"That is to say, Britton, the Schmicks and myself."
"The Schmicks?" It was high time that I should laugh. "Ha! ha! The Schmicks! Good Lord, man,—the Schmicks." It sounded inane23 even to me, but, on my soul, it was all I could think of to say.
Collecting all the sarcasm25 that I could command at the instant, I inquired: "And you, Mr. Poopendyke,—are you not ticklish26?"
"Very," said he.
"Perhaps you don't know it, Mr. Smart, but you are in love," said he so convincingly that I was conscious of an abrupt28 sinking of the heart. Good heavens! Was he right? Was there anything in this silly twaddle? "You are quite mad about her."
"The deuce you say!" I exclaimed, rather blankly.
"Oh, I've seen it coming. For that matter, so has she. It's as plain as the nose—"
I leaped to my feet, startled. "She? You don't—Has she said anything that leads you to believe—Oh, the deuce! What rot!"
"No use getting angry over it," he said consolingly. "Falling in love is the sort of thing a fellow can't help, you know. It happens without his assistance. It is so easy. Now I was once in love with a girl for two years without really knowing it."
"And how did you find it out?" I asked, weakly.
"I didn't find it out until she married another chap. Then I knew I'd been in love with her all the time. But that's neither here nor there. You are heels over head in love with the Countess Tarnowsy and—"
"Shut up, Fred! You're going daffy from reading my books, or absorbing my manuscripts, or—"
"Heaven is my witness, I don't read your books and I merely correct your manuscripts. God knows there is no romance in that! You are in love. Now what are you going to do about it?"
"Do about it?" I demanded.
"You can't go on in this way, you know," he said relentlessly29. "She won't—"
"Why, you blithering idiot," I roared, "do you know what you are saying? I'm not in love with anybody. My heart is—is—But never mind! Now, listen to me, Fred. This nonsense has got to cease. I won't have it. Why, she's already got a husband. She's had all she can stand in the way of husb—"
"Rubbish! She can stand a husband or two more, if you are going to look at it in a literal way. Besides, she hasn't a husband. She's chucked him. Good riddance, too. Now, do you imagine for a single instant that a beautiful, adorable young woman of twenty-three is going to spend the rest of her life without a man? Not much! She's free to marry again and she will."
"Admitting that to be true, why should she marry me?"
"I didn't say she was in love with you. I said you were in love with her."
"Oh," I said, and my face fell "I see."
He seemed to be considering something. After a few seconds, he nodded his head decisively. "Yes, I am sure of it. If the right man gets her, she'll make the finest, sweetest wife in the world. She's never had a chance to show what's really in her. She would be adorable, wouldn't she?"
The sudden question caught me unawares.
"She would!" I said, with conviction.
"Well," said he, slowly and deliberately30, "why don't you set about it, then?"
He was so ridiculous that I thought for the fun of it, I'd humour him.
"Assuming that you are right in regard to my feelings toward her, Fred, what leads you to believe that I would stand a chance of winning her?" It was a silly question, but I declare I hung on his answer with a tenseness that surprised me.
"Why not? You are good looking, a gentleman, a celebrity31, and a man. Bless my soul, she could do worse."
"But you forget that I am—let me see—thirty-five and she is but twenty-three."
"To offset32 that, she has been married and unhappy. That brings her about up to your level, I should say. She's a mother, and that makes you seem a good bit younger. Moreover, she isn't a sod widow. She's a grass widow, and she's got a living example to use as a contrast. Regulation widows sometimes forget the past because it is dim and dead; but, by George, sir, the divorced wife doesn't forget the hard time she's had. She's mighty33 careful when she goes about it the second time. The other kind has lost her sense of comparison, her standard, so to speak. Her husband may have been a rotter and all that sort of thing, but he's dead and buried and she can't see anything but the good that was in him for the simple reason that it's on his tombstone. But when they're still alive and as bad as ever,—well, don't you see it's different?"
"That isn't feminine nature. All women want to be loved. They want to be married. They want to make some man happy."
"I suppose all this is philosophy," I mused35, somewhat pleased and mollified. "But we'll look at it from another point of view. The former Miss Titus set out for a title. She got it. Do you imagine she'll marry a man who has no position—By Jove! That reminds me of something. You are altogether wrong in your reasoning, Fred. With her own lips she declared to me one day that she'd never marry again. There you are!"
He rolled his eyes heavenward.
"They take delight in self-pity," said he. "You can't believe 'em under oath when they're in that mood."
"Well, granting that she will marry again," said I, rather insistently36, "it doesn't follow that her parents will consent to a marriage with any one less than a duke the next time."
"They've had their lesson."
"And she is probably a mercenary creature, after all. She's had a taste of poverty, after a fashion. I imagine—"
"If I know anything about women, the Countess Tarnowsy wants love more than anything else in the world, my friend. She was made to be loved and she knows it. And she hasn't had any of it, except from men who didn't happen to know how to combine love and respect. I'll give you my candid37 opinion, Mr. John Bellamy Smart. She's in a receptive mood. Strike while the iron is hot. You'll win or my name isn't—"
"Fred Poopendyke, you haven't a grain of sense," I broke in sharply. "Do you suppose, just to oblige you, I'll get myself mixed up in this wretched squabble? Why, she's not really clear of the fellow yet. She's got a good many months to wait before the matter of the child and the final decree—"
"Isn't she worth waiting a year for—or ten years? Besides, the whole squabble will come to an end the minute old man Titus puts up the back million. And the minute the Countess goes to him and says she's willing for him to pay it, you take my word for it, he'll settle like a flash. It rests with her."
"I don't quite get your meaning."
"She isn't going to let a stingy little million stand between her and happiness."
"Confound you, do you mean to say she'd ask her father to pay over that million in order to be free to marry—" I did not condescend39 to finish the sentence.
"Why not?" he demanded after a moment. "He owes it, doesn't he?"
He grinned. "You've changed your song, my friend. A few weeks ago you were saying he ought to pay it, that it would serve him right, and—"
"Did I say that?"
"You did. You even said it to the Countess."
"But not with the view to making it possible for her to hurry off and marry again. Please understand that, Fred."
"He ought to pay what he owes. He gave a million to get one husband for her. He ought to give a million to be rid of him, so that she could marry the next one without putting him to any expense whatsoever41. It's only fair to her, I say. And now I'll tell you something else: the Countess, who has stood out stubbornly against the payment of this money, is now halfway42 inclined to advise the old gentleman to settle with Tarnowsy."
"She is?" I cried in astonishment43. "How do you know?"
"I told her I thought it was the cheapest and quickest way out of it, and she said: 'I wonder!'"
"Have you been discussing her most sacred affairs with her, you blithering—"
"No, sir," said he, with dignity. "She has been discussing them with me."
I have no recollection of what I said as I stalked out of the room. He called out after me, somewhat pleadingly, I thought:
"Ask Britton what he has to say about it."
Things had come to a pretty pass! Couldn't a gentleman be polite and agreeable to a young and charming lady whom circumstances had thrown in his way without having his motives44 misconstrued by a lot of snooping, idiotic45 menials whose only zest46 in life sprung from a temperamental tendency to belittle47 the big things and enlarge upon the small ones? What rot! What utter rot! Ask Britton! The more I thought of Poopendyke's injunction the more furious I grew. What insufferable insolence48! Ask Britton! The idea! Ask my valet! Ask him what? Ask him politely if he could oblige me by telling me whether I was in love? I suppose that is what Poopendyke meant.
It was the silliest idea in the world. In the first place I was not in love, and in the second place whose business was it but mine if I were? Certainly not Poopendyke's, certainly not Britton's, certainly not the Schmicks'! Absolute lack of any sense of proportion, that's what ailed49 the whole bally of them. What looked like love to them—benighted dolts50!—was no more than a rather resolute51 effort on my part to be kind to and patient with a person who had invaded my home and set everybody—including myself—by the ears.
But, even so, what right had my secretary to constitute himself adviser52 and mentor53 to the charming invader54? What right had he to suggest what she should do, or what her father should do, or what anybody should do? He was getting to be disgustingly officious. What he needed was a smart jacking up, a little plain talk from me. Give a privileged and admittedly faithful secretary an inch and he'll have you up to your ears in trouble before you know what has happened. By the same token, what right had she to engage herself in confidential55 chats with—But just then I caught sight of Britton coming upstairs with my neatly56 polished tan shoes in one hand and a pair of number 3-1/2A tan pumps in the other. Not expecting to meet me in the hall, he had neglected to remove his cap when he came in from the courtyard. In some confusion, he tried to take it off, first with one hand, then with the other, sustaining what one might designate as absent treatment kicks on either jaw57 from two distinct sexes in the shape of shoes. He managed to get all four of them into one hand, however, and then grabbed off his cap.
"Anythink more, sir?" he asked, purely58 from habit. I was regarding the shoes with interest. Never have I known anything so ludicrous as the contrast between my stupendous number tens and the dainty pumps that seemed almost babyish beside them.
Then I did the very thing I had excoriated59 Poopendyke for even suggesting. I asked Britton!
"Britton, what's all this gossip I hear going the rounds of the castle behind my back?"
Confound him, he looked pleased! "It's quite true, sir, quite true."
"Quite true!" I roared. "What's quite true, sir?"
"Isn't it, sir?" he asked, dismayed.
"Isn't what?"
"I mean to say, sir, isn't it true?"
"My God!" I cried, throwing up my hands in hopeless despair. "You—you—wait! I'm going to get to the bottom of this. I want the truth, Britton. Who put it into that confounded head of yours that I am—er—in love with the Countess? Speak! Who did it?"
He lowered his voice, presumably because I had dropped mine to a very loud whisper. I also had glanced over both shoulders.
"Begging your pardon, sir, but I must be honest, sir. It was you as first put it into my 'ead, sir."
"I?" My face went the colour of a cardinal's cap.
"You, sir. It's as plain as the nose on your—"
"That will do, Britton," I commanded. He remained discreetly60 silent. "That will do, I say," I repeated, somewhat testily61. "Do you hear, sir?"
"Yes, sir," he responded. "That will do, you says."
"Ahem! I—ahem!" Somewhat clumsily I put on my nose-glasses and made a pretext62 of examining his burden rather closely. "What's this you have here."
"Shoes, sir."
"I see, I see. Let me have them."
He handed me my own. "The others, if you please," I said, disdaining63 the number tens. "May I inquire, sir, where you are taking these?" I had the Countess's pumps in my hands. He explained that he was going to drop mine in my room and then take hers upstairs. "You may drop mine as you intended. I shall take care of these."
"Very good, sir," said he, with such positive relief in his voice that I glared at him. He left me standing64 there, a small pump in each hand.
Five minutes later I was at her door, a pump in each hand and my heart in my mouth. A sudden, inexplicable65 form of panic took possession of me. I stood there ready to tap resoundingly on the panel of the door with the heel of a slipper66; I never raised my hand for the purpose.
Instead of carrying out my original design, I developed an overpowering desire to do nothing of the sort. Why go on making a fool of myself? Why add fuel to the already pernicious flame? Of course I was not in love with her, the idea was preposterous67. But, just the same, the confounded servants were beginning to gossip, and back stair scandal is the very worst type. It was wrong for me to encourage it. Like a ninny, I had just given Britton something to support his contention68, and he wouldn't be long in getting down to the servants' hall with the latest exhibit in the charge against me.
Moreover, if every one was talking about it, what was to prevent the silly gossip from reaching the sensitive ears of the Countess? A sickening thought struck me: could it be possible that the Countess herself suspected me of being in love with her? A woman's vanity goes a long way sometimes. The thought did not lessen69 the panic that afflicted70 me. I tip-toed away from the door to a less exposed spot at the bend in the stairway.
There, after some deliberation, I came to a decision. The proper thing for me to do was to show all of them that their ridiculous suspicions were wrong. I owed it to the Countess, to say the least. She was my guest, as it were, and it was my duty to protect her while she was in my house. The only thing for me to do, therefore, was to stay away from her.
The thought of it distressed71 me, but it seemed to be the only way, and the fair one. No doubt she would expect some sort of an explanation for the sudden indifference72 on my part, but I could attribute everything to an overpowering desire to work on my story. (I have a habit of using my work as an excuse for not doing a great many things that I ought to do.)
All this time I was regarding the small tan pumps with something akin6 to pain in my eyes. I could not help thinking about the tiny feet they sometimes covered. By some sort of intuitive computation I arrived at the conclusion that they were adorably small, and pink, and warm. Suddenly it occurred to me that my present conduct was reprehensible73, that no man of honour would be holding a lady's pumps in his hands and allowing his imagination to go too far. Resolutely74 I put them behind my back and marched downstairs.
"Britton," said I, a few minutes later, "you may take these up to the Countess, after all."
He blinked his eyes. "Wasn't she at 'ome, sir?"
"Very good, sir." He held the pumps up to admire them. "They're very cute, ain't they, sir?"
"They are just like all pumps," said I, indifferently, and walked away. If I could have been quite sure that it was a chuckle76 I heard, I should have given Britton something to think about for the rest of his days. The impertinent rascal77!
For some two long and extremely monotonous78 days I toiled79. A chapter shaped itself—after a fashion. Even as I wrote, I knew that it wasn't satisfactory and that I should tear it up the instant it was finished. What irritated me more than anything else was the certain conviction that Poopendyke, who typed it as I progressed, also knew that it would go into the waste paper basket.
Both nights I went to bed early and to sleep late. I could not deny to myself that I was missing those pleasant hours with the Countess. I did miss them. I missed Rosemary and Jinko and Helen Marie Louise Antoinette and Blake.
An atmosphere of gloom settled around Poopendyke and Britton. They eyed me with a sort of pathetic wonder in their faces. As time went on they began to look positively80 forlorn and unhappy. Once or twice I caught them whispering in the hallway. On seeing me they assumed an air of nonchalance81 that brought a grim smile to my lips. I was beginning to hate them. Toward the end of the second day, the four Schmicks became so aggravatingly82 doleful that I ordered them, one and all, to keep out of my sight. Even the emotionless Hawkes and the perfect Blatchford were infected. I don't believe I've ever seen a human face as solemnly respectful as Hawkes' was that night at dinner. He seemed to be pitying me from the bottom of his heart. It was getting on my nerves.
I took a stroll in the courtyard after dinner, and I may be forgiven I hope for the few surreptitious glances I sent upwards84 in the direction of the rear windows in the eastern wing. I wondered what she was doing, and what she was thinking of my extraordinary behaviour, and why the deuce she hadn't sent down to ask me to come up and tell her how busy I was. She had not made a single sign. The omission85 was not particularly gratifying, to say the least.
Approaching the servants' hall, I loitered. I heard voices, a mixture of tongues. Britton appeared to be doing the most of the talking. Gradually I became aware of the fact that he was explaining to the four Schmicks the meaning of an expression in which must have been incorporated the words "turned him down."
Hawkes, the impeccable Hawkes, joined in. "If I know anything about it, I'd say she has threw the 'ooks into 'im."
Then they had to explain that to Conrad and Gretel, who repeated "Ach, Gott" and other simple expletives in such a state of misery86 that I could almost detect tears in their voices.
"It ain't that, Mr. 'Awkes," protested Britton loyally. "He's lost his nerve, that's wot it is. They allus do when they realise 'ow bad they're hit. Turn 'im down? Not much, Mr. 'Awkes. Take it from me, Mr. 'Awkes, he's not going to give 'er the chawnce to turn 'im down."
"Women is funny," said Hawkes. (I had no idea the wretch38 was so ungrammatical.) "You can't put your finger on 'em ever. While I 'aven't seen much of the Countess during my present engagement, I will say this: she has a lot more sense than people give 'er credit for. Now why should she throw the 'ooks into a fine, upstanding chap like 'im, even if he is an American? She made a rotten bad job the first time, mind you. If she has threw the 'ooks into 'im, as I am afeared, I can't see wot the deuce ails88 'er."
My perfect footman, Blatchford, ventured an opinion, and I blessed him for it. "We may be off our nuts on the 'ole bloomink business," said he. "Maybe he 'as thrown the 'ooks into 'er. Who knows? It looks that w'y to me." (I remember distinctly that he used the word "thrown" and I was of half a mind to rush in and put him over Hawkes, there and then.)
"In any case," said Britton, gloom in his voice, "it's a most unhappy state of affairs. He's getting to be a perfect crank. Complines about everything I do. He won't 'ave 'is trousers pressed and he 'asn't been shaved since Monday."
I stole away, rage in my soul. Or was it mortification89? In any event, I had come to an irrevocable decision: I would ship the whole lot of them, without notice, before another day was gone.
The more I thought of the way I was being treated by my own servants, and the longer I dwelt upon the ignominious90 figure I must have presented as the hero of their back-door romance, the angrier I got. I was an object of concern to them, an object of pity! Confound them, they were feeling sorry for me because I had received my conge, and they were actually finding fault with me for not taking it with a grin on my face!
Before going to bed I went into the loggia (for the first time in three days) and, keeping myself pretty well hidden behind a projection91 in the wall, tried to get a glimpse of the Countess's windows. Failing there, I turned my steps in another direction and soon stood upon my little balcony. There was no sign of her in the windows, although a faint light glowed against the curtains of a well-remembered room near the top of the tower.
Ah, what a cosy92, jolly room! What a delicious dinner I had had there! And what a supper! Somehow, I found myself thinking of those little tan pumps. As a matter of fact, they had been a source of annoyance93 to me for more than forty-eight hours. I had found myself thinking of them at most inopportune times, greatly to the detriment94 of my work as a realist.
It was cool on the balcony, and I was abnormally warm, as might be expected. It occurred to me that I might do worse than to sit out there in the cool of the evening and enjoy a cigar or two—three or four, if necessary.
But, though I sat there until nearly midnight and chattered95 my teeth almost out of my head with the cold, she did not appear at her window. The aggravating83 part of it was that while I was shivering out there in the beastly raw, miasmic96 air, she doubtless was lying on a luxurious97 couch before a warm fire in a dressing98 gown and slippers99,—ah, slippers!—reading a novel and thinking of nothing in the world but her own comfort! And those rascally100 beggars presumed to think that I was in love with a selfish, self-centred, spoiled creature like that! Rubbish!
I am afraid that Poopendyke found me in a particularly irascible frame of mind the next morning. I know that Britton did. I thought better of my determination to discharge Britton. He was an exceptionally good servant and a loyal fellow, so why should I deprive myself of a treasure simply because the eastern wing of my abode101 was inhabited by an unfeeling creature who hadn't a thought beyond fine feathers and bonbons102? I was not so charitably inclined toward Hawkes and Blatchford, who were in my service through an influence over which I did not appear to have any control. They would have to go.
"Mr. Poopendyke," said I, after Blatchford had left the breakfast room, "I want you to give notice to Hawkes and Blatchford to-day."
"Notice?" he exclaimed incredulously.
"Notice," said I, very distinctly.
He looked distressed. "I thought they were most; satisfactory to you."
"I've changed my opinion."
"By Jove, Mr. Smart, I—I don't know how the Countess will take such high-handed—ahem! You see, sir, she—she was good enough to recommend them to me. It will be quite a shock to—"
"Don't misunderstand me," he made haste to say. "This is your house. You have a perfect right to hire and discharge, but—but—Don't you think you'd better consider very carefully—" He seemed to be finding his collar rather tight.
I held up my hand. "Of course I do not care to offend the Countess Tarnowsy. It was very kind of her to recommend them. We—we will let the matter rest for a few days."
"She has informed me that you were especially pleased with the manner in which they served the dinner the other night. I think she said you regarded them as incomparable diadems104, or something of the sort. It may have been the champagne105."
My thoughts leaped backward to that wonderful dinner. "It wasn't the champagne," said I, very stiffly.
"Do you also contemplate106 giving notice to the chef and his wife, our only chambermaid?"
"No, I don't," I snapped. "I think they were in bed."
He looked at me as if he thought I had gone crazy. I wriggled107 uncomfortably in my chair for a second or two, and then abruptly108 announced that we'd better get to work. I have never ceased to wonder what construction he could have put on that stupid slip of the tongue.
I cannot explain why, but at the slightest unusual sound that morning I found myself shooting an involuntary glance at the imperturbable109 features of Ludwig the Red. Sometimes I stopped in the middle of a sentence, to look and to listen rather more intently than seemed absolutely necessary, and on each occasion I was obliged to begin the sentence all over again, because, for the life of me, I couldn't remember what it was I had set out to say in dictation. Poopendyke had an air of patient tolerance110 about him that irritated me intensely. More than once I thought I detected him in the act of suppressing a smile.
At eleven o'clock, Blatchford came to the door. His ordinarily stoical features bore signs of a great, though subdued111 excitement. I had a fleeting112 glimpse of Britton in the distance,—a sort of passing shadow, as it were.
"A note for you, sir, if you please," said he. He was holding the salver almost on a level with his nose. It seemed to me that he was looking at it out of the corner of his eye.
My heart—my incomprehensible heart—gave a leap that sent the blood rushing to my face. He advanced, not with his usual imposing113 tread but with a sprightliness114 that pleased me vastly. I took the little pearl grey envelope from the salver, and carelessly glanced at the superscription. There was a curious ringing in my ears.
"Thank you, Blatchford; that will do."
"I beg pardon, sir, but there is to be an answer."
"Oh," said I. I had the feeling that at least fifty eyes were upon me, although I am bound to admit that both Poopendyke and the footman were actively115 engaged in looking in another direction.
I tore open the envelope.
"Have you deserted116 me entirely117? Won't you please come and see me? Thanks 'for the violets, but I can't talk to violets, you know. Please come up for luncheon118."
I managed to dash off a brief note in a fairly nonchalant manner. Blatchford almost committed the unpardonable crime of slamming the door behind him, he was in such a hurry to be off with the message.
Then I went over and stood above Mr. Poopendyke.
"Mr. Poopendyke," said I slowly, darkly, "what do you know about those violets?"
He quailed119. "I hope you don't mind, Mr. Smart. It's all right. I put one of your cards in, so that there couldn't be any mistake."
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streak
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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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synopsis
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intensity
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galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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akin
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wary
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descend
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descended
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perfectly
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lapsed
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combatively
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adversary
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succinctly
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| adv.简洁地；简洁地，简便地 | |
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succinctness
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| n.简洁；简要；简明 | |
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16
palaver
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| adj.壮丽堂皇的；n.废话，空话 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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18
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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19
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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21
assailing
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| v.攻击( assail的现在分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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22
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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23
inane
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| adj.空虚的，愚蠢的，空洞的 | |
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24
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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25
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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ticklish
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| adj.怕痒的；问题棘手的；adv.怕痒地；n.怕痒，小心处理 | |
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27
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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28
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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30
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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31
celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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32
offset
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| n.分支，补偿；v.抵消，补偿 | |
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33
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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34
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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35
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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36
insistently
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| ad.坚持地 | |
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37
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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38
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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39
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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40
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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41
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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42
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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43
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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44
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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45
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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46
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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47
belittle
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| v.轻视，小看，贬低 | |
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48
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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49
ailed
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| v.生病( ail的过去式和过去分词 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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50
dolts
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| n.笨蛋，傻瓜( dolt的名词复数 ) | |
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51
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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52
adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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53
mentor
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| n.指导者，良师益友；v.指导 | |
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54
invader
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| n.侵略者，侵犯者，入侵者 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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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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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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59
excoriated
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| v.擦伤( excoriate的过去式和过去分词 )；擦破（皮肤）；剥（皮）；严厉指责 | |
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discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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61
testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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62
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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63
disdaining
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| 鄙视( disdain的现在分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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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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65
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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66
slipper
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| n.拖鞋 | |
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67
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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68
contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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69
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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70
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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72
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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73
reprehensible
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| adj.该受责备的 | |
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74
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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75
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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76
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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77
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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78
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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79
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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80
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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81
nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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82
aggravatingly
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83
aggravating
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| adj.恼人的，讨厌的 | |
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84
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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85
omission
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| n.省略，删节；遗漏或省略的事物，冗长 | |
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86
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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87
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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88
ails
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| v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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89
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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90
ignominious
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| adj.可鄙的，不光彩的，耻辱的 | |
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91
projection
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| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
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92
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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93
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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94
detriment
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| n.损害；损害物，造成损害的根源 | |
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95
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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96
miasmic
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| adj.瘴气的；有害的 | |
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97
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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98
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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99
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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100
rascally
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| adj. 无赖的，恶棍的 adv. 无赖地，卑鄙地 | |
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101
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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102
bonbons
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| n.小糖果( bonbon的名词复数 ) | |
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103
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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104
diadems
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| n.王冠，王权，带状头饰( diadem的名词复数 ) | |
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105
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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106
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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107
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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108
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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109
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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110
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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111
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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112
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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113
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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114
sprightliness
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| n.愉快，快活 | |
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115
actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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116
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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117
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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118
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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119
quailed
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| 害怕，发抖，畏缩( quail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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