The mention of her name—albeit in a quiet, unconcerned voice—in the dress-circle of a San Francisco theatre, during the performance of a popular female star, was therefore so peculiar9 that it could only have come from the lips of some one personally interested in the lost vessel. Yet the speaker was a youngish, feminine-looking man of about thirty, notable for his beardlessness, in the crowded circle of bearded and moustachioed Californians, and had been one of the most absorbed of the enthusiastic audience. A weak smile of vacillating satisfaction and uneasiness played on his face during the plaudits of his fellow-admirers, as if he were alternately gratified and annoyed. It might have passed for a discriminating10 and truthful11 criticism of the performance, which was a classical burlesque12, wherein the star displayed an unconventional frankness of shapely limbs and unrestrained gestures and glances; but he applauded the more dubious13 parts equally with the audience. He was evidently familiar with the performance, for a look of eager expectation greeted most of the "business." Either he had not come for the entire evening, or he did not wish to appear as if he had, as he sat on one of the back benches near the passage, and frequently changed his place. He was well, even foppishly, dressed for the period, and appeared to be familiarly known to the loungers in the passage as a man of some social popularity.
He had just been recognized by a man of apparently14 equal importance and distinction, who had quietly and unconsciously taken a seat by his side, and the recognition appeared equally unexpected and awkward. The new-comer was the older and more decorous-looking, with an added formality of manner and self-assertion that did not, however, conceal15 a certain habitual16 shrewdness of eye and lip. He wore a full beard, but the absence of a moustache left the upper half of his handsome and rather satirical mouth uncovered. His dress was less pronounced than his companion's, but of a type of older and more established gentility.
"I was a little late coming from the office to-night," said the younger man, with an embarrassed laugh, "and I thought I'd drop in here on my way home. Pretty rough outside, ain't it?"
"Yes, it's raining and blowing; so I thought I wouldn't go up to the plaza17 for a cab, but wait here for the first one that dropped a fare at the door, and take it on to the hotel."
"Hold on, and I'll go with you," said the young man carelessly. "I say, Brimmer," he added, after a pause, with a sudden assumption of larger gayety, "there's nothing mean about Belle18 Montgomery, eh? She's a whole team and the little dog under the wagon19, ain't she? Deuced pretty woman!—no make-up there, eh?"
"She certainly is a fine woman," said Brimmer gravely, borrowing his companion's lorgnette. "By the way, Markham, do you usually keep an opera-glass in your office in case of an emergency like this?"
"I reckon it was forgotten in my overcoat pocket," said Markham, with an embarrassed smile.
"Left over from the last time," said Brimmer, rising from his seat. "Well, I'm going now—I suppose I'll have to try the plaza."
"Hold on a moment. She's coming on now—there she is!" He stopped, his anxious eyes fixed20 upon the stage. Brimmer turned at the same moment in no less interested absorption. A quick hush21 ran through the theatre; the men bent22 eagerly forward as the Queen of Olympus swept down to the footlights, and, with a ravishing smile, seemed to envelop23 the whole theatre in a gracious caress24.
"You know, 'pon my word, Brimmer, she's a very superior woman," gasped25 Markham excitedly, when the goddess had temporarily withdrawn26. "These fellows here," he said, indicating the audience contemptuously, "don't know her,—think she's all that sort of thing, you know,—and come here just to LOOK at her. But she's very accomplished—in fact, a kind of literary woman. Writes devilish good poetry—only took up the stage on account of domestic trouble: drunken husband that beat her—regular affecting story, you know. These sap-headed fools don't, of course, know THAT. No, sir; she's a remarkable27 woman! I say, Brimmer, look here! I"—he hesitated, and then went on more boldly, as if he had formed a sudden resolution. "What have you got to do to-night?"
Brimmer, who had been lost in abstraction, started slightly, and said,—
"I—oh! I've got an appointment with Keene. You know he's off by the steamer—day after to-morrow?"
"What! He's not going off on that wild-goose chase, after all? Why, the man's got Excelsior on the brain!" He stopped as he looked at Brimmer's cold face, and suddenly colored. "I mean his plan—his idea's all nonsense—you know that!"
"I certainly don't agree with him," began Brimmer gravely; "but"—
"The idea," interrupted Markham, encouraged by Brimmer's beginning, "of his knocking around the Gulf6 of California, and getting up an expedition to go inland, just because a mail-steamer saw a barque like the Excelsior off Mazatlan last August. As if the Excelsior wouldn't have gone into Mazatlan if it had been her! I tell you what it is, Brimmer: it's mighty28 rough on you and me, and it ain't the square thing at all—after all we've done, and the money we've spent, and the nights we've sat up over the Excelsior—to have this young fellow Keene always putting up the bluff29 of his lost sister on us! His lost sister, indeed! as if WE hadn't any feelings."
The two men looked at each other, and each felt it incumbent30 to look down and sigh deeply—not hypocritically, but perfunctorily, as over a past grief, although anger had been the dominant31 expression of the speaker.
"I was about to remark," said Brimmer practically, "that the insurance on the Excelsior having been paid, her loss is a matter of commercial record; and that, in a business point of view, this plan of Keene's ain't worth looking at. As a private matter of our own feelings—purely32 domestic—there's no question but that we must sympathize with him, although he refuses to let us join in the expenses."
"Oh, as to that," said Markham hurriedly, "I told him to draw on me for a thousand dollars last time I saw him. No, sir; it ain't that. What gets me is this darned nagging33 and simpering around, and opening old sores, and putting on sentimental34 style, and doing the bereaved35 business generally. I reckon he'd be even horrified36 to see you and me here—though it was just a chance with both of us."
"I think not," said Brimmer dryly. "He knows Miss Montgomery already. They're going by the same steamer."
Markham looked up quickly.
"Impossible! She's going by the other line to Panama; that is"—he hesitated—"I heard it from the agent."
"She's changed her mind, so Keene says," returned Brimmer. "She's going by way of Nicaragua. He stops at San Juan to reconnoitre the coast up to Mazatlan. Good-night. It's no use waiting here for a cab any longer, I'm off."
"Hold on!" said Markham, struggling out of a sudden uneasy reflection. "I say, Brimmer," he resumed, with an enforced smile, which he tried to make playful, "your engagement with Keene won't keep you long. What do you say to having a little supper with Miss Montgomery, eh?—perfectly37 proper, you know—at our hotel? Just a few friends, eh?"
Brimmer's eyes and lips slightly contracted.
"I believe I am already invited," he said quietly. "Keene asked me. In fact, that's the appointment. Strange he didn't speak of you," he added dryly.
"I suppose it's some later arrangement," Markham replied, with feigned38 carelessness. "Do you know her?"
"Slightly."
"You didn't say so!"
"You didn't ask me," said Brimmer. "She came to consult me about South American affairs. It seems that filibuster40 General Leonidas, alias41 Perkins, whose little game we stopped by that Peruvian contract, actually landed in Quinquinambo and established a government. It seems she knows him, has a great admiration42 for him as a Liberator43, as she calls him. I think they correspond!"
"She's a wonderful woman, by jingo, Brimmer! I'd like to hear whom she don't know," said Markham, beaming with a patronizing vanity. "There's you, and there's that filibuster, and old Governor Pico, that she's just snatched bald-headed—I mean, you know, that he recognizes her worth, don't you see? Not like this cattle you see here."
"Are you coming with me?" said Brimmer, gravely buttoning up his coat, as if encasing himself in a panoply44 of impervious45 respectability.
"I'll join you at the hotel," said Markham hurriedly. "There's a man over there in the parquet46 that I want to say a word to; don't wait for me."
With a slight inclination47 of the head Mr. Brimmer passed out into the lobby, erect48, self-possessed, and impeccable. One or two of his commercial colleagues of maturer age, who were loitering leisurely49 by the wall, unwilling50 to compromise themselves by actually sitting down, took heart of grace at this correct apparition51. Brimmer nodded to them coolly, as if on 'Change, and made his way out of the theatre. He had scarcely taken a few steps before a furious onset52 of wind and rain drove him into a doorway53 for shelter. At the same moment a slouching figure, with a turned-up coat-collar, slipped past him and disappeared in a passage at his right. Partly hidden by his lowered umbrella, Mr. Brimmer himself escaped notice, but he instantly recognized his late companion, Markham. As he resumed his way up the street he glanced into the passage. Halfway54 down, a light flashed upon the legend "Stage Entrance." Quincy Brimmer, with a faint smile, passed on to his hotel.
It was striking half-past eleven when Mr. Brimmer again issued from his room in the Oriental and passed down a long corridor. Pausing a moment before a side hall that opened from it, he cast a rapid look up and down the corridor, and then knocked hastily at a door. It was opened sharply by a lady's maid, who fell back respectfully before Mr. Brimmer's all-correct presence.
Half reclining on a sofa in the parlor55 of an elaborate suite56 of apartments was the woman whom Mr. Brimmer had a few hours before beheld57 on the stage of the theatre. Lifting her eyes languidly from a book that lay ostentatiously on her lap, she beckoned58 her visitor to approach. She was a woman still young, whose statuesque beauty had but slightly suffered from cosmetics59, late hours, and the habitual indulgence of certain hysterical60 emotions that were not only inconsistent with the classical suggestions of her figure, but had left traces not unlike the grosser excitement of alcoholic61 stimulation62. She looked like a tinted63 statue whose slight mutations through stress of time and weather had been unwisely repaired by freshness of color.
"I am such a creature of nerves," she said, raising a superb neck and extending a goddess-like arm, "that I am always perfectly exhausted64 after the performance. I fly, as you see, to my first love—poetry—as soon as Rosina has changed my dress. It is not generally known—but I don't mind telling YOU—that I often nerve myself for the effort of acting65 by reading some well-remembered passage from my favorite poets, as I stand by the wings. I quaff66, as one might say, a single draught67 of the Pierian spring before I go on."
The exact relations between the humorous "walk round," in which Miss Montgomery usually made her first entrance, and the volume of Byron she held in her hand, did not trouble Mr. Brimmer so much as the beautiful arm with which she emphasized it. Neither did it strike him that the distinguishing indications of a poetic68 exaltation were at all unlike the effects of a grosser stimulant69 known as "Champagne70 cocktail71" on the less sensitive organization of her colleagues. Touched by her melancholy72 but fascinating smile, he said gallantly73 that he had observed no sign of exhaustion74, or want of power in her performance that evening.
"Then you were there!" she said, fixing her eyes upon him with an expression of mournful gratitude75. "You actually left your business and the calls of public duty to see the poor mountebank76 perform her nightly task."
"I was there with a friend of yours," answered Brimmer soberly, "who actually asked me to the supper to which Mr. Keene had already invited me, and which YOU had been kind enough to suggest to me a week ago."
"True, I had forgotten," said Miss Montgomery, with a large goddess-like indifference77 that was more effective with the man before her than the most elaborate explanation. "You don't mind them—do you?—for we are all friends together. My position, you know," she added sadly, "prevents my always following my own inclinations78 or preferences. Poor Markham, I fear the world does not do justice to his gentle, impressible nature. I sympathize with him deeply; we have both had our afflictions, we have both—lost. Good heavens!" she exclaimed, with a sudden exaggerated start of horror, "what have I done? Forgive my want of tact79, dear friend; I had forgotten, wretched being that I am, that YOU, too"—
She caught his hand in both hers, and bowed her head over it as if unable to finish her sentence.
Brimmer, who had been utterly81 mystified and amazed at this picture of Markham's disconsolate82 attitude to the world, and particularly to the woman before him, was completely finished by this later tribute to his own affliction. His usually composed features, however, easily took upon themselves a graver cast as he kept, and pressed, the warm hands in his own.
"Fool that I was," continued Miss Montgomery; "in thinking of poor Markham's childlike, open grief, I forgot the deeper sorrow that the more manly83 heart experiences under an exterior84 that seems cold and impassible. Yes," she said, raising her languid eyes to Brimmer, "I ought to have felt the throb85 of that volcano under its mask of snow. You have taught me a lesson."
Withdrawing her hands hastily, as if the volcano had shown some signs of activity, she leaned back on the sofa again.
"You are not yet reconciled to Mr. Keene's expedition, then?" she asked languidly.
"I believe that everything has been already done," said Brimmer, somewhat stiffly; "all sources of sensible inquiry86 have been exhausted by me. But I envy Keene the eminently87 practical advantages his impractical88 journey gives him," he added, arresting himself, gallantly; "he goes with you."
"Truly!" said Miss Montgomery, with the melancholy abstraction of a stage soliloquy. "Beyond obeying the dictates89 of his brotherly affection, he gains no real advantage in learning whether his sister is alive or dead. The surety of her death would not make him freer than he is now—freer to absolutely follow the dictates of a new affection; free to make his own life again. It is a sister, not a wife, he seeks."
Mr. Brimmer's forehead slightly contracted. He leaned back a little more rigidly90 in his chair, and fixed a critical, half supercilious91 look upon her. She did not seem to notice his almost impertinent scrutiny, but sat silent, with her eyes bent on the carpet, in gloomy abstraction.
"Can you keep a secret?" she said, as if with a sudden resolution.
"You know I am a married woman. You have heard the story of my wrongs?"
"I have heard them," said Brimmer dryly.
"Well, the husband who abused and deserted93 me was, I have reason to believe, a passenger on the Excelsior."
"M'Corkle!—impossible. There was no such name on the passenger list."
"M'Corkle!" repeated Miss Montgomery, with a dissonant94 tone in her voice and a slight flash in her eyes. "What are you thinking of? There never was a Mr. M'Corkle; it was one of my noms de plume95. And where did YOU hear it?"
"I beg your pardon, I must have got it from the press notices of your book of poetry. I knew that Montgomery was only a stage name, and as it was necessary that I should have another in making the business investments you were good enough to charge me with, I used what I thought was your real name. It can be changed, or you can sign M'Corkle."
"Let it go," said Miss Montgomery, resuming her former manner. "What matters? I wish there was no such thing as business. Well," she resumed, after a pause, "my husband's name is Hurlstone."
"But there was no Hurlstone on the passenger list either," said Brimmer. "I knew them all, and their friends."
"Not in the list from the States; but if he came on board at Callao, you wouldn't have known it. I knew that he arrived there on the Osprey a few days before the Excelsior sailed."
Mr. Brimmer's eyes changed their expression.
"And you want to find him?"
"No," she said, with an actress's gesture. "I want to know the truth. I want to know if I am still tied to this man, or if I am free to follow the dictates of my own conscience,—to make my life anew,—to become—you see I am not ashamed to say it—to become the honest wife of some honest man."
"A divorce would suit your purpose equally," said Brimmer coldly. "It can be easily obtained."
"A divorce! Do you know what that means to a woman in my profession? It is a badge of shame,—a certificate of disgrace,—an advertisement to every miserable96 wretch80 who follows me with his advances that I have no longer the sanctity of girlhood, nor the protection of a wife."
There was tragic97 emotion in her voice, there were tears in her eyes. Mr. Brimmer, gazing at her with what he firmly thought to be absolute and incisive98 penetration99, did not believe either. But like most practical analysts100 of the half-motived sex, he was only half right. The emotion and the tears were as real as anything else in the woman under criticism, notwithstanding that they were not as real as they would have been in the man who criticised. He, however, did her full justice on a point where most men and all women misjudged her: he believed that, through instinct and calculation, she had been materially faithful to her husband; that this large goddess-like physique had all the impeccability of a goddess; that the hysterical dissipation in which she indulged herself was purely mental, and usurped101 and preoccupied102 all other emotions. In this public exposition of her beauty there was no sense of shame, for there was no sense of the passion it evoked103. And he was right. But there he should have stopped. Unfortunately, his masculine logic104 forced him to supply a reason for her coldness in the existence of some more absorbing passion. He believed her ambitious and calculating: she was neither. He believed she might have made him an admirable copartner and practical helpmeet: he was wrong.
"You know my secret now," she continued. "You know why I am anxious to know my fate. You understand now why I sympathize with"—she stopped, and made a half contemptuous gesture—"with these men Markham and Keene. THEY do not know it; perhaps they prefer to listen to their own vanity—that's the way of most men; but you do know it, and you have no excuse for misjudging me, or undeceiving them." She stopped and looked at the clock. "They will be here in five minutes; do you wish them to find you already here?"
"I have no wish," she said, with a sublime106 gesture of indifference. "If you wait you can entertain them here, while Rosina is dressing107 me in the next room. We sup in the larger room across the hall."
As she disappeared, Quincy Brimmer rose irresolutely108 from his seat and checked a half uttered exclamation109. Then he turned nervously110 to the parlor-door. What a senseless idiot he had become! He had never for an instant conceived the idea of making this preliminary confidential111 visit known to the others; he had no wish to suggest the appearance of an assignation with the woman, who, rightly or wrongly, was notorious; he had nothing to gain by this voluntary assumption of a compromising attitude; yet here he was, he—Mr. Brimmer—with the appearance of being installed in her parlor, receiving her visitors, and dispensing112 her courtesies. Only a man recklessly in love would be guilty of such an indiscretion—even Markham's feebleness had never reached this absurdity113. In the midst of his uneasiness there was a knock at the door; he opened it himself nervously and sharply. Markham's self-satisfied face drew back in alarm and embarrassment114 at the unexpected apparition. The sight restored Brimmer's coolness and satirical self-possession.
"I—I—didn't know you were here," stammered Markham. "I left Keene in your room."
"Then why didn't you bring him along with you?" said Brimmer maliciously115. "Go and fetch him."
"Yes; but he said you were to meet him there," continued Markham, glancing around the empty room with a slight expression of relief.
"My watch was twenty minutes fast, and I had given him up," said Brimmer, with mendacious116 effrontery117. "Miss Montgomery is dressing. You can bring him here before she returns."
Markham flew uneasily down the corridor and quickly returned with a handsome young fellow of five-and-twenty, whose frank face was beaming with excitement and youthful energy. The two elder men could not help regarding him with a mingled118 feeling of envy and compassion119.
"I haven't had time," hesitated Markham. "The fact is, Brimmer, I think of going with Keene on this expedition."
"Indeed!" said Brimmer superciliously121.
"Yes," said Markham, coloring slightly. "You see, we've got news. Tell him, Dick."
"The Storm Cloud got in yesterday from Valparaiso and Central American ports," said Keene, with glowing cheeks. "I boarded her, as usual, last night, for information. The mate says there is a story of a man picked up crazy, in an open fishing-boat, somewhere off the peninsula, and brought into hospital at San Juan last August. He recovered enough lately to tell his story and claim to be Captain Bunker of the Excelsior, whose crew mutinied and ran her ashore122 in a fog. But the boat in which he was picked up was a Mexican fishing-boat, and there was something revolutionary and political about the story, so that the authorities detained him. The consul39 has just been informed of the circumstances, and has taken the matter in hand."
"It's a queer story," said Brimmer, gazing from the one to the other, "and I will look into it also to-morrow. If it is true," he added slowly, "I will go with you."
Richard Keene extended his hand impulsively123 to his two elders.
"You'll excuse me for saying it, Brimmer—and you, too, Markham—but this is just what I've been looking forward to. Not but what I'd have found Nell without your assistance; but you see, boys, it DID look mighty mean in me to make more fuss about a sister than you would for your wives! But now that it's all settled"—
"We'll go to supper," said Miss Montgomery theatrically124, appearing at the door. "Dick will give me his arm."
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1
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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engulfed
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| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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discriminating
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truthful
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burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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conceal
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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plaza
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| n.广场，市场 | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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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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hush
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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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envelop
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| vt.包，封，遮盖；包围 | |
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caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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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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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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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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incumbent
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| adj.成为责任的，有义务的；现任的，在职的 | |
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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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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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bereaved
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| adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去（希望、生命等）( bereave的过去式和过去分词)；（尤指死亡）使丧失（亲人、朋友等）；使孤寂；抢走（财物） | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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filibuster
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| n.妨碍议事，阻挠；v.阻挠 | |
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41
alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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42
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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43
liberator
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| 解放者 | |
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44
panoply
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| n.全副甲胄，礼服 | |
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45
impervious
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| adj.不能渗透的，不能穿过的，不易伤害的 | |
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46
parquet
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| n.镶木地板 | |
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47
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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48
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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49
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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50
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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51
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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52
onset
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| n.进攻，袭击，开始，突然开始 | |
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53
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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54
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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55
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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56
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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57
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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58
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
cosmetics
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| n.化妆品 | |
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60
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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61
alcoholic
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| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
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62
stimulation
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| n.刺激，激励，鼓舞 | |
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63
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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64
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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65
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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66
quaff
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| v.一饮而尽；痛饮 | |
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67
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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68
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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69
stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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70
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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71
cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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72
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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73
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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74
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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75
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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76
mountebank
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| n.江湖郎中；骗子 | |
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77
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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78
inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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79
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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80
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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81
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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82
disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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83
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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84
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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85
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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86
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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87
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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88
impractical
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| adj.不现实的，不实用的，不切实际的 | |
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89
dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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90
rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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91
supercilious
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| adj.目中无人的，高傲的；adv.高傲地；n.高傲 | |
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92
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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93
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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94
dissonant
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| adj.不和谐的；不悦耳的 | |
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95
plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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96
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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97
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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98
incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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99
penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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100
analysts
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| 分析家，化验员( analyst的名词复数 ) | |
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101
usurped
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| 篡夺，霸占( usurp的过去式和过去分词 )； 盗用； 篡夺，篡权 | |
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102
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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103
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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104
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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105
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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106
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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107
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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108
irresolutely
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| adv.优柔寡断地 | |
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109
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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110
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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111
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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112
dispensing
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| v.分配( dispense的现在分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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113
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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114
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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115
maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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116
mendacious
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| adj.不真的，撒谎的 | |
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117
effrontery
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| n.厚颜无耻 | |
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118
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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119
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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120
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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121
superciliously
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| adv.高傲地；傲慢地 | |
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122
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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123
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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124
theatrically
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| adv.戏剧化地 | |
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