"Not changed at all, as far as I can see," he said to Peter, with the same mincing6, finicking pronunciation that had pleased the boy Peter eight years ago. "Only my sight isn't what it was. Are you changed at all? Do you still like Bow rose-bowls better than anything except Denis? Denis is coming here soon, you know, so I shall be able to discover. Oh, I beg pardon—Mr. Peter Margerison, Mr. Cheriton."
Mr. Cheriton was a dark, sturdy young man with an aggressive jaw7, who bowed without a smile and looked one rather hard in the face. Peter was a little frightened of him—these curt8, brisk manners made him nervous always—and felt a desire to edge behind Hilary. He gathered that Hilary and Cheriton did not very much like one another. He knew what that slight nervous contraction9 of Hilary's forehead meant.
Dinner was interesting. Lord Evelyn told pleasant and funny stories in his high, tittering voice, addressing himself to all his guests, but looking at Peter when he came to his points. (People usually looked at Peter when they came to the points of their stories.) Hilary talked a good deal and drank a good deal and ate very little, and was obviously on very friendly terms with Lord Evelyn and on no terms at all with Mr. Cheriton. Cheriton looked a good deal at Peter, with very bright and direct eyes, and flung into the conversation rather curt and spasmodic utterances10 in a slightly American accent. He seemed a very decided11 and very much alive young man, a little rude, thought Peter, but possibly that was only his trans-Atlantic way, if, as his voice hinted, he came from America. Once or twice Peter met the direct and vivid regard fixed12 upon him, and nearly was startled into "I beg your pardon," for there seemed to him an odd element of accusation13 in the look.
"But it isn't my fault," he told himself reassuringly14. "I've not done anything, I'm sure I haven't. It's just the way he's made, I expect. Or else people have done him badly once or twice, and he's always thinking it's going to happen again. Rough luck on him; poor chap."
After dinner they went into what Lord Evelyn called the saloon. "Where I keep my especial treasures," he remarked to Peter. "You'd like to walk round and look at some of them, I expect. These bronzes, now—," he indicated two statuettes on brackets by the door.
Peter looked at them, then swiftly up at Lord Evelyn, who swayed at his side, his glass screwed into one smiling eye.
Lord Evelyn touched the near statuette with his light, unsteady, beautifully-ringed hand.
"Rather lovely, isn't she," he said, caressing16 her. "We found her and the Actæon in a dusty hole of a place in a miserable17 little calle off the Campo delle Beccarie, kept by a German Jew. Quite a find, the old sinner. What an extortioner, though! Eh, Margerison? How much has the old Schneller got out of my pocket? It was your brother who discovered him for me, young Peter. He took me there, and we found the Diana together. Like her? Giacomo Treviso, a pupil of Verrocchio's. Heard of him? The Actæon's not so good now. Same man, but not so happy."
He turned the Diana about; he posed her for Peter's edification. Peter looked from her to the Actæon, from the Actæon to Lord Evelyn's face. He opened his lips to say something, and closed them on silence. He looked past Lord Evelyn to Hilary, who stood in the background, leaning a little against a chair. It seemed to Peter that there was a certain tensity, a strain, in his face.
Then Peter met full the bright, hard, vivid gaze of the alert Cheriton. It had an odd expression at this moment; unmistakably inimical, observantly curious, distinctly sardonic18. A faint ironic19 smile just touched the corners of his determined20 mouth. Peter returned the look with his puzzled, enquiring21 eyes that sought to understand.
This much, anyhow, he seemed to understand: his rôle was silence. If Cheriton didn't speak (and Cheriton's expression showed that he knew) and if Hilary didn't speak ... well, he, Peter, couldn't speak either. He must acquiesce22 in what appeared to be a conspiracy23 to keep this pathetic, worn-out dilettante24 in a fool's paradise.
The pathos25 of it gripped Peter's heart. Lord Evelyn had once known so well. What havoc26 was this that one could apparently27 make of one's faculties28? It wasn't only physical semi-blindness; it was a blindness of the mind, a paralysis29 of the powers of discrimination and appreciation30, which, was pitiful. Peter was angry. He thought Hilary and Cheriton so abominably31, unmitigatedly wrong. And yet he himself had said, "If it makes them happy"—and left that as the indubitable end. Ah, but one didn't lie to people, even for that.
Peter was brought up sharply, as he had often been before, against Hilary's strange Hilaryish, perverted32 views of the conduct of life's businesses. Then, as usual when he should have felt furthest from mirth, he abruptly33 collapsed35 into sudden helpless laughter.
Lord Evelyn turned the eye-glass on him.
"Eh?" he queried37. "Why so? But never mind; you always suffered in that way, I remember. Get it from your mother, I think; she did, too. Never explain jokes; they lose so in the telling. Now I want to show you something over here."
Peter crossed the room, his laughter dead. After all, funny wasn't what it really was. Mainly, it was perplexing. Till he could have it out with Hilary, he couldn't understand it at all.
He saw more of Lord Evelyn's treasures, and perplexity grew. He did not laugh again; he was very solemn and very silent and very polite where he could not admire. Where he could he did; but even here his admiration38 was weighed down to soberness by the burden of the things beyond the pale.
Lord Evelyn found him lukewarm, changed and dulled from the vivid devotee of old, who had coloured up all over his pale face at the sight of a Bow rose-bowl. He coloured indeed now, when Lord Evelyn said "Like it?"—coloured and murmured indistinguishable comments into his collar. He coloured most when Lord Evelyn said, as he frequently did, "Your brother's find. A delicious little man in some sotto-portico or other—quite an admirable person. Eh, Margerison?"
Hilary in the background would vaguely39 assent40. Peter, who looked at him no more, felt the indefinable challenge of his tone. It meant either, "I've as much right to my artistic41 taste as you have, Peter, and I'm not ashamed of it," or, "Speak out, if you want to shatter the illusions that make the happiness of his ridiculous life; if not, be silent."
And all the time the vivid stare of Jim Cheriton was turned like a search-light on Peter's face, and his odd smile grew and grew. Cheriton was watching, observing, taking in something new, trying to solve some problem.
At the end of half an hour Lord Evelyn said, "Peter Margerison, you've lost some of the religious fervour of your youth. The deceitfulness of riches and the cares of this world—is that it? What's come to you that you're so tepid42 about this Siena chalice43? Don't be tepid, young Peter; it's the symptom of a ruined soul."
He polished his glass, screwed it into his left eye, and looked down on Peter with his whimsical, kindly44 scrutiny45. Peter did not return the look; he stood with bent46 head, looking vaguely down at the Sienese chalice. That too was one of Hilary's finds. Hilary it seemed, had approved its seller in an article in the Gem2.
"Damme," said Lord Evelyn suddenly, with unusual explosiveness, "if I didn't like you better when you were fifteen! Now, you blasé and soulless generation, I suppose you want to play bridge. Do you play as badly as ever, Peter? A remarkable47 player you were, I remember—quite remarkable. Denis always told you so. Now Cheriton will tell you so, because he's rude."
Bridge was a relief to Peter, though he was still a rather remarkable player. He played with Cheriton, who was not rude, because he was absolutely silent. It was an absurd game. Cheriton was a brilliant player, even when he was only giving half his mind to it, as he seemingly was to-night. Lord Evelyn had been a brilliant player once, and was now brilliant with alternations of eccentricity48; he talked most of the time, making the game the centre of his remarks, from which he struck out along innumerable paths of irrelevancy49. The Margerisons too were irrelevant50; Hilary thought bridge a bore, and Peter, who thought nothing a bore, was always a little alarmed by anything so grown-up. But to-night he didn't much mind what he did, so long as he stopped looking at Lord Evelyn's things. Peter only wanted to get away; he was ashamed and perplexed51 and sorry and angry, and stabbed through with pity. He wanted to get out of Lord Evelyn's house, out of the range of his kindly, whimsical smile and Cheriton's curious hostile stare; he wanted to be alone with Hilary, and to understand.
The irony52 of Cheriton's look increased during bridge; it was certainly justified53 by the abstraction of Peter's play.
Lord Evelyn laughed at him. "You need Denis to keep you in order, young Peter. Lord, how frightened you used to be when Denis was stern. Smiled and pretended you weren't, but I knew...." He chuckled54 at the painted ceiling. "Knew a man at Oxford55, Peter ... well, never mind that story now, you're too young for it.... Anyhow I make it no trumps56."
At eleven o'clock Hilary and Peter went home. Lord Evelyn shook hands with Peter rather affectionately, and said, "Come and see me again soon, dear boy. Lunch with me at Florian's to-morrow—you and your wealthy friend. Busy sight-seeing, are you? How banal57 of you. Morning in the Duomo, afternoon on the Lido, and the Accademia to fill the spare hours; I know the dear old round. Never could be worried with it myself; too much else to do. But one manages to enjoy life even without it, so don't overwork. And come and see my toys again by daylight, and try to enthuse a little more over them next time. You're too young to be blasé. You'd better read the Gem, to encourage yourself in simple pleasures. Good-night. Good-night, Margerison."
He shook hands with them both again, possibly to make up for Cheriton, who did not shake hands at all, but stood with his own in his pockets, leaning against the wall, his eyes still on Peter's face.
"Queer manners you have, dear Jim," was what they heard Lord Evelyn say as they stepped into the Ca' delle Gemme gondola58, that was taking them back to the Rio delle Beccarie.
They swung out into the faintly-shining darkness of the water-road, into which the climbing moon could not look—a darkness crossed and flecked by the red gleamings of the few gondola and sandolo lights abroad at this hour in the quiet street. They sent their own red path before them as they softly travelled; and round it the stars flickered59 and swam, deep down. Peter could have sworn he heard their thin, tinkling60, submerged, funny song, somewhere above or beneath the soft and melodious61 "Chérie Birri-Bim," that someone (not Lord Evelyn's beautifully trained and taciturn poppe) was crooning near at hand.
The velvet62 darkness of a bridge drowned the stars for a moment; then, with a musical, abrupt34 cry of "Sta—i!" they swung round a corner into a narrow way that was silver and green in the face of the climbing moon.
The musically lovely night, the peace of the dim water-ways, the shadowing mystery of the steep, shuttered houses, with here and there a lit door or window ajar, sending a slant63 of yellow light across the deep green lane full of stars and the moon, the faint crooning of music far off, made a cool marvel64 of peace for strung nerves. Peter sat by Hilary in silence, and no longer wanted to ask questions. In the strange, enveloping65 wonder of the night, minor66 wonders died. What did it matter, anyhow? Hilary and Venice—Venice and Hilary—give them time, and one would explain the other.
It was Hilary who began to talk, and he talked about Cheriton, his nervous voice pitched on a high note of complaint.
"I do intensely dislike that man. The sort of person I've no use for, you know. So horribly on the spot; such sharp, unsoftened manners. All the terrible bright braininess of the Yankee combined with the obstreperous67 energy of the Philistine68 Briton. His mother is a young American, about to be married for the third time. The sort of exciting career one would expect from a parent of the delightful69 Jim. I cannot imagine why Lord Evelyn, who is a person of refinement70, encourages him. Really, you know!"
Peter's subconscious72 mind registered a dim impression that this was defensive73 talk, to fill the silence. Hilary was a nervous person, easily agitated74. Probably the evening had agitated him. But he was no good at defence. His complaint of Jim Cheriton broke weakly on an unsteady laugh. Peter nodded assent, and looked up the street of dim water, his chin propped75 in his hands, and thought how extraordinarily76 pleasant was the red light that slanted77 across the dark water from green doors ajar in steep house-walls.
Hilary tried to light a cigar, and flung broken matches into spluttering darkness. At last he succeeded; and then, when he had smoked in silence for two minutes, he turned abruptly on Peter and said, "Well?"
Peter, dreamily turning towards him, felt the nervous challenge of his tone, and read it in his pale, tired face.
Peter pulled himself together and collected his thoughts. After all, one might as well know.
"Oh, well ... what? Yes, what about those ghastly statuettes, and all the rest of them? Why, when, how ... and what on earth for?"
Hilary, after a moment of silence, said, with a rather elaborate carelessness, "I saw you didn't like them."
At that Peter started a little, and the dreaminess of the night fell away from him.
"You saw ... oh." For a moment he couldn't think of anything else to say. Then he laughed a little. "Why, yes, I imagine you did.... But what's the object of it all? Have you and Cheriton (by the way, why does he glare at us both so?) come to the conclusion that it's worth while playing that sort of game? If you have, I can't tell you how utterly78 wrong I think you are. Make him happy—oh, I know—but what extraordinary cheek on your part! I as near as possible gave you away—I did really. Besides, what did he mean by saying you'd advised him to buy the things—praised them in the Gem, and all that? You can't have gone so far as that—did you?"
After a moment of silence, Hilary turned abruptly and looked Peter in the face, taking the long cigar out of his mouth and holding it between two white, nervous fingers.
"Upon my word," said Hilary, speaking rather slowly, "Talk of cheek! Do you know what you're accusing me of? You and your precious taste! Leslie and your other fool patrons seem to have given you a fair opinion of yourself. Because you, in your omniscience79, think a thing bad, which I ... which I obviously consider good, and have stated so in print ... you don't so much as deign80 to argue the question, but get upon your pedestal and ask me why I tell lies. You think one thing and I think another; of course, you must know best, but I presume I may be allowed to hold my misguided and ill-informed opinion without being accused blankly of fraud. Upon my word, Peter ... it's time you took to some other line of life, I think."
His high, unsteady voice trailed away into silence. Peter, out of all the dim beauty of the night, saw only the pale, disturbed, frowning face, the quivering hand that held the lean cigar. All the strangeness and the mystery of the mysterious world were here concentrated. Numbly81 and dully he heard the soft, rhythmic82 splashing of the dipping oar83, the turning cry of "Premié!" Then, sharper, "Sciar, Signori, sciar!" as they nearly jostled another gondola, swinging round sharply into a moonless lane of ancient palaces.
Peter presently said, "But ..." and there stopped. What could he say, beyond "but?"
Hilary answered him sharply, "Well?" and then, after another pause, Peter pulled himself together, gave up trying to thread the maze84 of his perplexity, and said soberly, "I beg your pardon, Hilary. I'm an ass15."
Hilary let out his breath sharply, and resumed his cigar.
"It's possible, of course," he said, more quietly, "that you may be right and I wrong about the things. That's another question altogether. I may be a fool: I only resent being called a knave85. Really, you know!"
"I never meant that," Peter hopelessly began to explain. And, indeed, now that Hilary disclaimed86 it, it did seem a far too abominable87 thing that he had implied. He had hurt Hilary; he deserved to be kicked. His anger with himself rose. To hurt anyone was atrocious; to hurt Hilary unforgivable. He would have done a great deal now to make amends88.
He stammered89 over it. "I did think, I'm afraid, that you and Cheriton were doing it to make him happy or something. I'm awfully90 sorry; I was an ass; I ought to have known. But it never occurred to me that you didn't kn—that you had a different opinion of the things. I say, Hilary—Cheriton knows! I saw him know. He knew, and he was wondering what I was going to say."
"Knew, knew, knew!" Hilary nervously91 exploded. "There you go again. You're intolerable, Peter, really. All the spoiling you've had has gone to your head."
"I beg your pardon," said Peter again. "I meant, Cheriton agreed with me, I'm sure.... But, Hilary—those statuettes—you can't really.... They're mid-Victorian, and positively92 offensive!" His voice rose shrilly93. They had been so horrible, Diana and Actæon. He couldn't forget them, in their podgy sentimentality. "And—and that chalice ..." he shuddered94 over it—"and—"
"That'll do, thanks," Hilary broke in. "You can say at once that you disagree with me about everything I admire, and leave it there. But, if I may ask you, don't say so to Lord Evelyn, if you can resist the temptation to show me up before him. It will only bother and disturb him, whichever of us he ends by agreeing with. He's shown that he trusts my taste more or less, by giving me his paper to edit, and I should think we might leave it at that."
"Yes, the paper"—Peter was reminded of it, and it became a distracting puzzle. Hilary thought Diana and Actæon and the Siena chalice good things—and Hilary edited an art paper. What in the name of all that was horrible did he put in it? A light was shed on Signor Leroni, who was, said the Gem, a good dealer95 in plaques96, and who was, Peter had thought, a bare-faced purveyor97 of shams98. Peter began to question the quality of the osele, that Leslie had purchased from Signor Sardi.
How curious it was; and rather tragic99, too. For Hilary, like Lord Evelyn, had known once. Had Hilary too, in ruining much else of himself, ruined his critical faculties? And could one really do that and remain ignorant of the fact? Or would one rather have a lurking100 suspicion, and therefore be all the more defiantly101 corroborative102 of one's own judgment103? In either case one was horribly to be pitied; but—but one shouldn't try to edit art papers. And yet this couldn't be conveyed without a lacerating of feelings that was unthinkable. There was always this about Hilary—one simply couldn't bear to hurt him. He was so easily hurt and so often; life used him so hardly and he felt it so keenly, that it behoved Peter, at least, to insert as many cushions as possible between him and the sharp edges of circumstance. Peter was remorseful105. He had taken what he should have seen before was an unforgivable line; he had failed abominably in comprehension and decent feeling. Poor Hilary. Peter was moved by the old impulse to be extraordinarily nice to him.
They turned out of the Rio della Madonnetta into the narrow rio that was the back approach to the Palazzo Amadeo. It is a dark little canal, a rio of the poor. The doors that stood open in the peeling brick walls above the water let out straggling shafts106 of lamplight and quarrelling voices and singing and the smell of wine. The steep house walls leant to meet one another from either side; from upper windows the people who hadn't gone to bed talked across a space of barely six feet.
The gondola crept cautiously under two low bridges, then stopped outside the water-washed back steps of the Palazzo Amadeo.
One pleasant thing about Lord Evelyn's exquisitely107 mannered poppe was that one didn't feel that he was thinking "I am not accustomed to taking my master's visitors to such low haunts." In the first place, he probably was. In the second, he was not an English flunkey, and not a snob108. He was no more a snob than the Margerisons were, or Lord Evelyn himself. He deposited them at the Palace back door, politely saluted109, and slipped away down the shadowy water-street.
Hilary and Peter stepped up two water-washed steps to the green door, and Peggy opened it from within. Peggy (Peter occasionally wondered when, if ever, she went to bed) was in the hall, nursing Illuminato, who couldn't sleep—a small bundle of scarlet110 night-shirt and round bullet head, burrowing111 under his mother's left arm and staring out from that place of comfort with very bright and wakeful eyes. When, indeed, it might have been asked, did any of the Margerison family take their rest? No one of them ever felt or expressed any surprise at finding any other awake and active at any hour of the night.
Peggy looked at her three male infants with her maternal112 serenity113 touched with mirth. There were nearly always those two elements in Peggy's look—a motherly sympathy and desire to cheer and soothe114, and a glint from some rich and golden store of amusement.
She patted Peter on the arm, softly.
"Was it a nice evening, then? No, not very, I think. Dear, dear! You both look so unutterably tired. I wonder had you better go to bed, quite straight?"
It seemed to be suggested as a last resource of the desperate, though the hour was close on midnight.
"And the children have been pillow-fighting, till Mr. Vyvian—the creature—came down with nothing in particular on, to complain to me that he couldn't sleep. Sleep, you know! It wasn't after ten—but it seems he had a headache, as usual, because Mrs. Johnson had insisted on going to look at pictures with him and Rhoda, and her remarks were such—Nervous prostration115, poor Mr. Vyvian. So I've had Illuminato down here with me since then. He wants to go to you, Peter, as usual."
Peter took the scarlet bundle, and it burrowed116 against his shirt-front with a contented117 sigh. Peggy watched the two for a moment, then said to the uncle, "You poor little boy, you're tireder than Hilary even. You must surely go to bed. But isn't Lord Evelyn rather a dear?"
"Quite a dear," Peter answered her, his face bent over the round cropped head. "Altogether charming and delightful. Do you know, though, I'm not really fond of bridge. Jig-saw is my game—and we didn't have it. That's why I'm tired I expect. And because there was a Mr. Cheriton, who stared, and seemed somehow to have taken against us—didn't he, Hilary? Or perhaps it was only his queer manners, dear Jim. Anyhow, he made me feel shy. It takes it out of one, not being liked. Nervous prostration, like poor Mr. Vyvian. So let's go to bed, Hilary, and leave these two to watch together."
"Give me the froglet." She took it from his arms, gently, and kissed first one then the other.
"Good night, little Peter. You are a darling entirely118, and I love you. And don't worry, not over not being liked or anything else, because it surely isn't worth it."
She was always affectionate and maternal to Peter; but to-night she was more so than usual. Looking at her as she stood in her loose, slatternly negligé, beneath the extravagantly119 blazing chandelier, the red bundle cuddling a round black head into her neck, her grey eyes smiling at him, lit with love and laughter and a pity that lay deeper than both, Peter was caught into her atmosphere of debonair120 and tranquil121 restfulness, that said always, "Take life easy; nothing's worth worrying over, not problems or poverty or even one's sins." How entirely true. Nothing was worth worrying over; certainly other people's strange points of view weren't. It was a gospel of ease and laissez-faire well suited to Peter's temperament122. He smiled at Peggy and Hilary and their son, and went up the marble stairs to bed. He was haunted till he slept by the memory of Hilary's nervous, tired face as he had seen it in the moonlight in the gondola, and again in the hall as he said good night. Hilary wasn't coming to bed yet. He stayed to talk to Peggy. If anything could be good for Hilary's moods of depression, thought Peter, Peggy would. How jolly for Hilary to be married to her! She was such a refreshment123 always. She was so understanding; and was there a lapse36 somewhere in that very understandingness of her that made it the more restful—that made her a relaxation124 to strained minds? To those who were breaking their moral sense over some problem, she would return simply, "There isn't any problem. Take things as they come and make the best of them, and don't, don't worry!" "I'm struggling with a temptation to steal a purse," Peter imagined himself saying to her, "What can I do about it?" And her swift answer came, with her indulgent, humorous smile, "Dear little boy, if it makes you any happier—do it!" And then she would so well understand the ensuing remorse104; she would be so sympathetic, so wholly dear and comforting. She would say anything in the world to help, except "Put it back." Even that she would say if one's own inclinations125 were tending in that direction. But never if they weren't. She would never be so hard, so unkind. That sort of uncongenial admonition might be left to one's confessor; wasn't that what confessors were there for?
But why think of stealing purses so late at night? No doubt merely because it was late at night. Peter curled himself up and drew the sheet over his ears and sighed sleepily. He seemed to hear the rich, pleasant echoes of Peggy's best nursery voice far off, and Hilary's high, plaintive tones rising above it.
But above both, dominant126 and insistent127, murmured the lapping voice of the wonderful city at night. A faint rhythm of snoring beyond a thin wall somehow suggested Mrs. Johnson, and Peter laughed into his pillow.
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1
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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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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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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utterances
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| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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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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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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enquiring
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| a.爱打听的，显得好奇的 | |
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acquiesce
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| vi.默许，顺从，同意 | |
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conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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dilettante
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| n.半瓶醋，业余爱好者 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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29
paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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30
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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31
abominably
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| adv. 可恶地，可恨地，恶劣地 | |
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32
perverted
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| adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 )；腐蚀；败坏；使堕落 | |
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33
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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34
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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35
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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36
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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37
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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38
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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39
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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40
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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41
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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42
tepid
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| adj.微温的，温热的，不太热心的 | |
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43
chalice
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| n.圣餐杯；金杯毒酒 | |
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44
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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45
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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46
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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47
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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48
eccentricity
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| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
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49
irrelevancy
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| n.不恰当，离题，不相干的事物 | |
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50
irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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51
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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52
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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53
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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54
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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56
trumps
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| abbr.trumpets 喇叭；小号；喇叭形状的东西；喇叭筒v.（牌戏）出王牌赢（一牌或一墩）( trump的过去式 )；吹号公告，吹号庆祝；吹喇叭；捏造 | |
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57
banal
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| adj.陈腐的，平庸的 | |
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58
gondola
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| n.威尼斯的平底轻舟；飞船的吊船 | |
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59
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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61
melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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slant
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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obstreperous
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| adj.喧闹的，不守秩序的 | |
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68
philistine
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| n.庸俗的人；adj.市侩的，庸俗的 | |
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69
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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71
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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72
subconscious
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| n./adj.潜意识(的)，下意识(的) | |
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73
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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74
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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75
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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77
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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78
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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79
omniscience
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| n.全知，全知者，上帝 | |
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80
deign
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| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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81
numbly
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| adv.失去知觉，麻木 | |
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82
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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83
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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84
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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85
knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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86
disclaimed
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| v.否认( disclaim的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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88
amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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89
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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90
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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91
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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92
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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93
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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94
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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95
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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96
plaques
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| （纪念性的）匾牌( plaque的名词复数 )； 纪念匾； 牙斑； 空斑 | |
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97
purveyor
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| n.承办商，伙食承办商 | |
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98
shams
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| 假象( sham的名词复数 )； 假货； 虚假的行为（或感情、言语等）； 假装…的人 | |
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99
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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100
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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101
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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102
corroborative
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| adj.确证（性）的，确凿的 | |
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103
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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104
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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105
remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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106
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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107
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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108
snob
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| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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109
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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110
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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111
burrowing
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的现在分词 )；翻寻 | |
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112
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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113
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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114
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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115
prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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116
burrowed
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的过去式和过去分词 )；翻寻 | |
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117
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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118
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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119
extravagantly
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| adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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120
debonair
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| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
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121
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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122
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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123
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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124
relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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125
inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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126
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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127
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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