I am not a frequenter of convivial15 haunts. I should not dare to penetrate16 alone into a private bar; when I do enter a private bar it is invariably under the august protection of an habitue, and it is invariably with the idea that at last I am going to see life. Often has this illusion been shattered, but each time it perfectly17 renewed itself. So I followed the bold Mr Brindley into the private bar of the Tiger.
It was a small and low room. I instinctively18 stooped, though there was no necessity for me to stoop. The bar had no peculiarity20. It can be described in a breath: Three perpendicular21 planes. Back plane, bottles arranged exactly like books on bookshelves; middle plane, the upper halves of two women dressed in tight black; front plane, a counter, dotted with glasses, and having strange areas of zinc22. Reckon all that as the stage, and the rest of the room as auditorium23. But the stage of a private bar is more mysterious than the stage of a theatre. You are closer to it, and yet it is far less approachable. The edge of the counter is more sacred than the footlights. Impossible to imagine yourself leaping over it. Impossible to imagine yourself in that cloistered25 place behind it. Impossible to imagine how the priestesses got themselves into that place, or that they ever leave it. They are always there; they are always the same. You may go into a theatre when it is empty and dark; but did you ever go into a private bar that was empty and dark? A private bar is as eternal as the hills, as changeless as the monomania of a madman, as mysterious as sorcery. Always the same order of bottles, the same tinkling26, the same popping, the same time-tables, and the same realistic pictures of frothing champagne27 on the walls, the same advertisements on the same ash-trays on the counter, the same odour that wipes your face like a towel the instant you enter; and the same smiles, the same gestures, the same black fabric28 stretched to tension over the same impressive mammiferous phenomena29 of the same inexplicable30 creatures who apparently31 never eat and never sleep, imprisoned32 for life in the hallowed and mystic hollow between the bottles and the zinc.
In a tone almost inaudible in its discretion33, Mr Brindley let fall to me as he went in—
This is she.'
She was not quite the ordinary barmaid. Nor, as I learnt afterwards, was she considered to be the ordinary barmaid. She was something midway in importance between the wife of the new proprietor34 and the younger woman who stood beside her in the cloister24 talking to a being that resembled a commercial traveller. It was the younger woman who was the ordinary barmaid; she had bright hair, and the bright vacant stupidity which, in my narrow experience, barmaids so often catch like an infectious disease from their clients. But Annie Brett was different. I can best explain how she impressed me by saying that she had the mien35 of a handsome married woman of forty with a coquettish and superficially emotional past, but also with a daughter who is just going into long skirts. I have known one or two such women. They have been beautiful; they are still handsome at a distance of twelve feet. They are rather effusive36; they think they know life, when as a fact their instinctive19 repugnance37 for any form of truth has prevented them from acquiring even the rudiments38 of the knowledge of life. They are secretly preoccupied39 by the burning question of obesity40. They flatter, and they will pay any price for flattery. They are never sincere, not even with themselves; they never, during the whole of their existence, utter a sincere word, even in anger they coldly exaggerate. They are always frothing at the mouth with ecstasy41. They adore everything, including God; go to church carrying a prayer-book and hymn-book in separate volumes, and absolutely fawn42 on the daughter. They are stylish—and impenetrable. But there is something about them very wistful and tragic43.
In another social stratum44, Miss Annie Brett might have been such a woman. Without doubt nature had intended her for the role. She was just a little ample, with broad shoulders and a large head and a lot of dark chestnut45 hair; a large mouth, and large teeth. She had earrings46, a brooch, and several rings; also a neat originality47 of cuffs48 that would not have been permitted to an ordinary barmaid. As for her face, there were crow's-feet, and a mole49 (which had selected with infinite skill a site on her chin), and a general degeneracy of complexion50; but it was an effective face. The little thing of twenty-three or so by her side had all the cruel advantages of youth and was not ugly; but she was 'killed' by Annie Brett. Miss Brett had a maternal51 bust52. Indeed, something of the maternal resided in all of her that was visible above the zinc. She must have been about forty; that is to say, apparently older than the late Simon Fuge. Nevertheless, I could conceive her, even now, speciously53 picturesque54 in a boat at midnight on a moonstruck water. Had she been on the stage she would have been looking forward to ingenue parts for another five years yet—such was her durable55 sort of effectiveness. Yes, she indubitably belonged to the ornamental56 half of the universe.
'So this is one of them!' I said to myself.
I tried to be philosophical57; but at heart I was profoundly disappointed. I did not know what I had expected; but I had not expected THAT. I was well aware that a thing written always takes on a quality which does not justly appertain to it. I had not expected, therefore, to see an odalisque, a houri, an ideal toy or the remains59 of an ideal toy; I had not expected any kind of obvious brilliancy, nor a subtle charm that would haunt my memory for evermore. On the other hand, I had not expected the banal60, the perfectly commonplace. And I think that Miss Annie Brett was the most banal person that it has pleased Fate to send into my life. I knew that instantly. She was a condemnation61 of Simon Fuge. SHE, one of the 'wonderful creatures who had played so large a part' in the career of Simon Fuge! Sapristi! Still, she WAS one of the wonderful creatures, etc. She HAD floated o'er the bosom62 of the lake with a great artist. She HAD received his homage63. She HAD stirred his feelings. She HAD shared with him the magic of the night. I might decry64 her as I would; she had known how to cast a spell over him—she and the other one! Something there in her which had captured him and, seemingly, held him captive.
'Good-EVENING, Mr Brindley,' she expanded. 'You're quite a stranger.' And she embraced me also in the largeness of her welcome.
'It just happens,' said Mr Brindley, 'that I was here last night. But you weren't.'
'Were you now!' she exclaimed, as though learning a novel fact of the most passionate65 interest. The truth is, I had to leave the bar to Miss Slaney last night. Mrs Moorcroft was ill—and the baby only six weeks old, you know—and I wouldn't leave her. No, I wouldn't.'
It was plain that in Miss Annie Brett's opinion there was only one really capable intelligence in the Tiger. This glimpse of her capability66, this out-leaping of the latent maternal in her, completely destroyed for the moment my vision of her afloat on the bosom of the lake.
'I see,' said Mr Brindley kindly67. Then he turned to me with characteristic abruptness68. 'Well, give it a name, Mr Loring.'
Such is my simplicity69 that I did not immediately comprehend his meaning. For a fraction of a second I thought of the baby. Then I perceived that he was merely employing one of the sacred phrases, sanctified by centuries of usage, of the private bar. I had already drunk mercurey, green Chartreuse, and coffee. I had a violent desire not to drink anything more. I knew my deplorable tomorrows. Still, I would have drunk hot milk, cold water, soda70 water, or tea. Why should I not have had what I did not object to having? Herein lies another mystery of the private bar. One could surely order tea or milk or soda water from a woman who left everything to tend a mother with a six-weeks-old baby! But no. One could not. As Miss Annie Brett smiled at me pointedly71, and rubbed her ringed hands, and kept on smiling with her terrific mechanical effusiveness72, I lost all my self control; I would have resigned myself to a hundred horrible tomorrows under the omnipotent73, inexplicable influence of the private bar. I ejaculated, as though to the manner born—
'Irish.'
It proved to have been rather clever of me, showing as it did a due regard for convention combined with a pretty idiosyncrasy. Mr Brindley was clearly taken aback. The idea struck him as a new one. He reflected, and then enthusiastically exclaimed—
'Dashed if I don't have Irish too!'
And Miss Brett, delighted by this unexpected note of Irish in the long, long symphony of Scotch75, charged our glasses with gusto. I sipped76, death in my heart, and rakishness in my face and gesture. Mr Brindley raised his glass respectfully to Miss Annie Brett, and I did the same. Those two were evidently good friends.
She led the conversation with hard, accustomed ease. When I say 'hard' I do not in the least mean unsympathetic. But her sympathetic quality was toughened by excessive usage, like the hand of a charwoman. She spoke77 of the vagaries78 of the Town Hall clock, the health of Mr Brindley's children, the price of coal, the incidence of the annual wakes, the bankruptcy79 of the draper next door, and her own sciatica, all in the same tone of metallic80 tender solicitude81. Mr Brindley adopted an entirely82 serious attitude towards her. If I had met him there and nowhere else I should have taken him for a dignified83 mediocrity, little better than a fool, but with just enough discretion not to give himself away. I said nothing. I was shy. I always am shy in a bar. Out of her cold, cold roving eye Miss Brett watched me, trying to add me up and not succeeding. She must have perceived, however, that I was not like a fish in water.
There was a pause in the talk, due, I think, to Miss Annie Brett's preoccupation with what was going on between Miss Slaney, the ordinary barmaid, and her commercial traveller. The commercial traveller, if he was one, was reading something from a newspaper to Miss Slaney in an indistinct murmur84, and with laughter in his voice.
'By the way,' said Mr Brindley, 'you used to know Simon Fuge, didn't you?'
'Old Simon Fuge!' said Miss Brett. 'Yes; after the brewery85 company took the Blue Bell at Cauldon over from him, I used to be there. He would come in sometimes. Such a nice queer old man!'
'I mean the son,' said Mr Brindley.
'Oh yes,' she answered. 'I knew young Mr Simon too.' A slight hesitation86, and then: 'Of course!' Another hesitation. 'Why?'
'Nothing,' said Mr Brindley. 'Only he's dead.'
'You don't mean to say he's dead?' she exclaimed.
'Day before yesterday, in Italy,' said Mr Brindley ruthlessly.
Miss Annie Brett's manner certainly changed. It seemed almost to become natural and unecstatic.
'I suppose it will be in the papers?' she ventured.
'It's in the London paper.'
'Well I never!' she muttered.
'A long time, I should think, since he was in this part of the world,' said Mr Brindley. 'When did YOU last see him?'
She put the back of her hand over her mouth, and bending her head slightly and lowering her eyelids88, gazed reflectively at the counter.
'It was once when a lot of us went to Ilam,' she answered quietly. 'The St Luke's lot, YOU know.'
'Oh!' cried Mr Brindley, apparently startled. 'The St Luke's lot?'
'Yes.'
'How came he to go with you?'
'He didn't go with us. He was there—stopping there, I suppose.'
'Why, I believe I remember hearing something about that,' said Mr Brindley cunningly. 'Didn't he take you out in a boat?'
A very faint dark crimson89 spread over the face of Miss Annie Brett. It could not be called a blush, but it was as like a blush as was possible to her. The phenomenon, as I could see from his eyes, gave Mr Brindley another shock.
'Yes,' she replied. 'Sally was there as well.'
Then a silence, during which the commercial traveller could be heard reading from the newspaper.
'When was that?' gently asked Mr Brindley.
'Don't ask ME when it was, Mr Brindley,' she answered nervously90. 'It's ever so long ago. What did he die of?'
'Don't know.'
Miss Annie Brett opened her mouth to speak, and did not speak. There were tears in her reddened eyes. I felt very awkward, and I think that Mr Brindley also felt awkward. But I was glad. Those moist eyes caused me a thrill. There was after all some humanity in Miss Annie Brett. Yes, she had after all floated on the bosom of the lake with Simon Fuge. The least romantic of persons, she had yet felt romance. If she had touched Simon Fuge, Simon Fuge had touched her. She had memories. Once she had lived. I pictured her younger. I sought in her face the soft remains of youthfulness. I invented languishing91 poses for her in the boat. My imagination was equal to the task of seeing her as Simon Fuge saw her. I did so see her. I recalled Simon Fuge's excited description of the long night in the boat, and I could reconstitute the night from end to end. And there the identical creature stood before me, the creature who had set fire to Simon Fuge, one of the 'wonderful creatures' of the Gazette, ageing, hardened, banal, but momentarily restored to the empire of romance by those unshed, glittering tears. As an experience it was worth having.
She could not speak, and we did not. I heard the commercial traveller reading: '"The motion was therefore carried by twenty-five votes to nineteen, and the Countess of Chell promised that the whole question of the employment of barmaids should be raised at the next meeting of the B.W.T.S." There! what do you think of that?'
Miss Annie Brett moved quickly towards the commercial traveller.
Til tell you what I think of it,' she said, with ecstatic resentment92. 'I think it's just shameful93! Why should the Countess of Chell want to rob a lot of respectable young ladies of their living? I can tell you they're just as respectable as the Countess of Chell is—yes, and perhaps more, by all accounts. I think people do well to call her "Interfering94 Iris74". When she's robbed them of their living, what does she expect them to do? Is she going to keep them? Then what does she expect them to do?'
The commercial traveller was inept95 enough to offer a jocular reply, and then he found himself involved in the morass96 of 'the whole question'. He, and we also, were obliged to hear in immense detail Miss Annie Brett's complete notions of the movement for the abolition97 of barmaids. The subject was heavy on her mind, and she lifted it off. Simon Fuge was relinquished98; he dropped like a stone into the pool of forgetfulness. And yet, strange as it seems, she was assuredly not sincere in the expression of her views on the question of barmaids. She held no real views. She merely persuaded herself that she held them. When the commercial traveller, who was devoid99 of sense, pointed58 out that it was not proposed to rob anybody of a livelihood100, and that existent barmaids would be permitted to continue to grace the counters of their adoption101, she grew frostily vicious. The commercial traveller decided102 to retire and play billiards. Mr Brindley and I in our turn departed. I was extremely disappointed by this sequel.
'Ah!' breathed Mr Brindley when we were outside, in front of the Town Hall. 'She was quite right about that clock.'
After that we turned silently into a long illuminated street which rose gently. The boxes of light were flashing up and down it, but otherwise it seemed to be quite deserted. Mr Brindley filled a pipe and lit it as he walked. The way in which that man kept the match alight in a fresh breeze made me envious103. I could conceive myself rivalling his exploits in cigarette-making, the purchase of rare books, the interpretation104 of music, even (for a wager) the drinking of beer, but I knew that I should never be able to keep a match alight in a breeze. He threw the match into the mud, and in the mud it continued miraculously105 to burn with a large flame, as though still under his magic dominion106. There are some things that baffle the reasoning faculty107. 'Well,' I said, 'she must have been a pretty woman once.'
'"Pretty," by God!' he replied, 'she was beautiful. She was considered the finest piece in Hanbridge at one time. And let me tell you we're supposed to have more than our share of good looks in the Five Towns.'
'What—the women, you mean?'
'Yes.'
'And she never married?'
'No.'
'Nor—anything?'
'Oh no,' he said carelessly.
'But you don't mean to tell me she's never—' I was just going to exclaim, but I did not, I said: 'And it's her sister who is Mrs Colclough?'
'Yes.' He seemed to be either meditative108 or disinclined to talk. However, my friends have sometimes hinted to me that when my curiosity is really aroused, I am capable of indiscretions.
'So one sister rattles109 about in an expensive motor-car, and the other serves behind a bar!' I observed.
He glanced at me.
'I expect it's a bit difficult for you to understand,' he answered; 'but you must remember you're in a democratic district. You told me once you knew Exeter. Well, this isn't a cathedral town. It's about a century in front of any cathedral town in the world. Why, my good sir, there's practically no such thing as class distinction here. Both my grandfathers were working potters. Colclough's father was a joiner who finished up as a builder. If Colclough makes money and chooses to go to Paris and get the best motor-car he can, why in Hades shouldn't his wife ride in it? If he is fond of music and can play like the devil, that isn't his sister-in-law's fault, is it? His wife was a dressmaker, at least she was a dressmaker's assistant. If she suits him, what's the matter?'
'But I never suggested—'
'Excuse me,' he stopped me, speaking with careful and slightly exaggerated calmness, 'I think you did. If the difference in the situations of the two sisters didn't strike you as very extraordinary, what did you mean?'
'And isn't it extraordinary?' I demanded.
'It wouldn't be considered so in any reasonable society,' he insisted. 'The fact is, my good sir, you haven't yet quite got rid of Exeter. I do believe this place will do you good. Why, damn it! Colclough didn't marry both sisters. You think he might keep the other sister? Well, he might. But suppose his wife had half-a-dozen sisters, should he keep them all! I can tell you we're just like the rest of the world, we find no difficulty whatever in spending all the money we make. I dare say Colclough would be ready enough to keep his sister-in-law. I've never asked him. But I'm perfectly certain that his sister-in-law wouldn't be kept. Not much! You don't know these women down here, my good sir. She's earned her living at one thing or another all her life, and I reckon she'll keep on earning it till she drops. She is, without exception, the most exasperating110 female I ever came across, and that's saying something; but I will give her THAT credit: she's mighty111 independent.'
'How exasperating?' I asked, surprised to hear this from him.
'I don't know. But she is. If she was my wife I should kill her one night. Don't you know what I mean?'
'No use being anything else. No woman that it ever pleased Providence113 to construct is going to frighten me away from the draught114 Burton that you can get at the Tiger. Besides, she can't help it. She was born like that.'
'She TALKS quite ordinarily,' I remarked.
'Oh! It isn't what she says, particularly. It's HER. Either you like her or you don't like her. Now Colclough thinks she's all right. In fact, he admires her.'
'There's one thing,' I said, 'she jolly nearly cried tonight.'
What seemed to me singular was that the relations which had existed between Miss Annie Brett and Simon Fuge appeared to have no interest whatever for Mr Brindley. He had not even referred to them.
'You were just beginning to draw her out,' I ventured.
'No,' he replied; 'I thought I'd just see what she'd say. No one ever did draw that woman out.'
I had completely lost my vision of her in the boat, but somehow that declaration of his, 'no one ever did draw that woman out', partially117 restored the vision to me. It seemed to invest her with agreeable mystery.
'And the other sister—Mrs Colclough?' I questioned.
'I'm taking you to see her as fast as I can,' he answered. His tone implied further: 'I've just humoured one of your whims118, now for the other.'
'But tell me something about her.'
'She's the best bridge-player—woman, that is—in Bursley. But she will only play every other night for fear the habit should get hold of her. There you've got her.'
'Younger than Miss Brett?'
'Younger,' said Mr Brindley. 'She isn't the same sort of person, is she?'
'She is not,' said Mr Brindley. And his tone implied: 'Thank God for it!'
Very soon afterwards, at the top of a hill, he drew me into the garden of a large house which stood back from the road.
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1
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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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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seaport
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| n.海港，港口，港市 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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brittle
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| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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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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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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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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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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zinc
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| n.锌；vt.在...上镀锌 | |
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auditorium
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| n.观众席，听众席；会堂，礼堂 | |
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cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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cloistered
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| adj.隐居的，躲开尘世纷争的v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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effusive
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| adj.热情洋溢的；感情(过多)流露的 | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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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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obesity
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| n.肥胖，肥大 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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fawn
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| n.未满周岁的小鹿；v.巴结，奉承 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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stratum
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| n.地层，社会阶层 | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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earrings
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| n.耳环( earring的名词复数 )；耳坠子 | |
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originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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51
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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speciously
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| adv.似是而非地；外观好看地，像是真实地 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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durable
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| adj.持久的，耐久的 | |
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56
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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60
banal
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| adj.陈腐的，平庸的 | |
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61
condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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62
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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decry
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| v.危难，谴责 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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66
capability
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| n.能力；才能；(pl)可发展的能力或特性等 | |
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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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68
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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effusiveness
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| n.吐露，唠叨 | |
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omnipotent
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| adj.全能的，万能的 | |
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iris
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| n.虹膜，彩虹 | |
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scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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82
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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84
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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85
brewery
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| n.啤酒厂 | |
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86
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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languishing
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| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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inept
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| adj.不恰当的，荒谬的，拙劣的 | |
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morass
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| n.沼泽，困境 | |
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abolition
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| n.废除，取消 | |
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98
relinquished
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 )； 放弃 | |
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99
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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100
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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101
adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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102
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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103
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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104
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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105
miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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106
dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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107
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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108
meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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109
rattles
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| （使）发出格格的响声， （使）作嘎嘎声( rattle的第三人称单数 )； 喋喋不休地说话； 迅速而嘎嘎作响地移动，堕下或走动； 使紧张，使恐惧 | |
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exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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111
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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112
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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113
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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114
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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115
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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116
curtness
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| n.简短；草率；简略 | |
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117
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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118
WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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