"I don't think he wants to see you," answered Marie very candidly2, "he is quite aware that I love you and wishes to keep us apart."
"No doubt, my dear, but I don't intend him to get his own way. He never can, so long as you remain true to me."
Marie squeezed the arm she held. "As if there was any question of that. All the same, Uncle Ran is sure to be nasty if you call."
"He was amiable3 enough yesterday when we met, and outwardly he has no reason to overstep the bounds of politeness. I intend to call in order to show him that I am quite friendly, and if he objects he can speak out."
"He's asleep yet, I expect," objected Marie anxiously.
"All the better. We shall have a longer time to ourselves, and you can give me a cup of tea."
"Uncle Ran would assuredly object to that," said the girl with emphasis. "He is becoming a perfect miser4. Every penny he obtains he turns into jewels, Alan, although owing to want of money he can only buy cheap stones."
"So long as he uses his own money and not yours he can do what he likes, I suppose, Marie. But you have an income and the house, so he has no right to object to your extending afternoon-tea hospitality to me."
"I never get any of my own money except a few shillings a week for my pocket," admitted Marie rather mournfully. "You know Uncle Ran was left my sole guardian5, and I do not come of age for another year. Then he says he will account to me for my money, which he declares he is saving."
Remembering Mr. Sorley's shifty eyes and slack mouth, Fuller had his doubts as to the truth of this statement, and merely grunted7. But when Marie went on to say that her uncle was selling portions of the furniture he raised his eyebrows8. "He has no right to do that without your consent, my dear."
"He says that he has, and that there is too much furniture in the place. I understand from him that he is selling the furniture in order to invest the money for me."
"Hum! It may be so, but I should not be too sure of that. I wish I were your husband now, Marie, and then I could look after your interests."
"You don't trust Uncle Ran?"
"Candidly, I don't, although I have no very strong reason to say so. Do you trust him yourself, Marie?"
"I don't know; I can't say," said the girl slowly; "of course he has been kind to me since I returned a year ago from Brighton, where I was at school, Alan. He doesn't interfere9 with me, you know."
"He lets you run wild, if that's what you mean, my dear," retorted the solicitor10 hotly. "Now that it does you any harm of course, as you are a sensible girl. But Mr. Sorley should take you out visiting and let you go to dances occasionally, and you should have a few days in London every now and then. He should not neglect you as he does."
"We are too poor to afford such things, Alan. But some day when we find the treasure, we--you and I of course--shall have a splendid time. Remember the prophecy, my dear," and she repeated two lines of the same:
"Jewels and gold from over-seas
Will bring them peace and joy and ease."
Alan was struck by the quotation11 from a three hundred year old oracle12 after hearing Marie's story of the secret which possession and examination of the peacock would reveal. "Jewels and gold," he repeated slowly, "yes; it does sound as though that line referred to the Begum's hoard13. Odd, very odd indeed."
"It will come true, it will come true," sang Marie, dancing a step or two in her gleeful way, and with the exuberant14 joy of twenty. "Then we'll pension Uncle Ran off, and have The Monastery15 and the money to ourselves. Oh, Alan, let us build castles in the air."
"They won't turn into bricks and mortar16 until we find the peacock," said Mr. Fuller gloomily, "and that will not be easy, seeing it means the capture of poor Grison's assassin. Moon can find out nothing and if he fails how can mere6 amateur detectives such as Dick and I are succeed. However, we know that he was murdered for the sake of the peacock, and this strange story of yours helps a bit to strengthen the clue. But let me impress upon you again, Marie, not to tell your uncle."
"Certainly not, though I really don't know why you mistrust him."
"I scarcely know myself," said Alan candidly, "but I certainly do."
By this time--walking demurely17 apart in case Mr. Sorley should be awake and on the watch--they had entered the house, to find themselves in a large and chilly18 hall, with a black and white pavement and marble busts19 of the Cæsars set round about it close to the walls. No rosy20 glow came from the old-fashioned fireplace, since Mr. Sorley deemed it waste of coal to heat such a mausoleum; so, with a shiver, the two crossed into the library, which was at the end of a lordly corridor to the right.
"There's a fire here," said Marie as they entered, "it's Uncle Ran's favorite room, and you can trust him to make himself comfortable, even if he has to pay for it."
"Then he can't be a genuine miser," remarked Fuller, walking towards the fire, which was a tolerably good one; "they starve themselves in every way, my dear, and--oh, I beg your pardon."
This last was addressed to a small elderly woman who suddenly rose from a deep grandfather's chair which looked like a sentry-box. She had sandy hair smoothly21 plastered down on either side of a sallow, wrinkled face; also thin, firmly compressed lips and hard blue eyes, staring and unwinking. Her figure was lean, her waist was pinched in, and her shoulders were so sloping that the worn black velvet22 cloak she wore would have slipped off had it not been firmly fastened down the front with large buttons of cut jet. As the cloak was down to her very heels, the dress she had on could not be seen, but her head was adorned23 with an early Victorian bonnet24 and her thin hands were covered with drab thread gloves. She had crape on her bonnet, and crape round her neck, but it did not need this evidence of mourning to assure Fuller that he beheld25 the sister of the dead man, since he remembered Dick's description fairly well.
"Miss Grison," said Marie, coming forward when she heard her lover's speech and offering her hand. "I heard you were down here."
Miss Grison took the hand, gave it a limp shake and dropped it. "Thank you, my dear," she said in a cold, precise voice. "I came down for my brother's funeral. He always wished to rest in Belstone churchyard and have the service read over his remains26 by Mr. Fuller, so I felt it was only due to his memory to do what he desired."
"This is Mr. Fuller's son," said Marie, introducing Alan.
"How do you do," said the visitor, still coldly. "I remember you years ago as a little boy with bare legs and a pinafore. You have grown since then."
"It is impossible to have bare legs and a pinafore at twenty-seven," said Alan, not knowing if she was laughing at him.
"Twenty and more years ago I saw you," said Miss Grison, who certainly seemed to have no sense of humor. "Ah, how the time passes. You were just born when I left Belstone to live in London," she added, glancing in her hard way at Marie, "a mere infant in arms."
"I have seen you a few times though," murmured Marie politely.
Miss Grison nodded stiffly. "Occasionally I have come down to stay with Selina Millington," she explained, "and we met before you went to school at Brighton. But since your return a year ago we have not met, as I have not been down here. How did you recognise me?"
"You are not changed in any way," said Marie bluntly.
"I should be," remarked the little woman with a sigh, "my poor Baldwin's death has broken my heart."
"It was very terrible," Marie hastened to assure her. "I read about it in the newspapers. Who killed him?"
"That's what I intend to find out," cried Miss Grison with a flash of her blue eyes. "Poor Baldwin never harmed a soul, and had no enemies--except one," she ended with an afterthought, and her lips closed firmly.
"Perhaps the one enemy killed him."
"I don't know. I can't prove anything. And the police seem to be doubtful about tracing the man."
"It was a man then who murdered your brother?" asked Alan suddenly.
Miss Grison gave him a scrutinizing27 look. "Yes, it was a man, as I truly believe, although there is no evidence to show the sex of the murderer."
"What is the name of the person you think was your brother's enemy?"
"Never mind, Mr. Fuller. I may misjudge him, and until I am sure I shall mention no names. But I shall watch and search and think and work until I avenge28 poor Baldwin's death!" And the fierce, determined29 look on her yellow face showed that she thoroughly30 meant what she said.
"Can I help you in any way?"
"Why should you?" she asked cautiously.
"Because I take an interest in the case," Alan explained equally cautiously. "A friend of mine, Mr. Latimer, who was at the inquest, told me all about the sad circumstances, and the death is so mysterious that both of us wish to learn the truth, if only out of curiosity."
The little woman paused almost imperceptibly and cast a swift look at the young man and the girl by his side before replying. Then she accepted the well-meant offer in her usual unemotional way. "I shall be glad of your assistance, Mr. Fuller," she said, producing a printed card from a bead31 bag which dangled32 from her lean wrist; "this is my address in Bloomsbury. I keep a boarding-house."
"So Mr. Latimer told me. You stated as much at the inquest. Tell me," he asked, putting the card into his vest pocket, "have you any clue to------"
"I have no clue you would call reasonable, Mr. Fuller!"
"That hints some ground on your part for----"
"Never mind what it hints," interrupted Miss Grison sharply. "If you call on me in London, and I feel that I can trust you, then I may speak out."
"Anyone could trust Alan," said Marie indignantly.
The visitor gave a thin-lipped smile. "You are quite right to defend him, my dear, and your defence is natural enough since Selina Millington told me that Mr. Fuller admires you. But he's a man and all men are bad----"
"Except Alan, who is engaged to be married to me."
"All men are bad," repeated Miss Grison stolidly34. "I only knew one good man, and he was my brother Baldwin.
"H'm!" murmured Alan, remembering what Sorley had said on the previous day.
If Miss Grison heard the ejaculation, and understood its purport35, she gave no sign of such knowledge. "What does your Uncle Randolph say to your being engaged to Mr. Fuller?" she asked turning to Marie abruptly37.
"He says nothing, because he knows nothing."
"Then don't let him know. He will ruin your happiness in life if he can, as he ruined mine. A hard, cruel man is your Uncle Randolph, my dear."
"Do I know him well?" Miss Grison gave a hard laugh, and her eyes glittered viciously. "Yes, I may say that I know him very well."
Alan, looking closely at her, wondered if the enemy of her brother to whom she had referred so positively40 was Mr. Sorley, and thought that it was extremely likely from the vicious emphasis with which she spoke41. But Miss Grison, giving him no time to make any comment on her last speech, continued as though she had not stopped to draw breath.
"I know the house very well also," she said calmly, "and I have been walking all over it, while waiting to see Mr. Sorley."
"Walking all over it," repeated Marie rather indignantly. "A stranger?"
"I am not a stranger either to Mr. Sorley or to The Monastery," replied the small woman with great coolness. "When my brother was his secretary here, years ago, I used to spend days wandering about the rooms and corridors. I know every nook and corner of it, my dear, and could tell you of many a secret hiding-place and hidden passage which were used in ancient times. Your mother made a friend of me in those days, and we used to explore the house together before you were born."
"Still Uncle Ran would not like you walking about the place when I was out and he was asleep. Didn't Jenny or Henny stop you?"
"Do you mean the servants?" inquired Miss Grison smoothly. "Well they did express surprise when I walked into the kitchen. But I told them I had come to see Mr. Sorley, and they showed me in here to wait for him--as if I required showing," ended Miss Grison disdainfully.
Fuller stared at her hard. She seemed to be in her right senses and what she said was reasonable enough, but it struck him that there must be something eccentric about her when she ventured to enter a house and explore it without the owner's permission. Again Miss Grison gave him no time to make a comment, but went on talking in the shrill42 voice which Latimer had noted43 and mentioned.
"Henrietta and Jane Trent are twins," she explained to Marie as if the girl knew nothing about her own servants. "I remember them as little toddlers in the village. The mother took in washing. Fine bouncing women they have grown into, my dear: red cheeks and black hair and wooden expressions, just like two Dutch dolls. Are they good servants?"
Marie was so taken aback by the audacity44 of her visitor that she replied, as she would have done to her schoolmistress: "They are very good and do all the work of this big house."
"There is a lot to do, I admit," said Miss Grison, nodding, "but I notice that many of the rooms are shut up, my dear."
"We--uncle and I, that is--do not require so many."
"I looked into some, and found them bare of furniture," pursued Miss Grison calmly, and with her hard, unwinking stare. "Yet in my time there was a lot of valuable----"
"Pardon me, Miss Grison," interrupted Fuller, seeing the consternation45 of Marie, "but don't you think you are taking rather a liberty in entering the house and in talking like this?"
"It may appear a liberty to you, Mr. Fuller," she rejoined quietly, "but it will not to Mr. Sorley. We are old friends."
"Friends," said Alan with emphasis.
She turned on him with a flash in her eyes. "Did he ever give you to understand otherwise?" she demanded, drawing quick breaths. "Has he ever mentioned my name to you?"
She waited for a reply but none came, as Alan was deliberating whether it would be wise to inform her of the way in which Mr. Sorley had spoken. Also he wondered if Miss Grison knew that her brother had been murdered for the sake of the peacock, and if she could tell how Baldwin became possessed46 of the same. But he felt that it would be best not to ask questions, or to make answers, until he knew his ground better. With her hard look, the little woman waited for him to speak, but he was saved the trouble by the unexpected entrance of Mr. Randolph Sorley. He was perfectly47 dressed as usual in a well-cut suit of blue serge and wore patent leather boots, together with a smart scarf of white silk fastened with a black pearl breast-pin. If he was a miser in some things, as Marie asserted, he assuredly was not so in the matter of clothes, for no one could have been better turned out, or have looked more aristocratic. His carriage was so upright, his hair so short, his face so bronzed and his greenish eyes so alert that he had quite a military appearance. He even looked young in the dusky atmosphere of the big room, and it was only when he came forward more into the light that he betrayed his sixty years. And that was possibly because Alan knew his true age, for the smooth, clean-shaven face looked much younger in spite of the white hair.
"Mr. Fuller! Miss Grison," he said slowly, "this is indeed a surprise. I am delighted to see you both."
And indeed he appeared to be so, for his smile was open, his speech soft and his manner frank. After what he had said about the woman on the previous day Fuller quite expected that he would be rude to her and--since he had other plans in his head--the young man quite expected that he would be rude to him also. But Mr. Sorley was apparently48 too well-bred to act impolitely in what he regarded as his own house, even if that same house was the property of Marie Inderwick. Miss Grison's blue eyes glittered a trifle more as he shook hands with her cordially but otherwise she remained her impenetrable self. And remembering what she had said about her host, Alan was as amazed at her behavior as he was at Sorley's. As to Marie, she was so relieved that her uncle received Alan courteously49 that she never gave a thought to the possibility that he might be acting50 a part for reasons best known to himself.
"Have you had tea?" inquired Mr. Sorley, poking51 the fire. "Marie, my dear, why did you not offer your guests tea?" And he rang the bell promptly52.
"I did not like to without your permission, Uncle Ran," she said timidly.
"My dear child, this is your house, and here you are the mistress. I am only your guardian and live here, as it were, on sufferance. Miss Grison I am truly grieved to hear of your brother's death."
"Oh, indeed," said the small woman sarcastically53, "in that case, I wonder you didn't come to the funeral."
"There is a proverb," remarked Miss Grison coldly, "which bids us let sleeping dogs lie."
"Very good advice," assented55 Mr. Sorley, "suppose we adopt it by letting the sad past alone and coming to the sad present. Have the police discovered who murdered your brother?"
"No," snapped Miss Grison impassively.
"Are they likely to?"
"If I can help them, they certainly are."
"Then you know of some clue?"
"I may, or I may not. This is not the time to speak about such things."
"My dear lady," said the host with great dignity, "I am under the impression that you came here to receive my sympathy."
"Then you were never more mistaken in your life," retorted Miss Grison grimly. "I came to say what I shall say, when tea is at an end."
"Nothing unpleasant, I trust?" asked Sorley distinctly uneasily.
"That is for you to judge," she returned, and the entrance of Henny Trent with a tray put an end to this particular conversation.
While Henny, who was large and red-cheeked and black-eyed, and who really resembled the Dutch doll Miss Grison had compared her to, was arranging the tea-table, Alan stole furtive56 looks at Mr. Sorley. The old gentleman seemed to have suddenly aged33, and a haggard look had crept over his deceptive57 face, while his eyes hinted uneasiness as he watched Miss Grison. It seemed to Fuller that Sorley for some reason feared his visitor, and the fact that she had so audaciously walked over the house appeared to indicate that she was quite sure he would not rebuke58 her for the liberty. And, remembering the man's bluster59, which contrasted so pointedly60 with his present suave61 talk, Alan felt confident that there was an understanding between them. He asked himself if such had to do with the murder, but replied mentally in the negative. If Sorley knew anything about the matter, Miss Grison would then and there have denounced him, since she appeared to hate him as much as he dreaded62 her. But beyond short answers and sinister63 glances, she gave no sign of her enmity, while Sorley masked his uneasiness under the guise64 of small talk. In spite of the almost immediate65 occurrence of the murder, and the fact that Miss Grison had come down for the funeral, Fuller noted that the tragedy was scarcely referred to--at all events during the earlier part of the conversation. Along with Marie, he remained silent, and allowed the other two to converse66.
"Are you staying long down here, Miss Grison?" asked the host, handing a cup of tea to her and a plate of thin bread and butter.
"Why don't you call me Louisa as you used to do?" she demanded. "We were great friends, you know, Marie, before you were born." She turned to Miss Inderwick.
"Yes yes," said Sorley, taking his cue. "You called me Randolph; but we are both too old now to use our Christian67 names." He laughed artificially.
"Are we?" said Miss Grison shortly. "Perhaps we are. How are you getting along with that book on precious stones, may I ask?"
"You may," said Sorley blandly68. "I am getting on slowly but surely. It has taken me years to gather material."
"Precious stones, I suppose."
"Certain gems69 of small value amongst other material, such as legends and superstitions70 connected with jewels. It will be an interesting book."
"I'm sure it will," said Miss Grison more graciously, "but don't work too hard at it. You are fond of exercise?"
"Yes, I take a great deal."
"Ah, Selina Millington told me that you had bought a motor bicycle."
"Yes," said Sorley stiffly and still laboriously71 polite. "I ride it round the country."
"And up to London?"
"No," he replied swiftly. "I have not yet travelled on it to town."
"I don't think it takes many hours to get to town on so rapid a machine," said Miss Grison in a musing72 tone. "But perhaps you are wise; you might get knocked over in the streets."
What answer Sorley made to this speech Alan did not hear. Marie, who had resented his attention to the speech of the elderly couple, now insisted that he should converse with her. He did so rather unwillingly73, in spite of his genuine love. But his brain was running on the odd and somewhat spasmodic conversation, and he wondered why Miss Grison so pointedly referred to the motor bicycle. Also it seemed strange that Sorley should be on such familiar terms with a humble74 woman who kept a Bloomsbury boarding-house. To be sure her brother had been the man's secretary, and Sorley probably had been intimate with the visitor in early days. Perhaps--and here Fuller started--perhaps the two had been in love, and the hatred75 Miss Grison felt for the well-preserved old gentleman was that of a woman scorned. When he again caught the drift of the conversation she was talking about cryptograms, and this also Alan thought strange.
"My poor brother was always trying to work out secret writings," said she.
"Why?" asked Sorley, again uneasy at this mention of the dead.
"I don't know," answered Miss Grison indifferently. "He wanted to learn some secret that would bring him money."
"In connection with what?"
"I don't know."
"Did he ever decipher the secret writing you refer to?"
"I don't know," said Miss Grison again. "He spent his days and nights in trying to work out the cryptogram76.'
"Alan," murmured Marie under her breath on hearing this, "there is some cryptogram connected with the peacock, I fancy."
"Yes! yes, and he had it," said Fuller hastily. Then he raised his voice. "Are you talking about ciphers77, Miss Grison? I am fond of solving them myself and indeed I am rather good at it."
"Are you?" It was Mr. Sorley who replied and not the woman. "I think that I could puzzle you."
"No, you couldn't," rejoined Alan deliberately78 boastful. "Set me any cryptogram and I am sure I can solve it. I go on the system of Poe."
"What is that?"
Before he could answer Miss Grison rose, and shaking the crumbs79 from her dress walked to the door. There she halted, and turned to fix cold eyes on her astonished host, who had not expected so abrupt36 a move in the midst of an agreeable conversation.
"I have eaten and drunk in this house," said Miss Grison sternly, "a thing I never believed that I could bring myself to do. Now I shall say what I came to say to you, Mr. Randolph Sorley, and shake the dust from my feet."
"Hadn't you better speak to me privately80?" asked Sorley, rising with a wan1 smile and a white face.
"I think not. What I have to say can be heard by both these young people, who are aware of the opinion I have of you. You are a wicked and cruel and sinful man, worse than the worst of men, although all are bad now that my poor brother is dead."
"Your brother Bald----"
"Don't dare to take his name on your lips," interrupted Miss Grison in a fierce way. "His death is due to you."
"To me? How dare you accuse me of the murder?" Sorley was whiter than ever and seemed much shaken by the abrupt accusation81.
"I don't. But I accuse you of having wrongfully dismissed Baldwin from this house, over twenty years ago."
"I dismissed him, if you will have the truth told in the presence of others, because he forged my name to a check."
"He did not. You malign82 the dead. You turned him out and soiled his name and ruined his life without a shadow of excuse. That he sank to a slum in Rotherhithe is your work; that he was murdered there is your work, for if he had not been in Rotherhithe he would not have died by violence. If you had dared to come to the funeral I should have spat83 on your wicked face."
"How dare you! how dare you! Marie, go to your room."
"Marie shall stay until she hears what I think of you," cried Miss Grison grimly. "With that meal you hoped to smooth me down. But I shall never forgive you for having laid Baldwin in the dust. You have had your turn: now it is my turn. Wait, wait and see how iniquity84 can be punished," and, shaking a menacing finger, she stalked out of the room.
"Mad! mad. She is mad," gasped85 Mr. Sorley and literally86 tottered87 out of the library, presumably to follow his denouncer.
"And why did she mention that her brother was trying to solve some secret writing which he hoped would bring him money?" asked Fuller quickly.
"Her brother had the peacock and----"
"Exactly. Now Marie we have a clue to the truth."
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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miser
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guardian
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mere
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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eyebrows
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interfere
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solicitor
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quotation
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oracle
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hoard
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exuberant
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monastery
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mortar
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demurely
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chilly
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busts
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rosy
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smoothly
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adorned
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bonnet
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beheld
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remains
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scrutinizing
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avenge
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determined
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thoroughly
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bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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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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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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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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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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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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poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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bluster
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| v.猛刮；怒冲冲的说；n.吓唬，怒号；狂风声 | |
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pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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cryptogram
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| n.密码 | |
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ciphers
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| n.密码( cipher的名词复数 )；零；不重要的人；无价值的东西 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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82
malign
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| adj.有害的；恶性的；恶意的；v.诽谤，诬蔑 | |
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spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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84
iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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85
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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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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