As the time came near for Dick's visit the Squire1's mood changed from one of genial2 satisfaction to a nervous irascibility, which, as Joan said to Nancy, made him very difficult to live with.
"I know," Nancy agreed. "It is really rather degrading to have to try and keep him in a good temper."
"Good temper!" repeated Joan. "It is as much as one can do to keep him from snapping off one's head for nothing at all; in fact, one can't do it."
"I think," said Nancy reflectively, "that a time will come when we shall have to take father in hand and teach him how to behave. That's darling mother's mistake—that she's never done it. My view is that a woman has got to keep a man in order, or he will tyrannise over her. Don't you think that is so, Joan?"
"From what I have observed," replied Joan—they were sitting on the big sofa before the schoolroom fire—"I should say it was. And it's a bad thing for men themselves. Of course, we know quite well that father is frightened to death of what Dick will say to him when he comes, but if we were old enough—and mother cared to do it—to make him hide it up when he's with us, it wouldn't have nearly such a bad effect on him. He would have to forget it sometimes; now he never does."
Whether or no the Squire was frightened to death of what Dick would say to him when he came, he was certainly upset at the idea of what lay before him. Although he had as yet taken no definite steps, he had come to the decision that Dick, as far as was possible, should be disinherited, if he made the marriage that now seemed inevitable3. The news of Humphrey's desirable engagement had made the other look still more undesirable4, and it had taken off the edge of his strong aversion to act in a way so opposed to all his life-long intentions. It seemed almost to have justified5 his decision, and it had certainly softened6 to himself the sting of it.
But it was one thing to allow his mind to dwell on the unhoped-for compensations of his decision, when Dick by his own choice had cut himself off from Kencote and remained away from it, and it was quite another to contemplate7 his coming back, before the decision was made irrevocable, on a footing so different from the one he had hitherto occupied. The Squire was made intensely uncomfortable at the thought of how he should bear himself. He did now want to see his eldest8 son again, and to be friends with him. That desire had been greatly weakened while his mind had occupied itself with Humphrey's affair, but he saw, dimly, that it had only been sleeping, that he would always want Dick, however much he might have reason to be pleased with Humphrey, and that he was laying up for himself unhappiness in the future in working to put Humphrey into Dick's place, as he had rashly promised himself that he would do.
Humphrey, perhaps unwisely as regards his own interest, had announced his departure for London soon after it was known that Dick was coming down, and the Squire was left to turn things over in his mind with the distraction9 of Humphrey's affairs and Humphrey's presence withdrawn10 from him.
The twins went in the carriage to meet Dick at the station. They squeezed in on either side of him and made their pleasure at seeing him both vocal11 and tangible12.
"Dear, darling old Dick," said Joan, trying to seize his hand under the bearskin rug, "it is very wrong of you to stay away from home. We've missed you awfully13."
"You seem more of a fluffy14 angel than ever now we have got you back," said Nancy. "How true it is what the old Starling used to say, that we don't know our blessings15 till they have left us."
"Thanks very much," replied Dick. "What's this I hear about Humphrey being engaged? But I suppose they wouldn't have told you yet."
"Told us!" echoed Joan.
"We told them!" said Nancy.
"Oh, you did! Trust you for nosing out a secret."
"It wasn't much of a secret," said Joan. "Silky Susan—oh, I beg her pardon, we mustn't call her that now—I mean sweet Sue, was all eyes—big round ones."
"And she took a great deal of trouble to ingratiate herself with us," said Nancy. "We're not considered worth it as a rule, and of course we see through it in a moment, because we're not really her sort."
"But we're going to be," said Joan. "Humphrey told us that we ought to copy her in the way we behave, and we said we would."
"Jolly glad to get the chance," added Nancy. "We want to be sweet girls, but nobody has ever shown us how, before."
"Oh, you're all right," said Dick. "You needn't try to alter."
"Thank you, dear Dick," replied Joan. "You are blind to our faults, and it is very sweet of you. But there is room for improvement, and what with Miss Phipp to train our brains and sweet Sue Clinton to improve our manners, we feel we're getting a tremendous chance, don't we, Nancy?"
"Rather!" acquiesced16 Nancy; "the chance of a life time. We lie awake at night thinking about it."
Dick let them chatter17 on, and retired18 into his own thoughts. He would have liked to know how his father had taken the news of his coming, but was unwilling19 to question them, and he had never allowed them to exercise their critical faculties20 on their father before him; so they were not likely now to volunteer enlightenment. As the carriage rolled smoothly21 over the gravel22 of the drive through the park, he too, like his father, felt some discomfort23 at the thought of the meeting that lay before him.
Except that he had come out of his room and was waiting in the hall to receive his son, which had not been his usual custom, there was nothing in the Squire's greeting which could arouse comment amongst the servants who were present at it. This was always a great point at Kencote. "For God's sake, don't let the servants talk," was a phrase often on the Squire's lips; but he himself, in any crisis, provided them with more food for talk than anybody else.
"How are you, Dick?" he said, shaking hands. "We were beginning to think we should never see you again." (This was for the benefit of the servants.) "The meet's at Horley Wood to-morrow, but I'm not going out. I've got a touch of rheumatism24. Come in and have a cup of tea."
They all went into the morning-room. "Mother, can't we begin to have tea downstairs now?" asked Joan. "We're quite old enough. We don't make messes any more."
Thus by a timely stroke a long-desired concession25 was won, for the only obstacle hitherto in the way had been the Squire's firm pronouncement that children ought to be kept in their proper place as long as they were children, and the proper place for Joan and Nancy at tea-time was the schoolroom. But he was now so greatly relieved at having them there to centre conversation on that he said with a strong laugh, taking Joan by the shoulder and drawing her to him, "Now, there's impudence26 for you! But I think we might let them off the chain now, mother, eh?"
"In holiday time," acquiesced Mrs. Clinton, "and on the days when they're not at lessons."
"But if they get sticky with jam," said Dick, "they lose their privilege for a week."
"And any one who drops crumbs27 on the carpet must have tea with us in the schoolroom for a week," said Nancy.
The subject was discussed at some length on those lines until Mrs. Clinton sent the twins up to take off their hats, when their elders still went on discussing them.
"So you've chosen the blue-stocking, mother," said Dick.
"Yes; she is coming next week," said Mrs. Clinton.
"Mother didn't want anybody dangerously attractive about the house," said the Squire, hastening to take up that subject, which was continued until the twins returned, when they were allowed to dominate the conversation to an unusual degree.
But at last the time came when the Squire had always been accustomed to say, "Well, we'll go into my room and have a cigar," or to go out without saying anything, with the certainty of Dick's following him. He could not now go out of the room without saying anything, for that would have amounted to a declaration made before the children that he did not want Dick's company, and he shirked the usual formula which would precipitate28 the "talk" that he dreaded30.
Dick relieved him for the time being. "I'll go into the smoking-room and write a few letters," he said.
"Ah, well, I'll go into my room and smoke a cigar," said the Squire, making a move.
Mrs. Clinton asked Joan to ring the bell. "They may not have lit the fire in the smoking-room," she said.
The Squire looked back. "Eh? What!" he said sharply. "Of course they've lit it, if one of the boys is at home."
But it appeared that they had not lit it, and "they," in the person of a footman, were instructed to repair the oversight31 immediately. It was a disturbing episode. Dick had used the smoking-room less than the others, having usually shared the Squire's big room with him as if it were his own, and they had probably omitted to light the smoking-room fire when he only of the boys was at home, on occasions before, without the omission32 being noticed. But it looked as if differences were beginning to be made, as if the dread29 "they" had begun to talk; and the Squire hated the suspicion of their talk like poison. At any rate, it drew attention to Dick's announcement that he would write his letters in the smoking-room instead of in the library, and that would be food for talk. He said with a frown, "Hadn't you better come into my room? You can write your letters there. You generally do."
So Dick followed him, and the door was shut on them.
The spurt33 of annoyance34 had brought the Squire up to the point of "tackling the situation." After all, it had to be talked out between them, and it was useless to put off the moment and pretend that things were as usual.
"I suppose your mind is still made up?" he said, with his back to his son.
"Yes," replied Dick. "We needn't go over all that again."
"I don't want to," said the Squire. "Only we had better have things plain. I won't receive her, either before marriage or after."
Dick put constraint35 on himself, but his face grew red. "If you are going to talk like that," he said after a pause, "I had better not have come."
The Squire turned and faced him. The frown was still on his face, but it was one of trouble. "Oh, my dear boy," he said, "I'm glad enough to see you. I wish you had never gone away. I wish to God you'd drop it all and come back, and let us be as we were before. But if you won't change, I won't change, and if we're to be comfortable together these few days, let's know at the beginning where we stand. That's all I meant."
"All right," said Dick rather ungraciously. "But I should like to know how I stand in other matters as well. You've sent me messages. You're going to make me pay pretty heavily for marrying the woman I've chosen. I'm not complaining and I'm not asking you to change your mind. But I think I've a right to know exactly where I stand."
"Well, then, sit down," said the Squire, "and I'll tell you."
They were confronted in a way neither of them had been prepared for. Certainly Dick had not come home to ask for explanations, nor had his father meant to open up the now closed dispute. Some underling in the back regions, with his mouth full of bread and butter and tea and his mind relaxed from his duties to his own insignificant36 enjoyments37, was responsible for what was now going to be said in his master's sanctum. A match struck and put to the smoking-room fire would have altered the course of affairs at Kencote, perhaps only for an hour or two, perhaps for Dick's lifetime. Now, at any rate, there was to be a discussion which would otherwise have been deferred38, and for their own future comfort neither the Squire nor Dick was in the most tractable39 mood for discussion.
"You know how the property stands and what goes with it?" the Squire began.
"Yes, I know all that," said Dick. "There's about eight thousand acres, and a rent-roll in good times of perhaps a couple of thousand a year. Then there are a couple of livings to present to, a house which might be let with the shooting by a fellow who couldn't afford to live in it for, let's say, a thousand a year. So I shall be fairly comfortably off somewhere else as long as I do let, and I dare say there won't be much difficulty about that. There are plenty of rich manufacturers who would like to take a place like Kencote."
Although his mind had been on other plans, and he had no sort of intention of living anywhere but at Kencote after he should have succeeded his father, still, in the background of his thoughts there had lain great bitterness at this preposterous40 punishment that his father was preparing for him; and the bitterness now showed plainly enough in his speech.
It aroused in the Squire a curious conflict of emotions. The picture of a rich outsider settled in the house which had sheltered none but Clintons for unnumbered years appalled41 him, and, if Dick had presented it for his inspection42 without heat, must have turned him from his purpose then and there; for that purpose had never been examined in its ultimate bearings, and would not have been formed except with the view of bending Dick to his will. But, already ruffled43, he became more so at Dick's tone, and his uneasiness at the fearful idea which had been evolved, although it was rejected for the moment, translated itself into anger.
"You've no right to talk like that," he said hotly. "If you would come to your senses you could be as well off living here as I am."
"I know I could," said Dick more quietly, "if I were blackguard enough to give up a woman for the sake of money. But there's no use at all in talking about that. I'm quite prepared for what you are going to do, and I haven't come here, as I told you, to ask you to change your mind. It's your affair; only if you haven't looked what you're going to do in the face yet, I'm interested enough to say that I think you ought to."
"You'll have enough money," snapped the Squire, not at all mollified by this speech, "to make it possible for you to live at Kencote—you'll have much more than enough money, as I told you—if you give up this marriage. You say you won't give it up. Very well, then, you can go and live somewhere else and Humphrey can take your place here."
Dick's astonished stare recalled him to his senses. He had spoken out of his anger. He had never meant to go so far as this. But having gone so far he went on to make his position good.
"Now we won't beat about the bush any more," he said judicially45. "As far as I'm concerned—what I'm going to leave him, I mean—Humphrey couldn't afford to live at Kencote. I'm not going to rob others to put him in your place, although I tell you this, he's going to be put in your place as soon as you get married, until my death. I dare say you have heard he's going to be married himself, and it's a marriage I'm pleased with. She won't bring him much money, I dare say, but that will be put right in another quarter. He'll be well off from the first, and I shouldn't wonder if he weren't better off still before long. He'll live at the dower-house and work with me at the management of the place, just as you have always done. And when you succeed, you'll probably find him a richer man than you are."
Dick rose from his chair. "Thank you," he said. "I know where I stand now. And as there doesn't seem to be much more to stop here for, I'll get back to London."
But Dick had already left the room.
The Squire remained sitting forward in his chair looking into the fire. His face, which had been red and hard, gradually changed its colour and expression. He looked a tried and troubled old man. He had burnt his boats now. He had allowed his anger to dictate47 words which he would not have used in cold blood. He had insulted his son, as well as injured him. Dick was going out of his father's house in anger, and he would not return to it. As long as he lived he would not see him again.
These thoughts were too much for him. His own anger had disappeared. He could not let his son go away from him like that. He had not meant what he had said—at least, he had not meant to say it in that way. He rose quickly and went out of the room.
When Dick had left him he had gone into the smoking-room, where the belated fire was burning briskly, summoned his servant and ordered his cart. His intention was to drive straight over to Bathgate and wait there for a train to London. Virginia was not at Blaythorn, or he would have gone there. He had told her that he was going down to Kencote to make one last effort at reconciliation48 with his father, and she had said that she would pay an overdue50 weekend visit at the same time, so that he should not complicate51 matters by coming over to see her from Kencote. "For I'm sure you won't be able to keep away if you are so close to me," she had said, holding him by the lapels of his coat and smiling up in his face. It had been an old engagement between them that he should have spent this particular week-end with her at Blaythorn, and he now wished heartily52 that he had not changed his plans. "Kicked out of the house within ten minutes!" he said to himself, standing53 in front of the fire, when he had given his orders. He was consumed with anger against his father, and had an impulse to get away from the house at once, to start on foot, and let his cart catch him up. But it was raining hard, and there were a couple of notes that he had to write for the evening post. He might as well write them now, and he sat down at the table to do so.
The door opened, and Mrs. Clinton came in. "Dick dear," she said in her quiet voice, which hardly betokened54 the trouble that could be seen in her face, "you are not going to leave us like this!"
He turned in his seat and faced her. "I'm going in a few minutes," he said, "and I'm not coming back again. It's good-bye this time, mother."
"Oh, why can't you be a little patient with him?" she cried. "He wanted so to see you here again. If he has said anything to offend you he will be very sorry for it. Dick, don't go like this. It will be the end of everything."
He got up from the table and put his arm round her shoulder, leading her up to the hearth55. "You and I will see each other," he said kindly56. "It isn't the end of everything between us, mother. But with him, and with Kencote, it is. There's no help for it. He's definitely against me now. He's told me he's going to put Humphrey in my place—straight out. I can't stand that, you know. If he's going to say things like that—and do them—what's the good of my staying here?"
"He can't mean it," she pleaded. "He is pleased with Humphrey now, but he has always loved you best of all his sons. It isn't in his power to put any one in your place."
"I dare say he'll be sorry for having done it," he said, "but he's going to do it, all the same. I can put up with the idea, mother, as long as I'm not at Kencote, but it's a bit too much to stay here and have that sort of thing said to you."
He dropped his arm and turned round sharply, for the door had opened again, and now it was his father who came into the room.
"Dick," he said, shutting the door and coming forward, "I said too much just now. For God's sake forget it!"
There was a moment's pause. Then Dick said in a hard voice, "What am I to forget?"
The Squire looked at him with his troubled, perplexed57 frown. "Can't you give it up, my boy?" he asked.
"God knows I don't want to make any changes," said his father. "It's worse for me than it is for you, Dick. Humphrey won't be to me what you have been. If you would only meet me half-way, I——"
Dick turned suddenly. "Yes, I'll meet you half-way," he said. "It is what I came here to say I would do, only you went so far beyond everything that there was nothing left for me to say. If you are going to set yourself to make Humphrey a richer man than I, as you said—well, that is beyond anything I had thought of—that you should be thinking of it in that way, I mean."
"Dick, I've never thought of it in that way," said his father. "And you must forget that I said it."
Mrs. Clinton spoke44. "You have heard of Humphrey's engagement," she said. "Your father's idea is that he shall live here, at the dower-house, and help him with the estate management."
"That's it," said the Squire. "It was either that or getting a regular agent in the place of Haydon. I can't do it all myself. But if you would only come back, Dick——"
"I can't do that," said Dick, "at least, not now. I'm tied. And I can't object to your getting Humphrey in, if you think he'll take to the job. It isn't that. And it isn't that I mind much your leaving money to the others instead of to me—as long as you don't leave it all to one of them."
"I told you I wasn't going to do that," said the Squire. "I'd never thought of it. What I said about Humphrey I said on the spur of the moment, and I'm sorry for it."
"Oh, all right," said Dick; "we needn't worry about that any more. Do what you like for Humphrey. I've no wish to put a spoke in his wheel, and I wish I thought he felt the same about putting one in mine. I'll tell you what I told you at the beginning—I've more or less reconciled myself to the change you're going to make. At any rate, I shan't grumble59 at it. It'll only mean doing a bit more for myself instead of looking to you for everything."
The Squire did not like this. "You couldn't do much," he said, "to make up for the loss of the unsettled property, if I left it away from you."
"I could do something," replied Dick, "and I'm going to."
"Let us sit down," Mrs. Clinton said. "Dick, if you have anything to tell us, if you are going to meet us half-way, as you say, let us hear."
They sat down, and Dick considered for a moment, and then looked up at his father. "Neither of us has given way an inch yet," he said.
The Squire frowned. "There can be no giving way on the point of your marriage," he said.
Dick was about to reply, but Mrs. Clinton put her hand on his knee. "Let him tell us what he has in his mind, Edward," she said.
"I was going to say," said Dick, with a gulp60, "that I am quite prepared to give way on the question of the property. I wanted you to receive Virginia, and to give me everything you were going to give me. I don't ask that now. Do what you have said you would do. I shan't grouse61 about it. I shan't let it make any difference between you and me. I promise you that. That's where I'll give way."
The Squire felt very uncomfortable. Conciliation49 was in the air, and he was prepared to be conciliatory. But how was he to meet this?
"What do you want me to do, then?" he asked, "short of——"
Dick took him up. "I'm going to marry Virginia Dubec," he said decisively. "That is settled, and you can't stop me. You haven't been fair either to me or to her about it. You have never given her a chance to prove to you, as she could prove, that she is as unlike the woman you take her for as any woman on earth could be. And you have gone to greater lengths in trying to stop me doing what I'm going to do than I think you were justified in going."
The Squire broke in on him. "Oh, if you're going to open up——" he began; but Mrs. Clinton said, "Edward, let Dick finish what he has to say"; and Dick went on quickly, "It's the last time I need mention all that. I'm ready to forget it, every bit of it, and you'll never hear a single word more about it, if—if——"
The words that rose to his lips were, "If you'll undertake to behave yourself from now onwards," but since he had to find other words to express his meaning, and paused for a moment, the Squire put in, "Well, if what? I'm waiting to hear."
"You can't stop my marriage," said Dick. "The only thing you can do is to recognise it now, unless you deliberately62 choose that this shall be the last time we are to see one another."
The Squire's frown of perplexity became a frown of displeasure. "If those are your terms——" he began; but again Mrs. Clinton interrupted him.
"When Dick has been married some time," she said, "you will not want to keep him at arm's length. You will make the best of it. It is senseless for either you or him to talk of an estrangement63 that will last a lifetime. Such a thing could not happen. There would be no grounds for it. Edward, you have done what you could to prevent Dick from following his will. Now you must accept his decision, and not go on to make further unhappiness."
He turned on her a reproachful eye. "What, you on his side, against me!" he exclaimed.
"As long as there was a chance of your having your way," she said, "I would not act in any way against you. But now I say that I have seen for myself, and I do not believe that you have anything to fear. Dick has chosen for himself, and we ought now to respect his choice."
Dick put out his hand and pressed his mother's. The Squire, faced with decision, almost with authority, from a quarter in which he had hitherto expected and obtained nothing but submission64, showed neither surprise nor resentment65. He sat looking on to the ground, his frown of displeasure now once again changed into a frown of perplexity.
In a moment or two he looked up and spoke, but without indignation. "You want me, now, after all I've said and done," he said, "to give in altogether and receive this Lady George Dubec as my daughter-in-law?"
"I think," said Mrs. Clinton, "that the time has come when you must."
"Oh, for God's sake, let's have an end of it, father," said Dick. "Give her a chance. It's all I ask of you. Let me bring her here. If you haven't changed your mind after her visit—then both of us will have done what we can for each other—and you need never see her again as long as you live."
The Squire sat without replying for a long time. Then he got up and turned to leave the room. "Very well, Dick," he said, "you may bring her here."
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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retired
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unwilling
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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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smoothly
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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rheumatism
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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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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precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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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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oversight
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| n.勘漏，失察，疏忽 | |
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omission
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| n.省略，删节；遗漏或省略的事物，冗长 | |
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spurt
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| v.喷出；突然进发；突然兴隆 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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enjoyments
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| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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tractable
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| adj.易驾驭的；温顺的 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle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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judicially
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| 依法判决地，公平地 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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conciliation
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| n.调解，调停 | |
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overdue
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| adj.过期的，到期未付的；早该有的，迟到的 | |
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complicate
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| vt.使复杂化，使混乱，使难懂 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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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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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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grouse
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| n.松鸡；v.牢骚，诉苦 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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estrangement
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| n.疏远，失和，不和 | |
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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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