Her first term was with her father, who spared her only in not letting her have the wild letters addressed to her by her mother: he confined himself to holding them up at her and shaking them, while he showed his teeth, and then amusing her by the way he chucked them, across the room, bang into the fire. Even at that moment, however, she had a scared anticipation7 of fatigue8, a guilty sense of not rising to the occasion, feeling the charm of the violence with which the stiff unopened envelopes, whose big monograms—Ida bristled9 with monograms—she would have liked to see, were made to whizz, like dangerous missiles, through the air. The greatest effect of the great cause was her own greater importance, chiefly revealed to her in the larger freedom with which she was handled, pulled hither and thither10 and kissed, and the proportionately greater niceness she was obliged to show. Her features had somehow become prominent; they were so perpetually nipped by the gentlemen who came to see her father and the smoke of whose cigarettes went into her face. Some of these gentlemen made her strike matches and light their cigarettes; others, holding her on knees violently jolted11, pinched the calves12 of her legs till she shrieked—her shriek13 was much admired—and reproached them with being toothpicks. The word stuck in her mind and contributed to her feeling from this time that she was deficient14 in something that would meet the general desire. She found out what it was: it was a congenital tendency to the production of a substance to which Moddle, her nurse, gave a short ugly name, a name painfully associated at dinner with the part of the joint16 that she didn't like. She had left behind her the time when she had no desires to meet, none at least save Moddle's, who, in Kensington Gardens, was always on the bench when she came back to see if she had been playing too far. Moddle's desire was merely that she shouldn't do that, and she met it so easily that the only spots in that long brightness were the moments of her wondering what would become of her if, on her rushing back, there should be no Moddle on the bench. They still went to the Gardens, but there was a difference even there; she was impelled17 perpetually to look at the legs of other children and ask her nurse if they were toothpicks. Moddle was terribly truthful18; she always said: "Oh my dear, you'll not find such another pair as your own." It seemed to have to do with something else that Moddle often said: "You feel the strain—that's where it is; and you'll feel it still worse, you know."
Thus from the first Maisie not only felt it, but knew she felt it. A part of it was the consequence of her father's telling her he felt it too, and telling Moddle, in her presence, that she must make a point of driving that home. She was familiar, at the age of six, with the fact that everything had been changed on her account, everything ordered to enable him to give himself up to her. She was to remember always the words in which Moddle impressed upon her that he did so give himself: "Your papa wishes you never to forget, you know, that he has been dreadfully put about." If the skin on Moddle's face had to Maisie the air of being unduly19, almost painfully, stretched, it never presented that appearance so much as when she uttered, as she often had occasion to utter, such words. The child wondered if they didn't make it hurt more than usual; but it was only after some time that she was able to attach to the picture of her father's sufferings, and more particularly to her nurse's manner about them, the meaning for which these things had waited. By the time she had grown sharper, as the gentlemen who had criticised her calves used to say, she found in her mind a collection of images and echoes to which meanings were attachable—images and echoes kept for her in the childish dusk, the dim closet, the high drawers, like games she wasn't yet big enough to play. The great strain meanwhile was that of carrying by the right end the things her father said about her mother—things mostly indeed that Moddle, on a glimpse of them, as if they had been complicated toys or difficult books, took out of her hands and put away in the closet. A wonderful assortment20 of objects of this kind she was to discover there later, all tumbled up too with the things, shuffled21 into the same receptacle, that her mother had said about her father.
She had the knowledge that on a certain occasion which every day brought nearer her mother would be at the door to take her away, and this would have darkened all the days if the ingenious Moddle hadn't written on a paper in very big easy words ever so many pleasures that she would enjoy at the other house. These promises ranged from "a mother's fond love" to "a nice poached egg to your tea," and took by the way the prospect22 of sitting up ever so late to see the lady in question dressed, in silks and velvets and diamonds and pearls, to go out: so that it was a real support to Maisie, at the supreme23 hour, to feel how, by Moddle's direction, the paper was thrust away in her pocket and there clenched24 in her fist. The supreme hour was to furnish her with a vivid reminiscence, that of a strange outbreak in the drawing-room on the part of Moddle, who, in reply to something her father had just said, cried aloud: "You ought to be perfectly25 ashamed of yourself—you ought to blush, sir, for the way you go on!" The carriage, with her mother in it, was at the door; a gentleman who was there, who was always there, laughed out very loud; her father, who had her in his arms, said to Moddle: "My dear woman, I'll settle you presently!"—after which he repeated, showing his teeth more than ever at Maisie while he hugged her, the words for which her nurse had taken him up. Maisie was not at the moment so fully15 conscious of them as of the wonder of Moddle's sudden disrespect and crimson26 face; but she was able to produce them in the course of five minutes when, in the carriage, her mother, all kisses, ribbons, eyes, arms, strange sounds and sweet smells, said to her: "And did your beastly papa, my precious angel, send any message to your own loving mamma?" Then it was that she found the words spoken by her beastly papa to be, after all, in her little bewildered ears, from which, at her mother's appeal, they passed, in her clear shrill27 voice, straight to her little innocent lips. "He said I was to tell you, from him," she faithfully reported, "that you're a nasty horrid28 pig!"
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1 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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2 ballad | |
n.歌谣,民谣,流行爱情歌曲 | |
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3 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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4 mite | |
n.极小的东西;小铜币 | |
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5 avert | |
v.防止,避免;转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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6 modesty | |
n.谦逊,虚心,端庄,稳重,羞怯,朴素 | |
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7 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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8 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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9 bristled | |
adj. 直立的,多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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10 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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11 jolted | |
(使)摇动, (使)震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12 calves | |
n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子,腓;腿肚子( calf的名词复数 );牛犊;腓;小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 );(冰川)崩解;生(小牛等),产(犊);使(冰川)崩解 | |
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13 shriek | |
v./n.尖叫,叫喊 | |
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14 deficient | |
adj.不足的,不充份的,有缺陷的 | |
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15 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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16 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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17 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18 truthful | |
adj.真实的,说实话的,诚实的 | |
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19 unduly | |
adv.过度地,不适当地 | |
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20 assortment | |
n.分类,各色俱备之物,聚集 | |
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21 shuffled | |
v.洗(纸牌)( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 );拖着脚步走;粗心地做;摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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22 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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23 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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24 clenched | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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26 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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27 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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28 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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