The day was by this time waning1, when the gate again opened, and, with the brilliant golden light that streamed from the declining sun and touched the very bars of the sooty creature’s den2, there passed in a little child; a little girl with beautiful bright hair. She wore a plain straw hat, had a door-key in her hand, and tripped towards Mr. Traveller as if she were pleased to see him and were going to repose3 some childish confidence in him, when she caught sight of the figure behind the bars, and started back in terror.
“Don’t be alarmed, darling!” said Mr. Traveller, taking her by the hand.
“Oh, but I don’t like it!” urged the shrinking child; “it’s dreadful.”
“Well! I don’t like it either,” said Mr. Traveller.
“Who has put it there?” asked the little girl. “Does it bite?”
“No,—only barks. But can’t you make up your mind to see it, my dear?” For she was covering her eyes.
“O no no no!” returned the child. “I cannot bear to look at it!”
Mr. Traveller turned his head towards his friend in there, as much as to ask him how he liked that instance of his success, and then took the child out at the still open gate, and stood talking to her for some half an hour in the mellow5 sunlight. At length he returned, encouraging her as she held his arm with both her hands; and laying his protecting hand upon her head and smoothing her pretty hair, he addressed his friend behind the bars as follows:
* * * * *
Miss Pupford’s establishment for six young ladies of tender years, is an establishment of a compact nature, an establishment in miniature, quite a pocket establishment. Miss Pupford, Miss Pupford’s assistant with the Parisian accent, Miss Pupford’s cook, and Miss Pupford’s housemaid, complete what Miss Pupford calls the educational and domestic staff of her Lilliputian College.
Miss Pupford is one of the most amiable6 of her sex; it necessarily follows that she possesses a sweet temper, and would own to the possession of a great deal of sentiment if she considered it quite reconcilable with her duty to parents. Deeming it not in the bond, Miss Pupford keeps it as far out of sight as she can—which (God bless her!) is not very far.
Miss Pupford’s assistant with the Parisian accent, may be regarded as in some sort an inspired lady, for she never conversed7 with a Parisian, and was never out of England—except once in the pleasure-boat Lively, in the foreign waters that ebb8 and flow two miles off Margate at high water. Even under those geographically9 favourable10 circumstances for the acquisition of the French language in its utmost politeness and purity, Miss Pupford’s assistant did not fully11 profit by the opportunity; for the pleasure-boat, Lively, so strongly asserted its title to its name on that occasion, that she was reduced to the condition of lying in the bottom of the boat pickling in brine—as if she were being salted down for the use of the Navy—undergoing at the same time great mental alarm, corporeal12 distress13, and clear-starching derangement14.
When Miss Pupford and her assistant first foregathered, is not known to men, or pupils. But, it was long ago. A belief would have established itself among pupils that the two once went to school together, were it not for the difficulty and audacity15 of imagining Miss Pupford born without mittens16, and without a front, and without a bit of gold wire among her front teeth, and without little dabs17 of powder on her neat little face and nose. Indeed, whenever Miss Pupford gives a little lecture on the mythology18 of the misguided heathens (always carefully excluding Cupid from recognition), and tells how Minerva sprang, perfectly19 equipped, from the brain of Jupiter, she is half supposed to hint, “So I myself came into the world, completely up in Pinnock, Mangnall, Tables, and the use of the Globes.”
Howbeit, Miss Pupford and Miss Pupford’s assistant are old old friends. And it is thought by pupils that, after pupils are gone to bed, they even call one another by their christian20 names in the quiet little parlour. For, once upon a time on a thunderous afternoon, when Miss Pupford fainted away without notice, Miss Pupford’s assistant (never heard, before or since, to address her otherwise than as Miss Pupford) ran to her, crying out, “My dearest Euphemia!” And Euphemia is Miss Pupford’s christian name on the sampler (date picked out) hanging up in the College-hall, where the two peacocks, terrified to death by some German text that is waddling21 down-hill after them out of a cottage, are scuttling22 away to hide their profiles in two immense bean-stalks growing out of flower-pots.
Also, there is a notion latent among pupils, that Miss Pupford was once in love, and that the beloved object still moves upon this ball. Also, that he is a public character, and a personage of vast consequence. Also, that Miss Pupford’s assistant knows all about it. For, sometimes of an afternoon when Miss Pupford has been reading the paper through her little gold eye-glass (it is necessary to read it on the spot, as the boy calls for it, with ill-conditioned punctuality, in an hour), she has become agitated23, and has said to her assistant “G!” Then Miss Pupford’s assistant has gone to Miss Pupford, and Miss Pupford has pointed24 out, with her eye-glass, G in the paper, and then Miss Pupford’s assistant has read about G, and has shown sympathy. So stimulated25 has the pupil-mind been in its time to curiosity on the subject of G, that once, under temporary circumstances favourable to the bold sally, one fearless pupil did actually obtain possession of the paper, and range all over it in search of G, who had been discovered therein by Miss Pupford not ten minutes before. But no G could be identified, except one capital offender26 who had been executed in a state of great hardihood, and it was not to be supposed that Miss Pupford could ever have loved him. Besides, he couldn’t be always being executed. Besides, he got into the paper again, alive, within a month.
On the whole, it is suspected by the pupil-mind that G is a short chubby27 old gentleman, with little black sealing-wax boots up to his knees, whom a sharply observant pupil, Miss Linx, when she once went to Tunbridge Wells with Miss Pupford for the holidays, reported on her return (privately and confidentially) to have seen come capering28 up to Miss Pupford on the Promenade29, and to have detected in the act of squeezing Miss Pupford’s hand, and to have heard pronounce the words, “Cruel Euphemia, ever thine!”—or something like that. Miss Linx hazarded a guess that he might be House of Commons, or Money Market, or Court Circular, or Fashionable Movements; which would account for his getting into the paper so often. But, it was fatally objected by the pupil-mind, that none of those notabilities could possibly be spelt with a G.
There are other occasions, closely watched and perfectly comprehended by the pupil-mind, when Miss Pupford imparts with mystery to her assistant that there is special excitement in the morning paper. These occasions are, when Miss Pupford finds an old pupil coming out under the head of Births, or Marriages. Affectionate tears are invariably seen in Miss Pupford’s meek30 little eyes when this is the case; and the pupil-mind, perceiving that its order has distinguished31 itself—though the fact is never mentioned by Miss Pupford—becomes elevated, and feels that it likewise is reserved for greatness.
Miss Pupford’s assistant with the Parisian accent has a little more bone than Miss Pupford, but is of the same trim orderly diminutive32 cast, and, from long contemplation, admiration33, and imitation of Miss Pupford, has grown like her. Being entirely34 devoted35 to Miss Pupford, and having a pretty talent for pencil-drawing, she once made a portrait of that lady: which was so instantly identified and hailed by the pupils, that it was done on stone at five shillings. Surely the softest and milkiest36 stone that ever was quarried37, received that likeness38 of Miss Pupford! The lines of her placid39 little nose are so undecided in it that strangers to the work of art are observed to be exceedingly perplexed40 as to where the nose goes to, and involuntarily feel their own noses in a disconcerted manner. Miss Pupford being represented in a state of dejection at an open window, ruminating41 over a bowl of gold fish, the pupil-mind has settled that the bowl was presented by G, and that he wreathed the bowl with flowers of soul, and that Miss Pupford is depicted42 as waiting for him on a memorable43 occasion when he was behind his time.
The approach of the last Midsummer holidays had a particular interest for the pupil-mind, by reason of its knowing that Miss Pupford was bidden, on the second day of those holidays, to the nuptials44 of a former pupil. As it was impossible to conceal45 the fact—so extensive were the dress-making preparations—Miss Pupford openly announced it. But, she held it due to parents to make the announcement with an air of gentle melancholy46, as if marriage were (as indeed it exceptionally has been) rather a calamity47. With an air of softened48 resignation and pity, therefore, Miss Pupford went on with her preparations: and meanwhile no pupil ever went up-stairs, or came down, without peeping in at the door of Miss Pupford’s bedroom (when Miss Pupford wasn’t there), and bringing back some surprising intelligence concerning the bonnet49.
The extensive preparations being completed on the day before the holidays, an unanimous entreaty50 was preferred to Miss Pupford by the pupil-mind—finding expression through Miss Pupford’s assistant—that she would deign51 to appear in all her splendour. Miss Pupford consenting, presented a lovely spectacle. And although the oldest pupil was barely thirteen, every one of the six became in two minutes perfect in the shape, cut, colour, price, and quality, of every article Miss Pupford wore.
Thus delightfully52 ushered54 in, the holidays began. Five of the six pupils kissed little Kitty Kimmeens twenty times over (round total, one hundred times, for she was very popular), and so went home. Miss Kitty Kimmeens remained behind, for her relations and friends were all in India, far away. A self-helpful steady little child is Miss Kitty Kimmeens: a dimpled child too, and a loving.
So, the great marriage-day came, and Miss Pupford, quite as much fluttered as any bride could be (G! thought Miss Kitty Kimmeens), went away, splendid to behold55, in the carriage that was sent for her. But not Miss Pupford only went away; for Miss Pupford’s assistant went away with her, on a dutiful visit to an aged56 uncle—though surely the venerable gentleman couldn’t live in the gallery of the church where the marriage was to be, thought Miss Kitty Kimmeens—and yet Miss Pupford’s assistant had let out that she was going there. Where the cook was going, didn’t appear, but she generally conveyed to Miss Kimmeens that she was bound, rather against her will, on a pilgrimage to perform some pious57 office that rendered new ribbons necessary to her best bonnet, and also sandals to her shoes.
“So you see,” said the housemaid, when they were all gone, “there’s nobody left in the house but you and me, Miss Kimmeens.”
“Nobody else,” said Miss Kitty Kimmeens, shaking her curls a little sadly. “Nobody!”
“And you wouldn’t like your Bella to go too; would you, Miss Kimmeens?” said the housemaid. (She being Bella.)
“N-no,” answered little Miss Kimmeens.
“Your poor Bella is forced to stay with you, whether she likes it or not; ain’t she, Miss Kimmeens?”
“Don’t you like it?” inquired Kitty.
“Why, you’re such a darling, Miss, that it would be unkind of your Bella to make objections. Yet my brother-in-law has been took unexpected bad by this morning’s post. And your poor Bella is much attached to him, letting alone her favourite sister, Miss Kimmeens.”
“Is he very ill?” asked little Kitty.
“Your poor Bella has her fears so, Miss Kimmeens,” returned the housemaid, with her apron58 at her eyes. “It was but his inside, it is true, but it might mount, and the doctor said that if it mounted he wouldn’t answer.” Here the housemaid was so overcome that Kitty administered the only comfort she had ready: which was a kiss.
“If it hadn’t been for disappointing Cook, dear Miss Kimmeens,” said the housemaid, “your Bella would have asked her to stay with you. For Cook is sweet company, Miss Kimmeens, much more so than your own poor Bella.”
“But you are very nice, Bella.”
“Your Bella could wish to be so, Miss Kimmeens,” returned the housemaid, “but she knows full well that it do not lay in her power this day.”
With which despondent59 conviction, the housemaid drew a heavy sigh, and shook her head, and dropped it on one side.
“If it had been anyways right to disappoint Cook,” she pursued, in a contemplative and abstracted manner, “it might have been so easy done! I could have got to my brother-in-law’s, and had the best part of the day there, and got back, long before our ladies come home at night, and neither the one nor the other of them need never have known it. Not that Miss Pupford would at all object, but that it might put her out, being tender-hearted. Hows’ever, your own poor Bella, Miss Kimmeens,” said the housemaid, rousing herself, “is forced to stay with you, and you’re a precious love, if not a liberty.”
“Bella,” said little Kitty, after a short silence.
“My Bella, then.”
“Bless your considerate heart!” said the housemaid.
“If you would not mind leaving me, I should not mind being left. I am not afraid to stay in the house alone. And you need not be uneasy on my account, for I would be very careful to do no harm.”
“O! As to harm, you more than sweetest, if not a liberty,” exclaimed the housemaid, in a rapture61, “your Bella could trust you anywhere, being so steady, and so answerable. The oldest head in this house (me and Cook says), but for its bright hair, is Miss Kimmeens. But no, I will not leave you; for you would think your Bella unkind.”
“But if you are my Bella, you must go,” returned the child.
“Must I?” said the housemaid, rising, on the whole with alacrity62. “What must be, must be, Miss Kimmeens. Your own poor Bella acts according, though unwilling63. But go or stay, your own poor Bella loves you, Miss Kimmeens.”
It was certainly go, and not stay, for within five minutes Miss Kimmeens’s own poor Bella—so much improved in point of spirits as to have grown almost sanguine64 on the subject of her brother-in-law—went her way, in apparel that seemed to have been expressly prepared for some festive65 occasion. Such are the changes of this fleeting66 world, and so short-sighted are we poor mortals!
When the house door closed with a bang and a shake, it seemed to Miss Kimmeens to be a very heavy house door, shutting her up in a wilderness67 of a house. But, Miss Kimmeens being, as before stated, of a self-reliant and methodical character, presently began to parcel out the long summer-day before her.
And first she thought she would go all over the house, to make quite sure that nobody with a great-coat on and a carving-knife in it, had got under one of the beds or into one of the cupboards. Not that she had ever before been troubled by the image of anybody armed with a great-coat and a carving-knife, but that it seemed to have been shaken into existence by the shake and the bang of the great street-door, reverberating68 through the solitary69 house. So, little Miss Kimmeens looked under the five empty beds of the five departed pupils, and looked, under her own bed, and looked under Miss Pupford’s bed, and looked under Miss Pupford’s assistants bed. And when she had done this, and was making the tour of the cupboards, the disagreeable thought came into her young head, What a very alarming thing it would be to find somebody with a mask on, like Guy Fawkes, hiding bolt upright in a corner and pretending not to be alive! However, Miss Kimmeens having finished her inspection70 without making any such uncomfortable discovery, sat down in her tidy little manner to needlework, and began stitching away at a great rate.
The silence all about her soon grew very oppressive, and the more so because of the odd inconsistency that the more silent it was, the more noises there were. The noise of her own needle and thread as she stitched, was infinitely71 louder in her ears than the stitching of all the six pupils, and of Miss Pupford, and of Miss Pupford’s assistant, all stitching away at once on a highly emulative72 afternoon. Then, the schoolroom clock conducted itself in a way in which it had never conducted itself before—fell lame73, somehow, and yet persisted in running on as hard and as loud as it could: the consequence of which behaviour was, that it staggered among the minutes in a state of the greatest confusion, and knocked them about in all directions without appearing to get on with its regular work. Perhaps this alarmed the stairs; but be that as it might, they began to creak in a most unusual manner, and then the furniture began to crack, and then poor little Miss Kimmeens, not liking74 the furtive75 aspect of things in general, began to sing as she stitched. But, it was not her own voice that she heard—it was somebody else making believe to be Kitty, and singing excessively flat, without any heart—so as that would never mend matters, she left off again.
By-and-by the stitching became so palpable a failure that Miss Kitty Kimmeens folded her work neatly76, and put it away in its box, and gave it up. Then the question arose about reading. But no; the book that was so delightful53 when there was somebody she loved for her eyes to fall on when they rose from the page, had not more heart in it than her own singing now. The book went to its shelf as the needlework had gone to its box, and, since something must be done—thought the child, “I’ll go put my room to rights.”
She shared her room with her dearest little friend among the other five pupils, and why then should she now conceive a lurking77 dread4 of the little friend’s bedstead? But she did. There was a stealthy air about its innocent white curtains, and there were even dark hints of a dead girl lying under the coverlet. The great want of human company, the great need of a human face, began now to express itself in the facility with which the furniture put on strange exaggerated resemblances to human looks. A chair with a menacing frown was horribly out of temper in a corner; a most vicious chest of drawers snarled78 at her from between the windows. It was no relief to escape from those monsters to the looking-glass, for the reflection said, “What? Is that you all alone there? How you stare!” And the background was all a great void stare as well.
The day dragged on, dragging Kitty with it very slowly by the hair of her head, until it was time to eat. There were good provisions in the pantry, but their right flavour and relish79 had evaporated with the five pupils, and Miss Pupford, and Miss Pupford’s assistant, and the cook and housemaid. Where was the use of laying the cloth symmetrically for one small guest, who had gone on ever since the morning growing smaller and smaller, while the empty house had gone on swelling80 larger and larger? The very Grace came out wrong, for who were “we” who were going to receive and be thankful? So, Miss Kimmeens was not thankful, and found herself taking her dinner in very slovenly81 style—gobbling it up, in short, rather after the manner of the lower animals, not to particularise the pigs.
But, this was by no means the worst of the change wrought82 out in the naturally loving and cheery little creature as the solitary day wore on. She began to brood and be suspicious. She discovered that she was full of wrongs and injuries. All the people she knew, got tainted83 by her lonely thoughts and turned bad.
It was all very well for Papa, a widower84 in India, to send her home to be educated, and to pay a handsome round sum every year for her to Miss Pupford, and to write charming letters to his darling little daughter; but what did he care for her being left by herself, when he was (as no doubt he always was) enjoying himself in company from morning till night? Perhaps he only sent her here, after all, to get her out of the way. It looked like it—looked like it to-day, that is, for she had never dreamed of such a thing before.
And this old pupil who was being married. It was unsupportably conceited85 and selfish in the old pupil to be married. She was very vain, and very glad to show off; but it was highly probable that she wasn’t pretty; and even if she were pretty (which Miss Kimmeens now totally denied), she had no business to be married; and, even if marriage were conceded, she had no business to ask Miss Pupford to her wedding. As to Miss Pupford, she was too old to go to any wedding. She ought to know that. She had much better attend to her business. She had thought she looked nice in the morning, but she didn’t look nice. She was a stupid old thing. G was another stupid old thing. Miss Pupford’s assistant was another. They were all stupid old things together.
More than that: it began to be obvious that this was a plot. They had said to one another, “Never mind Kitty; you get off, and I’ll get off; and we’ll leave Kitty to look after herself. Who cares for her?” To be sure they were right in that question; for who did care for her, a poor little lonely thing against whom they all planned and plotted? Nobody, nobody! Here Kitty sobbed86.
At all other times she was the pet of the whole house, and loved her five companions in return with a child’s tenderest and most ingenuous87 attachment88; but now, the five companions put on ugly colours, and appeared for the first time under a sullen89 cloud. There they were, all at their homes that day, being made much of, being taken out, being spoilt and made disagreeable, and caring nothing for her. It was like their artful selfishness always to tell her when they came back, under pretence90 of confidence and friendship, all those details about where they had been, and what they had done and seen, and how often they had said, “O! If we had only darling little Kitty here!” Here indeed! I dare say! When they came back after the holidays, they were used to being received by Kitty, and to saying that coming to Kitty was like coming to another home. Very well then, why did they go away? If the meant it, why did they go away? Let them answer that. But they didn’t mean it, and couldn’t answer that, and they didn’t tell the truth, and people who didn’t tell the truth were hateful. When they came back next time, they should be received in a new manner; they should be avoided and shunned91.
And there, the while she sat all alone revolving92 how ill she was used, and how much better she was than the people who were not alone, the wedding breakfast was going on: no question of it! With a nasty great bride-cake, and with those ridiculous orange-flowers, and with that conceited bride, and that hideous93 bridegroom, and those heartless bridesmaids, and Miss Pupford stuck up at the table! They thought they were enjoying themselves, but it would come home to them one day to have thought so. They would all be dead in a few years, let them enjoy themselves ever so much. It was a religious comfort to know that.
It was such a comfort to know it, that little Miss Kitty Kimmeens suddenly sprang from the chair in which she had been musing94 in a corner, and cried out, “O those envious95 thoughts are not mine, O this wicked creature isn’t me! Help me, somebody! I go wrong, alone by my weak self! Help me, anybody!”
“—Miss Kimmeens is not a professed96 philosopher, sir,” said Mr. Traveller, presenting her at the barred window, and smoothing her shining hair, “but I apprehend97 there was some tincture of philosophy in her words, and in the prompt action with which she followed them. That action was, to emerge from her unnatural98 solitude99, and look abroad for wholesome100 sympathy, to bestow101 and to receive. Her footsteps strayed to this gate, bringing her here by chance, as an apposite contrast to you. The child came out, sir. If you have the wisdom to learn from a child (but I doubt it, for that requires more wisdom than one in your condition would seem to possess), you cannot do better than imitate the child, and come out too—from that very demoralising hutch of yours.”
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1
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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3
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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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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5
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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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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conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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geographically
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| adv.地理学上，在地理上，地理方面 | |
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10
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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12
corporeal
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| adj.肉体的，身体的；物质的 | |
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13
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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14
derangement
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| n.精神错乱 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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mittens
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| 不分指手套 | |
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dabs
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| 少许( dab的名词复数 )； 是…能手； 做某事很在行； 在某方面技术熟练 | |
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mythology
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| n.神话，神话学，神话集 | |
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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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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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waddling
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的现在分词 ) | |
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scuttling
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| n.船底穿孔，打开通海阀（沉船用）v.使船沉没( scuttle的现在分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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chubby
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| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
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28
capering
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| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的现在分词 )；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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30
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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32
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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33
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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34
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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36
milkiest
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| 牛奶的，像牛奶的，掺奶的( milky的最高级 ) | |
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quarried
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| v.从采石场采得( quarry的过去式和过去分词 )；从（书本等中）努力发掘（资料等）；在采石场采石 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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ruminating
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| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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nuptials
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| n.婚礼；婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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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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49
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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51
deign
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| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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reverberating
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| 回响，回荡( reverberate的现在分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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emulative
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| adj.好胜 | |
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lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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slovenly
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| adj.懒散的，不整齐的，邋遢的 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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83
tainted
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| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
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84
widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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85
conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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shunned
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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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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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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apprehend
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| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
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98
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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99
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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