One of the morning trains that tap the little towns along the Sound ran into the Grand Central Depot1. It was very hot in the lower levels of the station and the passengers, few in number—for it was midsummer and people were going out of town, not coming in—filed stragglingly up the long platform to the exit. One of them was a girl, fair and young, with those distinctive2 attributes of good looks and style that drew men’s eyes to her face and women’s to her clothes.
People watched her as she followed the porter carrying her suit-case, noting the lithe3 grace of her movements, her delicate slimness, the froth of blonde hair that curled out under the brim of her hat. She appeared oblivious4 to the interest she aroused and this indifference5 had once been natural,[Pg 12] for to be looked at and admired had been her normal right and become a stale experience. Now it was assumed, an armor under which she sought protection, hid herself from morbid6 curiosity and eagerly observing eyes. To be pointed7 out as Sybil Saunders, the actress, was a very different thing from being pointed out as Sybil Saunders, the fiancée of James Dallas of the Dallas-Parkinson case.
The Dallas-Parkinson case had been a sensation three months back. James Dallas, a well-known actor, had killed Homer Parkinson during a quarrel in a man’s club, struck him on the head with a brass8 candlestick, and fled before the horrified9 onlookers10 could collect their senses. Dallas, a man of excellent character, had had many friends who claimed mitigating11 circumstances—Parkinson, drunk and brutal12, had provoked the assault. But the Parkinson clan13, new-rich oil people, breathing vengeance14, had risen to the cause of their kinsman15, poured out money in an effort to bring the fugitive16 to justice, and offered a reward[Pg 13] of ten thousand dollars for his arrest. Of course Sybil Saunders had figured in the investigation17, she was the betrothed18 of the murderer, their marriage had been at hand. She had gone through hours of questioning, relentless19 grilling20, and had steadily21 maintained her ignorance of Dallas’ whereabouts; from the night of his disappearance22 she had heard nothing from him and knew nothing of him. The Parkinsons did not believe her statement, the police were uncertain.
As she walked toward the exit she carried a newspaper in her hand. Other people in the train had left theirs in their seats, but she, after a glance at the head-lines, had folded hers and laid it in her lap. Three seats behind her on the opposite side of the aisle23 she had noticed a man—had met his eyes as her own swept back carelessly over the car—and it was then that she had laid the paper down and looked out of the window. Under the light film of rouge24 on her cheeks a natural color had arisen. She had known he would be there but was startled to find him so close.
[Pg 14]
Now as she moved across the shining spaciousness25 of the lower-level waiting-room she stole a quick glance backward. He was following, mounting the incline. It was the man who had gone up with her on Friday. She had been out of town several times lately on week-end visits and one of them was always on the train. Sometimes it was a new one but she had become familiar with the type.
She knew he was behind her at the taxi stand as she gave the address in a loud voice. But he probably would disappear now; in the city they generally let her alone. It was only when she left town that they were always on hand, keeping their eye on her, ready to follow if she should try to slip away.
The taxi rolled out into the sweltering heat; incandescent26 streets roaring under the blinding glare of the sun. Her destination was the office of Stroud & Walberg, theatrical27 managers, and here in his opulent office set in aerial heights above the sweating city, Mr. Walberg offered [Pg 15]her a friendly hand and a chair. Mr. Walberg, a kindly28 Hebrew, was kindlier than ever to this particular visitor. He was sorry for her—as who in his profession was not—and wanted to help her along and here was his proposition:
A committee of ladies, a high-society bunch summering up in Maine, wanted to give a play for charity. They’d got the chance to do something out of the ordinary, for Thomas N. Driscoll, the spool-cotton magnate who was in California, had offered them his place up there—Gull29 Island was the name—for an outdoor performance. Mr. Walberg, who had never seen it, enlarged on its attractions as if he had been trying to make a sale—a whole island, just off the mainland, magnificent mansion30 to be turned over to the company, housekeeper31 installed. The crowning touch was an open-air amphitheater, old Roman effect, tiers of stone seats, said to be one of the most artistic32 things of its kind in the country. The ladies had wanted a classic which Mr. Walberg opined was all right seeing the show was for charity,[Pg 16] and people could stand being bored for a worthy33 object. Twelfth Night was the play they had selected, and as that kind of stage called for no scenery one thing would go as well as another.
The ladies had placed the matter in Mr. Walberg’s hands, and he had at once thought of Sybil Saunders for Viola. She had played the part through the provinces, made a hit and was in his opinion the ideal person. There was a persuasive34, almost coaxing35 quality in his manner, not his usual manner with rising young actresses. But, as has been said, he was a kindly man, and had heard that Sybil Saunders was knocked out, couldn’t get the heart to work; also, as she was a young person of irreproachable36 character, he inferred she must be hard up. That brought him to compensation—not so munificent37, but then Miss Saunders was not yet in the star class—and all expenses would be covered, including a week at Gull Island. This opportunity to dwell in the seats of the mighty38, free of cost, with sea air and scenery thrown in, Mr. Walberg held before her as the final temptation.
[Pg 17]
He had no need for further persuasion39 for Miss Saunders accepted at once. She was grateful to him and said so and looked as if she meant it. He felt the elation40 of a good work done for the charitable ladies—they could get no one as capable as Sybil Saunders for the price—and for the girl herself whose best hope was to get back into harness. So, in a glow of mutual41 satisfaction, they walked to the door, Mr. Walberg telling over such members of the cast as had already been engaged: Sylvanus Grey for the Duke, Isabel Cornell for Maria, John Gordon Trevor for Sir Toby—no one could beat him, had the old English tradition—and Anne Tracy for Olivia. At that name Miss Saunders had exclaimed in evident pleasure. Anne Tracy would be perfect, and it would be so lovely having her, they were such friends. Mr. Walberg nodded urbanely42 as if encouraging the friendships of young actresses was his dearest wish, and at the door put the coping stone on these agreeable announcements:
“And I’m going to give you my best director, [Pg 18]Hugh Bassett. If with you and him they don’t pull off a success the Maine public’s dumber than I thought.”
Later in the day he saw his director and told him of Miss Saunders’ engagement.
“Poor little thing,” he said. “She looks like one of those vegetables they grow in the dark to keep ’em white. But it’ll be the saving of her. Now you go ahead and get this started—three weeks rehearsal43 here and one up there ought to do you. And keep me informed—if any of these swell44 dames45 turn up asking questions, I want to know where I’m at.”
Her business accomplished46, Miss Saunders went home. She lived in one of those mid-town blocks of old brownstone houses divided into flats. The flats were of the variety known as “push button” and “walk up,” but she pushed no button as she knew hers would be tenantless47. Letting herself in with a latchkey she ascended48 the two flights at a rapid run, unlocked her door and entered upon the hot empty quietude of her own domain49. [Pg 19]The blinds in the parlor50 were lowered as she had left them. She pulled one up with a nervous jerk, threw her hat on a chair, and falling upon the divan51 opened the paper that she had carried since she left the Grand Central Station.
The news of the day evidently had no interest for her. She folded the pages back at the personal column and settled over it, bent52, motionless, her eyes traveling down its length. Suddenly they stopped, focussed on a paragraph. She rose and with swift, tiptoe tread went into the hall and tried the front door. Coming back she took a pad and pencil from the desk, drew a small table up to the divan, spread the newspaper on it, and copied the paragraph on to the pad. It ran as follows:
“Sister Carrie:
Edmund stoney broke but Albert able to help him. Think we ought to chip in. Can a date be arranged for discussing his affairs?
Sam and Lewis.”
She studied it for some time, the pencil suspended.[Pg 20] Then it descended53, crossing out letter after letter, till three words remained—“Edmunton, Alberta, Canada.” The signature she guessed as the name he went by.
She burned the written paper, grinding it to powder in the ash-tray. The newspaper she threw into the waste-basket where Luella, the mulatto woman who “did up” for her, would find it in the morning. She felt certain Luella was paid to watch her, that the woman had a pass-key to the mail-box and every torn scrap54 of letter or note was foraged55 for and handed on. But she had continued to keep the evil-eyed creature, fearful that her dismissal would make them more than ever wary56, strengthen their suspicion that Sybil Saunders was in communication with her lover.
The deadly danger of it was cold at her heart as she lay back on the divan and closed her eyes. Through her shut lids she saw the paragraph with the words of the address standing57 out like the writing on the wall. She had heard directly from him once, a letter the day after he had fled; the [Pg 21]only one that even he, reckless in his despair, had dared to send. In that he had told her to watch the personal column in a certain paper and had given her the names by which she could identify the paragraphs. She had watched and twice found the veiled message and twice waited in sickening fear for discovery. It had not happened. Now he had grown bolder, telling her where he was—it was as if his hand beckoned58 her to come. She could write to him at last, do it this evening and take it out after dark. Lying very still, her hands clasped behind her head, she ran over in her mind letter-boxes, post-offices where she might mail it. Were the ones in crowded districts or those in secluded59 byways, the safest? It was like walking through grasses where live wires were hidden.
A ring at the bell made her leap to her feet with wild visions of detectives. But it was only Anne Tracy, come in to see if she was back from her visit on the Sound. It was a comfort to see Anne, she always acted as if things were just as they [Pg 22]had been and never asked disturbing questions. In the wilting60 heat she looked cool and fresh, her dress of yellow linen61, her straw hat encircled by a wreath of nasturtiums had the dainty neatness that always marked Anne’s clothes and Anne herself. She was pale-skinned and black-haired, satin-smooth hair drawn62 back from her forehead and rolled up from the nape of her neck in an ebony curve. Because her eyebrows63 slanted64 upward at the ends and her eyes were long and liquid-dark and her nose had the slightest retroussé tilt65, people said she looked like a Helleu etching. And other people, who were more old-fashioned and did not know what a Helleu etching was, said she looked like a lady.
She was Sybil’s best friend, was to have been her bridesmaid. But she knew no more of Sybil’s secrets since Jim Dallas had disappeared than any one else. And she never sought to know—that was why the friendship held.
They had a great deal to talk about, but chiefly the Twelfth Night affair. Anne was immensely[Pg 23] pleased that Sybil had agreed to play. She did not say this—she avoided any allusions66 to Sybil’s recent conducting of her life—but her enthusiasm about it all was irresistible67. It warmed the sad-eyed girl into interest; the Viola costume was brought from its cupboard, the golden wig68 tried on. When Anne took her departure late in the day, after iced tea and layer cake in the kitchenette, she felt much relieved about her friend—she was “coming back,” coming alive again, and this performance off in the country, far from her old associations, was just the way for her to start.
Anne occupied another little flat on another of the mid-town streets in another of the brownstone houses. Hers was one room larger, for her brother, Joe Tracy, lived with her when not pursuing his profession on the road. There were hiatuses in Joe’s pursuit during which he inhabited a small bedroom in the rear and caused Ann a great deal of worry and expense. Joe apparently69 did not worry, certainly not about the expense.[Pg 24] Absence of work wore on his temper not because Anne had to carry the flat alone, but because he had no spending money.
They said it was his temper that stood in his way. Something did, for he was an excellent actor with that power of transforming himself into an empty receptacle to be filled by the character he portrayed70. But directors who had had experience of him, talked about his “natural meanness” and shook their heads. When his name was mentioned it had become the fashion to add a follow-up sentence: “Seems impossible the same parents could have produced him and Anne.” People who tried to be sympathetic with Anne about him got little satisfaction. All the most persistent71 ever extracted was an admission that Joe was “difficult.” No one—not even Sybil or Hugh Bassett—ever heard what she felt about the fight he had had with another boy over a game of pool which had nearly landed him in the Elmira Reformatory. Bassett had dragged him out of that, and Bassett had found him work afterward72, and Bassett had boosted and helped and lectured [Pg 25]him since. And not for love of Joe, for in his heart Bassett thought him a pretty hopeless proposition.
That evening, alone in her parlor, Anne was thinking about him. He had no engagement and no expectation of one, and it was not wise to leave him alone in the flat without occupation. “Satan” and “the idle hands” was a proverb that came to your mind in connection with Joe. She went to the window and leaned out. The air rose from the street, breathless and dead, the heated exhalation of walls and pavements baked all day by the merciless sun. Passers-by moved languidly with a sound of dragging feet. At areaways red-faced women sat limp in loose clothing, and from open windows came the crying of tired little children. To leave Joe to this while she was basking73 in the delights of Gull Island—apart from anything he might do—it wasn’t fair. And then suddenly the expression of her face changed and she drew in from the window—Hugh Bassett was coming down the street.
The bell rang, she pushed the button and presently[Pg 26] he was at the door saying he was passing and thought he’d drop in for a minute. He was a big thick-set man with a quiet reposeful74 quality unshaken even by the heat. It was difficult to think of Bassett shaken by any exterior75 accident of life, so suggestive was his whole make-up of a sustained equilibrium76, a balanced adjustment of mental and physical forces. He had dropped in a great deal this summer and as the droppings-in became more frequent Anne’s outside engagements became less. They always simulated a mutual surprise, giving them time to get over that somewhat breathless moment of meeting.
They achieved it rather better than usual to-night for their minds were full of the same subject. Bassett had come to impart the good news about Sybil, and Anne had seen her and heard all about it. There was a great deal of talking to be done that was impersonal77 and during which one forgot to be self-conscious. Finally when they had threshed out all the matters of first importance Bassett said:
[Pg 27]
“Did you tell her that Walberg wanted Aleck Stokes for the Duke?”
“No, I didn’t say a word about it. What was the use? It would only have upset her and you’d put a stop to it.”
“You can always be relied on, Anne, to do the tactful thing. Walberg was set on it. Stokes can’t be beaten in that part and he’s at liberty. But I wasn’t going to take any chances of her refusing, and if Stokes was in the company I was afraid she might.”
“I don’t know whether she’d have gone that far, but it would have spoiled everything for her and for the rest of us too. It’s all plain sailing now except for one thing”—she stopped and then in answer to his questioning look—“about the police. If they have her under surveillance, as people say, what’ll they do about it up there?”
“Camp in the village on the mainland—they certainly can’t come on the island. We’ve special instructions about it—no one but the company to [Pg 28]be allowed there till the performance. Did she speak to you about that?”
He nodded, frowning a little at a complication new in his experience:
“I should think so—a woman in her position. Men under sentence of death have been unable to keep away from the girl they were in love with. And then she may know where he is, be in communication with him.”
“Oh, I don’t think that,” Anne breathed in alarm. “She’d never take such a risk.”
“Well, we’re her friends and we’re as much in the dark as anybody. I only know one thing—if they try to hound her down on that island—the first chance she’s had to recuperate80 and rest—I’ll—”
A slight grating noise came from the hall. Anne held up a quick cautioning hand.
“Take care,” she murmured. “Here’s Joe.”
[Pg 29]
Joe came in, his Panama hat low on his brow. He gave no sign of greeting till he saw Bassett, then he emitted an abrupt81 “Hello” and snatched off the hat:
“Little Anne’s got a caller. Howdy, Bassett! How’s things?”
There was a jovial82 note in his voice, a wide grin of greeting on his face. It was evident the sight of Bassett pleased him, and he stood teetering back and forth83 on his toes and heels, looking ingratiatingly at the visitor. He was like Anne, the same delicate features, the same long eyebrows and the same trick of raising them till they curved high on his forehead. But his face had an elfish, almost malign84 quality lacking in hers, and the brown eyes, brilliant and hard, were set too close to his nose. He was two years younger than she—twenty-two—but looked older, immeasurably older, in the baser worldly knowledge which had already set its stamp upon him.
He launched forth with a suggestion of pouncing85 eagerness on the Twelfth Night performance. [Pg 30]He had heard this and that, and Anne had told him the other. His interest surprised Anne, he hadn’t shown much to her; only a few laconic86 questions. And she was wondering what was in his mind, as she so often wondered when Joe held the floor, when a question enlightened her:
“Have you got anybody to play Sebastian yet?”
“No. I wanted that boy who played with her on the southern tour last year, but he’s in England. He gave a first-rate performance and he did look like her.”
“That was a lucky chance. You’ll search the whole profession before you get any one that looks like Sybil’s twin brother.”
“He ought to bear some resemblance to her,” and Bassett quoted, “‘One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons.’ I wonder if Shakespeare had twins in his eye when he wrote the play.”
“Not he! They did the same in his day as they do now—dressed ’em up alike and let it go at that. Why, Mrs. Gawtrey, the English actress, when [Pg 31]she was over here, had a boy to play Sebastian who looked as much like her—well, not as much as I look like Sybil.”
Bassett had seen his object as Anne had and was considering. He had been looking forward to the week at Gull Island with Anne, it loomed87 in his imagination as a festival. There would be a pleasant, companionable group of people, friendly, working well together. But Joe among them——
The boy, looking down at his feet, said slowly:
“What’s the matter with letting me do it?”
“Nothing’s the matter. I’ve no doubt you could, but you and she have about as much resemblance as chalk and cheese.”
Joe wheeled and gathering88 his coat neatly89 about his waist walked across the room with a mincing90 imitation of Sybil’s gait. It was so well done that Bassett could not contain his laughter. Encouraged, the boy assumed a combative91 attitude, his face aflame with startled anger, and striking out, at imaginary opponents, shouted: [Pg 32]“‘Why there’s for thee, and there and there and there. Are all the people mad?’” Then as suddenly melted to a lover’s tone and looking ardently92 at Anne said: “‘If it be thus to dream then let me sleep.’”
“Oh, he could play it,” she exclaimed, and Bassett weakened before the pleading in her eyes.
He understood how to manage Joe, he could keep him in order. The boy was afraid of him anyway, and by this time knew that his future lay pretty well in Bassett’s hands. If there was anything Anne wanted that was within his gift there could be no question about its being hers.
She was very sweet, murmuring her thanks as she went with him to the door and assurances that Joe would acquit93 himself well. Bassett hardly heard what she said, looking into her dark eyes, feeling the soft farewell pressure of her hand.
Joe had left the sitting-room94 when she went back there and she supposed he had gone to bed. But presently he came in, his hat on again and said he was going out. She was surprised, it was [Pg 33]past eleven, but he swung about looking for his cane95, saying it was too hot to sleep. She tried to detain him with remarks about the new work. He answered shortly as was his wont96 with her, treating it as a small matter, nothing to get excited about—also a familiar pose. But she noticed under his nonchalance97 a repressed satisfaction, the glow of an inner elation in his eyes.
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1
depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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7
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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8
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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9
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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mitigating
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| v.减轻，缓和( mitigate的现在分词 ) | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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grilling
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| v.烧烤( grill的现在分词 )；拷问，盘问 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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spaciousness
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| n.宽敞 | |
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incandescent
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| adj.遇热发光的， 白炽的，感情强烈的 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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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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gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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munificent
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| adj.慷慨的，大方的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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urbanely
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| adv.都市化地，彬彬有礼地，温文尔雅地 | |
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rehearsal
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| n.排练，排演；练习 | |
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44
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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45
dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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46
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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tenantless
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| adj.无人租赁的，无人居住的 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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foraged
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| v.搜寻（食物），尤指动物觅（食）( forage的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指用手）搜寻（东西） | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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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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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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wilting
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| 萎蔫 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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reposeful
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| adj.平稳的，沉着的 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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alludes
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| 提及，暗指( allude的第三人称单数 ) | |
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recuperate
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| v.恢复 | |
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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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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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malign
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| adj.有害的；恶性的；恶意的；v.诽谤，诬蔑 | |
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pouncing
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的现在分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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laconic
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| adj.简洁的；精练的 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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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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mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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combative
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| adj.好战的；好斗的 | |
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ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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acquit
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| vt.宣判无罪；(oneself)使(自己)表现出 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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95
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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