Mrs. Massarene had conducted her visitor with great obsequiousness1 to the head of the staircase, and would have gone down the stairs with her had not Lady Kenilworth prevented such a demonstration2.
“My dear creature, pray don’t! One only does that for royalty,” she had said, while a repressed grin was visible through the impassive masks of all the footmen’s faces where they stood above and below.
“How ever is one to know what’s right and what’s wrong,” thought the mistress of Harrenden House, resting her hands for a moment upon the carved rail of the balustrade, and eyeing nervously4 the naked boy of Clodion. That statue was very terrible to her; “To set a lad without any scrap5 o’ clothes on a-beckoning with a bird to everybody as come upstairs, I can’t think as it’s decent or proper,” she said constantly to her husband. But a master hand had indicated the top of the staircase as the proper place for that nude7 young falconer to stand, in all his mingled8 realism and idealization; therefore, no one could be bold enough to move him elsewhere, and he leaned airily against the old choir-carving, and wore a fawn-like smile as he tossed his hawk9 above his head and stretched his hand outward as though to beckon6 the crowds, which would not come, up that silent stair.
But the crowds were coming now!
For where Lady Kenilworth pointed10, the world would surely follow; and the heart of simple Margaret Massarene, late Margaret Hogan, dairymaid of Kilrathy, County Down, beat high in her breast under the red and gold of her gorgeous bodice. “It’s mighty14 hard work being a lady,” she thought, “but since I’ve got to be one, I’d like to go the whole hog11, and show Kathleen when she comes back to us that we are as smart gentlefolks as any of her friends.”
[35]When Mr. Massarene came home to dinner that evening, his wife felt that she had great news to give him.
“I think she’ll take us up, William,” she said, almost under her breath. “But I think she’ll want a lot of palm-grease.”
She was a simple woman, of coarse views and expressions.
“Whatever my lady wants she shall have,” reflected her husband, but his heavy brows frowned; for he was a man who did not like even the wife of his bosom15 to see into his intentions, and if he were going to buy his way into that society where his shooting-irons were of no use to him, he did not care for even the “old ’ooman” to know it.
But the next day, at one o’clock precisely16, he presented himself at the house in Stanhope Street which the Kenilworths honored by residence. He looked like an eminently17 respectable grazier or cheesemonger clothed in the best that money could buy; a hat, which was oppressively lustrous18 and new, was carried in his hand with a pair of new gloves. In his shirt-sleeves and butcher-boots, with a brace19 of revolvers in his belt, as he had sworn at his platelayers, or his diggers, or his puddlers, in the hard bright light of the Dakotan sun, he had been a formidable and manly20 figure in keeping with the giant rocks, and the seething21 streams, and the rough boulder-strewn roads of the country round him. But standing22 in the hall of a London house, clad in London clothes made by the first tailors, he looked clumsy and absurd, and he knew it. He was a stolid23, sensible, and very bold man; when a railway train in the early days of the Pacific road had been “held up” by a native gang, those desperate robbers had found more than their match in him, and the whole convoy24, with the million odd dollars he was carrying in his breast-pocket, had been saved by his own ready and pitiless courage. But as he mounted the staircase in Stanhope Street his knees shook and his tongue clove25 to his teeth; he felt what actors describe as stage fright.
Lady Kenilworth had deigned26 to know him at Homburg, had put him in the way of buying Vale Royal of her cousin Roxhall, had dined more than once at his expense[36] with a noisy gay party who scarcely said good-day to him, and likewise at his expense had picnicked in the woods and drunk much more of the best Rhenish wines than were good for them; and on a smooth stretch of green sward under the pines, that lovely lady had imitated the dancing of Nini-Patte-en-l’air of the Eden Theatre, until the “few last sad grey hairs” upon his head had stood erect27 in scandalized amazement28. She had also dined and supped at his expense several times with various friends of her own in Paris, in the November following on the July at Homburg; and she had let him take boxes for her at the operas and theatres, and had generally used his purse without seeming to see that it was open for her. But he had exchanged very few words with her (though he had already through her inspiration spent a good deal of money), and his stout29, squat30 figure shook like a leaf as he was ushered31 into her presence, while her two Blenheims flew at his trousers with a fugue of barks.
What a dazzling vision she was, as she smiled on him across the flower-filled and perfumed space which divided them! She had smiled like that when she had first spoken to him of buying Vale Royal in the early days of his acquaintance with her. William Massarene was no fool, and he knew that he would have to pay its full price for that enchanting32 smile, but though he was not its dupe he was its victim. He was nervous as he had never been when he had heard the order, “Hands up!” in the solitude33 of a mountain gorge12 at midnight amongst the Rockies.
The smile was encouraging, but the rest of the attitude was serene34, almost severe, as pure as a Virgin35 in a tryptich of Van der Goes; she was at work on some embroidery36; she had Boo on a stool at her feet; she looked an exquisite37 picture of youthful maternity38; he could scarcely believe that he had seen her cutting those mad capers39 on the sward of the German forest, or heard her scream with laughter at the supper-table of Bignon’s.
Boo got up on her little black-stockinged legs, ran to him, and looked at him from under her golden cloud of hair.
“What has oo brought me?” said the true child of modernity.
[37]“Do you remember the sweeties at the Baths, my lovely darling?” stammered40 Mr. Massarene, immensely touched and gratified at the child’s recollection of him, and full of remorse41 that he had not rifled Regent Street.
“Boo always remembers her friends,” said Boo’s mother very pleasantly, as she delivered him from the Blenheims, and made him seat himself beside her.
“Old fat man’s come as was at Ombo; but he didn’t bring nothin’ for us,” said Boo to Jack42 at the nursery dinner ten minutes later. “Mammy’s goin’ to get somethin’ ’cos she was so civil to him.”
“What’s the use o’ peoples else?” said his sister solemnly, picking up the roast mutton which her nurse had cut up into little dice13 on her plate.
Jack pondered awhile upon this question.
“I likes peoples ’cos I like ’em,” he replied at last.
A week later, Boo’s mother, with a very gay and hilarious46 round dozen of friends, including her eldest47 sister, Lady Wisbeach, dined at Harrenden House, and the gentleman known as Harry48 took in Mrs. Massarene.
Two weeks later the Massarenes breakfasted in Stanhope Street expressly to meet an imperial grand duchess who at that time was running about London; and the grand duchess was very smiling and good-natured, and chattered49 volubly, and invited herself to dinner at Harrenden House.
“They do tell me,” she said graciously, “that you have such a wonderful Clodion.”
Three weeks later William Massarene allowed himself to be led into the purchase of a great Scotch50 estate of moor51, seashore, and morass52, in the extreme northwest of Scotland, which had come to Brancepeth through his late maternal53 grandmother, and which had been always considered as absolutely unsaleable on account of certain conditions attached to its purchase, and of the fact that it had been for many years ill-preserved and its sport ruined, the deer having been destroyed by crofters.
[38]Brancepeth, who was primitive54 and simple in many of his ideas, had demurred55 to the transaction.
“This beggar don’t know anything about sport,” he said to the intermediary, Mouse; “’cause he’s buying a deer forest he takes for granted he’ll find deer. ’Tisn’t fair, you know. One ought to tell him that he’ll get no more stalking there than he’d get on Woolwich Common.”
“Why should you tell him anything?” said his friend. “He can ask a factor, can’t he?”
“Well, but it would only be honest, you know.”
“You are odiously56 ungrateful,” said Mouse with much heat. “I might have made the man buy Black Alder57 of us, and I chose to get him to buy your place instead.”
Brancepeth made a droll58 face very like what Jack would make when he kept in a naughty word for fear of his nurse. He thought to himself that the fair lady who was rating him knew very well that her share in the purchase-money of Black Alder, which belonged to her lord, would have been remarkably59 small, whilst her share of that of Blair Airon—but there are some retorts a man who is a gentleman cannot make, however obvious and merited they may be.
“Get him to buy ’em both,” he said, tossing cakes to the Blenheims. “You do what you like with the cad; turn him round your little finger. One’s just as much a white elephant as t’other, and it’s no use knowing sweeps unless you make ’em clean your chimneys.”
“Mr. Massarene is not a cad or a sweep,” said his friend in a tone of reproof60. “He is a very clever man of business.”
“He must be to have to think of buying Blair Airon!”
“Probably he will make it productive. Or if he wants big game he’ll import it from the Rockies, or—or—from somewhere. What he wants is Scottish land; well, the land is there, isn’t it?”
She invariably glossed61 over to herself these transactions which she knew very well were discreditable, and she was always extremely angry with those who failed to keep up the glamour62 of fiction in which she arrayed them. Conscience[39] she had not, in the full sense of the word, but she had certain instincts of breeding which made some of her own actions disagreeable to her, and only supportable if they were disguised, as a courtly chemist silvered for her the tonic63 pills which as courtly a physician prescribed when she, who could ride all day and dance all night, desired her nervous system to be found in jeopardy64.
“He buys with his eyes open. No one has misrepresented anything,” she added calmly. “He can send an army of factors to look at the estate if he pleases. Pray don’t be a fool, Harry; and when your bread is buttered for you don’t quarrel with it.”
Harry did as he was bid.
His principles were not very fine, or very strong, but they were the instincts of a gentleman. They were smothered65 under the unscrupulousness of a woman who had influence over him, as so many of the best feelings and qualities of men often are. Blair Airon was sold to William Massarene; and at the same period many tradesmen in Paris and London who dealt in toilettes, perfumes, jewelry66, fans and lingerie were agreeably surprised by receiving large instalments of what was due to them from their customer, Lady Kenilworth. To what better use could barren rocks, and dreary67 sands, and a dull rambling68 old house, which dated from James IV. and stood in the full teeth of the north wind facing the Orkneys, have possibly been put than to be thus transmuted69 into gossamer70 body linen71, and petticoats covered with real lace, and exquisite essences, and fairy-like shoes, with jewels worked into their kid, and court trains, with hand-woven embroideries72 in gold and silver on their velvet73?
If William Massarene discovered that he had bought a white elephant he never said so to anyone, and no one ventured to say so to him. All new men have a mania74 for buying Scotch shootings, and if there was little or nothing to shoot at Blair Airon the fact served for a laugh at the clubs when the purchaser was not present. The purchaser, however, knew well that there were no deer, and that there was scarce fur or feather on the barren soil; he had not bought without first “prospecting”; he[40] was too old a hand at such matters. But he had turned a deaf ear to those in his interests who had drawn75 his attention to the fact, and he had signed and sealed the transfer of the estate to himself without a protest.
Nobody in North Dakota it is true could ever have cheated him out of a red deer or a red cent, but then nobody in North Dakota had ever held that magic key to the entrance of good society which he so ardently76 coveted77. He was prepared to pay very liberally to obtain that key. He was far from generous by nature, but he could be generous to extravagance when it suited him to be so.
William Massarene was a short, broad, heavily-built man, like his wife in feature, and having, like her, a muddy-pale complexion78 which the Sierra suns had had no force to warm and the cold blasts of the North Pacific no power to bleach79. His close-shut, thin, long lips, his square jaw80, and his intent gray eyes, showed, however, in his countenance81, a degree of volition82 and of intelligence which were his portion alone, and with which hers had no likeness83. He was a silent, and seemed a dull, man; but he had a clear brain and a ruthless will, and he had in its full strength that genius for making money which is independent of education and scornful of culture, yet is the only original offspring of that modern life in which education is an institution and culture is a creed84.
When he had been only eighteen years of age he had married Margaret Hogan, because she was a stout strong hard-working wench, and had at once taken a steerage ticket to New York.
When he reached the United States he had gone straightway to the new settlements in North Dakota, where cities consisted of plank-walks and shingle-roof shanties86, and where the inhabitants of those cities were rougher and ruder even than himself. He had scent87 for wealth as a thirsty steer85 for distant water-springs, and he said to himself: “I won’t leave off till I’m second to Jay Gould.”
He began very modestly by employing himself as a pig-sticker and opening a pork shop in a town called Kerosene88. His wife made and fried sausages to perfection. The shop became a popular resort, and, in the back room,[41] miners, diggers, cattlemen, and all the roughs for miles around came to eat sausages, and found drinks, hot as flame, and play ad libitum. Sometimes they staked nuggets, and lost them.
William Massarene never played, he only watched the gamblers, and when they wanted money lent it to them, or if they sold a nugget bought it. They were a wild lot who cared neither for man nor devil; but he knew how to keep them in order with his cold grey eyes and his good six-shooter. Many swore that they would kill him or rob him; but nobody ever did either, though several tried to do both.
His wife was liked; hard-worked as she was she found time to do a good turn to sick neighbors unknown to him; and more than one rough fellow spared him because she had been kind to his kids or had brought some broth89 to his girl. The sausage-shop in dreary, dirty, plank-made Kerosene City was the foundation of his fortune.
How the place had stunk90 and how it had reeked91 with tobacco stench and echoed with foul92 outcries and the blows and shots of ruined and reckless men! Margaret Massarene often dreamt of it, and when she did so dream, woke, bathed in sweat, and filled with nameless terror.
Her husband never dreamed, except when wide-awake and of his own glories.
Kerosene City had long outgrown93 its infancy94 of planks95 and shingles96, and had expanded into a huge town crammed97 with factories, and tall houses, tramways and elevators and churches, sky-scraping roofs, electric railways, chemical works, fire-belching foundries, hissing98, screaming, vomiting99 machinery100, and all the many joys of modern and American civilization.
But Kerosene City, most of it Mr. Massarene’s property, was but an item in the Massarene property. He had been in many trades and many speculations101; he owned railway plant and cattle ranches102 and steam-boats and grain-depots, and docks and tramways and manufactories, and men and women and children labored103 for him day and night by thousands harder than the Israelites toiled104 for the Pharaohs.
[42]Everything turned to gold that he touched. He bought for little with prodigious105 insight and sold for much with the same intuition. No foolish scruples106 hampered107 his acquisitiveness, no weak-minded compassion108 ever arrested him on any road which led to his own advantage. He had never been known to relent or to regret, to give except in ostentation109, or to stir a step unless self-interest suggested and self-recompense awaited it. Herbert Spencer has said that kindness and courtesy are indispensable to success: William Massarene knew better than that philosopher. He had lived amongst men, and not amongst books. In the land of his adoption110 his fellows feared him as they feared no one else; his few short hard words cut them like the knotted lash111 of an overseer’s whip. He was dreaded112, obeyed, hated: that was all the feeling he cared to excite.
Whilst he remained in that country he never lived like a man of any means; he never spent a dollar on personal ease or comfort; but it was known far and wide that after Vanderbilt and Pullman the biggest pile in the States was his; his wife alone did not know it.
To the day that she sailed past Sandy Hook on her way home Margaret Massarene had never ceased to work hard and to save any red cent she could. She knew nothing of his business, of his ambitions, of his hoarded113 wealth; when he took a first-class cabin on a Cunard steamer and bade her get a sealskin cloak for the voyage and buy herself a handsome outfit114, she was astounded115.
“We’ll come back great folks and buy out the old ’uns,” he had said to her thirty-five years earlier, as they had meekly116 set down their bundles and umbrellas amongst the steerage passengers of the emigrant117 ship and seen the shores of Ireland fade from their sight as the day had waned118. All through the thirty-five years which he had spent on alien soil he had never forgotten his object; he had lived miserably119, saving and screwing, paring and hoarding120, happy in the knowledge that his “pile” grew and grew and grew, a little bigger, a little broader, with every day which dawned; and when it was big enough and broad enough for him to sit on it, monarch121 of all which he might choose to survey, he said to his wife:[43] “Marg’ret, woman, it’s time to shut up the store. We’ll be going home, I’m thinkin’, and buyin’ the old ’uns out. I said as I’d do it, didn’t I, five-and-thirty year agone?”
And his wife, being only a woman and therefore foolish, burst out crying and threw her apron122 over her head.
“But the dear old folk they be dead, William; and dead be my poor babies too!”
Then her William smiled; a very rare thing to see was a smile on his tight straight lips.
“’Tisn’t those old folks I’m meanin’—and ye’ve your daughter surely to comfort ye; we’ll marry her to a lord duke.”
Margaret Massarene had dried her tears knowing that weeping would not bring her back her old parents whose bones lay under the rich grass in Kilrathy, nor her little lost boys who had been killed—two in a blizzard123 on the cruel central plains, and one in a forest fire by a rushing herd124 of terrified cattle. She had dried her tears, bought her sealskins and velvets as she was bidden to do, and come eastward125 with her lord in all the pomp and plenty which can be purchased on a first-class ocean steamer, and when the distant line of the low green shores of Cork126 became visible to her, she had turned round the rings on her large fingers and patted the heavy bracelets127 on her wrists to make sure that both were real, and said in her own heart if only the old people had been living, if only her three boys had been there beside her, if only she could go once more a buxom128 girl in a cotton frock through the sweet wet grass with her milking stool! But William Massarene, as he looked at the low green shores, had no such fond and futile129 regrets; he set his legs wide apart and crossed his hands on the handle of his stick and said only to himself, with a pride which was fairly legitimate130 if its sources were foul—
“I did as I said I’d do; I’ve come back as I said I’d come back.”
For him, the herdsman who had tramped to and fro the pastures in the falling rain, carrying a newly-dropped calf131 after its mother, or driving a heifer to meet the butcher’s knife, had been dead and gone for five-and-thirty years; there was only alive now William Massarene, millionaire[44] ten times over, who had the power of the purse in his pocket and meant to buy Great Britain and Ireland with it.
As yet, he had, in his own ambitious sense of the words, failed to buy them. He remained one of the obscure rich, who are unknown to fame and to princes. It was not for lack of expenditure132 that he had hitherto failed to gratify his social ambitions. He had not understood how to set about the matter; he had been timid and awkward; his wife had been a drag on him, and his daughter, on whom he had counted for the best of assistance, had declined to accept the office which he assigned to her. He had lost time, missed occasions, failed to advance to his goal in a manner which intensely irritated a man who had never before this been foiled or baulked in any of his plans. He had learned that the great world was not a drinking den3, to be entered by “bluff,” with a nugget in one hand and a revolver in the other; and in this stage of chagrin133 and disappointment, Lady Kenilworth held out her hand to him. He had done all that he knew how to do. He had been returned for a metropolitan134 division and elected to the Carlton. He and his wife had been presented at Court almost as soon as they had arrived in England. They had been invited to a few political houses. They had gone where everybody went in summer, winter, spring, and autumn. His subscriptions135 were many and large. His financial value was recognized by Conservative leaders. But there he remained. He was an outsider, and in this period of perplexity, disappointment, and futile aspirations136 to the “smart world,” Lady Kenilworth, the high priestess of smartness, held out her hand to him.
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1
obsequiousness
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| 媚骨 | |
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2
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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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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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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beckon
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| v.(以点头或打手势)向...示意，召唤 | |
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nude
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| adj.裸体的；n.裸体者，裸体艺术品 | |
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8
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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9
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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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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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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convoy
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| vt.护送，护卫，护航；n.护送；护送队 | |
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clove
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| n.丁香味 | |
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deigned
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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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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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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maternity
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| n.母性，母道，妇产科病房；adj.孕妇的，母性的 | |
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capers
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| n.开玩笑( caper的名词复数 )；刺山柑v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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42
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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43
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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44
mashed
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| a.捣烂的 | |
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45
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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46
hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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47
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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48
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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49
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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50
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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51
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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52
morass
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| n.沼泽，困境 | |
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53
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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54
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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55
demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
odiously
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| Odiously | |
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57
alder
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| n.赤杨树 | |
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58
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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59
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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60
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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61
glossed
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| v.注解( gloss的过去式和过去分词 )；掩饰（错误）；粉饰；把…搪塞过去 | |
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62
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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63
tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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64
jeopardy
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| n.危险；危难 | |
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65
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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66
jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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67
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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68
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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69
transmuted
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
gossamer
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| n.薄纱，游丝 | |
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71
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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72
embroideries
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| 刺绣( embroidery的名词复数 )； 刺绣品； 刺绣法 | |
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73
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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74
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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75
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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76
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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77
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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78
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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79
bleach
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| vt.使漂白；vi.变白；n.漂白剂 | |
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80
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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81
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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82
volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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83
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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84
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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85
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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86
shanties
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| n.简陋的小木屋( shanty的名词复数 )；铁皮棚屋；船工号子；船歌 | |
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87
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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88
kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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89
broth
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| n.原(汁)汤(鱼汤、肉汤、菜汤等) | |
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90
stunk
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| v.散发出恶臭( stink的过去分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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91
reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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92
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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93
outgrown
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| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去分词 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
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94
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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95
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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96
shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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97
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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98
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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99
vomiting
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| 吐 | |
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100
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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101
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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102
ranches
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| 大农场， （兼种果树，养鸡等的）大牧场( ranch的名词复数 ) | |
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103
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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104
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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105
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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106
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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107
hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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109
ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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110
adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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111
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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112
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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113
hoarded
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| v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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115
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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116
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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117
emigrant
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| adj.移居的，移民的；n.移居外国的人，移民 | |
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118
waned
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| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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119
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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120
hoarding
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| n.贮藏；积蓄；临时围墙；囤积v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的现在分词 ) | |
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121
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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122
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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123
blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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124
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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125
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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126
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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127
bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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128
buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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129
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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130
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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131
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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132
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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133
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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134
metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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135
subscriptions
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| n.（报刊等的）订阅费( subscription的名词复数 )；捐款；（俱乐部的）会员费；捐助 | |
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136
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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