"One silly cross
O frowning fortune!"
—The Passionate2 Pilgrim.
It was an unfortunate thing,—nay, more, it was an unheard-of thing (because for a man to fall in love with his own wife has in it all the elements of absurdity3, and makes one lose faith in the wise saws and settled convictions of centuries),—but the fact remained. From the moment Sir Penthony Stafford came face to face with his wife in the corridor at Herst he lost his heart to her.
There only rested one thing more to make the catastrophe4 complete, and that also came to pass: Cecil was fully5 and entirely6 aware of his sentiments with regard to her.
What woman but knows when a man loves her? What woman but knows (in spite of all the lies she may utter to her own heart) when a man has ceased to love her? In dark moments, in the cruel quiet of midnight, has not the terrible certainty of her loss made her youth grow dead within her?
Cecil's revenge has come, and I hardly think she spares it. Scrupulously7, carefully, she adheres to her rôle of friend, never for an instant permitting him to break through the cold barricade8 of mere9 good-fellowship she has raised between them.
Should he in an imprudent moment seek to undermine this barrier, by a word, a smile, sweet but chilling, she expresses either astonishment10 or amusement at his presumption11 (the latter being perhaps the more murderous weapon of the two, as ridicule12 is death to love), and so checks him.
To her Sir Penthony is an acquaintance,—a rather amusing one, but still an acquaintance only,—and so she gives him to understand; while he chafes13 and curses his luck a good deal at times, and—grows desperately14 jealous.
The development of this last quality delights Cecil. Her flirtation15 with Talbot Lowry,—not that it can be called a flirtation, being a very one-sided affair, the affection Talbot entertains for her being the only affection about it,—carefully as he seeks to hide it, irritates Sir Penthony beyond endurance, and, together with her marked coldness and apparent want of desire for his society, renders him thoroughly16 unhappy.
All this gratifies Cecil, who is much too real a woman not to find pleasure in seeing a man made miserable17 for love of her.
"I wish you could bring yourself to speak to me now and then without putting that odious18 'Sir' before my name," he says to her one day. "Anybody would say we were utter strangers."
"Well, and so we are," Cecil replies, opening wide her eyes in affected19 astonishment. "How can you dispute it? Why, you never even saw me until a few days ago."
"You are my wife at all events," says the young man, slightly discomfited20.
"Ay, more's the pity," murmurs21 her ladyship, with such a sudden, bewitching, aggravating22 smile as entirely condones23 the incivility of her speech. Sir Penthony smiles too.
"Cecil—Cis,—a pretty name.—It rhymes with kiss," he says, rather sentimentally24.
"So it does. And Penthony,—what does that rhyme with? Tony—money. Ah! that was our stumbling block."
"It might have been a worse one. There are more disagreeable things than money. There was once upon a time a stubborn mare25, and even she was made to go by this same much-abused money. By the bye,"—thoughtfully,—"you don't object to your share of it, do you?"
"By no means. I purchased it so dearly I have quite a veneration26 for it."
"I see. I don't think my remark called for so ungracious a reply. To look at you one could hardly imagine a cruel sentiment coming from your lips."
"That shows how deceitful appearances can be. Had you troubled yourself to raise my veil upon your wedding-day you might have made yourself miserable for life. Really, Sir Penthony, I think you owe me a debt of gratitude27."
"Do you? Then I confess myself ungrateful. Oh, Cecil, had I only known——" Here he pauses, warned by the superciliousness28 of her bearing, and goes on rather lamely30. "Are you cold? Shall I get you a shawl?" They are standing32 on the veranda33, and the evening is closing in.
"Cold? No. Who could feel cold on so divine an evening? It reminds one of the very heart of summer, and—— Ah!" with a little start and a pleased smile, "here is Mr. Lowry coming across the grass."
"Lowry! It seems to me he always is coming across the grass." Testily34. "Has he no servants, no cook, no roof over his head? Or what on earth brings him here, morning, noon, and night?"
"I really think he must come to see me," says Lady Stafford, with modest hesitation35. "He was so much with me in town, off and on, that I dare say he misses me now. He was very attentive36 about bringing me flowers and—and that."
"No doubt. It is amazing how thoughtful men can be on occasions. You like him very much?"
"Has he?" With exaggerated surprise. "Is he indeed all that you say? It is strange how blind a man can be to his neighbor's virtues38, whatever he may be to his faults. Now, if I had been asked my opinion of Talbot Lowry, I would have said he was the greatest bore and about the ugliest fellow I ever met in my life."
"Well, of course, strictly39 speaking, no one could call him handsome," Cecil says, feeling apologetic on the score of Mr. Lowry; "but he has excellent points; and, after all, with me, good looks count for very little." She takes a calm survey of her companion's patrician40 features as she speaks; but Sir Penthony takes no notice of her examination, as he is looking straight before him at nothing in the world, as far as she can judge.
"I never meet him without thinking of Master Shallow," he says, rather witheringly. "May I ask how he managed to make himself so endurable to you?"
"In many ways. Strange as it may appear to you, he can read poetry really charmingly. Byron, Tennyson, even Shakespeare, he has read to me until," says Cecil, with enthusiasm, "he has actually brought the tears into my eyes."
"I can fancy it," says Sir Penthony, with much disgust, adjusting his eyeglass with great care in his right eye, the better to contemplate41 the approach of this modern hero. "I can readily believe it. He seems to me the very personification of a 'lady's man,'—a thorough-paced carpet knight42. When," says Sir Penthony, with careful criticism, "I take into consideration the elegant slimness of his lower limbs and the cadaverous leanness of his under-jaw, I can almost see him writing sonnets43 to his mistress's eyebrow44."
"If"—severely45—"there is one thing that absolutely repels46 me, it is sarcasm47. Don't you be sarcastic48. It doesn't suit you. I merely said Mr. Lowry probably feels at a loss, now his mornings are unoccupied, as he generally spent them with me in town."
"Happy he. Were those mornings equally agreeable to you?"
"They were indeed. But, as you evidently don't admire Talbot, you can hardly be expected to sympathize with my enjoyment49."
"I merely hinted I thought him a conceited50 coxcomb51; and so I do. Ah, Lowry, how d'ye do? Charmed to see you. Warm evening, is it not?"
"You are come at last, Mr. Lowry," Cecil says, with sweet meaning in her tone, smiling up at him as he stands beside her, with no eyes but for her. "What a glorious day we have had! It makes one sad to think it cannot continue. I do so hate winter."
"Poor winter!" says Lowry, rather insipidly52. "It has my most sincere sympathy. As for the day, I hardly noticed its beauties: I found it long."
"The sign of an idler. Did you find it very long?"
"Very," says Lowry, with a look that implies his absence from her side was the sole cause of its tedium53, and such an amount of emphasis as awakens54 in Sir Penthony a mad desire to horsewhip him. Though how, in these degenerate55 days, can one man horsewhip another because he makes use of that mild word "very"?
It certainly is a delicious evening. Five o'clock has crept on them almost insensibly, and tea has been brought out to the veranda. Within, from the drawing-room, a roaring fire throws upon the group outside white arms of flame, as though petitioning them to enter and accept its warm invitation.
Marcia, bending over the tea-tray, is looking tall and handsome, and perhaps a degree less gloomy than usual. Philip, too, is present, also tall and handsome; only he, by way of contrast, is looking rather more moody56 than usual. Molly is absent; so is Luttrell.
Mr. Potts, hovering57 round the tea-table, like an over-grown clumsy bee, is doing all that mortal man can do in the way of carrying cups and upsetting spoons. There are few things more irritating than the clatter58 of falling spoons, but Mr. Potts is above irritation59, whatever his friends may be, and meets each fresh mishap60 with laudable equanimity61. He is evidently enjoying himself, and is also taking very kindly62 to such good things in the shape of cake as the morbid63 footman has been pleased to bring.
Sir Penthony, who has sturdily declined to quit the battle-field, stands holding his wife's cup on one side, while Mr. Lowry is supplying her with cake on the other. There is a good deal of obstinacy64 mingled65 with their devotion.
"I wonder where Molly can be?" Lady Stafford says, at length. "I always know by instinct when tea is going on in a house. She will be sorry if she misses hers. Why don't somebody go and fetch her? You, for instance," she says, turning her face to Sir Penthony.
"I would fly to her," replies he, unmoved, "but I unfortunately don't know where she is. Besides, I dare say if I knew and went I would find myself unwelcome. I hate looking people up."
"I haven't seen her all day," says Mr. Potts, in an aggrieved66 tone, having finished the last piece of plum-cake, and being much exercised in his mind as to whether it is the seed or the sponge he will attack next. "She has been out walking, or writing letters, or something, since breakfast. I hope nothing has happened to her. Perhaps if we instituted a search——"
At this moment, Molly, smiling, gracieuse, appears at the open window and steps on the veranda. She is dressed in a soft blue clinging gown, and has a flower, fresh-gathered, in her hair, another at her throat, another held loosely in her slender fingers.
"Talk of an angel!" says Philip, softly, but audibly.
"Were you talking of me?" asks modest Molly, turning toward him.
"Well, if ever I heard such a disgracefully conceited speech!" says Lady Stafford, laughing. But Philip says, "We were," still with his eyes on Molly.
"Evidently you have all been pining for me," says Molly, gayly. "It is useless your denying it. Mr. Potts,"—sweetly,—"leave me a little cake, will you? Don't eat it all up. Knowing as you do my weakness for seed-cake, I consider it mean of you to behave as you are now doing."
"You shall have it all," says Mr. Potts, magnanimously. "I devoted67 myself to the plum-cake so as to leave this for you; so you see I don't deserve your sneer68."
Philip straightens himself, and his moodiness69 flies from him. Marcia, on the contrary, grows distrait70 and anxious. Molly, with the air of a little gourmand71, makes her white teeth meet in her sweet cake, and, with a sigh of deep content, seats herself on the window-sill.
Mr. Potts essays to do likewise. In fact, so great is his haste to secure the coveted72 position that he trips, loses balance, and crash goes tea, cup, and all—with which he meant to regale73 his idol—on to the stone at his feet.
"You seem determined74 to outdo yourself this evening, Potts," Sir Penthony says, mildly, turning his eyeglass upon the delinquent75. "First you did all you knew in the way of battering76 the silver, and now you have turned your kind attention on the china. I really think, too, that it is the very best china,—Wedgwood, is it not? Only yesterday I heard Mr. Amherst explaining to Lady Elizabeth Eyre, who is rather a connoisseur77 in china, how blessed he was in possessing an entire set of Wedgwood unbroken. I heard him asking her to name a day to come and see it."
"I don't think you need pile up the agony any higher," Philip interposes, laughing, coming to the rescue in his grandfather's absence. "He will never find it out."
"I'm so awfully78 sorry!" Mr. Potts says, addressing Marcia, his skin having by this time borrowed largely of his hair in coloring. "It was unpardonably awkward. I don't know how it happened. But I'll mend it again for you, Miss Amherst; I've the best cement you ever knew up-stairs; I always carry it about with me."
"You do right," says Molly, laughing.
"The hot tea won't affect it afterward," goes on Potts triumphantly79.
"He is evidently in the habit of going about breaking people's pet china and mending it again,—knows all about it," murmurs Sir Penthony, sotto voce, with much interest. "It isn't a concoction80 of your own, Potts, is it?"
"No; a fellow gave it to me. The least little touch mends, and it never gives way again."
"That's what's-meant to do," Captain Mottie has the audacity81 to say, very unwisely. Of course no one takes the faintest notice. They all with one consent refuse indignantly to see it; and Longshank's inevitable82 "Ha, ha!" falls horribly flat. Only Molly, after a wild struggle with her better feelings, gives way, and bursts into an irrepressible fit of laughter, for which the poor captain is intensely grateful.
Mrs. Darley, who is doing a little mild running with this would-be Joe Miller83, encouraged by Molly, laughs too, and gives the captain to understand that she thinks it a joke, which is even more than could be expected of her.
A sound of footsteps upon the gravel84 beneath redeems85 any further awkwardness. They all simultaneously86 crane their necks over the iron railings, and all at a glance see Mr. Amherst slowly, but surely, advancing on them.
He is not alone. Beside him, affording him the support of one arm, walks a short, stout87, pudgy little man, dressed with elaborate care, and bearing all the distinguishing marks of the lowest breeding in his face and figure.
It is Mr. Buscarlet, the attorney, without whose advice Mr. Amherst rarely takes a step in business matters, and for whom—could he be guilty of such a thing—he has a decided88 weakness. Mr. Amherst is frigid89 and cutting. Mr. Buscarlet is vulgar and gushing90. They say extremes meet. In this case they certainly do, for perhaps he is the only person in the wide world with whom old Amherst gets on.
With Marcia he is a bugbear,—a bête noire. She does not even trouble herself to tolerate him, which is the one unwise step the wise Marcia took on her entrance into Herst.
Now, as he comes puffing91 and panting up the steps to the veranda, she deliberately92 turns her back on him.
"Pick up the ghastly remains93, Potts," Sir Penthony says, hurriedly, alluding94 to the shattered china. Mr. Amherst is still on the lowest step, having discarded Mr. Buscarlet's arm. "If there is one thing mine host abhors95 more than another, it is broken china. If he catches you red-handed, I shudder96 for the consequences."
"What an ogre you make him out!" says Molly. "Has he, then, a private Bastile, or a poisoned dagger97, this terrible old man?"
"Neither. He clings to the traditions of the 'good old times.' Skinning alive, which was a favorite pastime in the dark ages, is the sort of thing he affects. Dear old gentleman, he cannot bear to see ancient usages sink into oblivion. Here he is."
Mr. Potts, having carefully removed all traces of his handiness, gazes with recovered courage on the coming foe98.
"Have some tea, grandpapa," says Marcia, attentively99, ignoring Mr. Buscarlet.
"No, thank you. Mr. Buscarlet will probably have some, if he is asked," says grandpapa, severely.
"Ah, thank you; thank you. I will take a little tea from Miss Amherst's fair hands," says the man of law, rubbing his own ecstatically as he speaks.
"Mr. Longshanks, give this to Mr. Buscarlet," says Marcia, turning to Longshanks with a cup of tea, although Mr. Buscarlet is at her other elbow, ready to receive it from her "fair hands."
Mr. Longshanks does as he is bidden; and the attorney, having received it, walks away discomfited, a fresh score against this haughty100 hostess printed on his heart. He has the good luck to come face to face with pretty Molly, who is never unkind to any one but the man who loves her. They have met before, so he has no difficulty about addressing her, though, after his rebuff from Marcia, he feels some faint pangs101 of diffidence.
"Is it not a glorious evening?" he says, with hesitation, hardly knowing how he will be received; "what should we all do but for the weather?"
"Is it not?" says Molly, with the utmost cheerfulness, smiling on him. She is so sorry for his defeat, which she witnessed, that her smile is one of her kindest. "If this weather might only continue, how happy we should be. Even the flowers would remain with us." She holds up the white rose in her hand for his admiration102.
"A lovely flower, but not so lovely as its possessor," says this insufferable old lawyer, with a smirk103.
"Oh, Mr. Buscarlet! I doubt you are a sad flirt," says Miss Molly, with an amused glance. "What would Mrs. Buscarlet say if she knew you were going about paying compliments all round?"
"Not all round, Miss Massereene, pardon me. There is a power about beauty stronger than any other,—a charm that draws one out of one's self." With a fat obeisance104 he says this, and a smile he means to be fascinating.
Molly laughs. In her place Marcia would have shown disgust; but Molly only laughs—a delicious laugh, rich with the very sweetest, merriest music. She admits even to herself she is excessively amused.
"Thank you," she says. "Positively105 you deserve anything for so pretty a speech. I am sorry I have nothing better to offer, but—you shall have my rose."
Still smiling, she goes close to him, and with her own white fingers places the rose in the old gentleman's coat; while he stands as infatuated by her grace and beauty as though he still could call himself twenty-four with a clear conscience, and had no buxom106 partner at home ready to devour107 him at a moment's notice.
Oh, lucky, sweetly-perfumed, pale white rose! Oh, fortunate, kindly, tender manner! You little guess your influence over the future.
Old Mr. Amherst, who has been watching Molly from afar, now comes grumbling108 toward her and leads Mr. Buscarlet away.
"Grandpa is in a bad temper," says Marcia, generally, when they have quite gone.
"No, you don't say so? What a remarkable109 occurrence!" exclaims Cecil. "Now, what can have happened to ruffle110 so serene111 a nature as his?"
"I didn't notice it; I was making a fresh and more lengthened112 examination of his features. Yet, I still adhere to my original conviction: his nose is his strong point." Mr. Potts says this as one would who had given to the subject years of mature study.
"It is thin," says Lady Stafford.
"It is. Considering his antiquity113, his features are really quite handsome. But his nose—his nose," says Mr. Potts, "is especially fine. That's a joke: do you see it? Fine! Why, it is sharper than an awl31. 'Score two on the shovel114 for that, Mary Ann.'"
For want of something better to do, they all laugh at Mr. Potts's rather lame29 sally. Even Mr. Longshanks so far forgets himself and his allegiance to his friend as to say "Ha-ha-ha!" out loud—a proceeding115 so totally unexpected on the part of Longshanks that they all laugh again, this time the more heartily116 that they cannot well explain the cause of their merriment.
Captain Mottie is justly vexed117. The friend of his soul has turned traitor118, and actually expended119 a valuable laugh upon an outsider.
Mrs. Darley, seeing his vexation, says, quietly, "I do not think it is good form, or even kind, to speak so of poor Mr. Amherst behind his back. I cannot bear to hear him abused."
"It is only his nose, dear," says Cecil; "and even you cannot call it fat without belying120 your conscience."
Mrs. Darley accepts the apology, and goes back to her mild flirtation.
"How silly that woman is!" Cecil says, somewhat indignantly. She and Molly and one or two of the men are rather apart. "To hear her going in for simple sentiments is quite too much for me. When one looks at her, one cannot help——" She pauses, and taps her foot upon the ground, impatiently.
"She is rather pretty," says Lowry, glancing carelessly at the powdered doll's face, with its wealth of dyed hair.
"There was a young lady named Maud,"
says Sir Penthony, addressing his toes,
"Who had recently come from abroad,
Her bloom and her curls,
Which astonished the girls,
Were both an ingenious fraud.
"Ah! here is Tedcastle coming across to us."
Tedcastle, with the boy Darley mounted high on his shoulder, comes leisurely121 over the lawn and up the steps.
"There, my little man, now you may run to your mother," he says to the child, who shows a morbid dislike to leave his side (all children adore Luttrell). "What! not tired of me yet? Well, stay, then."
"Tea, Tedcastle?"
"No, thank you."
"Let me get you some more, Miss Massereene," says Plantagenet. "You came late, and have been neglected."
"I think I will take a very little more. But," says Molly, who is in a tender mood, "you have been going about on duty all the evening. I will ask Mr. Luttrell to get me some this time, if he will be so kind." She accompanies this with a glance that sets Luttrell's fond heart beating.
"Ah, Molly, why did you not come with Teddy and me this day, as usual?" says little Lucien Darley, patting her hand. "It was so nice. Only there was no regular sun this evening, like yesterday. It was hot, but I could see no dear little dancing sunbeams; and I asked Teddy why, and he said there could be no sun where Molly was not. What did he mean by that?"
"Yes, what could he have meant by that?" asks Sir Penthony, in a perplexed122 tone, while Molly blushes one of her rare, sweet blushes, and lowers her eyes. "It was a wild remark. I can see no sense in it. But perhaps he will kindly explain. I say, Luttrell, you shouldn't spend your time telling this child fairy tales; you will make him a visionary. He says you declared Miss Massereene had entire control over the sun, moon, and stars, and that they were never known to shine except where she was."
"I have heard of the 'enfant terrible,'" says Luttrell, laughing, to cover some confusion; "I rejoice to say I have at last met with one. Lucien, I shall tell you no more fantastic stories."
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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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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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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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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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chafes
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的第三人称单数 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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discomfited
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| v.使为难( discomfit的过去式和过去分词)；使狼狈；使挫折；挫败 | |
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murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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aggravating
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| adj.恼人的，讨厌的 | |
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condones
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| v.容忍，宽恕，原谅( condone的第三人称单数 ) | |
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sentimentally
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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veneration
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| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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superciliousness
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| n.高傲，傲慢 | |
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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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lamely
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| 一瘸一拐地，不完全地 | |
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awl
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| n.尖钻 | |
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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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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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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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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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40
patrician
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| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
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41
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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42
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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43
sonnets
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| n.十四行诗( sonnet的名词复数 ) | |
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44
eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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45
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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46
repels
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| v.击退( repel的第三人称单数 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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47
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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48
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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49
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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50
conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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51
coxcomb
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| n.花花公子 | |
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52
insipidly
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| adv.没有味道地，清淡地 | |
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53
tedium
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| n.单调；烦闷 | |
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54
awakens
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的第三人称单数 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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55
degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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56
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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57
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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58
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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59
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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60
mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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61
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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62
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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63
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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64
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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65
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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66
aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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67
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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68
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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69
moodiness
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| n.喜怒无常；喜怒无常，闷闷不乐；情绪 | |
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70
distrait
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| adj.心不在焉的 | |
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71
gourmand
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| n.嗜食者 | |
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72
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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73
regale
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| v.取悦，款待 | |
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74
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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75
delinquent
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| adj.犯法的，有过失的；n.违法者 | |
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76
battering
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| n.用坏，损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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77
connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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78
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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79
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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80
concoction
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| n.调配(物)；谎言 | |
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81
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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82
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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83
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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84
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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85
redeems
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| 补偿( redeem的第三人称单数 )； 实践； 解救； 使…免受责难 | |
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86
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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88
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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89
frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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90
gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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91
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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93
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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94
alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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95
abhors
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| v.憎恶( abhor的第三人称单数 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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96
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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97
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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98
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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99
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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100
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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101
pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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102
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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103
smirk
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| n.得意地笑；v.傻笑；假笑着说 | |
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104
obeisance
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| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
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105
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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106
buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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107
devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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108
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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109
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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110
ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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111
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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112
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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114
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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115
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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116
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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117
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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118
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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119
expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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120
belying
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| v.掩饰，与…不符，使…失望；掩饰( belie的现在分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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121
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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122
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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