NORTH of London stretches a country called ‘The Midlands,’ filled with brick cities, all absolutely alike, but populated by natives who, through heredity, have learned not only to distinguish between them but even between the different houses; so that at meals and at evening multitudes return, without confusion or scandal, each to the proper place.
Last summer, desperate need forced me to cross that area, and I fell into a motor-licence ‘control’ which began in a market-town filled with unherded beeves carrying red numbered tickets on their rumps. An English-speaking policeman inspected my licence on a bridge, while the cattle blundered and blew round the car. A native in plain clothes lolled out an enormous mulberry-coloured tongue, with which he licked a numbered label, precisely2 like one of those on the behinds of the bullocks, and made to dab3 it on my wind-screen. I protested. ‘But it will save you trouble,’ he said. ‘You’re liable to be held up for your licence from now on. This is your protection. Everybody does it.’
‘Oh! If that’s the case —’ I began weakly.
He slapped it on the glass and I went forward — the man was right — all the cars I met were ‘protected’ as mine was — till I reached some county or other which marked the limit of the witch-doctoring, and entered, at twilight4, a large-featured land where the Great North Road ran, bordered by wide way-wastes, between clumps5 of old timber.
Here the car, without warning, sobbed6 and stopped. One does not expect the make-and-break of the magneto — that tiny two-inch spring of finest steel — to fracture; and by the time we had found the trouble, night shut down on us. A rounded pile of woods ahead took one sudden star to its forehead and faded out; the way-waste melted into the darker velvet7 of the hedge; another star reflected itself in the glassy black of the bitumened road; and a weak moon struggled up out of a mist-patch from a valley. Our lights painted the grass unearthly greens, and the treeboles bone-white. A church clock struck eleven, as I curled up in the front seat and awaited the progress of Time and Things, with some notion of picking up a tow towards morning. It was long since I had spent a night in the open, and the hour worked on me. Time was when such nights, and the winds that heralded8 their dawns, had been fortunate and blessed; but those Gates, I thought, were for ever shut . . .
I diagnosed it as a baker’s van on a Ford9 chassis10, lit with unusual extravagance. It pulled up and asked what the trouble might be. The first sentence sufficed, even had my lights not revealed the full hairless face, the horn-rimmed spectacles, the hooded11 boots below, and the soft hat, fashioned on no block known to the Eastern trade, above, the yellow raincoat. I explained the situation. The resources of Mr. Henry Ford’s machines did not run to spare parts of my car’s type, but — it was a beautiful night for camping-out. He himself was independent of hotels. His outfit12 was a caravan13 hired these months past for tours of Great Britain. He had been alone since his wife died, of duodenal ulcer14, five years ago. Comparative Ethnology was his present study. No, not a professor, nor, indeed, ever at any College, but a ‘realtor’— a dealer15 in real estate in a suburb of the great and cultured centre of Omaha, Nebraska. Had I ever heard of it? I had once visited the very place and there had met an unforgettable funeral-furnisher; but I found myself (under influence of the night and my Demon) denying all knowledge of the United States. I had, I said, never left my native land; but the passion of my life had ever been the study of the fortunes and future of the U.S.A.; and to this end I had joined three Societies, each of which regularly sent me all its publications.
He jerked her on to the grass beside my car, where our mingled16 lights slashed17 across the trunks of a little wood; and I was invited into his pitch-pine-lined caravan, with its overpowering electric installation, its flap-table, typewriter, drawers and lockers18 below the bunk19. Then he spoke20, every word well-relished between massy dentures; the inky-rimmed spectacles obscuring the eyes, and the face as expressionless as the unrelated voice.
He spoke in capital letters, a few of which I have preserved, on our National Spirit, which, he had sensed, was Homogeneous and in Ethical21 Contact throughout — Unconscious but Vitally Existent. That was his Estimate of our Racial Complex. It was an Asset, but a Democracy postulating22 genuine Ideals should be more multitudinously-minded and diverse in Outlook. I assented23 to everything in a voice that would have drawn24 confidences from pillar-boxes.
He next touched on the Collective Outlook of Democracy, and thence glanced at Herd1 Impulse, and the counter-balancing necessity for Individual Self–Expression. Here he began to search his pockets, sighing heavily from time to time.
‘Before my wife died, sir, I was rated a one-hundred-per-cent. American. I am now — but . . . Have you ever in Our Literature read a book called The Man Without a Country? I’m him!’ He still rummaged25, but there was a sawing noise behind the face.
‘And you may say, first and last, drink did it!’ he added. The noise resumed. Evidently he was laughing, so I laughed too. After all, if a man must drink, what better lair26 than a caravan? At his next words I repented27.
‘On my return back home after her burial, I first received my Primal28 Urge towards Self–Expression. Till then I had never realised myself . . . Ah!’
He had found it at last in a breast pocket — a lank29 and knotty30 cigar.
‘And what, sir, is your genuine Opinion of Prohibition31?’ he asked when the butt32 had been moistened to his liking33.
‘Oh!— er! It’s a — a gallant34 adventure!’ I babbled36, for somehow I had tuned37 myself to listen-in to tales of other things. He turned towards me slowly.
‘The Revelation qua Prohibition that came to me on my return back home from her funeral was not along those lines. This is the Platform I stood on.’ I became, thenceforward, one of vast crowds being addressed from that Platform.
‘There are Races, sir, which have been secluded38 since their origin from the microbes — the necessary and beneficent microbes — of Civ’lisation. Once those microbes are introdooced to ’em, those races re-act precisely in proportion to their previous immunity39 or Racial Virginity. Measles41, which I’ve had twice and never laid by for, are as fatal to the Papuan as pneumonic42 plague to the White. Alcohol, for them, is disaster, degeneration, and death. Why? You can’t get ahead of Cause and Effect. Protect any race from its natural and God-given bacteria and you automatically create the culture for its decay, when that protection is removed. That, sir, is my Thesis.’
The unlit cigar between his lips circled slowly, but I had no desire to laugh.
‘The virgin40 Red Indian fell for the Firewater of the Paleface as soon as it was presented to him. For Firewater, sir, he parted with his lands, his integrity, an’ his future. What is he now? An Ethnological Survival under State Protection. You get me? Immunise, or virg’nise, the Cit’zen of the United States to alcohol, an’ you as surely redooce him to the mental status an’ outlook of that Redskin. That is the Ne-mee-sis of Prohibition. And the Process has begun, sir. Haven’t you noticed it already’— he gulped44 —‘among Our People?’
‘Well,’ I said. ‘Men don’t always act as they preach, of course.’
‘You won’t abrade45 my National Complex. What’s the worst you’ve seen in connection with Our People — and Rum?’ The round lenses were full on me. I chanced it.
‘I’ve seen one of ’em on a cross-Channel boat, talking Prohibition in the bar — pretty full. He had three drinks while I listened.’
‘I thought you said you’d never quit England?’ he replied.
‘Oh, we don’t count France,’ I amended46 hastily.
‘Then was you ever at Monte Carlo? No? Well, I was — this spring. One of our tourist steamers unloaded three hundred of ’em at the port o’ Veel Franshe; and they went off to Monte Carlo to dine. I saw ’em, sir, come out of the dinner-hall of that vast Hotel opp’site the Cassino there, not drunk, but all — all havin’ drink taken. In that hotel lounge after that meal, I saw an elderly cit’zen up an’ kiss eight women, none of ’em specially47 young, sittin’ in a circle on the settees; the rest of his crowd applaudin’. Folk just shrugged48 their shoulders, and the French nigger on the door, I heard him say: “It’s only the Yanks tankin’ up.” It galled49 me. As a one-hundred-per-cent. American, it galled me unspeakably. And you’ve observed the same thing durin’ the last few years?’
I nodded. The face was working now in the yellow lights reflected from the close-buttoned raincoat. He dropped his hand on his knee and struck it again and again, before he steadied himself with the usual snap and grind of his superb dentist-work.
‘My Rev’lation qua the Peril50 of Prohibition was laid on me on my return back home in the hour of my affliction. I’d been discussin’ Prohibition with Mrs. Tarworth only the week before. Her best friend, sir, a neighbour of ours, had filled one of the vases in our parlour with chrysanthemums51 out of a bust52 wreath. I can’t ever smell to those flowers now ‘thout it all comin’ back. Yes, sir, in my hour of woe53 it was laid on me to warn my land of the Ne-mee-sis of Presumption54. There’s only one Sin in the world — and that is Presumption. Without strong Presumption, sir, we’d never have fixed55 Prohibition the way we did . . . An’ when I retired56 that night I reasoned it out that there was but one weapon for me to work with to convey my message to my native land. That, sir, was the Movies. So I reasoned it. I reasoned it so-oo! Now the Movies wasn’t a business I’d ever been interested in, though a regular attendant . . . Well, sir, within ten days after I had realised the Scope an’ Imperativeness57 of my Rev’lation, I’d sold out an’ re-invested so’s everything was available. I quit Omaha, sir, the freest — the happiest — man in the United States.’
A puff58 of air from the woods licked through the open door of the caravan, trailing a wreath of mist with it. He pushed home the door.
‘So you started in on Anti–Prohibition films?’ I suggested.
‘Sir?— More! It was laid on me to feature the Murder of Immunised America by the Microbe of Modern Civ’lisation which she had presumptuously59 defied. That text inspired all the titling. Before I arrived at the concept of the Appeal, I was months studyin’ the Movie business in every State of Our Union, in labour and trava-il. The Complete Concept, sir, with its Potential’ties, came to me of a Sunday afternoon in Rand Park, Keokuk, Iowa — the centre of our native pearl-button industry. As a boy, sir, I used to go shell-tongin’ after mussels, in a shanty-boat on the Cumberland River, Tennessee, always hopin’ to find a thousand dollar pearl. (The shell goes to Keokuk for manufacture.) I found my pearl in Keokuk — where my Concept came to me! Excuse me!’
He pulled out a drawer of card-indexed photographs beneath the bunk, ran his long fingers down the edges, and drew out three.
The first showed the head of an elderly Red Indian chief in full war-paint, the lined lips compressed to a thread, eyes wrinkled, nostrils60 aflare, and the whole face lit by so naked a passion of hate that I started.
‘That,’ said Mr. Tarworth, ‘is the Spirit of the Tragedy — both of the Red Indians who initially61, and of our Whites who subsequently, sold ‘emselves and their heritage for the Firewater of the Paleface. The Captions63 run in diapason with that note throughout. But for a Film Appeal, you must have a balanced leet-motif interwoven with the footage. Now this close-up of the Red Man I’m showin’ you, punctuates64 the action of the dramma. He recurs65, sir, watchin’ the progressive degradation66 of his own people, from the advent35 of the Paleface with liquor, up to the extinction67 of his race. After that, you see him, again, more and more dominant68, broodin’ over an’ rejoicin’ in the downfall of the White American artificially virg’nised against Alcohol — the identical cycle repeated. I got this shot of Him in Oklahoma, one of our Western States, where there’s a crowd of the richest Red Indians (drawin’ oil-royalties) on earth. But they’ve got a Historical Society that chases ’em into paint and feathers to keep up their race-pride, and for the Movies. He was an Episcopalian and owns a Cadillac, I was told. The sun in his eyes makes him look that way. He’s indexed as “Rum-in-the-Cup” (that’s the element of Popular Appeal), but, say ‘— the voice softened69 with the pride of artistry —‘ain’t He just it for my purposes?’
He passed me the second photo. The cigar rolled again and he held on:
‘Now in every Film Appeal, you must balance your leet-motif by balancin’ the Sexes. The American Women, sir, handed Prohibition to Us while our boys were away savin’ you. I know the type —‘born an’ bred with it. She watches throughout the film what She’s brought about — watches an’ watches till the final Catastrophe70. She’s Woman Triumphant71, balanced against Rum-in-the-Cup — the Degraded Male. I hunted the whole of the Middle West for Her in vain, ‘fore I remembered — not Jordan, but Abanna and Parphar–Mrs. Tarworth’s best friend at home. I was then in Texarkhana, Arkansas, fixin’ up a deal I’ll tell you about; but I broke for Omaha that evenin’ to get a shot of Her. When I arrived so sudden she — she — thought, I guess, I meant to make her Number Two. That’s Her. You wouldn’t realise the Type, but it’s it.’
I looked; saw the trained sweetness and unction in the otherwise hardish, ignorant eyes; the slightly open, slightly flaccid mouth; the immense unconscious arrogance72, the immovable certitude of mind, and the other warning signs in the poise73 of the broad-cheeked head. He was fingering the third photo.
‘And when the American Woman realises the Scope an’ the Impact an’ the Irrevocability of the Catastrophe which she has created by Her Presumption, She–She registers Despair. That’s Her — at the finale.’
It was cruelty beyond justification74 to have pinned down any living creature in such agony of shame, anger, and impotence among life’s wreckage75. And this was a well-favoured woman, her torment76 new-launched on her as she stood gripping the back of a stamped-velvet chair.
‘And so you went back to Texarkhana without proposing,’ I began.
‘Why, yes. There was only forty-seven minutes between trains. I told her so. But I got both shots.’
I must have caught my breath, for, as he took the photo back again, he explained: ‘In the Movie business we don’t employ the actool. This is only the Basis we build on to the nearest professional type. That secures controlled emphasis of expression. She’s only the Basis.’
‘I’m glad of that,’ I said. He lit his cigar, and relaxed beneath the folds of the loose coat.
‘Well, sir, having secured my leet-motifs and Sex-balances, the whole of the footage coverin’ the downfall of the Red Man was as good as given me by a bust Congregational Church that had been boosting Prohibition near Texarkhana. That was why I’d gone there. One of their ladies, who was crazy about Our National dealin’s with the Indian, had had the details documented in Washington; an’ the resultant film must have cost her any God’s dollars you can name. It was all there — the Red Man partin’ with his lands and furs an’ women to the early settlers for Rum; the liquor-fights round the tradin’-posts; the Government Agents swindlin’ ’em with liquor; an’ the Indians goin’ mad from it; the Black Hawk77 War; the winnin’ of the West — by Rum mainly — the whole jugful78 of Shame. But that film failed, sir, because folk in Arkansaw said it was an aspersion79 on the National Honour, and, anyway, buying land needful for Our inevitable80 development was more Christian81 than the bloody82 wars of Monarchical83 Europe. The Congregationalists wanted a new organ too; so I traded a big Estey organ for their film. My notion was to interweave it with parallel modern instances, from Monte Carlo and the European hotels, of White American Degradation; the Main Caption62 bein’: “The Firewater of the Paleface Works as Indifferently as Fate.” An’ old Rum-in-the-Cup’s close-up shows broodin’— broodin’— broodin’— through it all! You sense my Concept?’
He relighted his cigar.
‘I saw it like a vision. But, from there on; I had to rely on my own Complex for intuition. I cut out all modern side-issues — the fight against Prohibition; bootlegging; home-made Rum manufacture; wood-alcohol tragedies, an’ all that dope. ‘Dunno as I didn’t elim’nate to excess. The Revolt of the Red Blood Corpuscules should ha’ been stressed.’
‘What’s their share in it?’
‘Vital! They clean up waste and deleterious matter in the humane84 system. Under the microscope they rage like lions. Deprive ’em of their job by sterilisin’ an’ virginising the system, an’ the Red Blood Corpuscules turn on the humane system an’ destroy it bodily. Mentally, too, mebbe. Ain’t that a hell of a thought?’
‘Where did you get it from?’
‘It came to me — with the others,’ he replied as simply as Ezekiel might have told a fellow-captive beside Chebar. ‘But it’s too high for a Democracy. So I cut it right out. For Film purposes I assumed that, at an unspecified date, the United States had become virg’nised to liquor. The Taint86 was out of the Blood, and, apparently87, the Instinct had aborted88. “The Triumph of Presumption” is the Caption. But from there on, I fell down because, for the film Appeal, you cannot present such an Epoch89 without featurin’ confirmatory exhibits which, o’ course, haven’t as yet materialised. That meant that the whole Cultural Aspect o’ that Civ’lisation of the Future would have to be built up at Hollywood; an’ half a million dollars wouldn’t cover it. “The Vision of Virg’nised Civ’lisation.” A hell of a proposition! But it don’t matter now.’
He dropped his head and was still for a little.
‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘How does the idea work out — in your mind?’
‘In my mind? As inevitably90, sir, as the Red Man’s Fall through Rum. My notion was a complete Cultural Exposay of a She-dom’nated Civ’hsation, built on a virginal basis qua alcohol, with immensely increased material Productivity (say, there’d be money in that from big Businesses demonstratin’ what they’ll prodooce a hundred years hence), and a side-wipe at the practically non-existent birth-rate.’
‘Why that, too?’ I asked.
He gave me the reason — a perfectly91 sound one — which has nothing to do with the tale, and went on:
‘After that Vision is fully92 realised, the End comes — as remorselessly for the White as for the Red. How? The American Woman — you will recall the first close-up of that lady I showed you, interweavin’ throughout the narr’tive — havin’ accomplished93 all She set out to do, wishes to demonstrate to the world the Inteegral Significance of Her Life-work. Why not? She’s never been blamed in Her life. So delib’rately, out of High Presumption, the American Woman withdraws all inhibit’ry legislation, all barriers against Alcohol — to show what She has made of Her Men. The Captions here run —“The Zeenith of Presumption. America Stands by Herself–Guide and Saviour94 of Humanity.” “Let Evil do Its Damnedest! We are above It.” Say, ain’t that a hell of a thought?’
‘A bit extravagant95, isn’t it?’
‘Extrav’gance? In the life of actool men an’ women? It don’t exist. Well, anyway, that’s my top-note before the day-bakkle. There’s an interval96 while the Great World–Wave is gatherin’ to sweep aside the Children of Presumption. Nothin’ eventuates for a while. The Machine of Virg’nised Civ’lisation functions by its own stored energy. And then, sir — then the World–Wave crashes down on the White as it crashed on the Red Skin! (All this while old Rum-in-the-Cup is growin’ more an’ more dom’nant, as I told you.) But now, owin’ to the artificialised mentality97 of the victims and the immune pop’lation, its effects are Cataclysmic. “The Alcohol Appeal, held back for five Generations, wakes like a Cyclone98.” That’s the Horror I’m stressin’. And Europe, and Asia, and the Ghetto99 exploit America — cold. “A Virg’nised People let go all holts, and part with their All.” It is no longer a Dom’nationbut an Obsession100. Then a Po-ssession! Then come the Levelled Bay’nets of Europe. Why so? Because the liquor’s peddled101 out, sir, under armed European guards to the elderly, pleadin’ American Whites who pass over their title-deeds — their businesses, fact’ries, canals, sky-scrapers, town-lots, farms, little happy-lookin’ homes — everything — for it. You can see ’em wadin’ into the ocean, from Oyster102 Bay to Palm Beach, under great flarin’ sunsets of National Decay, to get at the stuff sooner. And Europe’s got ’em by the gullet-peddlin’ out the cases, or a single bottle at a time, to each accordin’ to his need — under the Levelled Bay’nets of Europe.’
‘But why lay all the responsibility on Europe?’ I broke in. ‘Surely some progressive American Liquor Trust would have been m the game from the first?’
‘Sure! But the Appeal is National, and there are some things, sir, that the American People will not stand for. It was Europe or nothing. Otherwise, I could not have stressed the effect of the Levelled Bay’nets of Europe. You see those bay’nets keepin’ order in the vast cathedrals of the new religions — the broken whisky bottles round the altar — the Priest himself, old and virg’nised, pleadin’ and prayin’ with his flock till, in the zeenith of his agony an’ his denunciations, he too falls an’ wallows with the rest of ’em! Extrav’gant? No! Logic43. An’ so it spreads, from West to East, from East to West up to the dividin’ line where the European and the Asiatic Liquor Trust have parcelled out the Land o’ Presumption. No paltry103 rum-peddlin’ at tradin’posts this time, but mile-long electric freight-trains, surgin’ and swoopin’ from San Francisco an’ Boston with their seven thousand ton of alcohol, till they meet head-on at the Liquor Line, an’ you see the little American People fawnin’ an’ pleadin’ round their big wheels an’ tryin’ to slip in under the Levelled Bay’nets of Europe to handle and touch the stuff, even if they can’t drink it. It’s horrible — horrible! “The Wages of Sin!” “The Death of the She–Dom’nated Sons of Presumption!”’
He stood up, his head high in the caravan’s resonant104 roof, and mopped his face.
‘Go on!’ I said.
‘There ain’t much more. You see the devirg’nised European an’ the immemorially sophisticated Asiatic, who can hold their liquor, spreadin’ out an’ occupyin’ the land (the signs in the streets register that) like — like a lavva-flow in Honolulu. There’s jest a hint, too, of the Return of the Great Scourge105, an’ how it fed on all this fresh human meat. Jest a few feet of the flesh rottin’ off the bones —‘same as when Syph’lis originated in the Re-nay-sanse Epoch. Last of all — date not specified85 — will be the herdin’ of the few survivin’ Americans into their reservation in the Yellowstone Park by a few slouchin’, crippled, remnants of the Redskins. ‘Get me? “Presumption’s Ultimate Reward.” “The Wheel Comes Full Circle.” An’ the final close-up of Rum-in-the-Cup with his Hate–Mission accomplished.’
He stooped again to the photos in the bunk-locker.
‘I shot that,’ he said, ‘when I was in the Yellowstone. It’s a document to build up my Last Note on. They’re jest a party of tourists watchin’ grizzly106 bears rakin’ in the hotel dumpheaps (they keep ’em to show). That wet light hits back well off their clothes, don’t it?’
I saw six or seven men and women, in pale-coloured raincoats, gathered, with no pretence107 at pose, in a little glade108. One man was turning up his collar, another stooping to a bootlace, while a woman opened her umbrella over him. They faced towards a dimly defined heap of rubbish and tins; and they looked unutterably mean.
‘Yes.’ He took it back from me. ‘That would have been the final note — the dom’nant resolvin’ into a minor109. But it don’t matter now.’
‘Doesn’t it?’ I said, stupidly enough.
‘Not to me, sir. My Church — I’m a Fundamentalist, an’ I didn’t read ’em more than half the scenario110 — started out by disownin’ me for aspersin’ the National Honour. A bunch of our home papers got holt of it next. They said I was a ren’gade an’ done it for dollars. An’ then the ladies on the Social Betterment an’ Uplift Committees took a hand. In your country you don’t know the implications of that! I’m — I’m a one-hundred-per-cent. American, but — I didn’t know what men an’ women are. I guess none of us do at home, or we’d say so, instead o’ playin’ at being American Cit’zens. There’s no law with Us under which a man can be jailed for aspersin’ the National Honour. There’s no need. It got into the Legislature, an’ one Senator there he spoke for an hour, demandin’ to have me unanimously an’ internationally disavowed by — by my Maker111, I presoom. No one else stood by me. I’d been to the big Jew combines that control the Movie business m our country. I’d been to Heuvelstein — he represents sixty-seven million dollars’ interests. They say he’s never read a scenario in his life. He read every last word of mine aloud. He laughed some, but he said he was doin’ well in a small way, and he didn’t propose to start up any pogroms against the Chosen in New York. He said I was ahead of my time. I know that. An’ then — my wife’s best friend was back of this — folk at home got talkin’ about callin’ for an inquiry112 into my state o’ mind, an’ whether I was fit to run my own affairs. I saw a lawyer or two over that, an’ I came to a realism’ sense of American Law an’ Justice. That was another of the things I didn’t know. It made me sick to my stummick, sir — sick with physical an’ mental terror an’ dread113. So I quit. I changed my name an’ quit two years back. Those ancient prophets an’ martyrs114 haven’t got much on me in the things a Democracy hands you if you don’t see eye to eye with it. Therefore, I have no abidin’-place except this old caravan. Now, sir, we two are like ships that pass in the night, except, as I said, I’ll be very pleased to tow you into Doncaster this morning. Is there anythin’ about me strikes you in anyway as deviatin’ from sanity115?’
‘Not m the least,’ I replied quickly. ‘But what have you done with your scenario?’
‘Deposited it in the Bank of England at London.’
‘Would you sell it?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Couldn’t it be produced here?’
‘I am a one-hundred-per-cent. American. The way I see it, I could not be a party to an indirect attack on my Native Land.’
Once again he ground his jaws116. There did not seem to be much left to say. The heat in the shut caravan was more and more oppressive. Time had stood still with me listening. I was aware now that the owls117 had ceased hooting118 and that a night had gone out of the world. I rose from the bunk. Mr. Tarworth, carefully rebuttoning his raincoat, opened the door.
‘Good Lord Gord Almighty119!’ he cried, with a child’s awed120 reverence121. ‘It’s sun-up. Look!’
Daylight was just on the heels of dawn, with the sun following. The icy-blackness of the Great North Road banded itself with smoking mists that changed from solid pearl to writhing122 opal, as they lifted above hedge-row level. The dew-wet leaves of the upper branches turned suddenly into diamond facets123, and that wind, which runs before the actual upheaval124 of the sun, swept out of the fragrant125 lands to the East, and touched my cheek — as many times it had touched it before, on the edge, or at the ends, of inconceivable experiences.
My companion breathed deeply, while the low glare searched the folds of his coat and the sags126 and wrinkles of his face. We heard the far-away pulse of a car through the infinite, clean-born, light-filled stillness. It neared and stole round the bend — a motor-hearse on its way to some early or distant funeral, one side of the bright oak coffin127 showing beneath the pall128, which had slipped a little. Then it vanished in a blaze of wet glory from the sun-drenched road, amid the songs of a thousand birds.
Mr. Tarworth laid his hand on my shoulder.
‘Say, Neighbour,’ he said. ‘There’s somethin’ very soothin’ in the Concept of Death after all.’
Then he set himself, kindly129 and efficiently130, to tow me towards Doncaster, where, when the day’s life should begin again, one might procure131 a new magneto make-and-break — that tiny two-inch spring of finest steel, failure of which immobilises any car.
收听单词发音 |
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herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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dab
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| v.轻触，轻拍，轻涂；n.(颜料等的)轻涂 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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heralded
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| v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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9
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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chassis
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| n.汽车等之底盘；（飞机的）起落架；炮底架 | |
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11
hooded
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| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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12
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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13
caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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14
ulcer
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| n.溃疡，腐坏物 | |
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15
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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16
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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17
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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18
lockers
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| n.寄物柜( locker的名词复数 ) | |
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19
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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20
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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21
ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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22
postulating
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| v.假定，假设( postulate的现在分词 ) | |
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23
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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25
rummaged
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 )； 已经海关检查 | |
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26
lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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27
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28
primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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29
lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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30
knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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31
prohibition
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| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
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32
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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33
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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34
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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35
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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36
babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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37
tuned
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| adj.调谐的，已调谐的v.调音( tune的过去式和过去分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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38
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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39
immunity
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| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
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40
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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41
measles
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| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
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42
pneumonic
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| adj.肺的；肺炎的 | |
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43
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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44
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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45
abrade
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| v.擦伤，磨损 | |
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46
Amended
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| adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
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47
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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48
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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49
galled
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| v.使…擦痛( gall的过去式和过去分词 )；擦伤；烦扰；侮辱 | |
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50
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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51
chrysanthemums
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| n.菊花( chrysanthemum的名词复数 ) | |
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52
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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53
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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54
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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55
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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56
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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57
imperativeness
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58
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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59
presumptuously
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| adv.自以为是地，专横地，冒失地 | |
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60
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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61
initially
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| adv.最初，开始 | |
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62
caption
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| n.说明，字幕，标题；v.加上标题，加上说明 | |
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63
captions
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| n.标题，说明文字，字幕( caption的名词复数 )v.给（图片、照片等）加说明文字( caption的第三人称单数 ) | |
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64
punctuates
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的第三人称单数 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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65
recurs
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| 再发生，复发( recur的第三人称单数 ) | |
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66
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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67
extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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68
dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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69
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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70
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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71
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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72
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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73
poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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74
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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75
wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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76
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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77
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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78
jugful
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| 一壶的份量 | |
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79
aspersion
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| n.诽谤，中伤 | |
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80
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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81
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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82
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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83
monarchical
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| adj. 国王的，帝王的，君主的，拥护君主制的 =monarchic | |
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84
humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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85
specified
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| adj.特定的 | |
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86
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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87
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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88
aborted
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| adj.流产的，失败的v.（使）流产( abort的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）（某事物）中止；（因故障等而）（使）（飞机、宇宙飞船、导弹等）中断飞行；（使）（飞行任务等）中途失败 | |
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89
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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90
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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91
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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92
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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93
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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94
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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95
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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96
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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97
mentality
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| n.心理，思想，脑力 | |
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98
cyclone
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| n.旋风，龙卷风 | |
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99
ghetto
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| n.少数民族聚居区，贫民区 | |
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100
obsession
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| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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101
peddled
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| （沿街）叫卖( peddle的过去式和过去分词 )； 兜售； 宣传； 散播 | |
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102
oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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103
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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104
resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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105
scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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106
grizzly
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| adj.略为灰色的，呈灰色的；n.灰色大熊 | |
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107
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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108
glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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109
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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110
scenario
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| n.剧本，脚本；概要 | |
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111
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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112
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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113
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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114
martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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115
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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116
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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117
owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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118
hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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119
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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120
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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122
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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123
facets
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| n.（宝石或首饰的）小平面( facet的名词复数 )；（事物的）面；方面 | |
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124
upheaval
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| n.胀起，(地壳)的隆起；剧变，动乱 | |
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125
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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126
sags
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| 向下凹或中间下陷( sag的第三人称单数 )； 松弛或不整齐地悬着 | |
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127
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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128
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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129
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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130
efficiently
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| adv.高效率地，有能力地 | |
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131
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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