Don Quixote remained very deep in thought, waiting for the bachelor Carrasco, from whom he was to hear how he himself had been put into a book as Sancho said; and he could not persuade himself that any such history could be in existence, for the blood of the enemies he had slain1 was not yet dry on the blade of his sword, and now they wanted to make out that his mighty2 achievements were going about in print. For all that, he fancied some sage3, either a friend or an enemy, might, by the aid of magic, have given them to the press; if a friend, in order to magnify and exalt4 them above the most famous ever achieved by any knight-errant; if an enemy, to bring them to naught5 and degrade them below the meanest ever recorded of any low squire6, though as he said to himself, the achievements of squires7 never were recorded. If, however, it were the fact that such a history were in existence, it must necessarily, being the story of a knight-errant, be grandiloquent8, lofty, imposing9, grand and true. With this he comforted himself somewhat, though it made him uncomfortable to think that the author was a Moor10, judging by the title of “Cide;” and that no truth was to be looked for from Moors11, as they are all impostors, cheats, and schemers. He was afraid he might have dealt with his love affairs in some indecorous fashion, that might tend to the discredit12 and prejudice of the purity of his lady Dulcinea del Toboso; he would have had him set forth13 the fidelity14 and respect he had always observed towards her, spurning15 queens, empresses, and damsels of all sorts, and keeping in check the impetuosity of his natural impulses. Absorbed and wrapped up in these and divers16 other cogitations, he was found by Sancho and Carrasco, whom Don Quixote received with great courtesy.
The bachelor, though he was called Samson, was of no great bodily size, but he was a very great wag; he was of a sallow complexion17, but very sharp-witted, somewhere about four-and-twenty years of age, with a round face, a flat nose, and a large mouth, all indications of a mischievous18 disposition19 and a love of fun and jokes; and of this he gave a sample as soon as he saw Don Quixote, by falling on his knees before him and saying, “Let me kiss your mightiness’s hand, Senor Don Quixote of La Mancha, for, by the habit of St. Peter that I wear, though I have no more than the first four orders, your worship is one of the most famous knights-errant that have ever been, or will be, all the world over. A blessing20 on Cide Hamete Benengeli, who has written the history of your great deeds, and a double blessing on that connoisseur21 who took the trouble of having it translated out of the Arabic into our Castilian vulgar tongue for the universal entertainment of the people!”
Don Quixote made him rise, and said, “So, then, it is true that there is a history of me, and that it was a Moor and a sage who wrote it?”
“So true is it, senor,” said Samson, “that my belief is there are more than twelve thousand volumes of the said history in print this very day. Only ask Portugal, Barcelona, and Valencia, where they have been printed, and moreover there is a report that it is being printed at Antwerp, and I am persuaded there will not be a country or language in which there will not be a translation of it.”
“One of the things,” here observed Don Quixote, “that ought to give most pleasure to a virtuous22 and eminent23 man is to find himself in his lifetime in print and in type, familiar in people’s mouths with a good name; I say with a good name, for if it be the opposite, then there is no death to be compared to it.”
“If it goes by good name and fame,” said the bachelor, “your worship alone bears away the palm from all the knights-errant; for the Moor in his own language, and the Christian24 in his, have taken care to set before us your gallantry, your high courage in encountering dangers, your fortitude25 in adversity, your patience under misfortunes as well as wounds, the purity and continence of the platonic26 loves of your worship and my lady Dona Dulcinea del Toboso — ”
“I never heard my lady Dulcinea called Dona,” observed Sancho here; “nothing more than the lady Dulcinea del Toboso; so here already the history is wrong.”
“That is not an objection of any importance,” replied Carrasco.
“Certainly not,” said Don Quixote; “but tell me, senor bachelor, what deeds of mine are they that are made most of in this history?”
“On that point,” replied the bachelor, “opinions differ, as tastes do; some swear by the adventure of the windmills that your worship took to be Briareuses and giants; others by that of the fulling mills; one cries up the description of the two armies that afterwards took the appearance of two droves of sheep; another that of the dead body on its way to be buried at Segovia; a third says the liberation of the galley27 slaves is the best of all, and a fourth that nothing comes up to the affair with the Benedictine giants, and the battle with the valiant28 Biscayan.”
“Tell me, senor bachelor,” said Sancho at this point, “does the adventure with the Yanguesans come in, when our good Rocinante went hankering after dainties?”
“The sage has left nothing in the ink-bottle,” replied Samson; “he tells all and sets down everything, even to the capers29 that worthy30 Sancho cut in the blanket.”
“I cut no capers in the blanket,” returned Sancho; “in the air I did, and more of them than I liked.”
“There is no human history in the world, I suppose,” said Don Quixote, “that has not its ups and downs, but more than others such as deal with chivalry31, for they can never be entirely32 made up of prosperous adventures.”
“For all that,” replied the bachelor, “there are those who have read the history who say they would have been glad if the author had left out some of the countless33 cudgellings that were inflicted34 on Senor Don Quixote in various encounters.”
“That’s where the truth of the history comes in,” said Sancho.
“At the same time they might fairly have passed them over in silence,” observed Don Quixote; “for there is no need of recording36 events which do not change or affect the truth of a history, if they tend to bring the hero of it into contempt. AEneas was not in truth and earnest so pious37 as Virgil represents him, nor Ulysses so wise as Homer describes him.”
“That is true,” said Samson; “but it is one thing to write as a poet, another to write as a historian; the poet may describe or sing things, not as they were, but as they ought to have been; but the historian has to write them down, not as they ought to have been, but as they were, without adding anything to the truth or taking anything from it.”
“Well then,” said Sancho, “if this senor Moor goes in for telling the truth, no doubt among my master’s drubbings mine are to be found; for they never took the measure of his worship’s shoulders without doing the same for my whole body; but I have no right to wonder at that, for, as my master himself says, the members must share the pain of the head.”
“You are a sly dog, Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “i’ faith, you have no want of memory when you choose to remember.”
“If I were to try to forget the thwacks they gave me,” said Sancho, “my weals would not let me, for they are still fresh on my ribs38.”
“Hush, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “and don’t interrupt the bachelor, whom I entreat39 to go on and tell all that is said about me in this history.”
“And about me,” said Sancho, “for they say, too, that I am one of the principal presonages in it.”
“Personages, not presonages, friend Sancho,” said Samson.
“What! Another word-catcher!” said Sancho; “if that’s to be the way we shall not make an end in a lifetime.”
“May God shorten mine, Sancho,” returned the bachelor, “if you are not the second person in the history, and there are even some who would rather hear you talk than the cleverest in the whole book; though there are some, too, who say you showed yourself over-credulous in believing there was any possibility in the government of that island offered you by Senor Don Quixote.”
“There is still sunshine on the wall,” said Don Quixote; “and when Sancho is somewhat more advanced in life, with the experience that years bring, he will be fitter and better qualified40 for being a governor than he is at present.”
“By God, master,” said Sancho, “the island that I cannot govern with the years I have, I’ll not be able to govern with the years of Methuselah; the difficulty is that the said island keeps its distance somewhere, I know not where; and not that there is any want of head in me to govern it.”
“Leave it to God, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for all will be and perhaps better than you think; no leaf on the tree stirs but by God’s will.”
“That is true,” said Samson; “and if it be God’s will, there will not be any want of a thousand islands, much less one, for Sancho to govern.”
“I have seen governors in these parts,” said Sancho, “that are not to be compared to my shoe-sole; and for all that they are called ‘your lordship’ and served on silver.”
“Those are not governors of islands,” observed Samson, “but of other governments of an easier kind: those that govern islands must at least know grammar.”
“I could manage the gram well enough,” said Sancho; “but for the mar41 I have neither leaning nor liking42, for I don’t know what it is; but leaving this matter of the government in God’s hands, to send me wherever it may be most to his service, I may tell you, senor bachelor Samson Carrasco, it has pleased me beyond measure that the author of this history should have spoken of me in such a way that what is said of me gives no offence; for, on the faith of a true squire, if he had said anything about me that was at all unbecoming an old Christian, such as I am, the deaf would have heard of it.”
“That would be working miracles,” said Samson.
“Miracles or no miracles,” said Sancho, “let everyone mind how he speaks or writes about people, and not set down at random43 the first thing that comes into his head.”
“One of the faults they find with this history,” said the bachelor, “is that its author inserted in it a novel called ‘The Ill-advised Curiosity;’ not that it is bad or ill-told, but that it is out of place and has nothing to do with the history of his worship Senor Don Quixote.”
“I will bet the son of a dog has mixed the cabbages and the baskets,” said Sancho.
“Then, I say,” said Don Quixote, “the author of my history was no sage, but some ignorant chatterer, who, in a haphazard44 and heedless way, set about writing it, let it turn out as it might, just as Orbaneja, the painter of Ubeda, used to do, who, when they asked him what he was painting, answered, ‘What it may turn out.’ Sometimes he would paint a cock in such a fashion, and so unlike, that he had to write alongside of it in Gothic letters, ‘This is a cock; and so it will be with my history, which will require a commentary to make it intelligible45.”
“No fear of that,” returned Samson, “for it is so plain that there is nothing in it to puzzle over; the children turn its leaves, the young people read it, the grown men understand it, the old folk praise it; in a word, it is so thumbed, and read, and got by heart by people of all sorts, that the instant they see any lean hack46, they say, ‘There goes Rocinante.’ And those that are most given to reading it are the pages, for there is not a lord’s ante-chamber where there is not a ‘Don Quixote’ to be found; one takes it up if another lays it down; this one pounces47 upon it, and that begs for it. In short, the said history is the most delightful48 and least injurious entertainment that has been hitherto seen, for there is not to be found in the whole of it even the semblance49 of an immodest word, or a thought that is other than Catholic.”
“To write in any other way,” said Don Quixote, “would not be to write truth, but falsehood, and historians who have recourse to falsehood ought to be burned, like those who coin false money; and I know not what could have led the author to have recourse to novels and irrelevant50 stories, when he had so much to write about in mine; no doubt he must have gone by the proverb ‘with straw or with hay, etc,’ for by merely setting forth my thoughts, my sighs, my tears, my lofty purposes, my enterprises, he might have made a volume as large, or larger than all the works of El Tostado would make up. In fact, the conclusion I arrive at, senor bachelor, is, that to write histories, or books of any kind, there is need of great judgment51 and a ripe understanding. To give expression to humour, and write in a strain of graceful52 pleasantry, is the gift of great geniuses. The cleverest character in comedy is the clown, for he who would make people take him for a fool, must not be one. History is in a measure a sacred thing, for it should be true, and where the truth is, there God is; but notwithstanding this, there are some who write and fling books broadcast on the world as if they were fritters.”
“There is no book so bad but it has something good in it,” said the bachelor.
“No doubt of that,” replied Don Quixote; “but it often happens that those who have acquired and attained53 a well-deserved reputation by their writings, lose it entirely, or damage it in some degree, when they give them to the press.”
“The reason of that,” said Samson, “is, that as printed works are examined leisurely54, their faults are easily seen; and the greater the fame of the writer, the more closely are they scrutinised. Men famous for their genius, great poets, illustrious historians, are always, or most commonly, envied by those who take a particular delight and pleasure in criticising the writings of others, without having produced any of their own.”
“That is no wonder,” said Don Quixote; “for there are many divines who are no good for the pulpit, but excellent in detecting the defects or excesses of those who preach.”
“All that is true, Senor Don Quixote,” said Carrasco; “but I wish such fault-finders were more lenient55 and less exacting56, and did not pay so much attention to the spots on the bright sun of the work they grumble57 at; for if aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus, they should remember how long he remained awake to shed the light of his work with as little shade as possible; and perhaps it may be that what they find fault with may be moles58, that sometimes heighten the beauty of the face that bears them; and so I say very great is the risk to which he who prints a book exposes himself, for of all impossibilities the greatest is to write one that will satisfy and please all readers.”
“That which treats of me must have pleased few,” said Don Quixote.
“Quite the contrary,” said the bachelor; “for, as stultorum infinitum est numerus, innumerable are those who have relished59 the said history; but some have brought a charge against the author’s memory, inasmuch as he forgot to say who the thief was who stole Sancho’s Dapple; for it is not stated there, but only to be inferred from what is set down, that he was stolen, and a little farther on we see Sancho mounted on the same ass35, without any reappearance of it. They say, too, that he forgot to state what Sancho did with those hundred crowns that he found in the valise in the Sierra Morena, as he never alludes60 to them again, and there are many who would be glad to know what he did with them, or what he spent them on, for it is one of the serious omissions61 of the work.”
“Senor Samson, I am not in a humour now for going into accounts or explanations,” said Sancho; “for there’s a sinking of the stomach come over me, and unless I doctor it with a couple of sups of the old stuff it will put me on the thorn of Santa Lucia. I have it at home, and my old woman is waiting for me; after dinner I’ll come back, and will answer you and all the world every question you may choose to ask, as well about the loss of the ass as about the spending of the hundred crowns;” and without another word or waiting for a reply he made off home.
Don Quixote begged and entreated62 the bachelor to stay and do penance63 with him. The bachelor accepted the invitation and remained, a couple of young pigeons were added to the ordinary fare, at dinner they talked chivalry, Carrasco fell in with his host’s humour, the banquet came to an end, they took their afternoon sleep, Sancho returned, and their conversation was resumed.
桑乔回到唐吉诃德家，又接着刚才的话题说起来：
“参孙大人说，人们想知道是谁、什么时候、在什么地方偷了我的驴，那么我告诉你，就是我们为了逃避圣友团的追捕，躲进莫雷纳山的那天晚上。我们在苦役犯和送往塞哥维亚的尸体那儿倒霉之后，我和我的主人躲进了树林。我的主人依偎着他的长矛，我骑在我的驴上。经过几次交战，我们已经浑身是伤，疲惫不堪，就像躺在四个羽绒垫上似的睡着了。特别是我，睡得尤其死，不知来了什么人，用四根棍子把我那头驴的驮鞍架起来，把驴从我身下偷走了，我竟然一点儿也没有察觉。”
“这事很简单，而且也不新鲜。萨克里潘特围攻阿尔布拉卡的时候，那个臭名昭著的盗贼布鲁内洛就是用这种办法把马从他两腿中间偷走的。”
“天亮了，”桑乔说，“我打了个寒噤，棍子就倒了，我重重地摔到地上。我找我的驴，却找不到了。我的眼里立刻流出了眼泪。我伤心极了。如果作者没把我这段情况写进去，那就是漏掉了一个很好的内容。不知过了多少天，我们同米科米科纳公主一起走的时候，我认出了我的驴，那个希内斯·帕萨蒙特打扮成吉卜赛人的样子骑在上面。那个大骗子、大坏蛋，正是我和我的主人把他从锁链里解救出来的！”
“问题不在这儿，”参孙说，“问题在于你那头驴还没出现之前，作者就说你已经骑上那头驴了。”
“这个我就不知道了，”桑乔说，“大概是作者弄错了，要不就是印刷工人的疏忽。”
“肯定是这样。”参孙说，“那么，那一百个盾又怎么样了？
都花了吗？”
桑乔答道：
“都花在我身上和我老婆、孩子身上了。我侍奉我的主人唐吉诃德在外奔波，他们在家耐心地等待我。如果等了那么长时间，结果到我回来时钱却没挣着，驴也丢了，那准没我好受的。还有就是，我当着国王也会这么说，什么衣服不衣服、钱不钱的，谁也管不着。如果我在外挨的打能够用钱来补偿，就算打一下赔四文钱吧，那么，就是再赔一百个盾也不够赔偿我一半的。每个人都拍拍自己的良心吧，不要颠倒是非，混淆黑白。人之初，性本善，可是心要坏就不知能坏多少倍呢。”
“如果这本书能够再版的话，”卡拉斯科说，“我一定记着告诉作者，把桑乔的这段话加上去，那么这本书就更精彩了。”
“这本书里还有其他需要修改的地方吗？”唐吉诃德问。
“是的，大概还有，”卡拉斯科说，“不过都不像刚才说的那么重要。”
“难怪作者说还要出下卷，”参孙又说，“不过，他没有找到、也不知道是谁掌握着下卷的材料，所以我们怀疑下卷还能不能出来。而且，有些人说：‘续集从来就没有写得好的。’还有些人说：‘有关唐吉诃德的事，已经写出来的这些就足够了。’但也有一些人不怎么悲观，而且说得很痛快：‘再来些唐吉诃德的故事吧，让唐吉诃德只管冲杀，桑乔只管多嘴吧，我们就爱看这个。”
“那么，作者打算怎么办呢？”
“他正在全力寻找材料，”参孙说，“只要找到材料，他马上就可以付梓印刷。他图的是利，倒不怎么在乎别人的赞扬。”
桑乔闻言道：
“作者贪图钱和利？那要能写好才怪呢。他肯定不会认真地写，就像裁缝在复活节前赶制衣服一样，匆忙赶制的东西肯定不像要求的那样细致。这位摩尔大人或是什么人，在干什么呢？他若是想找有关冒险或其他各种事情的材料，我和我的主人这儿有的是。别说下卷，就是再写一百卷也足够。这位大好人应该想到，我们并不是在这儿混日子呢。他只要向我们了解情况，就知道我们是怎么过来的了。我只能说，我的主人要是听了我的劝告，我们现在肯定像那些优秀的游侠骑士一样，正在外面拨乱反正呢。”
桑乔还没说完，罗西南多就在外面嘶鸣起来。唐吉诃德听见了，觉得这是个极好的兆头，就决定三四天后再度出征。他把自己的想法告诉了学士，并且同学士商量，自己的征程应该从哪儿开始好。学士说他觉得应该首先到阿拉贡王国，到萨拉戈萨城去。过几天，到圣豪尔赫节的时候，那儿要举行极其隆重的擂台赛，唐吉诃德可以利用那个机会击败阿拉贡的骑士，那就等于战胜了世界上的所有骑士，从此名扬天下。学士对唐吉诃德极其高尚勇敢的决定表示赞赏。学士还提醒唐吉诃德，遇到危险时要注意保护自己，因为他的生命不属于他自己，而属于那些在他征险途中需要他保护和帮助的人。
“这点我就不同意，参孙大人，”桑乔说，“想让我的主人见了上百个武士就像孩子见了一堆甜瓜似的往上冲，那怎么行？求求您了，学士大人！该进则进，该退就得退，不能总是‘圣主保佑，西班牙必胜’！而且，如果我没记错的话，我听说，大概是听我主人说的，在怯懦和鲁莽这两个极端之间选择中间才算勇敢。如果是这样，我不希望我的主人无缘无故地逃跑，也不希望他不管不顾地一味向前冲。不过更重要的是，我有句话得告诉我的主人，假如他这次还想带我去，就得答应我一个条件，那就是所有战斗都是他的事，我只负责他吃喝拉撒的事，而且一定尽心竭力，可是要让我拿剑去战斗，即使是对付那些舞刀弄枪的痞子也休想！
“参孙大人，我并不想得到勇者的美名，我只想做游侠骑士最优秀最忠实的侍从。如果我的主人唐吉诃德鉴于我忠心耿耿，想把据他说能夺取到的许多岛屿送给我一个，我会十分高兴地接受。如果他不给我岛屿，那么我还是我，我也不用靠别人活着，我只靠上帝活着，而且不做总督也许会比做总督活得还好。况且，谁知道魔鬼会不会在我当总督期间给我设个圈套，把我绊倒，连牙齿都磕掉了呢？我生来是桑乔，我打算死的时候还是桑乔。不过，若是老天赐给我一个岛屿或是其他类似的东西，只要不用费力气，也不用冒险，我才不会那么傻，推辞不要它呢。人们常说：‘给你牛犊，快拿绳牵’，‘好运来了，切莫错过’。”
“桑乔兄弟，”卡拉斯科说，“你讲话真够有水平的，但即使这样，你还得相信上帝，相信你的主人唐吉诃德，那么，他给你的就不是一个岛屿，而是一个王国了。”
“多和少都是一回事，”桑乔说，“不过，我可以告诉卡拉斯科大人，只要我的主人没有忘记给我一个王国，我会珍重自己的。我的身体很好，依然可以统治王国，管理岛屿。这话我已经同我的主人说过多次了。”
“你看，桑乔，”参孙说，“职业能够改变人。也许你当了总督以后，连亲妈都不认了。”
“只有那些出身低下的人才会那样。像我这样品行端正的老基督徒绝不会这样。你只要了解我的为人，就知道我对任何人都不会忘恩负义。”
“只要有做总督的机会，”唐吉诃德说，“上帝肯定会安排，而且，我也会替你留心。”
说完，唐吉诃德又请求学士，说如果他会写诗，就请代劳写几首诗，自己想在辞别托博索的杜尔西内亚夫人时用，而且，唐吉诃德还请他务必让每句诗的开头用上她的名字的一个字母，等把全诗写出来后，这些开头的字母就能组成“托博索杜尔西内亚”这字样。学士说自己虽然算不上西班牙的著名诗人，因为西班牙的著名诗人至多也只有三个半，但他还是能按照这种诗韵写出几首，虽然写起来会很困难。因为这个名字一共有十七个字母，如果作四首卡斯特亚纳①的话，还多一个字母；如果写成五行诗的话，就还欠三个字母。不过，尽管如此，他会全力以赴，争取在四首卡斯特亚纳里放下“托博索杜尔西内亚”这个名字。
①卡斯特亚纳是一种四行八音节的民歌。
“哪儿都是一样，”唐吉诃德说，“如果诗里没有明确写明某个女人的名字，她就不认为诗是写给她的。”
这件事就这样商定了。他们还商定唐吉诃德八天后启程。唐吉诃德嘱咐学士一定要保密，特别是对神甫、理发师、他的外甥女和女管家，免得这一光荣而又勇敢的行动受阻。卡拉斯科答应了，然后起身告辞，而且嘱咐唐吉诃德，只要有可能，一定要把消息告诉他，不管是好的还是坏的。他们就这样告别了，桑乔去做外出的各种准备工作。
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slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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exalt
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| v.赞扬，歌颂，晋升，提升 | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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grandiloquent
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| adj.夸张的 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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spurning
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| v.一脚踢开，拒绝接受( spurn的现在分词 ) | |
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divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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platonic
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| adj.精神的；柏拉图（哲学）的 | |
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galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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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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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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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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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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pounces
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的第三人称单数 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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lenient
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| adj.宽大的，仁慈的 | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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moles
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| 防波堤( mole的名词复数 )； 鼹鼠； 痣； 间谍 | |
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relished
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| v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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alludes
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| 提及，暗指( allude的第三人称单数 ) | |
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omissions
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| n.省略( omission的名词复数 )；删节；遗漏；略去或漏掉的事（或人） | |
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entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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