How I got to San Francisco and took Tea with the Natives there
Thou sittest at the western gate,
Thou seest the white seas fold their tents,
Oh warder of two Continents.
Thou drawest all things small and great
To thee beside the Western Gate.
THIS is what Bret Harte has written of the great city of San Francisco, and for the past fortnight I have been wondering what made him do it. There is neither serenity2 nor indifference3 to be found in these parts; and evil would it be for the Continent whose wardship4 were intrusted to so reckless a guardian5. Behold6 me pitched neck-and-crop from twenty days of the High Seas, into the whirl of California, deprived of any guidance, and left to draw my own conclusions. Protect me from the wrath7 of an outraged8 community if these letters be ever read by American eyes. San Francisco is a mad city — inhabited for the most part by perfectly9 insane people whose women are of a remarkable10 beauty. When the City of Peking steamed through the Golden Gate I saw with great joy that the block-house which guarded the mouth of the ‘finest harbour in the world, Sir,’ could be silenced by two gunboats from Hong-Kong with safety, comfort, and despatch11.
Then a reporter leaped aboard, and ere I could gasp13 held me in his toils14. He pumped me exhaustively while I was getting ashore16, demanding, of all things in the world, news about Indian journalism17. It is an awful thing to enter a new land with a new lie on your lips. I spoke18 the truth to the evil-minded Custom-house man who turned my most sacred raiment on a floor composed of stable-refuse and pine-splinters; but the reporter overwhelmed me not so much by his poignant19 audacity20 as his beautiful ignorance. I am sorry now that I did not tell him more lies as I passed into a city of three hundred thousand white men. Think of it! Three hundred thousand white men and women gathered in one spot, walking upon real pavements in front of real plate-glass windowed shops, and talking something that was not very different from English. It was only when I had tangled21 myself up in a hopeless maze22 of small wooden houses, dust, street-refuse, and children who play with empty kerosene23 tins, that I discovered the difference of speech.
‘You want to go to the Palace Hotel?’ said an affable youth on a dray. ‘What in hell are you doing here, then? This is about the lowest place in the city. Go six blocks north to corner of Geary and Market; then walk around till you strike corner of Gutter24 and Sixteenth, and that brings you there.’
I do not vouch25 for the literal accuracy of these directions, quoting but from a disordered memory.
‘Amen,’ I said. ‘But who am I that I should strike the corners of such as your name? Peradventure they be gentlemen of repute, and might hit back. Bring it down to dots, my son.’
I thought he would have smitten26 me, but he didn’t. He explained that no one ever used the word ‘street,’ and that every one was supposed to know how the streets run; for sometimes the names were upon the lamps and sometimes they weren’t. Fortified27 with these directions I proceeded till I found a mighty28 street full of sumptuous29 buildings four or five stories high, but paved with rude cobble stones in the fashion of the Year One. A cable-car without any visible means of support slid stealthily behind me and nearly struck me in the back. A hundred yards further there was a slight commotion30 in the street — a gathering31 together of three or four — and something that glittered as it moved very swiftly. A ponderous32 Irish gentleman with priest’s cords in his hat and a small nickel-plated badge on his fat bosom33 emerged from the knot, supporting a Chinaman who had been stabbed in the eye and was bleeding like a pig. The bystanders went their ways, and the Chinaman, assisted by the policeman, his own. Of course this was none of my business, but I rather wanted to know what had happened to the gentleman who had dealt the stab. It said a great deal for the excellence34 of the municipal arrangements of the town that a surging crowd did not at once block the street to see what was going forward. I was the sixth man and the last who assisted at the performance, and my curiosity was six times the greatest. Indeed, I felt ashamed of showing it.
There were no more incidents till I reached the Palace Hotel, a seven-storied warren of humanity with a thousand rooms in it. All the travel-books will tell you about hotel arrangements in this country. They should be seen to be appreciated. Understand clearly — and this letter is written after a thousand miles of experiences — that money will not buy you service in the West.
When the hotel clerk — the man who awards your room to you and who is supposed to give you information — when that resplendent individual stoops to attend to your wants, he does so whistling or humming, or picking his teeth, or pauses to converse36 with some one he knows. These performances, I gather, are to impress upon you that he is a free man and your equal. From his general appearance and the size of his diamonds he ought to be your superior. There is no necessity for this swaggering self-consciousness of freedom. Business is business, and the man who is paid to attend to a man might reasonably devote his whole attention to the job.
In a vast marble-paved hall under the glare of an electric light sat forty or fifty men; and for their use and amusement were provided spittoons of infinite capacity and generous gape37. Most of the men wore frock-coats and top-hats,— the things that we in India put on at a wedding breakfast if we possessed38 them,— but they all spat12. They spat on principle. The spittoons were on the staircases, in each bedroom — yea, and in chambers39 even more sacred than these. They chased one into retirement40, but they blossomed in chiefest splendour round the Bar, and they were all used, every reeking41 one of ’em. Just before I began to feel deathly sick, another reporter grappled me. What he wanted to know was the precise area of India in square miles. I referred him to Whitaker. He had never heard of Whitaker. He wanted it from my own mouth, and I would not tell him. Then he swerved42 off, like the other man, to details of journalism in our own country. I ventured to suggest that the interior economy of a paper most concerned the people who worked it. ‘That’s the very thing that interests us,’ he said. ‘Have you got reporters anything like our reporters on Indian newspapers?’ ‘We have not,’ I said, and suppressed the ‘thank God’ rising to my lips. ‘Why haven’t you?’ said he. ‘Because they would die,’ I said. It was exactly like talking to a child — a very rude little child. He would begin almost every sentence with: ‘Now tell me something about India,’ and would turn aimlessly from one question to another without the least continuity. I was not angry, but keenly interested. The man was a revelation to me. To his questions I returned answers mendacious43 and evasive. After all, it really did not matter what I said. He could not understand. I can only hope and — pray that none of the readers of the Pioneer will ever see that portentous44 interview. The man made me out to be an idiot several sizes more drivelling than my destiny intended, and the rankness of his ignorance managed to distort the few poor facts with which I supplied him into large and elaborate lies. Then thought I: ‘The matter of American journalism shall be looked into later on. At present I will enjoy myself.’
No man rose to tell me what were the lions of the place. No one volunteered any sort of conveyance45. I was absolutely alone in this big city of white folk. By instinct I sought refreshment46 and came upon a bar-room, full of bad Salon47 pictures, in which men with hats on the backs or their heads were wolfing food from a counter. It was the institution of the ‘Free Lunch’ that I had struck. You paid for a drink and got as much as you wanted to eat. For something less than a rupee a day a man can feed himself sumptuously48 in San Francisco, even though he be bankrupt. Remember this if ever you are stranded49 in these parts.
Later, I began a vast but unsystematic exploration of the streets. I asked for no names. It was enough that the pavements were full of white men and women, the streets clanging with traffic, and that the restful roar of a great city rang in my ears. The cable-cars glided50 to all points of the compass. I took them one by one till I could go no farther. San Francisco has been pitched down on the sand-bunkers of the Bikaneer Desert. About one-fourth of it is ground reclaimed51 from the sea — any old-timer will tell you all about that. The remainder is ragged52, unthrifty sand-hills, pegged53 down by houses.
From an English point of view there has not been the least attempt at grading those hills, and indeed you might as well try to grade the hillocks of Sind. The cable-cars have for all practical purposes made San Francisco a dead level. They take no count of rise or fall, but slide equably on their appointed courses from one end to the other of a six-mile street. They turn corners almost at right angles; cross other lines, and, for aught I know, may run up the sides of houses. There is no visible agency of their flight; but once in a while you shall pass a five-storied building, humming with machinery54 that winds up an everlasting55 wire-cable, and the initiated56 will tell you that here is the mechanism57. I gave up asking questions. If it pleases Providence58 to make a car run up and down a slit59 in the ground for many miles, and if for twopence-halfpenny I can ride in that car, why shall I seek the reasons of the miracle? Rather let me look out of the windows till the shops give place to thousands and thousands of little houses made of wood — each house just big enough for a man and his family. Let me watch the people in the cars, and try to find out in what manner they differ from us, their ancestors. They delude60 themselves into the belief that they talk English,— the English,— and I have already been pitied for speaking with ‘an English accent.’ The man who pitied me spoke, so far as I was concerned, the language of thieves. And they all do. Where we put the accent forward, they throw it back, and vice35 versa; where we use the long a, they use the short; and words so simple as to be past mistaking, they pronounce somewhere up in the dome61 of their heads. How do these things happen? Oliver Wendell Holmes says that Yankee schoolmarms, the cider, and the salt codfish of the Eastern States are responsible for what he calls a nasal accent. A Hindu is a Hindu, and a brother to the man who knows his vernacular62; and a Frenchman is French because he speaks his own language; but the American has no language. He is dialect, slang, provincialism, accent, and so forth63. Now that I have heard their voices, all the beauty of Bret Harte is being ruined for me, because I find myself catching64 through the roll of his rhythmical65 prose the cadence66 of his peculiar67 fatherland. Get an American lady to read to you ‘How Santa Claus came to Simpson’s Bar,’ and see how much is, under her tongue, left of the beauty of the original.
But I am sorry for Bret Harte. It happened this way. A reporter asked me what I thought of the city, and I made answer suavely68 that it was hallowed ground to me because of Bret Harte. That was true. ‘Well,’ said the reporter, ‘Bret Harte claims California, but California don’t claim Bret Harte. He’s been so long in England that he’s quite English. Have you seen our cracker-factories and the new offices of the Examiner? He could not understand that to the outside world the city was worth a great deal less than the man.
. . . . .
. . . . .
Night fell over the Pacific, and the white seafog whipped through the streets, dimming the splendours of the electric lights. It is the use of this city, her men and women, to parade between the hours of eight and ten a certain street, called Kearney Street, where the finest shops are situated69. Here the click of heels on the pavement is loudest, here the lights are brightest, and here the thunder of the traffic is most overwhelming. I watched Young California and saw that it was at least expensively dressed, cheerful in manner, and self-asserting in conversation. Also the women are very fair. The maidens70 were of generous build, large, well-groomed, and attired71 in raiment that even to my inexperienced eyes must have cost much. Kearney Street, at nine o’clock, levels all distinctions of rank as impartially72 as the grave. Again and again I loitered at the heels of a couple of resplendent beings, only to overhear, when I expected the level voice of culture, the staccato ‘Sez he,’ ‘Sez I,’ that is the mark of the white servant-girl all the world over.
This was depressing because, in spite of all that goes to the contrary, fine feathers ought to make fine birds. There was wealth — unlimited73 wealth — in the streets, but not an accent that would not have been dear at fifty cents. Wherefore, revolving74 in my mind that these folk were barbarians75, I was presently enlightened and made aware that they also were the heirs of all the ages, and civilised after all. There appeared before me an affable stranger of prepossessing appearance, with a blue and an innocent eye. Addressing me by name, he claimed to have met me in New York at the Windsor, and to this claim I gave a qualified76 assent77. I did not remember the fact, but since he was so certain of it, why then — I waited developments. ‘And what did you think of Indiana when you came through?’ was the next question. It revealed the mystery of previous acquaintance, and one or two other things. With reprehensible78 carelessness, my friend of the light-blue eye had looked up the name of his victim in the hotel register and read ‘India’ for Indiana. He could not imagine an Englishman coming through the States from West to East instead of by the regularly ordained79 route. My fear was that in his delight at finding me so responsive he would make remarks about New York and the Windsor which I could not understand. And indeed, he adventured in this direction once or twice, asking me what I thought of such and such streets, which, from his tone, I gathered were anything but respectable. It is trying to talk unknown NewYork in almost unknown San Francisco. But my friend was merciful. He protested that I was one after his own heart, and pressed upon me rare and curious drinks at more than one bar. These drinks I accepted with gratitude80, as also the cigars with which his pockets were stored. He would show me the Life of the city. Having no desire to watch a weary old play again, I evaded81 the offer, and received in lieu of the Devil’s instruction much coarse flattery. Curiously82 constituted is the soul of man. Knowing how and where this man lied; waiting idly for the finale; I was distinctly conscious, as he bubbled compliments in my ear, of soft thrills of gratified pride. I was wise, quoth he, anybody could see that with half an eye; sagacious; versed83 in the affairs of the world; an acquaintance to be desired; one who had tasted the cup of Life with discretion84. All this pleased me, and in a measure numbed85 the suspicion that was thoroughly86 aroused. Eventually the blue-eyed one discovered, nay87 insisted, that I had a taste for cards (this was clumsily worked in, but it was my fault, in that I met him half-way, and allowed him no chance of good acting). Hereupon, I laid my head to one side, and simulated unholy wisdom, quoting odds88 and ends of poker89-talk, all ludicrously misapplied. My friend kept his countenance90 admirably; and well he might, for five minutes later we arrived, always by the purest of chances, at a place where we could play cards, and also frivol with Louisiana State Lottery91 tickets. Would I play? ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘for to me cards have neither meaning nor continuity; but let us assume that I am going to play. How would you and your friends get to work? Would you play a straight game, or make me drunk, or — well, the fact is I’m a newspaper man, and I’d be much obliged if you’d let me know something about bunco-steering.’ My blue-eyed friend cursed me by his gods,— the Right and the Left Bower92; he even cursed the very good cigars he had given me. But, the storm over, he quieted down and explained. I apologised for causing him to waste an evening, and we spent a very pleasant time together. Inaccuracy, provincialism, and a too hasty rushing to conclusions were the rocks that he had split on; but he got his revenge when he said: ‘How would I play with you? From all the poppycock’ (Anglice, bosh) ‘you talked about poker, I’d ha’ played a straight game and skinned you. I wouldn’t have taken the trouble to make you drunk. You never knew anything of the game; but the way I was mistaken in you makes me sick.’ He glared at me as though I had done him an injury. To-day I know how it is that, year after year, week after week, the bunco-steerer, who is the confidence-trick and the card-sharper man of other climes, secures his prey93. He slavers them over with flattery, as the snake slavers the rabbit. The incident depressed94 me because it showed I had left the innocent East far behind, and was come to a country where a man must look out for himself. The very hotel bristled95 with notices about keeping my door locked, and depositing my valuables in a safe. The white man in a lump is bad. Weeping softly for O-Toyo (little I knew then that my heart was to be torn afresh from my bosom!), I fell asleep in the clanging hotel.
Next morning I had entered upon the Deferred96 Inheritance. There are no princes in America,— at least with crowns on their heads,— but a generous-minded member of some royal family received my letter of introduction. Ere the day closed I was a member of the two clubs and booked for many engagements to dinner and party. Now this prince, upon whose financial operations be continual increase, had no reason, nor had the others, his friends, to put himself out for the sake of one Briton more or less; but he rested not till he had accomplished97 all in my behalf that a mother could think of for her débutante daughter. Do you know the Bohemian Club of San Francisco? They say its fame extends over the world. It was created somewhat on the lines of the Savage98 by men who wrote or drew things, and it has blossomed into most unrepublican luxury. The ruler of the place is an owl99 — an owl standing100 upon a skull101 and crossbones, showing forth grimly the wisdom of the man of letters and the end of his hopes for immortality102. The owl stands on the staircase, a statue four feet high, is carved in the woodwork, flutters on the frescoed103 ceilings, is stamped on the note-paper, and hangs on the walls. He is an Ancient and Honourable104 Bird. Under his wing ’twas my privilege to meet with white men whose lives were not chained down to routine of toil15, who wrote magazine articles instead of reading them hurriedly in the pauses of office-work, who painted pictures instead of contenting themselves with cheap etchings picked up at a sale of another man’s effects. Mine were all the rights of social intercourse105 that India, stony-hearted stepmother of Collectors, has swindled us out of. Treading soft carpets and breathing the incense106 of superior cigars, I wandered from room to room studying the paintings in which the members of the club had caricatured themselves, their associates, and their aims. There was a slick French audacity about the workmanship of these men of toil unbending that went straight to the heart of the beholder107. And yet it was not altogether French. A dry grimness of treatment, almost Dutch, marked the difference. The men painted as they spoke — with certainty. The club indulges in revelries which it calls ‘Jinks’— high and low,— at intervals,— and each of these gatherings108 is faithfully portrayed109 in oils by hands that know their business. In this club were no amateurs spoiling canvas because they fancied they could handle oils without knowledge of shadows or anatomy110 — no gentlemen of leisure ruining the temper of publishers and an already ruined market with attempts to write ‘because everybody writes something these days.’ My hosts were working, or had worked, for their daily bread with pen or paint, and their talk for the most part was of the shop shoppy — that is to say, delightful111. They extended a large hand of welcome and were as brethren, and I did homage112 to the Owl and listened to their talk. An Indian Club about Christmas-time will yield, if properly worked, an abundant harvest of queer tales; but at a gathering of Americans from the uttermost ends of their own continent the tales are larger, thicker, more spinous, anal even more azure113 than any Indian variety. Tales of the War I heard told by an ex-officer of the South over his evening drink to a Colonel of the Northern army; my introducer, who had served as a trooper in the Northern Horse, throwing in emendations from time to time.
Other voices followed with equally wondrous114 tales of riata-throwing in Mexico or Arizona, of gambling115 at army posts in Texas, of newspaper wars waged in godless Chicago, of deaths sudden and violent in Montana and Dakota, of the loves of half-breed maidens in the South, and fantastic huntings for gold in mysterious Alaska. Above all, they told the story of the building of old San Francisco, when the ‘finest collection of humanity on God’s earth, Sir, started this town, and the water came up to the foot of Market Street.’ Very terrible were some of the tales, grimly humorous the others, and the men in broadcloth and fine linen116 who told them had played their parts in them.
‘And now and again when things got too bad they would toll117 the city bell, and the Vigilance Committee turned out and hanged the suspicious characters. A man didn’t begin to be suspected in those days till he had committed at least one unprovoked murder,’ said a calm-eyed, portly old gentleman. I looked at the pictures around me, the noiseless, neat-uniformed waiter behind me, the oak-ribbed ceiling above, the velvety118 carpet beneath. It was hard to realise that even twenty years ago you could see a man hanged with great pomp. Later on I found reason to change my opinion. The tales gave me a headache and set me thinking. How in the world was it possible to take in even one-thousandth of this huge, roaring, many-sided continent? In the silence of the sumptuous library lay Professor Bryce’s book on the American Republic. ‘It is an omen,’ said I. ‘He has done all things in all seriousness, and he may be purchased for half a guinea. Those who desire information of the most undoubted must refer to his pages. For me is the daily round of vagabondage, the recording119 of the incidents of the hour, and talk with the travelling companion of the day. I will not “do” this country at all.’
And I forgot all about India for ten days while I went out to dinners and watched the social customs of the people, which are entirely120 different from our customs, and was introduced to the men of many millions. These persons are harmless in their earlier stages; that is to say, a man worth three or four million dollars may be a good talker, clever, amusing, and of the world; a man with twice that amount is to be avoided; and a twenty-million man is — just twenty millions. Take an instance. I Was speaking to a newspaper man about seeing the proprietor121 of his journal. My friend snorted indignantly: ‘See him! Great Scott! No! If he happens to appear in the office, I have to associate with him; but, thank Heaven, outside of that I move in circles where he cannot come.’
And yet the first thing I have been taught to believe is that money was everything in America!
收听单词发音 |
1
serene
|
|
| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
serenity
|
|
| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
wardship
|
|
| 监护，保护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
guardian
|
|
| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
behold
|
|
| v.看，注视，看到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
outraged
|
|
| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
despatch
|
|
| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
spat
|
|
| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
gasp
|
|
| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
toils
|
|
| 网 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
toil
|
|
| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
ashore
|
|
| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
journalism
|
|
| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
poignant
|
|
| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
audacity
|
|
| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
tangled
|
|
| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
maze
|
|
| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
kerosene
|
|
| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
gutter
|
|
| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
vouch
|
|
| v.担保；断定；n.被担保者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
smitten
|
|
| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
fortified
|
|
| adj. 加强的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
sumptuous
|
|
| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
commotion
|
|
| n.骚动，动乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
ponderous
|
|
| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
excellence
|
|
| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
vice
|
|
| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
converse
|
|
| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
gape
|
|
| v.张口，打呵欠，目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
chambers
|
|
| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
retirement
|
|
| n.退休，退职 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
reeking
|
|
| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
swerved
|
|
| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
mendacious
|
|
| adj.不真的，撒谎的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
portentous
|
|
| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
conveyance
|
|
| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
refreshment
|
|
| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
salon
|
|
| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
sumptuously
|
|
| 奢侈地，豪华地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
stranded
|
|
| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
glided
|
|
| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
reclaimed
|
|
| adj.再生的；翻造的；收复的；回收的v.开拓( reclaim的过去式和过去分词 )；要求收回；从废料中回收（有用的材料）；挽救 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
pegged
|
|
| v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的过去式和过去分词 )；使固定在某水平 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
machinery
|
|
| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
everlasting
|
|
| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
initiated
|
|
| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
mechanism
|
|
| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
slit
|
|
| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
delude
|
|
| vt.欺骗；哄骗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
dome
|
|
| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
vernacular
|
|
| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
catching
|
|
| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
rhythmical
|
|
| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
cadence
|
|
| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
suavely
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
situated
|
|
| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
maidens
|
|
| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
attired
|
|
| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
impartially
|
|
| adv.公平地，无私地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
unlimited
|
|
| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
revolving
|
|
| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
barbarians
|
|
| n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 )；外国人；粗野的人；无教养的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
qualified
|
|
| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
assent
|
|
| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
reprehensible
|
|
| adj.该受责备的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
ordained
|
|
| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
evaded
|
|
| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
versed
|
|
| adj. 精通，熟练 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
discretion
|
|
| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
numbed
|
|
| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
odds
|
|
| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
poker
|
|
| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
lottery
|
|
| n.抽彩；碰运气的事，难于算计的事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
bower
|
|
| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
prey
|
|
| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
depressed
|
|
| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
bristled
|
|
| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
deferred
|
|
| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
owl
|
|
| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
skull
|
|
| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
immortality
|
|
| n.不死，不朽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
frescoed
|
|
| 壁画( fresco的名词复数 )； 温壁画技法，湿壁画 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
honourable
|
|
| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
intercourse
|
|
| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
incense
|
|
| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
beholder
|
|
| n.观看者，旁观者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
gatherings
|
|
| 聚集( gathering的名词复数 )； 收集； 采集； 搜集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
portrayed
|
|
| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
anatomy
|
|
| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
homage
|
|
| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
azure
|
|
| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
wondrous
|
|
| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
gambling
|
|
| n.赌博；投机 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
linen
|
|
| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
toll
|
|
| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
velvety
|
|
| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
recording
|
|
| n.录音，记录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
proprietor
|
|
| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |