If I stuck at a fib as little as some historians, I might easily tell you who won the prizes at this shooting on Palmerstown Green. But the truth is, I don’t know; my granduncle could have told me, for he had a marvellous memory, but he died, a pleasant old gentleman of four-score and upwards1, when I was a small urchin2. I remember his lively old face, his powdered bald head and pigtail, his slight erect3 figure, and how merrily he used to play the fiddle4 for his juvenile5 posterity6 to dance to. But I was not of an age to comprehend the value of this thin, living volume of old lore7, or to question the oracle8. Well, it can’t be helped now, and the papers I’ve got are silent upon the point. But there were jollifications to no end both in Palmerstown and Chapelizod that night, and declamatory conversations rising up in the street at very late hours, and singing, and ‘hurooing’ along the moonlit roads.
There was a large and pleasant dinner-party, too, in the mess-room of the Royal Irish Artillery9. Lord Castlemallard was there in the place of honour, next to jolly old General Chattesworth, and the worthy10 rector, Doctor Walsingham, and Father Roach, the dapper, florid little priest of the parish, with his silk waistcoat and well-placed paunch, and his keen relish11 for funny stories, side-dishes, and convivial12 glass; and Dan Loftus, that simple, meek13, semi-barbarous young scholar, his head in a state of chronic14 dishevelment, his harmless little round light-blue eyes, pinkish from late night reading, generally betraying the absence of his vagrant15 thoughts, and I know not what of goodness, as well as queerness, in his homely16 features.
Good Dr. Walsingham, indeed, in his simple benevolence17, had helped the strange, kindly18 creature through college, and had a high opinion of him, and a great delight in his company. They were both much given to books, and according to their lights zealous19 arch?ologists. They had got hold of Chapelizod Castle, a good tough enigma20. It was a theme they never tired of. Loftus had already two folios of extracts copied from all the records to which Dr. Walsingham could procure22 him access. They could not have worked harder, indeed, if they were getting up evidence to prove their joint23 title to Lord Castlemallard’s estates. This pursuit was a bond of close sympathy between the rector and the student, and they spent more time than appeared to his parishioners quite consistent with sanity24 in the paddock by the river, pacing up and down, and across, poking25 sticks into the earth and grubbing for old walls underground.
Loftus, moreover, was a good Irish scholar, and from Celtic MSS. had elicited26 some cross-lights upon his subject — not very bright or steady, I allow — but enough to delight the rector, and inspire him with a tender reverence27 for the indefatigable28 and versatile29 youth, who was devoting to the successful equitation of their hobby so many of his hours, and so much of his languages, labour, and brains.
Lord Castlemallard was accustomed to be listened to, and was not aware how confoundedly dull his talk sometimes was. It was measured, and dreamy, and every way slow. He was entertaining the courteous30 old general at the head of the table, with an oration31 in praise of Paul Dangerfield — a wonderful man — immensely wealthy — the cleverest man of his age — he might have been anything he pleased. His lordship really believed his English property would drop to pieces if Dangerfield retired32 from its management, and he was vastly obliged to him inwardly, for retaining the agency even for a little time longer. He was coming over to visit the Irish estates — perhaps to give Nutter34 a wrinkle or two. He was a bachelor, and his lordship averred35 would be a prodigious36 great match for some of our Irish ladies. Chapelizod would be his headquarters while in Ireland. No, he was not sure — he rather thought he was not of the Thorley family; and so on for a mighty37 long time. But though he tired them prodigiously38, he contrived39 to evoke40 before their minds’ eyes a very gigantic, though somewhat hazy41 figure, and a good deal stimulated42 the interest with which a new arrival was commonly looked for in that pleasant suburban43 village. There is no knowing how long Lord Castlemallard might have prosed upon this theme, had he not been accidentally cut short, and himself laid fast asleep in his chair, without his or anybody else’s intending it. For overhearing, during a short pause, in which he sipped44 some claret, Surgeon Sturk applying some very strong, and indeed, frightful45 language to a little pamphlet upon magnetism46, a subject then making a stir — as from a much earlier date it has periodically done down to the present day — he languidly asked Dr. Walsingham his opinion upon the subject.
Now, Dr. Walsingham was a great reader of out-of-the-way lore, and retained it with a sometimes painful accuracy; and he forthwith began —
‘There is, my Lord Castlemallard, a curious old tract21 of the learned Van Helmont, in which he says, as near as I can remember his words, that magnetism is a magical faculty47, which lieth dormant48 in us by the opiate of primitive49 sin, and, therefore, stands in need of an excitator, which excitator may be either good or evil; but is more frequently Satan himself, by reason of some previous oppignoration or compact with witches. The power, indeed, is in the witch, and not conferred by him; but this versipellous or Protean50 impostor — these are his words — will not suffer her to know that it is of her own natural endowment, though for the present charmed into somnolent51 inactivity by the narcotic52 of primitive sin.’
I verily believe that a fair description — none of your poetical53 balderdash, but an honest plodding54 description of a perfectly55 comfortable bed, and of the process of going to sleep, would, judiciously56 administered soon after dinner, overpower the vivacity57 of any tranquil58 gentleman who loves a nap after that meal — gently draw the curtains of his senses, and extinguish the bed-room candle of his consciousness. In the doctor’s address and quotation59 there was so much about somnolency60 and narcotics61, and lying dormant, and opiates, that my Lord Castlemallard’s senses forsook62 him, and he lost, as you, my kind reader, must, all the latter portion of the doctor’s lullaby.
‘I’d give half I’m pothethed of, Thir, and all my prothpecth in life,’ lisped vehemently63 plump little Lieutenant65 Puddock, in one of those stage frenzies66 to which he was prone67, ‘to be the firtht Alecthander on the boardth.’
Between ourselves, Puddock was short and fat, very sentimental68, and a little bit of a gourmet69; his desk stuffed with amorous70 sonnets71 and receipts for side-dishes; he, always in love, and often in the kitchen, where, under the rose, he loved to direct the cooking of critical little plats, very good-natured, rather literal, very courteous, a chevallier, indeed, sans reproche. He had a profound faith in his genius for tragedy, but those who liked him best could not help thinking that his plump cheeks, round, little light eyes, his lisp, and a certain lack-a-daisical, though solemn expression of surprise, which Nature, in one of her jocular moods, seemed to have fixed72 upon his countenance73, were against his shining in that walk of the drama. He was blessed, too, with a pleasant belief in his acceptance with the fair sex, but had a real one with his comrades, who knew his absurdities74 and his virtues75, and laughed at and loved him.
‘But hang it, there ‘th no uthe in doing things by halves. Melpomene’s the most jealous of the Muses76. I tell you if you stand well in her gratheth, by Jove, Thir, you mutht give yourthelf up to her body and thoul. How the deuthe can a fellow that’s out at drill at hicth in the morning, and all day with his head filled with tacticth and gunnery, and — and —’
‘And ‘farced pigeons’ and lovely women,’ said Devereux.
‘And such dry professional matterth,’ continued he, without noticing, perhaps hearing the interpolation, ‘How can he pothibly have a chance againth geniuses, no doubt — vathly thuperior by nature’—(Puddock, the rogue78, believed no such thing)—‘but who devote themthelveth to the thtudy of the art incethantly, exclusively, and — and ——’
‘Impossible,’ said O’Flaherty. ‘There now, was Tommy Shycock, of Ballybaisly, that larned himself to balance a fiddle-stick on his chin; and the young leedies, and especially Miss Kitty Mahony, used to be all around him in the ball-room at Thralee, lookin’, wondhrin’, and laughin’; and I that had twiste his brains, could not come round it, though I got up every morning for a month at four o’clock, and was obleeged to give over be rason of a soart iv a squint79 I was gettin’ be looking continually at the fiddle-stick. I began with a double bass80, the way he did — it’s it that was the powerful fateaguin’ exercise, I can tell you. Two blessed hours a-day, regular practice, besides an odd half-hour, now and agin, for three mortial years, it took him to larn it, and dhrilled a dimple in his chin you could put a marrow-fat pay in.’
‘Practice,’ resumed Puddock, I need not spell his lisp, ‘study — time to devote — industry in great things as in small — there’s the secret. Nature, to be sure —’
‘Ay, Nature, to be sure — we must sustain Nature, dear Puddock, so pass the bottle,’ said Devereux, who liked his glass.
‘Be the powers, Mr. Puddock, if I had half your janius for play-acting,’ persisted O’Flaherty, ‘nothing i’d keep me from the boards iv Smock-alley81 play-house — incog., I mean, of course. There’s that wonderful little Mr. Garrick — why he’s the talk of the three kingdoms as long as I can remember — an’ making his thousand pounds a week — coining, be gannies — an’ he can’t be much taller than you, for he’s contimptably small.’
‘I’m the taller man of the two,’ said little Puddock, haughtily82, who had made enquiries, and claimed half an inch over Rocius, honestly, let us hope. ‘But this is building castles in the air; joking apart, however, I do confess I should dearly love — just for a maggot — to play two parts — Richard the Third and Tamerlane.’
‘Was not that the part you spoke83 that sympathetic speech out of for me before dinner?’
‘No, that was Justice Greedy,’ said Devereux.
‘Ay, so it was — was it?— that smothered84 his wife.’
‘With a pudding clout,’ persisted Devereux.
‘No. With a — pooh!— a — you know — and stabbed himself,’ continued O’Flaherty.
‘With a larding-pin —’tis written in good Italian.’
‘Augh, not at all — it isn’t Italian, but English, I’m thinking of — a pilla, Puddock, you know — the black rascal85.’
‘Well, English or Italian — tragedy or comedy,’ said Devereux, who liked Puddock, and would not annoy him, and saw he was hurt by Othello’s borrowing his properties from the kitchen; ‘I venture to say you were well entertained: and for my part, Sir, there are some characters’—(in farce77 Puddock was really highly diverting)—‘in which I prefer Puddock to any player I every saw.’
‘Oh — ho — ho!’ laughed poor little Puddock, with a most gratified derisiveness86, for he cherished in secret a great admiration87 for Devereux.
And so they talked stage-talk. Puddock lithping away, grand and garrulous88; O’Flaherty, the illiterate89, blundering in with sincere applause; and Devereux sipping90 his claret and dropping a quiet saucy91 word now and again.
‘I shall never forget Mrs. Cibber’s countenance in that last scene — you know — in the “Orphan”— Monimia you know, Devereux.’ And the table being by this time in high chat, and the chairs a little irregular, Puddock slipped off his, and addressing himself to Devereux and O’Flaherty — just to give them a notion of Mrs. Cibber — began, with a countenance the most wobegone, and in a piping falsetto —
‘When I am laid low, i’ the grave, and quite forgotten.’
Monimia dies at the end of the speech — as the reader may not be aware; but when Puddock came to the line —
‘When I am dead, as presently I shall be,’
all Mrs. Cibber’s best points being still to come, the little lieutenant’s heel caught in the edge of the carpet, as he sailed with an imaginary hoop92 on grandly backward, and in spite of a surprising flick-flack cut in the attempt to recover his equipoise, down came the ‘orphan,’ together with a table-load of spoons and plates, with a crash that stopt all conversation.
Lord Castlemallard waked up, with a snort and a ‘hollo, gentlemen!’
‘It’s only poor dear Monimia, general,’ said Devereux with a melancholy93 bow, in reply to a fiery94 and startled stare darted95 to the point by that gallant96 officer.
‘Hey — eh?’ said his lordship, brightening up, and gazing glassily round with a wan97 smile; and I fancy he thought a lady had somehow introduced herself during his nap, and was pleased, for he admired the sex.
‘If there’s any recitation going on, I think it had better be for the benefit of the company,’ said the general, a little surly, and looking full upon the plump Monimia, who was arranging his frill and hair, and getting a little awkwardly into his place.
‘And I think ‘twould be no harm, Lieutenant Puddock, my dear,’ says Father Roach, testily98, for he had been himself frightened by the crash, ‘if you’d die a little aisier the next time.’
Puddock began to apologise.
‘Never mind,’ said the general, recovering, ‘let’s fill our glasses — my Lord Castlemallard, they tell me this claret is a pretty wine.’
‘A very pretty wine,’ said my lord.
‘And suppose, my lord, we ask these gentlemen to give us a song? I say, gentlemen, there are fine voices among you. Will some gentleman oblige the company with a song?’
‘Mr. Loftus sings a very fine song, I’m told,’ said Captain Cluffe, with a wink99 at Father Roach.
‘Ay,’ cried Roach, backing up the joke (a good old one, and not yet quite off the hooks), ‘Mr. Loftus sings, I’ll take my davy — I’ve heard him!’
Loftus was shy, simple, and grotesque100, and looked like a man who could not sing a note. So when he opened his eyes, looked round, and blushed, there was a general knocking of glasses, and a very flattering clamour for Mr. Loftus’s song.
But when silence came, to the surprise of the company he submitted, though with manifest trepidation101, and told them that he would sing as the company desired. It was a song from a good old writer upon fasting in Lent, and was, in fact, a reproof102 to all hypocrisy103. Hereupon there was a great ringing of glasses and a jolly round of laughter rose up in the cheer that welcomed the announcement. Father Roach looked queer and disconcerted, and shot a look of suspicion at Devereux, for poor Dan Loftus had, in truth, hit that divine strait in a very tender spot.
The fact is, Father Roach was, as Irish priests were sometimes then, a bit of a sportsman. He and Toole used occasionally to make mysterious excursions to the Dublin mountains. He had a couple of mighty good dogs, which he lent freely, being a good-natured fellow. He liked good living and jolly young fellows, and was popular among the officers, who used to pop in freely enough at his reverence’s green hall-door whenever they wanted a loan of his dogs, or to take counsel of the ghostly father (whose opinion was valued more highly even than Toole’s) upon the case of a sick dog or a lame104 nag33.
Well, one morning — only a few weeks before — Devereux and Toole together had looked in on some such business upon his reverence — a little suddenly — and found him eating a hare!— by all the gods, it was — hare-pie in the middle of Lent!
It was at breakfast. His dinner was the meal of an anchorite, and who would have guessed that these confounded sparks would have bounced into his little refectory at that hour of the morning? There was no room for equivocation105; he had been caught in the very act of criminal conversation with the hare-pie. He rose with a spring, like a Jack-ina-box, as they entered, and knife and fork in hand, and with shining chops, stared at them with an angry, bothered, and alarmed countenance, which increased their laughter. It was a good while before he obtained a hearing, such was the hilarity106, so sustained the fire of ironical107 compliments, enquiries, and pleasantries, and the general uproar108.
When he did, with hand uplifted, after the manner of a prisoner arraigned109 for murder, he pleaded ‘a dispensation.’ I suppose it was true, for he backed the allegation with several most religious oaths and imprecations, and explained how men were not always quite so strong as they looked; that he might, if he liked it, by permission of his bishop110, eat meat at every meal in the day, and every day in the week; that his not doing so was a voluntary abstinence — not conscientious111, only expedient112 — to prevent the ‘unreasonable remarks’ of his parishioners (a roar of laughter); that he was, perhaps, rightly served for not having publicly availed himself of his bishop’s dispensation (renewed peals113 of merriment). By this foolish delicacy114 (more of that detestable horse-laughter), he had got himself into a false position; and so on, till the ad misericordiam peroration115 addressed to ‘Captain Devereux, dear,’ and ‘Toole, my honey.’ Well, they quizzed him unmercifully; they sat down and eat all that was left of the hare-pie, under his wistful ogle116. They made him narrate117 minutely every circumstance connected with the smuggling118 of the game, and the illicit119 distillation120 for the mess. They never passed so pleasant a morning. Of course he bound them over to eternal secrecy121, and of course, as in all similar cases, the vow122 was religiously observed; nothing was ever heard of it at mess — oh, no — and Toole never gave a dramatic representation of the occurrence, heightened and embellished123 with all the little doctor’s genius for farce.
There certainly was a monologue124 to which he frequently afterwards treated the Aldermen of Skinner’s Alley, and other convivial bodies, at supper, the doctor’s gestures were made with knife and fork in hand, and it was spoken in a rich brogue and tones sometimes of thrilling pathos125, anon of sharp and vehement64 indignation, and again of childlike endearment126, amidst pounding and jingling127 of glasses, and screams of laughter from the company. Indeed the lord mayor, a fat slob of a fellow, though not much given to undue128 merriment, laughed his ribs129 into such a state of breathless torture, that he implored130 of Toole, with a wave of his hand — he could not speak — to give him breathing time, which that voluble performer disregarding, his lordship had to rise twice, and get to the window, or, as he afterwards said, he should have lost his life; and when the performance was ended, his fat cheeks were covered with tears, his mouth hung down, his head wagged slowly from side to side, and with short gasping131 ‘oohs,’ and ‘oohs,’ his hands pressed to his pudgy ribs, he looked so pale and breathless, that although they said nothing, several of his comrades stared hard at him, and thought him in rather a queer state.
Shortly after this little surprise, I suppose by way of ratifying132 the secret treaty of silence, Father Roach gave the officers and Toole a grand Lent dinner of fish, with no less than nineteen different plats, baked, boiled, stewed133, in fact, a very splendid feast; and Puddock talked of some of those dishes more than twenty years afterwards.
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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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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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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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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zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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versatile
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| adj.通用的，万用的；多才多艺的，多方面的 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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oration
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| n.演说，致辞，叙述法 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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nutter
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| n.疯子 | |
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averred
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| v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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prodigiously
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| adv.异常地，惊人地，巨大地 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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evoke
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| vt.唤起，引起，使人想起 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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magnetism
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| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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dormant
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| adj.暂停活动的；休眠的；潜伏的 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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protean
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| adj.反复无常的；变化自如的 | |
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51
somnolent
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| adj.想睡的，催眠的；adv.瞌睡地；昏昏欲睡地；使人瞌睡地 | |
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narcotic
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| n.麻醉药，镇静剂；adj.麻醉的，催眠的 | |
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53
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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54
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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55
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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56
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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57
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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58
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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59
quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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60
somnolency
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| n.想睡，梦幻 | |
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61
narcotics
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| n.麻醉药( narcotic的名词复数 )；毒品；毒 | |
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62
forsook
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| forsake的过去式 | |
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63
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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64
vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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65
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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66
frenzies
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| 狂乱( frenzy的名词复数 )； 极度的激动 | |
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67
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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68
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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69
gourmet
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| n.食物品尝家；adj.出于美食家之手的 | |
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70
amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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71
sonnets
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| n.十四行诗( sonnet的名词复数 ) | |
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72
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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73
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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74
absurdities
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| n.极端无理性( absurdity的名词复数 )；荒谬；谬论；荒谬的行为 | |
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75
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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76
muses
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的第三人称单数 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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77
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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78
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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79
squint
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| v. 使变斜视眼, 斜视, 眯眼看, 偏移, 窥视; n. 斜视, 斜孔小窗; adj. 斜视的, 斜的 | |
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80
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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81
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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82
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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83
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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84
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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85
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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86
derisiveness
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| n.嘲笑，嘲弄 | |
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87
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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88
garrulous
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| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
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89
illiterate
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| adj.文盲的；无知的；n.文盲 | |
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90
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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91
saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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92
hoop
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| n.（篮球）篮圈，篮 | |
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93
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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95
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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97
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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98
testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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99
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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100
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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101
trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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102
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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103
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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104
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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105
equivocation
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| n.模棱两可的话，含糊话 | |
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106
hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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107
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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108
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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109
arraigned
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| v.告发( arraign的过去式和过去分词 )；控告；传讯；指责 | |
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110
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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111
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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112
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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113
peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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114
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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115
peroration
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| n.（演说等之）结论 | |
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116
ogle
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| v.看；送秋波；n.秋波，媚眼 | |
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117
narrate
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| v.讲，叙述 | |
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118
smuggling
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| n.走私 | |
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119
illicit
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| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
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120
distillation
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| n.蒸馏，蒸馏法 | |
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121
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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122
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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123
embellished
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| v.美化( embellish的过去式和过去分词 )；装饰；修饰；润色 | |
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124
monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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125
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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126
endearment
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| n.表示亲爱的行为 | |
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127
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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128
undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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129
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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130
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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131
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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132
ratifying
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| v.批准，签认（合约等）( ratify的现在分词 ) | |
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133
stewed
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| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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