Until the enemy had retired1 altogether from before the place, Major Pendennis was resolved to keep his garrison2 in Fairoaks. He did not appear to watch Pen’s behaviour or to put any restraint on his nephew’s actions, but he managed nevertheless to keep the lad constantly under his eye or those of his agents, and young Arthur’s comings and goings were quite well known to his vigilant3 guardian4.
I suppose there is scarcely any man who reads this or any other novel but has been baulked in love some time or the other, by fate and circumstance, by falsehood of women, or his own fault. Let that worthy5 friend recall his own sensations under the circumstances, and apply them as illustrative of Mr. Pen’s anguish6. Ah! what weary nights and sickening fevers! Ah! what mad desires dashing up against some rock of obstruction7 or indifference8, and flung back again from the unimpressionable granite9! If a list could be made this very night in London of the groans10, thoughts, imprecations of tossing lovers, what a catalogue it would be! I wonder what a percentage of the male population of the metropolis11 will be lying awake at two or three o’clock tomorrow morning, counting the hours as they go by knelling12 drearily13, and rolling from left to right, restless, yearning14 and heart-sick? What a pang15 it is! I never knew a man die of love certainly, but I have known a twelve-stone man go down to nine-stone five under a disappointed passion, so that pretty nearly quarter of him may be said to have perished: and that is no small portion. He has come back to his old size subsequently; perhaps is bigger than ever: very likely some new affection has closed round his heart and ribs16 and made them comfortable, and young Pen is a man who will console himself like the rest of us. We say this lest the ladies should be disposed to deplore17 him prematurely18, or be seriously uneasy with regard to his complaint. His mother was, but what will not a maternal19 fondness fear or invent? “Depend on it, my dear creature,” Major Pendennis would say gallantly20 to her, “the boy will recover. As soon as we get her out of the country we will take him somewhere, and show him a little life. Meantime make yourself easy about him. Half a fellow’s pangs21 at losing a woman result from vanity more than affection. To be left by a woman is the deuce and all, to be sure; but look how easily we leave ’em.”
Mrs. Pendennis did not know. This sort of knowledge had by no means come within the simple lady’s scope. Indeed she did not like the subject or to talk of it: her heart had had its own little private misadventure and she had borne up against it and cured it: and perhaps she had not much patience with other folk’s passions, except, of course, Arthur’s, whose sufferings she made her own, feeling indeed very likely in many of the boy’s illnesses and pains a great deal more than Pen himself endured. And she watched him through this present grief with a jealous silent sympathy; although, as we have said, he did not talk to her of his unfortunate condition.
The Major must be allowed to have had not a little merit and forbearance, and to have exhibited a highly creditable degree of family affection. The life at Fairoaks was uncommonly23 dull to a man who had the entree24 of half the houses in London, and was in the habit of making his bow in three or four drawing-rooms of a night. A dinner with Doctor Portman or a neighbouring Squire25 now and then; a dreary26 rubber at backgammon with the widow, who did her utmost to amuse him; these were the chief of his pleasures. He used to long for the arrival of the bag with the letters, and he read every word of the evening paper. He doctored himself too, assiduously,— a course of quiet living would suit him well, he thought, after the London banquets. He dressed himself laboriously27 every morning and afternoon: he took regular exercise up and down the terrace walk. Thus with his cane28, his toilet, his medicine-chest, his backgammon-box, and his newspaper, this worthy and worldly philosopher fenced himself against ennui29; and if he did not improve each shining hour, like the bees by the widow’s garden wall, Major Pendennis made one hour after another pass as he could, and rendered his captivity30 just tolerable. After this period it was remarked that he was fond of bringing round the conversation to the American war, the massacre31 of Wyoming and the brilliant actions of Saint Lucie, the fact being that he had a couple of volumes of the ‘Annual Register’ in his bedroom, which he sedulously32 studied. It is thus a well-regulated man will accommodate himself to circumstances, and show himself calmly superior to fortune.
Pen sometimes took the box at backgammon of a night, or would listen to his mother’s simple music of summer evenings — but he was very restless and wretched in spite of all: and has been known to be up before the early daylight even; and down at a carp-pond in Clavering Park, a dreary pool with innumerable whispering rushes and green alders33, where a milkmaid drowned herself in the Baronet’s grandfather’s time, and her ghost was said to walk still. But Pen did not drown himself, as perhaps his mother fancied might be his intention. He liked to go and fish there, and think and think at leisure, as the float quivered in the little eddies34 of the pond, and the fish flapped about him. If he got a bite he was excited enough: and in this way occasionally brought home carps, tenches, and eels35, which the Major cooked in the Continental36 fashion.
By this pond, and under a tree, which was his favourite resort, Pen composed a number of poems suitable to his circumstances over which verses he blushed in after days, wondering how he could ever have invented such rubbish. And as for the tree, why it is in a hollow of this very tree, where he used to put his tin-box of ground-bait, and other fishing commodities, that he afterwards — but we are advancing matters. Suffice it to say, he wrote poems and relieved himself very much. When a man’s grief or passion is at this point, it may be loud, but it is not very severe. When a gentleman is cudgelling his brain to find any rhyme for sorrow, besides borrow and tomorrow, his woes37 are nearer at an end than he thinks for. So were Pen’s. He had his hot and cold fits, his days of sullenness38 and peevishness39, and of blank resignation and despondency, and occasional mad paroxysms of rage and longing40, in which fits Rebecca would be saddled and galloped41 fiercely about the country, or into Chatteris, her rider gesticulating wildly on her back, and astonishing carters and turnpikemen as he passed, crying out the name of the false one.
Mr. Foker became a very frequent and welcome visitor at Fairoaks during this period, where his good spirits and oddities always amused the Major and Pendennis, while they astonished the widow and little Laura not a little. His tandem42 made a great sensation in Clavering market-place; where he upset a market stall, and cut Mrs. Pybus’s poodle over the shaven quarters, and drank a glass of raspberry bitters at the Clavering Arms. All the society in the little place heard who he was, and looked out his name in their Peerages. He was so young, and their books so old, that his name did not appear in many of their volumes; and his mamma, now quite an antiquated43 lady, figured amongst the progeny44 of the Earl of Rosherville, as Lady Agnes Milton still. But his name, wealth, and honourable45 lineage were speedily known about Clavering, where you may be sure that poor Pen’s little transaction with the Chatteris actress was also pretty freely discussed.
Looking at the little old town of Clavering St. Mary from the London road as it runs by the lodge46 at Fairoaks, and seeing the rapid and shining Brawl47 winding48 down from the town and skirting the woods of Clavering Park, and the ancient church tower and peaked roofs of the houses rising up amongst trees and old walls, behind which swells49 a fair background of sunshiny hills that stretch from Clavering westwards towards the sea — the place looks so cheery and comfortable that many a traveller’s heart must have yearned50 towards it from the coach-top, and he must have thought that it was in such a calm friendly nook he would like to shelter at the end of life’s struggle. Tom Smith, who used to drive the Alacrity51 coach, would often point to a tree near the river, from which a fine view of the church and town was commanded, and inform his companion on the box that “Artises come and take hoff the Church from that there tree — It was a Habby once, sir:"— and indeed a pretty view it is, which I recommend to Mr. Stanfield or Mr. Roberts, for their next tour.
Like Constantinople seen from the Bosphorus; like Mrs. Rougemont viewed in her box from the opposite side of the house; like many an object which we pursue in life, and admire before we have attained52 it; Clavering is rather prettier at a distance than it is on a closer acquaintance. The town so cheerful of aspect a few furlongs off, looks very blank and dreary. Except on market days there is nobody in the streets. The clack of a pair of pattens echoes through half the place, and you may hear the creaking of the rusty53 old ensign at the Clavering Arms, without being disturbed by any other noise. There has not been a ball in the Assembly Rooms since the Clavering volunteers gave one to their Colonel, the old Sir Francis Clavering; and the stables which once held a great part of that brilliant, but defunct54 regiment55, are now cheerless and empty, except on Thursdays, when the farmers put up there, and their tilted56 carts and gigs make a feeble show of liveliness in the place, or on Petty Sessions, when the magistrates57 attend in what used to be the old card-room.
On the south side of the market rises up the church, with its great grey towers, of which the sun illuminates58 the delicate carving59; deepening the shadows of the huge buttresses60, and gilding61 the glittering windows and flaming vanes. The image of the Patroness of the Church was wrenched62 out of the porch centuries ago: such of the statues of saints as were within reach of stones and hammer at that period of pious63 demolition64, are maimed and headless, and of those who were out of fire, only Doctor Portman knows the names and history, for his curate, Smirke, is not much of an antiquarian, and Mr. Simcoe (husband of the Honourable Mrs. Simcoe), incumbent65 and architect of the Chapel66 of Ease in the lower town, thinks them the abomination of desolation.
The Rectory is a stout67 broad-shouldered brick house, of the reign68 of Anne. It communicates with the church and market by different gates, and stands at the opening of Yew-tree Lane, where the Grammar School (Rev69. —— Wapshot) is; Yew-tree Cottage (Miss Flather); the butchers’ slaughtering-house, an old barn or brew-house of the Abbey times, and the Misses Finucane’s establishment for young ladies. The two schools had their pews in the loft70 on each side of the organ, until the Abbey Church getting rather empty, through the falling-off of the congregation, who were inveigled71 to the Heresy-shop in the lower town, the Doctor induced the Misses Finucane to bring their pretty little flock downstairs; and the young ladies’ bonnets72 make a tolerable show in the rather vacant aisles73. Nobody is in the great pew of the Clavering family, except the statues of defunct baronets and their ladies: there is Sir Poyntz Clavering, Knight74 and Baronet, kneeling in a square beard opposite his wife in a ruff: a very fat lady, the Dame75 Rebecca Clavering, in alto-relievo, is borne up to Heaven by two little blue-veined angels, who seem to have a severe task — and so forth76. How well in after life Pen remembered those effigies77, and how often in youth he scanned them as the Doctor was grumbling78 the sermon from the pulpit, and Smirke’s mild head and forehead curl peered over the great prayer-book in the desk!
The Fairoaks folks were constant at the old church; their servants had a pew, so had the Doctor’s, so had Wapshot’s, and those of Misses Finucane’s establishment, three maids and a very nice-looking young man in a livery. The Wapshot Family were numerous and faithful. Glanders and his children regularly came to church: so did one of the apothecaries79. Mrs. Pybus went, turn and turn about, to the Low Town church, and to the Abbey: the Charity School and their families of course came; Wapshot’s boys made a good cheerful noise, scuffling with their feet as they marched into church and up the organ-loft stair, and blowing their noses a good deal during the service. To be brief, the congregation looked as decent as might be in these bad times. The Abbey Church was furnished with a magnificent screen, and many hatchments and heraldic tombstones. The Doctor spent a great part of his income in beautifying his darling place; he had endowed it with a superb painted window, bought in the Netherlands, and an organ grand enough for a cathedral.
But in spite of organ and window, in consequence of the latter very likely, which had come out of a Papistical place of worship and was blazoned80 all over with idolatry, Clavering New Church prospered81 scandalously in the teeth of Orthodoxy; and many of the Doctor’s congregation deserted82 to Mr. Simcoe and the honourable woman his wife. Their efforts had thinned the very Ebenezer hard by them, which building before Simcoe’s advent22 used to be so full, that you could see the backs of the congregation squeezing out of the arched windows thereof. Mr. Simcoe’s tracts83 fluttered into the doors of all the Doctor’s cottages, and were taken as greedily as honest Mrs. Portman’s soup, with the quality of which the graceless people found fault. With the folks at the Ribbon Factory situated84 by the weir85 on the Brawl side, and round which the Low Town had grown, Orthodoxy could make no way at all. Quiet Miss Myra was put out of court by impetuous Mrs. Simcoe and her female aides-de-camp. Ah, it was a hard burthen for the Doctor’s lady to bear, to behold86 her husband’s congregation dwindling87 away; to give the precedence on the few occasions when they met to a notorious low-churchman’s wife who was the daughter of an Irish Peer; to know that there was a party in Clavering, their own town of Clavering, on which her Doctor spent a great deal more than his professional income, who held him up to odium because he played a rubber at whist; and pronounced him to be a Heathen because he went to the play. In her grief she besought88 him to give up the play and the rubber,— indeed they could scarcely get a table now, so dreadful was the outcry against the sport,— but the Doctor declared that he would do what he thought right, and what the great and good George the Third did (whose Chaplain he had been): and as for giving up whist because those silly folks cried out against it, he would play dummy90 to the end of his days with his wife and Myra, rather than yield to their despicable persecutions.
Of the two families, owners of the Factory (which had spoiled the Brawl as a trout-stream and brought all the mischief91 into the town), the senior partner, Mr. Rolt, went to Ebenezer; the junior, Mr. Barker, to the New Church. In a word, people quarrelled in this little place a great deal more than neighbours do in London; and in the Book Club, which the prudent92 and conciliating Pendennis had set up, and which ought to have been a neutral territory, they bickered93 so much that nobody scarcely was ever seen in the reading-room, except Smirke, who, though he kept up a faint amity94 with the Simcoe faction95, had still a taste for magazines and light worldly literature; and old Glanders, whose white head and grizzly96 moustache might be seen at the window; and of course, little Mrs. Pybus, who looked at everybody’s letters as the Post brought them (for the Clavering Reading-room, as every one knows, used to be held at Baker’s Library, London Street, formerly97 Hog98 Lane), and read every advertisement in the paper.
It may be imagined how great a sensation was created in this amiable99 little community when the news reached it of Mr. Pen’s love-passages at Chatteris. It was carried from house to house, and formed the subject of talk at high-church, low-church, and no-church tables; it was canvassed100 by the Misses Finucane and their teachers, and very likely debated by the young ladies in the dormitories for what we know; Wapshot’s big boys had their version of the story, and eyed Pen curiously101 as he sate102 in his pew at church, or raised the finger of scorn at him as he passed through Chatteris. They always hated him and called him Lord Pendennis, because he did not wear corduroys as they did, and rode a horse, and gave himself the airs of a buck103.
And if the truth must be told, it was Mrs. Portman herself who was the chief narrator of the story of Pen’s loves. Whatever tales this candid104 woman heard, she was sure to impart them to her neighbours; and after she had been put into possession of Pen’s secret by the little scandal at Chatteris, poor Doctor Portman knew that it would next day be about the parish of which he was the Rector. And so indeed it was; the whole society there had the legend — at the news-room, at the milliner’s, at the shoe-shop, and the general warehouse105 at the corner of the market; at Mrs. Pybus’s, at the Glanders’s, at the Honourable Mrs. Simcoe’s soiree, at the Factory; nay106, through the mill itself the tale was current in a few hours, and young Arthur Pendennis’s madness was in every mouth.
All Dr. Portman’s acquaintances barked out upon him when he walked the street the next day. The poor divine knew that his Betsy was the author of the rumour107, and groaned108 in spirit. Well, well,— it must have come in a day or two, and it was as well that the town should have the real story. What the Clavering folks thought of Mrs. Pendennis for spoiling her son, and of that precocious109 young rascal110 of an Arthur for daring to propose to a play-actress, need not be told here. If pride exists amongst any folks in our country, and assuredly we have enough of it, there is no pride more deep-seated than that of twopenny old gentlewomen in small towns. “Gracious goodness,” the cry was, “how infatuated the mother is about that pert and headstrong boy who gives himself the airs of a lord on his blood-horse, and for whom our society is not good enough, and who would marry an odious111 painted actress off a booth, where very likely he wants to rant112 himself. If dear good Mr. Pendennis had been alive this scandal would never have happened.”
No more it would, very likely, nor should we have been occupied in narrating113 Pen’s history. It was true that he gave himself airs to the Clavering folks. Naturally haughty114 and frank, their cackle and small talk and small dignities bored him, and he showed a contempt which he could not conceal115. The Doctor and the Curate were the only people Pen cared for in the place — even Mrs. Portman shared in the general distrust of him, and of his mother, the widow, who kept herself aloof116 from the village society, and was sneered117 at accordingly, because she tried, forsooth, to keep her head up with the great County families. She, indeed! Mrs. Barker at the Factory has four times the butcher’s meat that goes up to Fairoaks, with all their fine airs.
Etc. etc. etc.: let the reader fill up these details according to his liking118 and experience of village scandal. They will suffice to show how it was that a good woman occupied solely119 in doing her duty to her neighbour and her children, and an honest, brave lad, impetuous, and full of good, and wishing well to every mortal alive found enemies and detractors amongst people to whom they were superior, and to whom they had never done anything like harm. The Clavering curs were yelping120 all round the house of Fairoaks, and delighted to pull Pen down.
Doctor Portman and Smirke were both cautious of informing the widow of the constant outbreak of calumny121 which was pursuing poor Pen, though Glanders, who was a friend of the house, kept him au courant. It may be imagined what his indignation was: was there any man in the village whom be could call to account? Presently some wags began to chalk up ‘Fotheringay for ever!’ and other sarcastic122 allusions123 to late transactions, at Fairoaks’ gate. Another brought a large playbill from Chatteris, and wafered it there one night. On one occasion Pen, riding through the Lower Town, fancied he heard the Factory boys jeer124 him; and finally going through the Doctor’s gate into the churchyard, where some of Wapshot’s boys were lounging, the biggest of them, a young gentleman about twenty years of age, son of a neighbouring small Squire, who lived in the doubtful capacity of parlour-boarder with Mr. Wapshot, flung himself into a theatrical125 attitude near a newly-made grave, and began repeating Hamlet’s verses over Ophelia, with a hideous126 leer at Pen. The young fellow was so enraged127 that he rushed at Hobnell Major with a shriek128 very much resembling an oath, cut him furiously across the face with the riding-whip which he carried, flung it away, calling upon the cowardly villain129 to defend himself, and in another minute knocked the bewildered young ruffian into the grave which was just waiting for a different lodger130.
Then with his fists clenched131, and his face quivering with passion and indignation, he roared out to Mr. Hobnell’s gaping132 companions, to know if any of the blackguards would come on? But they held back with a growl133, and retreated as Doctor Portman came up to his wicket, and Mr. Hobnell, with his nose and lip bleeding piteously, emerged from the grave.
Pen, looking death and defiance134 at the lads, who retreated towards’ their side of the churchyard, walked back again through the Doctor’s wicket, and was interrogated135 by that gentleman. The young fellow was so agitated136 he could scarcely speak. His voice broke into a sob137 as he answered. “The —— coward insulted me, sir,” he said; and the Doctor passed over the oath, and respected the emotion of the honest suffering young heart.
Pendennis the elder, who like a real man of the world had a proper and constant dread89 of the opinion of his neighbour, was prodigiously138 annoyed by the absurd little tempest which was blowing in Chatteris, and tossing about Master Pen’s reputation. Doctor Portman and Captain Glanders had to support the charges of the whole Chatteris society against the young reprobate139, who was looked upon as a monster of crime. Pen did not say anything about the churchyard scuffle at home; but went over to Baymouth, and took counsel with his friend Harry140 Foker, Esq., who drove over his drag presently to the Clavering Arms, whence he sent Stoopid with a note to Thomas Hobnell, Esq., at the Rev. J. Wapshot’s, and a civil message to ask when he should wait upon that gentleman.
Stoopid brought back word that the note had been opened by Mr. Hobnell, and read to half a dozen of the big boys, on whom it seemed to make a great impression; and that after consulting together, and laughing, Mr. Hobnell said he would send an answer “arter arternoon school, which the bell was a-ringing: and Mr. Wapshot he came out in his Master’s gownd.” Stoopid was learned in academical costume, having attended Mr. Foker at St. Boniface.
Mr. Foker went out to see the curiosities of Clavering meanwhile; but not having a taste for architecture, Doctor Portman’s fine church did not engage his attention much and he pronounced the tower to be as mouldy as an old Stilton cheese. He walked down the street and looked at the few shops there; he saw Captain Glanders at the window of the Reading-room, and having taken a good stare at that gentleman, he wagged his head at him in token of satisfaction; he inquired the price of meat at the butcher’s with an air of the greatest interest, and asked “when was next killing141 day?” he flattened142 his little nose against Madame Fribsby’s window to see if haply there was a pretty workwoman in her premises143; but there was no face more comely144 than the doll’s or dummy’s wearing the French cap in the window, only that of Madame Fribsby herself, dimly visible in the parlour, reading a novel. That object was not of sufficient interest to keep Mr. Foker very long in contemplation, and so having exhausted145 the town and the inn stables, in which there were no cattle, save the single old pair of posters that earned a scanty146 livelihood147 by transporting the gentry148 round about to the county dinners, Mr. Foker was giving himself up to ennui entirely149, when a messenger from Mr. Hobnell was at length announced.
It was no other than Mr. Wapshot himself, who came with an air of great indignation, and holding Pen’s missive in his hand, asked Mr. Foker “how dared he bring such an unchristian message as a challenge to a boy of his school?”
In fact Pen had written a note to his adversary150 of the day before, telling him that if after the chastisement151 which his insolence152 richly deserved, he felt inclined to ask the reparation which was usually given amongst gentlemen, Mr. Arthur Pendennis’s friend, Mr. Henry Foker, was empowered to make any arrangements for the satisfaction of Mr. Hobnell.
“And so he sent you with the answer — did he, sir?” Mr. Foker said, surveying the Schoolmaster in his black coat and clerical costume.
“If he had accepted this wicked challenge, I should have flogged him,” Mr. Wapshot said, and gave Mr. Foker a glance which seemed to say, “and I should like very much to flog you too.”
“Uncommon kind of you, sir, I’m sure,” said Pen’s emissary. “I told my principal that I didn’t think the other man would fight,” he continued with a great air of dignity. “He prefers being flogged to fighting, sir, I dare say. May I offer you any refreshment153, Mr.? I haven’t the advantage of your name.”
“My name is Wapshot, sir, and I am Master of the Grammar School of this town, sir,” cried the other: “and I want no refreshment, sir, I thank you, and have no desire to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“I didn’t seek yours, sir, I’m sure,” replied Mr. Foker. “In affairs of this sort, you see, I think it is a pity that the clergy154 should be called in, but there’s no accounting155 for tastes, sir.”
“I think it’s a pity that boys should talk about committing murder, sir, as lightly as you do,” roared the Schoolmaster; “and if I had you in my school ——”
“I dare say you would teach me better, sir,” Mr. Foker said, with a bow. “Thank you, sir. I’ve finished my education, sir, and ain’t a-going back to school, sir — when I do, I’ll remember your kind offer, sir. John, show this gentleman downstairs — and, of course, as Mr. Hobnell likes being thrashed, we can have no objection, sir, and we shall be very happy to accommodate him, whenever he comes our way.”
And with this, the young fellow bowed the elder gentleman out of the room, and sate down and wrote a note off to Pen, in which he informed the latter that Mr. Hobnell was not disposed to fight, and proposed to put up with the caning156 which Pen had administered to him.
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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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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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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knelling
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| v.丧钟声( knell的现在分词 )；某事物结束的象征 | |
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drearily
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| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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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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deplore
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| vt.哀叹，对...深感遗憾 | |
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prematurely
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maternal
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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advent
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uncommonly
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entree
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squire
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26
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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27
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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28
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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29
ennui
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| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
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30
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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31
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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32
sedulously
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| ad.孜孜不倦地 | |
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33
alders
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| n.桤木( alder的名词复数 ) | |
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34
eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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35
eels
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| abbr. 电子发射器定位系统（=electronic emitter location system） | |
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36
continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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37
woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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38
sullenness
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| n. 愠怒, 沉闷, 情绪消沉 | |
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39
peevishness
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| 脾气不好；爱发牢骚 | |
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40
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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41
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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42
tandem
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| n.同时发生；配合；adv.一个跟着一个地；纵排地；adj.（两匹马）前后纵列的 | |
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43
antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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44
progeny
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| n.后代，子孙；结果 | |
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45
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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46
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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47
brawl
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| n.大声争吵，喧嚷；v.吵架，对骂 | |
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48
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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49
swells
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| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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50
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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52
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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53
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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54
defunct
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| adj.死亡的；已倒闭的 | |
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55
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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56
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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57
magistrates
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| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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58
illuminates
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| v.使明亮( illuminate的第三人称单数 )；照亮；装饰；说明 | |
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59
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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60
buttresses
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| n.扶壁，扶垛( buttress的名词复数 )v.用扶壁支撑，加固( buttress的第三人称单数 ) | |
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61
gilding
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| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
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62
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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63
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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64
demolition
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| n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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65
incumbent
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| adj.成为责任的，有义务的；现任的，在职的 | |
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66
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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68
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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69
rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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70
loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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71
inveigled
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| v.诱骗，引诱( inveigle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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73
aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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74
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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75
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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76
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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77
effigies
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| n.（人的）雕像，模拟像，肖像( effigy的名词复数 ) | |
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78
grumbling
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|
| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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79
apothecaries
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| n.药剂师，药店( apothecary的名词复数 ) | |
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80
blazoned
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| v.广布( blazon的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布；夸示；装饰 | |
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81
prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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83
tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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84
situated
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|
| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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85
weir
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| n.堰堤，拦河坝 | |
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86
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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87
dwindling
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| adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
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88
besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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89
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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90
dummy
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| n.假的东西；(哄婴儿的)橡皮奶头 | |
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91
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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92
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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93
bickered
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| v.争吵( bicker的过去式和过去分词 )；口角；（水等）作潺潺声；闪烁 | |
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94
amity
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| n.友好关系 | |
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95
faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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96
grizzly
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| adj.略为灰色的，呈灰色的；n.灰色大熊 | |
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97
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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98
hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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99
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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100
canvassed
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| v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的过去式和过去分词 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
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101
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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102
sate
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| v.使充分满足 | |
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103
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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104
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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105
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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106
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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107
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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108
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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109
precocious
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| adj.早熟的；较早显出的 | |
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110
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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111
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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112
rant
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| v.咆哮；怒吼；n.大话；粗野的话 | |
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113
narrating
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| v.故事( narrate的现在分词 ) | |
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114
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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115
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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116
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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117
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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119
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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120
yelping
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
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121
calumny
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| n.诽谤，污蔑，中伤 | |
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122
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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123
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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124
jeer
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| vi.嘲弄，揶揄；vt.奚落；n.嘲笑，讥评 | |
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125
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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126
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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127
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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128
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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129
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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130
lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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131
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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132
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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133
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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134
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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135
interrogated
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| v.询问( interrogate的过去式和过去分词 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
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136
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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137
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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138
prodigiously
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| adv.异常地，惊人地，巨大地 | |
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139
reprobate
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| n.无赖汉；堕落的人 | |
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140
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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141
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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142
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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143
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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144
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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145
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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146
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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147
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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148
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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149
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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150
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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151
chastisement
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| n.惩罚 | |
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152
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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153
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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154
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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155
accounting
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|
| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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caning
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| n.鞭打 | |
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