Thursday Afternoon
i
She was walking with Edwin Clayhanger up Duck Bank on the way to Bursley railway station. A simple errand and promenade,—and yet she felt herself to be steeped in the romance of an adventure! The adventure had surprisingly followed upon the discovery that Alicia had been quite wrong. “Clayhangers are bound to have a Bradshaw,” the confident Alicia had said. But Clayhangers happened not to have a Bradshaw. Edwin was alone in the stationery1 shop, save for the assistant. He said that his father was indisposed. And whereas the news that Clayhangers had no Bradshaw left Hilda perfectly2 indifferent, the news that old Darius Clayhanger was indisposed and absent produced in her a definite feeling of gladness. Edwin had decided3 that the most likely place to search for a Bradshaw was the station, and he had offered to escort her to the station. Nothing could have been more natural, and at the same time more miraculous4.
The sun was palely shining upon dry, clean pavements and upon roads juicy with black mud. And in the sunshine Hilda was very happy. It was nothing to her that she was in quest of a Bradshaw because she had just received an ominous5 telegram urgently summoning her to Brighton. She was obliviously6 happy. Every phenomenon that attracted her notice contributed to her felicity. Thus she took an eager joy in the sun. And a marked improvement in Edwin’s cold really delighted her. She was dominated by the intimate conviction: “He loves me!” Which conviction excited her dormant7 pride, and made her straighten her shoulders. She benevolently8 condescended9 towards Janet. After all Janet, with every circumstance in her favour, had not known how to conquer Edwin Clayhanger. After all she, Hilda, possessed11 some mysterious characteristic more potent12 than the elegance13 and the goodness of Janet Orgreave. She scorned her former self-deprecations, and reproached her own lack of faith: “I am I!” That was the summary of her mood. As for her attitude to Edwin Clayhanger, she could not explain it. Why did she like him and like being with him? He was not brilliant, nor masterful, nor handsome, nor well dressed, nor in any manner imposing14. On the contrary, he was awkward and apologetic, and not a bit spectacular. Only the wistful gaze of his eyes, and his honest smile, and the appeal of his gestures...! A puzzling affair, an affair perfectly incomprehensible and enchanting15.
They walked side by side in silence.
When they had turned into Moorthorne Road, half-way up whose slope lies the station, she asked a question about a large wooden building from whose interior came wild sounds of shouting and cheering, and learnt that the potters on strike were holding a meeting in the town theatre. At the open outer doors was a crowd of starving, shivering, dirty, ragged16 children, who romped17 and cursed, or stood unnaturally18 meditative20 in the rich mud, like fakirs fulfilling a vow21. Hilda’s throat was constricted22 by the sight. Pain and joy ran together in her, burning exquisitely23; and she had a glimpse, obscure, of the mystical beauty of the children’s suffering.
“I’d no idea there was a theatre in Bursley,” she remarked idly, driven into a banality24 by the press of her sensations.
“They used to call it the Blood Tub,” he replied. “Melodrama and murder and gore—you know.”
She exclaimed in horror. “Why are people like that in the Five Towns?”
“It’s our form of poetry, I suppose,” said he.
She started, sensitively. It seemed to her that she had never understood the secret inner spirit of the Five Towns, and that by a single phrase he had made her understand it.... ‘Our form of poetry’! Who but he could have said a thing at once so illuminating25 and so simple?
Apparently26 perplexed27 by the obvious effect on her of his remark, he said:
“But you belong to the Five Towns, don’t you?”
She answered quietly that she did. But her heart was saying: “I do now. You have initiated28 me. I never felt the Five Towns before. You have made me feel them.”
ii
At the station the head porter received their inquiry29 for a Bradshaw with a dull stare and a shake of the head. No such thing had ever been asked for at Bursley Station before, and the man’s imagination could not go beyond the soiled time-tables loosely pinned and pasted up on the walls of the booking-office. Hilda suggested that the ticket-clerk should be interrogated30, but the aperture31 of communication with him was shut. She saw Edwin Clayhanger brace32 himself and rap on the wood; and instead of deploring33 his diffidence she liked it and found it full of charm. The partition clicked aside, and the ticket-clerk’s peering, suspicious head showed in its place, mutely demanding a reason for this extraordinary disturbance34 of the dream in which the station slumbered35 between two half-hourly trains. With a characteristic peculiar36 slanting37 motion Edwin nodded.
“Oh, how-d’ye-do, Mr. Brooks38?” said Edwin hastily, as if startled by the sudden inexplicable39 apparition40 of the head.
But the ticket-clerk had no Bradshaw either. He considered it probable, however, that the stationmaster would have a Bradshaw. Edwin had to brace himself again, for an assault upon the fastness of the stationmaster.
And in the incredibly small and incredibly dirty fastness of the stationmaster, they indeed found a Bradshaw. Hilda precipitately41 took it and opened it on the stationmaster’s table. She looked for Brighton in it as she might have looked for a particular individual in a city. Then Edwin was bending over it, with his ear close to her ear, and the sleeve of his overcoat touching42 her sleeve. She was physically43 aware of him, for the first time. She thought, disconcerted: “But he is an utter stranger to me! What do I know of him?” And then she thought: “For more than a year he must have carried my image in his heart!”
“Here,” said Edwin brusquely, and with a certain superiority, “you might just let me have a look at it myself.”
She yielded, tacitly admitting that a woman was no match for Bradshaw.
After a few moments’ frowning Edwin said:
“Yes, there’s a train to Brighton at eleven-thirty to-night!”
“May I look?”
“Certainly,” said he, subtly condescending44.
She examined the page, with a serious deliberation.
“But what does this ‘f’ mean?” she asked. “Did you notice this ‘f’?”
“Yes. It means Thursdays and Saturdays only,” said Edwin, his eyes twinkling. It was as if he had said: “You think yourself very clever, but do you suppose that I can’t read the notes in a time-table?”
“Well—” She hesitated.
“To-day’s Thursday, you see,” he remarked curtly45.
She was ravished by his tone and his manner. And she became humble46 before him, for in the space of a few seconds he had grown mysteriously and powerfully masculine to her. But with all his masculinity there remained the same wistful, honest, boyish look in his eyes. And she thought: “If I marry him it will be for the look in his eyes.”
“I’m all right, then,” she said aloud, and smiled.
With hands nervously47 working within her muff, she suddenly missed the handkerchief which she had placed there.
“I believe I must have dropped my handkerchief in your shop!” she was about to say. The phrase was actually on her tongue; but by a strange instinctive48, defensive49 discretion50 she shut her mouth on it and kept silence. She thought: “Perhaps I had better not go into his shop again today.”
iii
They descended10 the hill from the station. Hilda was very ill at ease. She kept saying to herself: “This adventure is over now. I cannot prolong it. There is nothing to do but to go back to the Orgreaves, and pack my things and depart to Brighton, and face whatever annoyance51 is awaiting me at Brighton.” The prospect52 desolated53 her. She could not bear to leave Edwin Clayhanger without some definition of their relations, and yet she knew that it was hopeless and absurd to expect to arrive immediately at any such definition: she knew that the impetuosity of her temperament54 could not be justified55. Also, she feared horribly the risk of being caught again in the net of Brighton. As they got lower and lower down the hill, her wretchedness and disquiet56 became acute, to the point of a wild despair. Merely to temporize58, she said, as they drew opposite the wooden theatre:
“Couldn’t we just go and look in? I’ve got plenty of time.”
A strange request—to penetrate59 into a meeting of artisans on strike! She felt its strangeness: she felt that Edwin Clayhanger objected, but she was driven to an extremity60. She had to do something, and she did what she could.
They crossed the road, and entered the huge shanty61, and stood apologetically near the door. The contrast between the open street and the enclosed stuffiness62 of the dim and crowded interior was overwhelming. Hundreds of ragged and shabby men sat in serried63 rows, leaning forward with elbows out and heads protruding64 as they listened to a speech from the gimcrack stage. They seemed to be waiting to spring, like famished65 and ferocious66 tigers. Interrupting, they growled67, snarled68, yapped, and swore with appalling69 sincerity70. Imprecations burst forth71 in volleys and in running fires. The arousing of the fundamental instincts of these human beings had, indeed, enormously emphasized the animal in them. They had swung back a hundred centuries towards original crude life. The sophistication which embroiders72 the will-to-live had been stripped clean off. These men helped you to understand the state of mind which puts a city to the sack, and makes victims especially of the innocent and the defenceless. Hilda was strangely excited. She was afraid, and enjoyed being afraid. And it was as if she, too, had been returned to savagery73 and to the primeval. In the midst of peril74, she was a female under the protection of a male, and nothing but that. And she was far closer, emotionally, to her male than she had ever been before.
Suddenly, the meeting came to an end. In an instant, the mass of humanity was afoot and rounding upon them, an active menace. Hilda and Edwin rushed fleeing into the street, violently urged by a common impulse. The stream of embittered75 men pursued them like an inundation76. When they were safe, and breathing the free air, Hilda was drenched77 with a sense of pity. The tragedy of existence presented itself in its true aspect, as noble and majestic78 and intimidating79.
“It’s terrible!” she breathed.
She thought: “No! In this mood, it is impossible for me to leave him! I cannot do it! I cannot!” The danger of reentering the shop, which would be closed now, utterly80 fascinated her. Supposing that she reentered the shop with him, would she have the courage to tell him that she was in his society under false pretences81? Could she bring herself to relate her misfortune? She recoiled82 before the mere57 idea of telling him. And yet the danger of the shop glittered in front of her like a lure83.
The future might be depending solely84 on her own act. If she told him of the lost handkerchief, the future might be one thing: if she did not tell him, it might be another.
The dread85 of choosing seized her, and put her into a tremble of apprehension86. And then, as it were mechanically, she murmured (but very clearly), tacking87 the words without a pause on to a sentence about the strikes: “Oh, I’ve lost my handkerchief, unless I’ve left it in your shop! It must have dropped out of my muff.”
She sighed in relief, because she had chosen. But her agitation88 was intensified89.
iv
In search of a lost handkerchief, they regained90 the Clayhanger premises91 by an unfamiliar92 side door. She preceded him along a passage and then, taking a door on the left, found herself surprisingly in the shop, behind a counter. The shop was lighted only by a few diamond-shaped holes in the central shutters94, and it had a troubling aspect of portent95, with its merchandise mysteriously enveloped96 in pale sheets, and its chairs wrong side up, and its deep-shadowed corners. Destiny might have been lurking97 in one of those baffling corners. From above, through the ceiling, came the vibration98 of some machine at work, and the machine might have been the loom99 of time. Hilda was exquisitely apprehensive100. She thought: “I am here. The moment of my departure will come. When it comes, shall I have told him my misfortune? What will have happened?” She waited, nervous, restless, shaking like a victim who can do naught101 but wait.
“Here’s my handkerchief!” she cried, in a tone of unnatural19 childish glee, that was one of the effects of her secret panic.
The handkerchief glimmered102 on the counter, more white than anything else in that grey dusk. She guessed that the shop-assistant must have found it, and placed it conspicuously103 on the counter.
They were alone: they were their own prisoners, secure from the street and from all interruption. Hilda, once more and in a higher degree, realized the miraculous human power to make experience out of nothing. They had nothing but themselves, and they could, if they chose, create all their future by a single gesture.
Suddenly, there came a tremendous shouting from Duck Square, in front of the shop. The strikers had poured down from Moorthorne Road into Duck Bank and Duck Square.
Edwin, who was in the middle of the shop, went to the glazed104 inner doors, and, passing through into the porch, lifted the letter-flap in a shutter93, and, stooping, looked forth. He called to her, without moving his face from the aperture, that a fight was in progress. Hilda gazed at his back, through the glass, and then, coming round the end of the counter, approached quietly, and stood immediately behind him, between the glazed doors and the shutters. The two were in a space so small that they could scarcely have moved without touching.
“Let me look,” she stammered105, unable any longer to tolerate the inaction.
Edwin Clayhanger stepped aside, and held up the letter-flap for her with his finger. She bent106 her head to the oblong glimpse of the street, and saw the strikers engaged in the final internecine107 folly108 of strikers: they had turned their exasperated109 wrath110 upon each other. Within a public-house at the top of the little Square, other strikers were drinking. One policeman regarded them.
“What a shame!” she cried angrily, dropping the flap, and then withdrew quickly into the shop, whither Edwin had gone. As she came near him, her mood changed. She smiled gently. She summoned all her charm; and she knew that she charmed him.
“Do you know,” she said, “you’ve quite altered my notion of poetry—what you said as we were going up to the station!”
“Really?” He flushed.
Yes, she had enchanted111 and entranced him. She had only to smile and to use a particular tone, soft and breaking.... She knew that.
“But you do alter my notions,” she continued, and her clear voice was poured out like a liquid. “I don’t know how it is...” She stopped. And then, in half-playful accents: “So this is your little office!”
Her hand was on the knob of the open door of the cubicle112, a black erection within the shop, where Edwin and his father kept the accounts and wrote letters.
“Yes. Go in and have a look at it.”
She murmured kindly113: “Shall I?” and went in. He followed.
For a moment, she was extremely afraid, and she whispered, scared: “I must hurry off now.”
He ignored this remark.
“Shall you be at Brighton long?” he demanded. And he was so friendly and simple and timorous114 and honest-eyed, and his features had such an extraordinary anxious expression that her own fear seemed to leave her. She thought, as if surprised by the discovery: “He is a good friend.”
“Oh, I can’t tell,” she answered him. “It depends.”
“How soon shall you be down our way again?” His voice was thickening. She shook her head, speechless. She was afraid again now. His face altered. He was standing115 almost over her. She thought: “I am lost! I have let it come to this!” He was no longer a good friend.
He began to speak, in detached bits of phrases:
“I say—you know—”
“Good-bye, good-bye,” she murmured anxiously. “I must go. Thanks very much.”
And foolishly, she held out her hand, which he seized. He bent passionately116, and kissed her like a fresh boy, like a schoolboy. And she gave back the kiss strongly, with all the profound sincerity of her nature. His agitation appeared to be extreme; but she was calm; she was divinely calm. She savoured the moment as though she had been a watcher, and not an actor in the scene. She thought, with a secret sigh of bliss117: “Yes, it is real, this moment! And I have had it. Am I astonished that it has come so soon, or did I know it was coming?” Her eyes drank up the face and the hands and the gestures of her lover. She felt tired, and sat down in the office chair, and he leaned on the desk, and the walls of the cubicle folded them in, even from the inanimate scrutiny118 of the shop.
v
They were talking together, half-fearfully, and yet with the confidence of deep mutual119 trust, in the quick-gathering darkness of the cubicle. And while they were talking, Hilda, in her head, was writing a fervent120 letter to him: “... You see it was so sudden. I had had no chance to tell you. I did so want to tell you, but how could I? And I hadn’t told anybody! I’m sure you will agree with me that it is best to tell some things as little as possible. And when you had kissed me, how could I tell you then—at once? I could not. It would have spoilt everything. Surely you understand. I know you do, because you understand everything. If I was wrong, tell me where. You don’t guess how humble I am! When I think of you, I am the humblest girl you can imagine. Forgive me, if there is anything to forgive. I don’t need to tell you that I have suffered.”
And she kept writing the letter again and again, slightly altering the phrases so as to improve them, so as to express herself better and more honestly and more appealingly.
“I shall send you the address tomorrow,” she was saying to him. “I shall write you before I go to bed, whether it’s to-night or tomorrow morning.” She put the fire of her love into the assurance. She smiled to entrance him, and saw on his face that he was beside himself with joy in her. She was a queen, surpassing in her prerogative121 a thousand elegant Janets. She smiled; she proudly straightened her shoulders (she the humblest!), and her boy was enslaved.
“I wonder what people will say,” he murmured.
She said, with a pang122 of misgiving123 about his reception of her letter:
“Please tell no one!” She pleaded that for the present he should tell no one. “Later on, it won’t seem so sudden,” she added plausibly124. “People are so silly.”
The sound of another battle in Duck Square awoke them. The shop was very chilly125, and quite dark. Their faces were only pale ovals in the blackness. She shivered.
“I must go! I have to pack.”
He clasped her: and she was innocently content: she was a young girl again.
“I’ll walk up with you,” he said protectively.
But she would not allow him to walk up with her, and he yielded. He struck a match. They stumbled out, and, in the midnight of the passage, he took leave of her.
Walking up Trafalgar Road, alone, she was so happy, so amazed, so relieved, so sure of him and of his fineness and of the future, that she could scarcely bear her felicity. It was too intense.... At last her life was settled and mapped out. Destiny had been kind, and she meant to be worthy126 of her fate. She could have swooned, so intoxicant was her wonder and her solemn joy and her yearning127 after righteousness in love.
收听单词发音 |
1
stationery
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| n.文具；(配套的)信笺信封 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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obliviously
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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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benevolently
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| adv.仁慈地，行善地 | |
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condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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romped
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| v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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constricted
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| adj.抑制的，约束的 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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banality
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| n.陈腐；平庸；陈词滥调 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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perplexed
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initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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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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aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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deploring
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的现在分词 ) | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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slumbered
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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brooks
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| n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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desolated
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| adj.荒凉的，荒废的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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disquiet
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| n.担心，焦虑 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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58
temporize
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| v.顺应时势；拖延 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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stuffiness
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| n.不通风，闷热；不通气 | |
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serried
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| adj.拥挤的；密集的 | |
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protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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embroiders
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| v.（在织物上）绣花( embroider的第三人称单数 )；刺绣；对…加以渲染（或修饰）；给…添枝加叶 | |
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73
savagery
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| n.野性 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inundation
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| n.the act or fact of overflowing | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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intimidating
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| vt.恐吓，威胁( intimidate的现在分词) | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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pretences
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| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
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recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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tacking
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| （帆船）抢风行驶，定位焊[铆]紧钉 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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portent
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| n.预兆；恶兆；怪事 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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99
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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101
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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102
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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104
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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105
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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107
internecine
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| adj.两败俱伤的 | |
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108
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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111
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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112
cubicle
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| n.大房间中隔出的小室 | |
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113
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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114
timorous
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| adj.胆怯的，胆小的 | |
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115
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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116
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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117
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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118
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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119
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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120
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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121
prerogative
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| n.特权 | |
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122
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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123
misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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124
plausibly
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| 似真地 | |
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125
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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126
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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127
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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