Memories
We set out to meet him at Waterloo Station on a dull day of February — I, who had owned his impetuous mother, knowing a little what to expect, while to my companion he would be all original. We stood there waiting (for the Salisbury train was late), and wondering with a warm, half-fearful eagerness what sort of new thread Life was going to twine1 into our skein. I think our chief dread2 was that he might have light eyes — those yellow Chinese eyes of the common, parti-coloured spaniel. And each new minute of the train’s tardiness3 increased our anxious compassion4: His first journey; his first separation from his mother; this black two-months’ baby! Then the train ran in, and we hastened to look for him. “Have you a dog for us?”
“A dog! Not in this van. Ask the rearguard.”
“Have you a dog for us?”
“That’s right. From Salisbury. Here’s your wild beast, Sir!”
From behind a wooden crate5 we saw a long black muzzled6 nose poking8 round at us, and heard a faint hoarse9 whimpering.
I remember my first thought:
“Isn’t his nose too long?”
But to my companion’s heart it went at once, because it was swollen10 from crying and being pressed against things that he could not see through. We took him out — soft, wobbly, tearful; set him down on his four, as yet not quite simultaneous legs, and regarded him. Or, rather, my companion did, having her head on one side, and a quavering smile; and I regarded her, knowing that I should thereby11 get a truer impression of him.
He wandered a little round our legs, neither wagging his tail nor licking at our hands; then he looked up, and my companion said: “He’s an angel!”
I was not so certain. He seemed hammer-headed, with no eyes at all, and little connection between his head, his body, and his legs. His ears were very long, as long as his poor nose; and gleaming down in the blackness of him I could see the same white star that disgraced his mother’s chest.
Picking him up, we carried him to a four-wheeled cab, and took his muzzle7 off. His little dark-brown eyes were resolutely12 fixed13 on distance, and by his refusal to even smell the biscuits we had brought to make him happy, we knew that the human being had not yet come into a life that had contained so far only a mother, a wood-shed, and four other soft, wobbly, black, hammer-headed angels, smelling of themselves, and warmth, and wood shavings. It was pleasant to feel that to us he would surrender an untouched love, that is, if he would surrender anything. Suppose he did not take to us!
And just then something must have stirred in him, for he turned up his swollen nose and stared at my companion, and a little later rubbed the dry pinkness of his tongue against my thumb. In that look, and that unconscious restless lick; he was trying hard to leave unhappiness behind, trying hard to feel that these new creatures with stroking paws and queer scents14, were his mother; yet all the time he knew, I am sure, that they were something bigger, more permanently16, desperately17, his. The first sense of being owned, perhaps (who knows) of owning, had stirred in him. He would never again be quite the same unconscious creature.
A little way from the end of our journey we got out and dismissed the cab. He could not too soon know the scents and pavements of this London where the chief of his life must pass. I can see now his first bumble down that wide, back-water of a street, how continually and suddenly he sat down to make sure of his own legs, how continually he lost our heels. He showed us then in full perfection what was afterwards to be an inconvenient18 — if endearing — characteristic: At any call or whistle he would look in precisely19 the opposite direction. How many times all through his life have I not seen him, at my whistle, start violently and turn his tail to me, then, with nose thrown searchingly from side to side, begin to canter toward the horizon.
In that first walk, we met, fortunately, but one vehicle, a brewer’s dray; he chose that moment to attend to the more serious affairs of life, sitting quietly before the horses’ feet and requiring to be moved by hand. From the beginning he had his dignity, and was extremely difficult to lift, owing to the length of his middle distance.
What strange feelings must have stirred in his little white soul when he first smelled carpet! But it was all so strange to him that day — I doubt if he felt more than I did when I first travelled to my private school, reading “Tales of a Grandfather,” and plied20 with tracts21 and sherry by my ‘father’s man of business.
That night, indeed, for several nights, he slept with me, keeping me too warm down my back, and waking me now and then with quaint22 sleepy whimperings. Indeed, all through his life he flew a good deal in his sleep, fighting dogs and seeing ghosts, running after rabbits and thrown sticks; and to the last one never quite knew whether or no to rouse him when his four black feet began to jerk and quiver. His dreams were like our dreams, both good and bad; happy sometimes, sometimes tragic23 to weeping point.
He ceased to sleep with me the day we discovered that he was a perfect little colony, whose settlers were of an active species which I have never seen again. After that he had many beds, for circumstance ordained24 that his life should be nomadic25, and it is to this I trace that philosophic26 indifference27 to place or property, which marked him out from most of his own kind. He learned early that for a black dog with long silky ears, a feathered tail, and head of great dignity, there was no home whatsoever28, away from those creatures with special scents, who took liberties with his name, and alone of all created things were privileged to smack29 him with a slipper30. He would sleep anywhere, so long as it was in their room, or so close outside it as to make no matter, for it was with him a principle that what he did not smell did not exist. I would I could hear again those long rubber-lipped snufflings of recognition underneath31 the door, with which each morning he would regale32 and reassure33 a spirit that grew with age more and more nervous and delicate about this matter of propinquity! For he was a dog of fixed ideas, things stamped on his mind were indelible; as, for example, his duty toward cats, for whom he had really a perverse34 affection, which had led to that first disastrous35 moment of his life, when he was brought up, poor bewildered puppy, from a brief excursion to the kitchen, with one eye closed and his cheek torn! He bore to his grave that jagged scratch across the eye. It was in dread of a repetition of this tragedy that he was instructed at the word “Cats” to rush forward with a special “tow-row-rowing,” which he never used toward any other form of creature. To the end he cherished a hope that he would reach the cat; but never did; and if he had, we knew he would only have stood and wagged his tail; but I well remember once, when he returned, important, from some such sally, how dreadfully my companion startled a cat-loving friend by murmuring in her most honeyed voice: “Well, my darling, have you been killing36 pussies37 in the garden?”
His eye and nose were impeccable in their sense of form; indeed, he was very English in that matter: People must be just so; things smell properly; and affairs go on in the one right way. He could tolerate neither creatures in ragged38 clothes, nor children on their hands and knees, nor postmen, because, with their bags, they swelled-up on one side, and carried lanterns on their stomachs. He would never let the harmless creatures pass without religious barks. Naturally a believer in authority and routine, and distrusting spiritual adventure, he yet had curious fads40 that seemed to have nested in him, quite outside of all principle. He would, for instance, follow neither carriages nor horses, and if we tried to make him, at once left for home, where he would sit with nose raised to Heaven, emitting through it a most lugubrious41, shrill42 noise. Then again, one must not place a stick, a slipper, a glove, or anything with which he could play, upon one’s head — since such an action reduced him at once to frenzy43. For so conservative a dog, his environment was sadly anarchistic44. He never complained in words of our shifting habits, but curled his head round over his left paw and pressed his chin very hard against the ground whenever he smelled packing. What necessity, he seemed continually to be saying, what real necessity is there for change of any kind whatever? Here we were all together, and one day was like another, so that I knew where I was — and now you only know what will happen next; and I— I can’t tell you whether I shall be with you when it happens! What strange, grieving minutes a dog passes at such times in the underground of his subconsciousness45, refusing realisation, yet all the time only too well divining. Some careless word, some unmuted compassion in voice, the stealthy wrapping of a pair of boots, the unaccustomed shutting of a door that ought to be open, the removal from a down-stair room of an object always there — one tiny thing, and he knows for certain that he is not going too. He fights against the knowledge just as we do against what we cannot bear; he gives up hope, but not effort, protesting in the only way he knows of, and now and then heaving a great sigh. Those sighs of a dog! They go to the heart so much more deeply than the sighs of our own kind, because they are utterly46 unintended, regardless of effect, emerging from one who, heaving them, knows not that they have escaped him!
The words: “Yes — going too!” spoken in a certain tone, would call up in his eyes a still-questioning half-happiness, and from his tail a quiet flutter, but did not quite serve to put to rest either his doubt or his feeling that it was all unnecessary — until the cab arrived. Then he would pour himself out of door or window, and be found in the bottom of the vehicle, looking severely47 away from an admiring cabman. Once settled on our feet he travelled with philosophy, but no digestion48.
I think no dog was ever more indifferent to an outside world of human creatures; yet few dogs have made more conquests — especially among strange women, through whom, however, he had a habit of looking — very discouraging. He had, natheless, one or two particular friends, such as him to whom this book is dedicated49, and a few persons whom he knew he had seen before, but, broadly speaking, there were in his world of men, only his mistress, and — the almighty50.
Each August, till he was six, he was sent for health, and the assuagement52 of his hereditary53 instincts, up to a Scotch54 shooting, where he carried many birds in a very tender manner. Once he was compelled by Fate to remain there nearly a year; and we went up ourselves to fetch him home. Down the long avenue toward the keeper’s cottage we walked: It was high autumn; there had been frost already, for the ground was fine with red and yellow leaves; and presently we saw himself coming; professionally questing among those leaves, and preceding his dear keeper with the businesslike self-containment of a sportsman; not too fat, glossy55 as a raven’s wing, swinging his ears and sporran like a little Highlander56. We approached him silently. Suddenly his nose went up from its imagined trail, and he came rushing at our legs. From him, as a garment drops from a man, dropped all his strange soberness; he became in a single instant one fluttering eagerness. He leaped from life to life in one bound, without hesitation57, without regret. Not one sigh, not one look back, not the faintest token of gratitude58 or regret at leaving those good people who had tended him for a whole year, buttered oat-cake for him, allowed him to choose each night exactly where he would sleep. No, he just marched out beside us, as close as ever he could get, drawing us on in spirit, and not even attending to the scents, until the lodge59 gates were passed.
It was strictly60 in accordance with the perversity61 of things, and something in the nature of calamity62 that he had not been ours one year, when there came over me a dreadful but overmastering aversion from killing those birds and creatures of which he was so fond as soon as they were dead. And so I never knew him as a sportsman; for during that first year he was only an unbroken puppy, tied to my waist for fear of accidents, and carefully pulling me off every shot. They tell me he developed a lovely nose and perfect mouth, large enough to hold gingerly the biggest hare. I well believe it, remembering the qualities of his mother, whose character, however, in stability he far surpassed. But, as he grew every year more devoted63 to dead grouse64 and birds and rabbits, I liked them more and more alive; it was the only real breach65 between us, and we kept it out of sight. Ah! well; it is consoling to reflect that I should infallibly have ruined his sporting qualities, lacking that peculiar66 habit of meaning what one says, so necessary to keep dogs virtuous67. But surely to have had him with me, quivering and alert, with his solemn, eager face, would have given a new joy to those crisp mornings when the hope of wings coming to the gun makes poignant68 in the sports man as nothing else will, an almost sensual love of Nature, a fierce delight in the soft glow of leaves, in the white birch stems and tracery of sparse69 twigs70 against blue sky, in the scents of sap and grass and gum and heather flowers; stivers the hair of him with keenness for interpreting each sound, and fills the very fern or moss72 he kneels on, the very trunk he leans against, with strange vibration73.
Slowly Fate prepares for each of us the religion that lies coiled in our most secret nerves; with such we cannot trifle, we do not even try! But how shall a man grudge74 any one sensations he has so keenly felt? Let such as have never known those curious delights, uphold the hand of horror — for me there can be no such luxury. If I could, I would still perhaps be knowing them; but when once the joy of life in those winged and furry75 things has knocked at the very portals of one’s spirit, the thought that by pressing a little iron twig71 one will rive that joy out of their vitals, is too hard to bear. Call it aestheticism, squeamishness, namby-pamby sentimentalism, what you will it is stronger than oneself!
Yes, after one had once watched with an eye that did not merely see, the thirsty gaping77 of a slowly dying bird, or a rabbit dragging a broken leg to a hole where he would lie for hours thinking of the fern to which he should never more come forth78 — after that, there was always the following little matter of arithmetic: Given, that all those who had been shooting were “good-fair” shots — which, Heaven knew, they never were — they yet missed one at least in four, and did not miss it very much; so that if seventy-five things were slain79, there were also twenty-five that had been fired at, and, of those twenty-five, twelve and a half had “gotten it” somewhere in their bodies, and would “likely” die at their great leisure.
This was the sum that brought about the only cleavage in our lives; and so, as he grew older, and trying to part from each other we no longer could, he ceased going to Scotland. But after that I often felt, and especially when we heard guns, how the best and most secret instincts of him were being stifled80. But what was to be done? In that which was left of a clay pigeon he would take not the faintest interest — the scent15 of it was paltry81. Yet always, even in his most cosseted82 and idle days, he managed to preserve the grave preoccupation of one professionally concerned with retrieving83 things that smell; and consoled himself with pastimes such as cricket, which he played in a manner highly specialised, following the ball up the moment it left the bowler’s hand, and sometimes retrieving it before it reached the batsman. When remonstrated84 with, he would consider a little, hanging out a pink tongue and looking rather too eagerly at the ball, then canter slowly out to a sort of forward short leg. Why he always chose that particular position it is difficult to say; possibly he could lurk85 there better than anywhere else, the batsman’s eye not being on him, and the bowler’s not too much. As a fieldsman he was perfect, but for an occasional belief that he was not merely short leg, but slip, point, midoff, and wicket-keep; and perhaps a tendency to make the ball a little “jubey.” But he worked tremendously, watching every movement; for he knew the game thoroughly86, and seldom delayed it more than three minutes when he secured the ball. And if that ball were really lost, then indeed he took over the proceedings87 with an intensity88 and quiet vigour89 that destroyed many shrubs90, and the solemn satisfaction which comes from being in the very centre of the stage.
But his most passionate91 delight was swimming in anything except the sea, for which, with its unpleasant noise and habit of tasting salt, he had little affection. I see him now, cleaving92 the Serpentine93, with his air of “the world well lost,” striving to reach my stick before it had touched water. Being only a large spaniel, too small for mere76 heroism94, he saved no lives in the water but his own — and that, on one occasion, before our very eyes, from a dark trout95 stream, which was trying to wash him down into a black hole among the boulders96.
The call of the wild-Spring running — whatever it is — that besets97 men and dogs, seldom attained98 full mastery over him; but one could often see it struggling against his devotion to the scent of us, and, watching that dumb contest, I have time and again wondered how far this civilisation99 of ours was justifiably100 imposed on him; how far the love for us that we had so carefully implanted could ever replace in him the satisfaction of his primitive101 wild yearnings: He was like a man, naturally polygamous, married to one loved woman.
It was surely not for nothing that Rover is dog’s most common name, and would be ours, but for our too tenacious102 fear of losing something, to admit, even to ourselves, that we are hankering. There was a man who said: Strange that two such queerly opposite qualities as courage and hypocrisy103 are the leading characteristics of the Anglo-Saxon! But is not hypocrisy just a product of tenacity104, which is again the lower part of courage? Is not hypocrisy but an active sense of property in one’s good name, the clutching close of respectability at any price, the feeling that one must not part, even at the cost of truth, with what he has sweated so to gain? And so we Anglo-Saxons will not answer to the name of Rover, and treat our dogs so that they, too, hardly know their natures.
The history of his one wandering, for which no respectable reason can be assigned, will never, of course, be known. It was in London, of an October evening, when we were told he had slipped out and was not anywhere. Then began those four distressful105 hours of searching for that black needle n that blacker bundle of hay. Hours of real dismay and suffering for it is suffering, indeed, to feel a loved thing swallowed up in that hopeless haze106 of London streets. Stolen or run over? Which was worst? The neighbouring police stations visited, the Dog’s Home notified, an order of five hundred “Lost Dog” bills placed in the printer’s hands, the streets patrolled! And then, in a lull107 snatched for food, and still endeavouring to preserve some aspect of assurance, we heard the bark which meant: “Here is a door I cannot open!” We hurried forth, and there he was on the top doorstep — busy, unashamed, giving no explanations, asking for his supper; and very shortly after him came his five hundred “Lost Dog” bills. Long I sat looking at him that night after my companion had gone up, thinking of the evening, some years before, when there followed as that shadow of a spaniel who had been lost for eleven days. And my heart turned over within me. But he! He was asleep, for he knew not remorse108.
Ah! and there was that other time, when it was reported to me, returning home at night, that he had gone out to find me; and I went forth again, disturbed, and whistling his special call to the empty fields. Suddenly out of the darkness I heard a rushing, and he came furiously dashing against my heels from he alone knew where he had been lurking109 and saying to himself: I will not go in till he comes! I could not scold, there was something too lyrical in the return of that live, lonely, rushing piece of blackness through the blacker night. After all, the vagary110 was but a variation in his practice when one was away at bed-time, of passionately111 scratching up his bed in protest, till it resembled nothing; for, in spite of his long and solemn face and the silkiness of his ears, there was much in him yet of the cave bear — he dug graves on the smallest provocations112, in which he never buried anything. He was not a “clever” dog; and guiltless of all tricks. Nor was he ever “shown.” We did not even dream of subjecting him to this indignity113. Was our dog a clown, a hobby, a fad39, a fashion, a feather in our caps that we should subject him to periodic pennings in stuffy114 halls, that we should harry115 his faithful soul with such tomfoolery? He never even heard us talk about his lineage, deplore116 the length of his nose, or call him “clever-looking.” We should have been ashamed to let him smell about us the tar-brush of a sense of property, to let him think we looked on him as an asset to earn us pelf117 or glory. We wished that there should be between us the spirit that was between the sheep dog and that farmer, who, when asked his dog’s age, touched the old creature’s head, and answered thus: “Teresa” (his daughter) “was born in November, and this one in August.” That sheep dog had seen eighteen years when the great white day came for him, and his spirit passed away up, to cling with the wood-smoke round the dark rafters of the kitchen where he had lain so vast a time beside his master’s boots. No, no! If a man does not soon pass beyond the thought “By what shall this dog profit me?” into the large state of simple gladness to be with dog, he shall never know the very essence of that companion ship which depends not on the points of dog, but on some strange and subtle mingling118 of mute spirits. For it is by muteness that a dog becomes for one so utterly beyond value; with him one is at peace, where words play no torturing tricks. When he just sits, loving, and knows that he is being loved, those are the moments that I think are precious to a dog; when, with his adoring soul coming through his eyes, he feels that you are really thinking of him. But he is touchingly119 tolerant of one’s other occupations. The subject of these memories always knew when one was too absorbed in work to be so close to him as he thought proper; yet he never tried to hinder or distract, or asked for attention. It dinged his mood, of course, so that the red under his eyes and the folds of his crumply120 cheeks — which seemed to speak of a touch of bloodhound introduced a long way back into his breeding — drew deeper and more manifest. If he could have spoken at such times, he would have said: “I have been a long time alone, and I cannot always be asleep; but you know best, and I must not criticise121.”
He did not at all mind one’s being absorbed in other humans; he seemed to enjoy the sounds of conversation lifting round him, and to know when they were sensible. He could not, for instance, stand actors or actresses giving readings of their parts, perceiving at once that the same had no connection with the minds and real feelings of the speakers; and, having wandered a little to show his disapproval122, he would go to the door and stare at it till it opened and let him out. Once or twice, it is true, when an actor of large voice was declaiming an emotional passage, he so far relented as to go up to him and pant in his face. Music, too, made him restless, inclined to sigh, and to ask questions. Sometimes, at its first sound, he would cross to the window and remain there looking for Her. At others, he would simply go and lie on the loud pedal, and we never could tell whether it was from sentiment, or because he thought that in this way he heard less. At one special Nocturne of Chopin’s he always whimpered. He was, indeed, of rather Polish temperament123 — very gay when he was gay, dark and brooding when he was not.
On the whole, perhaps his life was uneventful for so far-travelling a dog, though it held its moments of eccentricity124, as when he leaped through the window of a four-wheeler into Kensington, or sat on a Dartmoor adder125. But that was fortunately of a Sunday afternoon — when adder and all were torpid126, so nothing happened, till a friend, who was following, lifted him off the creature with his large boot.
If only one could have known more of his private life — more of his relations with his own kind! I fancy he was always rather a dark dog to them, having so many thoughts about us that he could not share with any one, and being naturally fastidious, except with ladies, for whom he had a chivalrous127 and catholic taste, so that they often turned and snapped at him. He had, however, but one lasting128 love affair, for a liver-coloured lass of our village, not quite of his own caste, but a wholesome129 if somewhat elderly girl, with loving and sphinx-like eyes. Their children, alas130, were not for this world, and soon departed.
Nor was he a fighting dog; but once attacked, he lacked a sense of values, being unable to distinguish between dogs that he could beat and dogs with whom he had “no earthly.” It was, in fact, as well to interfere131 at once, especially in the matter of retrievers, for he never forgot having in his youth been attacked by a retriever from behind. No, he never forgot, and never forgave, an enemy. Only a month before that day of which I cannot speak, being very old and ill, he engaged an Irish terrier on whose impudence132 he had long had his eye, and routed him. And how a battle cheered his spirit! He was certainly no Christian133; but, allowing for essential dog, he was very much a gentleman. And I do think that most of us who live on this earth these days would rather leave it with that label on us than the other. For to be a Christian, as Tolstoy understood the word — and no one else in our time has had logic134 and love of truth enough to give it coherent meaning — is (to be quite sincere) not suited to men of Western blood. Whereas — to be a gentleman! It is a far cry, but perhaps it can be done. In him, at all events, there was no pettiness, no meanness, and no cruelty, and though he fell below his ideal at times, this never altered the true look of his eyes, nor the simple loyalty135 in his soul.
But what a crowd of memories come back, bringing with them the perfume of fallen days! What delights and glamour136, what long hours of effort, discouragements, and secret fears did he not watch over — our black familiar; and with the sight and scent and touch of him, deepen or assuage51! How many thousand walks did we not go together, so that we still turn to see if he is following at his padding gait, attentive137 to the invisible trails. Not the least hard thing to bear when they go from us, these quiet friends, is that they carry away with them so many years of our own lives. Yet, if they find warmth therein, who would grudge them those years that they have so guarded? Nothing else of us can they take to lie upon with outstretched paws and chin pressed to the ground; and, whatever they take, be sure they have deserved.
Do they know, as we do, that their time must come? Yes, they know, at rare moments. No other way can I interpret those pauses of his latter life, when, propped138 on his forefeet, he would sit for long minutes quite motionless — his head drooped139, utterly withdrawn140; then turn those eyes of his and look at me. That look said more plainly than all words could: “Yes, I know that I must go!” If we have spirits that persist — they have. If we know after our departure, who we were they do. No one, I think, who really longs for truth, can ever glibly141 say which it will be for dog and man persistence142 or extinction143 of our consciousness. There is but one thing certain — the childishness of fretting144 over that eternal question. Whichever it be, it must be right, the only possible thing. He felt that too, I know; but then, like his master, he was what is called a pessimist145.
My companion tells me that, since he left us, he has once come back. It was Old Year’s Night, and she was sad, when he came to her in visible shape of his black body, passing round the dining-table from the window-end, to his proper place beneath the table, at her feet. She saw him quite clearly; she heard the padding tap-tap of his paws and very toe-nails; she felt his warmth brushing hard against the front of her skirt. She thought then that he would settle down upon her feet, but something disturbed him, and he stood pausing, pressed against her, then moved out toward where I generally sit, but was not sitting that night.
She saw him stand there, as if considering; then at some sound or laugh, she became self-conscious, and slowly, very slowly, he was no longer there. Had he some message, some counsel to give, something he would say, that last night of the last year of all those he had watched over us? Will he come back again?
No stone stands over where he lies. It is on our hearts that his life is engraved146.
1912.
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twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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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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tardiness
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| n.缓慢；迟延；拖拉 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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crate
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| vt.(up)把…装入箱中；n.板条箱，装货箱 | |
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muzzled
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| 给（狗等）戴口套( muzzle的过去式和过去分词 )； 使缄默，钳制…言论 | |
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muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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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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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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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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scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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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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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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nomadic
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| adj.流浪的；游牧的 | |
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philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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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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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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29
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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30
slipper
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| n.拖鞋 | |
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31
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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regale
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| v.取悦，款待 | |
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reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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36
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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37
pussies
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| n.（粗俚） 女阴( pussy的名词复数 )；（总称）（作为性对象的）女人；（主要北美使用，非正式）软弱的；小猫咪 | |
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38
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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39
fad
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| n.时尚；一时流行的狂热；一时的爱好 | |
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fads
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| n.一时的流行，一时的风尚( fad的名词复数 ) | |
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41
lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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42
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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43
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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44
anarchistic
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| 无政府主义的 | |
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45
subconsciousness
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| 潜意识；下意识 | |
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46
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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48
digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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49
dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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50
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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51
assuage
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| v.缓和，减轻，镇定 | |
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52
assuagement
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| n.缓和；减轻；缓和物 | |
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53
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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54
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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55
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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56
highlander
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| n.高地的人，苏格兰高地地区的人 | |
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57
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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58
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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59
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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60
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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61
perversity
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| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
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62
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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63
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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64
grouse
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| n.松鸡；v.牢骚，诉苦 | |
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65
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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66
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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67
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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68
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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69
sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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70
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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71
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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72
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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73
vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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74
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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75
furry
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| adj.毛皮的；似毛皮的；毛皮制的 | |
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76
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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77
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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78
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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79
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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80
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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81
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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82
cosseted
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| v.宠爱，娇养，纵容( cosset的过去式 ) | |
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83
retrieving
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| n.检索（过程），取还v.取回( retrieve的现在分词 )；恢复；寻回；检索（储存的信息） | |
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84
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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85
lurk
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| n.潜伏，潜行；v.潜藏，潜伏，埋伏 | |
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86
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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87
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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88
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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89
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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90
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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91
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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92
cleaving
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| v.劈开，剁开，割开( cleave的现在分词 ) | |
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93
serpentine
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| adj.蜿蜒的，弯曲的 | |
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94
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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95
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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96
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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97
besets
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| v.困扰( beset的第三人称单数 )；不断围攻；镶；嵌 | |
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98
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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99
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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100
justifiably
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| adv.无可非议地 | |
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101
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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102
tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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103
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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104
tenacity
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| n.坚韧 | |
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105
distressful
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| adj.苦难重重的，不幸的，使苦恼的 | |
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106
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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107
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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108
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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109
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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110
vagary
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| n.妄想，不可测之事，异想天开 | |
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111
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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112
provocations
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| n.挑衅( provocation的名词复数 )；激怒；刺激；愤怒的原因 | |
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113
indignity
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| n.侮辱，伤害尊严，轻蔑 | |
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114
stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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115
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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116
deplore
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| vt.哀叹，对...深感遗憾 | |
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117
pelf
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| n.金钱；财物（轻蔑语） | |
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118
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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119
touchingly
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| adv.令人同情地，感人地，动人地 | |
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120
crumply
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| 易皱的，满是皱纹的 | |
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121
criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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122
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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123
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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124
eccentricity
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| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
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125
adder
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| n.蝰蛇；小毒蛇 | |
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126
torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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127
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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128
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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129
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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130
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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131
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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132
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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133
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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134
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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135
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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136
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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137
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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138
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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141
glibly
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| adv.流利地，流畅地；满口 | |
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142
persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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143
extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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144
fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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145
pessimist
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| n.悲观者；悲观主义者；厌世 | |
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146
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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