When Kipps left New Romney, with a small yellow tin box, a still smaller portmanteau, a new umbrella, and a keepsake half-sixpence, to become a draper, he was a youngster of fourteen, thin, with whimsical drakes’-tails at the pole of his head, smallish features, and eyes that were sometimes very light and sometimes very dark, gifts those of his birth; and by the nature of his training he was indistinct in his speech, confused in his mind, and retreating in his manners. Inexorable fate had appointed him to serve his country in commerce, and the same national bias2 towards private enterprise and leaving bad alone, which had left his general education to Mr. Woodrow, now indentured3 him firmly into the hands of Mr. Shalford of the Folkestone Drapery Bazaar4. Apprenticeship7 is still the recognised English way to the distributing branch of the social service. If Mr. Kipps had been so unfortunate as to have been born a German he might have been educated in an elaborate and costly8 special school (‘over-educated — crammed9 up’— old Kipps) to fit him for his end — such being their pedagogic way.
He might — But why make unpatriotic reflections in a novel? There was nothing pedagogic about Mr. Shalford.
He was an irascible, energetic little man with hairy hands, for the most part under his coat-tails, a long, shiny, bald head, a pointed1 aquiline11 nose a little askew12, and a neatly13 trimmed beard. He walked lightly and with a confident jerk, and he was given to humming. He had added to exceptional business ‘push,’ bankruptcy14 under the old dispensation, and judicious15 matrimony. His establishment was now one of the most considerable in Folkestone, and he insisted on every inch of frontage by alternate stripes of green and yellow down the house over the shops. His shops were numbered 3, 5, and 7 on the street, and on his bill-heads 3 to 7. He encountered the abashed16 and awe17-stricken Kipps with the praises of his System and himself. He spread himself out behind his desk with a grip on the lapel of his coat, and made Kipps a sort of speech. ‘We expect y’r to work, y’r know, and we expect y’r to study our interests,’ explained Mr. Shalford, in the regal and commercial plural18.
‘Our System here is the best system y’r could have. I made it, and I ought to know. I began at the very bottom of the ladder when I was fourteen, and there isn’t a step in it I don’t know. Not a step. Mr. Booch in the desk will give y’r the card of rules and fines. Jest wait a minute.’ He pretended to be busy with some dusty memoranda19 under a paper-weight, while Kipps stood in a sort of paralysis20 of awe regarding his new master’s oval baldness. ‘Two thous’n three forty-seven pounds,’ whispered Mr. Shalford audibly, feigning21 forgetfulness of Kipps. Clearly a place of great transactions!
Mr. Shalford rose, and, handing Kipps a blotting-pad and an inkpot to carry, mere22 symbols of servitude, for he made no use of them, emerged into a counting-house where three clerks had been feverishly24 busy ever since his door-handle had turned. ‘Booch,’ said Mr. Shalford, ‘‘ave y’r copy of the Rules?’ and a downtrodden, shabby little old man, with a ruler in one hand and a quill25 pen in his mouth, silently held out a small book with green and yellow covers, mainly devoted26, as Kipps presently discovered, to a voracious27 system of Fines. He became acutely aware that his hands were full and that everybody was staring at him. He hesitated a moment before putting the inkpot down to free a hand.
‘Mustn’t fumble28 like that,’ said Mr. Shalford as Kipps pocketed the Rules. ‘Won’t do here. Come along, come along,’ cocked his coat-tails high, as a lady might hold up her dress, and led the way into the shop.
A vast, interminable place it seemed to Kipps, with unending shining counters and innumerable faultlessly dressed young men and, presently, Houri-like young women staring at him. Here there was a long vista29 of gloves dangling30 from overhead rods, there ribbons and baby linen31. A short young lady in black mittens32 was making out the account of a customer, and was clearly confused in her addition by Shalford’s eagle eye.
A thick-set young man with a bald head and a round very wise face, who was profoundly absorbed in adjusting all the empty chairs down the counter to absolutely equal distances, awoke out of his preoccupation and answered respectfully to a few Napoleonic and quite unnecessary remarks from his employer. Kipps was told that this young man’s name was Mr. Buggins, and that he was to do whatever Mr. Buggins told him to do.
They came round a corner into a new smell, which was destined35 to be the smell of Kipps’ life for many years, the vague, distinctive36 smell of Manchester goods. A fat man with a large nose jumped — actually jumped — at their appearance, and began to fold a pattern of damask in front of him exactly like an automaton37 that is suddenly set going. ‘Carshot, see to this boy tomorrow,’ said the master. ‘See he don’t fumble. Smart’n ‘imup.’
‘Yussir,’ said Carshot fatly, glanced at Kipps, and resumed his pattern-folding with extreme zeal38.
‘Whatever Mr. Carshot says y’r to do, ye do,’ said Mr. Shalford, trotting39 onward40; and Carshot blew out his face with an appearance of relief.
They crossed a large room full of the strangest things Kipps had ever seen. Lady-like figures, surmounted41 by black, wooden knobs in the place of the refined heads one might have reasonably expected stood about with a lifelike air of conscious fashion. ‘Costume Room,’ said Shalford. Two voices engaged in some sort of argument —‘I can assure you, Miss Mergle, you are entirely42 mistaken — entirely, in supposing I should do anything so unwomanly,’— sank abruptly43, and they discovered two young ladies, taller and fairer than any of the other young ladies, and with black trains to their dresses, who were engaged in writing at a little table. Whatever they told him to do Kipps gathered he was to do. He was also, he understood, to do whatever Carshot and Booch told him to do. And there were also Buggins and Mr. Shalford. And not to forget or fumble!
They descended45 into a cellar called The Warehouse46, and Kipps had an optical illusion of errand-boys fighting. Some aerial voice said ‘Teddy!’ and the illusion passed. He looked again, and saw quite clearly that they were packing parcels, and always would be, and that the last thing in the world that they would or could possibly do was to fight. Yet he gathered from the remarks Mr. Shalford addressed to their busy backs that they had been fighting — no doubt at some past period of their lives.
Emerging in the shop again among a litter of toys and what are called ‘fancy articles,’ Shalford withdrew a hand from beneath his coat-tails to indicate an overhead change carrier. He entered into elaborate calculations to show how many minutes in one year were saved thereby47, and lost himself among the figures. ‘Seven turns eight seven nine — was it? Or seven eight nine? Now, now! Why, when I was a boy your age I c’d do a sum like that as soon as hear it. We’ll soon get y’r into better shape than that. Make you Fishent. Well, y’r must take my word it comes to pounds and pounds saved in the year — pounds and pounds. System! System everywhere. Fishency.’ He went on murmuring ‘Fishency’ and ‘System’ at intervals50 for some time. They passed into a yard, and Mr. Shalford waved his hand to his three delivery vans, all striped green and yellow —‘uniform — green, yell’r — System.’ All over the premises51 were pinned absurd little cards, ‘This door locked after 7.30. By order, Edwin Shalford,’ and the like.
Mr. Shalford always wrote ‘By Order,’ though it conveyed no earthly meaning to him. He was one of those people who collect technicalities upon them as the Reduvius bug34 collects dirt. He was the sort of man who is not only ignorant but absolutely incapable52 of English. When he wanted to say he had a sixpenny-ha’penny longcloth to sell, he put it thus to startled customers: ‘Can DO you one six half, if y’like.’ He always omitted pronouns and articles and so forth53; it seemed to him the very essence of the efficiently54 business-like. His only preposition was ‘as’ or the compound ‘as per.’ He abbreviated55 every word he could; he would have considered himself the laughingstock of Wood Street if he had chanced to spell socks in any way but ‘sox.’ But, on the other hand, if he saved words here he wasted them there; he never acknowledged an order that was not an esteemed56 favour, nor sent a pattern without begging to submit it. He never stipulated57 for so many months’ credit, but bought in November ‘as Jan.’ It was not only words he abbreviated in his London communications. In paying his wholesalers his ‘System’ admitted of a constant error in the discount of a penny or twopence, and it ‘facilitated business,’ he alleged58, to ignore odd pence in the cheques he wrote. His ledger59 clerk was so struck with the beauty of this part of the System that he started a private one on his own account with the stampbox that never came to Shalford’s knowledge.
This admirable British merchant would glow with a particular pride of intellect when writing his London orders.
‘Ah! do y’r think you’ll ever be able to write London orders?’ he would say with honest pride to Kipps, waiting impatiently long after closing-time to take these triumphs of commercial efficiency to post, and so end the interminable day.
Kipps shook his head, anxious for Mr. Shalford to get on.
‘Now, here, f’example, I’ve written — see? ‘1 piece 1 in, cott blk elas 1/or’; what do I mean by that or — eh? d’ye know?’
Kipps promptly60 hadn’t the faintest idea.
‘And then, ‘2 ea silk net as per patts herewith’; ea — eh?’
‘Dunno, sir.’
It was not Mr. Shalford’s way to explain things. ‘Dear, dear!
Pity you couldn’t get some c’mercial education at your school. ‘Stid of all this lit’ry stuff. Well, my boy, if y’r not a bit sharper, y’ll never write London orders, that’s pretty plain. Jest stick stamps on all those letters and mind y’r stick ’em right way up, and try and profit a little more by the opportunities your aunt and uncle have provided ye. Can’t say what’ll happen t’ye if ye don’t.’ And Kipps, tired, hungry, and belated, set about stamping with vigour61 and dispatch.
‘Lick the envelope,’ said Mr. Shalford, ‘lick the envelope, as though he grudged62 the youngster the postage-stamp gum. ‘It’s the little things mount up,’ he would say and, indeed, that was his philosophy of life — to hustle63 and save, always to hustle and save. His political creed64 linked Reform, which meant nothing, with Peace and Economy, which meant a sweated expenditure65, and his conception of a satisfactory municipal life was to ‘keep down the rates.’ Even his religion was to save his soul and to preach a similar cheeseparing to the world.
2
The indentures66 that bound Kipps to Mr. Shalford were antique and complex; they insisted on the latter gentleman’s parental67 privileges, they forbade Kipps to dice68 and game, they made him over, body and soul, to Mr. Shalford for seven long years, the crucial years of his life. In return there were vague stipulations about teaching the whole art and mystery of the trade to him, but as there was no penalty attached to negligence69, Mr. Shalford being a sound, practical, business man, considered this a mere rhetorical flourish, and set himself assiduously to get as much out of Kipps and to put as little into him as he could in the seven years of their intercourse70.
What he put into Kipps was chiefly bread and margarine, infusions71 of chicory and tea-dust, colonial meat by contract at threepence a pound, potatoes by the sack, and watered beer. If, however, Kipps chose to buy any supplementary72 material for growth, Mr. Shalford had the generosity73 to place his kitchen resources at his disposal free — if the fire chanced to be going. He was also allowed to share a bedroom with eight other young men, and to sleep in a bed which, except in very severe weather, could be made, with the help of his overcoat and private under-linen, not to mention newspapers, quite sufficiently74 warm for any reasonable soul. In addition, Kipps was taught the list of fines, and how to tie up parcels, to know where goods were kept in Mr. Shalford’s systematised shop, to hold his hands extended upon the counter, and to repeat such phrases as ‘What can I have the pleasure —?’ ‘No trouble, I assure you,’ and the like; to block, fold, and measure materials of all sorts, to lift his hat from his head when he passed Mr. Shalford abroad, and to practise a servile obedience75 to a large number of people. But he was not, of course, taught the ‘cost’ mark of the goods he sold, nor anything of the method of buying such goods. Nor was his attention directed to the unfamiliar76 social habits and fashions to which his trade ministered. The use of half the goods he saw sold and was presently to assist in selling he did not understand; materials for hangings, cretonnes, chintzes, and the like; serviettes, and all the bright, hard whitewear of a well-ordered house; pleasant dress materials, linings77, stiffenings; they were to him from first to last no more than things, heavy and difficult to handle in bulk, that one folded up, unfolded, cut into lengths, and saw dwindle80 and pass away out into that mysterious, happy world in which the Customer dwells. Kipps hurried from piling linen table-cloths, that were, collectively, as heavy as lead, to eat off oil-cloth in a gas-lit dining-room underground, and he dreamt of combing endless blankets beneath his overcoat, spare undershirt, and three newspapers, so he had at least the chance of learning the beginnings of philosophy.
In return for these benefits he worked so that he commonly went to bed exhausted81 and footsore. His round began at half past six in the morning, when he would descend44, unwashed and shirtless, in old clothes and a scarf, and dust boxes and yawn, and take down wrappers and clean the windows until eight. Then in half an hour he would complete his toilet, and take an austere83 breakfast of bread and margarine and what only an Imperial Englishman wou’d admit to be coffee, after which refreshment84 he ascended85 to the shop for the labours of the day.
Commonly these began with a mighty86 running to and fro with planks87 and boxes and goods for Carshot, the window-dresser, who, whether he worked well or ill, nagged88 persistently89, by reason of a chronic90 indigestion, until the window was done. Sometimes the costume window had to be dressed, and then Kipps staggered down the whole length of the shop from the costume room with one after another of those ladylike shapes grasped firmly but shamefully91 each about her single ankle of wood. Such days as there was no window-dressing there was a nightly carrying and lifting of blocks and bales of goods into piles and stacks. After this there were terrible exercises, at first almost despairfully difficult; certain sorts of goods that came in folded had to be rolled upon rollers, and for the most part refused absolutely to be rolled, at any rate by Kipps; certain other sorts of goods that came from the wholesalers rolled had to be measured and folded, and folding makes young apprentices6 wish they were dead. All of it, too, quite avoidable trouble, you know, that is not avoided because of the cheapness of the genteeler sorts of labour and the dearness of forethought in the world. And then consignments92 of new goods had to be marked off and packed into paper parcels, and Carshot packed like conjuring93 tricks, and Kipps packed like a boy with tastes in some other direction — not ascertained94. And always Carshot nagged —.
He had a curious formula of appeal to his visceral economy that the refinement95 of our times and the earnest entreaties96 of my friends oblige me to render by an etiolated paraphrase97.
‘My Heart and Liver! I never see such a boy,’ so I will present Carshot’s refrain; and even when he was within a foot or so of the customer’s face, the disciplined ear of Kipps would still at times develop a featureless intercalary murmur48 into — well, ‘My Heart and Liver!’
There came a blessed interval49 when Kipps was sent abroad ‘matching.’ This consisted chiefly in supplying unexpected defects in buttons, ribbon, lining78, and so forth in the dressmaking department. He was given a written paper of orders with patterns pinned thereto and discharged into the sunshine and interest of the street. Then until he thought it wise to return and stand the racket of his delay, he was a free man, clear of all reproach.
He made remarkable98 discoveries in topography, as, for example, that the most convenient way from the establishment of Mr. Adolphus Davis to the establishment of Messrs. Plummer, Roddis, and Tyrrell, two of his principal places of call, is not, as is generally supposed, down the Sandgate road, but up the Sandgate road, round by West Terrace and along the Leas to the lift, watch the lift up and down twice, but not longer, because that wouldn’t do, back along the Leas, watch the Harbour for a short time, and then round by the churchyard, and so (hurrying) into Church Street and Rendezvous99 Street. But on some exceptionally fine days the route lay through Radnor Park to the pond where little boys sail ships and there are interesting swans.
He would return to find the shop settling down to the business of serving customers. And now he had to stand by to furnish any help that was necessary to the seniors who served, to carry parcels and bills about the shop, to clear away ‘stuff’ after each engagement, to hold up curtains until his arms ached, and, what was more difficult than all, to do nothing and not stare disconcertingly at customers when there was nothing for him to do. He plumbed100 an abyss of boredom101, or stood a mere carcass with his mind far away, fighting the enemies of the empire, or steering102 a dream-ship perilously103 into unknown seas. To be recalled sharply to our higher civilisation104 by some bustling105 senior’s ‘Nar then, Kipps. Look alive! Ketch ‘old. (My Heart and Liver!)’
At half-past seven o’clock — except on late nights — a feverish23 activity of straightening ‘up’ began, and when the last shutter106 was up outside, Kipps, with the speed of an arrow leaving a bow, would start hanging wrappers over the fixtures107 and over the piles of wares108 upon the counters, preparatory to a vigorous scattering109 of wet sawdust and the sweeping110 out of the shop.
Sometimes people would stay long after the shop was closed. ‘They don’t mind a bit at Shalford’s,’ these ladies used to say, and while they loitered it was forbidden to touch a wrapper or take any measures to conclude the day until the doors closed behind them.
Mr. Kipps would watch these later customers from the shadow of a stack of goods, and death and disfigurement was the least he wished for them. Rarely much later than nine, a supper of bread and cheese and watered beer awaited him downstairs, and, that consumed, the rest of the day was entirely at his disposal for reading, recreation, and the improvement of his mind . . .
The front door was locked at half-past ten, and the gas in the dormitory extinguished at eleven.
3
On Sundays he was obliged to go to church once, and commonly he went twice, for there was nothing else to do. He sat in the free seats at the back; he was too shy to sing, and not always clever enough to keep his place in the Prayer Book, and he rarely listened to the sermon. But he had developed a sort of idea that going to church had a tendency to alleviate111 life. His aunt wanted to have him confirmed, but he evaded112 this ceremony for some years.
In the intervals between services he walked about Folkestone with an air of looking for something. Folkestone was not so interesting on Sundays as on week-days because the shops were shut; but, on the other hand, there was a sort of confusing brilliance113 along the front of the Leas in the afternoon. Sometimes the apprentice5 next above him would condescend114 to go with him; but when the apprentice next but one above him condescended115 to go with the apprentice next above him, then Kipps, being habited as yet in ready-made clothes without tails, and unsuitable, therefore, to appear in such company, went alone.
Sometimes he would strike out into the country — still as if looking for something he missed — but the rope of meal-times haled him home again, and sometimes he would invest the major portion of the weekly allowance of a shilling that old Booch handed out to him, in a sacred concert on the pier116. He would sometimes walk up and down the Leas between twenty and thirty times after supper, desiring much the courage to speak to some other person in the multitude similarly employed. Almost invariably he ended his Sunday footsore.
He never read a book, there were none for him to read, and, besides, in spite of Mr. Woodrow’s guidance through a cheap and cheaply annotated117 edition of The Tempest (English Literature), he had no taste that way; he never read any newspapers except, occasionally, Tit–Bits or a ha’penny ‘comic.’ His chief intellectual stimulus118 was an occasional argey-bargey that sprang up between Carshot and Buggins at dinner. Kipps listened as if to unparalleled wisdom and wit, and treasured all the gems119 of repartee120 in his heart against the time when he, too, should be a Buggins and have the chance and courage for speech.
At times there came breaks in this routine — sale-times, darkened by extra toil82 and work past midnight, but brightened by a sprat supper and some shillings in the way of ‘premiums.’ And every year — not now and then, but every year — Mr. Shalford, with parenthetic admiration121 of his own generosity and glancing comparisons with the austerer days when he was apprenticed122, conceded Kipps no less than ten days holiday — ten whole days every year! Many a poor soul at Portland might well envy the fortunate Kipps. Insatiable heart of man! but how those days were grudged and counted as they snatched themselves away from him one after another!
Once a year came stocktaking, and at intervals gusts123 of ‘marking off’ goods newly arrived. Then the splendours of Mr. Shalford’s being shone with oppressive brilliancy. ‘System!’ he would say, ‘system! Come! ‘ussel!’ and issue sharp, confusing, contradictory124 orders very quickly. Carshot trotted125 about, confused, perspiring126, his big nose up in the air, his little eye on Mr. Shalford, his forehead crinkled, his lips always going to the formula, ‘Oh, my Heart and Liver!’ The smart junior and the second apprentice vied with one another in obsequious127 alacrity128. The smart junior aspired129 to Carshot’s position and that made him almost violently subservient130 to Shalford. They all snapped at Kipps. Kipps held the blotting-pad and the safety inkpot and a box of tickets, and ran and fetched things. If he put the ink down before he went to fetch things, Mr. Shalford usually knocked it over, and if he took it away Mr. Shalford wanted it before he returned. ‘You make my tooth ache, Kipps,’ Mr. Shalford would say. ‘You gimme n’ralgia. You got no more System in you than a bad potato.’ And at the times when Kipps carried off the inkpot Mr. Shalford would become purple in the face, and jab round with his dry pen at imaginary inkpots and swear, and Carshot would stand and vociferate, and the smart junior would run to the corner of the department and vociferate, and the second apprentice would pursue Kipps, vociferating, ‘Look Alive, Kipps! Look Alive! Ink, Man! Ink!’
A vague self-disgust that shaped itself as an intense hate of Shalford and all his fellow-creatures filled the soul of Kipps during these periods of storm and stress. He felt that the whole business was unjust and idiotic131, but the why and the wherefore was too much for his unfortunate brain. His mind was a welter. One desire, the desire to dodge132 some, at least, of a pelting133 storm of disagreeable comment, guided him through a fumbling134 performance of his duties. His disgust was infinite! It was not decreased by the inflamed135 ankles and sore feet that form a normal incident in the business of making an English draper, and the senior apprentice Minton, a gaunt, sullen-faced youngster with close-cropped, wiry, black hair, a loose, ugly mouth, and a moustache like a smudge of ink, directed his attention to deeper aspects of the question and sealed his misery136.
‘When you get too old to work they chuck you away,’ said Minton. ‘Lor! you find old drapers everywhere — tramps, beggars, dock labourers, bus conductors — Quod. Anywhere but in a crib.’
‘Don’t they get shops of their own?’
‘Lord! ‘Ow are they to get shops of their own? They ‘aven’t any Capital! How’s a draper’s shopman to save up five hundred pounds even? I tell you it can’t be done. You got to stick to Cribs until it’s over. I tell you we’re in a blessed drain-pipe, and we’ve got to crawl along it till we die.’
The idea that fermented137 perpetually in the mind of Minton was to ‘hit the little beggar slap in the eye’— the little beggar being Mr. Shalford —‘and see how his blessed System met that.’
This threat filled Kipps with splendid anticipations138 whenever Shalford went marking off on Minton’s department. He would look at Minton and look at Shalford and decide where he would best like Shalford hit . . . But for reasons known to himself Shalford never pished and tushed with Minton as he did at the harmless Carshot, and this interesting experiment upon the System was never attempted.
4
There were times when Kipps would lie awake, all others in the dormitory asleep and snoring, and think dismally140 of the outlook Minton pictured. Dimly he perceived the thing that had happened to him, how the great stupid machine of retail141 trade had caught his life into its wheels, a vast, irresistible142 force which he had neither strength of will nor knowledge to escape. This was to be his life until his days should end. No adventures, no glory, no change, no freedom. Neither — though the force of that came home to him later — might he dream of effectual love and marriage. And there was a terrible something called the ‘swap,’ or ‘the key of the street,’ and ‘crib hunting,’ of which the talk was scanty143 but sufficient. Night after night he would resolve to enlist144, to run away to sea, to set fire to the warehouse, or drown himself, and morning after morning he rose up and hurried downstairs in fear of a sixpenny fine. He would compare his dismal139 round of servile drudgery145 with those windy, sunlit days at Littlestone, those windows of happiness shining ever brighter as they receded146. The little figure of Ann seemed in all these windows now.
She, too, had happened on evil things. When Kipps went home for the first Christmas after he was bound, that great suspended resolve of his to kiss her flared147 up to hot determination, and he hurried out and whistled in the yard. There was a silence, and then old Kipps appeared behind him.
‘It’s no good your whistling there, my boy,’ said old Kipps in a loud, clear tone, designed to be audible over the wall. ‘They’ve cleared out all you ‘ad any truck with. She’s gone as help to Ashford, my boy. Help! Slavey is what we used to call ’em, but times are changed. Wonder they didn’t say lady-‘elp while they was about it. It ‘ud be like ’em.’
And Sid —? Sid had gone too. ‘Arrand boy or somethink,’ said old Kipps. ‘To one of these here brasted bicycle shops.’
‘Has ‘e?’ said Kipps, with a feeling that he had been gripped about the chest; and he turned quickly and went indoors.
Old Kipps, still supposing him present, went on to further observations of an anti-Pornick tendency . . .
When Kipps got upstairs, safe in his own bedroom, he sat down on the bed and stared at nothing. They were caught — they were all caught. All life took on the hue148 of one perpetual dismal Monday morning. The Hurons were scattered149, the wrecks150 and the beach had passed away from him, the sun of those warm evenings at Littlestone had set for evermore . . .
The only pleasure left for the brief remainder of his holiday after that was to think he was not in the shop. Even that was transient. Two more days, one more day, half a day. When he went back there were one or two very dismal nights indeed. He went so far as to write home some vague intimation of his feelings about business and his prospects151, quoting Minton, but Mrs. Kipps answered him, ‘Did he want the Pornicks to say he wasn’t good enough to be a draper?’ This dreadful possibility was, of course, conclusive152 in the matter. ‘No,’ he resolved they should not say he failed at that.
He derived153 much help from a ‘manly’ sermon delivered in an enormous voice by a large, fat, sun-red clergyman, just home from a colonial bishopric he had resigned on the plea of ill-health, exhorting154 him that whatever his hand found to do, he was to do with all his might, and the revision of his catechism preparatory to his confirmation155 reminded him that it behoved him to do his duty in that state of life into which it had pleased God to call him.
After a time the sorrows of Kipps grew less acute, and, save for a miracle, the brief tragedy of his life was over. He subdued156 himself to his position even as his church required of him, seeing, moreover, no way out of it.
The earliest mitigation of his lot was that his soles and ankles became indurated to the perpetual standing157. The next was an unexpected weekly whiff of freedom that came every Thursday. Mr. Shalford, after a brave stand for what he called ‘Innyvishal lib’ty’ and the ‘Idea of my System,’ a stand which, he explained, he made chiefly on patriotic10 grounds, was at last, under pressure of certain of his customers, compelled to fall in line with the rest of the local Early Closing Association, and Mr. Kipps could emerge in daylight and go where he listed for long, long hours. Moreover, Minton, the pessimist158, reached the end of his appointed time and left — to enlist in a cavalry159 regiment160, and go about this planet leading an insubordinate but interesting life that ended at last in an intimate, vivid, and really, you know, by no means painful or tragic161 night grapple in the Terah Valley. In a little while Kipps cleaned windows no longer; he was serving customers (of the less important sort) and taking goods out on approval, and presently he was third apprentice, and his moustache was visible, and there were three apprentices whom he might legally snub and cuff162. But one was (most dishonestly) too big to cuff, in spite of his greener years.
5
There came still other distractions163, the natural distractions of adolescence164, to take his mind off the inevitable165. His costume, for example, began to interest him more; he began to realise himself as a visible object, to find an interest in the costume-room mirrors and the eyes of the girl-apprentices.
In this he was helped by counsel and example. Pearce, his immediate166 senior, was by way of being what was called a Masher, and preached his cult79. During slack times grave discussions about collars, ties, the cut of trouser-legs, and the proper shape of a boot-toe, were held in the Manchester department. In due course Kipps went to a tailor, and his short jacket was replaced by a morning coat with tails. Stirred by this he purchased at his own expense three stand-up collars to replace his former turndown ones. They were nearly three inches high, higher than those Pearce wore, and they made his neck quite sore, and left a red mark under his ears . . . So equipped, he found himself fit company even for this fashionable apprentice who had now succeeded Minton in his seniority.
Most potent167 help of all in the business of forgetting his cosmic disaster was this, that so soon as he was in tail coats, the young ladies of the establishment began to discover that he was no longer a ‘horrid little boy.’ Hitherto they had tossed heads at him and kept him in his place. Now they discovered that he was a ‘nice boy,’ which is next door at least to being a ‘feller,’ and in some ways even preferable. It is painful to record that his fidelity168 to Ann failed at their first onset169. I am fully33 sensible how entirely better this story would be, from a sentimental170 point of view, if he had remained true to that early love. Only then it would have been a different story altogether. And at least Kipps was thus far true, that with none of these later loves was there any of that particular quality that linked Ann’s flushed face and warmth and the inner things of life so inseparably together. Though they were not without emotions of various sorts.
It was one of the young ladies in the costume-room who first showed by her manner that he was a visible object and capable of exciting interest. She talked to him, she encouraged him to talk to her, she lent him a book she possessed171, and darned a sock for him and said she would be his elder sister. She allowed him to escort her to church with a great air of having induced him to go. Then she investigated his eternal welfare, overcame a certain affectation of virile172 indifference173 to religion, and extorted174 a promise that he would undergo ‘confirmation.’ This excited the other young lady in the costumes, her natural rival, and she set herself with great charm and subtlety175 to the capture of the ripening176 heart of Kipps. She took a more worldly line. She went for a walk with him to the pier on Sunday afternoon, and explained to him how a gentleman must always walk ‘outside’ a lady on a pavement, and how all gentlemen wore, or, at least, carried gloves, and generally the broad beginnings of the British social ideal. Afterwards the ladies exchanged ‘words’ upon Sabbatical grounds. In this way was the toga virilis bestowed177 on Kipps, and he became recognised as a suitable object for that Platonic178 Eros whose blunted darts179 devastate180 even the very highest class establishments. In this way, too, did that pervading181 ambition of the British young man to be, if not a ‘gentleman,’ at least mistakably like one, take root in his heart.
He took to these new interests with a quite natural and personal zest182. He became initiated183 into the mysteries of ‘flirting’ and — at a slightly later stage and with some leading hints from Pearce, who was of a communicative disposition184 in these matters of the milder forms of ‘spooning.’ Very soon he was engaged. Before two years were out he had been engaged six times, and was beginning to be rather a desperate fellow, so far as he could make out. Desperate, but quite gentlemanly, be it understood, and without let or hindrance185 to the fact that he was in four brief lessons ‘prepared’ by a distant-mannered and gloomy young curate, and ‘confirmed’ a member of the Established Church.
The engagements in drapery establishments do not necessarily involve a subsequent marriage. They are essentially186 more refined, less coarsely practical, and altogether less binding187 than the engagements of the vulgar rich. These young ladies do not like not to be engaged, it is so unnatural188, and Mr. Kipps was as easy to get engaged to as one could wish. There are, from the young lady’s point of view, many conveniences in being engaged. You get an escort for Church and walks, and so forth. It is not quite the thing to walk abroad with a ‘feller’, much more to ‘spoon’ with him, when he is neither one’s fiance nor an adopted brother; it is considered either a little fast or else as savouring of the ‘walking-out’ habits of the servant girls. Now, such is the sweetness of human charity, that the shop young lady in England has just the same horror of doing anything that savours of the servant girl as the lady journalist, let us say, has of anything savouring of the shop-girl, or the really quite nice young lady has of anything savouring of any sort of girl who has gone down into the economic battlefield to earn herself a living . . . But the very deepest of these affairs was still among the shallow places of love, at best it was paddling where it is decreed that men must sink or swim. Of the deep and dangerous places, and of the huge, buoyant lift of its waves, he tasted nothing. Affairs of clothes and vanities they were, jealousies189 about a thing said, flatteries and mutual190 boastings, climaxes191 in the answering grasp of hands, the temerarious use of Christian192 names, culminations193 in a walk, or a near confidence, or a little pressure more or less. Close sitting on a seat after twilight194 with some little fondling was, indeed, the boldest of a lover’s adventures, the utmost limit of his enterprises in the service of that stark195 Great Lady who is daughter of Uranus196 and the sea. The ‘young ladies’ who reigned197 in his heart came and went like people in an omnibus; there was the vehicle, so to speak, upon the road, and they entered and left it without any cataclysm198 of emotion. For all that, this development of the sex interest was continuously very interesting to Kipps, and kept him going as much as anything through all these servile years . . .
6
For a tailpiece to this chapter one may vignette a specimen199 minute.
It is a bright Sunday afternoon; the scene is a secluded200 little seat half-way down the front of the Leas, and Kipps is four years older than when he parted from Ann. There is a quite perceptible down upon his upper lip, and his costume is just as tremendous a ‘mash’ as lies within his means. His collar is so high that it scars his inaggressive jaw-bone, and his hat has a curly brim, his tie shows taste, his trousers are modestly brilliant, and his boots have light cloth uppers and a button at the side. He jabs at the gravel201 before him with a cheap cane202 and glances sideways at Flo Bates, the young lady from the cash desk. She is wearing a brilliant blouse and a gaily203 trimmed hat. There is an air of fashion about her that might disappear under the analysis of a woman of the world, but which is quite sufficient to make Kipps very proud to be distinguished204 as her particular ‘feller,’ and to be allowed at temperate205 intervals to use her Christian name.
The conversation is light and gay in the modern style, and Flo keeps on smiling, good temper being her special charm.
‘Ye see, you don’t mean what I mean,’ he is saying.
‘Well, what do you mean?’
‘Not what you mean!’
‘Well, tell me.’
‘Ah! That’s another story.’
Pause. They look meaningly at one another.
‘You are a one for being roundabout,’ says the lady.
‘Well, you’re not so plain, you know.’
‘Not plain?’
‘No.’
‘You don’t mean to say I’m roundabout?’
‘No. I mean to say — Though —’ Pause.
‘Well?’
‘You’re not a bit plain — you’re’ (his voice jumps up to a squeak) ‘pretty. See?’
‘Oh, get out!’— her voice lifts also — with pleasure.
She strikes him with her glove, then glances suddenly at a ring upon her finger. Her smile disappears momentarily. Another pause. Eyes meet and the smile returns.
‘I wish I knew —’ says Kipps. ‘Knew —?’
‘Where you got that ring.’
She lifts the hand with the ring until her eyes just show (very prettily) over it. ‘You’d just like to know,’ she says slowly, and smiles still more brightly with the sense of successful effect.
‘I dessay I could guess.’
‘I dessay you couldn’t.’
‘Couldn’t I?’
‘No!’
‘Guess it in three.’
‘Not the name.’
‘Ah!’
‘Ah!’
‘Well, anyhow, lemme look at it.’
He looks at it. Pause. Giggles206, slight struggle, and a slap on Kipps’ coat-sleeve. A passer-by appears down the path and she hastily withdraws her hand.
She glances at the face of the approaching man. They maintain a bashful silence until he has passed . . .
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1
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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bias
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| n.偏见，偏心，偏袒；vt.使有偏见 | |
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indentured
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| v.以契约束缚（学徒）( indenture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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apprentices
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| 学徒，徒弟( apprentice的名词复数 ) | |
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apprenticeship
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| n.学徒身份；学徒期 | |
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8
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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9
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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askew
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| adv.斜地；adj.歪斜的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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18
plural
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| n.复数；复数形式；adj.复数的 | |
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19
memoranda
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| n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
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20
paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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21
feigning
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| 假装，伪装( feign的现在分词 )； 捏造（借口、理由等） | |
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22
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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24
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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25
quill
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| n.羽毛管；v.给（织物或衣服）作皱褶 | |
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26
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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27
voracious
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| adj.狼吞虎咽的，贪婪的 | |
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28
fumble
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| vi.笨拙地用手摸、弄、接等，摸索 | |
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29
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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30
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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31
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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32
mittens
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| 不分指手套 | |
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33
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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34
bug
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| n.虫子；故障；窃听器；vt.纠缠；装窃听器 | |
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35
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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36
distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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37
automaton
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| n.自动机器，机器人 | |
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38
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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39
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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40
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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41
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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42
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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43
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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44
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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45
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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46
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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47
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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48
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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49
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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50
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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51
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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52
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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53
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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54
efficiently
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| adv.高效率地，有能力地 | |
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55
abbreviated
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| adj. 简短的，省略的 动词abbreviate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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56
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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57
stipulated
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| vt.& vi.规定；约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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58
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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59
ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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60
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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61
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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62
grudged
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| 怀恨（grudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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63
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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64
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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65
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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66
indentures
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| vt.以契约束缚（indenture的第三人称单数形式） | |
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67
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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68
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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69
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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70
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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71
infusions
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| n.沏或泡成的浸液（如茶等）( infusion的名词复数 )；注入，注入物 | |
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72
supplementary
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| adj.补充的，附加的 | |
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73
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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74
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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75
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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76
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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77
linings
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| n.衬里( lining的名词复数 )；里子；衬料；组织 | |
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lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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79
cult
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| n.异教，邪教；时尚，狂热的崇拜 | |
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80
dwindle
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| v.逐渐变小（或减少） | |
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81
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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82
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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83
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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84
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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85
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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87
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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88
nagged
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| adj.经常遭责怪的；被压制的；感到厌烦的；被激怒的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的过去式和过去分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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89
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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90
chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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91
shamefully
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| 可耻地； 丢脸地； 不体面地； 羞耻地 | |
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92
consignments
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| n.托付货物( consignment的名词复数 )；托卖货物；寄售；托运 | |
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93
conjuring
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| n.魔术 | |
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94
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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96
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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97
paraphrase
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| vt.将…释义，改写；n.释义，意义 | |
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98
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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99
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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100
plumbed
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| v.经历( plumb的过去式和过去分词 )；探究；用铅垂线校正；用铅锤测量 | |
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101
boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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102
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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103
perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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104
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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105
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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106
shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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107
fixtures
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| （房屋等的）固定装置( fixture的名词复数 )； 如（浴盆、抽水马桶）； 固定在某位置的人或物； （定期定点举行的）体育活动 | |
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108
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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109
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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110
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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111
alleviate
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| v.减轻，缓和，缓解(痛苦等) | |
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112
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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113
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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114
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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115
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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116
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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117
annotated
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| v.注解，注释( annotate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
stimulus
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| n.刺激，刺激物，促进因素，引起兴奋的事物 | |
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119
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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120
repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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121
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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122
apprenticed
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| 学徒，徒弟( apprentice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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124
contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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125
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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126
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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127
obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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128
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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129
aspired
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| v.渴望，追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130
subservient
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| adj.卑屈的，阿谀的 | |
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131
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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132
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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133
pelting
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| 微不足道的，无价值的，盛怒的 | |
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134
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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135
inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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137
fermented
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| v.（使）发酵( ferment的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
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138
anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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139
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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140
dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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141
retail
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| v./n.零售；adv.以零售价格 | |
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142
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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143
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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144
enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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145
drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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146
receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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147
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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148
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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149
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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150
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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151
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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152
conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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153
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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154
exhorting
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的现在分词 ) | |
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155
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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156
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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157
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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158
pessimist
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| n.悲观者；悲观主义者；厌世 | |
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159
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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160
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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161
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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162
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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163
distractions
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| n.使人分心的事[人]( distraction的名词复数 )；娱乐，消遣；心烦意乱；精神错乱 | |
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164
adolescence
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| n.青春期，青少年 | |
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165
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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166
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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167
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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168
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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169
onset
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| n.进攻，袭击，开始，突然开始 | |
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170
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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171
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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172
virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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173
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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174
extorted
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| v.敲诈( extort的过去式和过去分词 )；曲解 | |
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175
subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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176
ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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177
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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178
platonic
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| adj.精神的；柏拉图（哲学）的 | |
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179
darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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180
devastate
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| v.使荒芜，破坏，压倒 | |
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181
pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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182
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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183
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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184
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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185
hindrance
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| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
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186
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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187
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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188
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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189
jealousies
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| n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 )；妒羡 | |
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190
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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191
climaxes
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| n.顶点( climax的名词复数 )；极点；高潮；性高潮 | |
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192
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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193
culminations
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| n.顶点，极点（culmination的复数形式） | |
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194
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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195
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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196
Uranus
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| n.天王星 | |
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197
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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198
cataclysm
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| n.洪水，剧变，大灾难 | |
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199
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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200
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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201
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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202
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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203
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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204
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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205
temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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206
giggles
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| n.咯咯的笑( giggle的名词复数 )；傻笑；玩笑；the giggles 止不住的格格笑v.咯咯地笑( giggle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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