Before he opened the letter that awaited him he dusted it with powder and found it covered with fingerprints2. He slit3 the top delicately, holding the letter, which was fat and softish, in a pair of forceps, and drew out a wad of Bank of England five-pound notes and a half-sheet of notepaper. On the notepaper was printed: “To bury the man who was found in the queue.”
There were five notes. Twenty-five pounds.
Grant sat down and stared. In all his time in the C.I.D. a more unexpected thing had not happened. Somewhere in London tonight was some one who cared sufficiently4 for the dead man to spend twenty-five pounds to keep him from a pauper’s grave, but who would not claim him. Was this corroboration5 of his intimidation6 theory? Or was it conscience money? Had the murderer a superstitious7 desire to do the right thing by his victim’s body? Grant thought not. The man who stuck another in the back didn’t care a hoot8 what became of the body. The man had a pal9 man or woman in London tonight, a pal who cared to the tune10 of twenty-five pounds.
Grant called in Williams, and together they considered the plain, cheap, white envelope and the strong, plain capitals.
“Well,” said Grant, “what do you know?”
“A man,” said Williams. “Not well off. Not used to writing much. Clean. Smokes. Depressed11.”
“Excellent!” said Grant. “You’re no good as a Watson, Williams. You get away with all the kudos12.”
Williams, who knew all about Watson — at the age of eleven he had spent hunted moments in a hayloft in Worcestershire trying to read The Speckled Band without being discovered by Authority, who had banned it smiled and said, “I expect you have got far more out of it, sir.”
But Grant had not. “Except that he’s a poor hand at the business. Fancy sending anything as easily traced as English five-pound notes!” He blew the light, soft powder over the half-sheet of notepaper, but found no fingerprints. He summoned a constable13 and sent the precious envelope and the bundle of notes to have all fingerprints photographed. The sheet of notepaper bearing the printed message he sent to the handwriting expert.
“Well, the banks are shut now, worse luck. Are you in a hurry to get back to the missus, Williams?”
No, Williams was in no hurry. His missus and the baby were in Southend with his mother-in-law for a week.
“In that case,” Grant said, “we’ll dine together and you can give me the benefit of your ideas on the subject of murders in queues.”
Some years before, Grant had inherited a considerable legacy14 — a legacy sufficient to permit him to retire into idle nonentity15 if such had been his desire. But Grant loved his work even when he swore and called it a dog’s life, and the legacy had been used only to smooth and embroider16 life until what would have been the bleak17 places were eliminated, and to make some bleak places in other lives less impossible. There was a little grocer’s shop in a southern suburb, bright as a jewel with its motley goods, which owed its existence to the legacy and to Grant’s chance meeting with a ticket-of-leave man on his first morning out. It was Grant who had been the means of “putting him away,” and it was Grant who provided the means of his rehabilitation18. It was owing entirely19 to the legacy, therefore, that Grant was an habitué of so exclusive an eating place as Laurent’s, and — a much more astonishing and impressive fact — a pet of the head waiter’s. Only five persons in Europe are pets of Laurent’s head waiter, and Grant was thoroughly20 conscious of the honour, and thoroughly sensible of the reason.
Marcel met them halfway21 down the green-and-gold room, with his face screwed to an expression of the most excruciating sorrow. He was desolated22, but there was not a table worthy23 of Monsieur left. There were no tables at all except that much-to-be condemned24 one in that corner. Monsieur had not let him know that he was to be expected. He was desolated, desolated simply.
Grant took the table without a murmur25. He was hungry, and he did not care where he ate so that the food was good, and except for the fact that the table was directly outside the service door there was no fault to be found with it. A couple of green draught-screens camouflaged26 the door, and the door, being a swing one, kept the rattle27 of crockery to a faint castanet music that blossomed every now and then in a sudden fortissimo as the door swung wide and closed again. Over their dinner Grant decided28 that in the morning Williams should visit the banks in the area indicated by the letter’s postmark, and with that as a basis, track down the history of the bank-notes. It shouldn’t be difficult; banks were always accommodating. From that they turned to the discussion of the crime itself. It was Williams’ opinion that it was a gang affair; that the dead man had fallen foul29 of his gang, had known his danger, had borrowed the gun from the only friendly member of the crowd, and had never had a chance to use it. The money that had arrived tonight had come from the secretly friendly one. It was a good enough theory, but it left out things.
“Why had he no identification marks on him, then?”
“Perhaps,” said Williams with electrifying30 logic31, “it’s a gang habit. No identification if they’re caught.”
That was a possible theory, and Grant was silent for a little, thinking it over. It was with the entrée that he became conscious, with that sixth sense which four years on the western front and many more in the C.I.D. had developed to an abnormal acuteness, that he was being watched. Restraining the impulse to turn round — he was sitting with his back to the room, almost facing the service door — he glanced casually32 into the mirror. But no one seemed to be taking the slightest interest in him. Grant continued to eat, and in a moment or two tried again. The room had emptied considerably33 since their arrival, and it was easy to examine the various people in the vicinity. But the mirror showed only a collection of self-absorbed people, eating, drinking, and smoking. And still Grant had that sense of being subjected to a long scrutiny34. It made his flesh creep, that steady, unseen examination. He lifted his eyes above Williams’ head to the screen that hid the door. And there, in the chink between the screens, were the eyes that watched him. As if conscious of his discovery, the eyes wavered and disappeared, and Grant went serenely35 on with his meal. A too curious waiter, he thought. Probably knows who I am, and just wanted to gape36 at any one connected with a murder. Grant had suffered much from the gapers. But presently, looking up in the middle of a sentence, he found the eyes back at their examination of him. This was too much. He stared stolidly37 in return. But the owner of the eyes was evidently unaware38 that he was visible at all to Grant, and continued his watching uninterrupted. Now and then as a waiter came or went behind the screen the eyes disappeared, but always they returned to their furtive39 gazing. Grant was seized with a desire to see this man whose interest in himself was of so absorbing a character. He said to Williams, who was seated not more than a yard in front of the screen, “There is some one at the back of the screen behind you who is taking a most abnormal interest in us. When I click my fingers fling back your right and knock the screen sideways. Make it look as much like an accident as you can.”
Grant waited until the waiter traffic had lulled40 for a little and the eyes were steady at gaze, and then gently snapped his middle finger and thumb. Williams’ brawny41 arm shot out, the screen quivered for a moment and collapsed42 sideways. But there was no one there. Only the agitated43 swinging of the door showed where some one had made his hasty exit.
Well, that’s that, thought Grant, as Williams was apologizing for the accident with the screen. You can’t identify a pair of eyes. He finished his dinner without further annoyance44 and strolled back to the Yard with Williams, hoping that the photographs of the prints on the envelope would be ready for his examination.
No photographs had come, but there was a report on the tie which had been sent to Faith Brothers’ factory at Northwood. The only consignment45 of that pattern of tie sent out in the last year was a box of six in various shades which had been sent as a repeat order at the request of their Nottingham branch. They returned the tie and hoped that if they could be of any further use the inspector46 would command them.
“If nothing important turns up between now and tomorrow,” said Grant, “I shall go down to Nottingham while you are doing the banks.”
And then a man came in with photographs of the envelope prints, and Grant took from his desk the photographs of the other prints in the case the prints of the dead man’s fingertips and the prints found on the revolver. Nothing but smudges, the report said, had been found on any of the bank-notes, so Grant and the sergeant47 applied48 themselves to the examination of the envelope prints. A variety of impressions were apparent since several people had handled the envelope since the writer had posted the letter. But clear and perfect and without possibility of doubt was the print of a forefinger49 to the right of the flap, and the forefinger was the same forefinger that had left its mark on the revolver found in the dead man’s pocket.
“Well, that fits your theory about the friend who supplied the gun, doesn’t it?” said Grant.
But the sergeant made a queer choked noise and continued to look at the print.
“What’s the matter? It’s as clear as a kid’s alphabet.”
The sergeant straightened himself and looked queerly at his superior. “I’ll swear I hadn’t a glass too much, sir. But it’s either that or the whole fingerprint1 system is balmy. Look at that!” He pointed50 with a not too steady forefinger at a print in the extreme lower right-hand corner, and as he did so he shoved the dead man’s fingerprints, which had lain slightly apart, under Grant’s nose. For a little there was silence while the inspector compared the prints and the sergeant, over his shoulder, half-fearfully corroborated51 his previous view. But there was no getting away from the fact that faced them in irrefutable whorls and ridges52. The fingerprint was that of the dead man.
It was only a moment or two before Grant realized the simple significance of that apparently53 staggering fact.
“Communal notepaper, of course,” he said offhandedly54, while his looker-on half mocked at him for having allowed himself to be victimized even for a moment by the childish amazement55 that had overcome him. “Your theory blossoms, Williams. The man who lent the gun and provided the money lived with the dead man. That being so, of course he can spin any kind of yarn56 he likes to his landlady57 or his wife or whoever would be interested about the disappearance58 of his chum.” He took up the telephone on his desk. “We’ll see what the handwriting people have to say about the piece of notepaper.”
But the handwriting experts had nothing to add to what Grant already knew or guessed. The paper was of a common type that could be bought at any stationer’s or bookstall. The printing was that of a man. Given a specimen59 of a suspect’s handwriting, they would probably be able to say whether or not the printing had been done by him, but so far they could be of no more help than already indicated.
Williams departed to his temporarily bereaved60 home to comfort his uxorious61 mind by reminding himself how short a week was, and how pretty Mrs. Williams would be when she came back from Southend; and Grant remained where he was, trying to mesmerize62 the dagger63 into giving up its tale. It lay on the dark green leather surface of his desk, a graceful64, wicked, toy-like thing, its business end in its slender viciousness making a queer contrast to the bluff65 saint on the handle with his silly, expressionless face. Grant considered the saintly features sardonically66. What was it Ray Marcable had said? You’d want a blessing67 on an undertaking68 as big as that. Well, Grant thought, he would choose a more potent69 saint as O.C. affairs than the ineffectual holy one on the handle. His thoughts went to Ray Marcable. This morning’s press had been full of her projected departure for America, the popular papers expressing themselves in lamentation70 and the more high-brow in bitterness and indignation that British managers should allow the best musical comedy star of a generation to leave the country. Should he go to her, Grant wondered, before she left and ask her bluntly why she had looked surprised at the description of the dagger? There had been nothing to connect her even remotely with the crime. He knew her history — the little semi-detached villa71 in a dreary72 suburb that she had called home, and the council school she had attended, her real name, which was Rosie Markham. He had even met Mr. and Mrs. Markham over the affair of the suitcase. It was exceedingly unlikely that she could throw any light on the Queue Murder. And it was still more unlikely that she would if she could. She had had her chance to be frank with him over that tea in her dressing-room, and she had quite deliberately73 kept him outside any knowledge she might have had. That knowledge, of course, might be entirely innocent. Her surprise might have been due to recognition of the dagger’s description, and yet have nothing to do with the murder. The dagger was far from unique, and many people must have seen and handled similar weapons. No, either way he was not likely to get much satisfaction from another interview with Miss Marcable. She would have to depart for the United States uninterrogated.
With a sigh for its unproductiveness he locked the dagger away in its drawer again and set off for home. He came out on to the Embankment to find that it was a fine night with a light, frosty mist in the air, and he decided that he would walk home. The midnight streets of London — always so much more beautiful than the choppy crowded ones of the daytime fascinated him. At noon London made you a present of an entertainment, rich and varied74 and amusing. But at midnight she made you a present of herself; at midnight you could hear her breathe.
When at length he turned into the road where he lived he had come to the stage of walking automatically, and a starry75 mist possessed76 his brain. For a little while Grant had “shut his eyes.” But he was not asleep, actually or metaphorically77, and the eyes of his brain opened with a start at the dim figure that was waiting on the opposite corner just outside the lamplight. Who was hanging about at this hour?
He debated rapidly whether or not to cross and walk down the other side of the street, and so come within criticizing distance of the figure. But it was rather late to change his direction. He held on, ignoring the loiterer. Only when he was turning in at his own gate he looked back. The figure was still there, almost indistinguishable in the gloom.
It was after twelve when he let himself in with his latchkey, but Mrs. Field was waiting up for him. “I thought you’d like to know that there has been a gentleman here asking for you. He wouldn’t wait and he wouldn’t leave a message.”
“How long ago was that?”
More than an hour, Mrs. Field said. She didn’t see him rightly. He had stood well out beyond the step. But he was young.
“No name?”
No, he refused to give a name.
“All right,” said Grant. “You go to bed. If he comes back, I’ll let him in.”
She hesitated in the doorway78. “You won’t do anything rash, will you?” she said solicitously79. “I don’t like the thought of you being here all alone with some one who might be an anarchist80 for all we know.”
“Don’t you worry, Mrs. Field. You won’t be blown up tonight.”
“It isn’t blowing up I’m afraid of,” she said. “It’s the thought of you lyin’ here perhaps bleeding to death and no one knowing. Think how I’d feel when I came in in the morning and found you like that.”
Grant laughed. “Well, you can comfort yourself. There isn’t the slightest chance of anything so thrilling happening. No one has ever spilt my blood except Jerry at Contalmaison, and that was more by luck than good management.”
She conceded the point. “See you have a bite before you go to bed,” she said, indcating the food on the sideboard. “I got you some English tomatoes, and the beef is Tomkins’ best pickled.” She said good night and went, but she could not have reached her kitchen before a knock sounded on the door. Grant heard her go to the door, and even while his brain was speculating about his visitor, the looker-on in him was wondering whether it was spunk81 or curiosity that had sent Mrs. Field so willingly to answer the knock. A moment later she threw open the sitting-room82 door and said, “A young gentleman to see you, sir,” and into Grant’s eager presence came a youth of nineteen or twenty, fairly tall, dark, broad-shouldered, but slight, and poised83 on his feet like a boxer84. As he came forward he shot a furtive glance from his brilliant dark eyes into the corner behind the door, and he came to a halt some yards from the inspector in the middle of the room, turning a soft felt hat in his slim gloved hands.
“You are Inspector Grant?” he asked.
Grant motioned him to a chair, and the youth, with a completely un-English grace, subsided85 sideways on to it, still clutching his hat, and began to talk.
“I saw you tonight at Laurent’s. I am in the pantry there. I clean the silver and things like that. They told me who you were, and after I think for a while, I decided to tell you all about it.”
“A very good idea,” said Grant. “Carry on. Are you Italian?”
“No; I am French. My name is Raoul Legarde.”
“All right; carry on.”
“I was in the queue the night the man was killed. It was my night off. For a long time I was standing86 next the man. He trod on my foot in accident, and after that we talked a little — about the play. I was on the outside and he was next the wall. Then a man came to talk to him and came in in front of me. The man who was new wanted something from the other man. He stayed until the door opened and the people moved. He was angry about something. They were not quarrelling — not as we quarrel — but I think they were angry. When the murder happened I ran away. I did not want to be mixed up with the police. But tonight I saw you, and you looked gentil, and so I made up my mind to tell you all about it.”
“Why didn’t you come to Scotland Yard and tell me?”
“I do not trust the S?reté. They make very much out of nothing. And I have no friends in London.”
“When the man came to talk to the man who was murdered, and pushed you back a place, who was between you and the theatre wall?”
“A woman in black.”
Mrs. Ratcliffe. So far the boy was telling the truth.
“Can you describe the man who came and went away again?”
“He was not very tall. Not as tall as me. He had a hat like mine, only more brown, and a coat like mine”— he indicated his tight-fitting, waisted navy-blue coat —“only brown too. He was very dark, without moustache, and these stuck out.” He touched his own beautifully modelled cheek and chin bones.
“Would you know him again if you saw him?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Well enough to swear to?”
“What is that?”
“To take your oath on.”
“Oh, yes.”
“What did the two men quarrel about?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t hear. I was not deliberately listening, you understand, and though I speak English, I do not understand if people talk very quickly. I think the man who came wanted something that the man who was killed would not give him.”
“When the man went away from the queue, how is it that no one saw him go?”
“Because just then the policeman was walking down saying ‘Stand back’ to the people.”
That was too glib87. The inspector took out his notebook and pencil and, laying the pencil on the open page, held it out to his visitor. “Can you show me how you stood in the queue? Put marks for the people, and label them.”
The boy stretched out his left hand for the book, took the pencil in his right, and made a very intelligent diagram, unaware that he had at that moment defeated the distrusted S?reté‘s attempt to make something out of nothing.
Grant watched his serious, absorbed face and thought rapidly. He was telling the truth, then. He had been there until the man collapsed, had backed with the others away from the horror, and had continued backing until he could walk away from the danger of being at the mercy of foreign police. And he had actually seen the murderer and would recognize him again. Things were beginning to move.
He took back the book and pencil that the boy extended to him, and as he raised his eyes from the consideration of the diagram he caught the dark eyes resting rather wistfully on the food on the sideboard. It occurred to him that Legarde had probably come straight from his work to see him.
“Well, I’m very grateful to you,” he said. “Have some supper with me now, before you go.”
The boy refused shyly, but allowed himself to be persuaded, and together they had a substantial meal of Mr. Tomkins’ best pickled. Legarde talked freely of his people in Dijon — the sister who sent him French papers, the father who disapproved88 of beer since one ate grapes but not hops89; of his life at Laurent’s and his impression of London and the English. And when Grant eventually let him out into the black stillness of the early morning, he turned on the doorstep and said apologetically and naively90, “I am sorry now that I did not tell before, but you understand how it was? To have run away at first made it difficult. And I did not know that the police were so gentil.”
Grant dismissed him with a friendly pat on the shoulder, locked up, and picked up the telephone receiver. When the connexion was made, he said:
“Inspector Grant speaking. This to be sent to all stations: ‘Wanted, in connexion with the London Queue Murder, a left-handed man, about thirty years of age, slightly below middle height, very dark in complexion91 and hair, prominent cheek and chin bones, clean-shaven. When last seen was wearing a soft brown hat and tight-fitting brown coat. Has a recent scar on the left forefinger or thumb.’”
And then he went to bed.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
fingerprint
|
|
| n.指纹；vt.取...的指纹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
fingerprints
|
|
| n.指纹( fingerprint的名词复数 )v.指纹( fingerprint的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
slit
|
|
| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
corroboration
|
|
| n.进一步的证实，进一步的证据 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
intimidation
|
|
| n.恐吓，威胁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
superstitious
|
|
| adj.迷信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
hoot
|
|
| n.鸟叫声，汽车的喇叭声； v.使汽车鸣喇叭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
pal
|
|
| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
tune
|
|
| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
depressed
|
|
| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
kudos
|
|
| n.荣誉，名声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
constable
|
|
| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
legacy
|
|
| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
nonentity
|
|
| n.无足轻重的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
embroider
|
|
| v.刺绣于(布)上；给…添枝加叶，润饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
bleak
|
|
| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
rehabilitation
|
|
| n.康复，悔过自新，修复，复兴，复职，复位 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
halfway
|
|
| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
desolated
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒废的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
condemned
|
|
| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
camouflaged
|
|
| v.隐蔽( camouflage的过去式和过去分词 )；掩盖；伪装，掩饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
rattle
|
|
| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
foul
|
|
| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
electrifying
|
|
| v.使电气化( electrify的现在分词 )；使兴奋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
logic
|
|
| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
casually
|
|
| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
considerably
|
|
| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
scrutiny
|
|
| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
serenely
|
|
| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
gape
|
|
| v.张口，打呵欠，目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
stolidly
|
|
| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
unaware
|
|
| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
furtive
|
|
| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
lulled
|
|
| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
brawny
|
|
| adj.强壮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
collapsed
|
|
| adj.倒塌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
annoyance
|
|
| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
consignment
|
|
| n.寄售；发货；委托；交运货物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
inspector
|
|
| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
sergeant
|
|
| n.警官，中士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
forefinger
|
|
| n.食指 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
corroborated
|
|
| v.证实，支持（某种说法、信仰、理论等）( corroborate的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
ridges
|
|
| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
offhandedly
|
|
| adv.立即地；即席地；未经准备地；不客气地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
yarn
|
|
| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
landlady
|
|
| n.女房东，女地主 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
disappearance
|
|
| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
specimen
|
|
| n.样本，标本 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
bereaved
|
|
| adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去（希望、生命等）( bereave的过去式和过去分词)；（尤指死亡）使丧失（亲人、朋友等）；使孤寂；抢走（财物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
uxorious
|
|
| adj.宠爱妻子的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
mesmerize
|
|
| vt.施催眠术；使入迷，迷住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
dagger
|
|
| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
bluff
|
|
| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
sardonically
|
|
| adv.讽刺地，冷嘲地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
undertaking
|
|
| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
potent
|
|
| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
lamentation
|
|
| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
villa
|
|
| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
varied
|
|
| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
starry
|
|
| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
metaphorically
|
|
| adv. 用比喻地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
solicitously
|
|
| adv.热心地，热切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
anarchist
|
|
| n.无政府主义者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
spunk
|
|
| n.勇气，胆量 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
sitting-room
|
|
| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
poised
|
|
| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
boxer
|
|
| n.制箱者，拳击手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
subsided
|
|
| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
glib
|
|
| adj.圆滑的，油嘴滑舌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
disapproved
|
|
| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
hops
|
|
| 跳上[下]( hop的第三人称单数 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
naively
|
|
| adv. 天真地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
complexion
|
|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |