But now, the day after his arrival in the city, he found himself pawing eagerly through the pages of the phone book for his uncle’s business address: he found it — the familiar words, “Bascom Pentland” stared up out of the crowded page with a kind of unreal shocking incandescence4, and in another moment he heard himself speaking across the wire to a puzzled voice that came to him with its curious and unearthly remoteness as if from some planetary distance — and suddenly the howling recognition of the words — words whose unearthly quality now came back to him in a searing flash of memory, although he had not heard his uncle’s voice for eight years, when he was twelve years old:
“Oh, hello! hello! hello!” that unearthly voice howled faintly at him. “How are you, my boy, how are you, how are you, how are you? . . . And say!” the voice yelled with a sudden comical transition to matter of factness —“I had a letter from your mother just this morning. She told me you were on your way. . . . I’ve been expecting you.”
“Can I come over to see you now, Uncle Bascom?”
“Oh, by all means, by all means, by all means!” that unearthly and passionate5 voice howled back at once enthusiastically. “Come over at once, my boy, at once! Oh, by all means, by all means, by all means! . . . And now, my boy!” the voice became faintly and comically precise, and he could hear his uncle smacking6 his large rubbery lips with pedantic7 relish8 as he pronounced the words: “Knowing you are a young man alone in this great city for the first time, I shall give you a few brief — and, I trust, reasonably clear, di-rections,” again Bascom smacked9 his lips with audible relish as he pronounced this lovely word —“concerning your i-tin-er-ary”— his joy as he smacked his lips over this last word was almost indecently evident, and he went on with meticulous10 elaboration through a bewildering labyrinth11 of instructions until even he was satisfied at the confusion he had caused. Then he said good-bye, upon the assurance of his nephew that he would come at once. And it was in this way, after eight years of absence, that the boy again met his uncle.
He found the old man hardly changed at all. He was, indeed, a member of that race of men who scarcely vary by a jot12 from one decade to another; he was a trifle greyer, the stringy gauntness of his tall stooped frame was perhaps a little more pronounced, his eccentric tricks of speech and manner a little more emphatic13 — but this was all. In dress, speech, manner and appearance he was to an amazing degree the same as he had been the last time that his nephew saw him.
It is doubtful, in fact, if he had changed appreciably14 in thirty years. And certainly during the first twenty-five years of this century, business people who had their offices in or near State Street, Boston, and who had grown very familiar with that cadaverous and extraordinary figure, could have testified that he had not changed at all. His daily appearances, indeed, had become so much a part of the established process of events in that crowded street, that they had attained15 a kind of ritualistic dignity, and any serious alteration16 in their pattern would have seemed to hundreds of people to whom his gaunt bowed figure had become familiar, almost to constitute a serious disruption of the natural order.
Shortly before nine o’clock of every working day he would emerge from a subway exit near the head of the street and pause vaguely17 for a moment, making a craggy eddy18 in the tide of issuing workers that foamed19 swiftly about him while he stood with his enormous bony hands clutched comically before him at the waist, as if holding himself in, at the same time making the most horrible grimaces21 with his lean and amazingly flexible features. These grimaces were made by squinting22 his small sharp eyes together, widening his mouth in a ghastly travesty23 of a grin, and convolving his chin and cheek in a rapid series of pursed lips and horrible squints24 as he swiftly pressed his rubbery underlip against a few enormous horse-teeth that decorated his upper jaw25. Having completed these facial evolutions, he glanced quickly and, it must be supposed, blindly, in every direction; for he then plunged26 heedlessly across the street, sometimes choosing the moment when traffic had been halted, and pedestrians27 were hurrying across, sometimes diving into the midst of a roaring chaos28 of motor cars, trucks, and wagons29, through which he sometimes made his way in safety, accompanied only by a scream of brake-bands, a startled barking of horns, and the hearty30 curses of frightened drivers, or from which, howling with terror in the centre of a web of traffic which he had snarled31 hopelessly and brought to a complete standstill, he was sometimes rescued by a red-faced and cursing young Irishman who was on point-duty at that corner.
But Bascom was a fated man and he escaped. Once, it is true, a bright mindless beetle33 of machinery34, which had no thought for fated men, had knocked him down and skinned and bruised35 him; again, an uninstructed wheel had passed across the soft toe-end of his shoe and held him prisoner, as if he were merely some average son of destiny — but he escaped. He escaped because he was a fated man and because the providence37 which guides the steps of children and the blind was kind to him; and because this same policeman whose simian38 upper lip had once been thick and twisted with its curses had long since run the scale from anger to wild fury, and thence to madness and despair and resignation, and had now come to have a motherly affection for this stray sheep, kept his eye peeled for its appearance every morning, or, failing this, at once shrilled39 hard upon his whistle when he heard the well-known howl of terror and surprise, plunged to the centre of the stalled traffic snarl32, plucked Bascom out to safety under curse and shout and scream of brake, and marched him tenderly to the curb40, gripping his brawny41 hand around the old man’s arm, feeling his joints42, testing his bones, massaging43 anxiously his sinewy44 carcass, and calling him “bud”— although Bascom was old enough to be his grandfather. “Are you all right, bud? You’re not hurt, are you, bud? Are you O.K.?”— to which Bascom, if his shock and terror had been great, could make no answer for a moment save to pant hoarsely45 and to howl loudly and huskily from time to time, “Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!”
At length, becoming more coherent, if not more calm, he would launch into an ecclesiastical indictment46 of motor cars and their drivers delivered in a high, howling, and husky voice that suggested the pronouncements of a prophet from a mountain. This voice had a quality of strange remoteness and, once heard, would never be forgotten. It actually had a howling note in it, and carried to great distances, and yet it was not loud: it was very much as if Mr. Bascom Pentland were standing47 on a mountain and shouting to someone in a quiet valley below — the sounds came to one plainly but as if from a great distance, and it was full of a husky, unearthly passion. It was really an ecclesiastical voice, the voice of a great preacher; one felt that it should be heard in churches, which was exactly where it once was heard, for Bascom had at various times and with great conviction, in the course of his long and remarkable48 life, professed49 and preached the faith of the Episcopalians, the Presbyterians, the Methodists, the Baptists, and the Unitarians.
Quite often, in fact, as now, when he had narrowly escaped disaster in the streets, Bascom still preached from the corner: as soon as he recovered somewhat from his shock, he would launch forth50 into a sermon of eloquent51 invective52 against any driver of motor cars within hearing, and if any of them entered the fray53, as sometimes happened, a very interesting performance occurred.
“What happened to YOU?” the motorist might bitterly remark. “Do the keepers know you’re out?”
Mr. Pentland would thereupon retort with an eloquent harangue54, beginning with a few well-chosen quotations55 from the more violent prophets of the Old Testament56, a few predictions of death, destruction and damnation for the owners of motor cars, and a few apt references to Days of Judgment57 and Reckoning, Chariots of Moloch, and Beasts of the Apocalypse.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” the exasperated58 motorist might reply. “Are you BLIND? Where do you think you are? In a cow-pasture? Can’t you read the signals? Didn’t you see the cop put his hand up? Don’t you know when it says to ‘Stop’ or ‘Go’? Did you ever hear of the traffic law?”
“The TRAFFIC law!” Bascom sneeringly59 exclaimed, as if the mere36 use of the word by the motorist evoked61 his profoundest contempt. His voice now had a precise and meticulous way of speech, there was something sneering60 and pedantic in the way he pronounced each word, biting it off with a prim62, nasal and heavily accented enunciation63 in the manner of certain pedants64 and purists who suggest by their pronunciation that language in the mouths of most people is vilely65 and carelessly treated, that each word has a precise, subtle, and careful meaning of its own, and that they — THEY alone — understand these matters. “The TRAFFIC law!” he repeated again: then he squinted66 his eyes together, pursed his rubbery lip against the big horsy upper teeth, and laughed down his nose in a forced, sneering manner. “The TRAFFIC law!” he said. “Why, you pit-i-ful ig-no-RAM-us! You il-LIT-ter-ate ruffian! You dare to speak to me — to ME!” he howled suddenly with an ecclesiastical lift of his voice, striking himself on his bony breast and glaring with a majestical fury as if the word of a mighty67 prophet had been contradicted by an upstart —“of the traffic law, when it is doubtful if you could READ the law if you saw it,”— he sneered68 —“and it is obvious to anyone with the perception of a schoolboy that you would not have intelligence enough to understand it, and”— here his voice rose to a howling emphasis and he held one huge bony finger up to command attention —“AND to interpret it, if you could read.”
“Is THAT so?” the motorist heavily remarked. “A WISE guy, eh? One of these guys who knows it all, eh? You’re a PRETTY wise guy, aren’t you?” the motorist continued bitterly, as if caught up in the circle of his refrain and unable to change it. “Well, let me tell YOU something. You think you’re pretty smaht, don’t you? Well, you’re not. See? It’s wise guys like you who go around looking for a good bust69 on the nose. See? That’s how smaht you are. If you wasn’t an old guy I’d give you one, too,” he said, getting a moody70 satisfaction from the thought.
“Ow-w! Ow-w! Ow-w!” Bascom howled in sudden terror.
“If you know so much, if you’re so smaht as you think you are, what IS the traffic law?”
Then, assuredly, if there was a traffic law, the unfortunate motorist was lost, for Uncle Bascom would deliver it to him verbatim, licking his lips with joy over all the technicalities of legal phrasing and pronouncing each phrase with a meticulous and pedantic enunciation.
“And furthermore!” he howled, holding up his big bony finger, “the Commonwealth71 of Massachusetts has decreed, by a statute72 that has been on the books since 1856, by a statute that is irrevocably, inexorably, ineluctably plain that any driver, director, governor, commander, manager, agent or conductor, or any other person who shall conduct or cause to be conducted any vehicular instrument, whether it be of two, four, six, eight or any number of wheels whatsoever73, whether it be in the public service, or in the possession of a private individual, whether it be-” but by this time the motorist, if he was wise, had had enough and had escaped.
If, however, it had been one of his more fortunate mornings, if he had blindly but successfully threaded the peril74 of roaring traffic, Uncle Bascom proceeded rapidly down State Street, still clutching his raw bony hands across his meagre waist, still contorting his remarkable face in its endless series of pursed grimaces, and presently turned in to the entrance of a large somewhat dingy75-looking building of blackened stone, one of those solid, unpretentious, but very valuable properties which smell and look like the early 1900’s, and which belong to that ancient and enormously wealthy corporation across the river known as Harvard University.
Here, Uncle Bascom, still clutching himself together across the waist, mounted a flight of indented76 marble entry steps, lunged through revolving77 doors into a large marble corridor that was redolent with vibrating waves of hot steamy air, wet rubbers and galoshes, sanitary78 disinfectant and serviceable but somewhat old-fashioned elevators and, entering one of the cars which had just plunged down abruptly79, banged open its door, belched80 out two or three people and swallowed a dozen more, he was finally deposited with the same abruptness81 on the seventh floor, where he stepped out into a wide dark corridor, squinted and grimaced82 uncertainly to right and left as he had done for twenty-five years, and then went left along the corridor, past rows of lighted offices in which one could hear the preliminary clicking of typewriters, the rattling83 of crisp papers, and the sounds of people beginning their day’s work. At the end of the corridor Bascom Pentland turned right along another corridor and at length paused before a door which bore this inscription84 across the familiar glazed85 glass of American business offices: “The John T. Brill Realty Co. — Houses For Rent or Sale.” Below this bold legend in much smaller letters was printed: “Bascom Pentland — Att’y at Law — Conveyancer and Title Expert.”
The appearance of this strange figure in State Street, or anywhere else, had always been sufficient to attract attention and to draw comment. Bascom Pentland, if he had straightened to his full height, would have been six feet and three or four inches tall, but he had always walked with a stoop and as he grew older the stoop had become confirmed: he presented a tall, gnarled, bony figure, cadaverous and stringy, but tough as hickory. He was of that race of men who seem never to wear out, or to grow old, or to die: they live with almost undiminished vitality86 to great ages, and when they die they die suddenly. There is no slow wastage and decay because there is so little to waste or decay: their mummied and stringy flesh has the durability87 of granite88.
Bascom Pentland clothed his angular figure with an assortment89 of odd garments which seemed to have the same durability: they were immensely old and worn, but they also gave no signs of ever wearing out, for by their cut and general appearance of age, it seemed that his frugal90 soul had selected in the ‘nineties materials which it hoped would last for ever. His coat, which was originally of a dark dull pepper-and-salt grey, had gone green at the seams and pockets, and moreover it was a ridiculously short skimpy coat for a gaunt big-boned man like this: it was hardly more than a jacket, his great wristy hands burst out of it like lengths of cordwood, and the mark of his high-humped narrow shoulders cut into it with a knife-like sharpness. His trousers were also tight and skimpy, of a lighter91 grey and of a rough woolly texture92 from which all fuzz and fluff had long ago been rubbed; he wore rough country brogans with raw-hide laces, and a funny little flat hat of ancient black felt, which had also gone green along the band. One understands now why the policeman called him “Bud”: this great bony figure seemed ruthlessly to have been crammed93 into garments in which a country fledgling of the ‘eighties might have gone to see his girl, clutching a bag of gumdrops in his large red hand. A stringy little neck-tie, a clean but dilapidated collar which by its bluish and softly mottled look Bascom Pentland must have laundered94 himself (a presumption95 which is quite correct since the old man did all his own laundry work, as well as his mending, repairing, and cobbling)— this was his costume, winter and summer, and it never changed, save that in winter he supplemented it with an ancient blue sweater which he wore buttoned to the chin and whose frayed96 ends and cuffs97 projected inches below the scanty98 little jacket. He had never been known to wear an overcoat, not even on the coldest days of those long, raw, and formidable winters from which Boston suffers.
The mark of his madness was plain upon him: intuitively men knew he was not a poor man, and the people who had seen him so many times in State Street would nudge one another, saying: “You see that old guy? You’d think he was waitin’ for a hand-out from the Salvation99 Army, wouldn’t you? Well, he’s not. He’s GOT it, brother. Believe me, he’s GOT it good and plenty: he’s GOT it salted away where no one ain’t goin’ to touch it. That guy’s got a sock full of dough100!”
“Jesus!” another remarks. “What good’s it goin’ to do an old guy like that? He can’t take any of it with him, can he?”
“You said it, brother,” and the conversation would become philosophical101.
Bascom Pentland was himself conscious of his parsimony102, and although he sometimes asserted that he was “only a poor man,” he realized that his exaggerated economies could not be justified103 to his business associates on account of poverty: they taunted104 him slyly, saying, “Come on, Pentland, let’s go to lunch. You can get a good meal at the Pahkeh House for a couple of bucks105.” Or: “Say, Pentland, I know a place where they’re havin’ a sale of winter overcoats: I saw one there that would just suit you — you can get it for sixty dollars.” Or: “Do you need a good laundry, Reverend? I know a couple of Chinks who do good work.”
To which Bascom, with the characteristic evasiveness of parsimony, would reply, snuffling derisively106 down his nose: “No, sir! You won’t catch me in any of their stinking107 restaurants. You never know what you’re getting: if you could see the dirty, nasty, filthy109 kitchens where your food is prepared you’d lose your appetite quick enough.” His parsimony had resulted in a compensating110 food mania111: he declared that “in his young days” he “ruined his digestion112 by eating in restaurants,” he painted the most revolting pictures of the filth108 of these establishments, laughing scornfully down his nose as he declared: “I suppose you think it tastes better after some dirty, nasty, stinking NIGGER has wiped his old hands all over it” (phuh-phuh-phuh-phuh-phuh!)— here he would contort his face and snuffle scornfully down his nose; and he was bitter in his denunciation of “rich foods,” declaring they had “destroyed more lives than all the wars and all the armies since the beginning of time.”
As he had grown older he had become more and more convinced of the healthy purity of “raw foods,” and he prepared for himself at home raw revolting messes of chopped-up carrots, onions, turnips113, even raw potatoes, which he devoured114 at table, smacking his lips with an air of keen relish, and declaring to his wife: “You may poison YOURSELF on your old roasts and oysters115 and turkeys if you please: you wouldn’t catch ME eating that stuff. No, sir! Not on your life! I think too much of my stomach!” But his use of the pronoun “you” was here universal rather than particular, because if that lady’s longevity116 had depended on her abstinence from “roasts and oysters and turkeys” there was no reason why she should not have lived for ever.
Or again, if it were a matter of clothing, a matter of fencing in his bones and tallows against the frozen nail of Boston winter, he would howl derisively: “An overcoat! Not on your life! I wouldn’t give two cents for all the old overcoats in the world! The only thing they’re good for is to gather up germs and give you colds and pneumonia117. I haven’t worn an overcoat in thirty years, and I’ve never had the VESTIGE118— no! not the SEMBLANCE— of a cold during all that time!”— an assertion that was not strictly119 accurate, since he always complained bitterly of at least two or three during the course of a single winter, declaring at those times that no more hateful, treacherous120, damnable climate than that of Boston had ever been known.
Similarly, if it were a question of laundries he would scornfully declare that he would not send “HIS shirts and collars to let some dirty old Chinaman spit and HOCK upon them — YES!” he would gleefully howl, as some new abomination of nastiness suggested itself to his teeming121 brain —“YES! and iron it IN, too, so you can walk around done up in old Chinaman’s spit!”—(Phuh-phuh-phuh-phuh-phuh!)— here he would grimace20, contort his rubbery lip, and laugh down his nose in forced snarls122 of gratification and triumph.
This was the old man who, even now, as his nephew sped to meet him, stood in his dusty little office clutching his raw and bony hands across his waist.
In spite of the bewildering elaboration of his uncle’s direction, the boy found his offices without much trouble. He went in and a moment later, his hand was being vigorously pumped by his uncle’s great stiff paw, and he heard that instant howling voice of welcome — the voice of a prophet calling from the mountain-tops — coming to him without preliminary or introduction, as he had heard it last eight years before.
“Oh, hello, hello, hello. . . . How are you, how are you, how are you? . . . Say!” his uncle turned abruptly and in a high howling tone addressed several people who were staring at the young man curiously123, “I want you all to meet my sister’s youngest son — my nephew, Mr. Eugene Gant . . . and say!” he bawled124 again, but in remoter tone, in a strangely confiding125 and insinuating126 tone —“would you know he was a Pentland by the look of him? . . . Can you see the family resemblance?” He smacked his rubbery lips together with an air of relish, and suddenly threw his great gaunt arms up and let them fall with an air of ecstatic jubilation127, squinted his small sharp eyes together, contorted his rubbery lips in their amazing and grotesque128 grimace, and stamping ecstatically at the floor with one long stringy leg, taking random129 ecstatic kicks at any object that was within reach, he began to snuffle with his strange forced laughter, and howled deliriously130, “Oh, MY, yes! . . . The thing is evident. . . . He is a Pentland beyond the shadow of a vestige of a doubt! . . . Oh, by all means, by all means, by all means!” and he went on snuffling, stamping, howling, and kicking at random objects in this way until the strange seizure131 of his mirth had somewhat subsided132. Then, more quietly, he introduced his nephew to his associates in the curious business of which he was a partner.
And it was in this way that the boy first met the people in his uncle’s office — an office and people who were, during the years that followed, and in the course of hundreds of visits, to become a part of the fabric133 of his life — so hauntingly real, so strangely familiar that in the years that followed he could forget none of them, remember everything just as it was.
These offices, which he saw for the first time that day, were composed of two rooms, one in front and one behind, L-shaped, and set in the elbow of the building, so that one might look out at the two projecting wings of the building and see lighted layers of offices, in which the actors of a dozen enterprises “took” dictation, clattered134 at typewriters, walked back and forth importantly, talked into telephones or, what they did with amazing frequency, folded their palms behind their skulls135, placed their feet restfully on the nearest solid object, and gazed for long periods dreamily and tenderly at the ceilings.
Through the broad and usually very dirty panes136 of the window in the front office one could catch a glimpse of Faneuil Hall and the magnificent and exultant137 activity of the markets.
These dingy offices, however, from which a corner of this rich movement might be seen and felt, were merely the unlovely counterpart of millions of others throughout the country and, in the telling phrase of Baedeker, offered “little that need detain the tourist”: a few chairs, two scarred roll-top desks, a typist’s table, a battered138 safe with a pile of thumb-worn ledgers139 on top of it, a set of green filing cases, an enormous green, greasy140 water-jar always half filled with a rusty141 liquid that no one drank, and two spittoons, put there because Brill was a man who chewed and spat142 widely in all directions — this, save for placards, each bearing several photographs of houses with their prices written below them — 8 rooms, Dorchester, $6500; 5 rooms and garage, Melrose, $4500, etc. — completed the furniture of the room, and the second room, save for the disposition143 of objects, was similarly adorned144.
Such, then, was the scene in which the old man and his nephew met again after a separation of eight years.
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1
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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incandescence
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| n.白热，炽热；白炽 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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smacking
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| 活泼的，发出响声的，精力充沛的 | |
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pedantic
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| adj.卖弄学问的；迂腐的 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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meticulous
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| adj.极其仔细的，一丝不苟的 | |
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labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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jot
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| n.少量；vi.草草记下；vt.匆匆写下 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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appreciably
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| adv.相当大地 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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eddy
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| n.漩涡，涡流 | |
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foamed
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| 泡沫的 | |
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grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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grimaces
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| n.（表蔑视、厌恶等）面部扭曲，鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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squinting
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| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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travesty
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| n.歪曲，嘲弄，滑稽化 | |
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squints
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| 斜视症( squint的名词复数 )； 瞥 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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33
beetle
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| n.甲虫，近视眼的人 | |
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34
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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35
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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36
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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37
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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38
simian
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| adj.似猿猴的；n.类人猿，猴 | |
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39
shrilled
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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41
brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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42
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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43
massaging
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| 按摩，推拿( massage的现在分词 ) | |
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44
sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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45
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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46
indictment
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| n.起诉；诉状 | |
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47
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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48
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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49
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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50
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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51
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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52
invective
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| n.痛骂，恶意抨击 | |
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53
fray
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| v.争吵；打斗；磨损，磨破；n.吵架；打斗 | |
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54
harangue
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| n.慷慨冗长的训话，言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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55
quotations
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| n.引用( quotation的名词复数 )；[商业]行情（报告）；（货物或股票的）市价；时价 | |
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56
testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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57
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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58
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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59
sneeringly
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| 嘲笑地，轻蔑地 | |
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60
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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61
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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62
prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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63
enunciation
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| n.清晰的发音；表明，宣言；口齿 | |
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64
pedants
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| n.卖弄学问的人，学究，书呆子( pedant的名词复数 ) | |
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65
vilely
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| adv.讨厌地，卑劣地 | |
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66
squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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67
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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68
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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70
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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71
commonwealth
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| n.共和国，联邦，共同体 | |
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72
statute
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| n.成文法，法令，法规；章程，规则，条例 | |
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73
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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74
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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75
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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76
indented
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| adj.锯齿状的，高低不平的；缩进排版 | |
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77
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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78
sanitary
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| adj.卫生方面的，卫生的，清洁的，卫生的 | |
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79
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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80
belched
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| v.打嗝( belch的过去式和过去分词 )；喷出，吐出；打（嗝）；嗳（气） | |
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81
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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82
grimaced
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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84
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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85
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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86
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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87
durability
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| n.经久性，耐用性 | |
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88
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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89
assortment
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| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
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90
frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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91
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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92
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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93
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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94
laundered
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| v.洗（衣服等），洗烫（衣服等）( launder的过去式和过去分词 )；洗（黑钱）（把非法收入改头换面，变为貌似合法的收入） | |
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95
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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96
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97
cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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98
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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99
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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100
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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101
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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102
parsimony
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| n.过度节俭，吝啬 | |
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103
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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104
taunted
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| 嘲讽( taunt的过去式和过去分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
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105
bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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106
derisively
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| adv. 嘲笑地，嘲弄地 | |
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107
stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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108
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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109
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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110
compensating
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| 补偿，补助，修正 | |
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111
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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112
digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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113
turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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114
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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115
oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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116
longevity
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| n.长命；长寿 | |
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117
pneumonia
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| n.肺炎 | |
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118
vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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119
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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120
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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121
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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122
snarls
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| n.（动物的）龇牙低吼( snarl的名词复数 )；愤怒叫嚷（声）；咆哮（声）；疼痛叫声v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的第三人称单数 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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123
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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124
bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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125
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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126
insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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127
jubilation
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| n.欢庆，喜悦 | |
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128
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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129
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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130
deliriously
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| adv.谵妄（性）；发狂；极度兴奋/亢奋；说胡话 | |
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131
seizure
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| n.没收；占有；抵押 | |
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132
subsided
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| 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 | |
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133
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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134
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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135
skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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136
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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137
exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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138
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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139
ledgers
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| n.分类账( ledger的名词复数 ) | |
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140
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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141
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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142
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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143
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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144
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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