Each morning he would get up with a pounding heart, trembling hands, and chattering1 lips, and then, like a man in prison who is waiting feverishly2 for some glorious message of release or pardon which he is sure will come that day, he would wait for the coming of the postman. And when he came, even before he reached the house, the moment that Eugene heard his whistle he would rush out into the street, tear the mail out of his astounded3 grasp, and begin to hunt through it like a madman for the letter which would announce to him that fortune, fame, and glittering success were his. He was twenty-two years old, a madman and a fool, but every young man in the world has been the same.
Then, when the wonderful letter did not come, his heart would sink down to his bowels4 like lead; all of the brightness, gold, and singing would go instantly out of the day and he would stamp back into the house, muttering to himself, sick with despair and misery5 and thinking that now his life was done for, sure enough. He could not eat, sleep, stand still, sit down, rest, talk coherently, or compose himself for five minutes at a time. He would go prowling and muttering around the house, rush out into the streets of the town, walk up and down the main street, pausing to talk with the loafers before the principal drug store, climb the hills and mountains all around the town and look down on the town with a kind of horror and disbelief, an awful dreamlike unreality because the town, since his long absence and return to it, and all the people in it, now seemed as familiar as his mother’s face and stranger than a dream, so that he could never regain6 his life or corporeal7 substance in it, any more than a man who revisits his youth in a dream, and so that, also, the town seemed to have shrunk together, got little, fragile, toy-like in his absence, until now when he walked in the street he thought he was going to ram8 his elbows through the walls, as if the walls were paper, or tear down the buildings, as if they had been made of straw.
Then he would come down off the hills into the town again, go home, and prowl and mutter around the house, which now had the same real-unreal familiar-strangeness that the town had, and his life seemed to have been passed there like a dream. Then, with a mounting hope and a pounding heart, he would begin to wait for the next mail again; and when it came, but without the letter, this furious prowling and lashing9 about would start all over again. His family saw the light of madness in his eyes and in his disconnected movements, and heard it in his incoherent speech. He could hear them whispering together, and sometimes when he looked up he could see them looking at him with troubled and bewildered faces. And yet he did not think that he was mad, nor know how he appeared to them.
Yet, during all this time of madness and despair his people were as kind and tolerant as anyone on earth could be.
His mother, during all this time, treated him with kindness and tolerance10, and according to the law of her powerful, hopeful, brooding, octopal, and web-like character, with all its meditative11 procrastination12, never coming to a decisive point, but weaving, reweaving, pursing her lips, and meditating13 constantly and with a kind of hope, even though in her deepest heart she really had no serious belief that he could succeed in doing the thing he wanted to do.
Thus, as he talked to her sometimes, going on from hope to hope, his enthusiasm mounting with the intoxication14 of his own vision, he would paint a glittering picture of the fame and wealth he was sure to win in the world as soon as his play was produced. And his mother would listen thoughtfully, pursing her lips from time to time, in a meditative fashion, as she sat before the fire with her hands folded in a strong loose clasp above her stomach. Then, finally, she would turn to him and with a proud, tremulous, and yet bantering15 smile playing about her mouth, such as she had always used when he was a child, and had perhaps spoken of some project with an extravagant17 enthusiasm, she would say:
“Hm, boy! I tell you what!” his mother said, in this bantering tone, as if he were still a child. “That’s mighty18 big talk — as the sayin’ goes,”— here she put one finger under her broad red nose-wing and laughed shyly, but with pleasure —“as the sayin’ goes, mighty big talk for poor folks!” said his mother. “Well, now,” she said in a thoughtful and hopeful tone, after a moment’s pause, “you may do it, sure enough. Stranger things than that have happened. Other people have been able to make a success of their writings — and there’s one thing sure!” His mother cried out strongly with the loose, powerful and manlike gesture of her hand and index finger which was characteristic of all her family —“there’s one thing sure! — what one man has done another can do if he’s got grit19 and determination enough!” His mother said, putting the full strength of her formidable will into these words —“Why, yes, now!” she now said, with a recollective start, “Here, now! Say!” she cried —“wasn’t I reading? — didn’t I see? Why, pshaw! — yes! just the other day — that all these big writers — yes, sir! Irvin S. Cobb — there was the very feller!” cried his mother in a triumphant20 tone —“Why, you know,” she continued, pursing her lips in a meditative way, “— that he had the very same trials and tribulations21 — as the sayin’ goes — as everyone else! Why, yes! — here he told it on himself — admitted it, you know — that he kept writin’ these stories for years, sendin’ them out, I reckon, to all the editors and magazines — and having them all sent back to him. That’s the way it was,” she said, “and now — look at him! Why, I reckon they’d pay him hundreds of dollars for a single piece — yes! and be glad of the chance to get it,” said his mother.
Then for a space his mother sat looking at the fire, while she slowly and reflectively pursed her lips.
“Well,” she said slowly at length, “you may do it. I hope you do. Stranger things than that have happened. — Now, there’s one thing sure,” she said strongly, “you have certainly had a good education — there’s been more money spent upon your schoolin’ than on all the rest of us put together — and you certainly ought to know enough to write a story or a play! — Why, yes, boy! I tell you what,” his mother now cried in the old playful and bantering tone, as if she were speaking to a child, “if I had YOUR education I believe I’d try to be a writer, too! Why, yes! I wouldn’t mind getting out of all this drudgery22 and house-work for a while — and if I could earn my living doin’ some light easy work like that, why, you can bet your bottom dollar, I’d do it!” cried his mother. “But, say, now! See here!” his mother cried with a kind of jocose23 seriousness — “maybe that’d be a good idea, after all! Suppose you write the stories,” she said, winking25 at him — “and I tell, you what I’ll do! — Why, I’ll TELL ’em to you! Now, if I had your education and your command of language,” said his mother, whose command of language was all that anyone could wish —“I believe I could tell a pretty good story — so if you’ll write ’em out,” she said, with another wink24, “I’ll tell you what to write — and I’ll BET you — I’ll BET you,” said his mother, “that we could write a story that would beat most of these stories that I read, all to pieces! Yes, sir!” she said, pursing her lips firmly, and with an invincible26 conviction —“and I bet you people would buy that story and come to see that play!” she said. “Because I know what to tell ’em and the kind of thing people are interested in hearing,” she said.
Then for a moment more she was silent and stared thoughtfully into the fire.
“Well,” she said slowly, “you may do it. You may do it, sure enough! Now, boy,” she said, levelling that powerful index finger toward him, “I want to tell you! Your grandfather, Tom Pentland, was a remarkable27 man — and if he’d had your education he’d a-gone far! And everyone who ever knew him said the same! . . . Oh! stories, poems, pieces in the paper — why, didn’t they print something of his every week or two!” she cried. “And that’s exactly where you get it,” said his mother. “— But, say, now,” she said in a persuasive28 tone, after a moment’s meditation29, “I’ve been thinkin’— it just occurred to me — wouldn’t it be a good idea if you could find some work to do — I mean, get you a job somewheres of some light easy work that would give you plenty of time to do your writin’ as you went on! Now, Rome wasn’t built in a day, you know!” his mother said in the bantering tone, “— and you might have to send that play around to several places before you found the one who could do it right for you! So while you’re waitin’,” said his mother persuasively30, “why, wouldn’t it be a good idea if you got a little light newspaper work, or a job teachin’ somewheres — pshaw! you could do it easy as falling off a log,” his mother said contemptuously. “I taught school myself before I got married to your papa, and I didn’t have a bit of trouble! And all the schoolin’ I ever had — all the schoolin’ that I ever had,” she cried impressively, “was six months one time in a little backwoods school! Now if I could do it, there’s one thing sure, with all your education you ought to be able to do it, too! Yes, sir, that’s the very thing!” she said. “I’d do it like a shot if I were you.”
He said nothing, and his mother sat there for a moment looking at the fire. Suddenly she turned, and her face had grown troubled and sorrowful and her worn and faded eyes were wet with tears. She stretched her strong rough hand out and put it over his, shaking her head a little before she spoke16:
“Child, child!” she said. “It worries me to see you act like this! I hate to see you so unhappy! Why, son,” his mother said, “what if they shouldn’t take it now! You’ve got long years ahead of you and if you can’t do it now, why, maybe, some day you will! And if you don’t!” his mother cried out strongly and formidably, “why, Lord, boy, what about it! You’re a young man with your whole life still before you — and if you can’t do this thing, why, there are other things you can do! . . . Pshaw! boy, your life’s not ended just because you find out that you weren’t cut out to be a playwriter,” said his mother, “There are a thousand things a young man of your age could do! Why, it wouldn’t bother me for a moment!” cried his mother.
And he sat there in front of her invincible strength, hope, and fortitude31 and her will that was more strong than death, her character that was as solid as a rock; he was as hopeless and wretched as he had ever been in his life, wanting to say a thousand things to her and saying none of them, and reading in her eyes the sorrowful message that she did not believe he would ever be able to do the thing on which his heart so desperately32 was set.
At this moment the door opened and his brother entered the room. As they stared at him with startled faces, he stood there looking at them out of his restless, tormented33 grey eyes, breathing his large and unhappy breath of unrest and nervousness, a harassed34 look on his handsome and generous face, as with a distracted movement he thrust his strong, impatient fingers through the flashing mop of his light brown hair, that curled everywhere in incredible whorls and screws of angelic brightness.
“Hah?” his mother sharply cried, as she looked at him with her white face, the almost animal-like quickness and concentration of her startled attention. “What say?” she said in a sharp startled tone, although as yet his brother had said nothing.
“W-w-w-wy!” he began in a distracted voice, as he thrust his fingers through his incredible flashing hair and his eyes flickered35 about absently and with a tormented and driven look, “I was just f-f-f-finkin’—” he went on in a dissonant36 and confused tone; then, suddenly catching37 sight of her white startled face, he smote38 himself suddenly and hard upon his temple with the knuckle39 of one large hand, and cried out “Haw!” in a tone of such idiotic40 exuberance41 and exultancy42 that it is impossible to reproduce in words the limitless and earthly vulgarity of its humour. At the same time he prodded43 his mother stiffly in the ribs44 with his clumsy fingers, an act that made her shriek45 out resentfully, and then say in a vexed46 and fretful tone:
“I’ll vow47, boy! You act like a regular idiot! If I didn’t have any more sense than to go and play a trick like that — I’d be ash-a-a-med — ash-a-a-a-med,” she whispered, with a puckered48 mouth, as she shook her head at him in a movement of strong deprecation, scorn, and reproof49. “I’d be ASHAMED to let anyone know I was such a fool,” his mother said.
“Whah! WHAH!” Luke shouted with his wild, limitlessly exuberant50 laugh, that was so devastating51 in its idiotic exultancy that all words, reproaches, scorn, or attempts at reason were instantly reduced to nothing by it. “Whee!” he cried, prodding52 her in her resentful ribs again, his handsome face broken by his huge and exuberant smile. Then, as if cherishing something secret and uncommunicably funny in its idiotic humour, he smote himself upon the forehead again, cried out, “Whah — WHAH!” and then, shaking his grinning face to himself in this movement of secret and convulsive humour, he said: “Whee! Go-o-d-damn!” in a tone of mincing53 and ironic54 refinement55.
“Why, what on earth has got into you, boy?” his mother cried out fretfully. “Why, you’re actin’ like a regular simpleton, I’ll vow you are!”
“Whah! WHAH!” Luke cried exultantly56.
“Now, I don’t know where it comes from,” said his mother judicially57, with a deliberate and meditative sarcasm58, as if she were seriously considering the origin of his lunacy. “There’s one thing sure: you never got it from me. Now, all my people had their wits about them — now, say what you please,” she went on in a thoughtful tone, as she stared with puckered mouth into the fire, “I never heard of a weak-minded one in the whole crowd —”
“Whah — WHAH!” he cried.
“— So you didn’t get it from any of my people,” she went on with deliberate and telling force —“no, you didn’t!” she said.
“WHAH-H!” he prodded her in the ribs again, and then immediately, and in a very earnest tone, he said:
“W-w-w-wy, I was just f-f-f-finkin’ it would be a good idea if we all w-w-w-went for a little ride. F-f-f-frankly, I fink it would do us good,” he said, looking at Eugene with a very earnest look in his restless and tormented eyes. “I fink we need it! F-f-f-frankly, I fink we do,” he said, and then added abruptly59 and eagerly as he thrust his clumsy fingers through his hair: “W-w-w-wy, what do you say?”
“Why, yes!” his mother responded with an instant alacrity60 as she got up from her chair. “That’s the very thing! A little breath of fresh air is just the thing we need — as the feller says,” she said, turning to Eugene now and beginning to laugh slyly, and with pleasure, passing one finger shyly underneath61 her broad red nose-wing as she spoke — “as the feller says, it costs nothin’ and it’s Nature’s sovereign remedy, good for man and good for beast! — So let’s all get out into the light of open day again,” she said with rhetorical deliberation, “and breathe in God’s fresh air like He intended we should do — for there’s one thing sure,” his mother went on in tones of solemn warning, which seemed directed to a vast unseen audience of the universe rather than to themselves, “there’s one thing sure — you can’t violate the laws of God or nature,” she said decisively, “or you’ll pay for it — as sure as you’re born. As sure as you’re born,” she whispered. “Why, yes, now!”— she went on, with a start of recollective memory —“Here now! — Say! — Didn’t I see it — wasn’t I readin’? — Why, here, you know, the other day,” she went on impatiently, as if the subject of these obscure broken references must instantly be clear to everyone —“why, it was in the paper, you know — this article written by Doctor Royal S. Copeland,” his mother said, nodding her head with deliberate satisfaction over his name, and pronouncing the full title sonorously62 with the obvious satisfaction that titles and distinctions always gave her — “that’s who it was all right, sayin’ that fresh air was the thing that everyone must have, and that all of us should take good care to —”
“Now, M-m-m-m-mama,” said Luke, who had paid no attention at all to what she had been saying, but had stood there during all the time she was speaking, breathing his large, weary, and unhappy breath, thrusting his clumsy fingers through his hair, as his harassed and tormented eyes flickered restlessly about the room in a driven but unseeing stare:—“Now, M-m-m-mama!” he said in a tone of exasperated63 and frenzied64 impatience65, “if we’re g-g-g-going we’ve g-g-g-got to get started! N-n-n-now I d-d-don’t mean next W-w-w-w-Wednesday,” he snarled66, with exasperated sarcasm, “I d-d-d-don’t m-m-m-mean the fifteenth of next July. But — NOW— NOW— NOW,” he muttered crazily, coming to her with his large hands lifted like claws, the fingers working, and with a look of fiendish madness in his eyes.
“Now!” he whispered hoarsely68. “This week! Today! This afternoon! A-a-a-a-at once!” he barked suddenly, jumping at her comically; then thrusting his hand through his hair again, he said in a weary and exasperated voice:
“M-m-m-mama, will you please get ready? I b-b-b-beg of you. I beseech69 you — PLEASE!” he said, in tortured entreaty70.
“ALL right! ALL right!” his mother replied instantly in a tone of the heartiest72 and most conciliatory agreement. “I’ll be ready in five minutes! I’ll just go back here and put on a coat over this old dress — so folks won’t see me,” she laughed shyly, “an’ I’ll be ready before you know it! — Pshaw, boy!” she now said in a rather nettled73 tone, as if the afterthought of his impatience had angered her a little, “now you don’t need to worry about MY being ready,” she said, “because when the time comes — I’ll be THERE!” she said, with the loose, deliberate, man-like gesture of her right hand and in tones of telling deliberation. “Now you worry about yourself!” she said. “For I’ll be ready before YOU are — yes, and I’m never late for an appointment, either,” she said strongly, “and that’s more than YOU can say — for I’ve seen you miss ’em time an’ time again.”
During all this time Luke had been thrusting his fingers through his hair, breathing heavily and unhappily, and pawing and muttering over a mass of thumbed envelopes and papers which were covered with the undecipherable scrawls74 and jottings of his nervous hand: “T-t-t-Tuesday,” he muttered, “Tuesday . . . Tuesday in Blackstone — B-b-b-b-Blackstone — Blackstone — Blackstone, South Car’lina,” he muttered in a confused and distracted manner, as if these names were completely meaningless to him, and he had never heard them before. “Now — AH!” he suddenly sang out in a rich tenor75 voice, as he lifted his hand, thrust his fingers through his hair, and stared wildly ahead of him —“meet Livermore in Blackstone Tuesday morning — see p-p-p-p-prospect in G-g-g-g-Gadsby Tuesday afternoon about — about — about — Wheet!”— here he whistled sharply, as he always did when he hung upon a word —“about a new set of batteries for his Model X— Style 37 — lighting76 system — which the cheap p-p-p-penny-pinching South Car’lina bastard77 w-w-w-wants for nothing — Wednesday m-m-m-morning b-b-b-back to Blackstone — F’ursday . . . w-w-w-wy,” he muttered pawing clumsily and confusedly at his envelopes with a demented glare —“F-f-f-f-f’ursday — you — ah — j-j-j-jump over to C-c-c-Cavendish to t-t-t-try to persuade that ignorant red-faced nigger-Baptist son of a bitch that it’s f-f-f-for his own b-b-b-best interests to scrap78 the-the-w-w-w-wy the d-d-d-decrepit pile of junk he’s been using since S-s-s-Sherman marched through Georgia and b-b-b-buy the new X50 model T Style 46 transmission —
“M-m-m-mama!” he cried suddenly, turning toward her with a movement of frenzied and exasperated entreaty. “Will you PLEASE kindly79 have the g-g-g-goodness and the m-m-m-mercy to do me the favour to b-b-b-begin to commence — w-w-w-w-wy — to start — to make up your mind — to get ready,” he snarled bitterly. “W-w-w-w-wy sometime before midnight — I b-b-b-beg of you . . . I beseech you . . . I ask it of you p-p-p-PLEASE! for MY sake — for ALL our sakes — for GOD’S sake!” he cried with frenzied and maddened desperation.
“ALL right! ALL right!” his mother cried hastily in a placating80 and reassuring81 tone, beginning to move with an awkward, distracted, bridling82 movement that got her nowhere, since there were two doors to the parlour and she was trying to go out both of them at the same time. “ALL right!” she said decisively, at length getting started toward the door nearest her. “I’ll just go back there an’ slip on a coat — and I’LL BE WITH YOU in a jiffy!” she said with comforting assurance.
“If you PLEASE!” Luke said with an ironic and tormented obsequiousness84 of entreaty, as he fumbled85 through his mass of envelopes. “If you PLEASE! W-w-w-wy I’d certainly be m-m-m-m-much obliged to you if you would!” he said.
At this moment, however, a car halted at the curb86 outside, someone got out, and in a moment more they could hear Helen’s voice, as she came towards the house, calling back to her husband in tones of exasperated annoyance87:
“All RIGHT! Hugh! All RIGHT! I’m coming!”— although she was really going toward the house. “Will you KINDLY leave me alone for just a moment? Good heavens! Will I never get a little peace? All right! All right! I’m coming! For God’s sake, leave me ALONE for just five minutes, or you’ll drive me crazy!” she stormed, and with a high-cracked note of frenzied strain and exasperation88 that was almost like hysteria.
“All right, Mr. Barton,” she now said to her husband in a more good-humoured tone. “Now you just hold your horses for a minute and I’ll come on out. The house is not going to burn down before we get there.”
His lean, seamed, devoted89 face broke into a slow, almost unwilling90 grin, in which somehow all of the submission91, loyalty92 and goodness of his soul was legible, and Helen turned, came up on the porch, opened the hall door, and came into the parlour where they were, beginning to speak immediately in a tone of frenzied and tortured exacerbation93 of the nerves and with her large, gaunt, liberal features strained to the breaking point of nervous hysteria.
“My GOD!” she said in a tone of weary exasperation. “If I don’t get away from them soon I’m going to lose my mind! . . . From the moment that I get up in the morning I never get a moment’s peace! Someone’s after me all day long from morn to night! Why, good heavens, Mama!” she cried out in a tone of desperate fury, and as if Eliza had contradicted something she had said, “I’ve got troubles enough of my own, without anyone else putting theirs on me! Have they got no one else they can go to? Haven’t they got homes of their own to look after? Do I have to bear the burden of it all for everyone ALL my life?” she stormed in a voice that was so hoarse67, strained and exasperated now that she was almost weeping. “Do I have to be the goat ALL my life? Oh, I want a little peace,” she cried desperately, “I just want to be left alone by myself once in a while! — The rest of you don’t have to worry!” she said accusingly. “You don’t have to stand for it. You can get away from it!” she cried. “You don’t know — you don’t KNOW!” she said furiously, “what I put up with — but if I don’t get away from it soon, I’m going all to pieces.”
During all the time that Helen had been pouring out her tirade94 of the wrongs and injuries that had been inflicted95 on her, Luke had acted as a kind of dutiful and obsequious83 chorus, punctuating96 all the places where she had to pause to pant for breath, with such remarks as —
“W-w-w-w-well, you d-d-do too much for everyone and they don’t appreciate it — that’s the trouble,” or, “I f-f-f-f-fink I’d tell them all to p-p-p-p-politely step to hell — f-f-frankly I fink you owe it to yourself to do it! W-w-w-wy you’ll only w-w-w-wear yourself out doing for others and in the end you d-d-d-don’t get so m-m-m-much as one good Goddamn for all your trouble! F-f-f-frankly, I mean it!” he would say with a very earnest look on his harassed and drawn97 face. “W-w-w-wy hereafter I’d let ’em g-g-g-g-go to hell!”
—“If they’d only show a little appreciation98 once in a while I wouldn’t mind so much,” she panted. “But do you think they care? Do you think it ever occurs to them to lift a hand to help me when they see me working my fingers to the bone for them? Why”— and here her big-boned generous face worked convulsively —“if I should work myself to death for them, do you think any of them would even so much as send a bunch of flowers to the funeral?”
Luke laughed with jeering99 scorn: “W-w-w-wy,” he said, “it is to laugh! It is to laugh! They w-w-wouldn’t send a G-g-g-g-God-damn thing — n-n-n-not even a ten-cent b-b-b-bunch of-of-w-w-w-w-wy — of turnip-greens!” he said.
“All RIGHT! All RIGHT!” Helen again cried furiously through the door, as Barton sounded a long imperative100 blast of protest and impatience on his horn. “All RIGHT! Hugh! I’m coming! Good heavens, can’t you leave me in peace for just five minutes? . . . Hugh, PLEASE! Please!” she stormed in a tone of frenzied exasperation as he sourly answered her. “Give me a little time alone, I beg of you — or I’ll go mad!”— And she turned to them again, panting and with the racked and strained expression of hysteria on her big-boned features. In a moment, her harassed and driven look relaxed somewhat, and the big rough bawdy101 smile began to shape itself again around the corners of her generous mouth.
“My God, Mama,” she said in a tone of quiet and weary despair, but with this faint lewd102 smile about her mouth and growing deeper as she spoke, “what am I going to do about it? Will you please tell me that? Did you have to put up with that when you and Papa were together? Is that the way it is? Is there no such thing as peace and privacy in this world? Now, I’d like to know. When you marry one of them, does that mean that you’ll never get a moment’s peace or privacy alone as long as you live? Now, there are some things you like to do alone”— she said, and by this time the lewd smile had deepened perceptibly around her mouth. “Why, it’s got so,” she said, “that I’m almost afraid to go to the bathroom any more —”
“Whew-w!” shrieked103 Eliza, laughing, putting one finger underneath her nose.
“Yes, sir,” Helen said quietly, with the lewd smile now deep and loose around her mouth. “I’ve just got so I’m almost afraid to go, I don’t know from one moment to the next whether one of them is going to come in and keep me company or not.”
“Whew!” Eliza cried. “Why, you’ll have to put up signs! ‘No Visitors Allowed!’— that’s exactly what you ought to say! I’d fix ’em! I’d do it like a shot,” she said.
Helen sniggered hoarsely, and absently began to pluck at her chin.
“But OH!” she said with a sigh. “If only they’d leave me alone an hour a day! If only I could get away for just an hour —”
“W-w-w-wy!” Luke began. “Why don’t you c-c-come with us! F-f-f-frankly, I fink you ought to do it! I fink the change would do you good,” he said.
“Why?” she said rather dully, yet curiously104. “Where are you going?”
“W-w-w-wy,” he said, “we were just starting for a little ride. . . . Mama!” he burst out suddenly in a tone of exasperated entreaty — “Will you k-k-k-kindly go and get yourself ready? W-w-wy, it’s g-g-g-going to get d-d-d-dark before we get started,” he said bitterly, as if she had kept him waiting all this time. “Now, PLEASE— I b-b-b-beg of you — to g-g-g-get ready — wy-wy-wy without f-f-f-further delay — now, I ask it of you, for God’s sake!” he said, and then turning to Helen with a movement of utter exasperation and defeat, he shuddered105 convulsively, thrust his fingers through his hair, and moaned “Ah-h-h-h-h-h!” after which he began to mutter “My God! My God! My God!”
“All RIGHT, sir! All RIGHT!” Eliza said briskly, in a conciliatory tone. “I’ll just go right back there and put my coat and hat on and I won’t keep you waitin’ FIVE—”
“Wy, wy, wy. If you p-p-please, Mama,” said Luke with a tortured and ironic bow. “If you p-p-please.”
At length, they really did get out of the house and were assembled on the curb in the last throes of departure. Luke, breathing stertorously106 his large unhappy breath, began to walk about his battered107 little car, casting uneasy and worried looks at it and falling upon it violently from time to time, kicking it in the tyres with his large flat feet, smiting108 it with a broad palm and seizing it by the sides and shaking it so savagely109 that its instant dissolution seemed inevitable110. Meanwhile Eliza stood planted solidly, facing her house, her hands clasped loosely at the waist and her powerful and delicate mouth pursed reflectively as she surveyed her property — a characteristic gesture that always marked every departure from the house and every return to it, in which the whole power and relish111 of possession were evident. As for Barton, while these inevitable ceremonies were taking place, he just sat in his car with a kind of sour resigned patience, and waited. And Helen, while this was going on, had taken Eugene by the arm and walked a few paces down the street with him, talking all the time in a broken and abstracted way, of which the reference could only be inferred:
“You see, don’t you? . . . You see what I’ve got to put up with, don’t you? . . . You only get it for a little while when you come here, but with me it’s ALL the time and ALL the time”— Suddenly she turned to him, looked him directly in the eye, and speaking quietly to him, but with a curious, brooding and disturbing inflection in her voice, she said:
“Do you know what day this is?”
“No.”
“Do you realize that Ben died five years ago this morning? — I was thinking of it yesterday when she was talking about getting that room ready for those people who are coming,” she muttered, and with a note of weary bitterness in her voice. For a moment her big-boned face was marked with the faint tension of hysteria, and her eyes looked dark and lustreless112 and strained as she plucked absently at her large chin. “But do you see how she can do it?” she went on in a low tone of brooding and weary resignation. “Do you understand how she can ever bear to go back in there? Do you see how she can rent that room out to any cheap lodger113 who comes along? Do you realize that she’s got the same bed in there he died on,” she said morbidly114, “the same mattress115? — K-k-k-k-k-k!” she laughed softly and huskily, poking116 at his ribs. “She’ll have you sleeping on it next —”
“I’ll be damned if she does!”
“K-k-k-k-k-k-k!”
“Do you think I could be sleeping on it now?” Eugene said with a feeling of black horror and dread117 around his heart.
“K-k-k-k-k-k!” she snickered. “Would you like that? Would you sleep better if you knew it was? . . . No,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “Uh-uh! I don’t think so. It’s still up there in the same room. She may have painted the bed, but otherwise I don’t think she’s changed a thing. Have you ever been back up there since he died?” she said curiously.
“My GOD, no! Have you?”
She shook her head: “Not I,” she said with weary finality. “I’ve never even been upstairs since that morning. . . . Hugh hates the place,” she muttered, looking towards him. “He doesn’t even like to stop and wait for me. He won’t come in.”
Then she was silent for a moment as they looked at the gaunt ugly bay of the room upstairs where Ben had died. In the yard the maple118 trees were thinning rapidly; the leaves were sere119 and yellow and were floating to the ground. And the old house stood there in all its ugly, harsh, and prognathous bleakness121, its paint of rusty122 yellow scaling from it in patches, and weathered and dilapidated as Eugene had never seen it before, but incredibly near, incredibly natural and familiar, so that all its ghosts of pain and grief and bitterness, its memories of joy and magic and lost time, the thousand histories of all the vanished people it had sheltered, whom all of them had known, revived instantly with an intolerable and dream-like strangeness and familiarity.
And now, as they looked up at the bleak120 windows of the room in which he died, the memory of his death’s black horror passed across their souls a minute, and then was gone, leaving them only with the fatality123 of weary resignation which they had learned from it. In a moment, with a look of ancient and indifferent weariness and grief in her eyes, Helen turned to him, and with a faint rough smile around her mouth, said quietly:
“Does he ever bother you at night? — When the wind begins to howl around the house, do you ever hear him walking up there? Has he been in to see you yet? — K-k-k k-k-k!” she poked124 him with her big stiff finger, laughing huskily, and then in a low, sombrely brooding tone, as if the grisly suggestion were his, she shook her head, saying:
“Forget about it! They don’t come back, Eugene! I used to think they did, but now I know they never do. — He won’t come,” she muttered, as she shook her head. “Forget about it. He won’t come. Just forget about it,” she continued, looking at Eliza with weary resignation. “It’s not her fault. I used to think that you could change them. But you can’t. Uh-uh!” she muttered, plucking at her large cleft125 chin. “It can’t be done. They never change.”
Luke stood distractedly for a moment on the curbstone, breathing his large unhappy breath and thrusting his clumsy fingers strongly through the flashing whirls and coils of his incredible hair.
“Now — ah!” he sang out richly. “Let me see! I— wy — I fink! M-m-m-mama, if you PLEASE!” he said. “Wy if you PLEASE!” with an exasperated and ironic obsequiousness.
She had been standing126 there, planted squarely on the sidewalk, facing her house. She stood with her hands clasped loosely across her stomach, and as she looked at the gaunt weathered shape of the old house, her mouth was puckered in an expression of powerful rumination127 in which the whole terrible legend of blood and hunger and desperate tenacity128 — the huge clutch of property and possession which, with her, was like the desperate clutch of life itself — was evident.
What was this great claw in her life — this thing that was stronger than life or death or motherhood — which made her hold on to anything which had ever come into her possession, which made her cling desperately to everything which she had ever owned — old bottles, papers, pieces of string, worn-out gloves with all the fingers missing, frayed129 cast-off sweaters which some departed boarder had left behind him, postcards, souvenirs, sea-shells, coco-nuts, old battered trunks, dilapidated furniture which could be no longer used, calendars for the year 1906, showing coy maidens130 simpering sidewise out beneath the crisply ruffled131 pleatings of a Japanese parasol — a mountainous accumulation of old junk for which the old dilapidated house had now become a fit museum.
Then in the wink of an eye she would pour thousands of dollars after the crazy promises of boom-town real-estate speculation132 that by comparison made the wildest infatuation of a drunken race-track gambler look like the austere133 process of a coldly reasoning mind.
Even as she stood there staring at her house with her pursed mouth of powerful and ruminant satisfaction, another evidence of this madness of possession was staring in their face. At the end of the alley134 slope, behind the house, there was a dilapidated old shed or house of whitewashed135 boards, which had been built in earlier times as a carriage house. Now through the open entrance of this shed they could see the huge and dusty relic136 of Eliza’s motor car. She had bought it four years before, and bought it instantly one day before they knew about it, and paid $2000 in hard cash for it — and why she bought it, what mad compulsion of her spirit made her buy it, no one knew, and least of all Eliza.
For from that day to this that car had never left the carriage house. Year by year, in spite of protest, oaths, and prayers, and all their frantic137 pleading, she had got no use from it herself, and would let no one else use it. No, what is more, she had even refused to sell it later, although a man had made her a good offer. Rather she pursed her lips reflectively, smiled in a bantering fashion, and said evasively: “Well, I’ll see now! I’ll think it over! — I want to study about it a little — you come back later and I’ll let you know! . . . I want to think about it!”— as if, by hanging on to this mass of rusty machinery138, she hoped it would increase in value and that she could sell it some day for twice the price she paid for it, if only she “held on” long enough.
And at first they had all wrestled139 by turns with the octopal convolutions of her terrific character, exhausting all the strength and energy in them against the substance of a will that was like something which always gave and never yielded, which could be grasped, compressed, and throttled140 in the hard grip of their furious hands, only to bulge141 out in new shapes and forms and combinations — which flowed, gave, withdrew, receded142 and advanced, but which remained itself for ever, and beat everything before it in the end.
Now, for a moment, as Luke saw the car he was goaded143 into the old madness of despair. Thrusting his fingers through his hair, and with a look of desperate exasperation in his tortured eyes, he began: “M-m-m-mama — M-m-m-mama — I beg of you, I— wy I entreat71 you — w-w-w-wy I BESEECH you either to s-s-s-sell that God-damn thing or — wy — g-g-g-get a little s-s-service out of it.”
“Well, now,” Eliza said quickly and in a conciliatory tone, “we’ll see about it!”
“S-s-s-see about it!” he stammered144 bitterly. “See about it! In G-g-g-God’s name, what is there to see about? M-m-m-mama, the car’s there — there — there —” he muttered crazily, poking his clumsy finger in a series of jerky and convulsive movements in the direction of the carriage house. “It’s THERE!” he croaked145 madly. “C-c-c-can’t you understand that? W-w-w-wy, it’s rotting away on its God-damn wheels — M-m-m-mama, will you PLEASE get it into your head that it’s not g-g-g-going to do you or anyone else any good unless you take it out and use it?”
“Well, as I say now”— she began hastily, and in a diplomatic tone of voice.
“M-m-m-m-mama”— he began, again thrusting at his hair —“wy, I beg of you — I beseech you to sell it, g-g-g-give it away, or wy-wy-wy try to get a little use out of it! — Let me take it out and drive you round the block in it — w-w-w-wy — just once! Just once! F-f-f-frankly, I’d like to have the satisfaction of knowing you’d had THAT much out of it!” he said. “Wy, I’ll p-p-p-pay for the p-p-p-petrol, if that’s what’s worrying you! Wy, I’ll do it with pleasure! . . . But just let me take it out of that G-g-g-g-God-damn place if all — if all — wy if all I do is drive you to the corner! Now, PLEASE!” he begged, with an almost frantic note of entreaty.
“Why, no, boy!” she cried out in a startled tone. “We can’t do that!”
“C-c-c-can’t do that!” he stuttered bitterly. “Wy, in G-g-g-g-God’s name, why can’t we?”
“I’d be AFRA-A-ID!” she said with a little troubled smile, as she shook her head. “Hm! I’d be AFRAID!”
“Wy-wy-wy-wy AFRAID?” he yelled. “Wy, what’s there to be afraid of, in God’s name?”
“I’d be afraid you’d DO something to it,” she said with her troubled smile. “I’d be afraid you’d smash it up or run over someone with it. No, child,” she said gravely, as she shook her head. “I’d be afraid to let you drive it. You’re too nervous.”
“Ah-h-h-h-h-h!” he breathed clutching convulsively in his hair as his eyes flickered madly about in his head. “Ah-h-h-h-h! M-m-m-merciful God!” he muttered. “M-m-m-m-m-merciful God!”— and then laughed wildly, frantically146, and bitterly.
Now Helen spoke curiously, plucking reflectively at her large chin, but with weariness and resignation in her accent as if already she knew the answer:
“Mama, what are you going to do with your car? It seems a shame to let it rot away back there after you’ve paid out all that money for it. Aren’t you going to try to get any use out of it at all?”
“Well, now, as I say,” Eliza began smugly, pursing her lips with ruminative147 relish as she looked into the air, “I’m just waitin’ for the chance — I’m just waitin’ till the first fine day to come along — and then, I’ve got a good notion to take that thing out and learn to run it myself.”
“Oh, Mama,” Helen began quietly and wearily, “good heavens —”
“Why, yes!” Eliza cried nodding her head briskly. “I could do it! Now, I can do most anything when I make my mind up to it! Now I’ve never seen anything yet I couldn’t do if I had to! . . . So I’m just waitin’ until spring comes round again, and I’m goin’ to take that car out and drive it all around,” she said. “I’m just goin’ to sit up there an’ enjoy the scenery an’ have a big time,” said Eliza with her little tremulous smile. “That’s what I’m goin’ to do,” she said.
“All right,” Helen said wearily. “Have it your own way. Do as you please: it’s your own funeral! Only it seems a shame to let it go to waste after you’ve spent all that money on it.”
But turning to Eugene, and speaking in a lowered tone, she said to him, with the faint tracing of hysteria on her big-decent face and weariness and resignation in her voice:
“Well, what are you going to do about it? I used to think that you could change her, but now I know she never will. . . . I’ve given up trying. It’s no use,” she muttered. “It’s no use. I worked my fingers to the bone to help them save a copper148 — and you see what comes of it. . . . I did the work of a nigger in the kitchen from the time I was ten years old — and you see what comes of it, don’t you? I went off and sang my way around the country in cheap moving-picture shows . . . and came up here and waited on the tables to help feed a crowd of cheap boarders — and Luke sold The Saturday Evening Post, and peddled149 hot dogs and toy balloons — and you got up at three o’clock, carried the morning paper — and they let Ben go to hell until his lungs were gone and it was too late — and you see what it all comes to in the end, don’t you? . . . It’s all given away to real-estate men or thrown away for motor cars they never use. I’ve given up worrying,” she said. “I don’t think about it any more. . . . They don’t change,” she muttered. “I used to think they did, but now I know they don’t. Uh-uh! They don’t change! . . . Well, forget about it,” and she turned wearily away.
The year Eliza bought the car, Eugene was eighteen years old and was a Junior at the State University. When he came home that year he asked her if she would let him learn to drive it. It was about the time when everyone in town was beginning to own motor cars. When he walked up town everyone he knew would drive by him in a car. Everyone on earth was beginning to live upon a wheel. Somehow it gave him a naked and desolate150 feeling, as if he had nowhere to go and no door to enter. When he asked her if she would let him take the car out and learn to drive it, she had looked at him a moment with her hands clasped loosely at the waist, her head cocked quizzically to one side, and the little tremulous and bantering smile that had always filled him with such choking exasperation and wordless shame, and somehow with a nameless and intolerable pity, too, because behind it he felt always her high white forehead and her faded, weak, and childlike eyes, the naked intelligence, whiteness, and immortal151 innocence152 of the child that was looking straight through the mask of years with all the deathless hope and faith and confidence of her life and character.
Now, for the last time, he asked her again the question he had asked with such an earnest hope so many times before. And instantly, as if he had dreamed her answer, she replied — the same reply that she had always made, the only reply the invincible procrastination of her soul could make.
“Hm!” she said, making the bantering and humming noise in her throat as she looked at him. “WHA-A-A-T! Why, you’re my BA-A-A-BY!” she said with jesting earnestness, as she laid her strong worn hand loosely on his shoulder. “No, sir!” she said quickly and quietly, shaking her head in a swift sideways movement. “I’d be AFRA-A-ID, afraid,” she whispered.
“Mama, afraid of what?”
“Why, child,” she said gravely, “I’d be afraid you’d go and hurt yourself. Uh-uh!” she shook her head quickly and shortly. “I’d be afraid to let you try it — well, we’ll see,” she said, turning it off easily in an evasive and conciliatory tone. “We’ll see about it. I’d like to study about it a little first.”
After that there was nothing to do except to curse and beat their fists into the wall. And after that there was nothing to do at all. She had beaten them all, and they knew it. Their curses, prayers, oaths, persuasions153 and strangled cries availed them nothing. She had beaten them all, and finally they spoke no more to her or to themselves about her motor car: the gigantic folly154 of that mad wastefulness155 evoked156 for them all memories so painful, desolate and tragic157 — a memory of the fatality of blood and nature which could not be altered, of the done which could be undone158 never, and of the web of fate in which their lives were meshed159 — that they knew there was no guilt160, no innocence, no victory, and no change. They were what they were, and they had no more to say.
So was it now as she stood planted there before her house. As she had grown older, her body had grown clumsier with the shapeless heaviness of age: as she stood there with her hands clasped in this attitude of ruminant relish, she seemed to be planted solidly on the pavement and somehow to own, inhabit, and possess the very bricks she walked on. She owned the street, the pavement, and finally her terrific ownership of the house was as apparent as if the house were living and could speak to her. For the rest of them that old bleak house had now so many memories of grief and death and intolerable, incurable161 regret that in their hearts they hated it; but although she had seen a son strangle to death in one of its bleak rooms, she loved the house as if it were a part of her own life — as it was — and her love for it was greater than her love for anyone or anything else on earth.
And yet, for her, even if that house, the whole world, fell in ruins around her, there could be no ruin — her spirit was as everlasting162 as the earth on which she walked, and could not be touched — no matter what catastrophes163 of grief, death, tragic loss, and unfulfilment might break the lives of other men — she was triumphant over the ravages164 of time and accident, and would be triumphant to her death. For there was only the inevitable fulfilment of her own destiny — and ruin, loss, and death availed not — she would be fulfilled. She had lived ten lives, and now she was embarked165 upon another one, and so it had been ordered in the beginning: this was all that mattered in the end.
But now, Luke, seeing her, as she stood planted there in all-engulfing rumination, thrust his hands distractedly through his shining hair again, and cried to her with exasperated entreaty:
“W-w-w-wy, Mama, if you PLEASE! I b-b-b-beg of you and BESEECH you, if you PLEASE!”
“I’m READY!” Eliza cried, starting and turning from her powerful contemplation of her house. “This very minute, sir! Come on!”
“Wy, if you p-p-p-PLEASE!” he muttered, thrusting at his hair.
They walked towards his car, which he had halted in the alley-way beside the house. A few leaves, sere and yellow, from the maples166 in the yard were drifting slowly to the ground.
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1
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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2
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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6
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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7
corporeal
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| adj.肉体的，身体的；物质的 | |
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8
ram
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| (random access memory)随机存取存储器 | |
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9
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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10
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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11
meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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procrastination
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| n.拖延，耽搁 | |
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13
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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15
bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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16
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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17
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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tribulations
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| n.苦难( tribulation的名词复数 )；艰难；苦难的缘由；痛苦 | |
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drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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jocose
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| adj.开玩笑的，滑稽的 | |
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24
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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26
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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30
persuasively
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| adv.口才好地；令人信服地 | |
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31
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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32
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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33
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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34
harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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35
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dissonant
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| adj.不和谐的；不悦耳的 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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39
knuckle
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| n.指节；vi.开始努力工作；屈服，认输 | |
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40
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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41
exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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42
exultancy
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| n.大喜，狂喜 | |
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43
prodded
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| v.刺，戳( prod的过去式和过去分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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44
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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45
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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46
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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47
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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48
puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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50
exuberant
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| adj.充满活力的；（植物）繁茂的 | |
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51
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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52
prodding
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| v.刺，戳( prod的现在分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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53
mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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54
ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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55
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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56
exultantly
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| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
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57
judicially
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| 依法判决地，公平地 | |
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58
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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59
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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60
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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61
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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62
sonorously
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| adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；堂皇地；朗朗地 | |
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63
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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64
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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65
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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66
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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67
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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68
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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69
beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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70
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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71
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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72
heartiest
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| 亲切的( hearty的最高级 )； 热诚的； 健壮的； 精神饱满的 | |
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73
nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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74
scrawls
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| 潦草的笔迹( scrawl的名词复数 ) | |
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75
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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76
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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77
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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78
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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79
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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80
placating
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| v.安抚，抚慰，使平静( placate的现在分词 ) | |
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81
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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82
bridling
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的现在分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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83
obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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84
obsequiousness
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| 媚骨 | |
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85
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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86
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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87
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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88
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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89
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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90
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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91
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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92
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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93
exacerbation
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| n.恶化，激怒，增剧；转剧 | |
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94
tirade
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| n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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95
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
punctuating
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的现在分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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97
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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98
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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99
jeering
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| adj.嘲弄的，揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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100
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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101
bawdy
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| adj.淫猥的，下流的；n.粗话 | |
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102
lewd
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| adj.淫荡的 | |
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103
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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105
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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106
stertorously
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107
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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108
smiting
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的现在分词 ) | |
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109
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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110
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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111
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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112
lustreless
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| adj.无光泽的，无光彩的，平淡乏味的 | |
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113
lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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114
morbidly
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| adv.病态地 | |
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115
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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116
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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117
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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118
maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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119
sere
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| adj.干枯的；n.演替系列 | |
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120
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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121
bleakness
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| adj. 萧瑟的, 严寒的, 阴郁的 | |
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122
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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123
fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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124
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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125
cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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126
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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127
rumination
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| n.反刍，沉思 | |
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128
tenacity
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| n.坚韧 | |
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129
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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130
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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131
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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132
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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133
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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134
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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135
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136
relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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137
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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138
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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139
wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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140
throttled
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| v.扼杀( throttle的过去式和过去分词 )；勒死；使窒息；压制 | |
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141
bulge
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| n.突出，膨胀，激增；vt.突出，膨胀 | |
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142
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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143
goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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144
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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145
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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146
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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147
ruminative
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| adj.沉思的，默想的，爱反复思考的 | |
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148
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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149
peddled
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| （沿街）叫卖( peddle的过去式和过去分词 )； 兜售； 宣传； 散播 | |
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150
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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151
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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152
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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153
persuasions
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| n.劝说，说服（力）( persuasion的名词复数 )；信仰 | |
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154
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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155
wastefulness
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| 浪费，挥霍，耗费 | |
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156
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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157
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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158
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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159
meshed
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| 有孔的，有孔眼的，啮合的 | |
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160
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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161
incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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162
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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163
catastrophes
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| n.灾祸( catastrophe的名词复数 )；灾难；不幸事件；困难 | |
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164
ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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165
embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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166
maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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