“. . . . Joel tells me that you like to stay up all night and prowl around. What do you do on these prowling expeditions?”
He wanted to answer her with simple eloquence2 and grace and warmth, he wanted to paint a picture of his midnight wanderings that would hold her there in fascinated interest, but the glacial impersonality3 of the woman’s smile, the proud and haughty4 magnificence of her person, froze all the ardours of enthusiasm and conviction with which, he felt, he might have spoken; it even seemed to numb6 and thicken the muscles of his tongue, and he stood there gaping7 at her awkwardly, cutting a sorry figure, and flushing crimson8 with anger and vexation at his lame9, stupid, halting tongue, and stammered10 out, replying:
“I— I walk,” he mumbled13. “I— I take walks.”
“You — WHAT?” she said kindly14 enough, but sharply, with a kind of peremptory15 authority that told him that she must already be growing weary and impatient of his stammering16, incoherent speech, his mumbling17 awkwardness.
“Oh — WALK!” she cried, with an air of swift enlightenment, as if her puzzled mind had just succeeded in translating his jargon18. “Oh,” she said quietly, and looked at him for a moment steadily19 with her fixed20 and glacial smile, “you do.”
It seemed to him that those brief words were already pregnant with a cold indifferent dismissal: in them he seemed to feel the impregnable indifference21 of her cold detachment — the yawning gulf22 that separated her life from his. Already it seemed to him that she had turned away from him, dismissing him as not worthy23 even of such amused attention as she had given him. But after a moment, as she continued to look at him with her brilliant, glacial, detached, yet not unkindly smile, she continued:
“And what do you do on these walks? Where do you go?”
— Where? Where? Where indeed? His mind groped desperately24 over the whole nocturnal pattern of the city — over the lean, gaunt webbing of Manhattan with the barren angularity of its streets, the splintered, glacial soar of its terrific buildings, and the silent, frozen harshness of its streets of old brown houses, grimy brick and rusty25, age-encrusted stone.
Oh, he thought that he could tell her all that could be told, that youth could know, that any man had ever known about night and time and darkness, and about the city’s dark and secret heart, and what lay buried in the dark and secret heart of all America. He thought that he could tell her all that any man could ever know about the huge, attentive26 secrecy27 of night, and of man’s silent heart of buried, waiting, and intolerable desire, about the thing that waits there in the night-time in America, that lies buried at the city’s secret heart of night, the mute and single tongue of man’s intolerable desire, the silence of his single heart in all its overwhelming eloquence, the great tide flowing in the hearts of men, as dark and as mysterious as the great, unceasing river, the thing that waits and does not speak and is for ever silent and that knows for ever, and that has no words to say, no tongue to speak, and that unites six million celled and lonely sleepers28 at the heart of night and silence, in the great dark tide of the unceasing river, and of all our buried songs of hope and joy and wild desire that live for ever in the heart of night and of America.
Yes, he thought that he could tell her all of this, but when he spoke5, with thickened tongue, a numb and desperate constraint29, all that he could mutter thickly was: “I— I walk.”
“But WHERE?” she said, a trifle more sharply, still looking at him with her glacial, curious smile. “That’s what I’d like to know. Where do you go? What do you see that’s so interesting? What do you find that’s worth staying up all night for? Where do you go when you make these expeditions?” she again demanded. “Up to Broadway?”
“Yes,” he mumbled thickly, “— sometimes — and — and sometimes — I go down town.”
“Down town?” the cool incisive30 inflection of the voice, the glacial grey-green of the eye bored through him like a steel-blue drill. “Downtown WHERE? To the Battery?”
“Y-y-yes — sometimes. . . . And — and along the East Side, too,” he mumbled.
“WHERE?” she cried sharply, smiling, but manifestly impatient with his mumbled, tongue-tied answers. “OH— the East Side!” she cried again, with the air of glacial enlightenment. “— In the tenement31 section!”
“Yes — yes,” he stumbled on desperately, “— and along Fourteenth Street and Second Avenue — and Grand Street — and — and Delancey — and — and the Bowery — and all the docks and piers32 and all,” he blurted33 out, conscious of Joel’s eager, radiant smile of hopeful kindness, and the miserable34 clown he was making of himself.
“But I should think you would find all that dreadfully boring.” Mrs. Pierce’s voice was now tinged35 with cool and mild surprise. “And awfully36 ugly, isn’t it? . . . I mean, if you’ve got to prowl around at night, you might hunt for something a little more attractive than the East Side, couldn’t you? . . . After all, we still have Riverside Drive — I suppose even that has changed a great deal, but in my childhood it was quite a lovely place. Or the Park?” she said, a little more kindly and persuasively37. “If you want to take a walk before going to bed, why, wouldn’t it be better to take it in the Park — where you could see an occasional tree or a little grass? . . . Or even Fifth Avenue and around Washington Square — that used to be quite pleasant? But the East SIDE! Heavens! My dear boy, what on earth do you ever find in a place like that to interest you?”
He was absolutely speechless, congealed38, actually terrified by the haughty magnificence, the glacial and almost inhuman39 detachment, of her person. His mouth gaped41, he gulped42, his lips quivered and made soundless efforts for a moment, and then he stammered:
“You — you find — you find — p-p-p-people there,” he said.
“PEOPLE?” Again her thin eyebrows43 arched in fine surprise. “But of course you find people there! You find people everywhere you go. . . . Only,” she added, “I shouldn’t think you’d find many people anywhere at two o’clock in the morning. I should think most of them would be in bed — even on the East Side.”
“They — they stay up late over there.”
“But why?” she now cried with a good-natured but frank impatience44. “That’s just what I’m trying to find out! . . . What’s it all about? What’s all the SHOOTING for?” she said humorously, repeating a phrase which was in current use at that time. “— What’s the big attraction? What do they find to do that’s so interesting that it can keep them out of bed half through the night? . . . Really,” she cried, “if it’s so amusing as all that, I think I’ll go and have a look myself. What do they DO?” she again insisted. “That’s what I want to know.”
“They — they sit around and talk.”
“But WHERE? WHERE?” she now cried with frank despair. “My dear boy, that’s what I want you to tell me.”
“Oh, in-in lunch-rooms — and restaurants — and speak-easies — and — and places like that.”
“Yes,” she nodded with an air of satisfaction. “Good. At least, we have THAT settled. And you go to these places, too — and sit around — and watch — and listen to them. Is that it?”
“Yes,” he said helplessly, nodding, her words suddenly making all this restless and unceasing explanation of the night seem reasonless, foolish, pitifully absurd, “sometimes.”
“And what kind of people do you find in those places?” she said curiously45. “I’ve often wondered what kind of people go there.”
Kind? He stared at her foolishly with gaping jaw46, and gaped and muttered wordlessly, and could not find a word to say to her. Kind? Great God! what word could ever shape them, what phrase could ever utter the huge swarm47 and impact of just one moment, out of all those million swarming48 memories of kaleidoscopic49 night! Kind? Great God! the kind of all the earth, the kind of the whole world, the unnumbered, nameless, swarming, and illimitable kind that make all living! Kind? The mongrel compost of a hundred races — the Jews, the Irish, the Italians, and the niggers, the Swedes, the Germans, the Lithuanians and the Poles, the Russians, Czechs, and Greeks, the Syrians, Turks and Armenians, the nameless hodge-podge of the Balkans, as well as Chinese, Japs, and dapper little Filipinos — a hundred tongues, a thousand tribes, unnumbered colonies of life, all poured in through the lean gateways50 of the sea, all poured in upon that rock of life, to join the countless51 freightage of that ship of living stone, all nurtured52 and sustained upon the city’s strong breast — a thousand kinds, a single substance, all fused and joined there at the heart of the night, all moving with that central, secret and dynamic energy, all wrought53 and woven in, with all their swarming variousness, into the great web of America — with all its clamour, naked struggle, blind and brutal54 strife55, with all its violence, ignorance, and cruelty, and with its terror, joy, and mystery, its undying hope, its everlasting56 life.
All he could do was gape40 and mumble12 foolishly again, and stammer11 finally: “There — there are all kinds, I guess,” and plunge57 on desperately, “and then — and then — there are the wharves58 and piers and docks — the Battery and the City Hall — and then — and then,” he stumbled on, “— the Bridge — the Bridge is good.”
“The Bridge?” Again the pencilled brows of arched surprise, the glacial curiosity. “What bridge?”
What bridge? Great God! the only bridge, the bridge of power, life and joy, the bridge that was a span, a cry, an ecstasy59 — that was America. What bridge? The bridge whose wing-like sweep that was like space and joy and ecstasy was mixed like music in his blood, would beat like flight and joy and triumph through the conduits of his life for ever. What bridge? The bridge whereon at night he had walked and stood and watched a thousand times, until every fabric60 of its soaring web was inwrought in his memory, and every stone of its twin terrific arches was in his heart, and every living sinew of its million cabled nerves had throbbed61 and pulsed in his own spirit like his soul’s anatomy62.
“The — the Brooklyn Bridge,” he mumbled. “The — the Bridge is good.”
“Good? How do you mean — good?” The glacial and amused inquiry63 pierced his consciousness again with confusion, numb paralysis65 of speech, and incoherence. And at this moment Joel, seeing his agonizing66 embarrassment67, came to his rescue with the exquisite68, radiant kindliness69 that was the constant evidence of his fine character.
“Um. Yes,” he could hear Joel whispering in a thoughtful and convinced way. “He’s dead right about it, Mums. I’ve gone with him once or twice — and the Bridge IS good! . . . And the East Side has good things in it, too,” he whispered generously. “I saw some good bits there — street corners, a store front, alleys71 — there’s good colour — I’d like to go back some time and paint it.”
For the first time Mrs. Pierce broke into a robust72, free and hearty73 laugh.
“Joel!” she cried. “You can get the most insane notions in your head of any boy I ever knew! If I didn’t watch you, I believe you’d be painting ash-cans! . . . My dear boy,” she said, laughing, “you’d better stick to what you’re doing. I don’t think you’ve had much experience with low-life — if that’s what you want I’ll find plenty of it for you right here in Rhinekill or on the farm. . . . If you want low-life,” here she paused and laughed heartily74 again, “go down to Granny’s tomorrow and paint the expression of those nine maids of hers when she tells them she’s decided75 to bob their hair because it fits in so nicely with the new decoration — Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah!”— Mrs. Pierce cast back her head and laughed again, a full free hearty laugh of robust humour in which Joel joined enthusiastically, almost suddenly, with a face radiant with glee —“I’d just like to be there when she tells them, that’ll be low-life enough,” she said.
“SIMPLY incredible!” Joel whispered, his face still radiant with its gleeful merriment.
“But no,” his mother went on more casually76, and with humorous tolerance77. “— You finish what you’re doing first — finish those screens you’re doing for Madge Telfair — then we’ll talk about low-life. . . . But I hardly think your talent lies in that direction,” she said good-humouredly but with an ironically knowing smile. “I haven’t seen your mother all these years without finding out something about your abilities — and I hardly think they lie in that direction. So you must stick to what you’re doing for the present — and if there’s any low-life to be done, just let ME do the choosing. . . . Well, then, good night,” she said quietly, kindly, and good-naturedly to the young man, as she turned to go upstairs. “Joel has told me so much about your nocturnal habits that I was curious to meet you and find out what you did. I’m glad to get the mystery cleared up. . . . I suppose,” she said, with an idle and detached curiosity, “that when one is all alone and knows no one in the city, he is driven to do almost anything for amusement. . . . Where are you from?” she said curiously.
“From — from the South,” he answered.
“Oh,” she stared at him a moment longer with her cold, fixed smile. “Yes,” she said. “I can see you are. I thought so. . . . Well, children,” she said with an air of finality, “you can burn the candle at both ends if that’s what you want to do — go out and bay the moon if you like — but not too near the house,” she said good-naturedly. “Your MOTHER’S going to bed. . . . Joel,” she said quietly, “you’ll be in to see me, of course, before you turn in.”
“Yes, Mums,” he whispered, eager, radiant, his tall, thin figure bent78 forward reverentially as he looked up at her, his eyebrows arching with their characteristic expression of fine surprise. — “But of course!” he said.
“Very well,” she said quietly. “And now good night to all of you.”
Turning, she went swiftly up the stairs, a tall, magnificently haughty figure of a woman, holding rustling79 and luxurious80 skirts.
“And now,” Joel whispered, when his mother had departed, “I’ll show you your room — and how to find the kitchen — and tell you anything you want to know — and after THAT,” he whispered, laughing and stroking his head, “you can do as you please, stay up as long as you like — but I’M going to bed.”
With these words he took his guest’s valise and started up the stairs. The young man followed him: he had been given a room on the second floor on the river side of the house. It was a magnificent spacious81 room so richly, softly carpeted that the foot sank down with velvety82 firmness to a noiseless tread. The quality of the room was the quality of the whole house — a kind of chateau83-like grandeur84 and solidity, combined with the warmth, comfort and simplicity85 of a country house. Joel pressed buttons, flooding the great room with light. The wide and snowy covers of the great bed had been drawn86 back for the night. It was a bed fit for a king, and long and spacious enough for a man of seven feet: it waited there with a kind of still embrace, a silent and yet animate87 invitation that was eloquent88 with the promise of a strange and sweet repose89.
Joel opened the door of the bathroom — it was a miracle of shining tile and creamy porcelain90 and gleaming silver and heavy, robe-like towels. Then Joel raised the shades, drew the curtains apart and opened the window: the fragrance91 of the night came in slowly, sustaining gauzy curtains on its breath of coolness like a cloud of gossamer92. And through the opened window was revealed anew the haunting loneliness of that enchanted93 landscape: the vast sweep of velvet-rounded lawn that slept in moonlight, and the sleeping and moon-haunted woods below and to each side, and down below them in the distance the great wink94 and scallop-dance and dark unceasing mystery of the lovely and immortal95 river — a landscape such as one might see in dreams, in dreams for ever haunted by the thought of home.
The feeling of happiness that filled the youth was so grand, so wonderful and so overpowering that he could not speak. It seemed that all his life he had dreamed of one day finding such a life as this, and now that he had found it, it seemed to him that all he had dreamed was but a poor and shabby counterfeit96 of this reality — all he had imaged as a boy in his unceasing visions of the shining city, and of the glamorous97 men and women, the fortunate, good, and happy life that he would find there, seemed nothing but a shadowy and dim prefigurement of the radiant miracle of this actuality.
It was not merely the wealth, the luxury and the comfort of the scene that filled his heart with a sense of joy and victory. Far more than this, it was the feeling that this life of wealth, and luxury and comfort was so beautiful and right and good. At the moment it seemed to him to be the life for which all men on the earth are seeking, about which all men living dream, toward which all the myriads98 of the earth aspire99; and the thing, above all, which made this life seem so beautiful and good was the conviction that filled him at that moment of its essential incorruptible righteousness. It seemed to him to be the most wonderful and beautiful life on earth, not only because it existed for the comfort and the soul-enrichment of its choice few, but because it stood there as a beacon100 and a legend in the hearts of all men living — a symbol of what all life on earth should be, a promise of what every man on earth should have.
In that blind surge of youth and joy, the magic of that unbelievable discovery, he could not estimate the strange and bitter chance of destiny, nor ravel out that grievous web, that dense101 perplexity. He could not see how men had groped and toiled102 and mined, and grown blind and bent and grey, deep in the dark bowels103 of the earth, to wreak104 this moonlight loveliness upon a hill; nor know how men had sweated and women worked, how youth had struck its fire and grown old, how hope and faith and even love had died, how many nameless lives had laboured, grieved, and come to nought105 in order that this fragile image of compacted night, this priceless distillation106 of its rare and chosen loveliness, should blossom to a flower of moonlight beauty on a hill.
Joel took him downstairs to the kitchen before saying good night. They crossed the hall and passed through the great dining-room. It was also a noble gleaming room of white, as grand and spacious as a room in a chateau, but warm, and familiar, comforting as home. Then they passed through a service corridor that connected the kitchen and the pantry with the dining-room, and instantly he found himself in another part of this enchanted world — the part that cooked and served and with viewless grace, and magic stealth and instancy — performed the labours of this enchanted house.
It was such a kitchen as he had never seen before — a kitchen such as he had never dreamed possible. In its space, its order, its astounding107 cleanliness, it had the beauty of a great machine — a machine of tremendous power, fabulous108 richness and complexity109 — which in its ordered magnificence, its vast readiness, had the clear and glittering precision of a geometric pattern. Even the stove — a vast hooded110 range as large as those in a great restaurant — glittered with the groomed111 perfection of a racing112 motor. There was, as well, an enormous electric stove that was polished like a silver ornament113, the pots and pans were hung in gleaming rows, in vast but orderly profusion114 ranging from great copper115 kettles big enough to roast an ox to little pans and skillets just large enough to poach an egg, but all hung there in regimented order, instant readiness, shining like mirrors, scrubbed and polished into gleaming discs, the battered116 cleanliness of well-used copper, seasoned iron and heavy steel.
The great cupboards were crowded with huge stacks of gleaming china ware117 and crockery, enough to serve the needs of a hotel. And the long kitchen table, as well as the chairs and woodwork of the rooms, was white and shining as a surgeon’s table: the sinks and drains were blocks of creamy porcelain, clean scrubbed copper, shining steel.
It would be impossible to describe in detail the lavish118 variety, the orderly complexity, the gleaming cleanliness of that great room, but the effect it wrought upon his senses was instant and overwhelming. It was one of the most beautiful, spacious, thrilling, and magnificently serviceable rooms that he had ever seen: everything in it was designed for use, and edged with instant readiness; there was not a single thing in the room that was not needed, and yet its total effect was to give one a feeling of power, space, comfort, rightness and abundant joy.
The pantry shelves were crowded to the ceiling with the growing treasure of a lavish victualling — an astounding variety and abundance of delicious foods, enough to stock a grocery store or to supply an Arctic expedition — but the like of which he had never seen, or dreamed of, in a country house before.
Everything was there, from the familiar staples119 of a cook’s necessities to every rare and toothsome dainty that the climates and the markets of the earth produce. There was food in cans, and food in tins, and food in crocks, and food in bottles. There were — in addition to such staple120 products of the canning art as corn, tomatoes, beans and peas, pears, plums and peaches — such rarer relishes121, as herrings, sardines122, olives, pickles124, mustard, relishes, anchovies125. There were boxes of glacéd crystalline fruits from California, and little wickered jars of sharp-spiced ginger126 fruit from China: there were expensive jellies green as emerald, red as rubies127, smoother than whipped cream; there were fine oils and vinegars in bottles, and jars of pungent128 relishes of every sort and boxes of assorted129 spices. There was everything that one could think of, and everywhere there was evident the same scrubbed and gleaming cleanliness with which the kitchen shone, but here there was as well that pungent, haunting, spicy130 odour that pervades131 the atmosphere of pantries — a haunting and nostalgic fusion64 of delicious smells whose exact quality it is impossible to define, but which has in it the odours of cinnamon, pepper, cheese, smoked ham, and cloves132.
When they got into the kitchen they found Rosalind there: she was standing133 by the long white table drinking a glass of milk. Joel, in the swift and correct manner with which he gave instructions, at once eager, gentle and decisive, began to show his guest round.
“And look,” he whispered with his soft and yet incisive slowness, as he opened the heavy shining doors of the refrigerator —“here’s the ice-box: if you find anything there you like, just help yourself —”
Food! Food, indeed! The great ice-box was crowded with such an assortment134 of delicious foods as he had not seen in many years: just to look at it made the mouth begin to water, and aroused the pangs135 of a hunger so ravenous136 and insatiate that it was almost more painful than the pangs of bitter want. One was so torn with desire and greedy gluttony as he looked at the maddening plenty of that feast that his will was rendered almost impotent. Even as the eye glistened137 and the mouth began to water at the sight of a noble roast of beef, all crisp and crackly in its cold brown succulence, the attention was diverted to a plump broiled138 chicken, whose brown and crackly tenderness fairly seemed to beg for the sweet and savage139 pillage140 of the tooth. But now a pungent and exciting fragrance would assail141 the nostrils142: it was the smoked pink slices of an Austrian ham — should it be brawny143 bully144 beef, now, or the juicy breast of a white tender pullet, or should it be the smoky pungency145, the half-nostalgic savour of the Austrian ham? Or that noble dish of green lima beans, now already beautifully congealed in their pervading146 film of melted butter; or that dish of tender stewed147 young cucumbers; or those tomato slices, red and thick and ripe, and heavy as a chop; or that dish of cold asparagus, say; or that dish of corn; or, say, one of those musty fragrant148, deep-ribbed cantaloups, chilled to the heart, now, in all their pink-fleshed taste and ripeness; or a round thick slab149 cut from the red ripe heart of that great water-melon; or a bowl of those red raspberries, most luscious150 and most rich with sugar, and a bottle of that thick rich cream which filled one whole compartment151 of that treasure-chest of gluttony, or —
What shall it be now? What shall it be? A snack! A snack! — Before we prowl the meadows of the moon tonight and soak our hearts in the moonlight’s magic and the visions of our youth — what shall it be before we prowl the meadows of the moon? Oh, it shall be a snack, a snack — hah! hah! — it shall be nothing but a snack because — hah! hah! — you understand, we are not hungry and it is not well to eat too much before retiring — so we’ll just investigate the ice-box as we have done so oft at midnight in America — and we are the moon’s man, boys — and all that it will be, I do assure you, will be something swift and quick and ready, something instant and felicitous152, and quite delicate and dainty — just a snack!
I think — now let me see — h’m, now! — well, perhaps I’ll have a slice or two of that pink Austrian ham that smells so sweet and pungent and looks so pretty and so delicate there in the crisp garlands of the parsley leaf! — and yes, perhaps, I’ll have a slice of this roast beef, as well — h’m now! — yes, I think that’s what I’m going to do — say a slice of red rare meat there at the centre — ah-h! there you are! yes, that’s the stuff, that does quite nicely, thank you — with just a trifle of that crisp brown crackling there to oil the lips and make its passage easy, and a little of that cold but brown and, oh! — most — brawny gravy153 — and, yes, sir! I think I WILL, now that it occurs to me, a slice of that plump chicken — some white meat, thank you, at the breast — ah, there it is! — how sweetly doth the noble fowl154 submit to the swift and keen persuasion155 of the knife — and now, perhaps, just for our diet’s healthy balance, a spoonful of those lima beans, as gay as April and as sweet as butter, a tomato slice or two, a speared forkful of those thin-sliced cucumbers — ah! what a delicate and toothsome pickle123 they do make — what sorcerer invented them — a little corn perhaps, a bottle of this milk, a pound of butter and that crusty loaf of bread — and even this moon-haunted wilderness156 were paradise enow — with just a snack — a snack — a snack —
He was aroused from this voluptuous157 and hypnotic reverie by the sound of Rosalind’s warm sweet laugh, her tender and caressing158 touch upon his arm, and Joel’s soundless and astonished mouth, the eager incandescence159 of his gleeful smile, his whole face uplifted in its fine and gentle smile, his voice cast in its frequent tone of whispering astonishment160:
“SIMPLY incredible!” he was whispering to his sister. “I’ve never seen such an expression on ANY one’s face in all my life! It’s simply diabolical161! When he sees food, he looks as if he’s just getting ready to rape162 a woman!”
“Do you, darling?” said the girl, with her warm, sweet tolerance of humour. “I’m so glad to know that someone else likes food. I like it, too,” she said with a warm plainness; “when I am married and start having babies I shall eat and eat and eat to my heart’s content — as much as I want to, all the things I ever wanted, till I’m satisfied. . . . It’s so wonderful to find someone who will eat! You don’t know how hard it is to have a brother who’s a vegetarian163 — and who tells me that I’m getting disgustingly fat — and what a horrible thing it is to eat dead animals — like eating corpses164. . . . Wouldn’t Joel be wonderful if he ate roast beef,” she added with her warm and gentle humour, as she put her arm around her brother’s waist —“he looks so thin and starved, poor thing — like a religious ascetic165 — doesn’t he? — But then, he’s such a saint as he is — isn’t he? — if he liked food, as well, he’d just have everything — he’d be too perfect.”
“No, sir,” Joel whispered, shaking his head and laughing with his curiously boyish, almost clumsily na?ve, but beautifully engaging good nature —“Not I! . . . The rest of you can eat all the dead animals you like — but you don’t catch me doing it! . . . I’ll stick to spinach,” he whispered radiantly. “That’s good enough for me.”
“I know, darling,” she said with a gentle and tolerant sarcasm166. “You and Bernard Shaw: if he said baled hay was good for you, you’d believe him, wouldn’t you?”
He laughed in his soundless, enthusiastic and beautifully generous way, his gaunt starved face lighting167 up with the gleeful, almost diabolically168 brilliant radiance of his wonderful selfless good-nature.
Then, turning swiftly to his firmer manner of incisive severity — the direct and earnest concision169 with which he whispered his instructions — he said abruptly170:
“And look, Gene70 . . . when you finish eating put the lights out: the switch is on the right hand by the door as you go out. . . . And stay up as long as you like, go wherever you like, do as you please — you’ll bother no one,” he whispered, “ . . . and a good walk,” he continued abruptly after a moment’s pause, “— is down the road — the way you went with Ros’ tonight — except that you keep on —”
“Past the cows, darling,” said Rosalind gently. “Past all the lovely cows and barns and meadows of the moon.”
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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impersonality
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| n.无人情味 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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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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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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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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stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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12
mumble
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| n./v.喃喃而语，咕哝 | |
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13
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
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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15
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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16
stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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17
mumbling
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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18
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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19
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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20
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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21
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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22
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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23
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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24
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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25
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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26
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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27
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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28
sleepers
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| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
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29
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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30
incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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31
tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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32
piers
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| n.水上平台( pier的名词复数 )；（常设有娱乐场所的）突堤；柱子；墙墩 | |
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33
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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35
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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37
persuasively
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| adv.口才好地；令人信服地 | |
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38
congealed
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| v.使凝结，冻结( congeal的过去式和过去分词 )；（指血）凝结 | |
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39
inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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40
gape
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| v.张口，打呵欠，目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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41
gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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42
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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43
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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44
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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45
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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46
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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47
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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48
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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49
kaleidoscopic
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| adj.千变万化的 | |
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50
gateways
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| n.网关( gateway的名词复数 )；门径；方法；大门口 | |
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51
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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52
nurtured
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| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
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53
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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54
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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55
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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56
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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57
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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58
wharves
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| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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59
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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60
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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61
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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62
anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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63
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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64
fusion
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| n.溶化；熔解；熔化状态，熔和；熔接 | |
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65
paralysis
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|
| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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66
agonizing
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|
| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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67
embarrassment
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|
| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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68
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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69
kindliness
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|
| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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70
gene
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| n.遗传因子，基因 | |
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71
alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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72
robust
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|
| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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73
hearty
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|
| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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74
heartily
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|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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75
decided
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|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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76
casually
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|
| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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77
tolerance
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|
| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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78
bent
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|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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79
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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80
luxurious
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|
| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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81
spacious
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|
| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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82
velvety
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|
| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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83
chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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84
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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85
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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86
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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87
animate
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| v.赋于生命，鼓励；adj.有生命的，有生气的 | |
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88
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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89
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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90
porcelain
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|
| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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91
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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92
gossamer
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| n.薄纱，游丝 | |
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93
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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94
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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95
immortal
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|
| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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96
counterfeit
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|
| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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97
glamorous
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| adj.富有魅力的；美丽动人的；令人向往的 | |
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98
myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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99
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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100
beacon
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|
| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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101
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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102
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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103
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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104
wreak
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| v.发泄；报复 | |
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105
nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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106
distillation
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| n.蒸馏，蒸馏法 | |
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107
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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108
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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109
complexity
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| n.复杂(性)，复杂的事物 | |
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110
hooded
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| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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111
groomed
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|
| v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的过去式和过去分词 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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112
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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113
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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114
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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115
copper
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|
| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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116
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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117
ware
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| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
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118
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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119
staples
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| n.（某国的）主要产品( staple的名词复数 )；钉书钉；U 形钉；主要部份v.用钉书钉钉住( staple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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120
staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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121
relishes
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| n.滋味( relish的名词复数 )；乐趣；（大量的）享受；快乐v.欣赏( relish的第三人称单数 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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122
sardines
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| n. 沙丁鱼 | |
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123
pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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124
pickles
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| n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 )；处于困境；遇到麻烦；菜酱 | |
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125
anchovies
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| n. 鯷鱼，凤尾鱼 | |
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126
ginger
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|
| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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127
rubies
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| 红宝石( ruby的名词复数 )； 红宝石色，深红色 | |
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128
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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129
assorted
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| adj.各种各样的，各色俱备的 | |
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130
spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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131
pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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132
cloves
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| n.丁香（热带树木的干花，形似小钉子，用作调味品，尤用作甜食的香料）( clove的名词复数 )；蒜瓣(a garlic ~|a ~of garlic) | |
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133
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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134
assortment
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| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
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pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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pillage
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| v.抢劫；掠夺；n.抢劫，掠夺；掠夺物 | |
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assail
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| v.猛烈攻击，抨击，痛斥 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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pungency
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| n.（气味等的）刺激性；辣；（言语等的）辛辣；尖刻 | |
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146
pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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stewed
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| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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luscious
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| adj.美味的；芬芳的；肉感的，引与性欲的 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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felicitous
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| adj.恰当的，巧妙的；n.恰当，贴切 | |
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gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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154
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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156
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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incandescence
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| n.白热，炽热；白炽 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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rape
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| n.抢夺，掠夺，强奸；vt.掠夺，抢夺，强奸 | |
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vegetarian
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| n.素食者；adj.素食的 | |
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corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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167
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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168
diabolically
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concision
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| n.简明，简洁 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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