At nine o’clock in the morning the maid would come in with chocolate or coffee, bread and jam and butter, which was included in the price of the room. She put it down on a little cabinet beside his bed, which had a door and a chamber5 pot inside. After she went out he would get up and move it to the table, and drink the chocolate and eat some bread and jam. Then he would go back to bed and sleep until noon and sometimes later: at one o’clock, Starwick and the two women would come to take him to lunch. If they did not come, they would send him a pneumatique telling him where to meet them. They went to a great many different places, but the lunch was always good. Sometimes they would send a pneumatique telling him to meet them at the Dome6 or the Rotonde. When he got there they would be sitting at a table on the terrace, and already very gay. Starwick would have a stack of saucers racked up before him on the table. On each saucer would be a numeral which said 3.50, or 5.00, or 6.00, or 7.50 francs, depending on what he had been drinking.
Usually it was cognac, but sometimes Starwick would greet him with a burble of laughter, saying in his sensuous7 and voluptuous8 voice: “Did you ever drink Amer Picon?”
“No,” he would say.
“Well,” said Starwick. “You ought to try it. You really ought, you know.” And the soft burble would come welling up out of his throat again, and Elinor, looking at him tenderly, smiling, would say:
“Francis! You idiot! Leave the child alone!”
Then they would go to lunch. Sometimes they went to a place near by called Henriettes which Elinor had known about when she was an ambulance driver in the war. Again they would cross the river and eat at Prunier’s, Weber’s, the Café Régence, Fouquet’s, or at a place halfway9 up the hill in Montmartre, which was in a square called the Place des Martyrs10, and which was called L’Ecrevisse, probably because of a little shell-fish which they sold there, and which was a specialty11. That was a fine place: they always ate out on the terrace, where they could see everything that was going on in the little square, and Elinor, who had known the place for years, said how lovely it would be in spring.
Often they would eat at little places, which were not very expensive and which Elinor also knew about. She knew about everything: there was nothing about Paris she did not know. Elinor did the talking, rattling12 off her French like a native — or, anyway, like a native of Boston who speaks French well — trippingly off the tongue, getting the same intonations13 and gestures the French got, when she argued with them, saying:
“Mais non — mais non mais non mais non mais non mais non!” so rapidly that we could hardly follow her, and she could say: “Oui. C’est ?a! — Mais parfaitement! — Entendu! . . . Formidable!” etc., in the same way as a Frenchman could.
Yet there was a trace of gaiety and humour in everything she said and did. She had “the light touch” about everything, and understood just how it was with the French. Her attitude toward them was very much the manner of a mature and sophisticated person with a race of clamouring children. She never grew tired of observing and pointing out their quaint14 and curious ways: if the jolly proprietor of a restaurant came to the table and proudly tried to speak to them his garbled15 English, she would shake her head sharply, with a little smile, biting her lower lip as she did so, and saying with a light and tender humour:
“Oh, NICE! . . . He wants to speak his English! . . . ISN’T he a dear? . . . No, no,” she would say quickly if anyone attempted to answer him in French. “Please let him go ahead — poor dear! He’s so proud of it!”
And again she would shake her head, biting her lower lip, with a tender, wondering little smile, as she said so, and “Yes!” Francis would say enthusiastically and with a look of direct, serious, and almost sorrowful earnestness. “And how GRAND the man is about it — how SIMPLE and GRAND in the way he does it! . . . Did you notice the way he used his hand? — I mean like someone in a painting by Cimabue — it really is, you know,” he said earnestly. “The centuries of living and tradition that have gone into a single gesture — and he’s quite unconscious of it. It’s grand — I mean like someone in a painting by Cimabue — it really is, you know,” he said with the sad, serious look of utter earnestness. “It’s really QUITE incredible.”
“Quite,” said Elinor, who with a whimsical little smile had been looking at a waiter with sprouting16 moustaches, as he bent17 with prayerful reverence18, stirring the ingredients in a salad bowl —“Oh, Francis, darling, look —” she whispered, nodding toward the man. “Don’t you LOVE it? . . . Don’t you simply ADORE the way they do it? . . . I MEAN, you know! Now where? Where?” she cried, with a gesture of complete surrender —“WHERE could you find anything like that in America? . . . I mean, you simply couldn’t find it — that’s all.”
“QUITE!” said Francis concisely19. And turning to Eugene, he would say with that impressive air of absolute sad earnestness, “And it’s really MOST important. It really is, you know. It’s astonishing to see what they can put into a single gesture. I mean — the Whole Thing’s there. It really is.”
“Francis!” Elinor would say, looking at him with her gay and tender little smile, and biting her lip as she did so —“You KID, you! I MEAN! —”
Suddenly she put her hand strongly before her eyes, bent her head, and was rigid21 in a moment of powerful and secret emotion. In a moment, however, she would look up, wet-eyed, suddenly thrust her arm across the table at Eugene, and putting her hand on his arm with a slight gallant22 movement, say quietly:
“O, I’m sorry — you poor child! . . . After all, there’s no reason why you should have to go through all this. . . . I mean, darling,” she explained gently, “I have an adorable kid at home just four years old — sometimes something happens to make me think of him — you understand, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Good,” she said briskly and decisively, with a swift and gallant smile, as she patted his arm again. “I knew you would!”
She had left her husband and child in Boston, she had come here to join Francis, fatality23 was in the air, but she was always brave and gallant about it. As Francis would say to Eugene as they sat drinking alone in a café:
“It’s MAD— Boston! . . . Perfectly24 MAD— Boston! . . . I mean, the kind of thing they do when they ride a horse up the steps of the State House. . . . I mean, perfectly GRAND, you know,” he cried with high enthusiasm. “They stop at nothing. It’s simply SWELL— it really is, you know.”
Everyone was being very brave and gallant and stopping at nothing, and the French were charming, charming, and Paris gave them just the background that they needed. It was a fine life.
Elinor took charge of everything. She took charge of the money, the making of plans, the driving of bargains with avaricious25 and shrewd-witted Frenchmen, and the ordering of food in restaurants.
“It’s really astonishing, you know,” said Starwick —“the way she walks in everywhere and has the whole place at her feet in four minutes. . . . Really, Gene20, you should have been with us this afternoon when she made arrangements with the man at the motor agency in the Champs–Elysées for renting the car. . . . Really, I felt quite sorry for him before the thing was over. . . . He kept casting those knowing and rather BITTER glances of reproach at me,” said Starwick, with his burble of soft laughter, “as if he thought I had betrayed him by not coming to his assistance. . . . There was something VERY cruel about it . . . like a great cat playing with a mouse . . . there really was, you know,” said Starwick earnestly. “She can be completely without pity when she gets that way,” he added. “She really can, you know . . . which makes it all the more astonishing — I mean, when you consider what she really is — the way she let me go to sleep on her shoulder the night we were coming back from Rheims, and I was so horribly drunk and got so disgustingly sick,” he said with a simple, touching26 earnestness. “I mean, the COMPASSION27 of it — it was QUITE like that Chinese goddess of the Infinite Compassion they have in Boston — it REALLY was, you know. It’s quite astonishing,” he said earnestly, “when you consider her background, the kind of people that she came from — it really IS, you know . . . she’s a grand person, simply terrific . . . it’s utterly28 MAD— Boston . . . it really is.”
Certainly it was very pleasant to be in the hands of such a captain. Elinor got things done with a beautiful, serene29 assurance that made everything seem easy. There was no difficulty of custom or language, no weird30 mystery and complication of traffic, trade, and commerce, so maddening and incomprehensible to most Americans, that Elinor did not understand perfectly. Sometimes she would just shake her head and bite her lip, smiling. Sometimes she would laugh with rich astonishment31, and say: “PERFECTLY insane, of course — but then, that’s the way the poor dears are, and you can’t change them. . . . I KNOW! I KNOW! . . . It’s quite incredible, but they’ll ALWAYS be that way, and we’ve simply got to make the best of it.”
She was a heavily built woman about thirty years old who seemed older than she was. She dressed very plainly and wore a rather old hat with a cockade, which gave her a look of eighteenth-century gallantry. And the impression of maturity32 was increased by her heavy and unyouthful figure, and the strong authority of her face which, in spite of her good-humoured, gay, and whimsical smile, her light Bostonian air of raillery, indicated the controlled tension and restraint of nerves of a person of stubborn and resolute33 will who is resolved always to act with aristocratic grace and courage.
In spite of her heavy figure, her rough and rather unhealthy-looking skin, she was a distinguished-looking woman, and in her smile, her tone, her play of wit, and even in the swift spitefulness and violence which could flash out and strike and be gone before its victim had a chance to retort or defend himself, she was thoroughly34 feminine. And yet the woman made no appeal at all to sensual desire: although she had left her husband and child to follow Starwick to France, and was thought by her own family to have become his mistress, it was impossible to imagine her in such a r?le. And for this reason, perhaps, there was something ugly, dark, and sinister35 in their relation, which Eugene felt strongly but could not define. He felt that Elinor was lacking in the attraction or desire of the sensual woman as Starwick seemed to be lacking in the lust36 of the sensual man, and there was therefore something in their relation that came from the dark, the murky37 swamp-fires of emotion, something poisonous, perverse38 and evil, and full of death.
Just the same, it was fine to be with Elinor when she was gay and deft39 and charming, and enormously assured, and taking charge of things. At these times everything in life seemed simple, smooth, and easy; there were no dreary40 complications, the whole world became an enormous oyster41 ready to be opened, Paris an enormous treasure-hoard of unceasing pleasure and delight. It was good to be with her in a restaurant and to let her do the ordering.
“Now, children,” she would say in her crisp, gay, and yet authoritative42 tone, staring at the menu with a little frowning smile of studious yet whimsical concentration —“The rest of you can order what you like, but Mother’s going to start with fish and a bottle of Vouvray — I seem to remember that it’s very good here — Le Vouvray est bon ici, n’est-ce pas?” she said turning to the waiter.
“Mais oui, madame!” he said with just the right kind of earnest enthusiasm, “c’est une spécialité.”
“Bon,” she said crisply. “Alors, une bouteille du Vouvray pour commencer — does that go for the rest of you, mes enfants?” she said, looking around her. They nodded their agreement.
“Bon — bon, madame,” the waiter said, nodding his vigorous approval, as he put the order down. “Vous serez bien content avec le Vouvray — et puis?”— He looked at her with suave43 respectful inquiry44. “Pour manger?”
“Pour moi,” said Elinor, “le poisson — le filet45 de sole — n’est-ce pas — Marguery?”
“Bon, bon,” he said with enthusiastic approval, writing it down. “Un filet de sole — Marguery — pour madame — et pour monsieur?” he said turning suavely46 to Eugene.
“La même chose,” said that linguist47 recklessly and even as the waiter was nodding enthusiastically, and saying:
“Bon. Bon — parfaitement! La même chose pour monsieur,” and writing it down, the others had begun to laugh at him. Starwick with his bubbling laugh, Elinor with her gay little smile of raillery and even Ann, the dark and sullen48 beauty of her face suddenly luminous49 with a short and almost angry laugh as she said:
“He hasn’t said his other word yet — why don’t you tell him that you want some ‘mawndiawnts’"— ironically she imitated his pronunciation of the word.
“What’s wrong with ‘mendiants’?” he said, scowling50 at her. “What’s the joke?”
“Nothing,” said Starwick, bubbling with laughter. “They’re very good. They really are, you know,” he said earnestly. “Only we’ve been wondering if you wouldn’t learn another word some day and order something else.”
“I know lots of other words,” he said angrily. “Only, how am I ever going to get a chance to use them when the rest of you make fun of me every time I open my mouth? — I don’t see what the great joke is,” he said resentfully. “These French people understand what I want to say,” he said. “Ecoute, gar?on,” he said appealingly to the attentive51 and smiling waiter. —“Vous pouvez comprendre —”
“Cawmprawndre,” said Ann mockingly.
“Vous pouvez comprendre — ce-que-je-veux-dire,” he blundered on painfully.
“Mais oui, monsieur!” the waiter cried with a beautiful reassuring52 smile. “Parfaitement. Vous parlez très bien. Vous êtes ici à Paris depuis longtemps?”
“Depuis six semaines,” he said proudly.
The waiter lifted arms and eyebrows53 eloquent54 with astounded55 disbelief.
“Mais c’est merveilleux!” the waiter cried, and as the others jeered56 Eugene said with bitter sarcasm57:
“Everyone can’t be a fine old French scholar the way you are; after all, I’m not travelled like the rest of you — I’ve never had your opportunities. And even after six weeks here there are still a few words in the French language that I don’t know. . . . But I’m going to speak the ones I do know,” he said defiantly58, “and no one’s going to stop me.”
“Of course you are, darling!” Elinor said quickly and smoothly59, putting her hand out on his arm with a swift movement. “Don’t let them tease you! . . . I think it’s mean of you,” she said reproachfully. “Let the poor dear speak his French if he wants to — I think it’s sweet.”
He looked at her with a flushed and angry face while Starwick bubbled with laughter, tried to think of something to say in reply, but, as always, she was too quick for him, and before he could think of something apt and telling, she had flashed off as light and quick as a rapier blade:
“— Now, children,” she was studying the card again —“what shall it be after the fish — who wants meat —?”—
“No fish for me,” said Ann, looking sullenly60 at the menu. “I’ll take —” suddenly her dark, sullen, and nobly beautiful face was transfigured by her short and almost angry laugh again —“I’ll take an ‘awmlet,’” she said sarcastically61, looking at Eugene.
“Well, take your ‘awmlet,’” he muttered. “Only I don’t say it that way.”
“Pas de poisson,” she said quietly to the waiter. “I want an omelette.”
“Bon, bon,” he nodded vigorously and wrote. “Une omelette pour madame. Et puis après —?” he said inquiringly.
“Rien,” she said.
He looked slightly surprised and hurt, but in a moment, turning to Eugene, said:
“Et pour monsieur? — Après le poisson?”
“Donnez-moi un Chateaubriand garni,” he said.
And again Ann, whose head had been turned sullenly down towards the card, looked up suddenly and laughed, with that short and almost angry laugh that seemed to illuminate62 with accumulating but instant radiance all of the dark and noble beauty of her face.
“God!” she said. “I knew it! — If it’s not mendiants, it’s Chateaubriand garni.”
“Don’t forget the Nuits St. Georges,” said Starwick with his bubbling laugh, “that’s still to come.”
“When he gets through,” she said, “there won’t be a steak or raisin63 left in France.”
And she looked at Eugene for a moment, her face of noble and tender beauty transfigured by its radiant smile. But almost immediately, she dropped her head again in its customary expression that was heavy and almost sullen, and that suggested something dumb, furious, and silent locked up in her, for which she could find no release.
He looked at her for a moment with scowling, half-resentful eyes, and all of a sudden, flesh, blood, and brain, and heart, and spirit, his life went numb64 with love for her.
“And now, my children,” Elinor was saying gaily65, as she looked at the menu —“what kind of salad is it going —“she looked up swiftly and caught Starwick’s eye, and instantly their gaze turned upon their two companions. The young woman was still staring down with her sullen, dark, and dumbly silent look, and the boy was devouring66 her with a look from which the world was lost, and which had no place in it for time or memory.
Dark Helen in my heart for ever burning.
“L’écrevisse,” Eugene said, staring at the menu. “What does that mean, Elinor?”
“Well, darling, I’ll tell you,” she said with a grave light gaiety of tone. “An écrevisse is a kind of crayfish they have over here — a delicious little crab67 — but MUCH, MUCH better than anything we have.”
“Then the name of the place really means The Crab?” he asked.
“STOP him!” she shrieked68 faintly. “You barbarian69, you!” she went on with mild reproach. “It’s not at ALL the same.”
“It’s really not, you know,” said Starwick, turning to him seriously. “The whole quality of the thing is different. It really is. . . . Isn’t it astonishing,” he went on with an air of quiet frankness, “the genius they have for names? I mean, even in the simplest words they manage to get the whole spirit of the race. I mean, this square here, even,” he gestured briefly70, “La Place des Martyrs. The whole thing’s there. It’s really quite incredible, when you think of it,” he said somewhat mysteriously. “It really is.”
“Quite!” said Elinor. “And, oh, my children, if it were only spring and I could take you down the Seine to an adorable place called La Pêche Miraculeuse.”
“What does that mean, Elinor?” Eugene asked again.
“Well, darling,” she said with an air of patient resignation, “if you MUST have a translation I suppose you’d call it The Miraculous71 Catch — a fishing catch, you know. Only it DOESN’T mean that. It would be sacrilege to call it that. It means La Pêche Miraculeuse and nothing else — it’s QUITE untranslatable — it really is.”
“YES,” cried Starwick enthusiastically, “and even their simplest names — their names of streets and towns and places: L’Etoile, for example — how grand and simple that is!” he said quietly, “and how perfect — the whole design and spatial72 grandeur73 of the thing is in it,” he concluded earnestly. “It really is, you know.”
“Oh, absolutely!” Elinor agreed. “You couldn’t call it The Star, you know. That means nothing. But L’Etoile is perfect — it simply COULDN’T be anything else.”
“QUITE!” Starwick said concisely, and then, turning to Eugene with his air of sad instructive earnestness, he continued: “— And that woman at Le Jockey Club last night — the one who sang the songs — you know?” he said with grave malicious74 inquiry, his voice trembling a little and his face flushing as he spoke75 —“the one you kept wanting to find out about — what she was saying? —” Quiet ruddy laughter shook him.
“PERFECTLY vile76, of course!” cried Elinor with gay horror. “And all the time, poor dear, he kept wanting to know what it meant. . . . I was going to throw something at you if you kept on — if I’d had to translate THAT I think I should simply have passed out on the spot —”
“I know,” said Starwick, burbling with laughter —“I caught the look in your eye — it was really QUITE murderous! And TERRIBLY amusing!” he added. Turning to his friend, he went on seriously: “But really, Gene, it IS rather stupid to keep asking for the meaning of everything. It IS, you know. And it’s so extraordinary,” he said protestingly, “that a person of your quality — your KIND of understanding — should be so dull about it! It really is.”
“Why?” the other said bluntly, and rather sullenly. “What’s wrong with wanting to find out what’s being said when you don’t understand the language? If I don’t ask, how am I going to find out?”
“But not at ALL!” Starwick protested impatiently. “That’s not the point at all: you can find out nothing that way. Really you can’t,” he said reproachfully. “The whole point about that song last night was not the words — the meaning of the thing. If you tried to translate it into English, you’d lose the spirit of the whole thing. Don’t you see,” he went on earnestly, “— it’s not the MEANING of the thing — you can’t translate a thing like that, you really can’t — if you tried to translate it, you’d have nothing but a filthy77 and disgusting jingle78 —”
“But so long as it’s French it’s beautiful?” the other said sarcastically.
“But QUITE!” said Starwick impatiently. “And it’s very stupid of you not to understand that, Gene. It really is. The whole spirit and quality of the thing are SO French — so UTTERLY French!” he said in a high and rather womanish tone —“that the moment you translate it you lose everything. . . . There’s nothing disgusting about the song in French — the words mean nothing, you pay no attention to the words; the extraordinary thing is that you forget the words. . . . It’s the whole design of the thing, the TONE, the QUALITY. . . . In a way,” he added deeply, “the thing has an ENORMOUS innocence79 — it really has, you know. . . . And it’s so disappointing that you fail to see this. . . . Really, Gene, these questions you keep asking about names and meanings are becoming tiresome80. They really are. . . . And all these books you keep buying and trying to translate with the help of a dictionary . . . as if you’re ever going to understand anything — I mean, REALLY understand,” he said profoundly, “in that way.”
“You may get to understand the language that way,” the other said.
“But not at ALL!” cried Starwick. “That’s just the point — you really find out nothing: you miss the whole spirit of the thing — just as you missed the spirit of that song, and just as you missed the point when you asked Elinor to translate La Pêche Miraculeuse for you. . . . It’s extraordinary that you fail to see this. . . . The next thing you know,” he concluded sarcastically, a burble of malicious laughter appearing as he spoke, “you will have enrolled81 for a course of lessons —” he choked suddenly, his ruddy face flushing deeply with his merriment —“for a course of lectures at the Berlitz language school.”
“Oh, but he’s entirely82 capable of it!” cried Elinor, with gay conviction. “I wouldn’t put it past him for a moment. . . . My DEAR,” she said drolly83, turning toward him, “I have never known such a glutton84 for knowledge. It’s simply amazing. . . . Why, the child wants to know the meaning of everything!” she said with an astonished look about her —“the confidence he has in my knowledge is rather touching — it really is — and I’m so unworthy of it, darling,” she said, a trifle maliciously85. “I don’t deserve it at all!”
“I’m sorry if I’ve bored you with a lot of questions, Elinor,” he said.
“But you HAVEN’T!” she protested. “Darling, you HAVEN’T for a moment! I LOVE to answer them! It’s only that I feel SO— so INCOMPETENT86. . . . But listen, Gene,” she went on coaxingly87, “couldn’t you try to forget it for a while — just sort of forget all about these words and meanings and enter into the spirit of the thing? . . . Couldn’t you, dear?” she said gently, and even as he looked at her with a flushed face, unable to find a ready answer to her deft irony88, she put her hand out swiftly, patted him on the arm, and nodding her head with an air of swift satisfied finality, said:
“Good! I knew you would! . . . He’s really a darling when he wants to be, isn’t he?”
Starwick burbled with malicious laughter at sight of Eugene’s glowering89 and resentful face; then went on seriously:
“— But their genius for names is quite astonishing! — I mean, even in the names of their towns you get the whole thing. . . . What could be more like Paris,” he said quietly, “than the name of Paris? . . . The whole quality of the place is in the name. Or Dijon, for example. Or Rheims. Or Carcassonne. The whole spirit of Provence is in the word: what name could more perfectly express Aries than the name it has — it gives you the whole place, its life, its people, its peculiar90 fragrance91. . . . And how different we are from them in that respect. . . . I mean,” his voice rose on a note of passionate92 conviction, “you could almost say that the whole difference between us — the thing we lack, the thing they have — the whole thing that is wrong with us, is evident in our names. . . . It really is, you know,” he said earnestly, turning toward his friend again. “The whole thing’s most important. . . . How harsh and meaningless most names in America are, Eugene,” he went on quietly. “Like addresses printed on a thousand envelopes at once by a stamping machine — labels by which a place may be identified but without meaning. . . . Tell me,” he said quietly, after a brief pause, “what was the name of that little village your father came from? You told me one time — I remember, because the whole thing I’m talking about — the thing that’s wrong with us — was in that name. What was it?”
“Brant’s Mill,” the other young man answered.
“Quite!” said Starwick with weary concision93. “A man named Brant had a mill, and so they called the place Brant’s Mill.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Oh, nothing, I suppose,” said Starwick quietly. “The whole thing’s quite perfect. . . . BRANT’S Mill,” there was a note of bitterness in his voice and he made the name almost deliberately94 rasping as he pronounced it. “It’s a name — something to call a place by — if you write it on a letter it will get there. . . . I suppose that’s what a name is for. . . . Gettysburg — I suppose a man named Gettys had a house or a farm, and so they named the town after him. . . . And your mother? What was the name of the place she came from?”
“It was a place called Yancey County.”
“Quite,” said Starwick as before —“and the name of the town?”
“There wasn’t any town, Frank. It was a kind of cross-roads settlement called The Forks of Ivy95.”
“No!” Elinor’s light Bostonian accent of astounded merriment rang gaily forth96. “Not REALLY! You KNOW it wasn’t!”
“But not at ALL!” said Starwick in a tone of mild and serious disagreement. “The Forks of Ivy is not bad. It’s really surprisingly good, when you consider most of the other names. It even has,” he paused, and considered carefully, “a kind of quality. . . . But Yancey,” he paused again, the burble of sudden laughter came welling up, and for a moment his pleasant ruddy face was flushed with laughter —“YA-A-ANCEY County”— with deliberate malice97 he brought the word out in a rasping countrified tone —“God!” he said frankly98, turning to the other boy, “isn’t it awful! . . . How harsh! How stupid! How banal99! . . . And what are some of the names, where you come from, Gene?” he went on quietly after a brief pause. “I’m sure you haven’t yet done your worst,” he said. “There must be others just as sweet as Ya-a-ancey.”
“Well, yes,” the boy said grinning, “we’ve got some good ones: there’s Sandy Mush, and Hooper’s Bald, and Little Hominy. And we have names like Beaverdam and Balsam, and Chimney Rock and Craggy and Pisgah and The Rat. We have names like Old Fort, Hickory, and Bryson City; we have Clingman’s Dome and Little Switzerland; we have Paint Rock and Saluda Mountain and the Frying Pan Gap —”
“Stop!” shrieked Elinor, covering her ears with her shocked fingers —“The Frying Pan Gap! Oh, but that’s HORRIBLE!”
“But how perfect!” Starwick quietly replied. “The whole thing’s there. And in the great and noble region where I come from —” the note of weary bitterness in his tone grew deeper —“out where the tall caw-r-n grows we have Keokuk and Cairo and Peoria.” He paused, his grave eyes fixed100 in a serious and reflective stare: for a moment his pleasant ruddy face was contorted by the old bestial101 grimace102 of anguish103 and confusion. When he spoke again, his voice was weary with a quiet bitterness of scorn. “I was born,” he said, “in the great and noble town of Bloomington, but —” the note of savage104 irony deepened —“at a very tender age I was taken to Moline. And now, thank God, I am in Paris”; he was silent a moment longer, and then continued in a quiet and almost lifeless tone: “Paris, Dijon, Provence, Aries . . . Yancey, Brant’s Mill, Bloomington.” He turned his quiet eyes upon the other boy. “You see what I mean, don’t you? The whole thing’s there.”
“Yes,” the boy replied, “I guess you’re right.”
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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specialty
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| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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intonations
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| n.语调，说话的抑扬顿挫( intonation的名词复数 )；（演奏或唱歌中的）音准 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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garbled
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| adj.（指信息）混乱的，引起误解的v.对（事实）歪曲，对（文章等）断章取义，窜改( garble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sprouting
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| v.发芽( sprout的现在分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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concisely
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| adv.简明地 | |
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gene
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| n.遗传因子，基因 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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avaricious
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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29
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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32
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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45
filet
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| n.肉片；鱼片 | |
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46
suavely
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47
linguist
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| n.语言学家；精通数种外国语言者 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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51
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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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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53
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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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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56
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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58
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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59
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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60
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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61
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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62
illuminate
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| vt.照亮，照明；用灯光装饰；说明，阐释 | |
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63
raisin
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| n.葡萄干 | |
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64
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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66
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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67
crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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68
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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70
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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71
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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72
spatial
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| adj.空间的，占据空间的 | |
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73
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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74
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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75
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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76
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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77
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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78
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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79
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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80
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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81
enrolled
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| adj.入学登记了的v.[亦作enrol]( enroll的过去式和过去分词 )；登记，招收，使入伍（或入会、入学等），参加，成为成员；记入名册；卷起，包起 | |
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82
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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83
drolly
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| adv.古里古怪地；滑稽地；幽默地；诙谐地 | |
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84
glutton
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| n.贪食者，好食者 | |
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85
maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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86
incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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87
coaxingly
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| adv. 以巧言诱哄，以甘言哄骗 | |
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88
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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89
glowering
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| v.怒视( glower的现在分词 ) | |
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90
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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91
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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92
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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93
concision
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| n.简明，简洁 | |
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94
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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95
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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96
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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97
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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98
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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99
banal
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| adj.陈腐的，平庸的 | |
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100
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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101
bestial
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| adj.残忍的；野蛮的 | |
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102
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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103
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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104
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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