Mrs. Phillips acquiesced3. “It’s turning me into a lazy-bones,” she said with a smile. “I can sit here by the hour, just watching the bustle4. I was always one for a bit of life.”
The landlady entered with Joan’s tea. Joan took an instinctive5 dislike to her. She was a large, flashy woman, wearing a quantity of cheap jewellery. Her familiarity had about it something almost threatening. Joan waited till she heard the woman’s heavy tread descending6 the stairs, before she expressed her opinion.
“I think she only means to be cheerful,” explained Mrs. Phillips. “She’s quite a good sort, when you know her.” The subject seemed in some way to trouble her, and Joan dropped it.
They watched the loading of a steamer while Joan drank her tea.
“He will come this afternoon, I fancy,” said Mrs. Phillips. “I seem to feel it. He will be able to see you home.”
Joan started. She had been thinking about Phillips, wondering what she should say to him when they met.
“What does he think,” she asked, “about your illness?”
“Oh, it worries him, of course, poor dear,” Mrs. Phillips answered. “You see, I’ve always been such a go-ahead, as a rule. But I think he’s getting more hopeful. As I tell him, I’ll be all right by the autumn. It was that spell of hot weather that knocked me over.”
Joan was still looking out of the window. She didn’t quite know what to say. The woman’s altered appearance had shocked her. Suddenly she felt a touch upon her hand.
“You’ll look after him if anything does happen, won’t you?” The woman’s eyes were pleading with her. They seemed to have grown larger. “You know what I mean, dear, don’t you?” she continued. “It will be such a comfort to me to know that it’s all right.”
In answer the tears sprang to Joan’s eyes. She knelt down and put her arms about the woman.
“Don’t be so silly,” she cried. “There’s nothing going to happen. You’re going to get fat and well again; and live to see him Prime Minister.”
“I am getting thin, ain’t I?” she said. “I always wanted to be thin.” They both laughed.
“But I shan’t see him that, even if I do live,” she went on. “He’ll never be that, without you. And I’d be so proud to think that he would. I shouldn’t mind going then,” she added.
Joan did not answer. There seemed no words that would come.
“You will promise, won’t you?” she persisted, in a whisper. “It’s only ‘in case’—just that I needn’t worry myself.”
Joan looked up. There was something in the eyes looking down upon her that seemed to be compelling her.
“If you’ll promise to try and get better,” she answered.
Mrs. Phillips stooped and kissed her. “Of course, dear,” she said. “Perhaps I shall, now that my mind is easier.”
Phillips came, as Mrs. Phillips had predicted. He was surprised at seeing Joan. He had not thought she could get back so soon. He brought an evening paper with him. It contained a paragraph to the effect that Mrs. Phillips, wife of the Rt. Hon. Robert Phillips, M.P., was progressing favourably7 and hoped soon to be sufficiently8 recovered to return to her London residence. It was the first time she had had a paragraph all to herself, headed with her name. She flushed with pleasure; and Joan noticed that, after reading it again, she folded the paper up small and slipped it into her pocket. The nurse came in from her walk a little later and took Joan downstairs with her.
“She ought not to talk to more than one person at a time,” the nurse explained, with a shake of the head. She was a quiet, business-like woman. She would not express a definite opinion.
“It’s her mental state that is the trouble,” was all that she would say. “She ought to be getting better. But she doesn’t.”
“No,” answered Joan. “Surely you’re not one?”
“I don’t know,” answered the woman. “I believe that would do her more good than anything else. If she would listen to it. She seems to have lost all will-power.”
The nurse left her; and the landlady came in to lay the table. She understood that Joan would be dining with Mr. Phillips. There was no train till the eight-forty. She kept looking at Joan as she moved about the room. Joan was afraid she would begin to talk, but she must have felt Joan’s antagonism10 for she remained silent. Once their eyes met, and the woman leered at her.
Phillips came down looking more cheerful. He had detected improvement in Mrs. Phillips. She was more hopeful in herself. They talked in low tones during the meal, as people do whose thoughts are elsewhere. It happened quite suddenly, Phillips explained. They had come down a few days after the rising of Parliament. There had been a spell of hot weather; but nothing remarkable11. The first attack had occurred about three weeks ago. It was just after Hilda had gone back to school. He wasn’t sure whether he ought to send for Hilda, or not. Her mother didn’t want him to—not just yet. Of course, if she got worse, he would have to. What did Joan think?—did she think there was any real danger?
Joan could not say. So much depended upon the general state of health. There was the case of her own father. Of course she would always be subject to attacks. But this one would have warned her to be careful.
Phillips thought that living out of town might be better for her, in the future—somewhere in Surrey, where he could easily get up and down. He could sleep himself at the club on nights when he had to be late.
They talked without looking at one another. They did not speak about themselves.
Mrs. Phillips was in bed when Joan went up to say good-bye. “You’ll come again soon?” she asked, and Joan promised. “You’ve made me so happy,” she whispered. The nurse was in the room.
They discussed politics in the train. Phillips had found more support for his crusade against Carleton than he had expected. He was going to open the attack at once, thus forestalling12 Carleton’s opposition13 to his land scheme.
“It isn’t going to be the Daily This and the Daily That and the Weekly the Other all combined to down me. I’m going to tell the people that it’s Carleton and only Carleton—Carleton here, Carleton there, Carleton everywhere, against them. I’m going to drag him out into the open and make him put up his own fists.”
Joan undertook to sound Greyson. She was sure Greyson would support him, in his balanced, gentlemanly way, that could nevertheless be quite deadly.
They grew less and less afraid of looking at one another as they felt that darkened room further and further behind them.
They parted at Charing14 Cross. Joan would write. They agreed it would be better to choose separate days for their visits to Folkestone.
She ran against Madge in the morning, and invited herself to tea. Her father had returned to Liverpool, and her own rooms, for some reason, depressed15 her. Flossie was there with young Halliday. They were both off the next morning to his people’s place in Devonshire, from where they were going to get married, and had come to say good-bye. Flossie put Sam in the passage and drew-to the door.
“Have you seen her?” she asked. “How is she?”
“Oh, she’s changed a good deal,” answered Joan. “But I think she’ll get over it all right, if she’s careful.”
“I shall hope for the best,” answered Flossie. “Poor old soul, she’s had a good time. Don’t send me a present; and then I needn’t send you one—when your time comes. It’s a silly custom. Besides, I’ve nowhere to put it. Shall be in a ship for the next six months. Will let you know when we’re back.”
She gave Joan a hug and a kiss, and was gone. Joan joined Madge in the kitchen, where she was toasting buns.
“I suppose she’s satisfied herself that he’s brainy,” she laughed.
“Oh, brains aren’t everything,” answered Madge. “Some of the worst rotters the world has ever been cursed with have been brainy enough—men and women. We make too much fuss about brains; just as once upon a time we did about mere16 brute17 strength, thinking that was all that was needed to make a man great. Brain is only muscle translated into civilization. That’s not going to save us.”
“You’ve been thinking,” Joan accused her. “What’s put all that into your head?”
Madge laughed. “Mixing with so many brainy people, perhaps,” she suggested; “and wondering what’s become of their souls.”
“Be good, sweet child. And let who can be clever,” Joan quoted. “Would that be your text?”
Madge finished buttering her buns. “Kant, wasn’t it,” she answered, “who marvelled18 chiefly at two things: the starry19 firmament20 above him and the moral law within him. And they’re one and the same, if he’d only thought it out. It’s rather big to be good.”
They carried their tea into the sitting-room21.
“Do you really think she’ll get over it?” asked Madge. “Or is it one of those things one has to say?”
“I think she could,” answered Joan, “if she would pull herself together. It’s her lack of will-power that’s the trouble.”
Madge did not reply immediately. She was watching the rooks settling down for the night in the elm trees just beyond the window. There seemed to be much need of coming and going, of much cawing.
“I met her pretty often during those months that Helen Lavery was running her round,” she said at length. “It always seemed to me to have a touch of the heroic, that absurd effort she was making to ‘qualify’ herself, so that she might be of use to him. I can see her doing something quite big, if she thought it would help him.”
The cawing of the rooks grew fainter. One by one they folded their wings.
Neither spoke22 for a while. Later on, they talked about the coming election. If the Party got back, Phillips would go to the Board of Trade. It would afford him a better platform for the introduction of his land scheme.
“What do you gather is the general opinion?” Joan asked. “That he will succeed?”
“The general opinion seems to be that his star is in the ascendant,” Madge answered with a smile; “that all things are working together for his good. It’s rather a useful atmosphere to have about one, that. It breeds friendship and support!”
Joan looked at her watch. She had an article to finish. Madge stood on tiptoe and kissed her.
“Don’t think me unsympathetic,” she said. “No one will rejoice more than I shall if God sees fit to call you to good work. But I can’t help letting fall my little tear of fellowship with the weeping.”
“And mind your p’s and q’s,” she added. “You’re in a difficult position. And not all the eyes watching you are friendly.”
Joan bore the germ of worry in her breast as she crossed the Gray’s Inn Garden. It was a hard law, that of the world: knowing only winners and losers. Of course, the woman was to be pitied. No one could feel more sorry for her than Joan herself. But what had Madge exactly meant by those words: that she could “see her doing something really big,” if she thought it would help him? There was no doubt about her affection for him. It was almost dog-like. And the child, also! There must be something quite exceptional about him to have won the devotion of two such opposite beings. Especially Hilda. It would be hard to imagine any lengths to which Hilda’s blind idolatry would not lead her.
She ran down twice to Folkestone during the following week. Her visits made her mind easier. Mrs. Phillips seemed so placid23, so contented24. There was no suggestion of suffering, either mental or physical.
She dined with the Greysons the Sunday after, and mooted25 the question of the coming fight with Carleton. Greyson thought Phillips would find plenty of journalistic backing. The concentration of the Press into the hands of a few conscienceless schemers was threatening to reduce the journalist to a mere hireling, and the better-class men were becoming seriously alarmed. He found in his desk the report of a speech made by a well-known leader writer at a recent dinner of the Press Club. The man had risen to respond to the toast of his own health and had taken the opportunity to unpack26 his heart.
“I am paid a thousand a year,” so Greyson read to them, “for keeping my own opinions out of my paper. Some of you, perhaps, earn more, and others less; but you’re getting it for writing what you’re told. If I were to be so foolish as to express my honest opinion, I’d be on the street, the next morning, looking for another job.”
“The business of the journalist,” the man had continued, “is to destroy the truth, to lie, to pervert27, to vilify28, to fawn29 at the feet of Mammon, to sell his soul for his daily bread. We are the tools and vassals30 of rich men behind the scenes. We are the jumping-jacks. They pull the strings32 and we dance. Our talents, our possibilities, our lives are the property of other men.”
“We tried to pretend it was only one of Jack31’s little jokes,” explained Greyson as he folded up the cutting; “but it wouldn’t work. It was too near the truth.”
“I don’t see what you are going to do,” commented Mary. “So long as men are not afraid to sell their souls, there will always be a Devil’s market for them.”
Greyson did not so much mind there being a Devil’s market, provided he could be assured of an honest market alongside, so that a man could take his choice. What he feared was the Devil’s steady encroachment33, that could only end by the closing of the independent market altogether. His remedy was the introduction of the American trust law, forbidding any one man being interested in more than a limited number of journals.
“But what’s the difference,” demanded Joan, “between a man owning one paper with a circulation of, say, six millions; or owning six with a circulation of a million apiece? By concentrating all his energies on one, a man with Carleton’s organizing genius might easily establish a single journal that would cover the whole field.”
“Just all the difference,” answered Greyson, “between Pooh Bah as Chancellor34 of the Exchequer35, or Lord High Admiral, or Chief Executioner, whichever he preferred to be, and Pooh Bah as all the Officers of State rolled into one. Pooh Bah may be a very able statesman, entitled to exert his legitimate37 influence. But, after all, his opinion is only the opinion of one old gentleman, with possible prejudices and preconceived convictions. The Mikado—or the people, according to locality—would like to hear the views of others of his ministers. He finds that the Lord Chancellor and the Lord Chief Justice and the Groom38 of the Bedchamber and the Attorney-General—the whole entire Cabinet, in short, are unanimously of the same opinion as Pooh Bah. He doesn’t know it’s only Pooh Bah speaking from different corners of the stage. The consensus39 of opinion convinces him. One statesman, however eminent40, might err36 in judgment41. But half a score of statesmen, all of one mind! One must accept their verdict.”
Mary smiled. “But why shouldn’t the good newspaper proprietor42 hurry up and become a multi-proprietor?” she suggested. “Why don’t you persuade Lord Sutcliffe to buy up three or four papers, before they’re all gone?”
“Because I don’t want the Devil to get hold of him,” answered Greyson.
“You’ve got to face this unalterable law,” he continued. “That power derived43 from worldly sources can only be employed for worldly purposes. The power conferred by popularity, by wealth, by that ability to make use of other men that we term organization—sooner or later the man who wields44 that power becomes the Devil’s servant. So long as Kingship was merely a force struggling against anarchy45, it was a holy weapon. As it grew in power so it degenerated46 into an instrument of tyranny. The Church, so long as it remained a scattered47 body of meek48, lowly men, did the Lord’s work. Enthroned at Rome, it thundered its edicts against human thought. The Press is in danger of following precisely49 the same history. When it wrote in fear of the pillory50 and of the jail, it fought for Liberty. Now it has become the Fourth Estate, it fawns—as Jack Swinton said of it—at the feet of Mammon. My Proprietor, good fellow, allows me to cultivate my plot amid the wilderness51 for other purposes than those of quick returns. If he were to become a competitor with the Carletons and the Bloomfields, he would have to look upon it as a business proposition. The Devil would take him up on to the high mountain, and point out to him the kingdom of huge circulations and vast profits, whispering to him: ‘All this will I give thee, if thou wilt52 fall down and worship me.’ I don’t want the dear good fellow to be tempted53.”
“Is it impossible, then, to combine duty and success?” questioned Joan.
“The combination sometimes happens, by chance,” admitted Greyson. “But it’s dangerous to seek it. It is so easy to persuade ourselves that it’s our duty to succeed.”
“But we must succeed to be of use,” urged Mary. “Must God’s servants always remain powerless?”
“Powerless to rule. Powerful only to serve,” he answered. “Powerful as Christ was powerful; not as Caesar was powerful—powerful as those who have suffered and have failed, leaders of forlorn hopes—powerful as those who have struggled on, despised and vilified54; not as those of whom all men speak well—powerful as those who have fought lone55 battles and have died, not knowing their own victory. It is those that serve, not those that rule, shall conquer.”
Joan had never known him quite so serious. Generally there was a touch of irony56 in his talk, a suggestion of aloofness57 that had often irritated her.
“I wish you would always be yourself, as you are now,” she said, “and never pose.”
“That shows how far it has gone,” she told him, “that you don’t even know it. You pretend to be a philosopher. But you’re really a man.”
He laughed. “It isn’t always a pose,” he explained. “It’s some men’s way of saying: Thy will be done.”
“Ask Phillips to come and see me,” he said. “I can be of more help, if I know exactly his views.”
He walked with her to the bus. They passed a corner house that he had more than once pointed59 out to her. It had belonged, years ago, to a well-known artist, who had worked out a wonderful scheme of decoration in the drawing-room. A board was up, announcing that the house was for sale. A gas lamp, exactly opposite, threw a flood of light upon the huge white lettering.
Joan stopped. “Why, it’s the house you are always talking about,” she said. “Are you thinking of taking it?”
“I did go over it,” he answered. “But it would be rather absurd for just Mary and me.”
She looked up Phillips at the House, and gave him Greyson’s message. He had just returned from Folkestone, and was worried.
“She was so much better last week,” he explained. “But it never lasts.”
“Poor old girl!” he added. “I believe she’d have been happier if I’d always remained plain Bob Phillips.”
Joan had promised to go down on the Friday; but finding, on the Thursday morning, that it would be difficult, decided60 to run down that afternoon instead. She thought at first of sending a wire. But in Mrs. Phillips’s state of health, telegrams were perhaps to be avoided. It could make no difference. The front door of the little house was standing61 half open. She called down the kitchen stairs to the landlady, but received no answer. The woman had probably run out on some short errand. She went up the stairs softly. The bedroom door, she knew, would be open. Mrs. Phillips had a feeling against being “shut off,” as she called it. She meant to tap lightly and walk straight in, as usual. But what she saw through the opening caused her to pause. Mrs. Phillips was sitting up in bed with her box of cosmetics62 in front of her. She was sensitive of anyone seeing her make-up; and Joan, knowing this, drew back a step. But for some reason, she couldn’t help watching. Mrs. Phillips dipped a brush into one of the compartments63 and then remained with it in her hand, as if hesitating. Suddenly she stuck out her tongue and passed the brush over it. At least, so it seemed to Joan. It was only a side view of Mrs. Phillips’s face that she was obtaining, and she may have been mistaken. It might have been the lips. The woman gave a little gasp64 and sat still for a moment. Then, putting away the brush, she closed the box and slipped it under the pillow.
Joan felt her knees trembling. A cold, creeping fear was taking possession of her. Why, she could not understand. She must have been mistaken. People don’t make-up their tongues. It must have been the lips. And even if not—if the woman had licked the brush! It was a silly trick people do. Perhaps she liked the taste. She pulled herself together and tapped at the door.
Mrs. Phillips gave a little start at seeing her; but was glad that she had come. Phillips had not been down for two days and she had been feeling lonesome. She persisted in talking more than Joan felt was good for her. She was feeling so much better, she explained. Joan was relieved when the nurse came back from her walk and insisted on her lying down. She dropped to sleep while Joan and the nurse were having their tea.
Joan went back by the early train. She met some people at the station that she knew and travelled up with them. That picture of Mrs. Phillips’s tongue just showing beyond the line of Mrs. Phillips’s cheek remained at the back of her mind; but it was not until she was alone in her own rooms that she dared let her thoughts return to it.
The suggestion that was forcing itself into her brain was monstrous—unthinkable. That, never possessed65 of any surplus vitality66, and suffering from the added lassitude of illness, the woman should have become indifferent—willing to let a life that to her was full of fears and difficulties slip peacefully away from her, that was possible. But that she should exercise thought and ingenuity—that she should have reasoned the thing out and deliberately67 laid her plans, calculating at every point on their success; it was inconceivable.
Besides, what could have put the idea into her head? It was laughable, the presumption68 that she was a finished actress, capable of deceiving everyone about her. If she had had an inkling of the truth, Joan, with every nerve on the alert, almost hoping for it, would have detected it. She had talked with her alone the day before she had left England, and the woman had been full of hopes and projects for the future.
That picture of Mrs. Phillips, propped69 up against the pillows, with her make-up box upon her knees was still before her when she went to bed. All night long it haunted her: whether thinking or dreaming of it, she could not tell.
Suddenly, she sat up with a stifled70 cry. It seemed as if a flash of light had been turned upon her, almost blinding her.
Hilda! Why had she never thought of it? The whole thing was so obvious. “You ought not to think about yourself. You ought to think only of him and of his work. Nothing else matters.” If she could say that to Joan, what might she not have said to her mother who, so clearly, she divined to be the incubus—the drag upon her father’s career? She could hear the child’s dry, passionate71 tones—could see Mrs. Phillips’s flabby cheeks grow white—the frightened, staring eyes. Where her father was concerned the child had neither conscience nor compassion72. She had waited her time. It was a few days after Hilda’s return to school that Mrs. Phillips had been first taken ill.
She flung herself from the bed and drew the blind. A chill, grey light penetrated73 the room. It was a little before five. She would go round to Phillips, wake him up. He must be told.
With her hat in her hands, she paused. No. That would not do. Phillips must never know. They must keep the secret to themselves. She would go down and see the woman; reason with her, insist. She went into the other room. It was lighter74 there. The “A.B.C.” was standing in its usual place upon her desk. There was a train to Folkestone at six-fifteen. She had plenty of time. It would be wise to have a cup of tea and something to eat. There would be no sense in arriving there with a headache. She would want her brain clear.
It was half-past five when she sat down with her tea in front of her. It was only ten minutes’ walk to Charing Cross—say a quarter of an hour. She might pick up a cab. She grew calmer as she ate and drank. Her reason seemed to be returning to her. There was no such violent hurry. Hadn’t she better think things over, in the clear daylight? The woman had been ill now for nearly six weeks: a few hours—a day or two—could make no difference. It might alarm the poor creature, her unexpected appearance at such an unusual hour—cause a relapse. Suppose she had been mistaken? Hadn’t she better make a few inquiries75 first—feel her way? One did harm more often than good, acting76 on impulse. After all, had she the right to interfere77? Oughtn’t the thing to be thought over as a whole? Mightn’t there be arguments, worth considering, against her interference? Her brain was too much in a whirl. Hadn’t she better wait till she could collect and arrange her thoughts?
The silver clock upon her desk struck six. It had been a gift from her father when she was at Girton. It never obtruded78. Its voice was a faint musical chime that she need not hear unless she cared to listen. She turned and looked at it. It seemed to be a little face looking back at her out of its two round, blinkless eyes. For the first time during all the years that it had watched beside her, she heard its quick, impatient tick.
She sat motionless, staring at it. The problem, in some way, had simplified itself into a contest between herself, demanding time to think, and the little insistent79 clock, shouting to her to act upon blind impulse. If she could remain motionless for another five minutes, she would have won.
The ticking of the little clock was filling the room. The thing seemed to have become alive—to be threatening to burst its heart. But the thin, delicate indicator80 moved on.
Suddenly its ticking ceased. It had become again a piece of lifeless mechanism81. The hands pointed to six minutes past. Joan took off her hat and laid it aside.
She must think the whole thing over quietly.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
landlady
|
|
| n.女房东，女地主 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
cosy
|
|
| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
acquiesced
|
|
| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
bustle
|
|
| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
instinctive
|
|
| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
descending
|
|
| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
favourably
|
|
| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
antagonism
|
|
| n.对抗，敌对，对立 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
forestalling
|
|
| v.先发制人，预先阻止( forestall的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
13
opposition
|
|
| n.反对，敌对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
charing
|
|
| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
depressed
|
|
| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
brute
|
|
| n.野兽，兽性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
marvelled
|
|
| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
starry
|
|
| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
firmament
|
|
| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
sitting-room
|
|
| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
placid
|
|
| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
contented
|
|
| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
mooted
|
|
| adj.未决定的，有争议的，有疑问的v.提出…供讨论( moot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
unpack
|
|
| vt.打开包裹（或行李），卸货 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
pervert
|
|
| n.堕落者，反常者；vt.误用，滥用；使人堕落，使入邪路 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
vilify
|
|
| v.诽谤，中伤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
fawn
|
|
| n.未满周岁的小鹿；v.巴结，奉承 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
vassals
|
|
| n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 )；（封建时代）诸侯；从属者；下属 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
jack
|
|
| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
strings
|
|
| n.弦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
encroachment
|
|
| n.侵入，蚕食 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
chancellor
|
|
| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
exchequer
|
|
| n.财政部；国库 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
err
|
|
| vi.犯错误，出差错 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
legitimate
|
|
| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
groom
|
|
| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
consensus
|
|
| n.(意见等的)一致，一致同意，共识 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
eminent
|
|
| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
proprietor
|
|
| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
derived
|
|
| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
wields
|
|
| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的第三人称单数 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
anarchy
|
|
| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
degenerated
|
|
| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
meek
|
|
| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
pillory
|
|
| n.嘲弄；v.使受公众嘲笑；将…示众 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
wilderness
|
|
| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
wilt
|
|
| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
tempted
|
|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
vilified
|
|
| v.中伤，诽谤( vilify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
lone
|
|
| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
irony
|
|
| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
aloofness
|
|
| 超然态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
cosmetics
|
|
| n.化妆品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
compartments
|
|
| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
gasp
|
|
| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
vitality
|
|
| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
presumption
|
|
| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
propped
|
|
| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
stifled
|
|
| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
penetrated
|
|
| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
lighter
|
|
| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
inquiries
|
|
| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
interfere
|
|
| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
obtruded
|
|
| v.强行向前，强行，强迫( obtrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
insistent
|
|
| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
indicator
|
|
| n.指标；指示物，指示者；指示器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
mechanism
|
|
| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |