IThere is something about writing down an anticlimax2 in cold blood that is somewhat shattering toone’s self-esteem.
For the truth of the matter is, you see, that I sat there waiting for Allerton and that I fell asleep!
Not so surprising really, I suppose. I had slept very badly the night before. I had been out in theair the whole day. I was worn out with worry and the strain of nerving myself for doing what I haddecided to do. On top of all that was the heavy thundery weather. Possibly even the fierce effort ofconcentration I was making helped.
Anyway, it happened. I fell asleep there in my chair, and when I woke birds were twitteringoutside, the sun was up and there was I, cramped3 and uncomfortable, slipped down in my chair inmy evening dress, with a foul4 taste in the mouth and a splitting head.
I was bewildered, incredulous, disgusted, and finally immeasurably and overwhelminglyrelieved.
Who was it who wrote, “The darkest day, lived till tomorrow, will have passed away?” Andhow true it is. I saw now, clearly and sanely5, how overwrought and wrongheaded I had been.
Melodramatic, lost to all sense of proportion. I had actually made up my mind to kill anotherhuman being.
At this moment my eyes fell on the glass of whisky in front of me. With a shudder6 I got up,drew the curtains and poured it out of the window. I must have been mad last night!
I shaved, had a bath and dressed. Then, feeling very much better, I went across to Poirot. Healways woke very early, I knew. I sat down and made a clean breast of the whole thing to him.
I may say it was a great relief.
He shook his head gently at me. “Ah, but what follies7 it is you contemplate8. I am glad you cameto confess your sins to me. But why, my dear friend, did you not come to me last night and tell mewhat was in your mind?”
I said shamefacedly: “I was afraid, I suppose, that you would have tried to stop me.”
“Assuredly I would have stopped you. Ah that, certainly. Do you think I want to see you hangedby the neck, all on account of a very unpleasant scoundrel called Major Allerton?”
“I shouldn’t have been caught,” I said. “I’d taken every precaution.”
“That is what all murderers think. You had the true mentality9! But let me tell you, mon ami, youwere not as clever as you thought yourself.”
“I took every precaution. I wiped my fingerprints10 off the bottle.”
“Exactly. You also wiped Allerton’s fingerprints off. And when he is found dead, whathappens? They perform the autopsy11 and it is established that he died of an overdose of Slumberyl.
Did he take it by accident or intention? Tiens, his fingerprints are not on the bottle. But why not?
Whether accident or suicide he would have no reason to wipe them off. And then they analyse theremaining tablets and find nearly half of them have been replaced by aspirin13.”
“Well, practically everyone has aspirin tablets,” I murmured weakly.
“Yes, but it is not everyone who has a daughter whom Allerton is pursuing with dishonourableintentions—to use an old-fashioned dramatic phrase. And you have had a quarrel with yourdaughter on the subject the day before. Two people, Boyd Carrington and Norton, can swear toyour violent feeling against the man. No, Hastings, it would not have looked too good. Attentionwould immediately have been focused upon you, and by that time you would probably have beenin such a state of fear—or even remorse—that some good solid inspector14 of police would havemade up his mind quite definitely that you were the guilty party. It is quite possible, even, thatsomeone may have seen you tampering15 with the tablets.”
“They couldn’t. There was no one about.”
“There is a balcony outside the window. Somebody might have been there, peeping in. Or, whoknows, someone might have been looking through the keyhole.”
“You’ve got keyholes on the brain, Poirot. People don’t really spend their time looking throughkeyholes as much as you seem to think.”
Poirot half-closed his eyes and remarked that I had always had too trusting a nature.
“And let me tell you, very funny things happen with keys in this house. Me, I like to feel thatmy door is locked on the inside, even if the good Curtiss is in the adjoining room. Soon after I amhere, my key disappears—but entirely16! I have to have another one made.”
“Well, anyway,” I said with a deep breath of relief, my mind still laden17 with my own troubles,“it didn’t come off. It’s awful to think one can get worked up like that.” I lowered my voice.
“Poirot, you don’t think that because—because of that murder long ago there’s a sort of infectionin the air?”
“A virus of murder, you mean? Well, it is an interesting suggestion.”
“Houses do have an atmosphere,” I said thoughtfully. “This house has a bad history.”
Poirot nodded. “Yes. There have been people here—several of them—who desired deeply thatsomeone else should die. That is true enough.”
“I believe it gets hold of one in some way. But now, Poirot, tell me, what am I to do about allthis—Judith and Allerton, I mean. It’s got to be stopped somehow. What do you think I’d betterdo?”
“Do nothing,” said Poirot with emphasis.
“Oh, but—”
“Believe me, you will do least harm by not interfering18.”
“If I were to tackle Allerton—”
“What can you say or do? Judith is twenty-one and her own mistress.”
“But I feel I ought to be able—”
Poirot interrupted me. “No, Hastings. Do not imagine that you are clever enough, forcefulenough, or even cunning enough to impose your personality on either of those two people.
Allerton is accustomed to dealing19 with angry and impotent fathers and probably enjoys it as agood joke. Judith is not the sort of creature who can be browbeaten20. I would advise you—if Iadvised you at all—to do something very different. I would trust her if I were you.”
I stared at him.
“Judith,” said Hercule Poirot, “is made of very fine stuff. I admire her very much.”
I said, my voice unsteady: “I admire her, too. But I’m afraid for her.”
Poirot nodded his head with sudden energy. “I, too, am afraid for her,” he said. “But not in theway you are. I am terribly afraid. And I am powerless—or nearly so. And the days go by. There isdanger, Hastings, and it is very close.”
II
I knew as well as Poirot that the danger was very close. I had more reason to know it than he had,because of what I had actually overheard the previous night.
Nevertheless I pondered on that phrase of Poirot’s as I went down to breakfast. “I would trusther if I were you.”
It had come unexpectedly, but it had given me an odd sense of comfort. And almostimmediately, the truth of it was justified21. For Judith had obviously changed her mind about goingup to London that day.
Instead she went off with Franklin to the lab as usual directly after breakfast, and it was clearthat they were to have an arduous22 and busy day there.
A feeling of intense thanksgiving rushed over me. How mad, how despairing I had been lastnight. I had assumed—assumed quite certainly—that Judith had yielded to Allerton’s speciousproposals. But it was true, I reflected now, that I had never heard her actually assent23. No, she wastoo fine, too essentially24 good and true, to give in. She had refused the rendezvous25.
Allerton had breakfasted early, I found, and gone off to Ipswich. He, then, had kept to the planand must assume that Judith was going up to London as arranged.
“Well,” I thought grimly, “he will get a disappointment.”
Boyd Carrington came along and remarked rather grumpily that I looked very cheerful thismorning.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve had some good news.”
He said that it was more than he had. He’d had a tiresome26 telephone call from the architect,some building difficulty—a local surveyor cutting up rough. Also worrying letters. And he wasafraid he’d let Mrs. Franklin overdo12 herself the day before.
Mrs. Franklin was certainly making up for her recent bout1 of good health and spirits. She was,so I gathered from Nurse Craven, making herself quite impossible.
Nurse Craven had had to give up her day off which had been promised her to go and meet somefriends, and she was decidedly sour about it. Since early morning Mrs. Franklin had been callingfor sal volatile27, hot-water bottles, various patent food and drinks, and was unwilling28 to let Nurseleave the room. She had neuralgia, a pain round the heart, cramps29 in her feet and legs, cold shiversand I don’t know what else.
I may say here and now that neither I, nor anyone else, was inclined to be really alarmed. We allput it down as part of Mrs. Franklin’s hypochondriacal tendencies.
This was true of Nurse Craven and Dr. Franklin as well.
The latter was fetched from the laboratory; he listened to his wife’s complaints, asked her if shewould like the local doctor called in (violently negatived by Mrs. Franklin); he then mixed her asedative, soothed30 her as best he could and went off back to work again.
Nurse Craven said to me: “He knows, of course, she’s just playing up.”
“You don’t really think there’s anything much the matter?”
“Her temperature is normal, and her pulse is perfectly31 good. Just fuss, if you ask me.”
She was annoyed and spoke32 out more imprudently than usual.
“She likes to interfere33 with anyone else enjoying themselves. She’d like her husband all workedup, and me running round after her, and even Sir William has got to be made to feel like a brutebecause he ‘overtired her yesterday.’ She’s one of that kind.”
Nurse Craven was clearly fiding her patient almost impossible today. I gathered that Mrs.
Franklin had been really extremely rude to her. She was the kind of woman whom nurses andservants instinctively34 disliked, not only because of the trouble she gave, but because of her mannerof doing so.
So, as I say, none of us took her indisposition seriously.
The only exception was Boyd Carrington, who wandered round looking rather pathetically likea small boy who has been scolded.
How many times since then have I not gone over and over the events of that day, trying toremember something so far unheeded—some tiny forgotten incident, striving to remember exactlythe manner of everybody. How far they were normal, or showed excitement.
Let me, once more, put down exactly what I remember of everybody.
Boyd Carrington, as I have said, looked uncomfortable and rather guilty. He seemed to thinkthat he had been rather over-exuberant the day before and had been selfish in not thinking more ofthe frail35 health of his companion. He had been up once or twice to enquire36 about Barbara Franklin,and Nurse Craven, herself not in the best of tempers, had been tart37 and snappish with him. He hadeven been to the village and purchased a box of chocolates. This had been sent down. “Mrs.
Franklin couldn’t bear chocolates.”
Rather disconsolately38, he opened the box in the smoking room and Norton and I and he allsolemnly helped ourselves.
Norton, I now think, had definitely something on his mind that morning. He was abstracted,once or twice his brows drew together as though he were puzzling over something.
He was fond of chocolates, and ate a good many in an abstracted fashion.
Outside, the weather had broken. Since ten o’clock the rain had been pouring down.
It had not the melancholy39 that sometimes accompanies a wet day. Actually it was a relief to usall.
Poirot had been brought down by Curtiss about midday and ensconced in the drawing room.
Here Elizabeth Cole had joined him and was playing the piano to him. She had a pleasant touch,and played Bach and Mozart, both favourite composers of my friend’s.
Franklin and Judith came up from the garden about a quarter to one. Judith looked white andstrained. She was very silent, looked vaguely40 about her as though lost in a dream and then wentaway. Franklin sat down with us. He, too, looked tired and absorbed, and he had, too, the air of aman very much on edge.
I said, I remember, something about the rain being a relief, and he said quickly: “Yes. There aretimes when something’s got to break. .?.?.”
And somehow I got the impression that it was not merely of the weather that he spoke.
Awkward as always in his movements, he jerked against the table and upset half the chocolates.
With his usual startled air, he apologized—apparently to the box.
“Oh, sorry.”
It ought to have been funny, but somehow it wasn’t. He bent41 quickly and picked up the spiltchocolates.
Norton asked him if he had had a tiring morning.
His smile flashed out then—eager, boyish, very much alive.
“No — no — just realized, suddenly, I’ve been on the wrong track. Much simpler processaltogether is what’s needed. Can take a shortcut42 now.”
He stood swaying slightly to and fro on his feet, his eyes absent yet resolved.
“Yes, shortcut. Much the best way.”
III
If we were all nervy and aimless in the morning, the afternoon was unexpectedly pleasant. The suncame out, the temperature was cool and fresh. Mrs. Luttrell was brought down and sat on theveranda. She was in excellent form—exercising her charm and manner with less gush43 than usual,and with no latent hint of vinegar in reserve. She chaffed her husband, but gently and with a kindof affection, and he beamed at her. It was really delightful44 to see them on such good terms.
Poirot permitted himself to be wheeled out also, and he was in good spirits too. I think he likedseeing the Luttrells on such a friendly footing with each other. The Colonel was looking yearsyounger. His manner seemed less vacillating, he tugged45 less at his moustache. He even suggestedthat there might be some bridge that evening.
“Daisy here misses her bridge.”
“Indeed I do,” said Mrs. Luttrell.
Norton suggested it would be tiring for her.
“I’ll play one rubber,” said Mrs. Luttrell, and added with a twinkle: “And I’ll behave myself andnot bite poor George’s head off.”
“My dear,” protested her husband, “I know I’m a shocking player.”
“And what of that?” said Mrs. Luttrell. “Doesn’t it give me grand pleasure badgering andbullying you about it?”
It made us all laugh. Mrs. Luttrell went on: “Oh, I know my faults, but I’m not going to givethem up at my time of life. George has just got to put up with me.”
Colonel Luttrell looked at her quite fatuously46.
I think it was seeing them both on such good terms that led to a discussion on marriage anddivorce that took place later in the day.
Were men and women actually happier by reason of the greater facilities afforded for divorce,or was it often the case that a temporary period of irritation47 and estrangement—or trouble over athird person—gave way after a while to a resumption of affection and friendliness48?
It is odd sometimes to see how much at variance49 people’s ideas are with their own personalexperiences.
My own marriage had been unbelievably happy and successful, and I am essentially an old-fashioned person, yet I was on the side of divorce—of cutting one’s losses and starting afresh.
Boyd Carrington, whose marriage had been unhappy, yet held for an indissoluble marriage bond.
He had, he said, the utmost reverence50 for the institution of marriage. It was the foundation of thestate.
Norton, with no ties and no personal angle, was of my way of thinking. Franklin, the modernscientific thinker, was, strangely enough, resolutely51 opposed to divorce. It offended, apparently,his ideal of clear-cut thinking and action. One assumed certain responsibilities. Those must becarried through and not shirked or set aside. A contract, he said, is a contract. One enters upon it ofone’s own free will, and must abide52 by it. Anything else resulted in what he called a mess. Looseends, half-dissolved ties.
Leaning back in his chair, his long legs kicking vaguely at a table, he said: “A man chooses hiswife. She’s his responsibility until she dies—or he does.”
Norton said rather comically: “And sometimes—Oh blessed death, eh?”
We laughed, and Boyd Carrington said: “You needn’t talk, my lad, you’ve never been married.”
Shaking his head, Norton said: “And now I’ve left it too late.”
“Have you?” Boyd Carrington’s glance was quizzical. “Sure of that?”
It was just at that moment that Elizabeth Cole joined us. She had been up with Mrs. Franklin.
I wondered if it was my fancy, or did Boyd Carrington look meaningly from her to Norton, andwas it possible that Norton blushed?
It put a new idea into my head and I looked searchingly at Elizabeth Cole. It was true that shewas still a comparatively young woman. Moreover she was quite a handsome one. In fact a verycharming and sympathetic person who was capable of making any man happy. And she andNorton had spent a good deal of time together of late. In their hunts for wildflowers and birds, theyhad become friends; I remembered how she had spoken of Norton being such a kind person.
Well, if so, I was glad for her sake. Her starved and barren girlhood would not stand in the wayof her ultimate happiness. The tragedy that had shattered her life would not have been enacted53 invain. I thought, looking at her, that she certainly looked much happier and—yes, gayer, than whenI had first come to Styles.
Elizabeth Cole and Norton—yes, it might be.
And suddenly, from nowhere, a vague feeling of uneasiness and disquiet54 assailed55 me. It was notsafe—it was not right—to plan happiness here. There was something malignant56 about the air ofStyles. I felt it now—this minute, felt suddenly old and tired—yes, and afraid.
A minute later the feeling passed. Nobody had noticed it, I think, except Boyd Carrington. Hesaid to me in an undertone a few minutes later: “Anything the matter, Hastings?”
“No, why?”
“Well—you looked—I can’t quite explain it.”
“Just a feeling—apprehension57.”
“A premonition of evil?”
“Yes, if you like to put it that way. A feeling that—that something was going to happen.”
“Funny. I’ve felt that once or twice. Any idea what?”
He was watching me narrowly.
I shook my head. For indeed I had had no definite apprehension of any particular thing. It hadonly been a wave of deep depression and fear.
Then Judith had come out of the house. She had come slowly, her head held high, her lipspressed together, her face grave and beautiful.
I thought how unlike she was to either me or Cinders58. She looked like some young priestess.
Norton felt something of that too. He said to her: “You look like your namesake might havelooked before she cut off the head of Holofernes.”
Judith smiled and raised her eyebrows59 a little. “I can’t remember now why she wanted to.”
“Oh, strictly60 on the highest moral grounds for the good of the community.”
The light banter61 in his tone annoyed Judith. She flushed and went past him to sit by Franklin.
She said: “Mrs. Franklin is feeling much better. She wants us all to come up and have coffee withher this evening.”
IV
Mrs. Franklin was certainly a creature of moods, I thought, as we trooped upstairs after dinner.
Having made everyone’s life unbearable62 all day, she was now sweetness itself to everybody.
She was dressed in a negligee of pale eau-de-Nil and was lying on her chaise longue. Beside herwas a small revolving63 bookcase-table with the coffee apparatus64 set out. Her fingers, deft65 and white,dealt with the ritual of coffee making, with some slight aid from Nurse Craven. We were all therewith the exception of Poirot who always retired66 before dinner, Allerton who had not returned fromIpswich, and Mrs. and Colonel Luttrell who had remained downstairs.
The aroma67 of coffee came to our noses — a delicious smell. The coffee at Styles was anuninteresting muddy fluid, so we all looked forward to Mrs. Franklin’s brew68 with freshly groundberries.
Franklin sat on the other side of the table handing the cups as she filled them. Boyd Carringtonstood by the foot of the sofa, Elizabeth Cole and Norton were by the window. Nurse Craven hadretired to the background by the head of the bed. I was sitting in an armchair wrestling with TheTimes crossword69, and reading out the clues.
“Even love or third party risk?” I read out. “Eight letters.”
“Probably an anagram,” said Franklin.
We thought for a minute. I went on. “The chaps between the hills are unkind.”
“Tormentor,” said Boyd Carrington quickly.
“Quotation70: ‘And Echo whate’er is asked her answers’—blank. Tennyson. Five letters.”
“Where,” suggested Mrs. Franklin. “Surely that’s right. ‘And Echo answers where?’ ”
I was doubtful. “It would make a word end in ‘W.’?”
“Well, lots of words end in ‘W.’ How and now and snow.”
Elizabeth Cole said from the window: “The Tennyson quotation is: ‘And Echo whate’er isasked her answers Death.’”
I heard a quick sharp intake71 of breath behind me. I looked up. It was Judith. She went past us tothe window and out upon the bacony.
I said, as I wrote the last clue in: “Even love can’t be an anagram. The second letter now is‘A.’?”
“What’s the clue again?”
“Even love or third party risk? Blank A and six blanks.”
“Paramour,” said Boyd Carrington.
I heard the teaspoon72 rattle73 on Barbara Franklin’s saucer. I went on to the next clue.
“?‘Jealousy74 is a green-eyed monster,’ this person said.”
“Shakespeare,” said Boyd Carrington.
“Was it Othello or Emilia?” said Mrs. Franklin.
“All too long. The clue is only four letters.”
“Iago.”
“I’m sure it was Othello.”
“It wasn’t in Othello at all. Romeo said it to Juliet.”
We all voiced our opinions. Suddenly from the balcony Judith cried out: “Look, a shooting star.
Oh, there’s another.”
Boyd Carrington said: “Where? We must wish.” He went out on the balcony, joining ElizabethCole, Norton and Judith. Nurse Craven went out too. Franklin got up and joined them. They stoodthere, exclaiming, gazing out into the night.
I remained with my head bent over the crossword. Why should I wish to see a falling star? I hadnothing to wish for. .?.?.
Suddenly Boyd Carrington wheeled back into the room.
“Barbara, you must come out.”
Mrs. Franklin said sharply: “No, I can’t. I’m too tired.”
“Nonsense, Babs. You must come and wish!” He laughed. “Now don’t protest. I’ll carry you.”
And suddenly stooping he picked her up in his arms. She laughed and protested: “Bill, put medown—don’t be so silly.”
“Little girls have got to come out and wish.” He carried her through the window and set herdown on the balcony.
I bent closer over the paper. For I was remembering .?.?. A clear tropical night, frogs croaking75.?.?. and a shooting star. I was standing76 there by the window, and I had turned and picked upCinders and carried her out in my arms to see the stars and wish. .?.?.
The lines of my crossword ran and blurred77 before my eyes.
A figure detached itself from the balcony and came into the room—Judith.
Judith must never catch me with tears in my eyes. It would never do. Hastily I swung round thebookcase and pretended to be looking for a book. I remembered having seen an old edition ofShakespeare there. Yes, here it was. I looked through Othello.
“What are you doing, Father?”
I mumbled78 something about the clue, my fingers turning over the pages. Yes, it was Iago.
“O beware, my lord, of jealousy;
It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock
The meat it feeds on.”
Judith went on with some other lines:
“Not poppy, nor mandragora, nor all the drowsy79 syrups80 of the worldShall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep which thouow’dst yesterday.”
Her voice rang out, beautiful and deep.
The others were coming back, laughing and talking. Mrs. Franklin resumed her place on thechaise longue, Franklin came back to his seat and stirred his coffee. Norton and Elizabeth Colefinished drinking theirs and excused themselves as they had promised to play bridge with theLuttrells.
Mrs. Franklin drank her coffee and then demanded her “drops.” Judith got them for her from thebathroom as Nurse Craven had just gone out.
Franklin was wandering aimlessly round the room. He stumbled over a small table. His wifesaid sharply:
“Don’t be so clumsy, John.”
“Sorry, Barbara. I was thinking of something.”
Mrs. Franklin said rather affectedly81: “Such a great bear, aren’t you, darling?”
He looked at her rather abstractedly. Then he said: “Nice night, think I’ll take a stroll.”
He went out.
Mrs. Franklin said: “He is a genius, you know. You can tell it from his manner. I really doadmire him terrifically. Such a passion for his work.”
“Yes, yes, clever fellow,” said Boyd Carrington rather perfunctorily.
Judith left the room abruptly82, nearly colliding with Nurse Craven in the doorway83.
Boyd Carrington said: “What about a game of picquet, Babs?”
“Oh, lovely. Can you get hold of some cards, Nurse?”
Nurse Craven went to get cards, and I wished Mrs. Franklin good night and thanked her for thecoffee.
Outside I overtook Franklin and Judith. They were standing looking out of the passage window.
They were not speaking, just standing side by side.
Franklin looked over his shoulder as I approached. He moved a step or two, hesitated and said:
“Coming out for a stroll, Judith?”
My daughter shook her head. “Not tonight.” She added abruptly: “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”
I went downstairs with Franklin. He was whistling softly to himself and smiling.
I remarked rather crossly, for I was feeling depressed84 myself: “You seem pleased with yourselftonight.”
He admitted it.
“Yes. I’ve done something that I’ve been meaning to do for a long time. Very satisfactory,that.”
I parted from him downstairs, and looked in on the bridge players for a minute. Norton winkedat me when Mrs. Luttrell wasn’t looking. The rubber seemed to be progressing with unusualharmony.
Allerton had still not come back. It seemed to me that the house was happier and less oppressivewithout him.
I went up to Poirot’s room. I found Judith sitting with him. She smiled at me when I came inand did not speak.
“She has forgiven you, mon ami,” said Poirot—an outrageous85 remark.
“Really,” I spluttered. “I hardly think—”
Judith got up. She put an arm round my neck and kissed me. She said: “Poor Father. UncleHercule shall not attack your dignity. I am the one to be forgiven. So forgive me and say goodnight.”
I don’t quite know why, but I said: “I’m sorry, Judith. I’m very sorry, I didn’t mean—”
She stopped me. “That’s all right. Let’s forget it. Everything’s all right now.” She smiled aslow, faraway smile. She said again: “Everything’s all right now .?.?.” and quietly left the room.
When she had gone Poirot looked at me.
“Well?” he demanded. “What has been happening this evening?”
I spread out my hands. “Nothing has happened, or is likely to happen,” I told him.
Actually I was very wide of the mark. For something did happen that night. Mrs. Franklin wastaken violently ill. Two more doctors were sent for, but in vain. She died the following morning.
It was not until twenty-four hours later that we learned that her death was due to poisoning byphysostigmine.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
bout
|
|
| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
anticlimax
|
|
| n.令人扫兴的结局；突降法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
cramped
|
|
| a.狭窄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
foul
|
|
| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
sanely
|
|
| ad.神志清楚地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
shudder
|
|
| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
follies
|
|
| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
contemplate
|
|
| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
mentality
|
|
| n.心理，思想，脑力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
fingerprints
|
|
| n.指纹( fingerprint的名词复数 )v.指纹( fingerprint的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
autopsy
|
|
| n.尸体解剖；尸检 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
overdo
|
|
| vt.把...做得过头，演得过火 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
aspirin
|
|
| n.阿司匹林 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
inspector
|
|
| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
tampering
|
|
| v.窜改( tamper的现在分词 )；篡改；（用不正当手段）影响；瞎摆弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
laden
|
|
| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
interfering
|
|
| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
dealing
|
|
| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
browbeaten
|
|
| v.（以言辞或表情）威逼，恫吓( browbeat的过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
justified
|
|
| a.正当的，有理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
arduous
|
|
| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
assent
|
|
| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
essentially
|
|
| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
rendezvous
|
|
| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
tiresome
|
|
| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
volatile
|
|
| adj.反复无常的，挥发性的，稍纵即逝的，脾气火爆的；n.挥发性物质 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
unwilling
|
|
| adj.不情愿的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
cramps
|
|
| n. 抽筋, 腹部绞痛, 铁箍 adj. 狭窄的, 难解的 v. 使...抽筋, 以铁箍扣紧, 束缚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
soothed
|
|
| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
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： |
|
|
|
|
33
interfere
|
|
| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
instinctively
|
|
| adv.本能地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
frail
|
|
| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
enquire
|
|
| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
tart
|
|
| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
disconsolately
|
|
| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
shortcut
|
|
| n.近路，捷径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
gush
|
|
| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
tugged
|
|
| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
fatuously
|
|
| adv.愚昧地，昏庸地，蠢地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
irritation
|
|
| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
friendliness
|
|
| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
variance
|
|
| n.矛盾，不同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
reverence
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
resolutely
|
|
| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
abide
|
|
| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
enacted
|
|
| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
disquiet
|
|
| n.担心，焦虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
assailed
|
|
| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
malignant
|
|
| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
apprehension
|
|
| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
cinders
|
|
| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
strictly
|
|
| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
banter
|
|
| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
unbearable
|
|
| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
revolving
|
|
| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
apparatus
|
|
| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
deft
|
|
| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
aroma
|
|
| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
brew
|
|
| v.酿造，调制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
crossword
|
|
| n.纵横字谜，纵横填字游戏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
quotation
|
|
| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
intake
|
|
| n.吸入，纳入；进气口，入口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
teaspoon
|
|
| n.茶匙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
rattle
|
|
| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
croaking
|
|
| v.呱呱地叫( croak的现在分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
blurred
|
|
| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
mumbled
|
|
| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
drowsy
|
|
| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
syrups
|
|
| n.糖浆，糖汁( syrup的名词复数 )；糖浆类药品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
affectedly
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
depressed
|
|
| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
outrageous
|
|
| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |