M ORNING A CTIVITIES IN C HIPPING1 C LEGHORN (CONTINUED)
M iss Marple came out of the Vicarage gate and walked down the little lane that led into the main street.
She walked fairly briskly with the aid of the Rev2. Julian Harmon’s stout3 ashplant stick.
She passed the Red Cow and the butcher’s and stopped for a brief moment to look into the window of Mr. Elliot’santique shop. This was cunningly situated4 next door to the Bluebird Tearooms and Café so that rich motorists, afterstopping for a nice cup of tea and somewhat euphemistically named “Home Made Cakes” of a bright saffron colour,could be tempted5 by Mr. Elliot’s judiciously6 planned shop window.
In this antique bow frame, Mr. Elliot catered7 for all tastes. Two pieces of Waterford glass reposed8 on animpeccable wine cooler. A walnut9 bureau, made up of various bits and pieces, proclaimed itself a Genuine Bargainand on a table, in the window itself, were a nice assortment10 of cheap doorknockers and quaint11 pixies, a few chippedbits of Dresden, a couple of sad-looking bead12 necklaces, a mug with “A Present from Tunbridge Wells” on it, andsome tit-bits of Victorian silver.
Miss Marple gave the window her rapt attention, and Mr. Elliot, an elderly obese13 spider, peeped out of his web toappraise the possibilities of this new fly.
But just as he decided14 that the charms of the Present from Tunbridge Wells were about to be too much for the ladywho was staying at the Vicarage (for of course Mr. Elliot, like everybody else, knew exactly who she was), MissMarple saw out of the corner of her eye Miss Dora Bunner entering the Bluebird Café, and immediately decided thatwhat she needed to counteract15 the cold wind was a nice cup of morning coffee.
Four or five ladies were already engaged in sweetening their morning shopping by a pause for refreshment16. MissMarple, blinking a little in the gloom of the interior of the Bluebird, and hovering17 artistically18, was greeted by the voiceof Dora Bunner at her elbow.
“Oh, good morning, Miss Marple. Do sit down here. I’m all alone.”
“Thank you.”
Miss Marple subsided19 gratefully on to the rather angular little blue-painted armchair which the Bluebird affected20.
“Such a sharp wind,” she complained. “And I can’t walk very fast because of my rheumatic leg.”
“Oh, I know. I had sciatica one year—and really most of the time I was in agony.”
The two ladies talked rheumatism21, sciatica and neuritis for some moments with avidity. A sulky-looking girl in apink overall with a flight of bluebirds down the front of it took their order for coffee and cakes with a yawn and an airof weary patience.
“The cakes,” Miss Bunner said in a conspiratorial22 whisper, “are really quite good here.”
“I was so interested in that very pretty girl I met as we were coming away from Miss Blacklock’s the other day,”
said Miss Marple. “I think she said she does gardening. Or is she on the land? Hynes—was that her name?”
“Oh, yes, Phillipa Haymes. Our ‘Lodger,’ as we call her.” Miss Bunner laughed at her own humour. “Such a nicequiet girl. A lady, if you know what I mean.”
“I wonder now. I knew a Colonel Haymes—in the Indian cavalry24. Her father perhaps?”
“She’s Mrs. Haymes. A widow. Her husband was killed in Sicily or Italy. Of course, it might be his father.”
“I wondered, perhaps, if there might be a little romance on the way?” Miss Marple suggested roguishly. “With thattall young man?”
“With Patrick, do you mean? Oh, I don’t—”
“No, I meant a young man with spectacles. I’ve seen him about.”
“Oh, of course, Edmund Swettenham. Sh! That’s his mother, Mrs. Swettenham, over in the corner. I don’t know,I’m sure. You think he admires her? He’s such an odd young man—says the most disturbing things sometimes. He’ssupposed to be clever, you know,” said Miss Bunner with frank disapproval25.
“Cleverness isn’t everything,” said Miss Marple, shaking her head. “Ah, here is our coffee.”
The sulky girl deposited it with a clatter26. Miss Marple and Miss Bunner pressed cakes on each other.
“I was so interested to hear you were at school with Miss Blacklock. Yours is indeed an old friendship.”
“Yes, indeed.” Miss Bunner sighed. “Very few people would be as loyal to their old friends as dear Miss Blacklockis. Oh, dear, those days seem a long time ago. Such a pretty girl and enjoyed life so much. It all seemed so sad.”
Miss Marple, though with no idea of what had seemed so sad, sighed and shook her head.
“Life is indeed hard,” she murmured.
“And sad affliction bravely borne,” murmured Miss Bunner, her eyes suffusing27 with tears. “I always think of thatverse. True patience; true resignation. Such courage and patience ought to be rewarded, that is what I say. What I feelis that nothing is too good for dear Miss Blacklock, and whatever good things come to her, she truly deserves them.”
“Money,” said Miss Marple, “can do a lot to ease one’s path in life.”
She felt herself safe in this observation since she judged that it must be Miss Blacklock’s prospects28 of futureaffluence to which her friend referred.
The remark, however, started Miss Bunner on another train of thought.
“Money!” she exclaimed with bitterness. “I don’t believe, you know, that until one has really experienced it, onecan know what money, or rather the lack of it, means.”
Miss Marple nodded her white head sympathetically.
Miss Bunner went on rapidly, working herself up, and speaking with a flushed face:
“I’ve heard people say so often ‘I’d rather have flowers on the table than a meal without them.’ But how manymeals have those people ever missed? They don’t know what it is—nobody knows who hasn’t been through it—to bereally hungry. Bread, you know, and a jar of meat paste, and a scrape of margarine. Day after day, and how one longsfor a good plate of meat and two vegetables. And the shabbiness. Darning one’s clothes and hoping it won’t show.
And applying for jobs and always being told you’re too old. And then perhaps getting a job and after all one isn’tstrong enough. One faints. And you’re back again. It’s the rent—always the rent—that’s got to be paid—otherwiseyou’re out in the street. And in these days it leaves so little over. One’s old age pension doesn’t go far—indeed itdoesn’t.”
“I know,” said Miss Marple gently. She looked with compassion29 at Miss Bunner’s twitching30 face.
“I wrote to Letty. I just happened to see her name in the paper. It was a luncheon31 in aid of Milchester Hospital.
There it was in black and white, Miss Letitia Blacklock. It brought the past back to me. I hadn’t heard of her for yearsand years. She’d been secretary, you know, to that very rich man, Goedler. She was always a clever girl—the kind thatgets on in the world. Not so much looks—as character. I thought—well, I thought—perhaps she’ll remember me—and she’s one of the people I could ask for a little help. I mean someone you’ve known as a girl—been at school with—well, they do know about you—they know you’re not just a—begging letter-writer—”
Tears came into Dora Bunner’s eyes.
“And then Lotty came and took me away—said she needed someone to help her. Of course, I was very surprised—very surprised — but then newspapers do get things wrong. How kind she was — and how sympathetic. Andremembering all the old days so well … I’d do anything for her—I really would. And I try very hard, but I’m afraidsometimes I muddle32 things—my head’s not what it was. I make mistakes. And I forget and say foolish things. She’svery patient. What’s so nice about her is that she always pretends that I am useful to her. That’s real kindness, isn’tit?”
Miss Marple said gently: “Yes, that’s real kindness.”
“I used to worry, you know, even after I came to Little Paddocks—about what would become of me if—if anythingwere to happen to Miss Blacklock. After all, there are so many accidents—these motors dashing about—one neverknows, does one? But naturally I never said anything—but she must have guessed. Suddenly, one day she told me thatshe’d left me a small annuity33 in her will—and—what I value far more—all her beautiful furniture. I was quiteovercome … But she said nobody else would value it as I should—and that is quite true—I can’t bear to see somelovely piece of china smashed—or wet glasses put down on a table and leaving a mark. I do really look after herthings. Some people—some people especially, are so terribly careless—and sometimes worse than careless!
“I’m not really as stupid as I look,” Miss Bunner continued with simplicity34. “I can see, you know, when Letty’sbeing imposed upon. Some people—I won’t name names—but they take advantage. Dear Miss Blacklock is, perhaps,just a shade too trusting.”
Miss Marple shook her head.
“That’s a mistake.”
“Yes, it is. You and I, Miss Marple, know the world. Dear Miss Blacklock—” She shook her head.
Miss Marple thought that as the secretary of a big financier Miss Blacklock might be presumed to know the worldtoo. But probably what Dora Bunner meant was that Letty Blacklock had always been comfortably off, and that thecomfortably off do not know the deeper abysses of human nature.
“That Patrick!” said Miss Bunner with a suddenness and an asperity35 that made Miss Marple jump. “Twice, at least,to my knowledge, he’s got money out of her. Pretending he’s hard up. Run into debt. All that sort of thing. She’s fartoo generous. All she said to me when I remonstrated36 with her was: ‘The boy’s young, Dora. Youth is the time to haveyour fling.’”
“Well, that’s true enough,” said Miss Marple. “Such a handsome young man, too.”
“Handsome is as handsome does,” said Dora Bunner. “Much too fond of poking37 fun at people. And a lot of goingon with girls, I expect. I’m just a figure of fun to him—that’s all. He doesn’t seem to realize that people have theirfeelings.”
“Young people are rather careless that way,” said Miss Marple.
Miss Bunner leaned forward suddenly with a mysterious air.
“You won’t breathe a word, will you, my dear?” she demanded. “But I can’t help feeling that he was mixed up inthis dreadful business. I think he knew that young man—else Julia did. I daren’t hint at such a thing to dear MissBlacklock—at least I did, and she just snapped my head off. And, of course, it’s awkward—because he’s her nephew—or at any rate her cousin—and if the Swiss young man shot himself Patrick might be held morally responsible,mightn’t he? If he’d put him up to it, I mean. I’m really terribly confused about the whole thing. Everyone makingsuch a fuss about that other door into the drawing room. That’s another thing that worries me—the detective saying ithad been oiled. Because you see, I saw—”
She came to an abrupt38 stop.
Miss Marple paused to select a phrase.
“Most difficult for you,” she said sympathetically. “Naturally you wouldn’t want anything to get round to thepolice.”
“That’s just it,” Dora Bunner cried. “I lie awake at nights and worry—because, you see, I came upon Patrick in theshrubbery the other day. I was looking for eggs—one hen lays out—and there he was holding a feather and a cup—anoily cup. And he jumped most guiltily when he saw me and he said: ‘I was just wondering what this was doing here.’
Well, of course, he’s a quick thinker. I should say he thought that up quickly when I startled him. And how did hecome to find a thing like that in the shrubbery unless he was looking for it, knowing perfectly39 well it was there? Ofcourse, I didn’t say anything.”
“No, no, of course not.”
“But I gave him a look, if you know what I mean.”
Dora Bunner stretched out her hand and bit abstractedly into a lurid40 salmon-coloured cake.
“And then another day I happened to overhear him having a very curious conversation with Julia. They seemed tobe having a kind of quarrel. He was saying: ‘If I thought you had anything to do with a thing like that!’ and Julia(she’s always so calm, you know) said: ‘Well, little brother, what would you do about it?’ And then, mostunfortunately, I trod on that board that always squeaks41, and they saw me. So I said, quite gaily42: ‘You two having aquarrel?’ and Patrick said, ‘I’m warning Julia not to go in for these black-market deals.’ Oh, it was all very slick, but Idon’t believe they were talking about anything of the sort! And if you ask me, I believe Patrick had tampered43 with thatlamp in the drawing room—to make the lights go out, because I remember distinctly that it was the shepherdess—notthe shepherd. And the next day—”
She stopped and her face grew pink. Miss Marple turned her head to see Miss Blacklock standing44 behind them—she must just have come in.
“Coffee and gossip, Bunny?” said Miss Blacklock, with quite a shade of reproach in her voice. “Good morning,Miss Marple. Cold, isn’t it?”
The doors flew open with a clang and Bunch Harmon came into the Bluebird with a rush.
“Hallo,” she said, “am I too late for coffee?”
“No, dear,” said Miss Marple. “Sit down and have a cup.”
“We must get home,” said Miss Blacklock. “Done your shopping, Bunny?”
Her tone was indulgent once more, but her eyes still held a slight reproach.
“Yes — yes, thank you, Letty. I must just pop into the chemists in passing and get some aspirin45 and somecornplasters.”
As the doors of the Bluebird swung to behind them, Bunch asked:
“What were you talking about?”
Miss Marple did not reply at once. She waited whilst Bunch gave the order, then she said:
“Family solidarity46 is a very strong thing. Very strong. Do you remember some famous case — I really can’tremember what it was. They said the husband poisoned his wife. In a glass of wine. Then, at the trial, the daughtersaid she’d drunk half her mother’s glass—so that knocked the case against her father to pieces. They do say—but thatmay be just rumour—that she never spoke47 to her father or lived with him again. Of course, a father is one thing—anda nephew or a distant cousin is another. But still there it is—no one wants a member of their own family hanged, dothey?”
“No,” said Bunch, considering. “I shouldn’t think they would.”
Miss Marple leaned back in her chair. She murmured under her breath, “People are really very alike, everywhere.”
“Who am I like?”
“Well, really, dear, you are very much like yourself. I don’t know that you remind me of anyone in particular.
Except perhaps—”
“Here it comes,” said Bunch.
“I was just thinking of a parlourmaid of mine, dear.”
“A parlourmaid? I should make a terrible parlourmaid.”
“Yes, dear, so did she. She was no good at all at waiting at table. Put everything on the table crooked48, mixed up thekitchen knives with the dining room ones, and her cap (this was a long time ago, dear) her cap was never straight.”
Bunch adjusted her hat automatically.
“Anything else?” she demanded anxiously.
“I kept her because she was so pleasant to have about the house—and because she used to make me laugh. I likedthe way she said things straight out. Came to me one day, ‘Of course, I don’t know, ma’am,’ she says, ‘but Florrie, theway she sits down, it’s just like a married woman.’ And sure enough poor Florrie was in trouble—the gentlemanlyassistant at the hairdresser’s. Fortunately it was in good time, and I was able to have a little talk with him, and they hada very nice wedding and settled down quite happily. She was a good girl, Florrie, but inclined to be taken in by agentlemanly appearance.”
“She didn’t do a murder, did she?” asked Bunch. “The parlourmaid, I mean.”
“No, indeed,” said Miss Marple. “She married a Baptist Minister and they had a family of five.”
“Just like me,” said Bunch. “Though I’ve only got as far as Edward and Susan up to date.”
She added, after a minute or two:
“Who are you thinking about now, Aunt Jane?”
“Quite a lot of people, dear, quite a lot of people,” said Miss Marple, vaguely49.
“In St. Mary Mead50?”
“Mostly … I was really thinking about Nurse Ellerton—really an excellent kindly51 woman. Took care of an oldlady, seemed really fond of her. Then the old lady died. And another came and she died. Morphia. It all came out.
Done in the kindest way, and the shocking thing was that the woman herself really couldn’t see that she’d doneanything wrong. They hadn’t long to live in any case, she said, and one of them had cancer and quite a lot of pain.”
“You mean—it was a mercy killing52?”
“No, no. They signed their money away to her. She liked money, you know….
“And then there was that young man on the liner—Mrs. Pusey at the paper shop, her nephew. Brought home stuffhe’d stolen and got her to dispose of it. Said it was things that he’d bought abroad. She was quite taken in. And thenwhen the police came round and started asking questions, he tried to bash her on the head, so that she shouldn’t beable to give him away … Not a nice young man—but very good-looking. Had two girls in love with him. He spent alot of money on one of them.”
“The nastiest one, I suppose,” said Bunch.
“Yes, dear. And there was Mrs. Cray at the wool shop. Devoted53 to her son, spoilt him, of course. He got in with avery queer lot. Do you remember Joan Croft, Bunch?”
“N-no, I don’t think so.”
“I thought you might have seen her when you were with me on a visit. Used to stalk about smoking a cigar or apipe. We had a Bank hold-up once, and Joan Croft was in the Bank at the time. She knocked the man down and tookhis revolver away from him. She was congratulated on her courage by the Bench.”
Bunch listened attentively54. She seemed to be learning by heart.
“And—?” she prompted.
“That girl at St. Jean des Collines that summer. Such a quiet girl—not so much quiet as silent. Everybody liked her,but they never got to know her much better … We heard afterwards that her husband was a forger55. It made her feel cutoff from people. It made her, in the end, a little queer. Brooding does, you know.”
“Any Anglo-Indian Colonels in your reminiscences, darling?”
“Naturally, dear. There was Major Vaughan at The Larches56 and Colonel Wright at Simla Lodge23. Nothing wrongwith either of them. But I do remember Mr. Hodgson, the Bank Manager, went on a cruise and married a womanyoung enough to be his daughter. No idea of where she came from—except what she told him of course.”
“And that wasn’t true?”
“No, dear, it definitely wasn’t.”
“Not bad,” said Bunch, nodding, and ticking people off on her fingers. “We’ve had devoted Dora, and handsomePatrick, and Mrs. Swettenham and Edmund, and Phillipa Haymes, and Colonel Easterbrook and Mrs. Easterbrook—and if you ask me, I should say you’re absolutely right about her. But there wouldn’t be any reason for her murderingLetty Blacklock.”
“Miss Blacklock, of course, might know something about her that she didn’t want known.”
“Oh, darling, that old Tanqueray stuff? Surely that’s dead as the hills.”
“It might not be. You see, Bunch, you are not the kind that minds much about what people think of you.”
“I see what you mean,” said Bunch suddenly. “If you’d been up against it, and then, rather like a shivering straycat, you’d found a home and cream and a warm stroking hand and you were called Pretty Pussy57 and somebodythought the world of you … You’d do a lot to keep that … Well, I must say, you’ve presented me with a verycomplete gallery of people.”
“You didn’t get them all right, you know,” said Miss Marple, mildly.
“Didn’t I? Where did I slip up? Julia? Julia, pretty Julia is peculiar58.”
“Three and sixpence,” said the sulky waitress, materialising out of the gloom.
“And,” she added, her bosom59 heaving beneath the bluebirds, “I’d like to know, Mrs. Harmon, why you call mepeculiar. I had an Aunt who joined the Peculiar People, but I’ve always been good Church of England myself, as thelate Rev. Hopkinson can tell you.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” said Bunch. “I was just quoting a song. I didn’t mean you at all. I didn’t know your name wasJulia.”
“Quite a coincidence,” said the sulky waitress, cheering up. “No offence, I’m sure, but hearing my name, as Ithought—well, naturally if you think someone’s talking about you, it’s only human nature to listen. Thank you.”
She departed with her tip.
“Aunt Jane,” said Bunch, “don’t look so upset. What is it?”
“But surely,” murmured Miss Marple. “That couldn’t be so. There’s no reason—”
“Aunt Jane!”
Miss Marple sighed and then smiled brightly.
“It’s nothing, dear,” she said.
“Did you think you knew who did the murder?” asked Bunch. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know at all,” said Miss Marple. “I got an idea for a moment—but it’s gone. I wish I did know. Time’s soshort. So terribly short.”
“What do you mean short?”
“That old lady up in Scotland may die any moment.”
Bunch said, staring:
“Then you really do believe in Pip and Emma. You think it was them—and that they’ll try again?”
“Of course they’ll try again,” said Miss Marple, almost absentmindedly. “If they tried once, they’ll try again. Ifyou’ve made up your mind to murder someone, you don’t stop because the first time it didn’t come off. Especially ifyou’re fairly sure you’re not suspected.”
“But if it’s Pip and Emma,” said Bunch, “there are only two people it could be. It must be Patrick and Julia.
They’re brother and sister and they’re the only ones who are the right age.”
“My dear, it isn’t nearly as simple as that. There are all sorts of ramifications60 and combinations. There’s Pip’s wifeif he’s married, or Emma’s husband. There’s their mother—she’s an interested party even if she doesn’t inherit direct.
If Letty Blacklock hasn’t seen her for thirty years, she’d probably not recognize her now. One elderly woman is verylike another. You remember Mrs. Wotherspoon drew her own and Mrs. Bartlett’s Old Age Pension although Mrs.
Bartlett had been dead for years. Anyway, Miss Blacklock’s shortsighted. Haven’t you noticed how she peers atpeople? And then there’s the father. Apparently61 he was a real bad lot.”
“Yes, but he’s a foreigner.”
“By birth. But there’s no reason to believe he speaks broken English and gesticulates with his hands. I dare say hecould play the part of—of an Anglo-Indian Colonel as well as anybody else.”
“Is that what you think?”
“No, I don’t. I don’t indeed, dear. I just think that there’s a great deal of money at stake, a great deal of money.
And I’m afraid I know only too well the really terrible things that people will do to lay their hands on a lot of money.”
“I suppose they will,” said Bunch. “It doesn’t really do them any good, does it? Not in the end?”
“No—but they don’t usually know that.”
“I can understand it.” Bunch smiled suddenly, her sweet rather crooked smile. “One feels it would be different foroneself … Even I feel that.” She considered: “You pretend to yourself that you’d do a lot of good with all that money.
Schemes … Homes for Unwanted Children … Tired Mothers … A lovely rest abroad somewhere for elderly womenwho have worked too hard….”
Her face grew sombre. Her eyes were suddenly dark and tragic62.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said to Miss Marple. “You’re thinking that I’d be the worst kind. Because I’dkid myself. If you just wanted the money for selfish reasons you’d at any rate see what you were like. But once youbegan to pretend about doing good with it, you’d be able to persuade yourself, perhaps, that it wouldn’t very muchmatter killing someone….”
Then her eyes cleared.
“But I shouldn’t,” she said. “I shouldn’t really kill anyone. Not even if they were old, or ill, or doing a lot of harmin the world. Not even if they were blackmailers or—or absolute beasts.” She fished a fly carefully out of the dregs ofthe coffee and arranged it on the table to dry. “Because people like living, don’t they? So do flies. Even if you’re oldand in pain and can just crawl out in the sun. Julian says those people like living even more than young strong peopledo. It’s harder, he says, for them to die, the struggle’s greater. I like living myself—not just being happy and enjoyingmyself and having a good time. I mean living—waking up and feeling, all over me, that I’m there—ticking over.”
She blew on the fly gently; it waved its legs, and flew rather drunkenly away.
“Cheer up, darling Aunt Jane,” said Bunch. “I’d never kill anybody.”
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hipping
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| n.安装帮木 | |
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rev
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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tempted
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judiciously
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catered
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| 提供饮食及服务( cater的过去式和过去分词 )； 满足需要，适合 | |
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reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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walnut
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assortment
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quaint
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bead
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obese
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decided
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counteract
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| vt.对…起反作用，对抗，抵消 | |
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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artistically
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subsided
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affected
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rheumatism
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conspiratorial
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lodge
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cavalry
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disapproval
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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suffusing
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的现在分词 ) | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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annuity
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| n.年金；养老金 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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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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lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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squeaks
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| n.短促的尖叫声，吱吱声( squeak的名词复数 )v.短促地尖叫( squeak的第三人称单数 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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tampered
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| v.窜改( tamper的过去式 )；篡改；（用不正当手段）影响；瞎摆弄 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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aspirin
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| n.阿司匹林 | |
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solidarity
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| n.团结；休戚相关 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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forger
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| v.伪造；n.（钱、文件等的）伪造者 | |
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larches
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| n.落叶松（木材）( larch的名词复数 ) | |
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pussy
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| n.(儿语)小猫，猫咪 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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ramifications
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| n.结果，后果( ramification的名词复数 ) | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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