ARCHDEACON BRABAZON
W hen Miss Marple, slightly out of breath and rather tired, got back to the Golden Boar, the receptionist came outfrom her pen and across to greet her.
“Oh, Miss Marple, there is someone here who wants to speak to you. Archdeacon Brabazon.”
“Archdeacon Brabazon?” Miss Marple looked puzzled.
“Yes. He’s been trying to find you. He had heard you were with this tour and he wanted to talk to you before youmight have left or gone to London. I told him that some of them were going back to London by the later train thisafternoon, but he is very, very anxious to speak to you before you go. I have put him in the television lounge. It isquieter there. The other is very noisy just at this moment.”
Slightly surprised, Miss Marple went to the room indicated. Archdeacon Brabazon turned out to be the elderlycleric whom she had noticed at the memorial service. He rose and came towards her.
“Miss Marple. Miss Jane Marple?”
“Yes, that is my name. You wanted—”
“I am Archdeacon Brabazon. I came here this morning to attend the service for a very old friend of mine, MissElizabeth Temple.”
“Oh yes?” said Miss Marple. “Do sit down.”
“Thank you, I will, I am not quite as strong as I was.” He lowered himself carefully into a chair.
“And you—”
Miss Marple sat down beside him.
“Yes,” she said, “you wanted to see me?”
“Well, I must explain how that comes about. I’m quite aware that I am a complete stranger to you. As a matter offact I made a short visit to the hospital at Carristown, talking to the matron before going on to the church here. It wasshe who told me that before she died Elizabeth had asked to see a fellow member of the tour. Miss Jane Marple. Andthat Miss Jane Marple had visited her and sat with her just a very, very short time before Elizabeth died.”
He looked at her anxiously.
“Yes,” said Miss Marple, “that is so. It surprised me to be sent for.”
“You are an old friend of hers?”
“No,” said Miss Marple. “I only met her on this tour. That’s why I was surprised. We had expressed ideas to eachother, occasionally sat next to each other in the coach, and had struck up quite an acquaintanceship. But I wassurprised that she should have expressed a wish to see me when she was so ill.”
“Yes. Yes, I can quite imagine that. She was, as I have said, a very old friend of mine. In fact, she was coming tosee me, to visit me. I live in Fillminster, which is where your coach tour will be stopping the day after tomorrow. Andby arrangement she was coming to visit me there, she wanted to talk to me about various matters about which shethought I could help her.”
“I see,” said Miss Marple. “May I ask you a question? I hope it is not too intimate a question.”
“Of course, Miss Marple. Ask me anything you like.”
“One of the things Miss Temple said to me was that her presence on the tour was not merely because she wished tovisit historic homes and gardens. She described it by a rather unusual word to use, as a pilgrimage.”
“Did she,” said Archdeacon Brabazon. “Did she indeed now? Yes, that’s interesting. Interesting and perhapssignificant.”
“So what I am asking you is, do you think that the pilgrimage she spoke2 of was her visit to you?”
“I think it must have been,” said the Archdeacon. “Yes, I think so.”
“We had been talking,” said Miss Marple, “about a young girl. A girl called Verity3.”
“Ah yes. Verity Hunt.”
“I did not know her surname. Miss Temple, I think, mentioned her only as Verity.”
“Verity Hunt is dead,” said the Archdeacon. “She died quite a number of years ago. Did you know that?”
“Yes,” said Miss Marple. “I knew it. Miss Temple and I were talking about her. Miss Temple told me somethingthat I did not know. She said she had been engaged to be married to the son of a Mr. Rafiel. Mr. Rafiel is, or again Imust say was, a friend of mine. Mr. Rafiel has paid the expenses of this tour out of his kindness. I think, though, thatpossibly he wanted—indeed, intended—me to meet Miss Temple on this tour. I think he thought she could give mecertain information.”
“Certain information about Verity?”
“Yes.”
“That is why she was coming to me. She wanted to know certain facts.”
“She wanted to know,” said Miss Marple, “why Verity broke off her engagement to marry Mr. Rafiel’s son.”
“Verity,” said Archdeacon Brabazon, “did not break off her engagement. I am certain of that. As certain as one canbe of anything.”
“Miss Temple did not know that, did she?”
“No. I think she was puzzled and unhappy about what happened and was coming to me to ask me why the marriagedid not take place.”
“And why did it not take place?” asked Miss Marple. “Please do not think that I am unduly4 curious. It’s not idlecuriosity that is driving me. I too am on—not a pilgrimage—but what I should call a mission. I too want to know whyMichael Rafiel and Verity Hunt did not marry.”
The Archdeacon studied her for a moment or two.
“You are involved in some way,” he said. “I see that.”
“I am involved,” said Miss Marple, “by the dying wishes of Michael Rafiel’s father. He asked me to do this forhim.”
“I have no reason not to tell you all I know,” said the Archdeacon slowly. “You are asking me what ElizabethTemple would have been asking me, you are asking me something I do not know myself. Those two young people,Miss Marple, intended to marry. They had made arrangements to marry. I was going to marry them. It was a marriage,I gather, which was being kept a secret. I knew both these young people, I knew that dear child Verity from a longway back. I prepared her for confirmation5, I used to hold services in Lent, for Easter, on other occasions, in ElizabethTemple’s school. A very fine school it was, too. A very fine woman she was. A wonderful teacher with a great senseof each girl’s capabilities—for what she was best fitted for in studies. She urged careers on girls she thought wouldrelish careers, and did not force girls that she felt were not really suited to them. She was a great woman and a verydear friend. Verity was one of the most beautiful children—girls, rather—that I have come across. Beautiful in mind,in heart, as well as in appearance. She had the great misfortune to lose her parents before she was truly adult. Theywere both killed in a charter plane going on a holiday to Italy. Verity went to live when she left school with a MissClotilde Bradbury-Scott whom you know, probably, as living here. She had been a close friend of Verity’s mother.
There are three sisters, though the second one was married and living abroad, so there were only two of them livinghere. Clotilde, the eldest6 one, became extremely attached to Verity. She did everything possible to give her a happylife. She took her abroad once or twice, gave her art lessons in Italy and loved and cared for her dearly in every way.
Verity, too, came to love her probably as much as she could have loved her own mother. She depended on Clotilde.
Clotilde herself was an intellectual and well educated woman. She did not urge a university career on Verity, but this Igather was really because Verity did not really yearn7 after one. She preferred to study art and music and such subjects.
She lived here at The Old Manor8 House and had, I think, a very happy life. She always seemed to be happy. Naturally,I did not see her after she came here since Fillminster, where I was in the cathedral, is nearly sixty miles from here. Iwrote to her at Christmas and other festivals, and she remembered me always with a Christmas card. But I saw nothingof her until the day came when she suddenly turned up, a very beautiful and fully1 grown young woman by then, withan attractive young man whom I also happened to know slightly, Mr. Rafiel’s son, Michael. They came to me becausethey were in love with each other and wanted to get married.”
“And you agreed to marry them?”
“Yes, I did. Perhaps, Miss Marple, you may think that I should not have done so. They had come to me in secret, itwas obvious. Clotilde Bradbury-Scott, I should imagine, had tried to discourage the romance between them. She waswell within her rights in doing so. Michael Rafiel, I will tell you frankly9, was not the kind of husband you would wantfor any daughter or relation of yours. She was too young really, to make up her mind, and Michael had been a sourceof trouble ever since his very young days. He had been had up before junior courts, he had had unsuitable friends, hehad been drawn10 into various gangster11 activities, he’d sabotaged12 buildings and telephone boxes. He had been onintimate terms with various girls, had maintenance claims which he had had to meet. Yes, he was a bad lot with thegirls as well as in other ways, yet he was extremely attractive and they fell for him and behaved in an extremely sillyfashion. He had served two short jail sentences. Frankly, he had a criminal record. I was acquainted with his father,though I did not know him well, and I think that his father did all that he could—all that a man of his character could—to help his son. He came to his rescue, he got him jobs in which he might have succeeded. He paid up his debts,paid out damages. He did all this. I don’t know—”
“But he could have done more, you think?”
“No,” said the Archdeacon, “I’ve come to an age now when I know that one must accept one’s fellow humanbeings as being the kind of people and having the kind of, shall we say in modern terms, genetic14 makeup15 which givesthem the characters they have. I don’t think that Mr. Rafiel had affection for his son, a great affection at any time. Tosay he was reasonably fond of him would be the most you could say. He gave him no love. Whether it would havebeen better for Michael if he had had love from his father, I do not know. Perhaps it would have made no difference.
As it was, it was sad. The boy was not stupid. He had a certain amount of intellect and talent. He could have done wellif he had wished to do well, and had taken the trouble. But he was by nature—let us admit it frankly—a delinquent16. Hehad certain qualities one appreciated. He had a sense of humour, he was in various ways generous and kindly17. Hewould stand by a friend, help a friend out of a scrape. He treated his girlfriends badly, got them into trouble as thelocal saying is, and then more or less abandoned them and took up with somebody else. So there I was faced withthose two and—yes—I agreed to marry them. I told Verity, I told her quite frankly, the kind of boy she wanted tomarry. I found that he had not tried to deceive her in any way. He’d told her that he’d always been in trouble both withthe police, and in every other way. He told her that he was going, when he married her, to turn over a new leaf.
Everything would be changed. I warned her that that would not happen, he would not change. People do not change.
He might mean to change. Verity, I think, knew that almost as well as I did. She admitted that she knew it. She said, ‘Iknow what Mike is like. I know he’ll probably always be like it, but I love him. I may be able to help him and I maynot. But I’ll take that risk.’ And I will tell you this, Miss Marple. I know—none better, I have done a lot with youngpeople, I have married a lot of young people and I have seen them come to grief, I have seen them unexpectedly turnout well—but I know this and recognize it. I know when a couple are really in love with each other. And by that I donot mean just sexually attracted. There is too much talk about sex, too much attention is paid to it. I do not mean thatanything about sex is wrong. That is nonsense. But sex cannot take the place of love, it goes with love but it cannotsucceed by itself. To love means the words of the marriage service. For better, for worse, for richer for poorer, insickness and in health. That is what you take on if you love and wish to marry. Those two loved each other. To loveand to cherish until death do us part. And that,” said the Archdeacon, “is where my story ends. I cannot go on becauseI do not know what happened. I only know that I agreed to do as they asked, that I made the necessary arrangements;we settled a day, an hour, a time, a place. I think perhaps that I was to blame for agreeing to the secrecy18.”
“They didn’t want anyone to know?” said Miss Marple.
“No. Verity did not want anyone to know, and I should say most certainly Mike did not want anyone to know.
They were afraid of being stopped. To Verity, I think, besides love, there was also a feeling of escape. Natural, I think,owing to the circumstances of her life. She had lost her real guardians19, her parents, she had entered on her new lifeafter their death, at an age when a school girl arrives at having a ‘crush’ on someone. An attractive mistress. Anythingfrom the games mistress to the mathematics mistress, or a prefect or an older girl. A state that does not last for verylong, is merely a natural part of life. Then from that you go on to the next stage when you realize that what you wantin your life is what complements20 yourself. A relationship between a man and a woman. You start then to look aboutyou for a mate. The mate you want in life. And if you are wise, you take your time, you have friends, but you arelooking, as the old nurses used to say to children, for Mr. Right to come along. Clotilde Bradbury- Scott wasexceptionally good to Verity, and Verity, I think, gave her what I should call hero worship. She was a personality as awoman. Handsome, accomplished21, interesting. I think Verity adored her in an almost romantic way and I thinkClotilde came to love Verity as though she were her own daughter. And so Verity grew to maturity22 in an atmosphereof adoration23, lived an interesting life with interesting subjects to stimulate24 her intellect. It was a happy life, but I thinklittle by little she was conscious—conscious without knowing she was conscious, shall we say—of a wish to escape.
Escape from being loved. To escape, she didn’t know into what or where. But she did know after she met Michael.
She wanted to escape to a life where male and female come together to create the next stage of living in this world.
But she knew that it was impossible to make Clotilde understand how she felt. She knew that Clotilde would bebitterly opposed to her taking her love for Michael seriously. And Clotilde, I fear, was right in her belief … I knowthat now. He was not a husband that Verity ought to have taken or had. The road that she started out on led not to life,not to increased living and happiness. It led to shock, pain, death. You see, Miss Marple, that I have a grave feeling ofguilt. My motives25 were good, but I didn’t know what I ought to have known. I knew Verity, but I didn’t knowMichael. I understood Verity’s wish for secrecy because I knew what a strong personality Clotilde Bradbury-Scotthad. She might have had a strong enough influence over Verity to persuade her to give up the marriage.”
“You think then that that was what she did do? You think Clotilde told her enough about Michael to persuade herto give up the idea of marrying him?”
“No, I do not believe that. I still do not. Verity would have told me if so. She would have got word to me.”
“What did actually happen on that day?”
“I haven’t told you that yet. The day was fixed26. The time, the hour and the place, and I waited. Waited for a brideand bridegroom who didn’t come, who sent no word, no excuse, nothing. I didn’t know why! I never have knownwhy. It still seems to me unbelievable. Unbelievable, I mean, not that they did not come, that could be explicableeasily enough, but that they sent no word. Some scrawled27 line of writing. And that is why I wondered and hoped thatElizabeth Temple, before she died, might have told you something. Given you some message perhaps for me. If sheknew or had any idea that she was dying, she might have wanted to get a message to me.”
“She wanted information from you,” said Miss Marple. “That, I am sure, was the reason she was coming to you.”
“Yes. Yes, that is probably true. It seemed to me, you see, that Verity would have said nothing to the people whocould have stopped her. Clotilde and Anthea Bradbury-Scott, but because she had always been very devoted28 toElizabeth Temple—and Elizabeth Temple had had great influence over her—it seems to me that she would havewritten and given her information of some kind.”
“I think she did,” said Miss Marple.
“Information, you think?”
“The information she gave to Elizabeth Temple,” said Miss Marple, “was this. That she was going to marryMichael Rafiel. Miss Temple knew that. It was one of the things she said to me. She said: ‘I knew a girl called Veritywho was going to marry Michael Rafiel’ and the only person who could have told her that was Verity herself. Veritymust have written to her or sent some word to her. And then when I said ‘Why didn’t she marry him?’ she said: ‘Shedied.’”
“Then we come to a full stop,” said Archdeacon Brabazon. He sighed. “Elizabeth and I know no more than thosetwo facts. Elizabeth, that Verity was going to marry Michael. And I that those two were going to marry, that they hadarranged it and that they were coming on a settled day and time. And I waited for them, but there was no marriage. Nobride, no bridegroom, no word.”
“And you have no idea what happened?” said Miss Marple.
“I do not for one minute believe that Verity or Michael definitely parted, broke off.”
“But something must have happened between them? Something that opened Verity’s eyes perhaps, to certainaspects of Michael’s character and personality, that she had not realized or known before.”
“That is not a satisfying answer because still she would have let me know. She would not have left me waiting tojoin them together in holy matrimony. To put the most ridiculous side of it, she was a girl with beautiful manners, wellbrought up. She would have sent word. No. I’m afraid that only one thing could have happened.”
“Death?” said Miss Marple. She was remembering that one word that Elizabeth Temple had said which hadsounded like the deep tone of a bell.
“Yes.” Archdeacon Brabazon sighed. “Death.”
“Love,” said Miss Marple thoughtfully.
“By that you mean—” he hesitated.
“It’s what Miss Temple said to me. I said ‘What killed her?’ and she said ‘Love’ and that love was the mostfrightening word in the world. The most frightening word.”
“I see,” said the Archdeacon. “I see—or I think I see.”
“What is your solution?”
“Split personality,” he sighed. “Something that is not apparent to other people unless they are technically29 qualifiedto observe it. Jekyll and Hyde are real, you know. They were not Stevenson’s invention as such. Michael Rafiel was a— must have been schizophrenic. He had a dual30 personality. I have no medical knowledge, no psychoanalyticexperience. But there must have been in him the two parts of two identities. One, a well-meaning, almost lovable boy,a boy perhaps whose principal attraction was his wish for happiness. But there was also a second personality, someonewho was forced by some mental deformation31 perhaps—something we as yet are not sure of—to kill—not an enemy,but the person he loved, and so he killed Verity. Not knowing perhaps why he had to or what it meant. There are veryfrightening things in this world of ours, mental quirks32, mental disease or deformity of a brain. One of my parishionerswas a very sad case in point. Two elderly women living together, pensioned. They had been friends in service togethersomewhere. They appeared to be a happy couple. And yet one day one of them killed the other. She sent for an oldfriend of hers, the vicar of her parish, and said: ‘I have killed Louisa. It is very sad,’ she said, ‘but I saw the devillooking out of her eyes and I knew I was being commanded to kill her.’ Things like that make one sometimes despairof living. One says why? and how? and yet one day knowledge will come. Doctors will find out or learn just somesmall deformity of a chromosome33 or gene13. Some gland34 that overworks or leaves off working.”
“So you think that’s what happened?” said Miss Marple.
“It did happen. The body was not found, I know, for some time afterwards. Verity just disappeared. She went awayfrom home and was not seen again….”
“But it must have happened then—that very day—”
“But surely at the trial—”
“You mean after the body was found, when the police finally arrested Michael?”
“He had been one of the first, you know, to be asked to come and give assistance to the police. He had been seenabout with the girl, she had been noticed in his car. They were sure all along that he was the man they wanted. He wastheir first suspect, and they never stopped suspecting him. The other young men who had known Verity werequestioned, and one and all had alibis35 or lack of evidence. They continued to suspect Michael, and finally the bodywas found. Strangled and the head and face disfigured with heavy blows. A mad frenzied36 attack. He wasn’t sane37 whenhe struck those blows. Mr. Hyde, let us say, had taken over.”
Miss Marple shivered.
The Archdeacon went on, his voice low and sad. “And yet, even now sometimes, I hope and feel that it was someother young man who killed her. Someone who was definitely mentally deranged38, though no one had any idea of it.
Some stranger, perhaps, whom she had met in the neighborhood. Someone who she had met by chance, who had givenher a lift in a car, and then—” He shook his head.
“I suppose that could have been true,” said Miss Marple.
“Mike made a bad impression in court,” said the Archdeacon. “Told foolish and senseless lies. Lied as to where hiscar had been. Got his friends to give him impossible alibis. He was frightened. He said nothing of his plan to marry. Ibelieve his Counsel was of the opinion that that would tell against him—that she might have been forcing him tomarry her and that he didn’t want to. It’s so long ago now, I remember no details. But the evidence was dead againsthim. He was guilty—and he looked guilty.
“So you see, do you not, Miss Marple, that I’m a very sad and unhappy man. I made the wrong judgment39, Iencouraged a very sweet and lovely girl to go to her death, because I did not know enough of human nature. I wasignorant of the danger she was running. I believed that if she had had any fear of him, any sudden knowledge ofsomething evil in him, she would have broken her pledge to marry him and have come to me and told me of her fear,of her knowledge of him. But nothing of that ever happened. Why did he kill her? Did he kill her because perhaps heknew she was going to have a child? Because by now he had formed a tie with some other girl and did not want to beforced to marry Verity? I can’t believe it. Or was it some entirely40 different reason. Because she had suddenly felt a fearof him, a knowledge of danger from him, and had broken off her association with him? Did that rouse his anger, hisfury, and did that lead him to violence and to killing41 her? One does not know.”
“You do not know?” said Miss Marple, “but you do still know and believe one thing, don’t you?”
“What do you mean exactly by ‘believe?’ Are you talking from the religious point of view?”
“Oh no,” said Miss Marple, “I didn’t mean that. I mean, there seems to be in you, or so I feel it, a very strong beliefthat those two loved each other, that they meant to marry, but that something happened that prevented it. Somethingthat ended in her death, but you still really believe that they were coming to you to get married that day?”
“You are quite right, my dear. Yes, I cannot help still believing in two lovers who wished to get married, who wereready to take each other on for better, for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. She loved him and shewould have taken him for better or for worse. As far as she had gone, she took him for worse. It brought about herdeath.”
“You must go on believing as you do,” said Miss Marple. “I think, you know, that I believe it too.”
“But then what?”
“I don’t know yet,” said Miss Marple. “I’m not sure, but I think Elizabeth Temple did know or was beginning toknow what happened. A frightening word, she said. Love. I thought when she spoke that what she meant was thatbecause of a love affair Verity committed suicide. Because she found out something about Michael, or becausesomething about Michael suddenly upset her and revolted her. But it couldn’t have been suicide.”
“No,” said the Archdeacon, “that couldn’t be so. The injuries were described very fully at the trial. You don’tcommit suicide by beating in your own head.”
“Horrible!” said Miss Marple. “Horrible! And you couldn’t do that to anyone you loved even if you had to kill ‘forlove,’ could you? If he’d killed her, he couldn’t have done it that way. Strangling—perhaps, but you wouldn’t beat inthe face and the head that you loved.” She murmured, “Love, love—a frightening word.”
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
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： |
|
|
|
|
3
verity
|
|
| n.真实性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
unduly
|
|
| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
confirmation
|
|
| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
eldest
|
|
| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
yearn
|
|
| v.想念；怀念；渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
manor
|
|
| n.庄园，领地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
gangster
|
|
| n.匪徒，歹徒，暴徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
sabotaged
|
|
| 阴谋破坏（某事物）( sabotage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
gene
|
|
| n.遗传因子，基因 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
genetic
|
|
| adj.遗传的，遗传学的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
makeup
|
|
| n.组织；性格；化装品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
delinquent
|
|
| adj.犯法的，有过失的；n.违法者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
secrecy
|
|
| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
guardians
|
|
| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
complements
|
|
| 补充( complement的名词复数 )； 补足语； 补充物； 补集（数） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
maturity
|
|
| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
adoration
|
|
| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
stimulate
|
|
| vt.刺激，使兴奋；激励，使…振奋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
motives
|
|
| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
scrawled
|
|
| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
technically
|
|
| adv.专门地，技术上地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
dual
|
|
| adj.双的；二重的，二元的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
deformation
|
|
| n.形状损坏；变形；畸形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
quirks
|
|
| n.奇事，巧合( quirk的名词复数 )；怪癖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
chromosome
|
|
| n.染色体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
gland
|
|
| n.腺体，(机)密封压盖，填料盖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
alibis
|
|
| 某人在别处的证据( alibi的名词复数 )； 不在犯罪现场的证人； 借口； 托辞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
frenzied
|
|
| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
sane
|
|
| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
deranged
|
|
| adj.疯狂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
killing
|
|
| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |