IYes, that was what I was doing. It was all over now. The last of the fight,the last of the struggle. The last phase of the journey.
It seemed so long ago to the time of my restless youth. The days of “Iwant, I want.” But it wasn’t long. Less than a year….
I went over it all—lying there in my bunk1, and thinking.
Meeting Ellie—our times in Regent’s Park—our marriage in the Regis-trar’s Office. The house—Santonix building it—the house completed. Mine,all mine. I was me—me—me as I wanted to be. As I’d always wanted to be.
I’d got everything I’d wanted and I was going home to it.
Before I left New York I’d written one letter and sent it off by air mail toget there ahead of me. I’d written to Phillpot. Somehow I felt that Phillpotwould understand, though others mightn’t.
It was easier to write than to tell him. Anyway, he’d got to know. Every-one had got to know. Some people probably wouldn’t understand, but Ithought he would. He’d seen for himself how close Ellie and Greta hadbeen, how Ellie had depended on Greta. I thought he’d realize how I’dcome to depend upon her also, how it would be impossible for me to livealone in the house where I’d lived with Ellie unless there was someonethere to help me. I don’t know if I put it very well. I did my best.
“I’d like you,” I wrote, “to be the first to know. You’ve been so kind to us,and I think you’ll be the only person to understand. I can’t face livingalone at Gipsy’s Acre. I’ve been thinking all the time I’ve been in Americaand I’ve decided2 that as soon as I get home I’m going to ask Greta to marryme. She’s the only person I can really talk to about Ellie, you see. She’ll un-derstand. Perhaps she won’t marry me, but I think she will…It will makeeverything as though there were the three of us together still.”
I wrote the letter three times before I could get it to express just what Iwanted to say. Phillpot ought to get it two days before my return.
I came up on deck as we were approaching England. I looked out as theland came nearer. I thought, “I wish Santonix was with me.” I did wish it. Iwished he could know how everything was all coming true. Everything I’dplanned—everything I’d thought—everything I’d wanted.
I’d shaken off America, I’d shaken off the crooks3 and the sycophants4 andall the whole lot of them whom I hated and whom I was pretty sure hatedme and looked down on me for being so low class! I was back in triumph.
I was coming back to the pine trees and the curling dangerous road thatmade its way up through Gipsy’s Acre to the house on the hilltop. Myhouse! I was coming back to the two things I wanted. My house — thehouse that I’d dreamed of, that I’d planned, that I’d wanted aboveeverything. That and a wonderful woman…I’d known always that I’d meetone day a wonderful woman. I had met her. I’d seen her and she’d seenme. We’d come together. A wonderful woman. I’d known the moment Isaw her that I belonged to her, belonged to her absolutely and for always.
I was hers. And now—at last—I was going to her.
Nobody saw me arrive at Kingston Bishop5. It was almost dark and Icame by train and I walked from the station, taking a roundabout sideroad. I didn’t want to meet any of the people in the village. Not thatnight….
The sun had set when I came up the road to Gipsy’s Acre. I’d told Gretathe time I’d arrive. She was up there in the house waiting for me. At last!
We’d done with subterfuges6 now and all the pretences—the pretence7 ofdisliking her—I thought now, laughing to myself, of the part I’d played, apart I’d played carefully right from the beginning. Disliking Greta, notwanting her to come and stay with Ellie. Yes, I’d been very careful. Every-one must have been taken in by the pretence. I remembered the quarrelwe’d faked up so that Ellie should overhear it.
Greta had known me for what I was the first moment we met. We’dnever had any silly illusions about each other. She had the same kind ofmind, the same kind of desires as I had. We wanted the World, nothingless! We wanted to be on top of the World. We wanted to fulfil every ambi-tion. We wanted to have everything, deny ourselves nothing. I re-membered how I’d poured out my heart to her when I first met her inHamburg, telling her my frenzied8 desire for things. I hadn’t got to concealmy inordinate9 greed for life from Greta, she had the same greed herself.
She said:
“For all you want out of life you’ve got to have money.”
“Yes,” I said, “and I don’t see how I’m going to get it.”
“No,” said Greta, “you won’t get it by hard work. You’re not the kind.”
“Work!” I said. “I’d have to work for years! I don’t want to wait. I don’twant to be middle- aged10.” I said, “You know the story about that chapSchliemann how he worked, toiled11, and made a fortune so that he couldhave his life’s dream come true and go to Troy and dig it up and find thegraves of Troy. He got his dream but he had to wait till he was forty. But Idon’t want to wait till I’m a middle-aged12 man. Old. One foot in the grave. Iwant it now when I’m young and strong. You do too, don’t you?”
“Yes. And I know the way you can do it. It’s easy. I wonder you haven’tthought of it already. You can get girls easily enough, can’t you? I can seethat. I can feel it.”
“Do you think I care about girls—or ever have really? There’s only onegirl I want,” I said. “You. And you know that. I belong to you. I knew it themoment I saw you. I knew always that I’d meet someone like you. And Ihave. I belong to you.”
“Yes,” said Greta, “I think you do.”
“We both want the same things out of life,” I said.
“I tell you it’s easy,” said Greta. “Easy. All you’ve got to do is to marry arich girl, one of the richest girls in the world. I can put you in the way ofdoing that.”
“Don’t be fantastic,” I said.
“It’s not fantastic, it’ll be easy.”
“No,” I said, “that’s no good to me. I don’t want to be the husband of arich wife. She’ll buy me things and we’ll do things and she’ll keep me in agolden cage, but that’s not what I want. I don’t want to be a tied-up slave.”
“You needn’t be. It’s the sort of thing that needn’t last for long. Just longenough. Wives do die, you know.”
I stared at her.
“Now you’re shocked,” she said.
“No,” I said, “I’m not shocked.”
“I thought you wouldn’t be. I thought perhaps already?” She looked atme inquiringly, but I wasn’t going to answer that. I still had some self-pre-servation left. There are some secrets one doesn’t want anyone to know.
Not that they were much in the way of secrets, but I didn’t like to think ofthem. I didn’t like to think of the first one. Silly though. Puerile14. Nothingthat mattered. I had had a boy’s passion for a classy wristwatch that aboy…a friend of mine at school—had been given. I wanted it. I wanted itbadly. It had cost a lot of money. A rich godfather had given it to him. Yes,I wanted that, but I didn’t think I’d ever have a chance of getting it. Thenthere was the day we went skating together. The ice wasn’t strong enoughto bear. Not that we thought of it beforehand. It just happened. The icecracked. I skated across to him. He was hanging on. He had gone througha hole and he was hanging on to the ice which was cutting his hands. Iwent across to pull him out, of course, but just as I got there I saw the glintof the wristwatch. I thought “Supposing he goes under and drowns.” Ithought how easy it would be….
It seemed almost unconsciously, I think, that I unfastened the strap,grabbed the watch and pushed his head under instead of trying to pullhim out…Just held his head under. He couldn’t struggle much, he was un-der the ice. People saw and came towards us. They thought I was trying topull him out! They got him out in due course, with some difficulty. Theytried artificial respiration15 on him but it was too late. I hid my treasureaway in a special place where I kept things now and then. Things I didn’twant Mum to see because she’d ask me where I got them. She came acrossthat watch one day when she was fooling about with my socks. Asked meif that wasn’t Pete’s watch? I said of course it wasn’t — it was one I’dswopped with a boy at school.
I was always nervous with Mum — I always felt she knew too muchabout me. I was nervous with her when she found the watch. She suspec-ted, I think. She couldn’t know, of course. Nobody knew. But she used tolook at me. In a funny way. Everybody thought I’d tried to rescue Pete. Idon’t think she ever thought so. I think she knew. She didn’t want toknow, but her trouble was that she knew too much about me. I felt a bitguilty sometimes, but it wore off, fairly soon.
And then later on, when I was in camp. It was during our military train-ing time. Chap called Ed and I had been to a sort of gambling16 place. I’d hadno luck at all, lost everything I had, but Ed had won a packet. He changedhis chips and he and I were coming home and he was stuffed up withnotes. His pockets were bulging17 with them. Then a couple of toughs cameround the corner and went for us. They were pretty handy with the flickknives they’d got. I got cut in the arm but Ed got a proper sort of stab. Hewent down under it. Then there was a noise of people coming. The toughshooked it. I could see that if I was quick…I was quick! My reflexes arepretty good—I wrapped a handkerchief round my hand and I pulled outthe knife from Ed’s wound and I stuck the knife in again a couple of timesin better places. He gave a gasp18 and passed out. I was scared, of course,scared for a second or two and then I knew it was going to be all right. So Ifelt—well—naturally I felt proud of myself for thinking and acting19 quick! Ithought “Poor old Ed, he always was a fool.” It took me no time at all totransfer those notes to my own pocket! Nothing like having quick reflexes,seizing your opportunity. The trouble is the opportunities don’t come veryoften. Some people, I suppose, get scared when they know they’ve killedsomeone. But I wasn’t scared. Not this time.
Mind you, it’s not a thing you want to do too often. Not unless it mightbe really worth your while. I don’t know how Greta sensed that about me.
But she’d known. I don’t mean that she’d known that I’d actually killed acouple of people. But I think she knew the idea of killing20 wouldn’t shock orupset me. I said:
“What’s all this fantastic story, Greta?”
She said, “I am in a position to help you. I can bring you in touch withone of the richest girls in America. I more or less look after her. I live withher. I have a lot of influence over her.”
“Do you think she’d look at someone like me?” I said. I didn’t believe itfor a moment. Why should a rich girl who could have her pick of any at-tractive, sexy man she liked go for me?
“You’ve got a lot of sex appeal,” said Greta. “Girls go for you, don’tthey?”
I grinned and said I didn’t do too badly.
“She’s never had that kind of thing. She’s been looked after too well. Theonly young men she’s been allowed to meet are conventional kids,bankers’ sons, tycoons’ sons. She’s groomed21 to make a good marriage inthe moneyed class. They’re terrified of her meeting handsome foreignerswho might be after her money. But naturally she’s keener on people likethat. They’d be new to her, something she’s never seen before. You’ve gotto make a big play for her. You’ve got to fall in love with her at first sightand sweep her off her feet! It’ll be easy enough. She’s never had anyone tomake a real sexy approach to her. You could do it.”
“I could try,” I said doubtfully.
“We could set it up,” said Greta.
“Her family would step in and stop it.”
“No they wouldn’t,” said Greta, “they wouldn’t know anything about it.
Not until it was too late. Not until you’d got married secretly.”
“So that’s your idea.”
So we talked about it. We planned. Not in detail, mind you. Greta wentback to America, but she kept in touch with me. I went on with variousjobs. I’d told her about Gipsy’s Acre and that I wanted it, and she said thatwas just fine for setting up a romantic story. We laid our plans so that mymeeting with Ellie would take place there. Greta would work Ellie upabout having a house in England and getting away from the family as soonas she came of age.
Oh yes, we set it up. Greta was a great planner. I don’t think I could haveplanned it, but I knew I could play my part all right. I’d always enjoyedplaying a part. And so that’s how it happened. That’s how I met Ellie.
It was fun, all of it. Mad fun because of course there was always a risk,there was always a danger that it wouldn’t come off. The thing that mademe really nervous were the times that I had to meet Greta. I had to besure, you see, that I never gave myself away, by looking at Greta. I triednot to look at her. We agreed it was best that I should take a dislike to her,pretend jealousy22 of her. I carried that out all right. I remember the dayshe came down to stay. We staged a quarrel, a quarrel that Ellie couldhear. I don’t know whether we overdid23 it a bit. I don’t think so. SometimesI was nervous that Ellie might guess or something, but I don’t think shedid. I don’t know. I don’t know really. I never did know about Ellie.
It was very easy to make love to Ellie. She was very sweet. Yes, she wasreally sweet. Just sometimes I was afraid of her because she did thingssometimes without telling me. And she knew things that I never dreamtshe knew. But she loved me. Yes, she loved me. Sometimes—I think I lovedher too….
I don’t mean it was ever like Greta. Greta was the woman I belonged to.
She was sex personified. I was made for her and I had to hold myself in.
Ellie was something different. I enjoyed living with her, you know. Yes,that sounds very queer now I think back to it. I enjoyed living with hervery much.
I’m putting this down now because this is what I was thinking that even-ing when I arrived back from America. When I arrived back on top of theworld, having got all I’d longed for in spite of the risks, in spite of thedangers, in spite of having done a pretty good murder, though I say it my-self!
Yes, it was tricky24, I thought once or twice, but nobody could tell, not theway we’d done it. Now the risks were over, the dangers were over andhere I was coming up to Gipsy’s Acre. Coming as I’d come up to it that dayafter I’d first seen the poster on the walls, and gone up to look at the ruinsof the old house. Coming up and rounding the bend—And then—it was then I saw her. I mean it was then I saw Ellie. Just as Icame round the corner of the road in the dangerous place where the acci-dents happened. She was there in the same place just where she’d been be-fore, standing25 in the shadow of the fir tree. Just as she’d stood, when she’dstarted a little as she saw me and I’d started, seeing her. There we’d lookedat each other first and I’d come up and spoken to her, played the part ofthe young man who’s fallen suddenly in love. Played it jolly well too! Oh, Itell you I’m a fine actor!
But I hadn’t expected to see her now…I mean, I couldn’t see her now,could I? But I was seeing her…She was looking—looking straight at me.
Only — there was something that frightened me — something thatfrightened me very much. It was, you see, just as though she didn’t see me—I mean I knew she couldn’t really be there. I knew she was dead—but Isaw her. She was dead and her body was buried in the cemetery26 in theU.S.A. But all the same she was standing under the fir tree and she waslooking at me. No, not at me. She was looking as though she expected tosee me and there was love in her face. The same love that I had seen oneday, one day when she’d been plucking the strings27 of her guitar. That daywhen she’d said to me, “What were you thinking of?” And I said, “Why doyou ask me?” and she said, “You were looking at me as though you lovedme.” I’d said something silly like “Of course I love you.”
I stopped dead. I stopped dead there in the road. I was shaking. I saidout loud:
“Ellie.”
She didn’t move, she just stayed there, looking…Looking straight throughme. That’s what frightened me because I knew if I thought for a minute I’dknow why she didn’t see me, and I didn’t want to know. No, I didn’t wantto know that. I was quite sure that I didn’t want to know that. Lookingstraight at the place where I was—not seeing me. I ran then. I ran like acoward up the rest of the road to where the lights were shining in myhouse, until I pulled myself out of the silly panic that I was in. This was mytriumph. I’d got home. I was the hunter home from the hills, back to myhouse, back to the things that I’d wanted more than anything in the world,to the wonderful woman whom I belonged to body and soul.
And now we’d get married and we’d live in the House. We’d get all we’dplayed for! We’d won—Won hands down!
The door wasn’t latched28. I went in, stamping my feet, and through theopen door of the library. And there was Greta standing by the windowwaiting for me. She was glorious. She was the most glorious and the mostlovely thing I’d ever seen. She was like a Brünnhilde, a super Valkyriewith shining golden hair. She smelt29 and looked and tasted of sex. We’ddenied ourselves so long except for occasional brief meetings up in theFolly.
I came straight into her arms, a sailor home from the sea to where hebelonged. Yes, it was one of the most wonderful moments of my life.
II
Presently we came down to earth. I sat down and she shoved a smallpile of letters towards me. I picked out almost automatically one with anAmerican stamp. It was the air mail letter from Lippincott. I wonderedwhat he’d put in it, why he’d had to write me a letter.
“Well,” said Greta with a deep satisfied sigh, “we’ve made it.”
“V-Day all right,” I said.
We both laughed, laughed wildly. There was champagne30 on the table. Iopened it and we drank to each other.
“This place is wonderful,” I said, looking round. “It’s more beautifulthan I remember it. Santonix—But I haven’t told you. Santonix is dead.”
“Oh dear,” said Greta, “what a pity. So he really was ill?”
“Of course he was ill. I never wanted to think so. I went and saw himwhen he was dying.”
Greta gave a little shiver.
“I shouldn’t like to do that. Did he say anything?”
“Not really. He said I was a damned fool—I ought to have gone the otherway.”
“What did he mean—what way?”
“I don’t know what he meant,” I said. “I suppose he was delirious31. Didn’tknow what he was talking about.”
“Well, this house is a fine monument to his memory,” said Greta. “Ithink we’ll stick to it, don’t you?”
I stared at her. “Of course. Do you think I’m going to live anywhereelse?”
“We can’t live here all the time,” said Greta. “Not all the year round.
Buried in a hole like this village?”
“But it’s where I want to live—it’s where I always meant to live.”
“Yes, of course. But after all, Mike, we’ve got all the money in the world.
We can go anywhere! We can go all over the Continent—we’ll go on safariin Africa. We’ll have adventures. We’ll go and look for things—excitingpictures. We’ll go to the Angkor Vat13. Don’t you want to have an adventur-ous life?”
“Well, I suppose so…But we’ll always come back here, won’t we?”
I had a queer feeling, a queer feeling that something had gone wrongsomewhere. That’s all I’d ever thought of. My House and Greta. I hadn’twanted anything else. But she did. I saw that. She was just beginning. Be-ginning to want things. Beginning to know she could have them. I had asudden cruel foreboding. I began to shiver.
“What’s the matter with you, Mike—you’re shivering. Have you caught acold or something?”
“It’s not that,” I said.
“What’s happened, Mike?”
“I saw Ellie,” I said.
“What do you mean, you saw Ellie?”
“As I was walking up the road I turned the corner and there she was,standing under a fir tree, looking at—I mean looking towards me.”
Greta stared.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You—you imagined things.”
“Perhaps one does imagine things. This is Gipsy’s Acre after all. Ellie wasthere all right, looking—looking quite happy. Just like herself as thoughshe’d—she’d always been there and was always going to be there.”
“Mike!” Greta took hold of my shoulder. She shook me. “Mike, don’t saythings like that. Had you been drinking before you got here?”
“No, I waited till I got here to you. I knew you’d have champagne wait-ing for us.”
“Well, let’s forget Ellie and drink to ourselves.”
“It was Ellie,” I said obstinately32.
“Of course it wasn’t Ellie! It was just a trick of the light—something likethat.”
“It was Ellie, and she was standing there. She was looking—looking forme and at me. But she couldn’t see me. Greta, she couldn’t see me.” Myvoice rose. “And I know why. I know why she couldn’t see me.”
“What do you mean?”
It was then that I whispered for the first time under my breath:
“Because that wasn’t me. I wasn’t there. There was nothing for her tosee but Endless Night.” Then I shouted out in a panic-stricken voice, “Someare born to Sweet Delight, and some are born to Endless Night. Me, Greta,me.
“Do you remember, Greta,” I said, “how she sat on that sofa? She used toplay that song on her guitar, singing it in her gentle voice. You must re-member.
“‘Every night and every morn,’” I sang it under my breath, “‘Some tomisery are born. Every morn and every night some are born to sweet delight.’
That’s Ellie, Greta. She was born to sweet delight. ‘Some are born to sweetdelight, some are born to endless night.’ That’s what Mum knew about me.
She knew I was born to endless night. I hadn’t got there yet. But she knew.
And Santonix knew. He knew I was heading that way. But it mightn’t havehappened. There was just a moment, just one moment, the time Ellie sangthat song. I could have been quite happy, couldn’t I, really, married to El-lie? I could have gone on being married to Ellie.”
“No, you couldn’t,” said Greta. “I never thought you were the type ofperson who lost your nerve, Mike.” She shook me roughly by the shoulderagain. “Wake up.”
I stared at her.
“I’m sorry, Greta. What have I been saying?”
“I suppose they got you down over there in the States. But you did allright, didn’t you? I mean, all the investments are all right?”
“Everything’s fixed33,” I said. “Everything’s fixed for our future. Our glori-ous, glorious future.”
“You speak very queerly. I’d like to know what Lippincott says in his let-ter.”
I pulled his letter towards me and opened it. There was nothing insideexcept a cutting from a paper. Not a new cutting, it was old and ratherrubbed. I stared down at it. It was a picture of a street. I recognized thestreet, with rather a grand building in the background. It was a street inHamburg with some people coming towards the photographer. Twopeople in the forefront walking arm in arm. They were Greta and myself.
So Lippincott had known. He’d known all along that I already knew Greta.
Somebody must have sent him this cutting some time, probably with nonefarious intention. Just amused perhaps to recognize Miss Greta Ander-sen walking along the streets of Hamburg. He had known I knew Gretaand I remembered how particularly he had asked me whether I had metor not met Greta Andersen. I had denied it, of course, but he’d known Iwas lying. It must have begun his suspicion of me.
I was suddenly afraid of Lippincott. He couldn’t suspect, of course, thatI’d killed Ellie. He suspected something, though. Perhaps he suspectedeven that.
“Look,” I said to Greta, “he knew we knew each other. He’s known it allalong. I’ve always hated that old fox and he’s always hated you,” I said.
“When he knows that we’re going to marry, he’ll suspect.” But then I knewthat Lippincott had certainly suspected Greta and I were going to marry,he suspected that we knew each other, he suspected perhaps that we werelovers.
“Mike, will you stop being a panic-stricken rabbit? Yes, that’s what Isaid. A panic-stricken rabbit. I admired you. I’ve always admired you. Butnow you’re falling to pieces. You’re afraid of everyone.”
“Don’t say that to me.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“Endless night.”
I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I was still wondering just what itmeant. Endless night. It meant blackness. It meant that I wasn’t there to beseen. I could see the dead but the dead couldn’t see me although I was liv-ing. They couldn’t see me because I wasn’t really there. The man wholoved Ellie wasn’t really there. He’d entered of his own accord into endlessnight. I bent34 my head lower towards the ground.
“Endless night,” I said again.
“Stop saying that,” Greta screamed. “Stand up! Be a man, Mike. Don’tgive in to this absurd superstitious35 fancy.”
“How can I help it?” I said. “I’ve sold my soul to Gipsy’s Acre, haven’t I?
Gipsy’s Acre’s never been safe. It’s never been safe for anyone. It wasn’tsafe for Ellie and it isn’t safe for me. Perhaps it isn’t safe for you.”
“What do you mean?”
I got up. I went towards her. I loved her. Yes, I loved her still with a lasttense sexual desire. But love, hate, desire—aren’t they all the same? Threein one and one in three. I could never have hated Ellie, but I hated Greta. Ienjoyed hating her. I hated her with all my heart and with a leaping joy-ous wish—I couldn’t wait for the safe ways, I didn’t want to wait for them,I came nearer to her.
“You filthy36 bitch!” I said. “You hateful, glorious, golden- haired bitch.
You’re not safe, Greta. You’re not safe from me. Do you understand? I’velearnt to enjoy—to enjoy killing people. I was excited the day that I knewEllie had gone out with that horse to her death. I enjoyed myself all themorning because of killing, but I’ve never got near enough to killing untilnow. This is different. I want more than just knowing that someone’s go-ing to die because of a capsule they swallowed at breakfast time. I wantmore than pushing an old woman over a quarry37. I want to use my hands.”
Greta was afraid now. She, whom I’d belonged to ever since I met herthat day in Hamburg, met her and gone on to pretend illness, to throw upmy job, to stay there with her. Yes, I’d belonged to her then, body and soul.
I didn’t belong to her now. I was myself. I was coming into another kind ofkingdom to the one I’d dreamed of.
She was afraid. I loved seeing her afraid and I fastened my hands roundher neck. Yes, even now when I am sitting here writing down all aboutmyself (which, mind you, is a very happy thing to do)—to write all aboutyourself and what you’ve been through and what you felt and thought andhow you deceived everyone—yes, it’s wonderful to do, yes I was wonder-fully happy when I killed Greta….
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
bunk
|
|
| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
crooks
|
|
| n.骗子( crook的名词复数 )；罪犯；弯曲部分；（牧羊人或主教用的）弯拐杖v.弯成钩形( crook的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
sycophants
|
|
| n.谄媚者，拍马屁者( sycophant的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
bishop
|
|
| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
subterfuges
|
|
| n.（用说谎或欺骗以逃脱责备、困难等的）花招，遁词( subterfuge的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
7
pretence
|
|
| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
frenzied
|
|
| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
inordinate
|
|
| adj.无节制的；过度的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
toiled
|
|
| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
middle-aged
|
|
| adj.中年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
vat
|
|
| n.(=value added tax)增值税，大桶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
puerile
|
|
| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
respiration
|
|
| n.呼吸作用；一次呼吸；植物光合作用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
gambling
|
|
| n.赌博；投机 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
bulging
|
|
| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
gasp
|
|
| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
killing
|
|
| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
groomed
|
|
| v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的过去式和过去分词 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
overdid
|
|
| v.做得过分( overdo的过去式 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
tricky
|
|
| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
cemetery
|
|
| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
strings
|
|
| n.弦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
latched
|
|
| v.理解( latch的过去式和过去分词 )；纠缠；用碰锁锁上（门等）；附着（在某物上） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
smelt
|
|
| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
champagne
|
|
| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
delirious
|
|
| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
obstinately
|
|
| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
superstitious
|
|
| adj.迷信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
filthy
|
|
| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
quarry
|
|
| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |