As I have said, Strelley Mill lies at the north end of the long Nethermere valley. On the northern slopes lay its pasture and arable1 lands. The shaggy common, now closed and part of the estate, covered the western slope, and the cultivated land was bounded on the east by the sharp dip of the brook2 course, a thread of woodland broadening into a spinney and ending at the upper pond; beyond this, on the east, rose the sharp, wild, grassy3 hillside, scattered4 with old trees, ruinous with the gaunt, ragged5 bones of old hedge-rows, grown into thorn trees. Along the rim6 of the hills, beginning in the northwest, were dark woodlands, which swept round east and south till they raced down in riot to the very edge of southern Nethermere, surrounding our house. From the eastern hill crest7, looking straight across, you could see the spire8 of Selsby Church, and a few roofs, and the head-stocks of the pit.
So on three sides the farm was skirted by woods, the dens9 of rabbits, and the common held another warren.
Now the squire10 of the estate, head of an ancient, once even famous, but now decayed house, loved his rabbits. Unlike the family fortunes, the family tree flourished amazingly; Sherwood could show nothing comparable. Its ramifications12 were stupendous; it was more like a banyan13 than a British oak. How was the good squire to nourish himself and his lady, his name, his tradition, and his thirteen lusty branches on his meagre estates? An evil fortune discovered to him that he could sell each of his rabbits, those bits of furry14 vermin, for a shilling or thereabouts in Nottingham; since which time the noble family subsisted15 by rabbits.
Farms were gnawed16 away; corn and sweet grass departed from the face of the hills; cattle grew lean, unable to eat the defiled17 herbage. Then the farm became the home of a keeper, and the country was silent, with no sound of cattle, no clink of horses, no barking of lusty dogs.
But the squire loved his rabbits. He defended them against the snares19 of the despairing farmer, protected them with gun and notices to quit. How he glowed with thankfulness as he saw the dishevelled hillside heave when the gnawing20 hosts moved on!
"Are they not quails21 and manna?" said he to his sporting guest, early one Monday morning, as the high meadow broke into life at the sound of his gun. "Quails and manna—in this wilderness22?"
"They are, by Jove!" assented23 the sporting guest as he took another gun, while the saturnine24 keeper smiled grimly.
Meanwhile, Strelley Mill began to suffer under this gangrene. It was the outpost in the wilderness. It was an understood thing that none of the squire's tenants25 had a gun.
"Well," said the squire to Mr. Saxton, "you have the land for next to nothing—next to nothing—at a rent really absurd. Surely the little that the rabbits eat——"
"It's not a little—come and look for yourself," replied the farmer. The squire made a gesture of impatience26.
"What do you want?" he inquired.
"Will you wire me off?" was the repeated request.
"Wire is—what does Halkett say—so much per yard—and it would come to—what did Halkett tell me now?—but a large sum. No, I can't do it."
"Well, I can't live like this."
"Have another glass of whisky? Yes, yes, I want another glass myself, and I can't drink alone—so if I am to enjoy my glass.—That's it! Now surely you exaggerate a little. It's not so bad."
"I can't go on like it, I'm sure."
"Well, we'll see about compensation—we'll see. I'll have a talk with Halkett, and I'll come down and have a look at you. We all find a pinch somewhere—it's nothing but humanity's heritage."
I was born in September, and love it best of all the months. There is no heat, no hurry, no thirst and weariness in corn harvest as there is in the hay. If the season is late, as is usual with us, then mid-September sees the corn still standing27 in stook. The mornings come slowly. The earth is like a woman married and fading; she does not leap up with a laugh for the first fresh kiss of dawn, but slowly, quietly, unexpectantly lies watching the waking of each new day. The blue mist, like memory in the eyes of a neglected wife, never goes from the wooded hill, and only at noon creeps from the near hedges. There is no bird to put a song in the throat of morning; only the crow's voice speaks during the day. Perhaps there is the regular breathing hush28 of the scythe—even the fretful jar of the mowing30 machine. But next day, in the morning, all is still again. The lying corn is wet, and when you have bound it, and lift the heavy sheaf to make the stook, the tresses of oats wreathe round each other and droop31 mournfully.
As I worked with my friend through the still mornings we talked endlessly. I would give him the gist32 of what I knew of chemistry, and botany, and psychology33. Day after day I told him what the professors had told me; of life, of sex and its origins; of Schopenhauer and William James. We had been friends for years, and he was accustomed to my talk. But this autumn fruited the first crop of intimacy34 between us. I talked a great deal of poetry to him, and of rudimentary metaphysics. He was very good stuff. He had hardly a single dogma, save that of pleasing himself. Religion was nothing to him. So he heard all I had to say with an open mind, and understood the drift of things very rapidly, and quickly made these ideas part of himself.
We tramped down to dinner with only the clinging warmth of the sunshine for a coat. In this still, enfolding weather a quiet companionship is very grateful. Autumn creeps through everything. The little damsons in the pudding taste of September, and are fragrant35 with memory. The voices of those at table are softer and more reminiscent than at haytime.
Afternoon is all warm and golden. Oat sheaves are lighter37; they whisper to each other as they freely embrace. The long, stout38 stubble tinkles39 as the foot brushes over it; the scent36 of the straw is sweet. When the poor, bleached40 sheaves are lifted out of the hedge, a spray of nodding wild raspberries is disclosed, with belated berries ready to drop; among the damp grass lush blackberries may be discovered. Then one notices that the last bell hangs from the ragged spire of fox-glove. The talk is of people, an odd book; of one's hopes—and the future; of Canada, where work is strenuous41, but not life; where the plains are wide, and one is not lapped in a soft valley, like an apple that falls in a secluded42 orchard43. The mist steals over the face of the warm afternoon. The tying-up is all finished, and it only remains44 to rear up the fallen bundles into shocks. The sun sinks into a golden glow in the west. The gold turns to red, the red darkens, like a fire burning low, the sun disappears behind the bank of milky45 mist, purple like the pale bloom on blue plums, and we put on our coats and go home.
In the evening, when the milking was finished, and all the things fed, then we went out to look at the snares. We wandered on across the stream and up the wild hillside. Our feet rattled46 through black patches of devil's-bit scabius; we skirted a swim of thistle-down, which glistened47 when the moon touched it. We stumbled on through wet, coarse grass, over soft mole-hills and black rabbit-holes. The hills and woods cast shadows; the pools of mist in the valleys gathered the moonbeams in cold, shivery light.
We came to an old farm that stood on the level brow of the hill. The woods swept away from it, leaving a great clearing of what was once cultivated land. The handsome chimneys of the house, silhouetted48 against a light sky, drew my admiration49. I noticed that there was no light or glow in any window, though the house had only the width of one room, and though the night was only at eight o'clock. We looked at the long, impressive front. Several of the windows had been bricked in, giving a pitiful impression of blindness; the places where the plaster had fallen off the walls showed blacker in the shadow. We pushed open the gate, and as we walked down the path, weeds and dead plants brushed our ankles. We looked in at a window. The room was lighted also by a window from the other side, through which the moonlight streamed on to the flagged floor, dirty, littered with paper, and wisps of straw. The hearth50 lay in the light, with all its distress51 of grey ashes, and piled cinders52 of burnt paper, and a child's headless doll, charred53 and pitiful. On the border-line of shadow lay a round fur cap—a game-keeper's cap. I blamed the moonlight for entering the desolate54 room; the darkness alone was decent and reticent55. I hated the little roses on the illuminated56 piece of wallpaper, I hated that fireside.
With farmer's instinct George turned to the outhouse. The cow-yard startled me. It was a forest of the tallest nettles57 I have ever seen—nettles far taller than my six feet. The air was soddened58 with the dank scent of nettles. As I followed George along the obscure brick path, I felt my flesh creep. But the buildings, when we entered them, were in splendid condition; they had been restored within a small number of years; they were well-timbered, neat, and cosy59. Here and there we saw feathers, bits of animal wreckage60, even the remnants of a cat, which we hastily examined by the light of a match. As we entered the stable there was an ugly noise, and three great rats half rushed at us and threatened us with their vicious teeth. I shuddered61, and hurried back, stumbling over a bucket, rotten with rust62, and so filled with weeds that I thought it part of the jungle. There was a silence made horrible by the faint noises that rats and flying bats give out. The place was bare of any vestige64 of corn or straw or hay, only choked with a growth of abnormal weeds. When I found myself free in the orchard I could not stop shivering. There were no apples to be seen overhead between us and the clear sky. Either the birds had caused them to fall, when the rabbits had devoured65 them, or someone had gathered the crop.
"This," said George bitterly, "is what the mill will come to."
"After your time," I said.
"My time—my time. I shall never have a time. And I shouldn't be surprised if father's time isn't short—with rabbits and one thing and another. As it is, we depend on the milk-round, and on the carting which I do for the council. You can't call it farming. We're a miserable66 mixture of farmer, milkman, greengrocer, and carting contractor67. It's a shabby business."
"You have to live," I retorted.
"Yes—but it's rotten. And father won't move—and he won't change his methods."
"Well—what about you?"
"Me! What should I change for?—I'm comfortable at home. As for my future, it can look after itself, so long as nobody depends on me."
"Laissez faire," said I, smiling.
"This is no laissez faire," he replied, glancing round, "this is pulling the nipple out of your lips, and letting the milk run away sour. Look there!"
Through the thin veil of moonlit mist that slid over the hillside we could see an army of rabbits bunched up, or hopping68 a few paces forward, feeding.
We set off at a swinging pace down the hill, scattering69 the hosts. As we approached the fence that bounded the Mill fields, he exclaimed, "Hullo!"—and hurried forward. I followed him, and observed the dark figure of a man rise from the hedge. It was a game-keeper. He pretended to be examining his gun. As we came up he greeted us with a calm "Good-evenin'!"
George replied by investigating the little gap in the hedge.
"Will yer?" answered Annable, a broad, burly, black-faced fellow. "An' I should like ter know what you're doin' on th' wrong side th' 'edge?"
"You can see what we're doing—hand over my snare—and the rabbit," said George angrily.
"What rabbit?" said Annable, turning sarcastically70 to me.
"You know well enough—an' you can hand it over—or——" George replied.
"Or what? Spit it out! The sound won't kill me"—the man grinned with contempt.
"Hand over here!" said George, stepping up to the man in a rage.
"Now don't!" said the keeper, standing stock still, and looking unmovedly at the proximity71 of George:
"You'd better get off home—both you an' 'im. You'll get neither snare nor rabbit—see!"
"We will see!" said George, and he made a sudden move to get hold of the man's coat. Instantly he went staggering back with a heavy blow under the left ear.
"Damn brute72!" I ejaculated, bruising73 my knuckles74 against the fellow's jaw75. Then I too found myself sitting dazedly76 on the grass, watching the great skirts of his velveteens flinging round him as if he had been a demon77, as he strode away. I got up, pressing my chest where I had been struck. George was lying in the hedge-bottom. I turned him over, and rubbed his temples, and shook the drenched78 grass on his face. He opened his eyes and looked at me, dazed. Then he drew his breath quickly, and put his hand to his head.
"The devil!" I answered.
"I wasn't ready."
"No."
"Did he knock me down?"
"Ay—me too."
He was silent for some time, sitting limply. Then he pressed his hand against the back of his head, saying, "My head does sing!" He tried to get up, but failed. "Good God!—being knocked into this state by a damned keeper!"
"Come on," I said, "let's see if we can't get indoors."
"No!" he said quickly, "we needn't tell them—don't let them know."
I sat thinking of the pain in my own chest, and wishing I could remember hearing Annable's jaw smash, and wishing that my knuckles were more bruised80 than they were—though that was bad enough. I got up, and helped George to rise. He swayed, almost pulling me over. But in a while he could walk unevenly81.
"Am I," he said, "covered with clay and stuff?"
"Get it off," he said, standing still to be cleaned.
I did my best. Then we walked about the fields for a time, gloomy, silent, and sore.
Suddenly, as we went by the pond-side, we were startled by great, swishing black shadows that swept just above our heads. The swans were flying up for shelter, now that a cold wind had begun to fret29 Nethermere. They swung down on to the glassy mill-pond, shaking the moonlight in flecks83 across the deep shadows; the night rang with the clacking of their wings on the water; the stillness and calm were broken; the moonlight was furrowed84 and scattered, and broken. The swans, as they sailed into shadow, were dim, haunting spectres; the wind found us shivering.
"Don't—you won't say anything?" he asked as I was leaving him.
"No."
"Nothing at all—not to anybody?"
"No."
"Good-night."
About the end of September, our countryside was alarmed by the harrying85 of sheep by strange dogs. One morning, the squire, going the round of his fields as was his custom, to his grief and horror found two of his sheep torn and dead in the hedge-bottom, and the rest huddled86 in a corner swaying about in terror, smeared87 with blood. The squire did not recover his spirits for days.
There was a report of two grey wolvish dogs. The squire's keeper had heard yelping90 in the fields of Dr. Collins of the Abbey, about dawn. Three sheep lay soaked in blood when the labourer went to tend the flocks.
Then the farmers took alarm. Lord, of the White House farm, intended to put his sheep in pen, with his dogs in charge. It was Saturday, however, and the lads ran off to the little travelling theatre that had halted at Westwold. While they sat open-mouthed in the theatre, gloriously nicknamed the "Blood-Tub," watching heroes die with much writhing91 and heaving, and struggling up to say a word, and collapsing92 without having said it, six of their silly sheep were slaughtered93 in the field. At every house it was enquired94 of the dog; nowhere had one been loose.
Mr. Saxton had some thirty sheep on the Common. George determined95 that the easiest thing was for him to sleep out with them. He built a shelter of hurdles96 interlaced with brushwood, and in the sunny afternoon we collected piles of bracken, browning to the ruddy winter-brown now. He slept there for a week, but that week aged97 his mother like a year. She was out in the cold morning twilight98 watching, with her apron99 over her head, for his approach. She did not rest with the thought of him out on the Common.
Therefore, on Saturday night he brought down his rugs, and took up Gyp to watch in his stead. For some time we sat looking at the stars over the dark hills. Now and then a sheep coughed, or a rabbit rustled100 beneath the brambles, and Gyp whined101. The mist crept over the gorse-bushes, and the webs on the brambles were white;—the devil throws his net over the blackberries as soon as September's back is turned, they say.
"I saw two fellows go by with bags and nets," said George, as we sat looking out of his little shelter.
"Poachers," said I. "Did you speak to them?"
"No—they didn't see me. I was dropping asleep when a rabbit rushed under the blanket, all of a shiver, and a whippet dog after it. I gave the whippet a punch in the neck, and he yelped102 off. The rabbit stopped with me quite a long time—then it went."
"How did you feel?"
"I didn't care. I don't care much what happens just now. Father could get along without me, and mother has the children. I think I shall emigrate."
"Why didn't you before?"
"Oh, I don't know. There are a lot of little comforts and interests at home that one would miss. Besides, you feel somebody in your own countryside, and you're nothing in a foreign part, I expect."
"But you're going?"
"What is there to stop here for? The valley is all running wild and unprofitable. You've no freedom for thinking of what the other folks think of you, and everything round you keeps the same, and so you can't change yourself—because everything you look at brings up the same old feeling, and stops you from feeling fresh things. And what is there that's worth anything?—What's worth having in my life?"
"I thought," said I, "your comfort was worth having."
He sat still and did not answer.
"What's shaken you out of your nest?" I asked.
"I don't know. I've not felt the same since that row with Annable. And Lettie said to me: 'Here, you can't live as you like—in any way or circumstance. You're like a bit out of those coloured marble mosaics103 in the hall, you have to fit in your own set, fit into your own pattern, because you're put there from the first. But you don't want to be like a fixed104 bit of a mosaic—you want to fuse into life, and melt and mix with the rest of folk, to have some things burned out of you——' She was downright serious."
"Well, you need not believe her. When did you see her?"
"She came down on Wednesday, when I was getting the apples in the morning. She climbed a tree with me, and there was a wind, that was why I was getting all the apples, and it rocked us, me right up at the top, she sitting half way down holding the basket. I asked her didn't she think that free kind of life was the best, and that was how she answered me."
"You should have contradicted her."
"It seemed true. I never thought of it being wrong, in fact."
"Come—that sounds bad."
"No—I thought she looked down on us—on our way of life. I thought she meant I was like a toad105 in a hole."
"You should have shown her different."
"How could I when I could see no different?"
"It strikes me you're in love."
He laughed at the idea, saying, "No, but it is rotten to find that there isn't a single thing you have to be proud of."
"And when do you think of going?"
"Oh—I don't know—I've said nothing to mother. Not yet,—at any rate not till spring."
"Not till something has happened," said I.
"What?" he asked.
"Something decisive."
"I don't know what can happen—unless the Squire turns us out."
"No?" I said.
He did not speak.
"You should make things happen," said I.
"Don't make me feel a worse fool, Cyril," he replied despairingly.
Gyp whined and jumped, tugging107 her chain to follow us. The grey blurs108 among the blackness of the bushes were resting sheep. A chill, dim mist crept along the ground.
"But, for all that, Cyril," he said, "to have her laugh at you across the table; to hear her sing as she moved about, before you are washed at night, when the fire's warm, and you're tired; to have her sit by you on the hearth seat, close and soft. . . ."
"In Spain," I said. "In Spain."
He took no notice, but turned suddenly, laughing.
"Do you know, when I was stooking up, lifting the sheaves, it felt like having your arm round a girl. It was quite a sudden sensation."
He laughed, not having heard my words.
"The time seems to go like lightning—thinking" he confessed—"I seem to sweep the mornings up in a handful."
"Oh, Lord!" said I. "Why don't you scheme forgetting what you want, instead of dreaming fulfilments?"
"Well," he replied. "If it was a fine dream, wouldn't you want to go on dreaming?" and with that he finished, and I went home.
I sat at my window looking out, trying to get things straight. Mist rose, and wreathed round Nethermere, like ghosts meeting and embracing sadly. I thought of the time when my friend should not follow the harrow on our own snug110 valley side, and when Lettie's room next mine should be closed to hide its emptiness, not its joy. My heart clung passionately111 to the hollow which held us all; how could I bear that it should be desolate! I wondered what Lettie would do.
In the morning I was up early, when daybreak came with a shiver through the woods. I went out, while the moon still shone sickly in the west. The world shrank from the morning. It was then that the last of the summer things died. The wood was dark,—and smelt112 damp and heavy with autumn. On the paths the leaves lay clogged113.
As I came near the farm I heard the yelling of dogs. Running, I reached the Common, and saw the sheep huddled and scattered in groups, something leaped round them. George burst into sight pursuing. Directly, there was the bang, bang of a gun. I picked up a heavy piece of sandstone and ran forwards. Three sheep scattered wildly before me. In the dim light I saw their grey shadows move among the gorse bushes. Then a dog leaped, and I flung my stone with all my might. I hit. There came a high-pitched howling yelp89 of pain; I saw the brute make off, and went after him, dodging114 the prickly bushes, leaping the trailing brambles. The gunshots rang out again, and I heard the men shouting with excitement. My dog was out of sight, but I followed still, slanting115 down the hill. In a field ahead I saw someone running. Leaping the low hedge, I pursued, and overtook Emily, who was hurrying as fast as she could through the wet grass. There was another gunshot and great shouting. Emily glanced round, saw me, and started.
"It's gone to the quarries116," she panted. We walked on, without saying a word. Skirting the spinney, we followed the brook course, and came at last to the quarry117 fence. The old excavations119 were filled now with trees. The steep walls, twenty feet deep in places, were packed with loose stones, and trailed with hanging brambles. We climbed down the steep bank of the brook, and entered the quarries by the bed of the stream. Under the groves120 of ash and oak a pale primrose122 still lingered, glimmering123 wanly124 beside the hidden water. Emily found a smear88 of blood on a beautiful trail of yellow convolvulus. We followed the tracks on to the open, where the brook flowed on the hard rock bed, and the stony125 floor of the quarry was only a tangle126 of gorse and bramble and honeysuckle.
"Take a good stone," said I, and we pressed on, where the grove121 in the great excavation118 darkened again, and the brook slid secretly under the arms of the bushes and the hair of the long grass. We beat the cover almost to the road. I thought the brute had escaped, and I pulled a bunch of mountain-ash berries, and stood tapping them against my knee. I was startled by a snarl127 and a little scream. Running forward, I came upon one of the old, horse-shoe lime kilns128 that stood at the head of the quarry. There, in the mouth of one of the kilns, Emily was kneeling on the dog, her hands buried in the hair of its throat, pushing back its head. The little jerks of the brute's body were the spasms129 of death; already the eyes were turning inward, and the upper lip was drawn130 from the teeth by pain.
"Good Lord, Emily! But he is dead!" exclaimed.
"Has he hurt you?" I drew her away. She shuddered violently, and seemed to feel a horror of herself.
"No—no," she said, looking at herself, with blood all on her skirt, where she had knelt on the wound which I had given the dog, and pressed the broken rib63 into the chest. There was a trickle131 of blood on her arm.
"Did he bite you?" I asked, anxious.
"No—oh, no—I just peeped in, and he jumped. But he had no strength, and I hit him back with my stone, and I lost my balance, and fell on him."
"Let me wash your arm."
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "isn't it horrible! Oh, I think it is so awful."
"What?" said I, busy bathing her arm in the cold water of the brook.
"It ought to be cauterised," said I, looking at a score on her arm from the dog's tooth.
"That scratch—that's nothing! Can you get that off my skirt—I feel hateful to myself."
I washed her skirt with my handkerchief as well as I could, saying:
"Let me just sear it for you; we can go to the Kennels133. Do—you ought—I don't feel safe otherwise."
"Really," she said, glancing up at me, a smile coming into her fine dark eyes.
"Yes—come along."
"Ha, ha!" she laughed. "You look so serious."
I took her arm and drew her away. She linked her arm in mine and leaned on me.
"It is just like Lorna Doone," she said as if she enjoyed it.
"But you will let me do it," said I, referring to the cauterising.
"You make me; but I shall feel—ugh, I daren't think of it. Get me some of those berries."
I plucked a few bunches of guelder-rose fruits, transparent134, ruby135 berries. She stroked them softly against her lips and cheek, caressing136 them. Then she murmured to herself:
"I have always wanted to put red berries in my hair."
The shawl she had been wearing was thrown across her shoulders, and her head was bare, and her black hair, soft and short and ecstatic, tumbled wildly into loose light curls. She thrust the stalks of the berries under her combs. Her hair was not heavy or long enough to have held them. Then, with the ruby bunches glowing through the black mist of curls, she looked up at me, brightly, with wide eyes. I looked at her, and felt the smile winning into her eyes. Then I turned and dragged a trail of golden-leaved convolvulus from the hedge, and I twisted it into a coronet for her.
"There!" said I, "you're crowned."
She put back her head, and the low laughter shook in her throat.
"What!" she asked, putting all the courage and recklessness she had into the question, and in her soul trembling.
"Not Chloë, not Bacchante. You have always got your soul in your eyes, such an earnest, troublesome soul."
The laughter faded at once, and her great seriousness looked out again at me, pleading.
"You are like Burne-Jones' damsels. Troublesome shadows are always crowding across your eyes, and you cherish them. You think the flesh of the apple is nothing, nothing. You only care for the eternal pips. Why don't you snatch your apple and eat it, and throw the core away?"
She looked at me sadly, not understanding, but believing that I in my wisdom spoke truth, as she always believed when I lost her in a maze137 of words. She stooped down, and the chaplet fell from her hair, and only one bunch of berries remained. The ground around us was strewn with the four-lipped burrs of beechnuts, and the quaint139 little nut-pyramids were scattered among the ruddy fallen leaves. Emily gathered a few nuts.
"I love beechnuts," she said, "but they make me long for my childhood again till I could almost cry out. To go out for beechnuts before breakfast; to thread them for necklaces before supper;—to be the envy of the others at school next day! There was as much pleasure in a beech138 necklace then as there is in the whole autumn now—and no sadness. There are no more unmixed joys after you have grown up." She kept her face to the ground as she spoke, and she continued to gather the fruits.
"Do you find any with nuts in?" I asked.
"Not many—here—here are two, three. You have them. No—I don't care about them."
I stripped one of its horny brown coat and gave it to her. She opened her mouth slightly to take it, looking up into my eyes. Some people, instead of bringing with them clouds of glory, trail clouds of sorrow; they are born with "the gift of sorrow"; "sorrows" they proclaim "alone are real. The veiled grey angels of sorrow work out slowly the beautiful shapes. Sorrow is beauty, and the supreme140 blessedness." You read it in their eyes, and in the tones of their voices. Emily had the gift of sorrow. It fascinated me, but it drove me to rebellion.
We followed the soft, smooth-bitten turf road under the old beeches141. The hillside fell away, dishevelled with thistles and coarse grass. Soon we were in sight of the Kennels, the red old Kennels which had been the scene of so much animation142 in the time of Lord Byron. They were empty now, overgrown with weeds. The barred windows of the cottages were grey with dust; there was no need now to protect the windows from cattle, dog or man. One of the three houses was inhabited. Clear water trickled143 through a wooden runnel into a great stone trough outside near the door.
"Come here," said I to Emily. "Let me fasten the back of your dress."
As I was engaged in my task, a girl came out of the cottage with a black kettle and a tea-cup. She was so surprised to see me thus occupied that she forgot her own duty, and stood open-mouthed.
"S'r Ann! S'r Ann," called a voice from inside. "Are ter goin' ter come in an' shut that door?"
Sarah Ann hastily poured a few cupfuls of water into the kettle, then she put down both utensils145 and stood holding her bare arms to warm them. Her chief garment consisted of a skirt with grey bodice and red flannel146 skirt, very much torn. Her black hair hung in wild tails on to her shoulders.
"We must go in here," said I, approaching the girl. She, however, hastily seized the kettle and ran indoors with an "Oh, mother!"
A woman came to the door. One breast was bare, and hung over her blouse, which, like a dressing-jacket, fell loose over her skirt. Her fading, red-brown hair was all frowsy from the bed. In the folds of her skirt clung a swarthy urchin148 with a shockingly short shirt. He stared at us with big black eyes, the only portion of his face undecorated with egg and jam. The woman's blue eyes questioned us languidly. I told her our errand.
"Come in—come in," she said, "but dunna look at th' 'ouse. Th' childers not been long up. Go in, Billy, wi' nowt on!"
We entered, taking the forgotten kettle lid. The kitchen was large, but scantily149 furnished save, indeed, for children. The eldest150, a girl of twelve or so, was standing toasting a piece of bacon with one hand, and holding back her nightdress in the other. As the toast hand got scorched151, she transferred the bacon to the other, gave the hot fingers a lick to cool them, and then held back her nightdress again. Her auburn hair hung in heavy coils down her gown. A boy sat on the steel fender, catching152 the dropping fat on a piece of bread. "One, two, three, four, five, six drops," and he quickly bit off the tasty corner, and resumed the task with the other hand. When we entered he tried to draw his shirt over his knees, which caused the fat to fall wasted. A fat baby, evidently laid down from the breast, lay kicking on the squab, purple in the face, while another lad was pushing bread and butter into its mouth. The mother swept to the sofa, poked153 out the bread and butter, pushed her finger into the baby's throat, lifted the child up, punched its back, and was highly relieved when it began to yell. Then she administered a few sound spanks154 to the naked buttocks of the crammer. He began to howl, but stopped suddenly on seeing us laughing. On the sack-cloth which served as hearth rug sat a beautiful child washing the face of a wooden doll with tea, and wiping it on her nightgown. At the table, an infant in a high chair sat sucking a piece of bacon, till the grease ran down his swarthy arms, oozing155 through his fingers. An old lad stood in the big arm-chair, whose back was hung with a calf-skin, and was industriously156 pouring the dregs of the teacups into a basin of milk. The mother whisked away the milk, and made a rush for the urchin, the baby hanging over her arm the while.
"I could half kill thee," she said, but he had slid under the table,—and sat serenely157 unconcerned.
"Could you"—I asked when the mother had put her bonny baby again to her breast—"could you lend me a knitting needle?"
"Our S'r Ann, wheer's thy knittin' needles?" asked the woman, wincing158 at the same time, and putting her hand to the mouth of the sucking child. Catching my eye, she said:
"You wouldn't credit how he bites. 'E's nobbut two teeth, but they like six needles." She drew her brows together and pursed her lips, saying to the child, "Naughty lad, naughty lad! Tha' shanna hae it, no, not if ter bites thy mother like that."
The family interest was now divided between us and the private concerns in process when we entered;—save, however, that the bacon sucker had sucked on stolidly159, immovable, all the time.
"Our Sam, wheer's my knittin', tha's 'ad it?" cried S'r Ann after a little search.
"'A 'e na," replied Sam from under the table.
"'A 'e na then!" persisted Sam.
The mother suggested various possible places of discovery, and at last the knitting was found at the back of the table drawer, among forks and old wooden skewers161.
"I 'an ter tell yer wheer ivrythink is," said the mother in mild reproach. S'r Ann, however, gave no heed162 to her parent. Her heart was torn for her knitting, the fruit of her labours; it was a red woollen cuff163 for the winter; a corkscrew was bored through the web, and the ball of red wool was bristling164 with skewers.
The mother began to shake with quiet laughter.
"His father learnt him that—made it all up," she whispered proudly to us—and to him.
"Tell us what 'B' is Sam."
"Today?" asked S'r Ann eagerly.
"Go on, Sam, my duck," persisted the mother.
"Tha' 'as na got no treacle," said Sam conclusively171.
The needle was in the fire; the children stood about watching.
"Will you do it yourself?" I asked Emily.
"I!" she exclaimed, with wide eyes of astonishment172, and she shook her head emphatically.
"Then I must." I took out the needle, holding it in my handkerchief. I took her hand and examined the wound. But when she saw the hot glow of the needle, she snatched away her hand, and looked into my eyes, laughing in a half-hysterical fear and shame. I was very serious, very insistent173. She yielded me her hand again, biting her lips in imagination of the pain, and looking at me. While my eyes were looking into hers she had courage; when I was forced to pay attention to my cauterising, she glanced down, and with a sharp "Ah!" ending in a little laugh, she put her hands behind her, and looked again up at me with wide brown eyes, all quivering with apprehension174, and a little shame, and a laughter that held much pleading.
One of the children began to cry.
"It is no good," said I, throwing the fast cooling needle on to the hearth.
I gave the girls all the pennies I had—then I offered Sam, who had crept out of the shelter of the table, a sixpence.
"Shonna a'e that," he said, turning from the small coin.
"Well—I have no more pennies, so nothing will be your share."
I gave the other boy a rickety knife I had in my pocket. Sam looked fiercely at me. Eager for revenge, he picked up the "porkypine quill175" by the hot end. He dropped it with a shout of rage, and, seizing a cup off the table, flung it at the fortunate Jack147. It smashed against the fire-place. The mother grabbed at Sam, but he was gone. A girl, a little girl, wailed, "Oh, that's my rosey mug—my rosey mug." We fled from the scene of confusion. Emily had hardly noticed it. Her thoughts were of herself, and of me.
"But I can't help it——" she looked beseechingly177.
"Never mind," said I.
"All my flesh seems to jump from it. You don't know how I feel."
"Well—never mind."
"I couldn't help it, not for my life."
"I wonder," said I, "if anything could possibly disturb that young bacon-sucker? He didn't even look round at the smash."
"No," said she, biting the tip of her finger moodily.
Further conversation was interrupted by howls from the rear. Looking round we saw Sam careering after us over the close-bitten turf, howling scorn and derision at us. "Rabbit-tail, rabbit-tail," he cried, his bare little legs twinkling, and his little shirt fluttering in the cold morning air. Fortunately, at last he trod on a thistle or a thorn, for when we looked round again to see why he was silent, he was capering178 on one leg, holding his wounded foot in his hands.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
arable
|
|
| adj.可耕的，适合种植的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
brook
|
|
| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
grassy
|
|
| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
rim
|
|
| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
crest
|
|
| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
spire
|
|
| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
dens
|
|
| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
squire
|
|
| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
tune
|
|
| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
ramifications
|
|
| n.结果，后果( ramification的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
banyan
|
|
| n.菩提树，榕树 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
furry
|
|
| adj.毛皮的；似毛皮的；毛皮制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
subsisted
|
|
| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
gnawed
|
|
| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
defiled
|
|
| v.玷污( defile的过去式和过去分词 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
snare
|
|
| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
snares
|
|
| n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 )；圈套；诱人遭受失败（丢脸、损失等）的东西；诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
gnawing
|
|
| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
quails
|
|
| 鹌鹑( quail的名词复数 )； 鹌鹑肉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
wilderness
|
|
| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
assented
|
|
| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
saturnine
|
|
| adj.忧郁的，沉默寡言的，阴沉的，感染铅毒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
tenants
|
|
| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
hush
|
|
| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
fret
|
|
| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
mowing
|
|
| n.割草，一次收割量，牧草地v.刈，割( mow的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
droop
|
|
| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
gist
|
|
| n.要旨；梗概 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
psychology
|
|
| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
fragrant
|
|
| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
scent
|
|
| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
lighter
|
|
| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
tinkles
|
|
| 丁当声，铃铃声( tinkle的名词复数 )； 一次电话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
bleached
|
|
| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
strenuous
|
|
| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
secluded
|
|
| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
orchard
|
|
| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
milky
|
|
| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
rattled
|
|
| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
glistened
|
|
| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
silhouetted
|
|
| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
hearth
|
|
| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
distress
|
|
| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
cinders
|
|
| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
charred
|
|
| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
reticent
|
|
| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
illuminated
|
|
| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
nettles
|
|
| n.荨麻( nettle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
soddened
|
|
| v.（液体）沸腾( seethe的过去分词 )( sodden的过去分词 )；激动，大怒；强压怒火；生闷气(~with sth|~ at sth) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
cosy
|
|
| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
wreckage
|
|
| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
shuddered
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
rust
|
|
| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
rib
|
|
| n.肋骨，肋状物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
vestige
|
|
| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
devoured
|
|
| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
contractor
|
|
| n.订约人，承包人，收缩肌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
hopping
|
|
| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
scattering
|
|
| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
sarcastically
|
|
| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
proximity
|
|
| n.接近，邻近 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
brute
|
|
| n.野兽，兽性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
bruising
|
|
| adj.殊死的；十分激烈的v.擦伤(bruise的现在分词形式) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
knuckles
|
|
| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
jaw
|
|
| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
dazedly
|
|
| 头昏眼花地，眼花缭乱地，茫然地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
demon
|
|
| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
drenched
|
|
| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
stunned
|
|
| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
bruised
|
|
| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
unevenly
|
|
| adv.不均匀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
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： |
|
|
|
|
83
flecks
|
|
| n.斑点，小点( fleck的名词复数 )；癍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
furrowed
|
|
| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
harrying
|
|
| v.使苦恼( harry的现在分词 )；不断烦扰；一再袭击；侵扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
huddled
|
|
| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
smeared
|
|
| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
smear
|
|
| v.涂抹；诽谤，玷污；n.污点；诽谤，污蔑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
yelp
|
|
| vi.狗吠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
yelping
|
|
| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
writhing
|
|
| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
collapsing
|
|
| 压扁[平]，毁坏，断裂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
slaughtered
|
|
| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
enquired
|
|
| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
hurdles
|
|
| n.障碍( hurdle的名词复数 )；跳栏；（供人或马跳跃的）栏架；跨栏赛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
apron
|
|
| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
rustled
|
|
| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
whined
|
|
| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
yelped
|
|
| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
mosaics
|
|
| n.马赛克( mosaic的名词复数 )；镶嵌；镶嵌工艺；镶嵌图案 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
toad
|
|
| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
moodily
|
|
| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
tugging
|
|
| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
blurs
|
|
| n.模糊( blur的名词复数 )；模糊之物；（移动的）模糊形状；模糊的记忆v.（使）变模糊( blur的第三人称单数 )；（使）难以区分 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
mesh
|
|
| n.网孔，网丝，陷阱；vt.以网捕捉，啮合，匹配；vi.适合； [计算机]网络 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
snug
|
|
| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
passionately
|
|
| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
smelt
|
|
| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
clogged
|
|
| （使）阻碍( clog的过去式和过去分词 )； 淤滞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
dodging
|
|
| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
slanting
|
|
| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
quarries
|
|
| n.（采）石场( quarry的名词复数 )；猎物（指鸟，兽等）；方形石；（格窗等的）方形玻璃v.从采石场采得( quarry的第三人称单数 )；从（书本等中）努力发掘（资料等）；在采石场采石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
quarry
|
|
| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
excavation
|
|
| n.挖掘，发掘；被挖掘之地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
excavations
|
|
| n.挖掘( excavation的名词复数 )；开凿；开凿的洞穴（或山路等）；（发掘出来的）古迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
groves
|
|
| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
grove
|
|
| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
primrose
|
|
| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
glimmering
|
|
| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
wanly
|
|
| adv.虚弱地；苍白地，无血色地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
stony
|
|
| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
tangle
|
|
| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
snarl
|
|
| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
kilns
|
|
| n.窑( kiln的名词复数 )；烧窑工人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
spasms
|
|
| n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 )；抽搐；（能量、行为等的）突发；发作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
trickle
|
|
| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
brutal
|
|
| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
kennels
|
|
| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
transparent
|
|
| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
ruby
|
|
| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
caressing
|
|
| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
maze
|
|
| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
beech
|
|
| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
beeches
|
|
| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
animation
|
|
| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
trickled
|
|
| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
undone
|
|
| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
utensils
|
|
| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
flannel
|
|
| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
jack
|
|
| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
urchin
|
|
| n.顽童；海胆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
scantily
|
|
| adv.缺乏地；不充足地；吝啬地；狭窄地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
eldest
|
|
| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
scorched
|
|
| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
catching
|
|
| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
poked
|
|
| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
spanks
|
|
| v.用手掌打( spank的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
155
oozing
|
|
| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
industriously
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
serenely
|
|
| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
wincing
|
|
| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
stolidly
|
|
| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
prod
|
|
| vt.戳，刺；刺激，激励 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
skewers
|
|
| n.串肉扦( skewer的名词复数 )；烤肉扦；棒v.（用串肉扦或类似物）串起，刺穿( skewer的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
heed
|
|
| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
cuff
|
|
| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
bristling
|
|
| a.竖立的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
wailed
|
|
| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
croaked
|
|
| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
bristles
|
|
| 短而硬的毛发，刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
pricking
|
|
| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
grunted
|
|
| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
treacle
|
|
| n.糖蜜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
conclusively
|
|
| adv.令人信服地，确凿地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
insistent
|
|
| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
apprehension
|
|
| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
quill
|
|
| n.羽毛管；v.给（织物或衣服）作皱褶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
humbly
|
|
| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
beseechingly
|
|
| adv. 恳求地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
capering
|
|
| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的现在分词 )；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |