章节正文
had built it, it was said, in 1701.
Hiram White was only twenty-seven years old, but he was already
in local repute as a "character." As a boy he was thought to be
half-witted or "natural," and, as is the case with such
unfortunates in small country towns where everybody knows
everybody, he was made a common sport and jest for the keener,
crueler wits of the neighborhood. Now that he was grown to the
ripeness of manhood he was still looked upon as being--to use a
quaint expression--"slack," or "not jest right." He was heavy,
awkward, ungainly and loose-jointed, and enormously, prodigiously
strong. He had a lumpish, thick-featured face, with lips heavy
and looselyhanging, that gave him an air of stupidity, half
droll, half pathetic. His little eyes were set far apart and flat
with his face, his eyebrows were nearly white and his hair was of
a sandy, colorless kind. He was singularly taciturn, lisping
thickly when he did talk, and stuttering and hesitating in his
speech, as though his words moved faster than his mind could
follow. It was the custom for local wags to urge, or badger, or
tempt him to talk, for the sake of the ready laugh that always
followed the few thick, stammering words and the stupid drooping
of the jaw at the end of each short speech. Perhaps Squire Hall
was the only one in Lewes Hundred who misdoubted that Hiram was
half-witted. He had had dealings with him and was wont to say
that whoever bought Hiram White for a fool made a fool's bargain.
Certainly, whether he had common wits or no, Hiram had managed
his mill to pretty good purpose and was fairly well off in the
world as prosperity went in southern Delaware and in those days.
No doubt, had it come to the pinch, he might have bought some of
his tormentors out three times over.
Hiram White had suffered quite a financial loss some six months
before, through that very Blueskin who was now lurking in Indian
River inlet. He had entered into a "venture" with Josiah Shippin,
a Philadelphia merchant, to the tune of seven hundred pounds
sterling. The money had been invested in a cargo of flour and
corn meal which had been shipped to Jamaica by the bark Nancy
Lee. The Nancy Lee had been captured by the pirates off
Currituck Sound, the crew set adrift in the longboat, and the
bark herself and all her cargo burned to the water's edge.
Five hundred of the seven hundred pounds invested in the
unfortunate "venture" was money bequeathed by Hiram's father,
seven years before, to Levi West.
Eleazer White had been twice married, the second time to the
widow West. She had brought with her to her new home a
good-looking, long-legged, black-eyed, black-haired ne'er-do-well
of a son, a year or so younger than Hiram. He was a shrewd,
quick-witted lad, idle, shiftless, willful, ill-trained perhaps,
but as bright and keen as a pin. He was the very opposite to
poor, dull Hiram. Eleazer White had never loved his son; he was
ashamed of the poor, slack-witted oaf. Upon the other hand, he
was very fond of Levi West, whom he always called "our Levi," and
whom he treated in every way as though he were his own son. He
tried to train the lad to work in the mill, and was patient
beyond what the patience of most fathers would have been with his
stepson's idleness and shiftlessness. "Never mind," he was used
to say. "Levi'll come all right. Levi's as bright as a button."
It was one of the greatest blows of the old miller's life when
Levi ran away to sea. In his last sickness the old man's mind
constantly turned to his lost stepson. "Mebby he'll come back
again," said he, "and if he does I want you to be good to him,
Hiram. I've done my duty by you and have left you the house and
mill, but I want you to promise that if Levi comes back again
you'll give him a home and a shelter under this roof if he wants
one." And Hiram had promised to do as his father asked.
After Eleazer died it was found that he had bequeathed five
hundred pounds to his "beloved stepson, Levi West," and had left
Squire Hall as trustee.
Levi West had been gone nearly nine years and not a word had been
heard from him; there could be little or no doubt that he was
dead.
One day Hiram came into Squire Hall's office with a letter in his
hand. It was the time of the old French war, and flour and corn
meal were fetching fabulous prices in the British West Indies.
The letter Hiram brought with him was from a Philadelphia
merchant, Josiah Shippin, with whom he had had some dealings.
Mr. Shippin proposed that Hiram should join him in sending a
"venture" of flour and corn meal to Kingston, Jamaica. Hiram had
slept upon the letter overnight and now he brought it to the old
Squire. Squire Hall read the letter, shaking his head the while.
"Too much risk, Hiram!" said he. "Mr Shippin wouldn't have asked
you to go into this venture if he could have got anybody else to
do so. My advice is that you let it alone. I reckon you've come
to me for advice?" Hiram shook his head. "Ye haven't? What have
ye come for, then?"
"Seven hundred pounds," said Hiram.
"Seven hundred pounds!" said Squire Hall. "I haven't got seven
hundred pounds to lend you, Hiram."
"Five hundred been left to Levi--I got hundred--raise hundred
more on mortgage," said Hiram.
"Tut, tut, Hiram," said Squire Hall, "that'll never do in the
world. Suppose Levi West should come back again, what then? I'm
responsible for that money. If you wanted to borrow it now for
any reasonableventure, you should have it and welcome, but for
such a wildcat scheme--"
"Levi never come back," said Hiram--"nine years gone Levi's
dead."
"Mebby he is," said Squire Hall, "but we don't know that."
"I'll give bond for security," said Hiram.
Squire Hall thought for a while in silence. "Very well, Hiram,"
said he by and by, "if you'll do that. Your father left the
money, and I don't see that it's right for me to stay his son
from using it. But if it is lost, Hiram, and if Levi should come
back, it will go well to ruin ye."
So Hiram White invested seven hundred pounds in the Jamaica
venture and every farthing of it was burned by Blueskin, off
Currituck Sound.
IV
Sally Martin was said to be the prettiest girl in Lewes Hundred,
and when the rumor began to leak out that Hiram White was
courting her the whole community took it as a monstrous joke. It
was the common thing to greet Hiram himself with, "Hey, Hiram;
how's Sally?" Hiram never made answer to such salutation, but
went his way as heavily, as impassively, as dully as ever.
The joke was true. Twice a week, rain or shine, Hiram White
never failed to scrape his feet upon Billy Martin's doorstep.
Twice a week, on Sundays and Thursdays, he never failed to take
his customary seat by the kitchen fire. He rarely said anything
by way of talk; he nodded to the farmer, to his wife, to Sally
and, when he chanced to be at home, to her brother, but he
ventured nothing further. There he would sit from half past
seven until nine o'clock, stolid, heavy, impassive, his dull eyes
following now one of the family and now another, but always
coming back again to Sally. It sometimes happened that she had
other company--some of the young men of the neighborhood. The
presence of such seemed to make no difference to Hiram; he bore
whatever broad jokes might be cracked upon him, whatever grins,
whatever giggling might follow those jokes, with the same patient
impassiveness. There he would sit, silent, unresponsive; then,
at the first stroke of nine o'clock, he would rise, shoulder his
ungainly person into his overcoat, twist his head into his
three-cornered hat, and with a "Good night, Sally, I be going
now," would take his departure, shutting the door carefully to
behind him.
Never, perhaps, was there a girl in the world had such a lover
and such a courtship as Sally Martin.
V
It was one Thursday evening in the latter part of November, about
a week after Blueskin's appearance off the capes, and while the
one subject of talk was of the pirates being in Indian River
inlet. The air was still and wintry; a sudden cold snap had set
in and skims of ice had formed over puddles in the road; the
smoke from the chimneys rose straight in the quiet air and voices
sounded loud, as they do in frosty weather.
Hiram White sat by the dim light of a tallow dip, poring
laboriously over some account books. It was not quite seven
o'clock, and he never started for Billy Martin's before that
hour. As he ran his finger slowly and hesitatingly down the
column of figures, he heard the kitchen door beyond open and
shut, the noise of footsteps crossing the floor and the scraping
of a chair dragged forward to the hearth. Then came the sound of
a basket of corncobs being emptied on the smoldering blaze and
then the snapping and crackling of the reanimated fire. Hiram
thought nothing of all this, excepting, in a dim sort of way,
that it was Bob, the negro mill hand, or old black Dinah, the
housekeeper, and so went on with his calculations.
At last he closed the books with a snap and, smoothing down his
hair, arose, took up the candle, and passed out of the room into
the kitchen beyond.
A man was sitting in front of the corncob fire that flamed and
blazed in the great, gaping, sooty fireplace. A rough overcoat
was flung over the chair behind him and his hands were spread out
to the roaring warmth. At the sound of the lifted latch and of
Hiram's entrance he turned his head, and when Hiram saw his face
he stood suddenly still as though turned to stone. The face,
marvelously altered and changed as it was, was the face of his
stepbrother, Levi West. He was not dead; he had come home again.
For a time not a sound broke the dead, unbroken silence excepting
the crackling of the blaze in the fireplace and the sharp ticking
of the tall clock in the corner. The one face, dull and stolid,
with the light of the candle shining upward over its lumpy
features, looked fixedly, immovably, stonily at the other, sharp,
shrewd, cunning--the red wavering light of the blaze shining upon
the high cheek bones, cutting sharp on the nose and twinkling in
the glassy turn of the black, ratlike eyes. Then suddenly that
face cracked, broadened, spread to a grin. "I have come back
again, Hi," said Levi, and at the sound of the words the
speechless spell was broken.
Hiram answered never a word, but he walked to the fireplace, set
the candle down upon the dusty mantelshelf among the boxes and
bottles, and, drawing forward a chair upon the other side of the
hearth, sat down.
His dull little eyes never moved from his stepbrother's face.
There was no curiosity in his expression, no surprise, no wonder.
The heavy under lip dropped a little farther open and there was
snore than usual of dull, expressionless stupidity upon the
lumpish face; but that was all.
As was said, the face upon which he looked was strangely,
marvelously changed from what it had been when he had last seen
it nine years before, and, though it was still the face of Levi
West, it was a very different Levi West than the shiftless
ne'er-do-well who had run away to sea in the Brazilian brig that
long time ago. That Levi West had been a rough, careless,
happy-go-lucky fellow; thoughtless and selfish, but with nothing
essentially evil or sinister in his nature. The Levi West that
now sat in a rush-bottom chair at the other side of the fireplace
had that stamped upon his front that might be both evil and
sinister. His swart complexion was tanned to an Indian copper. On
one side of his face was a curious discoloration in the skin and
a long, crooked, cruel scar that ran diagonally across forehead
and temple and cheek in a white, jagged seam. This discoloration
was of a livid blue, about the tint of a tattoo mark. It made a
patch the size of a man's hand, lying across the cheek and the
Hiram White was only twenty-seven years old, but he was already
in local repute as a "character." As a boy he was thought to be
half-witted or "natural," and, as is the case with such
unfortunates in small country towns where everybody knows
everybody, he was made a common sport and jest for the keener,
crueler wits of the neighborhood. Now that he was grown to the
ripeness of manhood he was still looked upon as being--to use a
quaint expression--"slack," or "not jest right." He was heavy,
awkward, ungainly and loose-jointed, and enormously, prodigiously
strong. He had a lumpish, thick-featured face, with lips heavy
and looselyhanging, that gave him an air of stupidity, half
droll, half pathetic. His little eyes were set far apart and flat
with his face, his eyebrows were nearly white and his hair was of
a sandy, colorless kind. He was singularly taciturn, lisping
thickly when he did talk, and stuttering and hesitating in his
speech, as though his words moved faster than his mind could
follow. It was the custom for local wags to urge, or badger, or
tempt him to talk, for the sake of the ready laugh that always
followed the few thick, stammering words and the stupid drooping
of the jaw at the end of each short speech. Perhaps Squire Hall
was the only one in Lewes Hundred who misdoubted that Hiram was
half-witted. He had had dealings with him and was wont to say
that whoever bought Hiram White for a fool made a fool's bargain.
Certainly, whether he had common wits or no, Hiram had managed
his mill to pretty good purpose and was fairly well off in the
world as prosperity went in southern Delaware and in those days.
No doubt, had it come to the pinch, he might have bought some of
his tormentors out three times over.
Hiram White had suffered quite a financial loss some six months
before, through that very Blueskin who was now lurking in Indian
River inlet. He had entered into a "venture" with Josiah Shippin,
a Philadelphia merchant, to the tune of seven hundred pounds
sterling. The money had been invested in a cargo of flour and
corn meal which had been shipped to Jamaica by the bark Nancy
Lee. The Nancy Lee had been captured by the pirates off
Currituck Sound, the crew set adrift in the longboat, and the
bark herself and all her cargo burned to the water's edge.
Five hundred of the seven hundred pounds invested in the
unfortunate "venture" was money bequeathed by Hiram's father,
seven years before, to Levi West.
Eleazer White had been twice married, the second time to the
widow West. She had brought with her to her new home a
good-looking, long-legged, black-eyed, black-haired ne'er-do-well
of a son, a year or so younger than Hiram. He was a shrewd,
quick-witted lad, idle, shiftless, willful, ill-trained perhaps,
but as bright and keen as a pin. He was the very opposite to
poor, dull Hiram. Eleazer White had never loved his son; he was
ashamed of the poor, slack-witted oaf. Upon the other hand, he
was very fond of Levi West, whom he always called "our Levi," and
whom he treated in every way as though he were his own son. He
tried to train the lad to work in the mill, and was patient
beyond what the patience of most fathers would have been with his
stepson's idleness and shiftlessness. "Never mind," he was used
to say. "Levi'll come all right. Levi's as bright as a button."
It was one of the greatest blows of the old miller's life when
Levi ran away to sea. In his last sickness the old man's mind
constantly turned to his lost stepson. "Mebby he'll come back
again," said he, "and if he does I want you to be good to him,
Hiram. I've done my duty by you and have left you the house and
mill, but I want you to promise that if Levi comes back again
you'll give him a home and a shelter under this roof if he wants
one." And Hiram had promised to do as his father asked.
After Eleazer died it was found that he had bequeathed five
hundred pounds to his "beloved stepson, Levi West," and had left
Squire Hall as trustee.
Levi West had been gone nearly nine years and not a word had been
heard from him; there could be little or no doubt that he was
dead.
One day Hiram came into Squire Hall's office with a letter in his
hand. It was the time of the old French war, and flour and corn
meal were fetching fabulous prices in the British West Indies.
The letter Hiram brought with him was from a Philadelphia
merchant, Josiah Shippin, with whom he had had some dealings.
Mr. Shippin proposed that Hiram should join him in sending a
"venture" of flour and corn meal to Kingston, Jamaica. Hiram had
slept upon the letter overnight and now he brought it to the old
Squire. Squire Hall read the letter, shaking his head the while.
"Too much risk, Hiram!" said he. "Mr Shippin wouldn't have asked
you to go into this venture if he could have got anybody else to
do so. My advice is that you let it alone. I reckon you've come
to me for advice?" Hiram shook his head. "Ye haven't? What have
ye come for, then?"
"Seven hundred pounds," said Hiram.
"Seven hundred pounds!" said Squire Hall. "I haven't got seven
hundred pounds to lend you, Hiram."
"Five hundred been left to Levi--I got hundred--raise hundred
more on mortgage," said Hiram.
"Tut, tut, Hiram," said Squire Hall, "that'll never do in the
world. Suppose Levi West should come back again, what then? I'm
responsible for that money. If you wanted to borrow it now for
any reasonableventure, you should have it and welcome, but for
such a wildcat scheme--"
"Levi never come back," said Hiram--"nine years gone Levi's
dead."
"Mebby he is," said Squire Hall, "but we don't know that."
"I'll give bond for security," said Hiram.
Squire Hall thought for a while in silence. "Very well, Hiram,"
said he by and by, "if you'll do that. Your father left the
money, and I don't see that it's right for me to stay his son
from using it. But if it is lost, Hiram, and if Levi should come
back, it will go well to ruin ye."
So Hiram White invested seven hundred pounds in the Jamaica
venture and every farthing of it was burned by Blueskin, off
Currituck Sound.
IV
Sally Martin was said to be the prettiest girl in Lewes Hundred,
and when the rumor began to leak out that Hiram White was
courting her the whole community took it as a monstrous joke. It
was the common thing to greet Hiram himself with, "Hey, Hiram;
how's Sally?" Hiram never made answer to such salutation, but
went his way as heavily, as impassively, as dully as ever.
The joke was true. Twice a week, rain or shine, Hiram White
never failed to scrape his feet upon Billy Martin's doorstep.
Twice a week, on Sundays and Thursdays, he never failed to take
his customary seat by the kitchen fire. He rarely said anything
by way of talk; he nodded to the farmer, to his wife, to Sally
and, when he chanced to be at home, to her brother, but he
ventured nothing further. There he would sit from half past
seven until nine o'clock, stolid, heavy, impassive, his dull eyes
following now one of the family and now another, but always
coming back again to Sally. It sometimes happened that she had
other company--some of the young men of the neighborhood. The
presence of such seemed to make no difference to Hiram; he bore
whatever broad jokes might be cracked upon him, whatever grins,
whatever giggling might follow those jokes, with the same patient
impassiveness. There he would sit, silent, unresponsive; then,
at the first stroke of nine o'clock, he would rise, shoulder his
ungainly person into his overcoat, twist his head into his
three-cornered hat, and with a "Good night, Sally, I be going
now," would take his departure, shutting the door carefully to
behind him.
Never, perhaps, was there a girl in the world had such a lover
and such a courtship as Sally Martin.
V
It was one Thursday evening in the latter part of November, about
a week after Blueskin's appearance off the capes, and while the
one subject of talk was of the pirates being in Indian River
inlet. The air was still and wintry; a sudden cold snap had set
in and skims of ice had formed over puddles in the road; the
smoke from the chimneys rose straight in the quiet air and voices
sounded loud, as they do in frosty weather.
Hiram White sat by the dim light of a tallow dip, poring
laboriously over some account books. It was not quite seven
o'clock, and he never started for Billy Martin's before that
hour. As he ran his finger slowly and hesitatingly down the
column of figures, he heard the kitchen door beyond open and
shut, the noise of footsteps crossing the floor and the scraping
of a chair dragged forward to the hearth. Then came the sound of
a basket of corncobs being emptied on the smoldering blaze and
then the snapping and crackling of the reanimated fire. Hiram
thought nothing of all this, excepting, in a dim sort of way,
that it was Bob, the negro mill hand, or old black Dinah, the
housekeeper, and so went on with his calculations.
At last he closed the books with a snap and, smoothing down his
hair, arose, took up the candle, and passed out of the room into
the kitchen beyond.
A man was sitting in front of the corncob fire that flamed and
blazed in the great, gaping, sooty fireplace. A rough overcoat
was flung over the chair behind him and his hands were spread out
to the roaring warmth. At the sound of the lifted latch and of
Hiram's entrance he turned his head, and when Hiram saw his face
he stood suddenly still as though turned to stone. The face,
marvelously altered and changed as it was, was the face of his
stepbrother, Levi West. He was not dead; he had come home again.
For a time not a sound broke the dead, unbroken silence excepting
the crackling of the blaze in the fireplace and the sharp ticking
of the tall clock in the corner. The one face, dull and stolid,
with the light of the candle shining upward over its lumpy
features, looked fixedly, immovably, stonily at the other, sharp,
shrewd, cunning--the red wavering light of the blaze shining upon
the high cheek bones, cutting sharp on the nose and twinkling in
the glassy turn of the black, ratlike eyes. Then suddenly that
face cracked, broadened, spread to a grin. "I have come back
again, Hi," said Levi, and at the sound of the words the
speechless spell was broken.
Hiram answered never a word, but he walked to the fireplace, set
the candle down upon the dusty mantelshelf among the boxes and
bottles, and, drawing forward a chair upon the other side of the
hearth, sat down.
His dull little eyes never moved from his stepbrother's face.
There was no curiosity in his expression, no surprise, no wonder.
The heavy under lip dropped a little farther open and there was
snore than usual of dull, expressionless stupidity upon the
lumpish face; but that was all.
As was said, the face upon which he looked was strangely,
marvelously changed from what it had been when he had last seen
it nine years before, and, though it was still the face of Levi
West, it was a very different Levi West than the shiftless
ne'er-do-well who had run away to sea in the Brazilian brig that
long time ago. That Levi West had been a rough, careless,
happy-go-lucky fellow; thoughtless and selfish, but with nothing
essentially evil or sinister in his nature. The Levi West that
now sat in a rush-bottom chair at the other side of the fireplace
had that stamped upon his front that might be both evil and
sinister. His swart complexion was tanned to an Indian copper. On
one side of his face was a curious discoloration in the skin and
a long, crooked, cruel scar that ran diagonally across forehead
and temple and cheek in a white, jagged seam. This discoloration
was of a livid blue, about the tint of a tattoo mark. It made a
patch the size of a man's hand, lying across the cheek and the
- neighborhood [´neibəhud]
n.邻居；邻近；附近 (初中英语单词) - stupid [´stju:pid] a.愚蠢的；糊涂的 (初中英语单词)
- squire [skwaiə] n.护卫，侍从；乡绅 (初中英语单词)
- prosperity [prɔ´speriti] n.繁荣；成功；幸运 (初中英语单词)
- financial [fi´nænʃəl] a.金融的，财政的 (初中英语单词)
- patience [´peiʃəns] n.忍耐(力)；耐心；坚韧 (初中英语单词)
- sickness [´siknis] n.生病；呕吐，恶心 (初中英语单词)
- venture [´ventʃə] n.投机 v.冒险；敢于 (初中英语单词)
- reckon [´rekən] v.计算；认为；估计 (初中英语单词)
- reasonable [´rizənəbəl] a.合理的；有理智的 (初中英语单词)
- welcome [´welkəm] a.受欢迎的；可喜的 (初中英语单词)
- rarely [´reəli] ad.难得；非凡地 (初中英语单词)
- whatever [wɔt´evə] pron.&a.无论什么 (初中英语单词)
- departure [di´pɑ:tʃə] n.离开，出发 (初中英语单词)
- indian [´indiən] a.印度的 n.印度人 (初中英语单词)
- account [ə´kaunt] vi.说明 vt.认为 n.帐目 (初中英语单词)
- warmth [wɔ:mθ] n.温暖；热情；激动 (初中英语单词)
- upward [´ʌpwəd] a.&ad.向上(的)；以上 (初中英语单词)
- curiosity [,kjuəri´ɔsiti] n.好奇；奇事；珍品 (初中英语单词)
- selfish [´selfiʃ] a.自私的，利己的 (初中英语单词)
- copper [´kɔpə] n.铜 a.铜制的 (初中英语单词)
- temple [´tempəl] n.庙宇；寺院；太阳穴 (初中英语单词)
- manhood [´mænhud] n.人格；男子气概 (高中英语单词)
- hanging [´hæŋiŋ] n.绞刑 a.悬挂着的 (高中英语单词)
- badger [´bædʒə] n.獾；獾皮(毛) (高中英语单词)
- whoever [hu:´evə] pron.任何人，无论谁 (高中英语单词)
- community [kə´mju:niti] n.团体；社区；公众 (高中英语单词)
- monstrous [´mɔnstrəs] a.怪异的；庞大的 (高中英语单词)
- customary [´kʌstəməri] a.通常的；惯例的 (高中英语单词)
- overcoat [´əuvəkəut] n.大衣 (高中英语单词)
- hearth [hɑ:θ] n.炉边；家庭(生活) (高中英语单词)
- fireplace [´faiəpleis] n.壁炉，炉灶 (高中英语单词)
- complexion [kəm´plekʃən] n.肤色；情况；局面 (高中英语单词)
- crooked [´krukid] a.弯曲的；畸形的 (高中英语单词)
- enormously [i´nɔ:məsli] ad.巨大的，庞大的 (英语四级单词)
- loosely [´lu:sli] ad.松散地 (英语四级单词)
- pathetic [pə´θetik] a.可怜的；悲哀的 (英语四级单词)
- idleness [´aidlnis] n.懒；闲着不干事 (英语四级单词)
- overnight [,əuvə´nait] ad.通宵 a.昨晚的 (英语四级单词)
- scrape [skreip] v.&n.刮，削，擦；搔 (英语四级单词)
- frosty [´frɔsti] a.霜冻的；冷淡的 (英语四级单词)
- unbroken [ʌn´brəukən] a.未破的；不间断的 (英语四级单词)
- drawing [´drɔ:iŋ] n.画图；制图；图样 (英语四级单词)
- brazilian [brə´ziljən] a.&n.巴西(人)(的) (英语四级单词)
- sinister [´sinistə] a.阴险的；不吉的 (英语四级单词)
- repute [ri´pju:t] n.名誉(声) vt.称为 (英语六级单词)
- willful [´wilfəl] a.任性的，固执的 (英语六级单词)
- fabulous [´fæbjuləs] a.难以置信的；惊人的 (英语六级单词)
- wildcat [´waildkæt] n.野猫 a.靠不住的 (英语六级单词)
- farthing [´fɑ:ðiŋ] n.法新 (英语六级单词)
- salutation [,sælju´teiʃ(ə)n] n.招呼，致意；行礼 (英语六级单词)
- cracked [krækt] a.有裂缝的；碎的；粗哑 (英语六级单词)
- courtship [´kɔ:tʃip] n.求爱(时期) (英语六级单词)
- wintry [´wintri] a.冬天的；荒凉的 (英语六级单词)
- tallow [´tæləu] n.脂，兽脂 (英语六级单词)
- glassy [´glɑ:si] a.光滑的；无神的 (英语六级单词)
- thoughtless [´θɔ:tləs] a.粗心的，轻率的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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