章节正文
you work the dish slanting from you. Presently the gold,
if there was any in the dirt, appears in `colours', grains, or little nuggets
along the base of the half-moon of sand. The more gold there is in the dirt,
or the coarser the gold is, the sooner it appears. A practised digger
can work off the last speck of gravel, without losing a `colour',
by just working the water round and off in the dish. Also a careful digger
could throw a handful of gold in a tub of dirt, and, washing it off
in dishfuls, recover practically every colour.
The gold-washing `cradle' is a box, shaped something like a boot,
and the size of a travelling trunk, with rockers on, like a baby's cradle,
and a stick up behind for a handle; on top, where you'll put your foot
into the boot, is a tray with a perforated iron bottom;
the clay and gravel is thrown on the tray, water thrown on it,
and the cradle rocked smartly. The finer gravel and the mullock
goes through and down over a sloping board covered with blanket,
and with ledges on it to catch the gold. The dish was mostly used
for prospecting; large quantities of wash dirt was put through
the horse-power `puddling-machine', which there isn't room to describe here.
`'Ello, Dave!' said Pinter, after looking with mild surprise
at the size of Dave's waste-heap. `Tryin' for the second bottom?'
`Yes,' said Dave, guttural.
Pinter dropped his tools with a clatter at the foot of the waste-heap
and scratched under his ear like an old cockatoo, which bird he resembled.
Then he went to the windlass, and resting his hands on his knees,
he peered down, while Dave stood by helpless and hopeless.
Pinter straightened himself, blinking like an owl, and looked carelessly
over the graveyard.
`Tryin' for a secon' bottom,' he reflected absently. `Eh, Dave?'
Dave only stood and looked black.
Pinter tilted back his head and scratched the roots of his chin-feathers,
which stuck out all round like a dirty, ragged fan held horizontally.
`Kullers is safe,' reflected Pinter.
`All right?' snapped Dave. `I suppose we must let him into it.'
`Kullers' was a big American buck nigger, and had been Pinter's mate
for some time -- Pinter was a man of odd mates; and what Pinter meant
was that Kullers was safe to hold his tongue.
Next morning Pinter and his coloured mate appeared on the ground early,
Pinter with some tools and the nigger with a windlass-bole on his shoulders.
Pinter chose a spot about three panels or thirty feet along the other fence,
the back fence of the cemetery, and started his hole. He lost no time
for the sake of appearances, he sunk his shaft and started to drive
straight for the point under the cemetery for which Dave was making;
he gave out that he had bottomed on good `indications'
running in the other direction, and would work the ground outside the fence.
Meanwhile Dave rigged a fan -- partly for the sake of appearances,
but mainly because his and Jim's lively imaginations made the air
in the drive worse than it really was. A `fan' is a thing
like a paddle-wheel rigged in a box, about the size of a cradle,
and something the shape of a shoe, but rounded over the top.
There is a small grooved wheel on the axle of the fan outside,
and an endless line, like a clothes-line, is carried over this wheel
and a groove in the edge of a high light wooden driving-wheel
rigged between two uprights in the rear and with a handle to turn.
That's how the thing is driven. A wind-chute, like an endless pillow-slip,
made of calico, with the mouth tacked over the open toe of the fan-box,
and the end taken down the shaft and along the drive --
this carries the fresh air into the workings.
Dave was working the ground on each side as he went, when one morning
a thought struck him that should have struck him the day Pinter went to work.
He felt mad that it hadn't struck him sooner.
Pinter and Kullers had also shifted their tent down into a nice quiet place
in the Bush close handy; so, early next Sunday morning,
while Pinter and Kullers were asleep, Dave posted Jim Bently
to watch their tent, and whistle an alarm if they stirred,
and then dropped down into Pinter's hole and saw at a glance
what he was up to.
After that Dave lost no time: he drove straight on,
encouraged by the thuds of Pinter's and Kullers' picks drawing nearer.
They would strike his tunnel at right angles. Both parties worked long hours,
only knocking off to fry a bit of steak in the pan, boil the billy,
and throw themselves dressed on their bunks to get a few hours' sleep.
Pinter had practical experience and a line clear of graves,
and he made good time. The two parties now found it more comfortable
to be not on speaking terms. Individually they grew furtive,
and began to feel criminal like -- at least Dave and Jim did.
They'd start if a horse stumbled through the Bush, and expected to see
a mounted policeman ride up at any moment and hear him ask questions.
They had driven about thirty-five feet when, one Saturday afternoon,
the strain became too great, and Dave and Jim got drunk.
The spree lasted over Sunday, and on Monday morning they felt too shaky
to come to work and had more drink. On Monday afternoon, Kullers,
whose shift it was below, stuck his pick through the face of his drive
into the wall of Dave's, about four feet from the end of it:
the clay flaked away, leaving a hole as big as a wash-hand basin.
They knocked off for the day and decided to let the other party
take the offensive.
Tuesday morning Dave and Jim came to work, still feeling shaky.
Jim went below, crawled along the drive, lit his candle, and stuck it
in the spiked iron socket and the spike in the wall of the drive, quite close
to the hole, without noticing either the hole or the increased freshness
in the air. He started picking away at the `face' and scraping the clay
back from under his feet, and didn't hear Kullers come to work.
Kullers came in softly and decided to try a bit of cheerful bluff.
He stuck his great round black face through the hole, the whites of his eyes
rolling horribly in the candle-light, and said, with a deep guffaw --
`'Ullo! you dar'?'
No bandicoot ever went into his hole with the dogs after him
quicker than Jim came out of his. He scrambled up the shaft
by the foot-holes, and sat on the edge of the waste-heap, looking very pale.
`What's the matter?' asked Dave. `Have you seen a ghost?'
`I've seen the -- the devil!' gasped Jim. `I'm -- I'm done with this here
ghoul business.'
The parties got on speaking terms again. Dave was very warm,
but Jim's language was worse. Pinter scratched his chin-feathers reflectively
till the other party cooled. There was no appealing to the Commissioner
for goldfields; they were outside all law, whether of the goldfields
or otherwise -- so they did the only thing possible and sensible,
they joined forces and became `Poynton, Regan, & Party'.
They agreed to work the ground from the separate shafts,
and decided to go ahead, irrespective of appearances, and get as much dirt
out and cradled as possible before the inevitableexposure came along.
They found plenty of `payable dirt', and soon the drive ended in
a cluster of roomy chambers. They timbered up many coffins of various ages,
burnt tarred canvas and brown paper, and kept the fan going.
Outside they paid the storekeeper with difficulty and talked of hard times.
But one fine sunny morning, after about a week of partnership,
they got a bad scare. Jim and Kullers were below, getting out dirt
for all they were worth, and Pinter and Dave at their windlasses, when who
should march down from the cemetery gate but Mother Middleton herself.
She was a hard woman to look at. She still wore the old-fashioned crinoline
and her hair in a greasy net; and on this as on most other sober occasions,
she wore the expression of a rough Irish navvy who has just enough drink
to make him nasty and is looking out for an excuse for a row.
She had a stride like a grenadier. A digger had once measured her step
by her footprints in the mud where she had stepped across a gutter:
it measured three feet from toe to heel.
She marched to the grave of Jimmy Middleton, laid a dingy
bunch of flowers thereon, with the gesture of an angry man
banging his fist down on the table, turned on her heel, and marched out.
The diggers were dirt beneath her feet. Presently they heard her drive on
in her spring-cart on her way into town, and they drew breaths of relief.
It was afternoon. Dave and Pinter were feeling tired,
and were just deciding to knock off work for that day
when they heard a scuffling in the direction of the different shafts,
and both Jim and Kullers dropped down and bundled in in a great hurry.
Jim chuckled in a silly way, as if there was something funny,
and Kullers guffawed in sympathy.
`What's up now?' demanded Dave apprehensively.
`Mother Middleton,' said Jim; `she's blind mad drunk,
and she's got a bottle in one hand and a new pitchfork in the other,
that she's bringing out for some one.'
`How the hell did she drop to it?' exclaimed Pinter.
`Dunno,' said Jim. `Anyway she's coming for us. Listen to her!'
They didn't have to listen hard. The language which came down the shaft --
they weren't sure which one -- and along the drives was enough
to scare up the dead and make them take to the Bush.
`Why didn't you fools make off into the Bush and give us a chance,
instead of giving her a lead here?' asked Dave.
Jim and Kullers began to wish they had done so.
Mrs Middleton began to throw stones down the shaft -- it was Pinter's --
and they, even the oldest and most anxious, began to grin
in spite of themselves, for they knew she couldn't hurt them from the surface,
and that, though she had been a workingdigger herself,
she couldn't fill both shafts before the fumes of liquorovertook her.
`I wonder which shaf' she'll come down,' asked Kullers
in a tone befitting the place and occasion.
`You'd better go and watch your shaft, Pinter,' said Dave,
`and Jim and I'll watch mine.'
`I -- I won't,' said Pinter hurriedly. `I'm -- I'm a modest man.'
Then they heard a clang in the direction of Pinter's shaft.
`She's thrown her bottle down,' said Dave.
Jim crawled along the drive a piece, urged by curiosity,
and returned hurriedly.
`She's broke the pitchfork off short, to use in the drive,
and I believe she's coming down.'
`Her crinoline'll handicap her,' said Pinter vacantly, `that's a comfort.'
`She's took it off!' said Dave excitedly; and peering along Pinter's drive,
they saw first an elastic-sided boot, then a red-striped stocking,
then a section of scarlet petticoat.
`Lemme out!' roared Pinter, lurching forward and making
a swimming motion with his hands in the direction of Dave's drive.
Kullers was already gone, and Jim well on the way. Dave, lanky and awkward,
scrambled up the shaft last. Mrs Middleton made good time,
considering she had the darkness to face and didn't know the workings,
and when Dave reached the top he had a tear in the leg of his moleskins,
and the blood ran from a nasty scratch. But he didn't wait to argue
over the price of a new pair of trousers. He made off through the Bush
in the direction of an encouraging whistle thrown back by Jim.
`She's too drunk to get her story listened to to-night,' said Dave.
`But to-morrow she'll bring the neighbourhood down on us.'
`And she's enough, without the neighbourhood,' reflected Pinter.
Some time after dark they returned cautiously, reconnoitred their camp,
and after hiding in a hollow log such things as they couldn't carry,
they rolled up their tents like the Arabs, and silently stole away.
The Chinaman's Ghost.
`Simple as striking matches,' said Dave Regan, Bushman;
`but it gave me the biggest scare I ever had -- except, perhaps,
the time I stumbled in the dark into a six-feet digger's hole,
which might have been eighty feet deep for all I knew when I was falling.
(There was an eighty-feet shaft left open close by.)
`It was the night of the day after the Queen's birthday.
I was sinking a shaft with Jim Bently and Andy Page
on the old Redclay goldfield, and we camped in a tent on the creek.
Jim and me went to some races that was held at Peter Anderson's pub.,
about four miles across the ridges, on Queen's birthday.
Andy was a quiet sort of chap, a teetotaller, and we'd disgusted him
the last time he was out for a holiday with us, so he stayed at home
and washed and mended his clothes, and read an arithmetic book.
(He used to keep the accounts, and it took him most of his spare time.)
`Jim and me had a pretty high time. We all got pretty tight after the races,
and I wanted to fight Jim, or Jim wanted to fight me --
if there was any in the dirt, appears in `colours', grains, or little nuggets
along the base of the half-moon of sand. The more gold there is in the dirt,
or the coarser the gold is, the sooner it appears. A practised digger
can work off the last speck of gravel, without losing a `colour',
by just working the water round and off in the dish. Also a careful digger
could throw a handful of gold in a tub of dirt, and, washing it off
in dishfuls, recover practically every colour.
The gold-washing `cradle' is a box, shaped something like a boot,
and the size of a travelling trunk, with rockers on, like a baby's cradle,
and a stick up behind for a handle; on top, where you'll put your foot
into the boot, is a tray with a perforated iron bottom;
the clay and gravel is thrown on the tray, water thrown on it,
and the cradle rocked smartly. The finer gravel and the mullock
goes through and down over a sloping board covered with blanket,
and with ledges on it to catch the gold. The dish was mostly used
for prospecting; large quantities of wash dirt was put through
the horse-power `puddling-machine', which there isn't room to describe here.
`'Ello, Dave!' said Pinter, after looking with mild surprise
at the size of Dave's waste-heap. `Tryin' for the second bottom?'
`Yes,' said Dave, guttural.
Pinter dropped his tools with a clatter at the foot of the waste-heap
and scratched under his ear like an old cockatoo, which bird he resembled.
Then he went to the windlass, and resting his hands on his knees,
he peered down, while Dave stood by helpless and hopeless.
Pinter straightened himself, blinking like an owl, and looked carelessly
over the graveyard.
`Tryin' for a secon' bottom,' he reflected absently. `Eh, Dave?'
Dave only stood and looked black.
Pinter tilted back his head and scratched the roots of his chin-feathers,
which stuck out all round like a dirty, ragged fan held horizontally.
`Kullers is safe,' reflected Pinter.
`All right?' snapped Dave. `I suppose we must let him into it.'
`Kullers' was a big American buck nigger, and had been Pinter's mate
for some time -- Pinter was a man of odd mates; and what Pinter meant
was that Kullers was safe to hold his tongue.
Next morning Pinter and his coloured mate appeared on the ground early,
Pinter with some tools and the nigger with a windlass-bole on his shoulders.
Pinter chose a spot about three panels or thirty feet along the other fence,
the back fence of the cemetery, and started his hole. He lost no time
for the sake of appearances, he sunk his shaft and started to drive
straight for the point under the cemetery for which Dave was making;
he gave out that he had bottomed on good `indications'
running in the other direction, and would work the ground outside the fence.
Meanwhile Dave rigged a fan -- partly for the sake of appearances,
but mainly because his and Jim's lively imaginations made the air
in the drive worse than it really was. A `fan' is a thing
like a paddle-wheel rigged in a box, about the size of a cradle,
and something the shape of a shoe, but rounded over the top.
There is a small grooved wheel on the axle of the fan outside,
and an endless line, like a clothes-line, is carried over this wheel
and a groove in the edge of a high light wooden driving-wheel
rigged between two uprights in the rear and with a handle to turn.
That's how the thing is driven. A wind-chute, like an endless pillow-slip,
made of calico, with the mouth tacked over the open toe of the fan-box,
and the end taken down the shaft and along the drive --
this carries the fresh air into the workings.
Dave was working the ground on each side as he went, when one morning
a thought struck him that should have struck him the day Pinter went to work.
He felt mad that it hadn't struck him sooner.
Pinter and Kullers had also shifted their tent down into a nice quiet place
in the Bush close handy; so, early next Sunday morning,
while Pinter and Kullers were asleep, Dave posted Jim Bently
to watch their tent, and whistle an alarm if they stirred,
and then dropped down into Pinter's hole and saw at a glance
what he was up to.
After that Dave lost no time: he drove straight on,
encouraged by the thuds of Pinter's and Kullers' picks drawing nearer.
They would strike his tunnel at right angles. Both parties worked long hours,
only knocking off to fry a bit of steak in the pan, boil the billy,
and throw themselves dressed on their bunks to get a few hours' sleep.
Pinter had practical experience and a line clear of graves,
and he made good time. The two parties now found it more comfortable
to be not on speaking terms. Individually they grew furtive,
and began to feel criminal like -- at least Dave and Jim did.
They'd start if a horse stumbled through the Bush, and expected to see
a mounted policeman ride up at any moment and hear him ask questions.
They had driven about thirty-five feet when, one Saturday afternoon,
the strain became too great, and Dave and Jim got drunk.
The spree lasted over Sunday, and on Monday morning they felt too shaky
to come to work and had more drink. On Monday afternoon, Kullers,
whose shift it was below, stuck his pick through the face of his drive
into the wall of Dave's, about four feet from the end of it:
the clay flaked away, leaving a hole as big as a wash-hand basin.
They knocked off for the day and decided to let the other party
take the offensive.
Tuesday morning Dave and Jim came to work, still feeling shaky.
Jim went below, crawled along the drive, lit his candle, and stuck it
in the spiked iron socket and the spike in the wall of the drive, quite close
to the hole, without noticing either the hole or the increased freshness
in the air. He started picking away at the `face' and scraping the clay
back from under his feet, and didn't hear Kullers come to work.
Kullers came in softly and decided to try a bit of cheerful bluff.
He stuck his great round black face through the hole, the whites of his eyes
rolling horribly in the candle-light, and said, with a deep guffaw --
`'Ullo! you dar'?'
No bandicoot ever went into his hole with the dogs after him
quicker than Jim came out of his. He scrambled up the shaft
by the foot-holes, and sat on the edge of the waste-heap, looking very pale.
`What's the matter?' asked Dave. `Have you seen a ghost?'
`I've seen the -- the devil!' gasped Jim. `I'm -- I'm done with this here
ghoul business.'
The parties got on speaking terms again. Dave was very warm,
but Jim's language was worse. Pinter scratched his chin-feathers reflectively
till the other party cooled. There was no appealing to the Commissioner
for goldfields; they were outside all law, whether of the goldfields
or otherwise -- so they did the only thing possible and sensible,
they joined forces and became `Poynton, Regan, & Party'.
They agreed to work the ground from the separate shafts,
and decided to go ahead, irrespective of appearances, and get as much dirt
out and cradled as possible before the inevitableexposure came along.
They found plenty of `payable dirt', and soon the drive ended in
a cluster of roomy chambers. They timbered up many coffins of various ages,
burnt tarred canvas and brown paper, and kept the fan going.
Outside they paid the storekeeper with difficulty and talked of hard times.
But one fine sunny morning, after about a week of partnership,
they got a bad scare. Jim and Kullers were below, getting out dirt
for all they were worth, and Pinter and Dave at their windlasses, when who
should march down from the cemetery gate but Mother Middleton herself.
She was a hard woman to look at. She still wore the old-fashioned crinoline
and her hair in a greasy net; and on this as on most other sober occasions,
she wore the expression of a rough Irish navvy who has just enough drink
to make him nasty and is looking out for an excuse for a row.
She had a stride like a grenadier. A digger had once measured her step
by her footprints in the mud where she had stepped across a gutter:
it measured three feet from toe to heel.
She marched to the grave of Jimmy Middleton, laid a dingy
bunch of flowers thereon, with the gesture of an angry man
banging his fist down on the table, turned on her heel, and marched out.
The diggers were dirt beneath her feet. Presently they heard her drive on
in her spring-cart on her way into town, and they drew breaths of relief.
It was afternoon. Dave and Pinter were feeling tired,
and were just deciding to knock off work for that day
when they heard a scuffling in the direction of the different shafts,
and both Jim and Kullers dropped down and bundled in in a great hurry.
Jim chuckled in a silly way, as if there was something funny,
and Kullers guffawed in sympathy.
`What's up now?' demanded Dave apprehensively.
`Mother Middleton,' said Jim; `she's blind mad drunk,
and she's got a bottle in one hand and a new pitchfork in the other,
that she's bringing out for some one.'
`How the hell did she drop to it?' exclaimed Pinter.
`Dunno,' said Jim. `Anyway she's coming for us. Listen to her!'
They didn't have to listen hard. The language which came down the shaft --
they weren't sure which one -- and along the drives was enough
to scare up the dead and make them take to the Bush.
`Why didn't you fools make off into the Bush and give us a chance,
instead of giving her a lead here?' asked Dave.
Jim and Kullers began to wish they had done so.
Mrs Middleton began to throw stones down the shaft -- it was Pinter's --
and they, even the oldest and most anxious, began to grin
in spite of themselves, for they knew she couldn't hurt them from the surface,
and that, though she had been a workingdigger herself,
she couldn't fill both shafts before the fumes of liquorovertook her.
`I wonder which shaf' she'll come down,' asked Kullers
in a tone befitting the place and occasion.
`You'd better go and watch your shaft, Pinter,' said Dave,
`and Jim and I'll watch mine.'
`I -- I won't,' said Pinter hurriedly. `I'm -- I'm a modest man.'
Then they heard a clang in the direction of Pinter's shaft.
`She's thrown her bottle down,' said Dave.
Jim crawled along the drive a piece, urged by curiosity,
and returned hurriedly.
`She's broke the pitchfork off short, to use in the drive,
and I believe she's coming down.'
`Her crinoline'll handicap her,' said Pinter vacantly, `that's a comfort.'
`She's took it off!' said Dave excitedly; and peering along Pinter's drive,
they saw first an elastic-sided boot, then a red-striped stocking,
then a section of scarlet petticoat.
`Lemme out!' roared Pinter, lurching forward and making
a swimming motion with his hands in the direction of Dave's drive.
Kullers was already gone, and Jim well on the way. Dave, lanky and awkward,
scrambled up the shaft last. Mrs Middleton made good time,
considering she had the darkness to face and didn't know the workings,
and when Dave reached the top he had a tear in the leg of his moleskins,
and the blood ran from a nasty scratch. But he didn't wait to argue
over the price of a new pair of trousers. He made off through the Bush
in the direction of an encouraging whistle thrown back by Jim.
`She's too drunk to get her story listened to to-night,' said Dave.
`But to-morrow she'll bring the neighbourhood down on us.'
`And she's enough, without the neighbourhood,' reflected Pinter.
Some time after dark they returned cautiously, reconnoitred their camp,
and after hiding in a hollow log such things as they couldn't carry,
they rolled up their tents like the Arabs, and silently stole away.
The Chinaman's Ghost.
`Simple as striking matches,' said Dave Regan, Bushman;
`but it gave me the biggest scare I ever had -- except, perhaps,
the time I stumbled in the dark into a six-feet digger's hole,
which might have been eighty feet deep for all I knew when I was falling.
(There was an eighty-feet shaft left open close by.)
`It was the night of the day after the Queen's birthday.
I was sinking a shaft with Jim Bently and Andy Page
on the old Redclay goldfield, and we camped in a tent on the creek.
Jim and me went to some races that was held at Peter Anderson's pub.,
about four miles across the ridges, on Queen's birthday.
Andy was a quiet sort of chap, a teetotaller, and we'd disgusted him
the last time he was out for a holiday with us, so he stayed at home
and washed and mended his clothes, and read an arithmetic book.
(He used to keep the accounts, and it took him most of his spare time.)
`Jim and me had a pretty high time. We all got pretty tight after the races,
and I wanted to fight Jim, or Jim wanted to fight me --
- presently [´prezəntli]
ad.不久；目前 (初中英语单词) - working [´wə:kiŋ] a.工人的；劳动的 (初中英语单词)
- cradle [´kreidl] n.摇篮；发源地 (初中英语单词)
- mostly [´məustli] ad.主要地；多半；通常 (初中英语单词)
- helpless [´helpləs] a.无助的，无依靠的 (初中英语单词)
- partly [´pɑ:tli] ad.部分地；不完全地 (初中英语单词)
- mainly [´meinli] ad.主要地；大体上 (初中英语单词)
- lively [´laivli] a.活泼的；热烈的 (初中英语单词)
- wooden [´wudn] a.木制的；呆板的 (初中英语单词)
- driven [´driv(ə)n] drive 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- whistle [´wisəl] v.吹哨 n.口哨；汽笛 (初中英语单词)
- tunnel [´tʌnl] n.隧道 v.挖隧道 (初中英语单词)
- criminal [´kriminəl] a.犯罪的 n.罪犯 (初中英语单词)
- policeman [pə´li:smən] n.警察 (初中英语单词)
- softly [´sɔftli] ad.软化地；柔和地 (初中英语单词)
- cheerful [´tʃiəful] a.快乐的；高兴的 (初中英语单词)
- otherwise [´ʌðəwaiz] ad.另外 conj.否则 (初中英语单词)
- cluster [´klʌstə] n.一串 v.群集；丛生 (初中英语单词)
- canvas [´kænvəs] n.帆布；油画(布) (初中英语单词)
- old-fashioned [´əuld´feʃənd] a.老式的；过时的 (初中英语单词)
- gesture [´dʒestʃə] n.手势 v.打手势 (初中英语单词)
- anxious [´æŋkʃəs] a.担忧的；渴望的 (初中英语单词)
- liquor [´likə] n.酒类；(溶)液 (初中英语单词)
- modest [´mɔdist] a.谦虚的；朴素的 (初中英语单词)
- excitedly [ik´saitidli] ad.兴奋地，激动地 (初中英语单词)
- scarlet [´skɑ:lit] n.猩红色 a.猩红的 (初中英语单词)
- scratch [skrætʃ] v.&n.抓，搔；抓伤 (初中英语单词)
- trousers [´trauzəz] n.裤子，长裤 (初中英语单词)
- silently [´sailəntli] ad.寂静地；沉默地 (初中英语单词)
- striking [´straikiŋ] a.显著的，明显的 (初中英语单词)
- holiday [´hɔlidi] n.假日，假期，节日 (初中英语单词)
- gravel [´grævəl] n.砾石 vt.铺砾石 (高中英语单词)
- handful [hændful] n.一把，少数，一小撮 (高中英语单词)
- clatter [´klætə] n.&v.喧嚷；骚动 (高中英语单词)
- ragged [´rægid] a.衣服破烂的 (高中英语单词)
- cemetery [´semitri] n.墓地，公墓 (高中英语单词)
- strain [strein] vt.拉紧 vi.拖 n.张力 (高中英语单词)
- decided [di´saidid] a.明显的；决定的 (高中英语单词)
- inevitable [i´nevitəbəl] a.不可避免的 (高中英语单词)
- exposure [ik´spəuʒə] n.暴露；曝光(时间) (高中英语单词)
- stride [straid] n.进展 v.跨过；骑 (高中英语单词)
- handicap [´hændikæp] n.障碍 vt.妨碍 (高中英语单词)
- motion [´məuʃən] n.手势 vt.打手势 (高中英语单词)
- cautiously [´kɔ:ʃəsli] ad.小心地；谨慎地 (高中英语单词)
- groove [gru:v] n.槽 vt.在...作槽 (英语四级单词)
- calico [´kælikəu] n.白棉布；印花布 (英语四级单词)
- drawing [´drɔ:iŋ] n.画图；制图；图样 (英语四级单词)
- overtook [,əuvə´tuk] overtake的过去式 (英语四级单词)
- hurriedly [´hʌridli] ad.仓促地，忙乱地 (英语四级单词)
- arithmetic [ə´riθmətik] n.算术 (英语四级单词)
- absently [´æbsəntli] ad.心不在焉地 (英语六级单词)
- speaking [´spi:kiŋ] n.说话 a.发言的 (英语六级单词)
- individually [,indi´vidʒuəli] adv.个别地 (英语六级单词)
- socket [´sɔkit] n.窝，穴，孔；插座 (英语六级单词)
- horribly [´hɔrəbli] ad.恐怖地 (英语六级单词)
- greasy [´gri:si] a.油腻的；润滑的 (英语六级单词)
- grenadier [,grenə´diə] n.掷弹兵 (英语六级单词)
- digger [´digə] n.挖掘者(机) (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
京公网安备 11011202003401号
