章节正文
presumably, the winged shaft struck her collarbrooch. She implored us not
to go into the woods in trained dresses, but rather as lightly draped as
possible, and bed with her among the pine needles. Her loud, slightly
harsh voice filled the salon. She dropped her arms over the back of the
chair, moving her lean hands from the wrists. We were thrilled and silent.
The Herr Professor, beside me, abnormally serious, his eyes bulging, pulled
at his moustache ends. Frau Godowska adopted that peculiarly detached
attitude of the proud parent. The only soul who remained untouched by her
appeal was the waiter, who leaned idly against the wall of the salon and
cleaned his nails with the edge of a programme. He was "off duty" and
intended to show it.
"What did I say?" shouted the Herr Professor under cover of tumultuous
applause, "tem-per-ament! There you have it. She is a flame in the heart
of a lily. I know I am going to play well. It is my turn now. I am
inspired. Fraulein Sonia"--as that lady returned to us, pale and draped in
a large shawl--"you are my inspiration. To-night you shall be the soul of
my trombone. Wait only."
To right and left of us people bent over and whispered admiration down
Fraulein Sonia's neck. She bowed in the grand style.
"I am always successful," she said to me. "You see, when I act I AM. In
Vienna, in the plays of Ibsen we had so many bouquets that the cook had
three in the kitchen. But it is difficult here. There is so little magic.
Do you not feel it? There is none of that mysteriousperfume which floats
almost as a visible thing from the souls of the Viennese audiences. My
spirit starves for want of that." She leaned forward, chin on hand.
"Starves," she repeated.
The Professor appeared with his trombone, blew into it, held it up to one
eye, tucked back his shirt cuffs and wallowed in the soul of Sonia
Godowska. Such a sensation did he create that he was recalled to play a
Bavarian dance, which he acknowledged was to be taken as a breathing
exercise rather than an artisticachievement. Frau Godowska kept time to
it with a fan.
Followed the very young gentleman who piped in a tenor voice that he loved
somebody, "with blood in his heart and a thousand pains." Fraulein Sonia
acted a poison scene with the assistance of her mother's pill vial and the
arm-chair replaced by a "chaise longue"; a young girl scratched a lullaby
on a young fiddle; and the Herr Professor performed the last sacrificial
rites on the altar of the afflicted children by playing the National
Anthem.
"Now I must put mamma to bed," whispered Fraulein Sonia. "But afterwards I
must take a walk. It is imperative that I free my spirit in the open air
for a moment. Would you come with me as far as the railway station and
back?"
"Very well, then, knock on my door when you're ready."
Thus the modern soul and I found ourselves together under the stars.
"What a night!" she said. "Do you know that poem of Sappho about her hands
in the stars...I am curiously sapphic. And this is so remarkable--not only
am I sapphic, I find in all the works of all the greatest writers,
especially in their unedited letters, some touch, some sign of myself--some
resemblance, some part of myself, like a thousand reflections of my own
hands in a dark mirror."
"But what a bother," said I.
"I do not know what you mean by 'bother'; is it rather the curse of my
genius..." She paused suddenly, staring at me. "Do you know my tragedy?"
she asked.
I shook my head.
"My tragedy is my mother. Living with her I live with the coffin of my
unborn aspirations. You heard that about the safety-pin to-night. It may
seem to you a little thing, but it ruined my three first gestures. They
were--"
"Impaled on a safety-pin," I suggested.
"Yes, exactly that. And when we are in Vienna I am the victim of moods,
you know. I long to do wild, passionate things. And mamma says, 'Please
pour out my mixture first.' Once I remember I flew into a rage and threw a
washstand jug out of the window. Do you know what she said? 'Sonia, it is
not so much throwing things out of windows, if only you would--'"
"Choose something smaller?" said I.
"No...'tell me about it beforehand.' Humiliating! And I do not see any
possible light out of this darkness."
"Why don't you join a touring company and leave your mother in Vienna?"
"What! Leave my poor, little, sick, widowed mother in Vienna! Sooner than
that I would drown myself. I love my mother as I love nobody else in the
world--nobody and nothing! Do you think it is impossible to love one's
tragedy? 'Out of my great sorrows I make my little songs,' that is Heine
or myself."
"Oh, well, that's all right," I said cheerfully.
"'But it is not all right!"
I suggested we should turn back. We turned.
"Sometimes I think the solution lies in marriage," said Fraulein Sonia.
"If I find a simple, peaceful man who adores me and will look after mamma
--a man who would be for me a pillow--for genius cannot hope to mate--I
shall marry him...You know the Herr Professor has paid me very marked
attentions."
"Oh, Fraulein Sonia," I said, very pleased with myself, "why not marry him
to your mother?" We were passing the hairdresser's shop at the moment.
Fraulein Sonia clutched my arm.
"You, you," she stammered. "The cruelty. I am going to faint. Mamma to
marry again before I marry--the indignity. I am going to faint here and
now."
I was frightened. "You can't," I said, shaking her.
"Come back to the pension and faint as much as you please. But you can't
faint here. All the shops are closed. There is nobody about. Please
don't be so foolish."
"Here and here only!" She indicated the exact spot and dropped quite
beautifully, lying motionless.
"Very well," I said, "faint away; but please hurry over it."
She did not move. I began to walk home, but each time I looked behind me I
saw the dark form of the modern soul prone before the hairdresser's window.
Finally I ran, and rooted out the Herr Professor from his room. "Fraulein
Sonia has fainted," I said crossly.
"Du lieber Gott! Where? How?"
"Outside the hairdresser's shop in the Station Road."
"Jesus and Maria! Has she no water with her?"--he seized his carafe--
"nobody beside her?"
"Nothing."
"Where is my coat? No matter, I shall catch a cold on the chest.
Willingly, I shall catch one...You are ready to come with me?"
"No," I said; "you can take the waiter."
"But she must have a woman. I cannot be so indelicate as to attempt to
loosen her stays."
"Modern souls oughtn't to wear them," said I. He pushed past me and
clattered down the stairs.
...
When I came down to breakfast next morning there were two places vacant at
table. Fraulein Sonia and Herr Professor had gone off for a day's
excursion in the woods.
I wondered.
7. AT LEHMANN'S.
Certainly Sabina did not find life slow. She was on the trot from early
morning until late at night. At five o'clock she tumbled out of bed,
buttoned on her clothes, wearing a long-sleeved alpaca pinafore over her
black frock, and groped her way downstairs into the kitchen.
Anna, the cook, had grown so fat during the summer that she adored her bed
because she did not have to wear her corsets there, but could spread as
much as she liked, roll about under the great mattress, calling upon Jesus
and Holy Mary and Blessed Anthony himself that her life was not fit for a
pig in a cellar.
Sabina was new to her work. Pink colour still flew in her cheeks; there
was a little dimple on the left side of her mouth that even when she was
most serious, most absorbed, popped out and gave her away. And Anna
blessed that dimple. It meant an extra half-hour in bed for her; it made
Sabina light the fire, turn out the kitchen and wash endless cups and
saucers that had been left over from the evening before. Hans, the
scullery boy, did not come until seven. He was the son of the butcher--a
mean, undersized child very much like one of his father's sausages, Sabina
thought. His red face was covered with pimples, and his nails
indescribably filthy. When Herr Lehmann himself told Hans to get a hairpin
and clean them he said they were stained from birth because his mother had
always got so inky doing the accounts--and Sabina believed him and pitied
him.
Winter had come very early to Mindelbau. By the end of October the streets
were banked waist-high with snow, and the greater number of the "Cure
Guests," sick unto death of cold water and herbs, had departed in nothing
approaching peace. So the large salon was shut at Lehmann's and the
breakfast-room was all the accommodation the cafe afforded. Here the floor
had to be washed over, the tables rubbed, coffee-cups set out, each with
its little china platter of sugar, and newspapers and magazines hung on
their hooks along the walls before Herr Lehmann appeared at seven-thirty
and opened business.
As a rule his wife served in the shop leading into the cafe, but she had
chosen the quiet season to have a baby, and, a big woman at the best of
times, she had grown so enormous in the process that her husband told her
she looked unappetising, and had better remain upstairs and sew.
Sabina took on the extra work without any thought of extra pay. She loved
to stand behind the counter, cutting up slices of Anna's marvellous
chocolate-spotted confections, or doing up packets of sugar almonds in pink
and blue striped bags.
"You'll get varicose veins, like me," said Anna. "That's what the Frau's
got, too. No wonder the baby doesn't come! All her swelling's got into
her legs." And Hans was immensely interested.
During the morning business was comparatively slack. Sabina answered the
shop bell, attended to a few customers who drank a liqueur to warm their
stomachs before the midday meal, and ran upstairs now and again to ask the
Frau if she wanted anything. But in the afternoon six or seven choice
spirits played cards, and everybody who was anybody drank tea or coffee.
"Sabina...Sabina..."
She flew from one table to the other, counting out handfuls of small
change, giving orders to Anna through the "slide," helping the men with
their heavy coats, always with that magical child air about her, that
delightful sense of perpetually attending a party.
"How is the Frau Lehmann?" the women would whisper.
"She feels rather low, but as well as can be expected," Sabina would
answer, nodding confidentially.
Frau Lehmann's bad time was approaching. Anna and her friends referred to
it as her "journey to Rome," and Sabina longed to ask questions, yet, being
ashamed of her ignorance, was silent, trying to puzzle it out for herself.
She knew practically nothing except that the Frau had a baby inside her,
which had to come out--very painful indeed. One could not have one without
a husband--that she also realised. But what had the man got to do with it?
So she wondered as she sat mending tea towels in the evening, head bent
over her work, light shining on her brown curls. Birth--what was it?
wondered Sabina. Death--such a simple thing. She had a little picture of
her dead grandmother dressed in a black silk frock, tired hands clasping
the crucifix that dragged between her flattened breasts, mouth curiously
tight, yet almost secretly smiling. But the grandmother had been born
once--that was the important fact.
As she sat there one evening, thinking, the Young Man entered the cafe, and
called for a glass of port wine. Sabina rose slowly. The long day and the
hot room made her feel a little languid, but as she poured out the wine she
felt the Young Man's eyes fixed on her, looked down at him and dimpled.
"It's cold out," she said, corking the bottle.
The Young Man ran his hands through his snow-powdered hair and laughed.
"I wouldn't call it exactly tropical," he said, "But you're very snug in
here--look as though you've been asleep."
Very languid felt Sabina in the hot room, and the Young Man's voice was
strong and deep. She thought she had never seen anybody who looked so
strong--as though he could take up the table in one hand--and his restless
gaze wandering over her face and figure gave her a curious thrill deep in
her body, half pleasure, half pain...She wanted to stand there, close
beside him, while he drank his wine. A little silence followed. Then he
took a book out of his pocket, and Sabina went back to her sewing. Sitting
to go into the woods in trained dresses, but rather as lightly draped as
possible, and bed with her among the pine needles. Her loud, slightly
harsh voice filled the salon. She dropped her arms over the back of the
chair, moving her lean hands from the wrists. We were thrilled and silent.
The Herr Professor, beside me, abnormally serious, his eyes bulging, pulled
at his moustache ends. Frau Godowska adopted that peculiarly detached
attitude of the proud parent. The only soul who remained untouched by her
appeal was the waiter, who leaned idly against the wall of the salon and
cleaned his nails with the edge of a programme. He was "off duty" and
intended to show it.
"What did I say?" shouted the Herr Professor under cover of tumultuous
applause, "tem-per-ament! There you have it. She is a flame in the heart
of a lily. I know I am going to play well. It is my turn now. I am
inspired. Fraulein Sonia"--as that lady returned to us, pale and draped in
a large shawl--"you are my inspiration. To-night you shall be the soul of
my trombone. Wait only."
To right and left of us people bent over and whispered admiration down
Fraulein Sonia's neck. She bowed in the grand style.
"I am always successful," she said to me. "You see, when I act I AM. In
Vienna, in the plays of Ibsen we had so many bouquets that the cook had
three in the kitchen. But it is difficult here. There is so little magic.
Do you not feel it? There is none of that mysteriousperfume which floats
almost as a visible thing from the souls of the Viennese audiences. My
spirit starves for want of that." She leaned forward, chin on hand.
"Starves," she repeated.
The Professor appeared with his trombone, blew into it, held it up to one
eye, tucked back his shirt cuffs and wallowed in the soul of Sonia
Godowska. Such a sensation did he create that he was recalled to play a
Bavarian dance, which he acknowledged was to be taken as a breathing
exercise rather than an artisticachievement. Frau Godowska kept time to
it with a fan.
Followed the very young gentleman who piped in a tenor voice that he loved
somebody, "with blood in his heart and a thousand pains." Fraulein Sonia
acted a poison scene with the assistance of her mother's pill vial and the
arm-chair replaced by a "chaise longue"; a young girl scratched a lullaby
on a young fiddle; and the Herr Professor performed the last sacrificial
rites on the altar of the afflicted children by playing the National
Anthem.
"Now I must put mamma to bed," whispered Fraulein Sonia. "But afterwards I
must take a walk. It is imperative that I free my spirit in the open air
for a moment. Would you come with me as far as the railway station and
back?"
"Very well, then, knock on my door when you're ready."
Thus the modern soul and I found ourselves together under the stars.
"What a night!" she said. "Do you know that poem of Sappho about her hands
in the stars...I am curiously sapphic. And this is so remarkable--not only
am I sapphic, I find in all the works of all the greatest writers,
especially in their unedited letters, some touch, some sign of myself--some
resemblance, some part of myself, like a thousand reflections of my own
hands in a dark mirror."
"But what a bother," said I.
"I do not know what you mean by 'bother'; is it rather the curse of my
genius..." She paused suddenly, staring at me. "Do you know my tragedy?"
she asked.
I shook my head.
"My tragedy is my mother. Living with her I live with the coffin of my
unborn aspirations. You heard that about the safety-pin to-night. It may
seem to you a little thing, but it ruined my three first gestures. They
were--"
"Impaled on a safety-pin," I suggested.
"Yes, exactly that. And when we are in Vienna I am the victim of moods,
you know. I long to do wild, passionate things. And mamma says, 'Please
pour out my mixture first.' Once I remember I flew into a rage and threw a
washstand jug out of the window. Do you know what she said? 'Sonia, it is
not so much throwing things out of windows, if only you would--'"
"Choose something smaller?" said I.
"No...'tell me about it beforehand.' Humiliating! And I do not see any
possible light out of this darkness."
"Why don't you join a touring company and leave your mother in Vienna?"
"What! Leave my poor, little, sick, widowed mother in Vienna! Sooner than
that I would drown myself. I love my mother as I love nobody else in the
world--nobody and nothing! Do you think it is impossible to love one's
tragedy? 'Out of my great sorrows I make my little songs,' that is Heine
or myself."
"Oh, well, that's all right," I said cheerfully.
"'But it is not all right!"
I suggested we should turn back. We turned.
"Sometimes I think the solution lies in marriage," said Fraulein Sonia.
"If I find a simple, peaceful man who adores me and will look after mamma
--a man who would be for me a pillow--for genius cannot hope to mate--I
shall marry him...You know the Herr Professor has paid me very marked
attentions."
"Oh, Fraulein Sonia," I said, very pleased with myself, "why not marry him
to your mother?" We were passing the hairdresser's shop at the moment.
Fraulein Sonia clutched my arm.
"You, you," she stammered. "The cruelty. I am going to faint. Mamma to
marry again before I marry--the indignity. I am going to faint here and
now."
I was frightened. "You can't," I said, shaking her.
"Come back to the pension and faint as much as you please. But you can't
faint here. All the shops are closed. There is nobody about. Please
don't be so foolish."
"Here and here only!" She indicated the exact spot and dropped quite
beautifully, lying motionless.
"Very well," I said, "faint away; but please hurry over it."
She did not move. I began to walk home, but each time I looked behind me I
saw the dark form of the modern soul prone before the hairdresser's window.
Finally I ran, and rooted out the Herr Professor from his room. "Fraulein
Sonia has fainted," I said crossly.
"Du lieber Gott! Where? How?"
"Outside the hairdresser's shop in the Station Road."
"Jesus and Maria! Has she no water with her?"--he seized his carafe--
"nobody beside her?"
"Nothing."
"Where is my coat? No matter, I shall catch a cold on the chest.
Willingly, I shall catch one...You are ready to come with me?"
"No," I said; "you can take the waiter."
"But she must have a woman. I cannot be so indelicate as to attempt to
loosen her stays."
"Modern souls oughtn't to wear them," said I. He pushed past me and
clattered down the stairs.
...
When I came down to breakfast next morning there were two places vacant at
table. Fraulein Sonia and Herr Professor had gone off for a day's
excursion in the woods.
I wondered.
7. AT LEHMANN'S.
Certainly Sabina did not find life slow. She was on the trot from early
morning until late at night. At five o'clock she tumbled out of bed,
buttoned on her clothes, wearing a long-sleeved alpaca pinafore over her
black frock, and groped her way downstairs into the kitchen.
Anna, the cook, had grown so fat during the summer that she adored her bed
because she did not have to wear her corsets there, but could spread as
much as she liked, roll about under the great mattress, calling upon Jesus
and Holy Mary and Blessed Anthony himself that her life was not fit for a
pig in a cellar.
Sabina was new to her work. Pink colour still flew in her cheeks; there
was a little dimple on the left side of her mouth that even when she was
most serious, most absorbed, popped out and gave her away. And Anna
blessed that dimple. It meant an extra half-hour in bed for her; it made
Sabina light the fire, turn out the kitchen and wash endless cups and
saucers that had been left over from the evening before. Hans, the
scullery boy, did not come until seven. He was the son of the butcher--a
mean, undersized child very much like one of his father's sausages, Sabina
thought. His red face was covered with pimples, and his nails
indescribably filthy. When Herr Lehmann himself told Hans to get a hairpin
and clean them he said they were stained from birth because his mother had
always got so inky doing the accounts--and Sabina believed him and pitied
him.
Winter had come very early to Mindelbau. By the end of October the streets
were banked waist-high with snow, and the greater number of the "Cure
Guests," sick unto death of cold water and herbs, had departed in nothing
approaching peace. So the large salon was shut at Lehmann's and the
breakfast-room was all the accommodation the cafe afforded. Here the floor
had to be washed over, the tables rubbed, coffee-cups set out, each with
its little china platter of sugar, and newspapers and magazines hung on
their hooks along the walls before Herr Lehmann appeared at seven-thirty
and opened business.
As a rule his wife served in the shop leading into the cafe, but she had
chosen the quiet season to have a baby, and, a big woman at the best of
times, she had grown so enormous in the process that her husband told her
she looked unappetising, and had better remain upstairs and sew.
Sabina took on the extra work without any thought of extra pay. She loved
to stand behind the counter, cutting up slices of Anna's marvellous
chocolate-spotted confections, or doing up packets of sugar almonds in pink
and blue striped bags.
"You'll get varicose veins, like me," said Anna. "That's what the Frau's
got, too. No wonder the baby doesn't come! All her swelling's got into
her legs." And Hans was immensely interested.
During the morning business was comparatively slack. Sabina answered the
shop bell, attended to a few customers who drank a liqueur to warm their
stomachs before the midday meal, and ran upstairs now and again to ask the
Frau if she wanted anything. But in the afternoon six or seven choice
spirits played cards, and everybody who was anybody drank tea or coffee.
"Sabina...Sabina..."
She flew from one table to the other, counting out handfuls of small
change, giving orders to Anna through the "slide," helping the men with
their heavy coats, always with that magical child air about her, that
delightful sense of perpetually attending a party.
"How is the Frau Lehmann?" the women would whisper.
"She feels rather low, but as well as can be expected," Sabina would
answer, nodding confidentially.
Frau Lehmann's bad time was approaching. Anna and her friends referred to
it as her "journey to Rome," and Sabina longed to ask questions, yet, being
ashamed of her ignorance, was silent, trying to puzzle it out for herself.
She knew practically nothing except that the Frau had a baby inside her,
which had to come out--very painful indeed. One could not have one without
a husband--that she also realised. But what had the man got to do with it?
So she wondered as she sat mending tea towels in the evening, head bent
over her work, light shining on her brown curls. Birth--what was it?
wondered Sabina. Death--such a simple thing. She had a little picture of
her dead grandmother dressed in a black silk frock, tired hands clasping
the crucifix that dragged between her flattened breasts, mouth curiously
tight, yet almost secretly smiling. But the grandmother had been born
once--that was the important fact.
As she sat there one evening, thinking, the Young Man entered the cafe, and
called for a glass of port wine. Sabina rose slowly. The long day and the
hot room made her feel a little languid, but as she poured out the wine she
felt the Young Man's eyes fixed on her, looked down at him and dimpled.
"It's cold out," she said, corking the bottle.
The Young Man ran his hands through his snow-powdered hair and laughed.
"I wouldn't call it exactly tropical," he said, "But you're very snug in
here--look as though you've been asleep."
Very languid felt Sabina in the hot room, and the Young Man's voice was
strong and deep. She thought she had never seen anybody who looked so
strong--as though he could take up the table in one hand--and his restless
gaze wandering over her face and figure gave her a curious thrill deep in
her body, half pleasure, half pain...She wanted to stand there, close
beside him, while he drank his wine. A little silence followed. Then he
took a book out of his pocket, and Sabina went back to her sewing. Sitting
- winged [´wiŋd]
a.有翼的 (初中英语单词) - collar [´kɔlə] n.衣领；(狗等的)项圈 (初中英语单词)
- lightly [´laitli] ad.轻微地，稍微 (初中英语单词)
- admiration [,ædmə´reiʃən] n.赞赏，钦佩 (初中英语单词)
- mysterious [mi´stiəriəs] a.神秘的；难以理解的 (初中英语单词)
- perfume [´pə:fju:m, pə´fju:m] n.香味 vt.使发香 (初中英语单词)
- visible [´vizəbəl] a.可见的；明显的 (初中英语单词)
- sensation [sen´seiʃən] n.感觉；轰动；轰动一时 (初中英语单词)
- achievement [ə´tʃi:vmənt] n.完成；成就，成绩 (初中英语单词)
- poison [´pɔizən] n.毒物 v.毒害 a.有毒的 (初中英语单词)
- assistance [ə´sistəns] n.协作；援助；帮助 (初中英语单词)
- curiously [´kjuəriəsli] ad.好奇地；稀奇古怪地 (初中英语单词)
- tragedy [´trædʒidi] n.悲剧；惨案；灾难 (初中英语单词)
- victim [´viktim] n.牺牲者；受害者 (初中英语单词)
- mixture [´mikstʃə] n.混合；混合比；混合物 (初中英语单词)
- solution [sə´lu:ʃən] n.解答；解决；溶解 (初中英语单词)
- peaceful [´pi:sfəl] a.和平的；平静的 (初中英语单词)
- genius [´dʒi:niəs] n.天才(人物)；天赋 (初中英语单词)
- vacant [´veikənt] a.空虚的，无表情的 (初中英语单词)
- downstairs [,daun´steəz] ad.在楼下 a.楼下的 (初中英语单词)
- enormous [i´nɔ:məs] a.巨大地，很，极 (初中英语单词)
- comparatively [kəm´pærətivli] ad.比较地；比较上 (初中英语单词)
- ignorance [´ignərəns] n.无知，愚昧 (初中英语单词)
- puzzle [´pʌzl] n.迷(惑) v.(使)迷惑 (初中英语单词)
- grandmother [´græn,mʌðə] n.(外)祖母 (初中英语单词)
- thrill [θril] v.震惊；激动；刺激 (初中英语单词)
- inspiration [,inspi´reiʃən] n.鼓舞；灵感；启发 (高中英语单词)
- artistic [ɑ:´tistik] a.艺术的；有美感的 (高中英语单词)
- coffin [´kɔfin] n.棺材，柩 (高中英语单词)
- passionate [´pæʃənit] a.易动情的；易怒的 (高中英语单词)
- cruelty [´kru:əlti] n.残忍；残酷行为 (高中英语单词)
- pension [´penʃən] n.津贴 vt.给予...抚恤 (高中英语单词)
- mattress [´mætris] n.床垫 (高中英语单词)
- counter [´kauntə] n.计算者；柜台；计算机 (高中英语单词)
- painful [´peinfəl] a.痛(苦)的；费力的 (高中英语单词)
- secretly [´si:kritli] ad.秘密地；隐蔽地 (高中英语单词)
- sewing [´səuiŋ] n.缝纫；(书的)装订 (高中英语单词)
- peculiarly [pi´kju:liəli] ad.特有地；古怪地 (英语四级单词)
- waiter [´weitə] n.侍者，服务员 (英语四级单词)
- fiddle [´fidl] n.小提琴 v.拉提琴 (英语四级单词)
- imperative [im´perətiv] a.紧急的 n.命令式 (英语四级单词)
- vienna [vi´enə] n.维也纳 (英语四级单词)
- blessed [´blesid] a.享福的；神圣的 (英语四级单词)
- filthy [´filθi] a.污秽的，肮脏的 (英语四级单词)
- accommodation [ə,kɔmə´deiʃən] n.供应；调解；贷款 (英语四级单词)
- platter [´plætə] n.(椭圆形的)大浅盘 (英语四级单词)
- upstairs [,ʌp´steəz] ad.在楼上 a.楼上的 (英语四级单词)
- striped [´straipt] a.有条纹的 (英语四级单词)
- immensely [i´mensli] ad.极大地，无限地 (英语四级单词)
- midday [´middei] n.中午 (英语四级单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- presumably [pri´zju:məbli] ad.推测起来；大概 (英语六级单词)
- brooch [brəutʃ] n.胸针 (英语六级单词)
- untouched [ʌn´tʌtʃt] a.原样的；未触动过的 (英语六级单词)
- calling [´kɔ:liŋ] n.点名；职业；欲望 (英语六级单词)
- dimple [´dimpəl] n.酒窝 v.(使)现酒窝 (英语六级单词)
- half-hour [´hɑ:f-auə] n.&a.(每)三十分钟的 (英语六级单词)
- departed [di´pɑ:tid] a.已往的；已故的 (英语六级单词)
- magical [´mædʒikəl] a.有魔术的，神奇的 (英语六级单词)
- languid [´læŋgwid] a.精神不振的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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