章节正文
glass of fair, cold water) made up a semblance of a morning meal,
and then down he sat undauntedly to his delicate task.
Nothing can be more interesting than the study of signatures,
written (as they are) before meals and after, during indigestion
and intoxication; written when the signer is trembling for the
life of his child or has come from winning the Derby, in his
lawyer's office, or under the bright eyes of his sweetheart. To
the vulgar, these seem never the same; but to the expert, the
bank clerk, or the lithographer, they are constant quantities,
and as recognizable as the North Star to the night-watch on deck.
To all this Morris was alive. In the theory of that graceful art
in which he was now embarking, our spirited leather-merchant was
beyond all reproach. But, happily for the investor, forgery is an
affair of practice. And as Morris sat surrounded by examples of
his uncle's signature and of his own incompetence, insidious
depression stole upon his spirits. From time to time the wind
wuthered in the chimney at his back; from time to time there
swept over Bloomsbury a squall so dark that he must rise and
light the gas; about him was the chill and the mean disorder of a
house out of commission--the floor bare, the sofa heaped with
books and accounts enveloped in a dirty table-cloth, the pens
rusted, the paper glazed with a thick film of dust; and yet these
were but adminicles of misery, and the true root of his
depression lay round him on the table in the shape of misbegotten
forgeries.
'It's one of the strangest things I ever heard of,' he
complained. 'It almost seems as if it was a talent that I didn't
possess.' He went once more minutely through his proofs. 'A clerk
would simply gibe at them,' said he. 'Well, there's nothing else
but tracing possible.'
He waited till a squall had passed and there came a blink of
scowling daylight. Then he went to the window, and in the face of
all John Street traced his uncle's signature. It was a poor thing
at the best. 'But it must do,' said he, as he stood gazing
woefully on his handiwork. 'He's dead, anyway.' And he filled up
the cheque for a couple of hundred and sallied forth for the
Anglo-Patagonian Bank.
There, at the desk at which he was accustomed to transact
business, and with as much indifference as he could assume,
Morris presented the forged cheque to the big, red-bearded Scots
teller. The teller seemed to view it with surprise; and as he
turned it this way and that, and even scrutinized the signature
with a magnifying-glass, his surprise appeared to warm into
disfavour. Begging to be excused for a moment, he passed away
into the rearmost quarters of the bank; whence, after an
appreciable interval, he returned again in earnest talk with a
superior, an oldish and a baldish, but a very gentlemanly man.
'Mr Morris Finsbury, I believe,' said the gentlemanly man, fixing
Morris with a pair of double eye-glasses.
'That is my name,' said Morris, quavering. 'Is there anything
wrong.
'Well, the fact is, Mr Finsbury, you see we are rather surprised
at receiving this,' said the other, flicking at the cheque.
'There are no effects.'
'No effects?' cried Morris. 'Why, I know myself there must be
eight-and-twenty hundred pounds, if there's a penny.'
'Two seven six four, I think,' replied the gentlemanly man; 'but
it was drawn yesterday.'
'Drawn!' cried Morris.
'By your uncle himself, sir,' continued the other. 'Not only
that, but we discounted a bill for him for--let me see--how much
was it for, Mr Bell?'
'Eight hundred, Mr Judkin,' replied the teller.
'Bent Pitman!' cried Morris, staggering back.
'I beg your pardon,' said Mr Judkin.
'It's--it's only an expletive,' said Morris.
'I hope there's nothing wrong, Mr Finsbury,' said Mr Bell.
'All I can tell you,' said Morris, with a harsh laugh,' is that
the whole thing's impossible. My uncle is at Bournemouth, unable
to move.'
'Really!' cried Mr Bell, and he recovered the cheque from Mr
Judkin. 'But this cheque is dated in London, and today,' he
observed. 'How d'ye account for that, sir?'
'O, that was a mistake,' said Morris, and a deep tide of colour
dyed his face and neck.
'No doubt, no doubt,' said Mr Judkin, but he looked at his
customer enquiringly.
'And--and--' resumed Morris, 'even if there were no effects--this
is a very trifling sum to overdraw--our firm--the name of
Finsbury, is surely good enough for such a wretched sum as this.'
'No doubt, Mr Finsbury,' returned Mr Judkin; 'and if you insist I
will take it into consideration; but I hardly think--in short, Mr
Finsbury, if there had been nothing else, the signature seems
hardly all that we could wish.'
'That's of no consequence,' replied Morris nervously. 'I'll get
my uncle to sign another. The fact is,' he went on, with a bold
stroke, 'my uncle is so far from well at present that he was
unable to sign this cheque without assistance, and I fear that my
holding the pen for him may have made the difference in the
signature.'
Mr Judkin shot a keen glance into Morris's face; and then turned
and looked at Mr Bell.
'Well,' he said, 'it seems as if we had been victimized by a
swindler. Pray tell Mr Finsbury we shall put detectives on at
once. As for this cheque of yours, I regret that, owing to the
way it was signed, the bank can hardly consider it--what shall I
say?--businesslike,' and he returned the cheque across the
counter.
Morris took it up mechanically; he was thinking of something very
different.
'In a--case of this kind,' he began, 'I believe the loss falls on
us; I mean upon my uncle and myself.'
'It does not, sir,' replied Mr Bell; 'the bank is responsible,
and the bank will either recover the money or refund it, you may
depend on that.'
Morris's face fell; then it was visited by another gleam of hope.
'I'll tell you what,' he said, 'you leave this entirely in my
hands. I'll sift the matter. I've an idea, at any rate; and
detectives,' he added appealingly, 'are so expensive.'
'The bank would not hear of it,' returned Mr Judkin. 'The bank
stands to lose between three and four thousand pounds; it will
spend as much more if necessary. An undiscovered forger is a
permanent danger. We shall clear it up to the bottom, Mr
Finsbury; set your mind at rest on that.'
'Then I'll stand the loss,' said Morris boldly. 'I order you to
abandon the search.' He was determined that no enquiry should be
made.
'I beg your pardon,' returned Mr Judkin, 'but we have nothing to
do with you in this matter, which is one between your uncle and
ourselves. If he should take this opinion, and will either come
here himself or let me see him in his sick-room--'
'Quite impossible,' cried Morris.
'Well, then, you see,' said Mr Judkin, 'how my hands are tied.
The whole affair must go at once into the hands of the police.'
Morris mechanically folded the cheque and restored it to his
pocket--book.
'Good--morning,' said he, and scrambled somehow out of the bank.
'I don't know what they suspect,' he reflected; 'I can't make
them out, their whole behaviour is thoroughly unbusinesslike. But
it doesn't matter; all's up with everything. The money has been
paid; the police are on the scent; in two hours that idiot Pitman
will be nabbed--and the whole story of the dead body in the
evening papers.'
If he could have heard what passed in the bank after his
departure he would have been less alarmed, perhaps more
mortified.
'That was a curious affair, Mr Bell,' said Mr Judkin.
'Yes, sir,' said Mr Bell, 'but I think we have given him a
fright.'
'O, we shall hear no more of Mr Morris Finsbury,' returned the
other; 'it was a first attempt, and the house have dealt with us
so long that I was anxious to deal gently. But I suppose, Mr
Bell, there can be no mistake about yesterday? It was old Mr
Finsbury himself?'
'There could be no possible doubt of that,' said Mr Bell with a
chuckle. 'He explained to me the principles of banking.'
'Well, well,' said Mr Judkin. 'The next time he calls ask him to
step into my room. It is only proper he should be warned.'
CHAPTER VII. In Which William Dent Pitman takes Legal Advice
Norfolk Street, King's Road--jocularly known among Mr Pitman's
lodgers as 'Norfolk Island'--is neither a long, a handsome, nor a
pleasing thoroughfare. Dirty, undersized maids-of-all-work issue
from it in pursuit of beer, or linger on its sidewalk listening
to the voice of love. The cat's-meat man passes twice a day. An
occasional organ-grinder wanders in and wanders out again,
disgusted. In holiday-time the street is the arena of the young
bloods of the neighbourhood, and the householders have an
opportunity of studying the manly art of self-defence. And yet
Norfolk Street has one claim to be respectable, for it contains
not a single shop--unless you count the public-house at the
corner, which is really in the King's Road.
The door of No. 7 bore a brass plate inscribed with the legend
'W. D. Pitman, Artist'. It was not a particularly clean brass
plate, nor was No. 7 itself a particularly inviting place of
residence. And yet it had a character of its own, such as may
well quicken the pulse of the reader's curiosity. For here was
the home of an artist--and a distinguished artist too, highly
distinguished by his ill-success--which had never been made the
subject of an article in the illustrated magazines. No
wood-engraver had ever reproduced 'a corner in the back
drawing-room' or 'the studio mantelpiece' of No. 7; no young lady
author had ever commented on 'the unaffected simplicity' with
which Mr Pitman received her in the midst of his 'treasures'. It
is an omission I would gladly supply, but our business is only
with the backward parts and 'abject rear' of this aesthetic
dwelling.
Here was a garden, boasting a dwarf fountain (that never played)
in the centre, a few grimy-looking flowers in pots, two or three
newly planted trees which the spring of Chelsea visited without
noticeable consequence, and two or three statues after the
antique, representing satyrs and nymphs in the worst possible
style of sculptured art. On one side the garden was overshadowed
by a pair of crazy studios, usually hired out to the more obscure
and youthful practitioners of British art. Opposite these another
lofty out-building, somewhat more carefully finished, and
boasting of a communication with the house and a private door on
the back lane, enshrined the multifarious industry of Mr Pitman.
All day, it is true, he was engaged in the work of education at a
seminary for young ladies; but the evenings at least were his
own, and these he would prolong far into the night, now dashing
off 'A landscape with waterfall' in oil, now a volunteer bust
('in marble', as he would gently but proudly observe) of some
public character, now stooping his chisel to a mere 'nymph' for a
gasbracket on a stair, sir'), or a life-size 'Infant Samuel' for
a religious nursery. Mr Pitman had studied in Paris, and he had
studied in Rome, supplied with funds by a fond parent who went
subsequently bankrupt in consequence of a fall in corsets; and
though he was never thought to have the smallest modicum of
talent, it was at one time supposed that he had learned his
business. Eighteen years of what is called 'tuition' had relieved
him of the dangerous knowledge. His artist lodgers would
and then down he sat undauntedly to his delicate task.
Nothing can be more interesting than the study of signatures,
written (as they are) before meals and after, during indigestion
and intoxication; written when the signer is trembling for the
life of his child or has come from winning the Derby, in his
lawyer's office, or under the bright eyes of his sweetheart. To
the vulgar, these seem never the same; but to the expert, the
bank clerk, or the lithographer, they are constant quantities,
and as recognizable as the North Star to the night-watch on deck.
To all this Morris was alive. In the theory of that graceful art
in which he was now embarking, our spirited leather-merchant was
beyond all reproach. But, happily for the investor, forgery is an
affair of practice. And as Morris sat surrounded by examples of
his uncle's signature and of his own incompetence, insidious
depression stole upon his spirits. From time to time the wind
wuthered in the chimney at his back; from time to time there
swept over Bloomsbury a squall so dark that he must rise and
light the gas; about him was the chill and the mean disorder of a
house out of commission--the floor bare, the sofa heaped with
books and accounts enveloped in a dirty table-cloth, the pens
rusted, the paper glazed with a thick film of dust; and yet these
were but adminicles of misery, and the true root of his
depression lay round him on the table in the shape of misbegotten
forgeries.
'It's one of the strangest things I ever heard of,' he
complained. 'It almost seems as if it was a talent that I didn't
possess.' He went once more minutely through his proofs. 'A clerk
would simply gibe at them,' said he. 'Well, there's nothing else
but tracing possible.'
He waited till a squall had passed and there came a blink of
scowling daylight. Then he went to the window, and in the face of
all John Street traced his uncle's signature. It was a poor thing
at the best. 'But it must do,' said he, as he stood gazing
woefully on his handiwork. 'He's dead, anyway.' And he filled up
the cheque for a couple of hundred and sallied forth for the
Anglo-Patagonian Bank.
There, at the desk at which he was accustomed to transact
business, and with as much indifference as he could assume,
Morris presented the forged cheque to the big, red-bearded Scots
teller. The teller seemed to view it with surprise; and as he
turned it this way and that, and even scrutinized the signature
with a magnifying-glass, his surprise appeared to warm into
disfavour. Begging to be excused for a moment, he passed away
into the rearmost quarters of the bank; whence, after an
appreciable interval, he returned again in earnest talk with a
superior, an oldish and a baldish, but a very gentlemanly man.
'Mr Morris Finsbury, I believe,' said the gentlemanly man, fixing
Morris with a pair of double eye-glasses.
'That is my name,' said Morris, quavering. 'Is there anything
wrong.
'Well, the fact is, Mr Finsbury, you see we are rather surprised
at receiving this,' said the other, flicking at the cheque.
'There are no effects.'
'No effects?' cried Morris. 'Why, I know myself there must be
eight-and-twenty hundred pounds, if there's a penny.'
'Two seven six four, I think,' replied the gentlemanly man; 'but
it was drawn yesterday.'
'Drawn!' cried Morris.
'By your uncle himself, sir,' continued the other. 'Not only
that, but we discounted a bill for him for--let me see--how much
was it for, Mr Bell?'
'Eight hundred, Mr Judkin,' replied the teller.
'Bent Pitman!' cried Morris, staggering back.
'I beg your pardon,' said Mr Judkin.
'It's--it's only an expletive,' said Morris.
'I hope there's nothing wrong, Mr Finsbury,' said Mr Bell.
'All I can tell you,' said Morris, with a harsh laugh,' is that
the whole thing's impossible. My uncle is at Bournemouth, unable
to move.'
'Really!' cried Mr Bell, and he recovered the cheque from Mr
Judkin. 'But this cheque is dated in London, and today,' he
observed. 'How d'ye account for that, sir?'
'O, that was a mistake,' said Morris, and a deep tide of colour
dyed his face and neck.
'No doubt, no doubt,' said Mr Judkin, but he looked at his
customer enquiringly.
'And--and--' resumed Morris, 'even if there were no effects--this
is a very trifling sum to overdraw--our firm--the name of
Finsbury, is surely good enough for such a wretched sum as this.'
'No doubt, Mr Finsbury,' returned Mr Judkin; 'and if you insist I
will take it into consideration; but I hardly think--in short, Mr
Finsbury, if there had been nothing else, the signature seems
hardly all that we could wish.'
'That's of no consequence,' replied Morris nervously. 'I'll get
my uncle to sign another. The fact is,' he went on, with a bold
stroke, 'my uncle is so far from well at present that he was
unable to sign this cheque without assistance, and I fear that my
holding the pen for him may have made the difference in the
signature.'
Mr Judkin shot a keen glance into Morris's face; and then turned
and looked at Mr Bell.
'Well,' he said, 'it seems as if we had been victimized by a
swindler. Pray tell Mr Finsbury we shall put detectives on at
once. As for this cheque of yours, I regret that, owing to the
way it was signed, the bank can hardly consider it--what shall I
say?--businesslike,' and he returned the cheque across the
counter.
Morris took it up mechanically; he was thinking of something very
different.
'In a--case of this kind,' he began, 'I believe the loss falls on
us; I mean upon my uncle and myself.'
'It does not, sir,' replied Mr Bell; 'the bank is responsible,
and the bank will either recover the money or refund it, you may
depend on that.'
Morris's face fell; then it was visited by another gleam of hope.
'I'll tell you what,' he said, 'you leave this entirely in my
hands. I'll sift the matter. I've an idea, at any rate; and
detectives,' he added appealingly, 'are so expensive.'
'The bank would not hear of it,' returned Mr Judkin. 'The bank
stands to lose between three and four thousand pounds; it will
spend as much more if necessary. An undiscovered forger is a
permanent danger. We shall clear it up to the bottom, Mr
Finsbury; set your mind at rest on that.'
'Then I'll stand the loss,' said Morris boldly. 'I order you to
abandon the search.' He was determined that no enquiry should be
made.
'I beg your pardon,' returned Mr Judkin, 'but we have nothing to
do with you in this matter, which is one between your uncle and
ourselves. If he should take this opinion, and will either come
here himself or let me see him in his sick-room--'
'Quite impossible,' cried Morris.
'Well, then, you see,' said Mr Judkin, 'how my hands are tied.
The whole affair must go at once into the hands of the police.'
Morris mechanically folded the cheque and restored it to his
pocket--book.
'Good--morning,' said he, and scrambled somehow out of the bank.
'I don't know what they suspect,' he reflected; 'I can't make
them out, their whole behaviour is thoroughly unbusinesslike. But
it doesn't matter; all's up with everything. The money has been
paid; the police are on the scent; in two hours that idiot Pitman
will be nabbed--and the whole story of the dead body in the
evening papers.'
If he could have heard what passed in the bank after his
departure he would have been less alarmed, perhaps more
mortified.
'That was a curious affair, Mr Bell,' said Mr Judkin.
'Yes, sir,' said Mr Bell, 'but I think we have given him a
fright.'
'O, we shall hear no more of Mr Morris Finsbury,' returned the
other; 'it was a first attempt, and the house have dealt with us
so long that I was anxious to deal gently. But I suppose, Mr
Bell, there can be no mistake about yesterday? It was old Mr
Finsbury himself?'
'There could be no possible doubt of that,' said Mr Bell with a
chuckle. 'He explained to me the principles of banking.'
'Well, well,' said Mr Judkin. 'The next time he calls ask him to
step into my room. It is only proper he should be warned.'
CHAPTER VII. In Which William Dent Pitman takes Legal Advice
Norfolk Street, King's Road--jocularly known among Mr Pitman's
lodgers as 'Norfolk Island'--is neither a long, a handsome, nor a
pleasing thoroughfare. Dirty, undersized maids-of-all-work issue
from it in pursuit of beer, or linger on its sidewalk listening
to the voice of love. The cat's-meat man passes twice a day. An
occasional organ-grinder wanders in and wanders out again,
disgusted. In holiday-time the street is the arena of the young
bloods of the neighbourhood, and the householders have an
opportunity of studying the manly art of self-defence. And yet
Norfolk Street has one claim to be respectable, for it contains
not a single shop--unless you count the public-house at the
corner, which is really in the King's Road.
The door of No. 7 bore a brass plate inscribed with the legend
'W. D. Pitman, Artist'. It was not a particularly clean brass
plate, nor was No. 7 itself a particularly inviting place of
residence. And yet it had a character of its own, such as may
well quicken the pulse of the reader's curiosity. For here was
the home of an artist--and a distinguished artist too, highly
distinguished by his ill-success--which had never been made the
subject of an article in the illustrated magazines. No
wood-engraver had ever reproduced 'a corner in the back
drawing-room' or 'the studio mantelpiece' of No. 7; no young lady
author had ever commented on 'the unaffected simplicity' with
which Mr Pitman received her in the midst of his 'treasures'. It
is an omission I would gladly supply, but our business is only
with the backward parts and 'abject rear' of this aesthetic
dwelling.
Here was a garden, boasting a dwarf fountain (that never played)
in the centre, a few grimy-looking flowers in pots, two or three
newly planted trees which the spring of Chelsea visited without
noticeable consequence, and two or three statues after the
antique, representing satyrs and nymphs in the worst possible
style of sculptured art. On one side the garden was overshadowed
by a pair of crazy studios, usually hired out to the more obscure
and youthful practitioners of British art. Opposite these another
lofty out-building, somewhat more carefully finished, and
boasting of a communication with the house and a private door on
the back lane, enshrined the multifarious industry of Mr Pitman.
All day, it is true, he was engaged in the work of education at a
seminary for young ladies; but the evenings at least were his
own, and these he would prolong far into the night, now dashing
off 'A landscape with waterfall' in oil, now a volunteer bust
('in marble', as he would gently but proudly observe) of some
public character, now stooping his chisel to a mere 'nymph' for a
gasbracket on a stair, sir'), or a life-size 'Infant Samuel' for
a religious nursery. Mr Pitman had studied in Paris, and he had
studied in Rome, supplied with funds by a fond parent who went
subsequently bankrupt in consequence of a fall in corsets; and
though he was never thought to have the smallest modicum of
talent, it was at one time supposed that he had learned his
business. Eighteen years of what is called 'tuition' had relieved
him of the dangerous knowledge. His artist lodgers would
- delicate [´delikət]
a.精美的；微妙的 (初中英语单词) - expert [´ekspə:t] n.&a.专家；内行 (初中英语单词)
- constant [´kɔnstənt] a.坚定的；坚贞的 (初中英语单词)
- graceful [´greisfəl] a.优美的，流畅的 (初中英语单词)
- misery [´mizəri] n.痛苦；悲惨；穷困 (初中英语单词)
- talent [´tælənt] n.天才；才干；天资 (初中英语单词)
- daylight [´deilait] n.日光；黎明 (初中英语单词)
- interval [´intəvəl] n.间隙；(工间)休息 (初中英语单词)
- earnest [´ə:nist] a.认真的 n.认真；诚恳 (初中英语单词)
- account [ə´kaunt] vi.说明 vt.认为 n.帐目 (初中英语单词)
- trifling [´traifliŋ] a.微小的；轻浮的 (初中英语单词)
- wretched [´retʃid] a.可怜的；倒霉的 (初中英语单词)
- consideration [kən,sidə´reiʃən] n.考虑；原因；体谅 (初中英语单词)
- assistance [ə´sistəns] n.协作；援助；帮助 (初中英语单词)
- thoroughly [´θʌrəli] ad.完全地，彻底地 (初中英语单词)
- anxious [´æŋkʃəs] a.担忧的；渴望的 (初中英语单词)
- gently [´dʒentli] ad.温和地；静静地 (初中英语单词)
- yesterday [´jestədi] n.&ad.昨天；前不久 (初中英语单词)
- pursuit [pə´sju:t] n.追踪；追击；事务 (初中英语单词)
- linger [´liŋgə] v.逗留；留恋；拖延 (初中英语单词)
- character [´kæriktə] n.特性；性质；人物；字 (初中英语单词)
- curiosity [,kjuəri´ɔsiti] n.好奇；奇事；珍品 (初中英语单词)
- backward [´bækwəd] ad.向后 a.向后的 (初中英语单词)
- fountain [´fauntin] n.泉水；源泉；根源 (初中英语单词)
- consequence [´kɔnsikwəns] n.结果；后果；推断 (初中英语单词)
- youthful [´ju:θfəl] a.年轻的；青年的 (初中英语单词)
- communication [kə,mju:ni´keiʃən] n.通信；通讯联系 (初中英语单词)
- proudly [´praudli] ad.骄傲地；傲慢地 (初中英语单词)
- supposed [sə´pəuzd] a.想象的；假定的 (初中英语单词)
- sweetheart [´swi:thɑ:t] n.爱人；情人 (高中英语单词)
- reproach [ri´prəutʃ] vt.&n.责备；指责；耻辱 (高中英语单词)
- signature [´signətʃə] n.签名；盖章 (高中英语单词)
- disorder [dis´ɔ:də] n.杂乱 vt.扰乱 (高中英语单词)
- indifference [in´difrəns] n.冷淡；无足轻重 (高中英语单词)
- boldly [´bəuldli] ad.大胆地；醒目地 (高中英语单词)
- sidewalk [´saidwɔ:k] n.人行道 (高中英语单词)
- respectable [ri´spektəbəl] a.可敬的；有身价的 (高中英语单词)
- quicken [´kwikən] v.加快；加速；鼓舞 (高中英语单词)
- distinguished [di´stiŋgwiʃt] a.卓越的，著名的 (高中英语单词)
- studio [´stju:diəu] n.画室；照相室 (高中英语单词)
- gladly [´glædli] ad.愉快地，高兴地 (高中英语单词)
- prolong [prə´lɔŋ] vt.延长；拉长；拖延 (高中英语单词)
- landscape [´lændskeip] n.风景；景色；风景画 (高中英语单词)
- volunteer [,vɔlən´tiə] n.志愿者 v.自愿做 (高中英语单词)
- nursery [´nə:səri] n.托儿所；苗床；养鱼场 (高中英语单词)
- studied [´stʌdid] a.故意的；有计划的 (高中英语单词)
- learned [´lə:nid] a.有学问的，博学的 (高中英语单词)
- semblance [´sembləns] n.外表；伪装；相似 (英语四级单词)
- winning [´winiŋ] n.&a.胜利(的) (英语四级单词)
- vulgar [´vʌlgə] a.粗俗的；大众的 (英语四级单词)
- teller [´telə] n.讲述人；出纳员 (英语四级单词)
- whence [wens] ad.从何处；从那里 (英语四级单词)
- nervously [´nə:vəsli] ad.神经质地；胆怯地 (英语四级单词)
- chisel [´tʃizəl] n.凿子 v.凿；欺骗；干涉 (英语四级单词)
- bankrupt [´bæŋkrʌpt] n.破产者 a.破产了的 (英语四级单词)
- investor [in´vestə] n.投资者 (英语六级单词)
- squall [skwɔ:l] n.&v.啼哭 n.暴风，飑 (英语六级单词)
- mechanically [mi´kænikəli] ad.机械地；无意识地 (英语六级单词)
- thoroughfare [´θʌrəfeə] n.大路；干道；通道 (英语六级单词)
- inviting [in´vaitiŋ] a.动人的 (英语六级单词)
- omission [əu´miʃən] n.省略；遗漏；失职 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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