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(单词翻译:双击或拖选)
Chapter II
“And what if there has been a search already? What if I find them in my room?”
But here was his room. Nothing and no one in it. No one had peeped in. Even Nastasya had not touched it. But heavens! how could he have left all those things in the hole?
He rushed to the corner, slipped his hand under the paper, pulled the things out and lined his pockets with them. There were eight articles in all: two little boxes with ear-rings or something of the sort, he hardly looked to see; then four small leather cases. There was a chain, too, merely wrapped in newspaper and something else in newspaper, that looked like a decoration. . . . He put them all in the different pockets of his overcoat, and the remaining pocket of his trousers, trying to conceal2 them as much as possible. He took the purse, too. Then he went out of his room, leaving the door open. He walked quickly and resolutely4, and though he felt shattered, he had his senses about him. He was afraid of pursuit, he was afraid that in another half-hour, another quarter of an hour perhaps, instructions would be issued for his pursuit, and so at all costs, he must hide all traces before then. He must clear everything up while he still had some strength, some reasoning power left him. . . . Where was he to go?
That had long been settled: “Fling them into the canal, and all traces hidden in the water, the thing would be at an end.” So he had decided5 in the night of his delirium6 when several times he had had the impulse to get up and go away, to make haste, and get rid of it all. But to get rid of it, turned out to be a very difficult task. He wandered along the bank of the Ekaterininsky Canal for half an hour or more and looked several times at the steps running down to the water, but he could not think of carrying out his plan; either rafts stood at the steps’ edge, and women were washing clothes on them, or boats were moored7 there, and people were swarming8 everywhere. Moreover he could be seen and noticed from the banks on all sides; it would look suspicious for a man to go down on purpose, stop, and throw something into the water. And what if the boxes were to float instead of sinking? And of course they would. Even as it was, everyone he met seemed to stare and look round, as if they had nothing to do but to watch him. “Why is it, or can it be my fancy?” he thought.
At last the thought struck him that it might be better to go to the Neva. There were not so many people there, he would be less observed, and it would be more convenient in every way, above all it was further off. He wondered how he could have been wandering for a good half-hour, worried and anxious in this dangerous past without thinking of it before. And that half-hour he had lost over an irrational9 plan, simply because he had thought of it in delirium! He had become extremely absent and forgetful and he was aware of it. He certainly must make haste.
He walked towards the Neva along V—— Prospect10, but on the way another idea struck him. “Why to the Neva? Would it not be better to go somewhere far off, to the Islands again, and there hide the things in some solitary11 place, in a wood or under a bush, and mark the spot perhaps?” And though he felt incapable12 of clear judgment13, the idea seemed to him a sound one. But he was not destined14 to go there. For coming out of V—— Prospect towards the square, he saw on the left a passage leading between two blank walls to a courtyard. On the right hand, the blank unwhitewashed wall of a four-storied house stretched far into the court; on the left, a wooden hoarding15 ran parallel with it for twenty paces into the court, and then turned sharply to the left. Here was a deserted16 fenced-off place where rubbish of different sorts was lying. At the end of the court, the corner of a low, smutty, stone shed, apparently17 part of some workshop, peeped from behind the hoarding. It was probably a carriage builder’s or carpenter’s shed; the whole place from the entrance was black with coal dust. Here would be the place to throw it, he thought. Not seeing anyone in the yard, he slipped in, and at once saw near the gate a sink, such as is often put in yards where there are many workmen or cab-drivers; and on the hoarding above had been scribbled18 in chalk the time-honoured witticism19, “Standing here strictly20 forbidden.” This was all the better, for there would be nothing suspicious about his going in. “Here I could throw it all in a heap and get away!”
Looking round once more, with his hand already in his pocket, he noticed against the outer wall, between the entrance and the sink, a big unhewn stone, weighing perhaps sixty pounds. The other side of the wall was a street. He could hear passers-by, always numerous in that part, but he could not be seen from the entrance, unless someone came in from the street, which might well happen indeed, so there was need of haste.
He bent21 down over the stone, seized the top of it firmly in both hands, and using all his strength turned it over. Under the stone was a small hollow in the ground, and he immediately emptied his pocket into it. The purse lay at the top, and yet the hollow was not filled up. Then he seized the stone again and with one twist turned it back, so that it was in the same position again, though it stood a very little higher. But he scraped the earth about it and pressed it at the edges with his foot. Nothing could be noticed.
Then he went out, and turned into the square. Again an intense, almost unbearable22 joy overwhelmed him for an instant, as it had in the police-office. “I have buried my tracks! And who, who can think of looking under that stone? It has been lying there most likely ever since the house was built, and will lie as many years more. And if it were found, who would think of me? It is all over! No clue!” And he laughed. Yes, he remembered that he began laughing a thin, nervous noiseless laugh, and went on laughing all the time he was crossing the square. But when he reached the K—— Boulevard where two days before he had come upon that girl, his laughter suddenly ceased. Other ideas crept into his mind. He felt all at once that it would be loathsome23 to pass that seat on which after the girl was gone, he had sat and pondered, and that it would be hateful, too, to meet that whiskered policeman to whom he had given the twenty copecks: “Damn him!”
He walked, looking about him angrily and distractedly. All his ideas now seemed to be circling round some single point, and he felt that there really was such a point, and that now, now, he was left facing that point — and for the first time, indeed, during the last two months.
“Damn it all!” he thought suddenly, in a fit of ungovernable fury. “If it has begun, then it has begun. Hang the new life! Good Lord, how stupid it is! . . . And what lies I told to-day! How despicably I fawned24 upon that wretched Ilya Petrovitch! But that is all folly25! What do I care for them all, and my fawning26 upon them! It is not that at all! It is not that at all!”
Suddenly he stopped; a new utterly27 unexpected and exceedingly simple question perplexed28 and bitterly confounded him.
“If it all has really been done deliberately29 and not idiotically, if I really had a certain and definite object, how is it I did not even glance into the purse and don’t know what I had there, for which I have undergone these agonies, and have deliberately undertaken this base, filthy30 degrading business? And here I wanted at once to throw into the water the purse together with all the things which I had not seen either . . . how’s that?”
Yes, that was so, that was all so. Yet he had known it all before, and it was not a new question for him, even when it was decided in the night without hesitation31 and consideration, as though so it must be, as though it could not possibly be otherwise. . . . Yes, he had known it all, and understood it all; it surely had all been settled even yesterday at the moment when he was bending over the box and pulling the jewel-cases out of it. . . . Yes, so it was.
“It is because I am very ill,” he decided grimly at last, “I have been worrying and fretting32 myself, and I don’t know what I am doing. . . . Yesterday and the day before yesterday and all this time I have been worrying myself. . . . I shall get well and I shall not worry. . . . But what if I don’t get well at all? Good God, how sick I am of it all!”
He walked on without resting. He had a terrible longing33 for some distraction34, but he did not know what to do, what to attempt. A new overwhelming sensation was gaining more and more mastery over him every moment; this was an immeasurable, almost physical, repulsion for everything surrounding him, an obstinate35, malignant36 feeling of hatred37. All who met him were loathsome to him — he loathed38 their faces, their movements, their gestures. If anyone had addressed him, he felt that he might have spat39 at him or bitten him . . . .
He stopped suddenly, on coming out on the bank of the Little Neva, near the bridge to Vassilyevsky Ostrov. “Why, he lives here, in that house,” he thought, “why, I have not come to Razumihin of my own accord! Here it’s the same thing over again. . . . Very interesting to know, though; have I come on purpose or have I simply walked here by chance? Never mind, I said the day before yesterday that I would go and see him the day after; well, and so I will! Besides I really cannot go further now.”
He went up to Razumihin’s room on the fifth floor.
The latter was at home in his garret, busily writing at the moment, and he opened the door himself. It was four months since they had seen each other. Razumihin was sitting in a ragged40 dressing-gown, with slippers41 on his bare feet, unkempt, unshaven and unwashed. His face showed surprise.
“Is it you?” he cried. He looked his comrade up and down; then after a brief pause, he whistled. “As hard up as all that! Why, brother, you’ve cut me out!” he added, looking at Raskolnikov’s rags. “Come sit down, you are tired, I’ll be bound.”
And when he had sunk down on the American leather sofa, which was in even worse condition than his own, Razumihin saw at once that his visitor was ill.
“Why, you are seriously ill, do you know that?” He began feeling his pulse. Raskolnikov pulled away his hand.
“Never mind,” he said, “I have come for this: I have no lessons. . . . I wanted, . . . but I don’t really want lessons . . . .”
“No, I am not.”
Raskolnikov got up from the sofa. As he had mounted the stairs to Razumihin’s, he had not realised that he would be meeting his friend face to face. Now, in a flash, he knew, that what he was least of all disposed for at that moment was to be face to face with anyone in the wide world. His spleen rose within him. He almost choked with rage at himself as soon as he crossed Razumihin’s threshold.
“Stop, stop! You queer fish.”
“I don’t want to,” said the other, again pulling away his hand.
“Then why the devil have you come? Are you mad, or what? Why, this is . . . almost insulting! I won’t let you go like that.”
“Well, then, I came to you because I know no one but you who could help . . . to begin . . . because you are kinder than anyone — cleverer, I mean, and can judge . . . and now I see that I want nothing. Do you hear? Nothing at all . . . no one’s services . . . no one’s sympathy. I am by myself . . . alone. Come, that’s enough. Leave me alone.”
“Stay a minute, you sweep! You are a perfect madman. As you like for all I care. I have no lessons, do you see, and I don’t care about that, but there’s a bookseller, Heruvimov — and he takes the place of a lesson. I would not exchange him for five lessons. He’s doing publishing of a kind, and issuing natural science manuals and what a circulation they have! The very titles are worth the money! You always maintained that I was a fool, but by Jove, my boy, there are greater fools than I am! Now he is setting up for being advanced, not that he has an inkling of anything, but, of course, I encourage him. Here are two signatures of the German text — in my opinion, the crudest charlatanism45; it discusses the question, ‘Is woman a human being?’ And, of course, triumphantly46 proves that she is. Heruvimov is going to bring out this work as a contribution to the woman question; I am translating it; he will expand these two and a half signatures into six, we shall make up a gorgeous title half a page long and bring it out at half a rouble. It will do! He pays me six roubles the signature, it works out to about fifteen roubles for the job, and I’ve had six already in advance. When we have finished this, we are going to begin a translation about whales, and then some of the dullest scandals out of the second part of Les Confessions47 we have marked for translation; somebody has told Heruvimov, that Rousseau was a kind of Radishchev. You may be sure I don’t contradict him, hang him! Well, would you like to do the second signature of ‘Is woman a human being?’ If you would, take the German and pens and paper — all those are provided, and take three roubles; for as I have had six roubles in advance on the whole thing, three roubles come to you for your share. And when you have finished the signature there will be another three roubles for you. And please don’t think I am doing you a service; quite the contrary, as soon as you came in, I saw how you could help me; to begin with, I am weak in spelling, and secondly48, I am sometimes utterly adrift in German, so that I make it up as I go along for the most part. The only comfort is, that it’s bound to be a change for the better. Though who can tell, maybe it’s sometimes for the worse. Will you take it?”
Raskolnikov took the German sheets in silence, took the three roubles and without a word went out. Razumihin gazed after him in astonishment49. But when Raskolnikov was in the next street, he turned back, mounted the stairs to Razumihin’s again and laying on the table the German article and the three roubles, went out again, still without uttering a word.
“Are you raving50, or what?” Razumihin shouted, roused to fury at last. “What farce51 is this? You’ll drive me crazy too . . . what did you come to see me for, damn you?”
“I don’t want . . . translation,” muttered Raskolnikov from the stairs.
“Then what the devil do you want?” shouted Razumihin from above. Raskolnikov continued descending52 the staircase in silence.
“Hey, there! Where are you living?”
No answer.
“Well, confound you then!”
But Raskolnikov was already stepping into the street. On the Nikolaevsky Bridge he was roused to full consciousness again by an unpleasant incident. A coachman, after shouting at him two or three times, gave him a violent lash43 on the back with his whip, for having almost fallen under his horses’ hoofs53. The lash so infuriated him that he dashed away to the railing (for some unknown reason he had been walking in the very middle of the bridge in the traffic). He angrily clenched54 and ground his teeth. He heard laughter, of course.
“Serves him right!”
“A pickpocket55 I dare say.”
“Pretending to be drunk, for sure, and getting under the wheels on purpose; and you have to answer for him.”
“It’s a regular profession, that’s what it is.”
But while he stood at the railing, still looking angry and bewildered after the retreating carriage, and rubbing his back, he suddenly felt someone thrust money into his hand. He looked. It was an elderly woman in a kerchief and goatskin shoes, with a girl, probably her daughter wearing a hat, and carrying a green parasol.
“Take it, my good man, in Christ’s name.”
He took it and they passed on. It was a piece of twenty copecks. From his dress and appearance they might well have taken him for a beggar asking alms in the streets, and the gift of the twenty copecks he doubtless owed to the blow, which made them feel sorry for him.
He closed his hand on the twenty copecks, walked on for ten paces, and turned facing the Neva, looking towards the palace. The sky was without a cloud and the water was almost bright blue, which is so rare in the Neva. The cupola of the cathedral, which is seen at its best from the bridge about twenty paces from the chapel56, glittered in the sunlight, and in the pure air every ornament57 on it could be clearly distinguished58. The pain from the lash went off, and Raskolnikov forgot about it; one uneasy and not quite definite idea occupied him now completely. He stood still, and gazed long and intently into the distance; this spot was especially familiar to him. When he was attending the university, he had hundreds of times — generally on his way home — stood still on this spot, gazed at this truly magnificent spectacle and almost always marvelled59 at a vague and mysterious emotion it roused in him. It left him strangely cold; this gorgeous picture was for him blank and lifeless. He wondered every time at his sombre and enigmatic impression and, mistrusting himself, put off finding the explanation of it. He vividly60 recalled those old doubts and perplexities, and it seemed to him that it was no mere1 chance that he recalled them now. It struck him as strange and grotesque61, that he should have stopped at the same spot as before, as though he actually imagined he could think the same thoughts, be interested in the same theories and pictures that had interested him . . . so short a time ago. He felt it almost amusing, and yet it wrung62 his heart. Deep down, hidden far away out of sight all that seemed to him now — all his old past, his old thoughts, his old problems and theories, his old impressions and that picture and himself and all, all. . . . He felt as though he were flying upwards63, and everything were vanishing from his sight. Making an unconscious movement with his hand, he suddenly became aware of the piece of money in his fist. He opened his hand, stared at the coin, and with a sweep of his arm flung it into the water; then he turned and went home. It seemed to him, he had cut himself off from everyone and from everything at that moment.
Evening was coming on when he reached home, so that he must have been walking about six hours. How and where he came back he did not remember. Undressing, and quivering like an overdriven horse, he lay down on the sofa, drew his greatcoat over him, and at once sank into oblivion . . . .
It was dusk when he was waked up by a fearful scream. Good God, what a scream! Such unnatural64 sounds, such howling, wailing65, grinding, tears, blows and curses he had never heard.
He could never have imagined such brutality66, such frenzy67. In terror he sat up in bed, almost swooning with agony. But the fighting, wailing and cursing grew louder and louder. And then to his intense amazement68 he caught the voice of his landlady69. She was howling, shrieking70 and wailing, rapidly, hurriedly, incoherently, so that he could not make out what she was talking about; she was beseeching71, no doubt, not to be beaten, for she was being mercilessly beaten on the stairs. The voice of her assailant was so horrible from spite and rage that it was almost a croak72; but he, too, was saying something, and just as quickly and indistinctly, hurrying and spluttering. All at once Raskolnikov trembled; he recognised the voice — it was the voice of Ilya Petrovitch. Ilya Petrovitch here and beating the landlady! He is kicking her, banging her head against the steps — that’s clear, that can be told from the sounds, from the cries and the thuds. How is it, is the world topsy-turvy? He could hear people running in crowds from all the storeys and all the staircases; he heard voices, exclamations73, knocking, doors banging. “But why, why, and how could it be?” he repeated, thinking seriously that he had gone mad. But no, he heard too distinctly! And they would come to him then next, “for no doubt . . . it’s all about that . . . about yesterday . . . . Good God!” He would have fastened his door with the latch74, but he could not lift his hand . . . besides, it would be useless. Terror gripped his heart like ice, tortured him and numbed75 him. . . . But at last all this uproar76, after continuing about ten minutes, began gradually to subside77. The landlady was moaning and groaning78; Ilya Petrovitch was still uttering threats and curses. . . . But at last he, too, seemed to be silent, and now he could not be heard. “Can he have gone away? Good Lord!” Yes, and now the landlady is going too, still weeping and moaning . . . and then her door slammed. . . . Now the crowd was going from the stairs to their rooms, exclaiming, disputing, calling to one another, raising their voices to a shout, dropping them to a whisper. There must have been numbers of them — almost all the inmates79 of the block. “But, good God, how could it be! And why, why had he come here!”
Raskolnikov sank worn out on the sofa, but could not close his eyes. He lay for half an hour in such anguish80, such an intolerable sensation of infinite terror as he had never experienced before. Suddenly a bright light flashed into his room. Nastasya came in with a candle and a plate of soup. Looking at him carefully and ascertaining81 that he was not asleep, she set the candle on the table and began to lay out what she had brought — bread, salt, a plate, a spoon.
“You’ve eaten nothing since yesterday, I warrant. You’ve been trudging82 about all day, and you’re shaking with fever.”
“Nastasya . . . what were they beating the landlady for?”
She looked intently at him.
“Who beat the landlady?”
“Just now . . . half an hour ago, Ilya Petrovitch, the assistant superintendent83, on the stairs. . . . Why was he ill-treating her like that, and . . . why was he here?”
Nastasya scrutinised him, silent and frowning, and her scrutiny84 lasted a long time. He felt uneasy, even frightened at her searching eyes.
“Nastasya, why don’t you speak?” he said timidly at last in a weak voice.
“It’s the blood,” she answered at last softly, as though speaking to herself.
“Blood? What blood?” he muttered, growing white and turning towards the wall.
Nastasya still looked at him without speaking.
He gazed at her, hardly able to breathe.
“I heard it myself. . . . I was not asleep . . . I was sitting up,” he said still more timidly. “I listened a long while. The assistant superintendent came. . . . Everyone ran out on to the stairs from all the flats.”
“No one has been here. That’s the blood crying in your ears. When there’s no outlet85 for it and it gets clotted86, you begin fancying things. . . . Will you eat something?”
He made no answer. Nastasya still stood over him, watching him.
“Give me something to drink . . . Nastasya.”
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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moored
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| adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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hoarding
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| n.贮藏；积蓄；临时围墙；囤积v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的现在分词 ) | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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witticism
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| n.谐语，妙语 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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loathsome
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fawned
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| v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的过去式和过去分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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fawning
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| adj.乞怜的，奉承的v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的现在分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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utterly
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perplexed
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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hesitation
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fretting
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longing
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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obstinate
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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hatred
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loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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40
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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41
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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42
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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43
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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44
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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45
charlatanism
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| n.庸医术，庸医的行为 | |
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46
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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47
confessions
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| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
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48
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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49
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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50
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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51
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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52
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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53
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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54
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
pickpocket
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| n.扒手；v.扒窃 | |
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56
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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57
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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58
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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59
marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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61
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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62
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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63
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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64
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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65
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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66
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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67
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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68
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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69
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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70
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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71
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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72
croak
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| vi.嘎嘎叫，发牢骚 | |
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73
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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74
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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75
numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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77
subside
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| vi.平静，平息；下沉，塌陷，沉降 | |
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78
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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79
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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80
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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81
ascertaining
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的现在分词 ) | |
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82
trudging
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的现在分词形式） | |
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83
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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84
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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85
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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86
clotted
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| adj.凝结的v.凝固( clot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
earthenware
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| n.土器，陶器 | |
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88
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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89
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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