-
(单词翻译:双击或拖选)
"Come on," said Vic. "It'll be great."
"No, it won't," I said, although I'd lost this fight hours ago, and I knew it.
"It'll be brilliant," said Vic, for the hundredth time. "Girls! Girls! Girls!" He grinned with white teeth.
We both attended an all-boys' school in south London. While it would be a lie to say that we had no experience with girls -- Vic seemed to have had many girlfriends, while I had kissed three of my sister's friends -- it would, I think, be perfectly1 true to say that we both chiefly spoke2 to, interacted with, and only truly understood, other boys. Well, I did, anyway. It's hard to speak for someone else, and I've not seen Vic for thirty years. I'm not sure that I would know what to say to him now if I did.
We were walking the backstreets that used to twine3 in a grimy maze4 behind East Croydon station -- a friend had told Vic about a party, and Vic was determined5 to go whether I liked it or not, and I didn't. But my parents were away that week at a conference, and I was Vic's guest at his house, so I was trailing along beside him.
"It'll be the same as it always is," I said. "After an hour you'll be off somewhere snogging the prettiest girl at the party, and I'll be in the kitchen listening to somebody's mum going on about politics or poetry or something."
"You just have to talk to them," he said. "I think it's probably that road at the end here." He gestured cheerfully, swinging the bag with the bottle in it.
"Don't you know?"
"Alison gave me directions and I wrote them on a bit of paper, but I left it on the hall table. S'okay. I can find it."
"How?" Hope welled slowly up inside me.
"We walk down the road," he said, as if speaking to an idiot child. "And we look for the party. Easy."
I looked, but saw no party: just narrow houses with rusting6 cars or bikes in their concreted front gardens; and the dusty glass fronts of newsagents, which smelled of alien spices and sold everything from birthday cards and secondhand comics to the kind of magazines that were so pornographic that they were sold already sealed in plastic bags. I had been there when Vic had slipped one of those magazines beneath his sweater, but the owner caught him on the pavement outside and made him give it back.
We reached the end of the road and turned into a narrow street of terraced houses. Everything looked very still and empty in the Summer's evening. "It's all right for you," I said. "They fancy you. You don't actually have to talk to them." It was true: one urchin7 grin from Vic and he could have his pick of the room.
"Nah. S'not like that. You've just got to talk."
The times I had kissed my sister's friends I had not spoken to them. They had been around while my sister was off doing something elsewhere, and they had drifted into my orbit, and so I had kissed them. I do not remember any talking. I did not know what to say to girls, and I told him so.
They're just girls," said Vic. "They don't come from another planet."
As we followed the curve of the road around, my hopes that the party would prove unfindable began to fade: a low pulsing noise, music muffled8 by walls and doors, could be heard from a house up ahead. It was eight in the evening, not that early if you aren't yet sixteen, and we weren't. Not quite.
I had parents who liked to know where I was, but I don't think Vic's parents cared that much. He was the youngest of five boys. That in itself seemed magical to me: I merely had two sisters, both younger than I was, and I felt both unique and lonely. I had wanted a brother as far back as I could remember. When I turned thirteen, I stopped wishing on falling stars or first stars, but back when I did, a brother was what I had wished for.
We went up the garden path, crazy paving leading us past a hedge and a solitary9 rosebush to a pebble- dashed facade10. We rang the doorbell, and the door was opened by a girl. I could not have told you how old she was, which was one of the things about girls I had begun to hate: when you start out as kids you're just boys and girls, going through time at the same speed, and you're all five, or seven, or eleven, together. And then one day there's a lurch11 and the girls just sort of sprint12 off into the future ahead of you, and they know all about everything, and they have periods and breasts and makeup13 and God-only-knew-what-else -- for I certainly didn't. The diagrams in biology textbooks were no substitute for being, in a very real sense, young adults. And the girls of our age were.
Vic and I weren't young adults, and I was beginning to suspect that even when I started needing to shave every day, instead of once every couple of weeks, I would still be way behind.
The girl said, "Hello?"
Vic said, "We're friends of Alison's." We had met Alison, all freckles14 and orange hair and a wicked smile, in Hamburg, on a German exchange. The exchange organizers had sent some girls with us, from a local girls' school, to balance the sexes. The girls, our age, more or less, were raucous15 and funny, and had more or less adult boyfriends with cars and jobs and motorbikes and -- in the case of one girl with crooked16 teeth and a raccoon coat, who spoke to me about it sadly at the end of a party in Hamburg, in, of course, the kitchen -- a wife and kids.
"She isn't here," said the girl at the door. "No Alison."
"Not to worry," said Vic, with an easy grin. "I'm Vic. This is Enn." A beat, and then the girl smiled back at him. Vic had a bottle of white wine in a plastic bag, removed from his parents' kitchen cabinet. "Where should I put this, then?"
She stood out of the way, letting us enter. "There's a kitchen in the back," she said. "Put it on the table there, with the other bottles." She had golden, wavy17 hair, and she was very beautiful. The hall was dim in the twilight18, but I could see that she was beautiful.
"What's your name, then?" said Vic.
She told him it was Stella, and he grinned his crooked white grin and told her that that had to be the prettiest name he had ever heard. Smooth bastard19. And what was worse was that he said it like he meant it.
Vic headed back to drop off the wine in the kitchen, and I looked into the front room, where the music was coming from. There were people dancing in there. Stella walked in, and she started to dance, swaying to the music all alone, and I watched her.
This was during the early days of punk. On our own record players we would play the Adverts20 and the Jam, the Stranglers and the Clash and the Sex Pistols. At other people's parties you'd hear ELO or 10cc or even Roxy Music. Maybe some Bowie, if you were lucky. During the German exchange, the only LP that we had all been able to agree on was Neil Young's Harvest, and his song "Heart of Gold" had threaded through the trip like a refrain: I crossed the ocean for a heart of gold. . . .
The music playing in that front room wasn't anything I recognized.
It sounded a bit like a German electronic pop group called Kraftwerk, and a bit like an LP I'd been given for my last birthday, of strange sounds made by the BBC Radiophonic Workshop. The music had a beat, though, and the half- dozen girls in that room were moving gently to it, although I only looked at Stella. She shone.
Vic pushed past me, into the room. He was holding a can of lager. "There's booze back in the kitchen," he told me. He wandered over to Stella and he began to talk to her. I couldn't hear what they were saying over the music, but I knew that there was no room for me in that conversation.
I didn't like beer, not back then. I went off to see if there was something I wanted to drink. On the kitchen table stood a large bottle of Coca-Cola, and I poured myself a plastic tumblerful, and I didn't dare say anything to the pair of girls who were talking in the underlit kitchen. They were animated21 and utterly22 lovely. Each of them had very black skin and glossy23 hair and movie star clothes, and their accents were foreign, and each of them was out of my league.
I wandered, Coke in hand.
The house was deeper than it looked, larger and more complex than the two- up two- down model I had imagined. The rooms were underlit -- I doubt there was a bulb of more than 40 watts24 in the building -- and each room I went into was inhabited: in my memory, inhabited only by girls. I did not go upstairs.
A girl was the only occupant of the conservatory25. Her hair was so fair it was white, and long, and straight, and she sat at the glass-topped table, her hands clasped together, staring at the garden outside, and the gathering26 dusk. She seemed wistful.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" I asked, gesturing with my cup. She shook her head, and then followed it up with a shrug27, to indicate that it was all the same to her. I sat down.
Vic walked past the conservatory door. He was talking to Stella, but he looked in at me, sitting at the table, wrapped in shyness and awkwardness, and he opened and closed his hand in a parody28 of a speaking mouth. Talk. Right.
"Are you from around here?" I asked the girl.
She shook her head. She wore a low-cut silvery top, and I tried not to stare at the swell29 of her breasts.
I said, "What's your name? I'm Enn."
"Wain's Wain," she said, or something that sounded like it. "I'm a second."
"That's uh. That's a different name."
She fixed30 me with huge, liquid eyes. "It indicates that my progenitor31 was also Wain, and that I am obliged to report back to her. I may not breed."
"Ah. Well. Bit early for that anyway, isn't it?"
She unclasped her hands, raised them above the table, spread her fingers. "You see?" The little finger on her left hand was crooked, and it bifurcated32 at the top, splitting into two smaller fingertips. A minor33 deformity. "When I was finished a decision was needed. Would I be retained, or eliminated? I was fortunate that the decision was with me. Now, I travel, while my more perfect sisters remain at home in stasis. They were firsts. I am a second.
Soon I must return to Wain, and tell her all I have seen. All my impressions of this place of yours."
"I don't actually live in Croydon," I said. "I don't come from here." I wondered if she was American. I had no idea what she was talking about.
"As you say," she agreed, "neither of us comes from here." She folded her six- fingered left hand beneath her right, as if tucking it out of sight. "I had expected it to be bigger, and cleaner, and more colorful. But still, it is a jewel."
She yawned, covered her mouth with her right hand, only for a moment, before it was back on the table again. "I grow weary of the journeying, and I wish sometimes that it would end. On a street in Rio at Carnival34, I saw them on a bridge, golden and tall and insect-eyed and winged, and elated I almost ran to greet them, before I saw that they were only people in costumes. I said to Hola Colt, 'Why do they try so hard to look like us?' and Hola Colt replied, 'Because they hate themselves, all shades of pink and brown, and so small.' It is what I experience, even me, and I am not grown. It is like a world of children, or of elves." Then she smiled, and said, "It was a good thing they could not any of them see Hola Colt."
"Um," I said, "do you want to dance?"
She shook her head immediately. "It is not permitted," she said. "I can do nothing that might cause damage to property. I am Wain's."
"Would you like something to drink, then?"
"Water," she said.
I went back to the kitchen and poured myself another Coke, and filled a cup with water from the tap. From the kitchen back to the hall, and from there into the conservatory, but now it was quite empty.
I wondered if the girl had gone to the toilet, and if she might change her mind about dancing later. I walked back to the front room and stared in. The place was filling up. There were more girls dancing, and several lads I didn't know, who looked a few years older than me and Vic. The lads and the girls all kept their distance, but Vic was holding Stella's hand as they danced, and when the song ended he put an arm around her, casually35, almost proprietorially36, to make sure that nobody else cut in.
I wondered if the girl I had been talking to in the conservatory was now upstairs, as she did not appear to be on the ground floor.
I walked into the living room, which was across the hall from the room where the people were dancing, and I sat down on the sofa. There was a girl sitting there already. She had dark hair, cut short and spiky37, and a nervous manner.
Talk, I thought. "Um, this mug of water's going spare," I told her, "if you want it?"
She nodded, and reached out her hand and took the mug, extremely carefully, as if she were unused to taking things, as if she could trust neither her vision nor her hands.
"I love being a tourist," she said, and smiled hesitantly. She had a gap between her two front teeth, and she sipped39 the tap water as if she were an adult sipping40 a fine wine. "The last tour, we went to sun, and we swam in sunfire pools with the whales. We heard their histories and we shivered in the chill of the outer places, then we swam deepward where the heat churned and comforted us.
I wanted to go back. This time, I wanted it. There was so much I had not seen. Instead we came to world. Do you like it?"
"Like what?"
"It's all right, I suppose."
"I told them I did not wish to visit world," she said. "My parent-teacher was unimpressed. 'You will have much to learn,' it told me. I said, 'I could learn more in sun, again. Or in the deeps. Jessa spun42 webs between galaxies43. I want to do that.'
"But there was no reasoning with it, and I came to world. Parent-teacher engulfed44 me, and I was here, embodied45 in a decaying lump of meat hanging on a frame of calcium46. As I incarnated47 I felt things deep inside me, fluttering and pumping and squishing. It was my first experience with pushing air through the mouth, vibrating the vocal48 cords on the way, and I used it to tell parent-teacher that I wished that I would die, which it acknowledged was the inevitable49 exit strategy from world."
There were black worry beads50 wrapped around her wrist, and she fiddled51 with them as she spoke. "But knowledge is there, in the meat," she said, "and I am resolved to learn from it."
We were sitting close at the center of the sofa now. I decided52 I should put an arm around her, but casually. I would extend my arm along the back of the sofa and eventually sort of creep it down, almost imperceptibly, until it was touching53 her. She said, "The thing with the liquid in the eyes, when the world blurs54. Nobody told me, and I still do not understand. I have touched the folds of the Whisper and pulsed and flown with the tachyon swans, and I still do not understand."
She wasn't the prettiest girl there, but she seemed nice enough, and she was a girl, anyway. I let my arm slide down a little, tentatively, so that it made contact with her back, and she did not tell me to take it away.
Vic called to me then, from the doorway55. He was standing56 with his arm around Stella, protectively, waving at me. I tried to let him know, by shaking my head, that I was onto something, but he called my name and, reluctantly, I got up from the sofa and walked over to the door. "What?"
"Er. Look. The party," said Vic, apologetically. "It's not the one I thought it was. I've been talking to Stella and I figured it out. Well, she sort of explained it to me. We're at a different party."
"Christ. Are we in trouble? Do we have to go?"
Stella shook her head. He leaned down and kissed her, gently, on the lips. "You're just happy to have me here, aren't you darlin'?"
"You know I am," she told him.
He looked from her back to me, and he smiled his white smile: roguish, lovable, a little bit Artful Dodger57, a little bit wide- boy Prince Charming. "Don't worry. They're all tourists here anyway. It's a foreign exchange thing, innit? Like when we all went to Germany."
"It is?"
"Enn. You got to talk to them. And that means you got to listen to them, too. You understand?"
"I did. I already talked to a couple of them."
"You getting anywhere?"
"I was till you called me over."
"Sorry about that. Look, I just wanted to fill you in. Right?"
And he patted my arm and he walked away with Stella. Then, together, the two of them went up the stairs.
Understand me, all the girls at that party, in the twilight, were lovely; they all had perfect faces but, more important than that, they had whatever strangeness of proportion, of oddness or humanity it is that makes a beauty something more than a shop window dummy58.
Stella was the most lovely of any of them, but she, of course, was Vic's, and they were going upstairs together, and that was just how things would always be.
There were several people now sitting on the sofa, talking to the gap- toothed girl. Someone told a joke, and they all laughed. I would have had to push my way in there to sit next to her again, and it didn't look like she was expecting me back, or cared that I had gone, so I wandered out into the hall. I glanced in at the dancers, and found myself wondering where the music was coming from. I couldn't see a record player or speakers.
From the hall I walked back to the kitchen.
Kitchens are good at parties. You never need an excuse to be there, and, on the good side, at this party I couldn't see any signs of someone's mum. I inspected the various bottles and cans on the kitchen table, then I poured a half an inch of Pernod into the bottom of my plastic cup, which I filled to the top with Coke. I dropped in a couple of ice cubes and took a sip38, relishing59 the sweet-shop tang of the drink.
"What's that you're drinking?" A girl's voice.
"It's Pernod," I told her. "It tastes like aniseed balls, only it's alcoholic60." I didn't say that I only tried it because I'd heard someone in the crowd ask for a Pernod on a live Velvet61 Underground LP.
"Can I have one?" I poured another Pernod, topped it off with Coke, passed it to her. Her hair was a coppery auburn, and it tumbled around her head in ringlets. It's not a hair style you see much now, but you saw it a lot back then.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Triolet," she said.
"Pretty name," I told her, although I wasn't sure that it was. She was pretty, though.
"It's a verse form," she said, proudly. "Like me."
"You're a poem?"
She smiled, and looked down and away, perhaps bashfully. Her profile was almost flat -- a perfect Grecian nose that came down from her forehead in a straight line. We did Antigone in the school theater the previous year. I was the messenger who brings Creon the news of Antigone's death. We wore half-masks that made us look like that. I thought of that play, looking at her face, in the kitchen, and I thought of Barry Smith's drawings of women in the Conan comics: five years later I would have thought of the Pre-Raphaelites, of Jane Morris and Lizzie Siddall. But I was only fifteen then.
"You're a poem?" I repeated.
She chewed her lower lip. "If you want. I am a poem, or I am a pattern, or a race of people whose world was swallowed by the sea."
"Isn't it hard to be three things at the same time?"
"What's your name?"
"Enn."
"So you are Enn," she said. "And you are a male. And you are a biped. Is it hard to be three things at the same time?"
"But they aren't different things. I mean, they aren't contradictory62." It was a word I had read many times but never said aloud before that night, and I put the stresses in the wrong places. Contradictory.
She wore a thin dress made of a white, silky fabric63. Her eyes were a pale green, a color that would now make me think of tinted64 contact lenses; but this was thirty years ago; things were different then. I remember wondering about Vic and Stella, upstairs. By now, I was sure that they were in one of the bedrooms, and I envied Vic so much it almost hurt.
Still, I was talking to this girl, even if we were talking nonsense, even if her name wasn't really Triolet (my generation had not been given hippie names: all the Rainbows and the Sunshines and the Moons, they were only six, seven, eight years old back then). She said, "We knew that it would soon be over, and so we put it all into a poem, to tell the universe who we were, and why we were here, and what we said and did and thought and dreamed and yearned65 for. We wrapped our dreams in words and patterned the words so that they would live forever, unforgettable. Then we sent the poem as a pattern of flux66, to wait in the heart of a star, beaming out its message in pulses and bursts and fuzzes across the electromagnetic spectrum67, until the time when, on worlds a thousand sun systems distant, the pattern would be decoded68 and read, and it would become a poem once again."
"And then what happened?"
She looked at me with her green eyes, and it was as if she stared out at me from her own Antigone half-mask; but as if her pale green eyes were just a different, deeper, part of the mask. "You cannot hear a poem without it changing you," she told me. "They heard it, and it colonized69 them. It inherited them and it inhabited them, its rhythms becoming part of the way that they thought; its images permanently70 transmuting71 their metaphors72; its verses, its outlook, its aspirations73 becoming their lives. Within a generation their children would be born already knowing the poem, and, sooner rather than later, as these things go, there were no more children born. There was no need for them, not any longer. There was only a poem, which took flesh and walked and spread itself across the vastness of the known."
I edged closer to her, so I could feel my leg pressing against hers.
She seemed to welcome it: she put her hand on my arm, affectionately, and I felt a smile spreading across my face.
"There are places that we are welcomed," said Triolet, "and places where we are regarded as a noxious74 weed, or as a disease, something immediately to be quarantined and eliminated. But where does contagion75 end and art begin?"
"I don't know," I said, still smiling. I could hear the unfamiliar76 music as it pulsed and scattered77 and boomed in the front room.
She leaned into me then and -- I suppose it was a kiss. . . . I suppose. She pressed her lips to my lips, anyway, and then, satisfied, she pulled back, as if she had now marked me as her own.
"Would you like to hear it?" she asked, and I nodded, unsure what she was offering me, but certain that I needed anything she was willing to give me.
She began to whisper something in my ear. It's the strangest thing about poetry -- you can tell it's poetry, even if you don't speak the language. You can hear Homer's Greek without understanding a word, and you still know it's poetry. I've heard Polish poetry, and Inuit poetry, and I knew what it was without knowing. Her whisper was like that. I didn't know the language, but her words washed through me, perfect, and in my mind's eye I saw towers of glass and diamond; and people with eyes of the palest green; and, unstoppable, beneath every syllable78, I could feel the relentless79 advance of the ocean.
Perhaps I kissed her properly. I don't remember. I know I wanted to.
And then Vic was shaking me violently. "Come on!" he was shouting. "Quickly. Come on!"
In my head I began to come back from a thousand miles away.
"Idiot. Come on. Just get a move on," he said, and he swore at me. There was fury in his voice.
For the first time that evening I recognized one of the songs being played in the front room. A sad saxophone wail80 followed by a cascade81 of liquid chords, a man's voice singing cut-up lyrics82 about the sons of the silent age. I wanted to stay and hear the song.
She said, "I am not finished. There is yet more of me."
"Sorry love," said Vic, but he wasn't smiling any longer. "There'll be another time," and he grabbed me by the elbow and he twisted and pulled, forcing me from the room. I did not resist. I knew from experience that Vic could beat the stuffing out me if he got it into his head to do so. He wouldn't do it unless he was upset or angry, but he was angry now.
Out into the front hall. As Vic pulled open the door, I looked back one last time, over my shoulder, hoping to see Triolet in the doorway to the kitchen, but she was not there. I saw Stella, though, at the top of the stairs. She was staring down at Vic, and I saw her face.
This all happened thirty years ago. I have forgotten much, and I will forget more, and in the end I will forget everything; yet, if I have any certainty of life beyond death, it is all wrapped up not in psalms83 or hymns84, but in this one thing alone: I cannot believe that I will ever forget that moment, or forget the expression on Stella's face as she watched Vic hurrying away from her. Even in death I shall remember that.
You wouldn't want to make a universe angry. I bet an angry universe would look at you with eyes like that.
We ran then, me and Vic, away from the party and the tourists and the twilight, ran as if a lightning storm was on our heels, a mad helter-skelter dash down the confusion of streets, threading through the maze, and we did not look back, and we did not stop until we could not breathe; and then we stopped and panted, unable to run any longer. We were in pain. I held on to a wall, and Vic threw up, hard and long, into the gutter86.
He wiped his mouth.
"She wasn't a--" He stopped.
He shook his head.
Then he said, "You know . . . I think there's a thing. When you've gone as far as you dare. And if you go any further, you wouldn't be you anymore? You'd be the person who'd done that? The places you just can't go. . . . I think that happened to me tonight."
I thought I knew what he was saying. "Screw her, you mean?" I said.
He rammed87 a knuckle88 hard against my temple, and twisted it violently. I wondered if I was going to have to fight him -- and lose -- but after a moment he lowered his hand and moved away from me, making a low, gulping89 noise.
I looked at him curiously90, and I realized that he was crying: his face was scarlet91; snot and tears ran down his cheeks. Vic was sobbing92 in the street, as unselfconsciously and heartbreakingly as a little boy.
He walked away from me then, shoulders heaving, and he hurried down the road so he was in front of me and I could no longer see his face. I wondered what had occurred in that upstairs room to make him behave like that, to scare him so, and I could not even begin to guess.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
twine
|
|
| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
maze
|
|
| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
rusting
|
|
| n.生锈v.（使）生锈( rust的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
urchin
|
|
| n.顽童；海胆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
muffled
|
|
| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
facade
|
|
| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
lurch
|
|
| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
sprint
|
|
| n.短距离赛跑；vi. 奋力而跑，冲刺；vt.全速跑过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
makeup
|
|
| n.组织；性格；化装品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
freckles
|
|
| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
raucous
|
|
| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
crooked
|
|
| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
wavy
|
|
| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
bastard
|
|
| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
adverts
|
|
| advertisements 广告，做广告 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
animated
|
|
| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
glossy
|
|
| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
watts
|
|
| （电力计量单位）瓦，瓦特( watt的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
conservatory
|
|
| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
shrug
|
|
| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
parody
|
|
| n.打油诗文，诙谐的改编诗文，拙劣的模仿；v.拙劣模仿，作模仿诗文 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
swell
|
|
| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
progenitor
|
|
| n.祖先，先驱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
bifurcated
|
|
| a.分为两部分 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
minor
|
|
| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
carnival
|
|
| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
casually
|
|
| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
proprietorially
|
|
| 所有（权）的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
spiky
|
|
| adj.长而尖的，大钉似的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
sip
|
|
| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
sipped
|
|
| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
sipping
|
|
| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
spun
|
|
| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
galaxies
|
|
| 星系( galaxy的名词复数 )； 银河系； 一群（杰出或著名的人物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
engulfed
|
|
| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
embodied
|
|
| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
calcium
|
|
| n.钙(化学符号Ca) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
incarnated
|
|
| v.赋予（思想、精神等）以人的形体( incarnate的过去式和过去分词 )；使人格化；体现；使具体化 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
vocal
|
|
| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
beads
|
|
| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
fiddled
|
|
| v.伪造( fiddle的过去式和过去分词 )；篡改；骗取；修理或稍作改动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
blurs
|
|
| n.模糊( blur的名词复数 )；模糊之物；（移动的）模糊形状；模糊的记忆v.（使）变模糊( blur的第三人称单数 )；（使）难以区分 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
dodger
|
|
| n.躲避者；躲闪者；广告单 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
dummy
|
|
| n.假的东西；(哄婴儿的)橡皮奶头 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
relishing
|
|
| v.欣赏( relish的现在分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
alcoholic
|
|
| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
contradictory
|
|
| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
fabric
|
|
| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
tinted
|
|
| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
yearned
|
|
| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
flux
|
|
| n.流动；不断的改变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
spectrum
|
|
| n.谱，光谱，频谱；范围，幅度，系列 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
decoded
|
|
| v.译（码），解（码）( decode的过去式和过去分词 )；分析及译解电子信号 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
colonized
|
|
| 开拓殖民地，移民于殖民地( colonize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
permanently
|
|
| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
transmuting
|
|
| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
metaphors
|
|
| 隐喻( metaphor的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
aspirations
|
|
| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
noxious
|
|
| adj.有害的，有毒的；使道德败坏的，讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
contagion
|
|
| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
unfamiliar
|
|
| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
syllable
|
|
| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
relentless
|
|
| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
wail
|
|
| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
cascade
|
|
| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
lyrics
|
|
| n.歌词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
psalms
|
|
| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
hymns
|
|
| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
disarray
|
|
| n.混乱，紊乱，凌乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
gutter
|
|
| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
rammed
|
|
| v.夯实（土等）( ram的过去式和过去分词 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
knuckle
|
|
| n.指节；vi.开始努力工作；屈服，认输 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
gulping
|
|
| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的现在分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
sobbing
|
|
| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
trudged
|
|
| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
购买
在百度中搜索