【英文短篇小说】The Clothes They Stood Up In(3)
时间:2019-02-16 作者:英语课 分类:英文短篇小说
英语课
“This way chaps and chapesses. Over here.”
Mr. and Mrs. Ransome stumbled across the last of the grass onto the concrete where silhouetted 1 against the open door stood a young man.
Dazed, they followed him into the hangar and in the light they made a sorry-looking pair. Mrs. Ransome was limping because one of her heels had broken and she had laddered both her stockings. Mr. Ransome had torn the knee of his trousers; there was shit on his shoes, and across his forehead where he had pressed his face into the window was a long black smudge.
The young man smiled and put out his hand. “Maurice. Rosemary. Hi! I’m Martin.”
It was a pleasant open face and though he did have one of those little beards Mrs. Ransome thought made them all look like poisoners, for a warehouseman one way and another he looked quite classy. True he was wearing the kind of cap that had once been the distinctive 2 headgear of American golfers but now seemed of general application, and a little squirt of hair with a rubber band around it was coming out of the back, and, again like them all nowadays, his shirttail was out; still, what gave him a certain air in Mrs. Ransome’s eyes was his smart maroon 3 cardigan. It was not unlike one she had picked out for Mr. Ransome at a Simpson’s sale the year before. Loosely knotted around his neck was a yellow silk scarf with horses’ heads on it. Mrs. Ransome had bought Mr. Ransome one of those too, though he had worn it only once as he decided 4 it made him look like a cad. This boy didn’t look like a cad; he looked dashing and she thought that if they ever got their belongings 5 back she’d root the scarf out from the wardrobe and make her husband give it another try.
“Follow moi,” said the young man and led them down a cold uncarpeted corridor.
“It’s so nice to meet you at long last,” he said over his shoulder, “though in the circumstances I feel I know you already.”
“What circumstances?” said Mr. Ransome.
“Bear with me one moment,” said Martin.
Mr. and Mrs. Ransome were left in the dark while the young man fiddled 6 with a lock.
“I’ll just illuminate 7 matters a fraction,” he said, and a light came on in the room beyond.
“Come in,” said Martin, and he laughed.
Tired and dirty and blinking in the light, Mr. and Mrs. Ransome stumbled through the door and into their own flat.
It was just as they had left it the evening they had gone to the opera. Here was their carpet, their sofa, their high-backed chairs, the reproduction walnut-veneered coffee table with the scalloped edges and cabriole legs and on it the latest number of the Gramophone. Here was Mrs. Ransome’s embroidery 8, lying on the end of the sofa where she had put it down before going to change at a quarter to six on that never-to-be-forgotten evening. There on the nest of tables was the glass from which Mr. Ransome had had a little drop of something to see him through the first act of Così, still (Mrs. Ransome touched the rim 9 of the glass with her finger) slightly sticky.
On the mantelpiece the carriage clock, presented to Mr. Ransome to mark his twenty-five years with the firm of Selvey, Ransome, Steele and Co., struck six, though Mrs. Ransome was not sure if it was six then or six now. The lights were on, just as they had left them.
“A waste of electricity, I know,” Mr. Ransome was wont 10 to say, “but at least it deters 11 the casual thief,” and on the hall table was the evening paper left there by Mr. Ransome for Mrs. Ransome, who generally read it with her morning coffee the following day.
Other than a cardboard plate with some cold half-eaten curry 12 which Martin neatly 13 heeled under the sofa, mouthing “Sorry,” everything, every little thing, was exactly as it should be; they might have been at home in their flat in Naseby Mansions 14, St. John’s Wood, and not in a hangar on an industrial estate on the outskirts 15 of nowhere.
Gone was the feeling of foreboding with which Mrs. Ransome had set out that afternoon; now there was only joy as she wandered round the room, occasionally picking up some cherished object with a smile and an “Oh!” of reacquaintance, sometimes holding it up for her husband to see. For his part Mr. Ransome was almost moved, particularly when he spotted 16 his old CD player, his trusty old CD player as he was inclined to think of it now, not quite up to the mark, it’s true, the venerable old thing, but still honest and old-fashioned; yes, it was good to see it again and he gave Mrs. Ransome a brief blast of Così.
Watching this reunion with a smile almost of pride, Martin said, “Everything in order? I tried to keep it all just as it was.”
“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Ransome, “it’s perfect.”
“Astonishing,” said her husband.
Mrs. Ransome remembered something. “I’d put a casserole in the oven.”
“Yes,” said Martin, “I enjoyed that.”
“It wasn’t dry?” said Mrs. Ransome.
“Only a touch,” said Martin, following them into the bedroom. “It would perhaps have been better at Gas Mark 3.”
Mrs. Ransome nodded and noticed on the dressing 17 table the piece of kitchen paper (she remembered how they had run out of Kleenex) with which she had blotted 18 her lipstick 19 three months before.
“Kitchen,” said Martin as if they might not know the way, though it was exactly where it should have been, and exactly how too, except that the casserole dish, now empty, stood washed and waiting on the draining board.
“I wasn’t sure where that went,” said Martin apologetically.
“That’s all right,” said Mrs. Ransome. “It lives in here.” She opened the cupboard by the sink and popped the dish away.
“That was my guess,” said Martin, “though I didn’t like to risk it.” He laughed and Mrs. Ransome laughed too.
Mr. Ransome scowled 20. The young man was civil enough, if overfamiliar, but it all seemed a bit too relaxed. A crime had been committed after all, and not a petty one either; this was stolen property; what was it doing here?
Mr. Ransome thought it was time to take charge of the situation.
“Tea?” said Martin.
“No thank you,” said Mr. Ransome.
“Yes please,” said his wife.
“Then,” said Martin, “we need to talk.”
Mrs. Ransome had never heard the phrase used in real life as it were and she looked at this young man with newfound recognition: she knew where he was coming from. So did Mr. Ransome.
“Yes, indeed,” said Mr. Ransome, decisively, sitting down at the kitchen table and meaning to kick off by asking this altogether-too-pleased-with-himself young man what this was all about.
“Perhaps,” said Martin, giving Mrs. Ransome her tea, “perhaps you would like to tell me what this is all about. I mean with all due respect, as they say.”
This was too much for Mr. Ransome.
“Perhaps,” he exploded, “and with all due respect, you’d like to tell me why it is you’re wearing my cardigan.”
“You never wore it much,” said Mrs. Ransome placidly 21. “Lovely tea.”
“That isn’t the point, Rosemary.” Mr. Ransome seldom used her Christian 22 name except as a form of blunt instrument. “And that’s my silk scarf.”
“You never wore that at all. You said it made you look like a cad.”
“That’s why I like it,” said Martin, happily, “the cad factor. However all good things come to an end, as they say.” And unhurriedly (and quite unrepentantly, thought Mr. Ransome) he took off the cardigan, unknotted the scarf and laid them both on the table.
Pruned 23 of these sheltering encumbrances 24, Martin’s T-shirt, the message of which had hitherto only been hinted at, now fearlessly proclaimed itself, “Got a stiffy? Wear a Jiffy!” and in brackets “drawing on back.” As Mr. Ransome eased forward in his chair in order to shield his wife from the offending illustration, Mrs. Ransome slightly eased back.
“Actually,” said Martin, “we’ve worn one or two of your things. I started off with your brown overcoat which I just tried on originally as a bit of a joke.”
“A joke?” said Mr. Ransome, the humorous qualities of that particular garment never having occurred to him.
“Yes. Only now I’ve grown quite fond of it. It’s great.”
“But it must be too big for you,” said Mrs. Ransome.
“I know. That’s why it’s so great. And you’ve got tons of scarves. Cleo thinks you’ve got really good taste.”
“Cleo?” said Mrs. Ransome.
“My partner.”
Then, catching 25 sight of Mr. Ransome by now pop-eyed with fury, Martin shrugged 26. “After all, it was you who gave us the green light.” He went into the sitting room and came back with a folder 27, which he laid on the kitchen table.
“Just tell me,” said Mr. Ransome with terrible calmness, “why it is our things are here.”
So Martin explained. Except it wasn’t really an explanation and when he’d finished they weren’t much further on.
He had come in to work one morning about three months ago (“February 15,” Mrs. Ransome supplied helpfully) and unlocking the doors had found their flat set out just as it had been in Naseby Mansions and just as they saw it now—carpets down, lights on, warm, a smell of cooking from the kitchen.
“I mean,” said Martin happily, “home.”
“But surely,” Mr. Ransome said, “you must have realized that this was, to say the least, unusual?”
“Very unusual,” said Martin. Normally, he said, home contents were containered, crated 28 and sealed, and the container parked in the back lot until required. “We store loads of furniture, but I might go for six months and never see an armchair.”
“But why were they all dumped here?” said Mrs. Ransome.
“Dumped?” said Martin. “You call this dumped? It’s beautiful, it’s a poem.”
“Why?” said Mr. Ransome.
“Well, when I came in that morning, there was an envelope on the hall table. . . .”
“That’s where I put the letters normally,” said Mrs. Ransome.
“. . . an envelope,” said Martin, “containing £3000 in cash to cover storage costs for two months, well clear of our normal charges I can tell you. And,” said Martin, taking a card out of the folder, “there was this.”
It was a sheet torn from the Delia Smith Cookery Calendar with a recipe for the hotpot that Mrs. Ransome had made that afternoon and which she had left in the oven. On the back of it was written: “Leave exactly as it is,” and then in brackets, “but feel free to use.” This was underlined.
“So, where your overcoat was concerned and the scarves et cetera, I felt,” said Martin, searching for the right word, “I felt that that was my imprimatur.” (He had been briefly 29 at the University of Warwick.)
“But anybody could have written that,” Mr. Ransome said.
“And leave £3000 in cash with it?” said Martin. “No fear. Only I did check. Newport Pagnell knew nothing about it. Cardiff. Leeds. I had it run through the computer and they drew a complete blank. So I thought, Well, Martin, the stuff’s here. For the time being it’s paid for, so why not just make yourself at home? So I did. I could have done with the choice of CDs being a bit more eclectic, though. My guess is you’re a Mozart fan?”
“I still think,” said Mr. Ransome testily 30, “you might have made more inquiries 31 before making so free with our belongings.”
“It’s not usual, I agree,” said Martin. “Only why should I? I’d no reason to . . . smell a rat?”
Mr. Ransome took in (and was irritated by) these occasional notes of inappropriate interrogation with which Martin (and the young generally) seemed often to end a sentence. He had heard it in the mouth of the office boy without realizing it had got as far as Aylesbury (“And where are you going now, Foster?” “For my lunch?”). It seemed insolent 32, though it was hard to say why and it invariably put Mr. Ransome in a bad temper (which was why Foster did it).
Martin on the other hand seemed unconscious of the irritation 33 he was causing, his serenity 34 so impervious 35 Mr. Ransome put it down to drugs. Now he sat happily at the kitchen table, and while Mr. Ransome fussed around the flat on the lookout 36 for evidence of damage or dilapidation 37 or even undue 38 wear and tear, Martin chatted comfortably to Rosemary, as he called her.
“He just needs to lighten up a bit,” said Martin as Mr. Ransome banged about in the cupboards.
Mrs. Ransome wasn’t sure if “lighten up” was the same as “brighten up” but catching his drift smiled and nodded.
“It’s been like playing houses,” said Martin. “Cleo and I live over a dry cleaners normally.”
Mrs. Ransome thought Cleo might be black but she didn’t like to ask.
“Actually,” said Martin, dropping his voice because Mr. Ransome was in the pantry cupboard counting the bottles of wine in the rack, “actually it’s perked 39 things up between us two. Change of scene, you know what they say.”
Mrs. Ransome nodded knowledgeably 40; it was a topic frequently touched on in the afternoon programs.
“Good bed,” whispered Martin. “The mattress 41 give you lots of—what’s the word?—purchase.” Martin gave a little thrust with his hips 42. “Know what I mean, Rosemary?” He winked 43.
“It’s orthopedic,” Mrs. Ransome said hastily. “Mr. Ransome has a bad back.”
“I’d probably have one too if I’d lived here much longer.” Martin patted her hand. “Only joking.”
“What I don’t understand,” said Mr. Ransome, coming into the kitchen while Martin still had his hand over his wife’s (Mr. Ransome didn’t understand that either), “what I don’t understand is how whoever it was that transported our things here could remember so exactly where everything went.”
“Trouble ye no more,” said Martin, and he went out into the hall and brought back a photograph album. It was a present Mr. Ransome had bought Mrs. Ransome when he was urging her to find a hobby. He had also bought her a camera which she had never managed to fathom 44 so that the camera never got used, nor did the album. Except that now it was full of photographs.
“The Polaroid camera,” Martin said, “the blessings 45 thereof.”
There were a dozen or so photographs for every room in the flat on the night in question; general views of the room, corners of the room, a close-up of the mantelpiece, another of the desktop 46, every room and every surface recorded in conscientious 47 detail, much as if, had the flat been the setting for a film, the continuity assistant would have recorded them.
“And our name and address?” Mr. Ransome said.
“Simple,” said Martin. “Open . . .”
“Any drawer,” said he and Mrs. Ransome together.
“All these photographs,” Mrs. Ransome said. “Whoever they are, they must have no end of money. Don’t they make it look nice.”
“It is nice,” said Martin. “We’re going to miss it.”
“It’s not only that all our things are in the right place,” Mr. Ransome said. “The rooms are in the right place too.”
“Screens,” said Martin. “They must have brought screens with them.”
“There’s no ceiling,” said Mr. Ransome triumphantly 48. “They didn’t manage that.”
“They managed the chandelier,” said his wife. And so they had, suspending it from a handy beam.
“Well, I don’t think we need to prolong this stage of the proceedings 49 any longer than we have to,” said Mr. Ransome. “I’ll contact my insurance company and tell them our belongings have been found. They will then doubtless contact you over their collection and return. There doesn’t seem to be anything missing but at this stage one can’t be sure.”
“Oh, there’s nothing missing,” said Martin. “One or two After Eights perhaps, but I can easily replenish 50 those.”
“No, no,” said Mrs. Ransome, “that won’t be necessary. They’re”—and she smiled—“they’re on the house.”
Mr. Ransome frowned and when Martin went off to find the various pro-formas he whispered to Mrs. Ransome that they would have to have everything cleaned.
“I don’t like to think what’s been going on. There was a bit of kitchen paper on your dressing table with what was almost certainly blood. And I’ve a feeling they may have been sleeping in our bed.”
“We’ll exchange flimsies,” said Martin. “One flimsy for you. One flimsy for me. Your effects. Do you say ‘effects’ when a person’s still around? Or is it just when they’re dead?”
“Dead,” said Mr. Ransome authoritatively 51. “In this case it’s property.”
“Effects,” said Martin. “Good word.”
Standing 52 on the forecourt as they were going Martin kissed Mrs. Ransome on both cheeks. He was about the age their son would have been, Mrs. Ransome thought, had they had a son.
“I feel like I’m one of the family,” he said.
Yes, thought Mr. Ransome; if they’d had a son this is what it would have been like. Irritating, perplexing. Feeling got at. They wouldn’t have been able to call their lives their own.
Mr. Ransome managed to shake hands.
“All’s well that ends well,” said Martin, and patted his shoulder. “Take care.”
“How do we know he wasn’t in on it?” said Mr. Ransome in the car.
“He doesn’t look the type,” said Mrs. Ransome.
“Oh? What type is that? Have you ever come across a case like this before? Have you ever heard of it? What type does it take, that’s what I’d like to know.”
“We’re going a little fast,” said Mrs. Ransome.
“I shall have to inform the police, of course,” Mr. Ransome said.
“They weren’t interested before so they’ll be even less interested now.”
“Who are you?”
“Beg pardon?”
“I’m the solicitor 53. Who are you? Are you the expert?”
They drove in silence for a while.
“Of course, I shall want some compensation. The distress 54. The agony of mind. The inconvenience. They’re all quantifiable, and must be taken into account in the final settlement.”
He was already writing the letter in his head.
In due course, the contents of the flat came back to Naseby Mansions, a card pinned to one of the crates 55 saying, “Feel Free to Use. Martin.” And, in brackets, “Joke.” Mr. Ransome insisted that everything must be put back just as it had been before, which might have proved difficult had it not been for the aide-mémoire in the form of Mrs. Ransome’s photograph album. Even so the gang who returned the furniture were less meticulous 56 than the burglars who had removed it, besides being much slower. Still, the flat having been decorated throughout and the covers washed, hoovered or dry-cleaned, the place gradually came to look much as it had done before and life returned to what Mrs. Ransome used to think of as normal but didn’t now, quite.
Quite early on in the proceedings, and while Mr. Ransome was at the office, Mrs. Ransome tried out her cane 57 rocking chair and rug in the now much less spartan 58 conditions of the lounge, but though the chair was as comfortable as ever the ensemble 59 didn’t look right and made her feel she was sitting in a department store. So she relegated 60 the chair to the spare room where from time to time she visited it and sat reviewing her life. But no, it was not the same and eventually she put the chair out for the caretaker who incorporated it into his scheme of things in the room behind the boiler 61, where he was now trying to discover the books of Jane Austen.
Mr. Ransome fared better than his wife, for although he had had to reimburse 62 the insurance company over their original check he was able to claim that having already ordered some new speakers (he hadn’t) this should be taken into account and allowance made, which it duly was, thus enabling him to invest in some genuinely state-of-the-art equipment.
From time to time over the next few months traces of Martin and Cleo’s brief occupation would surface—a contraceptive packet (empty) that had been thrust under the mattress, a handkerchief down the side of the settee and, in one of the mantel-piece ornaments 63, a lump of hard brown material wrapped in silver paper. Tentatively Mrs. Ransome sniffed 64 it, then donned her Marigold gloves and put it down the lavatory 65, assuming that was where it belonged, though it was only after several goes that it was reluctantly flushed, Mrs. Ransome sitting meanwhile on the side of the bath, waiting for the cistern 66 to refill, and wondering how it came to be on the mantelpiece in the first place. A joke possibly, though not one she shared with Mr. Ransome.
Strange hairs were another item that put in regular appearances, long fair ones which were obviously Martin’s, darker crinklier ones she supposed must be Cleo’s. The incidence of these hairs wasn’t split evenly between Mr. and Mrs. Ransome’s respective wardrobes; indeed, since Mr. Ransome didn’t complain about them, she presumed he never found any, as he would certainly have let her know if he had.
She, on the other hand, found them everywhere—among her dresses, her coats, her underwear, his hairs as well as hers, and little ones as well as long ones, so that she was left puzzling over what it was they could have been up to that wasn’t constrained 67 by the normal boundaries of gender 68 and propriety 69. Had Martin worn her knickers on his head, she wondered (in one pair there were three hairs); had the elastic 70 on her brassiere always been as loose as it was now (two hairs there, one fair, one dark)?
Still, sitting opposite Mr. Ransome in his earphones of an evening, she could contemplate 71 with equanimity 72, and even a small thrill, that she had shared her underclothes with a third party. Or two third parties possibly. “You don’t mean a third party,” Mr. Ransome would have said, but this was another argument for keeping quiet.
There was one reminder 73 of the recent past, though, that they were forced to share, if only by accident. They had had their supper one Saturday evening after which Mr. Ransome was planning to record a live broadcast of Il Seraglio on Radio 3. Mrs. Ransome, reflecting that there was never anything on TV worth watching on a Saturday night, had settled down to read a novel about some lackluster infidelities in a Cotswold setting while Mr. Ransome prepared to record. He had put in a tape that he thought was blank but checking it on the machine was startled to find that it began with a peal 74 of helpless laughter. Mrs. Ransome looked up. Mr. Ransome listened long enough to detect that there were two people laughing, a man and a woman, and since they showed no sign of stopping was about to switch it off when Mrs. Ransome said, “No, Maurice. Leave it. This might be a clue.”
So they listened in silence as the laughter went on, almost uninterrupted, until after three or four minutes it began to slacken and break up and whoever it was who was still laughing was left panting and breathless, this breathlessness gradually modulating 75 into another sound, the second subject as it were, a groan 76 and then a cry leading to a rhythmic 77 pumping as stern and as purposeful as the other had been silly and lighthearted. At one point the microphone was moved closer to catch a sound that was so moist and wet it hardly seemed human.
“It sounds,” said Mrs. Ransome, “like custard boiling,” though she knew that it wasn’t. Making custard must seldom be so effortful as this seemed to be, nor is the custard urged on with affirmative yells, nor do the cooks cry out when, in due course, the custard starts to boil over.
“I don’t think we want to listen to this, do we?” Mr. Ransome said and switched over to Radio 3, where they came in on the reverent 78 hush 79 that preceded the arrival of Claudio Abbado.
Later when they were in bed Mrs. Ransome said, “I suppose we’d better return that tape?”
“What for?” said Mr. Ransome. “The tape is mine. In any case, we can’t. It’s wiped. I recorded over it.”
This was a lie. Mr. Ransome had wanted to record over it, it’s true, but felt that whenever he listened to the music he would remember what lay underneath 80 and this would put paid to any possible sublimity 81. So he had put the tape in the kitchen bin 82. Then, thinking about it as Mrs. Ransome was in the bathroom brushing her teeth, he went and delved 83 among the potato peelings and old tea bags, and, picking off a tomato skin that had stuck to it, he hid the cassette in the bookcase behind a copy of Salmon 84 on Torts, a hidey-hole where he also kept a cache of photographs of some suburban 85 sexual acts, the legacy 86 of a messy divorce case in Epsom that he had conducted a few years before. The bookcase had, of course, gone to Aylesbury along with everything else but had been returned intact, the hiding place seemingly undetected by Martin.
Actually it had not been undetected at all: the photographs had been what he and Cleo had been laughing about on the tape in the first place.
Not a secret from Martin, nor were the snaps a secret from Mrs. Ransome who, idly looking at the bookcase one afternoon and wondering what to cook for supper, had seen the title Salmon on Torts and thought it had a vaguely 87 culinary sound to it. She had put the photographs back undisturbed but every few months or so would check to see that they were still there. When they were she felt somehow reassured 88.
So sometimes now when Mr. Ransome sat in his chair with his earphones on listening to The Magic Flute 89 it was not The Magic Flute he was listening to at all. Gazing abstractedly at his reading wife his ears were full of Martin and Cleo moaning and crying and taking it out on one another again and again and again. No matter how often he listened to the tape Mr. Ransome never ceased to be amazed by it; that two human beings could give themselves up so utterly 90 and unreservedly to one another and to the moment was beyond his comprehension; it seemed to him miraculous 91.
Listening to the tape so often he became every bit as familiar with it as with something by Mozart. He came to recognize Martin’s long intake 92 of breath as marking the end of a mysterious bridging passage (Cleo was actually on hands and knees, Martin behind her) when the languorous 93 andante (little mewings from the girl) accelerated into the percussive 94 allegro 95 assai (hoarse cries from them both) which in its turn gave way to an even more frantic 96 coda, a sudden rallentando (“No, no, not yet,” she was crying, then “Yes, yes, yes”) followed by panting, sighing, silence and finally sleep. Not an imaginative man, Mr. Ransome nevertheless found himself thinking that if one built up a library of such tapes it would be possible to bestow 97 on them the sexual equivalent of Köchel numbers, even trace the development of some sort of style in sexual intercourse 98, with early, middle and late periods, the whole apparatus 99 of Mozartean musicology adapted to these new and thwacking rhythms.
Mr. and Mrs. Ransome stumbled across the last of the grass onto the concrete where silhouetted 1 against the open door stood a young man.
Dazed, they followed him into the hangar and in the light they made a sorry-looking pair. Mrs. Ransome was limping because one of her heels had broken and she had laddered both her stockings. Mr. Ransome had torn the knee of his trousers; there was shit on his shoes, and across his forehead where he had pressed his face into the window was a long black smudge.
The young man smiled and put out his hand. “Maurice. Rosemary. Hi! I’m Martin.”
It was a pleasant open face and though he did have one of those little beards Mrs. Ransome thought made them all look like poisoners, for a warehouseman one way and another he looked quite classy. True he was wearing the kind of cap that had once been the distinctive 2 headgear of American golfers but now seemed of general application, and a little squirt of hair with a rubber band around it was coming out of the back, and, again like them all nowadays, his shirttail was out; still, what gave him a certain air in Mrs. Ransome’s eyes was his smart maroon 3 cardigan. It was not unlike one she had picked out for Mr. Ransome at a Simpson’s sale the year before. Loosely knotted around his neck was a yellow silk scarf with horses’ heads on it. Mrs. Ransome had bought Mr. Ransome one of those too, though he had worn it only once as he decided 4 it made him look like a cad. This boy didn’t look like a cad; he looked dashing and she thought that if they ever got their belongings 5 back she’d root the scarf out from the wardrobe and make her husband give it another try.
“Follow moi,” said the young man and led them down a cold uncarpeted corridor.
“It’s so nice to meet you at long last,” he said over his shoulder, “though in the circumstances I feel I know you already.”
“What circumstances?” said Mr. Ransome.
“Bear with me one moment,” said Martin.
Mr. and Mrs. Ransome were left in the dark while the young man fiddled 6 with a lock.
“I’ll just illuminate 7 matters a fraction,” he said, and a light came on in the room beyond.
“Come in,” said Martin, and he laughed.
Tired and dirty and blinking in the light, Mr. and Mrs. Ransome stumbled through the door and into their own flat.
It was just as they had left it the evening they had gone to the opera. Here was their carpet, their sofa, their high-backed chairs, the reproduction walnut-veneered coffee table with the scalloped edges and cabriole legs and on it the latest number of the Gramophone. Here was Mrs. Ransome’s embroidery 8, lying on the end of the sofa where she had put it down before going to change at a quarter to six on that never-to-be-forgotten evening. There on the nest of tables was the glass from which Mr. Ransome had had a little drop of something to see him through the first act of Così, still (Mrs. Ransome touched the rim 9 of the glass with her finger) slightly sticky.
On the mantelpiece the carriage clock, presented to Mr. Ransome to mark his twenty-five years with the firm of Selvey, Ransome, Steele and Co., struck six, though Mrs. Ransome was not sure if it was six then or six now. The lights were on, just as they had left them.
“A waste of electricity, I know,” Mr. Ransome was wont 10 to say, “but at least it deters 11 the casual thief,” and on the hall table was the evening paper left there by Mr. Ransome for Mrs. Ransome, who generally read it with her morning coffee the following day.
Other than a cardboard plate with some cold half-eaten curry 12 which Martin neatly 13 heeled under the sofa, mouthing “Sorry,” everything, every little thing, was exactly as it should be; they might have been at home in their flat in Naseby Mansions 14, St. John’s Wood, and not in a hangar on an industrial estate on the outskirts 15 of nowhere.
Gone was the feeling of foreboding with which Mrs. Ransome had set out that afternoon; now there was only joy as she wandered round the room, occasionally picking up some cherished object with a smile and an “Oh!” of reacquaintance, sometimes holding it up for her husband to see. For his part Mr. Ransome was almost moved, particularly when he spotted 16 his old CD player, his trusty old CD player as he was inclined to think of it now, not quite up to the mark, it’s true, the venerable old thing, but still honest and old-fashioned; yes, it was good to see it again and he gave Mrs. Ransome a brief blast of Così.
Watching this reunion with a smile almost of pride, Martin said, “Everything in order? I tried to keep it all just as it was.”
“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Ransome, “it’s perfect.”
“Astonishing,” said her husband.
Mrs. Ransome remembered something. “I’d put a casserole in the oven.”
“Yes,” said Martin, “I enjoyed that.”
“It wasn’t dry?” said Mrs. Ransome.
“Only a touch,” said Martin, following them into the bedroom. “It would perhaps have been better at Gas Mark 3.”
Mrs. Ransome nodded and noticed on the dressing 17 table the piece of kitchen paper (she remembered how they had run out of Kleenex) with which she had blotted 18 her lipstick 19 three months before.
“Kitchen,” said Martin as if they might not know the way, though it was exactly where it should have been, and exactly how too, except that the casserole dish, now empty, stood washed and waiting on the draining board.
“I wasn’t sure where that went,” said Martin apologetically.
“That’s all right,” said Mrs. Ransome. “It lives in here.” She opened the cupboard by the sink and popped the dish away.
“That was my guess,” said Martin, “though I didn’t like to risk it.” He laughed and Mrs. Ransome laughed too.
Mr. Ransome scowled 20. The young man was civil enough, if overfamiliar, but it all seemed a bit too relaxed. A crime had been committed after all, and not a petty one either; this was stolen property; what was it doing here?
Mr. Ransome thought it was time to take charge of the situation.
“Tea?” said Martin.
“No thank you,” said Mr. Ransome.
“Yes please,” said his wife.
“Then,” said Martin, “we need to talk.”
Mrs. Ransome had never heard the phrase used in real life as it were and she looked at this young man with newfound recognition: she knew where he was coming from. So did Mr. Ransome.
“Yes, indeed,” said Mr. Ransome, decisively, sitting down at the kitchen table and meaning to kick off by asking this altogether-too-pleased-with-himself young man what this was all about.
“Perhaps,” said Martin, giving Mrs. Ransome her tea, “perhaps you would like to tell me what this is all about. I mean with all due respect, as they say.”
This was too much for Mr. Ransome.
“Perhaps,” he exploded, “and with all due respect, you’d like to tell me why it is you’re wearing my cardigan.”
“You never wore it much,” said Mrs. Ransome placidly 21. “Lovely tea.”
“That isn’t the point, Rosemary.” Mr. Ransome seldom used her Christian 22 name except as a form of blunt instrument. “And that’s my silk scarf.”
“You never wore that at all. You said it made you look like a cad.”
“That’s why I like it,” said Martin, happily, “the cad factor. However all good things come to an end, as they say.” And unhurriedly (and quite unrepentantly, thought Mr. Ransome) he took off the cardigan, unknotted the scarf and laid them both on the table.
Pruned 23 of these sheltering encumbrances 24, Martin’s T-shirt, the message of which had hitherto only been hinted at, now fearlessly proclaimed itself, “Got a stiffy? Wear a Jiffy!” and in brackets “drawing on back.” As Mr. Ransome eased forward in his chair in order to shield his wife from the offending illustration, Mrs. Ransome slightly eased back.
“Actually,” said Martin, “we’ve worn one or two of your things. I started off with your brown overcoat which I just tried on originally as a bit of a joke.”
“A joke?” said Mr. Ransome, the humorous qualities of that particular garment never having occurred to him.
“Yes. Only now I’ve grown quite fond of it. It’s great.”
“But it must be too big for you,” said Mrs. Ransome.
“I know. That’s why it’s so great. And you’ve got tons of scarves. Cleo thinks you’ve got really good taste.”
“Cleo?” said Mrs. Ransome.
“My partner.”
Then, catching 25 sight of Mr. Ransome by now pop-eyed with fury, Martin shrugged 26. “After all, it was you who gave us the green light.” He went into the sitting room and came back with a folder 27, which he laid on the kitchen table.
“Just tell me,” said Mr. Ransome with terrible calmness, “why it is our things are here.”
So Martin explained. Except it wasn’t really an explanation and when he’d finished they weren’t much further on.
He had come in to work one morning about three months ago (“February 15,” Mrs. Ransome supplied helpfully) and unlocking the doors had found their flat set out just as it had been in Naseby Mansions and just as they saw it now—carpets down, lights on, warm, a smell of cooking from the kitchen.
“I mean,” said Martin happily, “home.”
“But surely,” Mr. Ransome said, “you must have realized that this was, to say the least, unusual?”
“Very unusual,” said Martin. Normally, he said, home contents were containered, crated 28 and sealed, and the container parked in the back lot until required. “We store loads of furniture, but I might go for six months and never see an armchair.”
“But why were they all dumped here?” said Mrs. Ransome.
“Dumped?” said Martin. “You call this dumped? It’s beautiful, it’s a poem.”
“Why?” said Mr. Ransome.
“Well, when I came in that morning, there was an envelope on the hall table. . . .”
“That’s where I put the letters normally,” said Mrs. Ransome.
“. . . an envelope,” said Martin, “containing £3000 in cash to cover storage costs for two months, well clear of our normal charges I can tell you. And,” said Martin, taking a card out of the folder, “there was this.”
It was a sheet torn from the Delia Smith Cookery Calendar with a recipe for the hotpot that Mrs. Ransome had made that afternoon and which she had left in the oven. On the back of it was written: “Leave exactly as it is,” and then in brackets, “but feel free to use.” This was underlined.
“So, where your overcoat was concerned and the scarves et cetera, I felt,” said Martin, searching for the right word, “I felt that that was my imprimatur.” (He had been briefly 29 at the University of Warwick.)
“But anybody could have written that,” Mr. Ransome said.
“And leave £3000 in cash with it?” said Martin. “No fear. Only I did check. Newport Pagnell knew nothing about it. Cardiff. Leeds. I had it run through the computer and they drew a complete blank. So I thought, Well, Martin, the stuff’s here. For the time being it’s paid for, so why not just make yourself at home? So I did. I could have done with the choice of CDs being a bit more eclectic, though. My guess is you’re a Mozart fan?”
“I still think,” said Mr. Ransome testily 30, “you might have made more inquiries 31 before making so free with our belongings.”
“It’s not usual, I agree,” said Martin. “Only why should I? I’d no reason to . . . smell a rat?”
Mr. Ransome took in (and was irritated by) these occasional notes of inappropriate interrogation with which Martin (and the young generally) seemed often to end a sentence. He had heard it in the mouth of the office boy without realizing it had got as far as Aylesbury (“And where are you going now, Foster?” “For my lunch?”). It seemed insolent 32, though it was hard to say why and it invariably put Mr. Ransome in a bad temper (which was why Foster did it).
Martin on the other hand seemed unconscious of the irritation 33 he was causing, his serenity 34 so impervious 35 Mr. Ransome put it down to drugs. Now he sat happily at the kitchen table, and while Mr. Ransome fussed around the flat on the lookout 36 for evidence of damage or dilapidation 37 or even undue 38 wear and tear, Martin chatted comfortably to Rosemary, as he called her.
“He just needs to lighten up a bit,” said Martin as Mr. Ransome banged about in the cupboards.
Mrs. Ransome wasn’t sure if “lighten up” was the same as “brighten up” but catching his drift smiled and nodded.
“It’s been like playing houses,” said Martin. “Cleo and I live over a dry cleaners normally.”
Mrs. Ransome thought Cleo might be black but she didn’t like to ask.
“Actually,” said Martin, dropping his voice because Mr. Ransome was in the pantry cupboard counting the bottles of wine in the rack, “actually it’s perked 39 things up between us two. Change of scene, you know what they say.”
Mrs. Ransome nodded knowledgeably 40; it was a topic frequently touched on in the afternoon programs.
“Good bed,” whispered Martin. “The mattress 41 give you lots of—what’s the word?—purchase.” Martin gave a little thrust with his hips 42. “Know what I mean, Rosemary?” He winked 43.
“It’s orthopedic,” Mrs. Ransome said hastily. “Mr. Ransome has a bad back.”
“I’d probably have one too if I’d lived here much longer.” Martin patted her hand. “Only joking.”
“What I don’t understand,” said Mr. Ransome, coming into the kitchen while Martin still had his hand over his wife’s (Mr. Ransome didn’t understand that either), “what I don’t understand is how whoever it was that transported our things here could remember so exactly where everything went.”
“Trouble ye no more,” said Martin, and he went out into the hall and brought back a photograph album. It was a present Mr. Ransome had bought Mrs. Ransome when he was urging her to find a hobby. He had also bought her a camera which she had never managed to fathom 44 so that the camera never got used, nor did the album. Except that now it was full of photographs.
“The Polaroid camera,” Martin said, “the blessings 45 thereof.”
There were a dozen or so photographs for every room in the flat on the night in question; general views of the room, corners of the room, a close-up of the mantelpiece, another of the desktop 46, every room and every surface recorded in conscientious 47 detail, much as if, had the flat been the setting for a film, the continuity assistant would have recorded them.
“And our name and address?” Mr. Ransome said.
“Simple,” said Martin. “Open . . .”
“Any drawer,” said he and Mrs. Ransome together.
“All these photographs,” Mrs. Ransome said. “Whoever they are, they must have no end of money. Don’t they make it look nice.”
“It is nice,” said Martin. “We’re going to miss it.”
“It’s not only that all our things are in the right place,” Mr. Ransome said. “The rooms are in the right place too.”
“Screens,” said Martin. “They must have brought screens with them.”
“There’s no ceiling,” said Mr. Ransome triumphantly 48. “They didn’t manage that.”
“They managed the chandelier,” said his wife. And so they had, suspending it from a handy beam.
“Well, I don’t think we need to prolong this stage of the proceedings 49 any longer than we have to,” said Mr. Ransome. “I’ll contact my insurance company and tell them our belongings have been found. They will then doubtless contact you over their collection and return. There doesn’t seem to be anything missing but at this stage one can’t be sure.”
“Oh, there’s nothing missing,” said Martin. “One or two After Eights perhaps, but I can easily replenish 50 those.”
“No, no,” said Mrs. Ransome, “that won’t be necessary. They’re”—and she smiled—“they’re on the house.”
Mr. Ransome frowned and when Martin went off to find the various pro-formas he whispered to Mrs. Ransome that they would have to have everything cleaned.
“I don’t like to think what’s been going on. There was a bit of kitchen paper on your dressing table with what was almost certainly blood. And I’ve a feeling they may have been sleeping in our bed.”
“We’ll exchange flimsies,” said Martin. “One flimsy for you. One flimsy for me. Your effects. Do you say ‘effects’ when a person’s still around? Or is it just when they’re dead?”
“Dead,” said Mr. Ransome authoritatively 51. “In this case it’s property.”
“Effects,” said Martin. “Good word.”
Standing 52 on the forecourt as they were going Martin kissed Mrs. Ransome on both cheeks. He was about the age their son would have been, Mrs. Ransome thought, had they had a son.
“I feel like I’m one of the family,” he said.
Yes, thought Mr. Ransome; if they’d had a son this is what it would have been like. Irritating, perplexing. Feeling got at. They wouldn’t have been able to call their lives their own.
Mr. Ransome managed to shake hands.
“All’s well that ends well,” said Martin, and patted his shoulder. “Take care.”
“How do we know he wasn’t in on it?” said Mr. Ransome in the car.
“He doesn’t look the type,” said Mrs. Ransome.
“Oh? What type is that? Have you ever come across a case like this before? Have you ever heard of it? What type does it take, that’s what I’d like to know.”
“We’re going a little fast,” said Mrs. Ransome.
“I shall have to inform the police, of course,” Mr. Ransome said.
“They weren’t interested before so they’ll be even less interested now.”
“Who are you?”
“Beg pardon?”
“I’m the solicitor 53. Who are you? Are you the expert?”
They drove in silence for a while.
“Of course, I shall want some compensation. The distress 54. The agony of mind. The inconvenience. They’re all quantifiable, and must be taken into account in the final settlement.”
He was already writing the letter in his head.
In due course, the contents of the flat came back to Naseby Mansions, a card pinned to one of the crates 55 saying, “Feel Free to Use. Martin.” And, in brackets, “Joke.” Mr. Ransome insisted that everything must be put back just as it had been before, which might have proved difficult had it not been for the aide-mémoire in the form of Mrs. Ransome’s photograph album. Even so the gang who returned the furniture were less meticulous 56 than the burglars who had removed it, besides being much slower. Still, the flat having been decorated throughout and the covers washed, hoovered or dry-cleaned, the place gradually came to look much as it had done before and life returned to what Mrs. Ransome used to think of as normal but didn’t now, quite.
Quite early on in the proceedings, and while Mr. Ransome was at the office, Mrs. Ransome tried out her cane 57 rocking chair and rug in the now much less spartan 58 conditions of the lounge, but though the chair was as comfortable as ever the ensemble 59 didn’t look right and made her feel she was sitting in a department store. So she relegated 60 the chair to the spare room where from time to time she visited it and sat reviewing her life. But no, it was not the same and eventually she put the chair out for the caretaker who incorporated it into his scheme of things in the room behind the boiler 61, where he was now trying to discover the books of Jane Austen.
Mr. Ransome fared better than his wife, for although he had had to reimburse 62 the insurance company over their original check he was able to claim that having already ordered some new speakers (he hadn’t) this should be taken into account and allowance made, which it duly was, thus enabling him to invest in some genuinely state-of-the-art equipment.
From time to time over the next few months traces of Martin and Cleo’s brief occupation would surface—a contraceptive packet (empty) that had been thrust under the mattress, a handkerchief down the side of the settee and, in one of the mantel-piece ornaments 63, a lump of hard brown material wrapped in silver paper. Tentatively Mrs. Ransome sniffed 64 it, then donned her Marigold gloves and put it down the lavatory 65, assuming that was where it belonged, though it was only after several goes that it was reluctantly flushed, Mrs. Ransome sitting meanwhile on the side of the bath, waiting for the cistern 66 to refill, and wondering how it came to be on the mantelpiece in the first place. A joke possibly, though not one she shared with Mr. Ransome.
Strange hairs were another item that put in regular appearances, long fair ones which were obviously Martin’s, darker crinklier ones she supposed must be Cleo’s. The incidence of these hairs wasn’t split evenly between Mr. and Mrs. Ransome’s respective wardrobes; indeed, since Mr. Ransome didn’t complain about them, she presumed he never found any, as he would certainly have let her know if he had.
She, on the other hand, found them everywhere—among her dresses, her coats, her underwear, his hairs as well as hers, and little ones as well as long ones, so that she was left puzzling over what it was they could have been up to that wasn’t constrained 67 by the normal boundaries of gender 68 and propriety 69. Had Martin worn her knickers on his head, she wondered (in one pair there were three hairs); had the elastic 70 on her brassiere always been as loose as it was now (two hairs there, one fair, one dark)?
Still, sitting opposite Mr. Ransome in his earphones of an evening, she could contemplate 71 with equanimity 72, and even a small thrill, that she had shared her underclothes with a third party. Or two third parties possibly. “You don’t mean a third party,” Mr. Ransome would have said, but this was another argument for keeping quiet.
There was one reminder 73 of the recent past, though, that they were forced to share, if only by accident. They had had their supper one Saturday evening after which Mr. Ransome was planning to record a live broadcast of Il Seraglio on Radio 3. Mrs. Ransome, reflecting that there was never anything on TV worth watching on a Saturday night, had settled down to read a novel about some lackluster infidelities in a Cotswold setting while Mr. Ransome prepared to record. He had put in a tape that he thought was blank but checking it on the machine was startled to find that it began with a peal 74 of helpless laughter. Mrs. Ransome looked up. Mr. Ransome listened long enough to detect that there were two people laughing, a man and a woman, and since they showed no sign of stopping was about to switch it off when Mrs. Ransome said, “No, Maurice. Leave it. This might be a clue.”
So they listened in silence as the laughter went on, almost uninterrupted, until after three or four minutes it began to slacken and break up and whoever it was who was still laughing was left panting and breathless, this breathlessness gradually modulating 75 into another sound, the second subject as it were, a groan 76 and then a cry leading to a rhythmic 77 pumping as stern and as purposeful as the other had been silly and lighthearted. At one point the microphone was moved closer to catch a sound that was so moist and wet it hardly seemed human.
“It sounds,” said Mrs. Ransome, “like custard boiling,” though she knew that it wasn’t. Making custard must seldom be so effortful as this seemed to be, nor is the custard urged on with affirmative yells, nor do the cooks cry out when, in due course, the custard starts to boil over.
“I don’t think we want to listen to this, do we?” Mr. Ransome said and switched over to Radio 3, where they came in on the reverent 78 hush 79 that preceded the arrival of Claudio Abbado.
Later when they were in bed Mrs. Ransome said, “I suppose we’d better return that tape?”
“What for?” said Mr. Ransome. “The tape is mine. In any case, we can’t. It’s wiped. I recorded over it.”
This was a lie. Mr. Ransome had wanted to record over it, it’s true, but felt that whenever he listened to the music he would remember what lay underneath 80 and this would put paid to any possible sublimity 81. So he had put the tape in the kitchen bin 82. Then, thinking about it as Mrs. Ransome was in the bathroom brushing her teeth, he went and delved 83 among the potato peelings and old tea bags, and, picking off a tomato skin that had stuck to it, he hid the cassette in the bookcase behind a copy of Salmon 84 on Torts, a hidey-hole where he also kept a cache of photographs of some suburban 85 sexual acts, the legacy 86 of a messy divorce case in Epsom that he had conducted a few years before. The bookcase had, of course, gone to Aylesbury along with everything else but had been returned intact, the hiding place seemingly undetected by Martin.
Actually it had not been undetected at all: the photographs had been what he and Cleo had been laughing about on the tape in the first place.
Not a secret from Martin, nor were the snaps a secret from Mrs. Ransome who, idly looking at the bookcase one afternoon and wondering what to cook for supper, had seen the title Salmon on Torts and thought it had a vaguely 87 culinary sound to it. She had put the photographs back undisturbed but every few months or so would check to see that they were still there. When they were she felt somehow reassured 88.
So sometimes now when Mr. Ransome sat in his chair with his earphones on listening to The Magic Flute 89 it was not The Magic Flute he was listening to at all. Gazing abstractedly at his reading wife his ears were full of Martin and Cleo moaning and crying and taking it out on one another again and again and again. No matter how often he listened to the tape Mr. Ransome never ceased to be amazed by it; that two human beings could give themselves up so utterly 90 and unreservedly to one another and to the moment was beyond his comprehension; it seemed to him miraculous 91.
Listening to the tape so often he became every bit as familiar with it as with something by Mozart. He came to recognize Martin’s long intake 92 of breath as marking the end of a mysterious bridging passage (Cleo was actually on hands and knees, Martin behind her) when the languorous 93 andante (little mewings from the girl) accelerated into the percussive 94 allegro 95 assai (hoarse cries from them both) which in its turn gave way to an even more frantic 96 coda, a sudden rallentando (“No, no, not yet,” she was crying, then “Yes, yes, yes”) followed by panting, sighing, silence and finally sleep. Not an imaginative man, Mr. Ransome nevertheless found himself thinking that if one built up a library of such tapes it would be possible to bestow 97 on them the sexual equivalent of Köchel numbers, even trace the development of some sort of style in sexual intercourse 98, with early, middle and late periods, the whole apparatus 99 of Mozartean musicology adapted to these new and thwacking rhythms.
显出轮廓的,显示影像的
- We could see a church silhouetted against the skyline. 我们可以看到一座教堂凸现在天际。
- The stark jagged rocks were silhouetted against the sky. 光秃嶙峋的岩石衬托着天空的背景矗立在那里。
adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的
- She has a very distinctive way of walking.她走路的样子与别人很不相同。
- This bird has several distinctive features.这个鸟具有几种突出的特征。
v.困住,使(人)处于孤独无助之境;n.逃亡黑奴;孤立的人;酱紫色,褐红色;adj.酱紫色的,褐红色的
- Five couples were marooned in their caravans when the River Avon broke its banks.埃文河决堤的时候,有5对夫妇被困在了他们的房车里。
- Robinson Crusoe has been marooned on a desert island for 26 years.鲁滨逊在荒岛上被困了26年。
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的
- This gave them a decided advantage over their opponents.这使他们比对手具有明显的优势。
- There is a decided difference between British and Chinese way of greeting.英国人和中国人打招呼的方式有很明显的区别。
n.私人物品,私人财物
- I put a few personal belongings in a bag.我把几件私人物品装进包中。
- Your personal belongings are not dutiable.个人物品不用纳税。
v.伪造( fiddle的过去式和过去分词 );篡改;骗取;修理或稍作改动
- He fiddled the company's accounts. 他篡改了公司的账目。 来自《简明英汉词典》
- He began with Palestrina, and fiddled all the way through Bartok. 他从帕勒斯春纳的作品一直演奏到巴塔克的作品。 来自辞典例句
vt.照亮,照明;用灯光装饰;说明,阐释
- Dreams kindle a flame to illuminate our dark roads.梦想点燃火炬照亮我们黑暗的道路。
- They use games and drawings to illuminate their subject.他们用游戏和图画来阐明他们的主题。
n.绣花,刺绣;绣制品
- This exquisite embroidery won people's great admiration.这件精美的绣品,使人惊叹不已。
- This is Jane's first attempt at embroidery.这是简第一次试着绣花。
n.(圆物的)边,轮缘;边界
- The water was even with the rim of the basin.盆里的水与盆边平齐了。
- She looked at him over the rim of her glass.她的目光越过玻璃杯的边沿看着他。
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯
- He was wont to say that children are lazy.他常常说小孩子们懒惰。
- It is his wont to get up early.早起是他的习惯。
v.阻止,制止( deter的第三人称单数 )
- The filth here deters all but the invited guest. 这里污秽不堪,除非有事,外人是裹足不前的。 来自辞典例句
- Many people believe that capital punishment deters crime. 很多人相信极刑能阻止犯罪。 来自互联网
n.咖哩粉,咖哩饭菜;v.用咖哩粉调味,用马栉梳,制革
- Rice makes an excellent complement to a curry dish.有咖喱的菜配米饭最棒。
- Add a teaspoonful of curry powder.加一茶匙咖喱粉。
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地
- Sailors know how to wind up a long rope neatly.水手们知道怎样把一条大绳利落地缠好。
- The child's dress is neatly gathered at the neck.那孩子的衣服在领口处打着整齐的皱褶。
n.宅第,公馆,大厦( mansion的名词复数 )
- Fifth Avenue was boarded up where the rich had deserted their mansions. 第五大道上的富翁们已经出去避暑,空出的宅第都已锁好了门窗,钉上了木板。 来自英汉文学 - 嘉莉妹妹
- Oh, the mansions, the lights, the perfume, the loaded boudoirs and tables! 啊,那些高楼大厦、华灯、香水、藏金收银的闺房还有摆满山珍海味的餐桌! 来自英汉文学 - 嘉莉妹妹
n.郊外,郊区
- Our car broke down on the outskirts of the city.我们的汽车在市郊出了故障。
- They mostly live on the outskirts of a town.他们大多住在近郊。
adj.有斑点的,斑纹的,弄污了的
- The milkman selected the spotted cows,from among a herd of two hundred.牛奶商从一群200头牛中选出有斑点的牛。
- Sam's shop stocks short spotted socks.山姆的商店屯积了有斑点的短袜。
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料
- Don't spend such a lot of time in dressing yourself.别花那么多时间来打扮自己。
- The children enjoy dressing up in mother's old clothes.孩子们喜欢穿上妈妈旧时的衣服玩。
涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 ); (用吸墨纸)吸干
- She blotted water off the table with a towel. 她用毛巾擦干桌上的水。
- The blizzard blotted out the sky and the land. 暴风雪铺天盖地而来。
n.口红,唇膏
- Taking out her lipstick,she began to paint her lips.她拿出口红,开始往嘴唇上抹。
- Lipstick and hair conditioner are cosmetics.口红和护发素都是化妆品。
怒视,生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 )
- He scowled his displeasure. 他满脸嗔色。
- The teacher scowled at his noisy class. 老师对他那喧闹的课堂板着脸。
adv.平稳地,平静地
- Hurstwood stood placidly by, while the car rolled back into the yard. 当车子开回场地时,赫斯渥沉着地站在一边。 来自英汉文学 - 嘉莉妹妹
- The water chestnut floated placidly there, where it would grow. 那棵菱角就又安安稳稳浮在水面上生长去了。 来自汉英文学 - 中国现代小说
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒
- They always addressed each other by their Christian name.他们总是以教名互相称呼。
- His mother is a sincere Christian.他母亲是个虔诚的基督教徒。
v.修剪(树木等)( prune的过去式和过去分词 );精简某事物,除去某事物多余的部分
- Next year's budget will have to be drastically pruned. 下一年度的预算将大幅度削减。 来自《简明英汉词典》
- The roses had been pruned back savagely. 玫瑰被狠狠地修剪了一番。 来自《简明英汉词典》
n.负担( encumbrance的名词复数 );累赘;妨碍;阻碍
- All encumbrances were cleared out for dancing. 为了跳舞,所有碍手碍脚的东西都被清理出去了。 来自辞典例句
- If he wanted to get away, he had better leave these encumbrances behind. 他要打算逃命,还是得放弃这几个累赘。 来自汉英文学 - 骆驼祥子
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住
- There are those who think eczema is catching.有人就是认为湿疹会传染。
- Enthusiasm is very catching.热情非常富有感染力。
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式)
- Sam shrugged and said nothing. 萨姆耸耸肩膀,什么也没说。
- She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. 她耸耸肩,装出一副无所谓的样子。 来自《简明英汉词典》
n.纸夹,文件夹
- Peter returned the plan and charts to their folder.彼得把这份计划和表格放回文件夹中。
- He draws the document from its folder.他把文件从硬纸夹里抽出来。
把…装入箱中( crate的过去式 )
- If I know Rhoda she's already crated and boxed them out of sight. 如果没猜错罗达的脾气,我相信她已经把它们装了箱放到一边了。
- Tanks must be completely drained of fuel before the vehicles are crated. 车辆在装箱前必须把油箱里的燃油完全排干。
adv.简单地,简短地
- I want to touch briefly on another aspect of the problem.我想简单地谈一下这个问题的另一方面。
- He was kidnapped and briefly detained by a terrorist group.他被一个恐怖组织绑架并短暂拘禁。
adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地
- He reacted testily to reports that he'd opposed military involvement. 有报道称他反对军队参与,对此他很是恼火。 来自柯林斯例句
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听
- He was released on bail pending further inquiries. 他获得保释,等候进一步调查。
- I have failed to reach them by postal inquiries. 我未能通过邮政查询与他们取得联系。 来自《现代汉英综合大词典》
adj.傲慢的,无理的
- His insolent manner really got my blood up.他那傲慢的态度把我的肺都气炸了。
- It was insolent of them to demand special treatment.他们要求给予特殊待遇,脸皮真厚。
n.激怒,恼怒,生气
- He could not hide his irritation that he had not been invited.他无法掩饰因未被邀请而生的气恼。
- Barbicane said nothing,but his silence covered serious irritation.巴比康什么也不说,但是他的沉默里潜伏着阴郁的怒火。
n.宁静,沉着,晴朗
- Her face,though sad,still evoked a feeling of serenity.她的脸色虽然悲伤,但仍使人感觉安详。
- She escaped to the comparative serenity of the kitchen.她逃到相对安静的厨房里。
adj.不能渗透的,不能穿过的,不易伤害的
- He was completely impervious to criticism.他对批评毫不在乎。
- This material is impervious to gases and liquids.气体和液体都透不过这种物质。
n.注意,前途,瞭望台
- You can see everything around from the lookout.从了望台上你可以看清周围的一切。
- It's a bad lookout for the company if interest rates don't come down.如果利率降不下来,公司的前景可就不妙了。
n.倒塌;毁坏
- Yet all this was apart from any extraordinary dilapidation.特别破落的样子倒也找不出。
- The farmhouse had fallen into a state of dilapidation.农舍落到了破败的境地。
adj.过分的;不适当的;未到期的
- Don't treat the matter with undue haste.不要过急地处理此事。
- It would be wise not to give undue importance to his criticisms.最好不要过分看重他的批评。
(使)活跃( perk的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)增值; 使更有趣
- The recent demand for houses has perked up the prices. 最近对住房的需求使房价上涨了。
- You've perked up since this morning. 你今天上午精神就好多了。
adj.知识渊博地,有见识地
- You should be prepared to talk knowledgeably about the requirements of the position for which you are applying in relation to your own professional experiences and interests. 你应该准备有见地地去谈论你所求职位对求职者的要求,与你自身的职业经历和个人兴趣之间的联系。 来自《简明英汉词典》
- The speaker discoursed knowledgeably on a variety of subjects. 演讲者头头是道地论述了一系列问题。 来自辞典例句
n.床垫,床褥
- The straw mattress needs to be aired.草垫子该晾一晾了。
- The new mattress I bought sags in the middle.我买的新床垫中间陷了下去。
abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯,耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 );[建筑学]屋脊;臀围(尺寸);臀部…的
- She stood with her hands on her hips. 她双手叉腰站着。
- They wiggled their hips to the sound of pop music. 他们随着流行音乐的声音摇晃着臀部。 来自《简明英汉词典》
v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮
- He winked at her and she knew he was thinking the same thing that she was. 他冲她眨了眨眼,她便知道他的想法和她一样。
- He winked his eyes at her and left the classroom. 他向她眨巴一下眼睛走出了教室。 来自《现代汉英综合大词典》
v.领悟,彻底了解
- I really couldn't fathom what he was talking about.我真搞不懂他在说些什么。
- What these people hoped to achieve is hard to fathom.这些人希望实现些什么目标难以揣测。
n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福
- Afflictions are sometimes blessings in disguise. 塞翁失马,焉知非福。 来自《简明英汉词典》
- We don't rely on blessings from Heaven. 我们不靠老天保佑。 来自《现代汉英综合大词典》
n.桌面管理系统程序;台式
- My computer is a desktop computer of excellent quality.我的计算机是品质卓越的台式计算机。
- Do you know which one is better,a laptop or a desktop?你知道哪一种更好,笔记本还是台式机?
adj.审慎正直的,认真的,本着良心的
- He is a conscientious man and knows his job.他很认真负责,也很懂行。
- He is very conscientious in the performance of his duties.他非常认真地履行职责。
ad.得意洋洋地;得胜地;成功地
- The lion was roaring triumphantly. 狮子正在发出胜利的吼叫。
- Robert was looking at me triumphantly. 罗伯特正得意扬扬地看着我。
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报
- He was released on bail pending committal proceedings. 他交保获释正在候审。
- to initiate legal proceedings against sb 对某人提起诉讼
vt.补充;(把…)装满;(再)填满
- I always replenish my food supply before it is depleted.我总是在我的食物吃完之前加以补充。
- We have to import an extra 4 million tons of wheat to replenish our reserves.我们不得不额外进口四百万吨小麦以补充我们的储备。
命令式地,有权威地,可信地
- "If somebody'll come here and sit with him," he snapped authoritatively. “来个人到这儿陪他坐着。”他用发号施令的口吻说。
- To decide or settle(a dispute, for example) conclusively and authoritatively. 判定结论性、权威性地决定或解决(纠纷等)
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的
- After the earthquake only a few houses were left standing.地震过后只有几幢房屋还立着。
- They're standing out against any change in the law.他们坚决反对对法律做任何修改。
n.初级律师,事务律师
- The solicitor's advice gave me food for thought.律师的指点值得我深思。
- The solicitor moved for an adjournment of the case.律师请求将这个案件的诉讼延期。
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛
- Nothing could alleviate his distress.什么都不能减轻他的痛苦。
- Please don't distress yourself.请你不要忧愁了。
adj.极其仔细的,一丝不苟的
- We'll have to handle the matter with meticulous care.这事一点不能含糊。
- She is meticulous in her presentation of facts.她介绍事实十分详细。
n.手杖,细长的茎,藤条;v.以杖击,以藤编制的
- This sugar cane is quite a sweet and juicy.这甘蔗既甜又多汁。
- English schoolmasters used to cane the boys as a punishment.英国小学老师过去常用教鞭打男学生作为惩罚。
adj.简朴的,刻苦的;n.斯巴达;斯巴达式的人
- Their spartan lifestyle prohibits a fridge or a phone.他们不使用冰箱和电话,过着简朴的生活。
- The rooms were spartan and undecorated.房间没有装饰,极为简陋。
n.合奏(唱)组;全套服装;整体,总效果
- We should consider the buildings as an ensemble.我们应把那些建筑物视作一个整体。
- It is ensemble music for up to about ten players,with one player to a part.它是最多十人演奏的合奏音乐,每人担任一部分。
v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 );使降职;转移;把…归类
- She was then relegated to the role of assistant. 随后她被降级做助手了。
- I think that should be relegated to the garbage can of history. 我认为应该把它扔进历史的垃圾箱。 来自《现代汉英综合大词典》
n.锅炉;煮器(壶,锅等)
- That boiler will not hold up under pressure.那种锅炉受不住压力。
- This new boiler generates more heat than the old one.这个新锅炉产生的热量比旧锅炉多。
v.补偿,付还
- We'll reimburse you for your travelling expenses.我们将付还你旅费。
- The funds are supposed to reimburse policyholders in the event of insurer failure.这项基金将在保险公司不能偿付的情况下对投保人进行赔付。
n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 );点缀;装饰品;首饰v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的第三人称单数 )
- The shelves were chock-a-block with ornaments. 架子上堆满了装饰品。
- Playing the piano sets up resonance in those glass ornaments. 一弹钢琴那些玻璃饰物就会产生共振。 来自《简明英汉词典》
v.以鼻吸气,嗅,闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 );抽鼻子(尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气);抱怨,不以为然地说
- When Jenney had stopped crying she sniffed and dried her eyes. 珍妮停止了哭泣,吸了吸鼻子,擦干了眼泪。 来自《简明英汉词典》
- The dog sniffed suspiciously at the stranger. 狗疑惑地嗅着那个陌生人。 来自《简明英汉词典》
n.盥洗室,厕所
- Is there any lavatory in this building?这座楼里有厕所吗?
- The use of the lavatory has been suspended during take-off.在飞机起飞期间,盥洗室暂停使用。
n.贮水池
- The cistern is empty but soon fills again.蓄水池里现在没水,但不久就会储满水的。
- The lavatory cistern overflowed.厕所水箱的水溢出来了
adj.束缚的,节制的
- The evidence was so compelling that he felt constrained to accept it. 证据是那样的令人折服,他觉得不得不接受。
- I feel constrained to write and ask for your forgiveness. 我不得不写信请你原谅。
n.(生理上的)性,(名词、代词等的)性
- French differs from English in having gender for all nouns.法语不同于英语,所有的名词都有性。
- Women are sometimes denied opportunities solely because of their gender.妇女有时仅仅因为性别而无法获得种种机会。
n.正当行为;正当;适当
- We hesitated at the propriety of the method.我们对这种办法是否适用拿不定主意。
- The sensitive matter was handled with great propriety.这件机密的事处理得极为适当。
n.橡皮圈,松紧带;adj.有弹性的;灵活的
- Rubber is an elastic material.橡胶是一种弹性材料。
- These regulations are elastic.这些规定是有弹性的。
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视
- The possibility of war is too horrifying to contemplate.战争的可能性太可怕了,真不堪细想。
- The consequences would be too ghastly to contemplate.后果不堪设想。
n.沉着,镇定
- She went again,and in so doing temporarily recovered her equanimity.她又去看了戏,而且这样一来又暂时恢复了她的平静。
- The defeat was taken with equanimity by the leadership.领导层坦然地接受了失败。
n.提醒物,纪念品;暗示,提示
- I have had another reminder from the library.我又收到图书馆的催还单。
- It always took a final reminder to get her to pay her share of the rent.总是得发给她一份最后催缴通知,她才付应该交的房租。
n.钟声;v.鸣响
- The bells of the cathedral rang out their loud peal.大教堂响起了响亮的钟声。
- A sudden peal of thunder leaves no time to cover the ears.迅雷不及掩耳。
调整( modulate的现在分词 ); (对波幅、频率的)调制; 转调; 调整或改变(嗓音)的音调
- In his horn solo,he kept modulating from key to key. 他在喇叭独奏时不断地变调。
- Water vapour and clouds are the primary variables modulating direct solar absorption. 水汽和云是调节直接太阳吸收的主要要素。
vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音
- The wounded man uttered a groan.那个受伤的人发出呻吟。
- The people groan under the burden of taxes.人民在重税下痛苦呻吟。
adj.有节奏的,有韵律的
- Her breathing became more rhythmic.她的呼吸变得更有规律了。
- Good breathing is slow,rhythmic and deep.健康的呼吸方式缓慢深沉而有节奏。
adj.恭敬的,虔诚的
- He gave reverent attention to the teacher.他恭敬地听老师讲课。
- She said the word artist with a gentle,understanding,reverent smile.她说作家一词时面带高雅,理解和虔诚的微笑。
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静
- A hush fell over the onlookers.旁观者们突然静了下来。
- Do hush up the scandal!不要把这丑事声张出去!
adj.在...下面,在...底下;adv.在下面
- Working underneath the car is always a messy job.在汽车底下工作是件脏活。
- She wore a coat with a dress underneath.她穿着一件大衣,里面套着一条连衣裙。
崇高,庄严,气质高尚
- It'suggests no crystal waters, no picturesque shores, no sublimity. 这决不会叫人联想到晶莹的清水,如画的两岸,雄壮的气势。
- Huckleberry was filled with admiration of Tom's facility in writing, and the sublimity of his language. 对汤姆流利的书写、响亮的内容,哈克贝利心悦诚服。
n.箱柜;vt.放入箱内;[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件
- He emptied several bags of rice into a bin.他把几袋米倒进大箱里。
- He threw the empty bottles in the bin.他把空瓶子扔进垃圾箱。
v.深入探究,钻研( delve的过去式和过去分词 )
- She delved in her handbag for a pen. 她在手提包里翻找钢笔。
- He delved into the family archives looking for the facts. 他深入查考这个家族的家谱以寻找事实根据。 来自《简明英汉词典》
n.鲑,大马哈鱼,橙红色的
- We saw a salmon jumping in the waterfall there.我们看见一条大马哈鱼在那边瀑布中跳跃。
- Do you have any fresh salmon in at the moment?现在有新鲜大马哈鱼卖吗?
adj.城郊的,在郊区的
- Suburban shopping centers were springing up all over America. 效区的商业中心在美国如雨后春笋般地兴起。
- There's a lot of good things about suburban living.郊区生活是有许多优点。
n.遗产,遗赠;先人(或过去)留下的东西
- They are the most precious cultural legacy our forefathers left.它们是我们祖先留下来的最宝贵的文化遗产。
- He thinks the legacy is a gift from the Gods.他认为这笔遗产是天赐之物。
adv.含糊地,暖昧地
- He had talked vaguely of going to work abroad.他含糊其词地说了到国外工作的事。
- He looked vaguely before him with unseeing eyes.他迷迷糊糊的望着前面,对一切都视而不见。
adj.使消除疑虑的;使放心的v.再保证,恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词)
- The captain's confidence during the storm reassured the passengers. 在风暴中船长的信念使旅客们恢复了信心。 来自《现代英汉综合大词典》
- The doctor reassured the old lady. 医生叫那位老妇人放心。 来自《简明英汉词典》
n.长笛;v.吹笛
- He took out his flute, and blew at it.他拿出笛子吹了起来。
- There is an extensive repertoire of music written for the flute.有很多供长笛演奏的曲目。
adv.完全地,绝对地
- Utterly devoted to the people,he gave his life in saving his patients.他忠于人民,把毕生精力用于挽救患者的生命。
- I was utterly ravished by the way she smiled.她的微笑使我完全陶醉了。
adj.像奇迹一样的,不可思议的
- The wounded man made a miraculous recovery.伤员奇迹般地痊愈了。
- They won a miraculous victory over much stronger enemy.他们战胜了远比自己强大的敌人,赢得了非凡的胜利。
n.吸入,纳入;进气口,入口
- Reduce your salt intake.减少盐的摄入量。
- There was a horrified intake of breath from every child.所有的孩子都害怕地倒抽了一口凉气。
adj.怠惰的,没精打采的
- For two days he was languorous and esteemed. 两天来,他因身体衰弱无力,受到尊重。 来自辞典例句
- Some one says Fuzhou is a languorous and idle city. 有人说,福州是一个慵懒闲淡的城市。 来自互联网
adj.敲击的
- When it is dragged over pliant areas, an additional percussive tap could indicate this collision. 当它被拖到受范区域时,一个附加的敲击声提示这种碰触。 来自About Face 3交互设计精髓
- Pneumatic DTH (Down-The-Hole) hammer is one of main pneumatic percussive-rotary drilling equipments. 风动冲击器是气动冲击回转钻进的主要设备之一。 来自互联网
adj. 快速而活泼的;n.快板;adv.活泼地
- The first movement is a conventional symphonic Allegro.第一乐章是传统的交响乐快板。
- My life in university is like allegro.我的生活在大学中像急速的乐章。
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的
- I've had a frantic rush to get my work done.我急急忙忙地赶完工作。
- He made frantic dash for the departing train.他发疯似地冲向正开出的火车。
v.把…赠与,把…授予;花费
- He wished to bestow great honors upon the hero.他希望将那些伟大的荣誉授予这位英雄。
- What great inspiration wiII you bestow on me?你有什么伟大的灵感能馈赠给我?
n.性交;交流,交往,交际
- The magazine becomes a cultural medium of intercourse between the two peoples.该杂志成为两民族间文化交流的媒介。
- There was close intercourse between them.他们过往很密。