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(单词翻译:双击或拖选)
Chapter V
This was a gentleman no longer young, of a stiff and portly appearance, and a cautious and sour countenance1. He began by stopping short in the doorway2, staring about him with offensive and undisguised astonishment3, as though asking himself what sort of place he had come to. Mistrustfully and with an affectation of being alarmed and almost affronted5, he scanned Raskolnikov’s low and narrow “cabin.” With the same amazement6 he stared at Raskolnikov, who lay undressed, dishevelled, unwashed, on his miserable7 dirty sofa, looking fixedly9 at him. Then with the same deliberation he scrutinised the uncouth10, unkempt figure and unshaven face of Razumihin, who looked him boldly and inquiringly in the face without rising from his seat. A constrained11 silence lasted for a couple of minutes, and then, as might be expected, some scene-shifting took place. Reflecting, probably from certain fairly unmistakable signs, that he would get nothing in this “cabin” by attempting to overawe them, the gentleman softened12 somewhat, and civilly, though with some severity, emphasising every syllable13 of his question, addressed Zossimov:
Zossimov made a slight movement, and would have answered, had not Razumihin anticipated him.
“Here he is lying on the sofa! What do you want?”
This familiar “what do you want” seemed to cut the ground from the feet of the pompous15 gentleman. He was turning to Razumihin, but checked himself in time and turned to Zossimov again.
“This is Raskolnikov,” mumbled16 Zossimov, nodding towards him. Then he gave a prolonged yawn, opening his mouth as wide as possible. Then he lazily put his hand into his waistcoat-pocket, pulled out a huge gold watch in a round hunter’s case, opened it, looked at it and as slowly and lazily proceeded to put it back.
Raskolnikov himself lay without speaking, on his back, gazing persistently17, though without understanding, at the stranger. Now that his face was turned away from the strange flower on the paper, it was extremely pale and wore a look of anguish19, as though he had just undergone an agonising operation or just been taken from the rack. But the new-comer gradually began to arouse his attention, then his wonder, then suspicion and even alarm. When Zossimov said “This is Raskolnikov” he jumped up quickly, sat on the sofa and with an almost defiant20, but weak and breaking, voice articulated:
“Yes, I am Raskolnikov! What do you want?”
The visitor scrutinised him and pronounced impressively:
“Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin. I believe I have reason to hope that my name is not wholly unknown to you?”
But Raskolnikov, who had expected something quite different, gazed blankly and dreamily at him, making no reply, as though he heard the name of Pyotr Petrovitch for the first time.
“Is it possible that you can up to the present have received no information?” asked Pyotr Petrovitch, somewhat disconcerted.
In reply Raskolnikov sank languidly back on the pillow, put his hands behind his head and gazed at the ceiling. A look of dismay came into Luzhin’s face. Zossimov and Razumihin stared at him more inquisitively21 than ever, and at last he showed unmistakable signs of embarrassment22.
“I had presumed and calculated,” he faltered23, “that a letter posted more than ten days, if not a fortnight ago . . .”
“I say, why are you standing18 in the doorway?” Razumihin interrupted suddenly. “If you’ve something to say, sit down. Nastasya and you are so crowded. Nastasya, make room. Here’s a chair, thread your way in!”
He moved his chair back from the table, made a little space between the table and his knees, and waited in a rather cramped24 position for the visitor to “thread his way in.” The minute was so chosen that it was impossible to refuse, and the visitor squeezed his way through, hurrying and stumbling. Reaching the chair, he sat down, looking suspiciously at Razumihin.
“No need to be nervous,” the latter blurted25 out. “Rodya has been ill for the last five days and delirious26 for three, but now he is recovering and has got an appetite. This is his doctor, who has just had a look at him. I am a comrade of Rodya’s, like him, formerly a student, and now I am nursing him; so don’t you take any notice of us, but go on with your business.”
“Thank you. But shall I not disturb the invalid27 by my presence and conversation?” Pyotr Petrovitch asked of Zossimov.
“N-no,” mumbled Zossimov; “you may amuse him.” He yawned again.
“He has been conscious a long time, since the morning,” went on Razumihin, whose familiarity seemed so much like unaffected good-nature that Pyotr Petrovitch began to be more cheerful, partly, perhaps, because this shabby and impudent28 person had introduced himself as a student.
“Your mamma,” began Luzhin.
“Hm!” Razumihin cleared his throat loudly. Luzhin looked at him inquiringly.
“That’s all right, go on.”
“Your mamma had commenced a letter to you while I was sojourning in her neighbourhood. On my arrival here I purposely allowed a few days to elapse before coming to see you, in order that I might be fully4 assured that you were in full possession of the tidings; but now, to my astonishment . . .”
“I know, I know!” Raskolnikov cried suddenly with impatient vexation. “So you are the fiancé? I know, and that’s enough!”
There was no doubt about Pyotr Petrovitch’s being offended this time, but he said nothing. He made a violent effort to understand what it all meant. There was a moment’s silence.
Meanwhile Raskolnikov, who had turned a little towards him when he answered, began suddenly staring at him again with marked curiosity, as though he had not had a good look at him yet, or as though something new had struck him; he rose from his pillow on purpose to stare at him. There certainly was something peculiar30 in Pyotr Petrovitch’s whole appearance, something which seemed to justify31 the title of “fiancé” so unceremoniously applied32 to him. In the first place, it was evident, far too much so indeed, that Pyotr Petrovitch had made eager use of his few days in the capital to get himself up and rig himself out in expectation of his betrothed33 — a perfectly34 innocent and permissible35 proceeding36, indeed. Even his own, perhaps too complacent37, consciousness of the agreeable improvement in his appearance might have been forgiven in such circumstances, seeing that Pyotr Petrovitch had taken up the rôle of fiancé. All his clothes were fresh from the tailor’s and were all right, except for being too new and too distinctly appropriate. Even the stylish38 new round hat had the same significance. Pyotr Petrovitch treated it too respectfully and held it too carefully in his hands. The exquisite39 pair of lavender gloves, real Louvain, told the same tale, if only from the fact of his not wearing them, but carrying them in his hand for show. Light and youthful colours predominated in Pyotr Petrovitch’s attire40. He wore a charming summer jacket of a fawn41 shade, light thin trousers, a waistcoat of the same, new and fine linen42, a cravat43 of the lightest cambric with pink stripes on it, and the best of it was, this all suited Pyotr Petrovitch. His very fresh and even handsome face looked younger than his forty-five years at all times. His dark, mutton-chop whiskers made an agreeable setting on both sides, growing thickly upon his shining, clean-shaven chin. Even his hair, touched here and there with grey, though it had been combed and curled at a hairdresser’s, did not give him a stupid appearance, as curled hair usually does, by inevitably44 suggesting a German on his wedding-day. If there really was something unpleasing and repulsive45 in his rather good-looking and imposing46 countenance, it was due to quite other causes. After scanning Mr. Luzhin unceremoniously, Raskolnikov smiled malignantly47, sank back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling as before.
But Mr. Luzhin hardened his heart and seemed to determine to take no notice of their oddities.
“I feel the greatest regret at finding you in this situation,” he began, again breaking the silence with an effort. “If I had been aware of your illness I should have come earlier. But you know what business is. I have, too, a very important legal affair in the Senate, not to mention other preoccupations which you may well conjecture48. I am expecting your mamma and sister any minute.”
Raskolnikov made a movement and seemed about to speak; his face showed some excitement. Pyotr Petrovitch paused, waited, but as nothing followed, he went on:
“Where?” asked Raskolnikov weakly.
“Very near here, in Bakaleyev’s house.”
“That’s in Voskresensky,” put in Razumihin. “There are two storeys of rooms, let by a merchant called Yushin; I’ve been there.”
“Yes, rooms . . .”
“A disgusting place — filthy50, stinking51 and, what’s more, of doubtful character. Things have happened there, and there are all sorts of queer people living there. And I went there about a scandalous business. It’s cheap, though . . .”
“I could not, of course, find out so much about it, for I am a stranger in Petersburg myself,” Pyotr Petrovitch replied huffily. “However, the two rooms are exceedingly clean, and as it is for so short a time . . . I have already taken a permanent, that is, our future flat,” he said, addressing Raskolnikov, “and I am having it done up. And meanwhile I am myself cramped for room in a lodging with my friend Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov, in the flat of Madame Lippevechsel; it was he who told me of Bakaleyev’s house, too . . .”
“Lebeziatnikov?” said Raskolnikov slowly, as if recalling something.
“Yes . . . no,” Raskolnikov answered.
“Excuse me, I fancied so from your inquiry53. I was once his guardian54. . . . A very nice young man and advanced. I like to meet young people: one learns new things from them.” Luzhin looked round hopefully at them all.
“How do you mean?” asked Razumihin.
“In the most serious and essential matters,” Pyotr Petrovitch replied, as though delighted at the question. “You see, it’s ten years since I visited Petersburg. All the novelties, reforms, ideas have reached us in the provinces, but to see it all more clearly one must be in Petersburg. And it’s my notion that you observe and learn most by watching the younger generation. And I confess I am delighted . . .”
“At what?”
“Your question is a wide one. I may be mistaken, but I fancy I find clearer views, more, so to say, criticism, more practicality . . .”
“That’s true,” Zossimov let drop.
“Nonsense! There’s no practicality.” Razumihin flew at him. “Practicality is a difficult thing to find; it does not drop down from heaven. And for the last two hundred years we have been divorced from all practical life. Ideas, if you like, are fermenting,” he said to Pyotr Petrovitch, “and desire for good exists, though it’s in a childish form, and honesty you may find, although there are crowds of brigands55. Anyway, there’s no practicality. Practicality goes well shod.”
“I don’t agree with you,” Pyotr Petrovitch replied, with evident enjoyment56. “Of course, people do get carried away and make mistakes, but one must have indulgence; those mistakes are merely evidence of enthusiasm for the cause and of abnormal external environment. If little has been done, the time has been but short; of means I will not speak. It’s my personal view, if you care to know, that something has been accomplished57 already. New valuable ideas, new valuable works are circulating in the place of our old dreamy and romantic authors. Literature is taking a maturer form, many injurious prejudice have been rooted up and turned into ridicule58. . . . In a word, we have cut ourselves off irrevocably from the past, and that, to my thinking, is a great thing . . .”
“He’s learnt it by heart to show off!” Raskolnikov pronounced suddenly.
“That’s all true,” Zossimov hastened to interpose.
“Isn’t it so?” Pyotr Petrovitch went on, glancing affably at Zossimov. “You must admit,” he went on, addressing Razumihin with a shade of triumph and superciliousness60 — he almost added “young man”—“that there is an advance, or, as they say now, progress in the name of science and economic truth . . .”
“A commonplace.”
“No, not a commonplace! Hitherto, for instance, if I were told, ‘love thy neighbour,’ what came of it?” Pyotr Petrovitch went on, perhaps with excessive haste. “It came to my tearing my coat in half to share with my neighbour and we both were left half naked. As a Russian proverb has it, ‘Catch several hares and you won’t catch one.’ Science now tells us, love yourself before all men, for everything in the world rests on self-interest. You love yourself and manage your own affairs properly and your coat remains61 whole. Economic truth adds that the better private affairs are organised in society — the more whole coats, so to say — the firmer are its foundations and the better is the common welfare organised too. Therefore, in acquiring wealth solely62 and exclusively for myself, I am acquiring, so to speak, for all, and helping63 to bring to pass my neighbour’s getting a little more than a torn coat; and that not from private, personal liberality, but as a consequence of the general advance. The idea is simple, but unhappily it has been a long time reaching us, being hindered by idealism and sentimentality. And yet it would seem to want very little wit to perceive it . . .”
“Excuse me, I’ve very little wit myself,” Razumihin cut in sharply, “and so let us drop it. I began this discussion with an object, but I’ve grown so sick during the last three years of this chattering64 to amuse oneself, of this incessant65 flow of commonplaces, always the same, that, by Jove, I blush even when other people talk like that. You are in a hurry, no doubt, to exhibit your acquirements; and I don’t blame you, that’s quite pardonable. I only wanted to find out what sort of man you are, for so many unscrupulous people have got hold of the progressive cause of late and have so distorted in their own interests everything they touched, that the whole cause has been dragged in the mire66. That’s enough!”
“Excuse me, sir,” said Luzhin, affronted, and speaking with excessive dignity. “Do you mean to suggest so unceremoniously that I too . . .”
“Oh, my dear sir . . . how could I? . . . Come, that’s enough,” Razumihin concluded, and he turned abruptly67 to Zossimov to continue their previous conversation.
Pyotr Petrovitch had the good sense to accept the disavowal. He made up his mind to take leave in another minute or two.
“I trust our acquaintance,” he said, addressing Raskolnikov, “may, upon your recovery and in view of the circumstances of which you are aware, become closer . . . Above all, I hope for your return to health . . .”
Raskolnikov did not even turn his head. Pyotr Petrovitch began getting up from his chair.
“One of her customers must have killed her,” Zossimov declared positively68.
“Not a doubt of it,” replied Razumihin. “Porfiry doesn’t give his opinion, but is examining all who have left pledges with her there.”
“Examining them?” Raskolnikov asked aloud.
“Yes. What then?”
“Nothing.”
“How does he get hold of them?” asked Zossimov.
“Koch has given the names of some of them, other names are on the wrappers of the pledges and some have come forward of themselves.”
“It must have been a cunning and practised ruffian! The boldness of it! The coolness!”
“That’s just what it wasn’t!” interposed Razumihin. “That’s what throws you all off the scent69. But I maintain that he is not cunning, not practised, and probably this was his first crime! The supposition that it was a calculated crime and a cunning criminal doesn’t work. Suppose him to have been inexperienced, and it’s clear that it was only a chance that saved him — and chance may do anything. Why, he did not foresee obstacles, perhaps! And how did he set to work? He took jewels worth ten or twenty roubles, stuffing his pockets with them, ransacked70 the old woman’s trunks, her rags — and they found fifteen hundred roubles, besides notes, in a box in the top drawer of the chest! He did not know how to rob; he could only murder. It was his first crime, I assure you, his first crime; he lost his head. And he got off more by luck than good counsel!”
“You are talking of the murder of the old pawnbroker72, I believe?” Pyotr Petrovitch put in, addressing Zossimov. He was standing, hat and gloves in hand, but before departing he felt disposed to throw off a few more intellectual phrases. He was evidently anxious to make a favourable73 impression and his vanity overcame his prudence74.
“Yes. You’ve heard of it?”
“Oh, yes, being in the neighbourhood.”
“Do you know the details?”
“I can’t say that; but another circumstance interests me in the case — the whole question, so to say. Not to speak of the fact that crime has been greatly on the increase among the lower classes during the last five years, not to speak of the cases of robbery and arson75 everywhere, what strikes me as the strangest thing is that in the higher classes, too, crime is increasing proportionately. In one place one hears of a student’s robbing the mail on the high road; in another place people of good social position forge false banknotes; in Moscow of late a whole gang has been captured who used to forge lottery76 tickets, and one of the ringleaders was a lecturer in universal history; then our secretary abroad was murdered from some obscure motive77 of gain. . . . And if this old woman, the pawnbroker, has been murdered by someone of a higher class in society — for peasants don’t pawn71 gold trinkets — how are we to explain this demoralisation of the civilised part of our society?”
“There are many economic changes,” put in Zossimov.
“How are we to explain it?” Razumihin caught him up. “It might be explained by our inveterate78 impracticality79.”
“How do you mean?”
“What answer had your lecturer in Moscow to make to the question why he was forging notes? ‘Everybody is getting rich one way or another, so I want to make haste to get rich too.’ I don’t remember the exact words, but the upshot was that he wants money for nothing, without waiting or working! We’ve grown used to having everything ready-made, to walking on crutches80, to having our food chewed for us. Then the great hour struck,1and every man showed himself in his true colours.”
1 The emancipation81 of the serfs in 1861 is meant. — TRANSLATOR’S NOTE.
“But morality? And so to speak, principles . . .”
“But why do you worry about it?” Raskolnikov interposed suddenly. “It’s in accordance with your theory!”
“In accordance with my theory?”
“Why, carry out logically the theory you were advocating just now, and it follows that people may be killed . . .”
“Upon my word!” cried Luzhin.
“No, that’s not so,” put in Zossimov.
“There’s a measure in all things,” Luzhin went on superciliously83. “Economic ideas are not an incitement84 to murder, and one has but to suppose . . .”
“And is it true,” Raskolnikov interposed once more suddenly, again in a voice quivering with fury and delight in insulting him, “is it true that you told your fiancée . . . within an hour of her acceptance, that what pleased you most . . . was that she was a beggar . . . because it was better to raise a wife from poverty, so that you may have complete control over her, and reproach her with your being her benefactor85?”
“Upon my word,” Luzhin cried wrathfully and irritably86, crimson87 with confusion, “to distort my words in this way! Excuse me, allow me to assure you that the report which has reached you, or rather, let me say, has been conveyed to you, has no foundation in truth, and I . . . suspect who . . . in a word . . . this arrow . . . in a word, your mamma . . . She seemed to me in other things, with all her excellent qualities, of a somewhat high-flown and romantic way of thinking. . . . But I was a thousand miles from supposing that she would misunderstand and misrepresent things in so fanciful a way. . . . And indeed . . . indeed . . .”
“I tell you what,” cried Raskolnikov, raising himself on his pillow and fixing his piercing, glittering eyes upon him, “I tell you what.”
“What?” Luzhin stood still, waiting with a defiant and offended face. Silence lasted for some seconds.
“Why, if ever again . . . you dare to mention a single word . . . about my mother . . . I shall send you flying downstairs!”
“What’s the matter with you?” cried Razumihin.
“So that’s how it is?” Luzhin turned pale and bit his lip. “Let me tell you, sir,” he began deliberately88, doing his utmost to restrain himself but breathing hard, “at the first moment I saw you you were ill-disposed to me, but I remained here on purpose to find out more. I could forgive a great deal in a sick man and a connection, but you . . . never after this . . .”
“I am not ill,” cried Raskolnikov.
“So much the worse . . .”
“Go to hell!”
But Luzhin was already leaving without finishing his speech, squeezing between the table and the chair; Razumihin got up this time to let him pass. Without glancing at anyone, and not even nodding to Zossimov, who had for some time been making signs to him to let the sick man alone, he went out, lifting his hat to the level of his shoulders to avoid crushing it as he stooped to go out of the door. And even the curve of his spine89 was expressive90 of the horrible insult he had received.
“How could you — how could you!” Razumihin said, shaking his head in perplexity.
“Let me alone — let me alone all of you!” Raskolnikov cried in a frenzy91. “Will you ever leave off tormenting92 me? I am not afraid of you! I am not afraid of anyone, anyone now! Get away from me! I want to be alone, alone, alone!”
“Come along,” said Zossimov, nodding to Razumihin.
“But we can’t leave him like this!”
“Come along,” Zossimov repeated insistently93, and he went out. Razumihin thought a minute and ran to overtake him.
“It might be worse not to obey him,” said Zossimov on the stairs. “He mustn’t be irritated.”
“What’s the matter with him?”
“If only he could get some favourable shock, that’s what would do it! At first he was better. . . . You know he has got something on his mind! Some fixed8 idea weighing on him. . . . I am very much afraid so; he must have!”
“Perhaps it’s that gentleman, Pyotr Petrovitch. From his conversation I gather he is going to marry his sister, and that he had received a letter about it just before his illness . . . .”
“Yes, confound the man! he may have upset the case altogether. But have you noticed, he takes no interest in anything, he does not respond to anything except one point on which he seems excited — that’s the murder?”
“Yes, yes,” Razumihin agreed, “I noticed that, too. He is interested, frightened. It gave him a shock on the day he was ill in the police office; he fainted.”
“Tell me more about that this evening and I’ll tell you something afterwards. He interests me very much! In half an hour I’ll go and see him again. . . . There’ll be no inflammation though.”
“Thanks! And I’ll wait with Pashenka meantime and will keep watch on him through Nastasya . . . .”
“Won’t you have some tea now?” she asked.
“Later! I am sleepy! Leave me.”
He turned abruptly to the wall; Nastasya went out.
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收听单词发音
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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affronted
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| adj.被侮辱的，被冒犯的v.勇敢地面对( affront的过去式和过去分词 )；相遇 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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inquisitively
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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cramped
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blurted
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delirious
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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peculiar
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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applied
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betrothed
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perfectly
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permissible
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| adj.可允许的，许可的 | |
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36
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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37
complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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38
stylish
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| adj.流行的，时髦的；漂亮的，气派的 | |
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39
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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40
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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41
fawn
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| n.未满周岁的小鹿；v.巴结，奉承 | |
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42
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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43
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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44
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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45
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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46
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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47
malignantly
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| 怀恶意地； 恶毒地； 有害地； 恶性地 | |
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48
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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49
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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50
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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51
stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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52
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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53
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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54
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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55
brigands
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| n.土匪，强盗( brigand的名词复数 ) | |
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56
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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57
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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58
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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59
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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60
superciliousness
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| n.高傲，傲慢 | |
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61
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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62
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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63
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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64
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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65
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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66
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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67
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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68
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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69
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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70
ransacked
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的过去式和过去分词 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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71
pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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72
pawnbroker
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| n.典当商，当铺老板 | |
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73
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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74
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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75
arson
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| n.纵火，放火 | |
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76
lottery
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| n.抽彩；碰运气的事，难于算计的事 | |
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77
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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78
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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79
impracticality
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| n.不切实际, 办不到 | |
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80
crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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81
emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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82
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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83
superciliously
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| adv.高傲地；傲慢地 | |
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84
incitement
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| 激励； 刺激； 煽动； 激励物 | |
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85
benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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86
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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87
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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88
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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89
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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90
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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91
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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92
tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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93
insistently
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| ad.坚持地 | |
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94
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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95
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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