Chapter 1
It was the first Saturday afternoon in August; it had been broiling hot all day, with a cloudless sky, and the sun had been beating down on the houses, so that the top rooms were like ovens; but now with the approach of evening it was cooler, and everyone in Vere Street was out of doors.
Vere street, Lambeth, is a short, straight street leading out of the Westminster Bridge Road; it has forty houses on one side and forty houses on the other, and these eighty houses are very much more like one another than ever peas are like peas, or young ladies like young ladies. They are newish, three-storied buildings of dingy grey brick with slate roofs, and they are perfectly flat, without a bow-window or even a projecting cornice or window-sill to break the straightness of the line from one end of the street to the other.
This Saturday afternoon the street was full of life; no traffic came down Vere Street, and the cemented space between the pavements was given up to children. Several games of cricket were being played by wildly excited boys, using coats for wickets, an old tennis-ball or a bundle of rags tied together for a ball, and, generally, an old broomstick for bat. The wicket was so large and the bat so small that the man in was always getting bowled, when heated quarrels would arise, the batter absolutely refusing to go out and the bowler absolutely insisting on going in. The girls were more peaceable; they were chiefly employed in skipping, and only abused one another mildly when the rope was not properly turned or the skipper did not jump sufficiently high. Worst off of all were the very young children, for there had been no rain for weeks, and the street was as dry and clean as a covered court, and, in the lack of mud to wallow in, they sat about the road, disconsolate as poets. The number of babies was prodigious; they sprawled about everywhere, on the pavement, round the doors, and about their mothers' skirts. The grown-ups were gathered round the open doors; there were usually two women squatting on the doorstep, and two or three more seated on either side on chairs; they were invariably nursing babies, and most of them showed clear signs that the present object of the maternal care would be soon ousted by a new arrival. Men were less numerous but such as there were leant against the walls, smoking, or sat on the sills of the ground-floor windows. It was the dead season in Vere Street as much as in Belgravia, and really if it had not been for babies just come or just about to come, and an opportune murder in a neighbouring doss-house, there would have been nothing whatever to talk about. As it was, the little groups talked quietly, discussing the atrocity or the merits of the local midwives, comparing the circumstances of their various confinements.
'You'll be 'avin' your little trouble soon, eh, Polly?' asked one good lady of another.
'Oh, I reckon I've got another two months ter go yet,' answered Polly.
'Well,' said a third. 'I wouldn't 'ave thought you'd go so long by the look of yer!'
'I 'ope you'll have it easier this time, my dear,' said a very stout old person, a woman of great importance.
'She said she wasn't goin' to 'ave no more, when the last one come.' This remark came from Polly's husband.
'Ah,' said the stout old lady, who was in the business, and boasted vast experience. 'That's wot they all says; but, Lor' bless yer, they don't mean it.'
'Well, I've got three, and I'm not goin' to 'ave no more bli'me if I will; 'tain't good enough--that's wot I says.'
'You're abaht right there, ole gal,' said Polly, 'My word, 'Arry, if you 'ave any more I'll git a divorce, that I will.'
At that moment an organ-grinder turned the corner and came down the street.
'Good biz; 'ere's an organ!' cried half a dozen people at once.
The organ-man was an Italian, with a shock of black hair and a ferocious moustache. Drawing his organ to a favourable spot, he stopped, released his shoulder from the leather straps by which he dragged it, and cocking his large soft hat on the side of his head, began turning the handle. It was a lively tune, and in less than no time a little crowd had gathered round to listen, chiefly the young men and the maidens, for the married ladies were never in a fit state to dance, and therefore disinclined to trouble themselves to stand round the organ. There was a moment's hesitation at opening the ball; then one girl said to another:
'Come on, Florrie, you and me ain't shy; we'll begin, and bust it!'
The two girls took hold of one another, one acting gentleman, the other lady; three or four more pairs of girls immediately joined them, and they began a waltz. They held themselves very upright; and with an air of grave dignity which was quite impressive, glided slowly about, making their steps with the utmost precision, bearing themselves with sufficient decorum for a court ball. After a while the men began to itch for a turn, and two of them, taking hold of one another in the most approved fashion, waltzed round the circle with the gravity of judges.
All at once there was a cry: 'There's Liza!' And several members of the group turned and called out: 'Oo, look at Liza!'
The dancers stopped to see the sight, and the organ-grinder, having come to the end of his tune, ceased turning the handle and looked to see what was the excitement.
'Oo, Liza!' they called out. 'Look at Liza; oo, I sy!'
It was a young girl of about eighteen, with dark eyes, and an enormous fringe, puffed-out and curled and frizzed, covering her whole forehead from side to side, and coming down to meet her eyebrows. She was dressed in brilliant violet, with great lappets of velvet, and she had on her head an enormous black hat covered with feathers.
'I sy, ain't she got up dossy?' called out the groups at the doors, as she passed.
'Dressed ter death, and kill the fashion; that's wot I calls it.'
Liza saw what a sensation she was creating; she arched her back and lifted her head, and walked down the street, swaying her body from side to side, and swaggering along as though the whole place belonged to her.
''Ave yer bought the street, Bill?' shouted one youth; and then half a dozen burst forth at once, as if by inspiration:
'Knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road!'
It was immediately taken up by a dozen more, and they all yelled it out:
'Knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road. Yah, ah, knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road!'
'Oo, Liza!' they shouted; the whole street joined in, and they gave long, shrill, ear-piercing shrieks and strange calls, that rung down the street and echoed back again.
'Hextra special!' called out a wag.
'Oh, Liza! Oo! Ooo!' yells and whistles, and then it thundered forth again:
'Knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road!'
Liza put on the air of a conquering hero, and sauntered on, enchanted at the uproar. She stuck out her elbows and jerked her head on one side, and said to herself as she passed through the bellowing crowd:
'This is jam!'
'Knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road!'
When she came to the group round the barrel-organ, one of the girls cried out to her:
'Is that yer new dress, Liza?'
'Well, it don't look like my old one, do it?' said Liza.
'Where did yer git it?' asked another friend, rather enviously.
'Picked it up in the street, of course,' scornfully answered Liza.
'I believe it's the same one as I saw in the pawnbroker's dahn the road,' said one of the men, to tease her.
'Thet's it; but wot was you doin' in there? Pledgin' yer shirt, or was it yer trousers?'
'Yah, I wouldn't git a second-'and dress at a pawnbroker's!'
'Garn!' said Liza indignantly. 'I'll swipe yer over the snitch if yer talk ter me. I got the mayterials in the West Hend, didn't I? And I 'ad it mide up by my Court Dressmiker, so you jolly well dry up, old jellybelly.'
'Garn!' was the reply.
Liza had been so intent on her new dress and the comment it was exciting that she had not noticed the organ.
'Oo, I say, let's 'ave some dancin',' she said as soon as she saw it. 'Come on, Sally,' she added, to one of the girls, 'you an' me'll dance togither. Grind away, old cock!'
The man turned on a new tune, and the organ began to play the Intermezzo from the 'Cavalleria'; other couples quickly followed Liza's example, and they began to waltz round with the same solemnity as before; but Liza outdid them all; if the others were as stately as queens, she was as stately as an empress; the gravity and dignity with which she waltzed were something appalling, you felt that the minuet was a frolic in comparison; it would have been a fitting measure to tread round the grave of a _premiere danseuse_, or at the funeral of a professional humorist. And the graces she put on, the languor of the eyes, the contemptuous curl of the lips, the exquisite turn of the hand, the dainty arching of the foot! You felt there could be no questioning her right to the tyranny of Vere Street.
Suddenly she stopped short, and disengaged herself from her companion.
'Oh, I sy,' she said, 'this is too bloomin' slow; it gives me the sick.'
That is not precisely what she said, but it is impossible always to give the exact unexpurgated words of Liza and the other personages of the story, the reader is therefore entreated with his thoughts to piece out the necessary imperfections of the dialogue.
'It's too bloomin' slow,' she said again; 'it gives me the sick. Let's 'ave somethin' a bit more lively than this 'ere waltz. You stand over there, Sally, an' we'll show 'em 'ow ter skirt dance.'
They all stopped waltzing.
'Talk of the ballet at the Canterbury and South London. You just wite till you see the ballet at Vere Street, Lambeth--we'll knock 'em!'
She went up to the organ-grinder.
'Na then, Italiano,' she said to him, 'you buck up; give us a tune that's got some guts in it! See?'
She caught hold of his big hat and squashed it down over his eyes. The man grinned from ear to ear, and, touching the little catch at the side, began to play a lively tune such as Liza had asked for.
The men had fallen out, but several girls had put themselves in position, in couples, standing face to face; and immediately the music struck up, they began. They held up their skirts on each side, so as to show their feet, and proceeded to go through the difficult steps and motions of the dance. Liza was right; they could not have done it better in a trained ballet. But the best dancer of them all was Liza; she threw her whole soul into it; forgetting the stiff bearing which she had thought proper to the waltz, and casting off its elaborate graces, she gave herself up entirely to the present pleasure. Gradually the other couples stood aside, so that Liza and Sally were left alone. They paced it carefully, watching each other's steps, and as if by instinct performing corresponding movements, so as to make the whole a thing of symmetry.
'I'm abaht done,' said Sally, blowing and puffing. 'I've 'ad enough of it.'
'Go on, Liza!' cried out a dozen voices when Sally stopped.
She gave no sign of having heard them other than calmly to continue her dance. She glided through the steps, and swayed about, and manipulated her skirt, all with the most charming grace imaginable, then, the music altering, she changed the style of her dancing, her feet moved more quickly, and did not keep so strictly to the ground. She was getting excited at the admiration of the onlookers, and her dance grew wilder and more daring. She lifted her skirts higher, brought in new and more difficult movements into her improvisation, kicking up her legs she did the wonderful twist, backwards and forwards, of which the dancer is proud.
'Look at 'er legs!' cried one of the men.
'Look at 'er stockin's!' shouted another; and indeed they were remarkable, for Liza had chosen them of the same brilliant hue as her dress, and was herself most proud of the harmony.
Her dance became gayer: her feet scarcely touched the ground, she whirled round madly.
'Take care yer don't split!' cried out one of the wags, at a very audacious kick.
The words were hardly out of his mouth when Liza, with a gigantic effort, raised her foot and kicked off his hat. The feat was greeted with applause, and she went on, making turns and twists, flourishing her skirts, kicking higher and higher, and finally, among a volley of shouts, fell on her hands and turned head over heels in a magnificent catharine-wheel; then scrambling to her feet again, she tumbled into the arms of a young man standing in the front of the ring.
'That's right, Liza,' he said. 'Give us a kiss, now,' and promptly tried to take one.
'Git aht!' said Liza, pushing him away, not too gently.
'Yus, give us a kiss,' cried another, running up to her.
'I'll smack yer in the fice!' said Liza, elegantly, as she dodged him.
'Ketch 'old on 'er, Bill,' cried out a third, 'an' we'll all kiss her.'
'Na, you won't!' shrieked Liza, beginning to run.
'Come on,' they cried, 'we'll ketch 'er.'
She dodged in and out, between their legs, under their arms, and then, getting clear of the little crowd, caught up her skirts so that they might not hinder her, and took to her heels along the street. A score of men set in chase, whistling, shouting, yelling; the people at the doors looked up to see the fun, and cried out to her as she dashed past; she ran like the wind. Suddenly a man from the side darted into the middle of the road, stood straight in her way, and before she knew where she was, she had jumped shrieking into his arms, and he, lifting her up to him, had imprinted two sounding kisses on her cheeks.
'Oh, you ----!' she said. Her expression was quite unprintable; nor can it be euphemized.
There was a shout of laughter from the bystanders, and the young men in chase of her, and Liza, looking up, saw a big, bearded man whom she had never seen before. She blushed to the very roots of her hair, quickly extricated herself from his arms, and, amid the jeers and laughter of everyone, slid into the door of the nearest house and was lost to view.
八月的第二个星期六下午。那天从早晨就热得火辣辣的I碧空无云，太阳逼在屋顶上，顶层的房间热得象火坑。可是此刻随着黄昏的来临，天气凉快了些，维尔街上住的每一个人都跑到了门外来。
兰贝斯区注的维尔街是威斯敏斯特桥大道岔出来的一条短而直的小街，两旁一边有四十幢房子，另一边也是四十幢。这八十幢房子的模样都差不多，比一颗颗豌豆、一个个姑娘更彼此相似。这些房屋是用暗淡的灰色砖砌的三层楼房，还不很陈旧，屋顶是石板盖的。两排房屋的正面截平，没有凸肚窗，甚至没有檐口或窗盘冲破这条小街从头至尾一直线的平整。
这个星期六的下午，街上热闹得很。没有车辆开到维尔街来，人行道之间的水泥马路上全是孩子们在玩。喧嚣的男孩子们分了几摊在打板球。他们脱下外套，堆成了球门，用旧网球或者扎起一束破布作球儿，还往往用旧扫帚柄当球棒。球门那么宽，球棒又那么细，所以击球手弄不好就得退场。但是击球手坚决不肯出去，而投球手坚持定要进来，于是激烈争吵起来。
女孩子们比较文静。她们主要是跳绳，只有在绳子挥得不好，或者跳的人跳得不够高时，才彼此稍微埋怨两声。
最苦恼的是那些年龄很小的孩子们，因为连着几个星期没有下雨，街上干干的，清洁得象有棚顶的院子，没有泥浆给他们在里面打滚，只好在马路上三三两两呆坐着，象诗人一样忧忧郁郁的。
婴孩可多啦，他们在人行道上、在一家家门口、在他们母亲的裙脚底下到处乱爬。
成年入团聚在一些敞开的大门口，往往是两个女的蹲坐在门前石阶上，两旁各有两、三个坐在椅子上。她们总是抱着小宝宝，而且清楚地看得出，她们中间大多数现在的心肝宝贝不久将被新生的所排斥。男人没有女人多，可是在那里的男人们不是靠在墙上抽着烟，就是坐在底层窗口的石槛上。
这时候的维尔街同贝尔格雷维亚注一样，不是在社交季节，的确要不是有那些刚生下和即将生下的婴孩们和附近小客栈里正好发生的杀人事件，他们简直没有谈话的资料。事实上，一小圈一小圈的人都悄悄地交谈着，议论当地的接生婆是残酷还是有她们的用处，相互比较各人每次分娩的情况。
“你不久又要吃点小苦头啦，是不是，波莉？”一个好心的女人问另一个。
“哦，我算算还有两个月哪，”波莉回答。
“不过，”第三个说，“我看你样子，原以为你就快生了。”
“我希望你这回生得顺当些，我亲爱的”，一个健壮而很有威望的老太太说。
“她上回生了那个，原说再也不要生孩子了。”波莉的丈夫插嘴说。
“啊，”那个健壮的老太太对此最在行，常夸耀自己的丰富经验，她说，“她们都是那么说的；可是，上帝保佑，有哪个照着做的？”
“不过我已经有了三个，我可真不要再生孩子了，杀我头也不生；再生下去不得了——我是那么说。”
“你这话说得对了，好阿姨，”波莉说。“说真的，哈利，你再要我生孩子，我准跟你离婚，我说了算。”
正在这时候，一个摇风琴的卖艺人拐着弯儿朝这条小街上走来了。
“好哇，风琴来了！”六七个人同时叫喊起来。
那摇风琴的是个意大利人，一头蓬松的黑头发，嘴上盖着一小簇浓密的胡子。他把风琴拖到一个合适的地方，站定了下来，把拖风琴的皮带从肩胛上卸了下来，顺手把他柔软的大帽子往半边头上一侧，开始摇动起风琴的摇柄来。
他奏的是一支轻快的曲子，不一会一小群人就聚拢来听了，主要是年轻小伙子和姑娘们，因为已经结了婚的女人再也不适宜跳舞，所以无意去挨在风琴周围凑热闹。起初大家犹豫了一会，舞会没有就开始；随后有一个姑娘对另一个说一一
“来吧，弗洛莉，你和我不是忸忸怩怩的；我们来开个头，来！”
两个姑娘互相抱住，一个作男的，一个作女的；另外三、四对姑娘马上跟上了她们，一起跳起华尔兹来。她们身子挺直，非常庄重严肃，缓慢地滑动着，步子极其准确，文雅得足以适应宫廷舞会。过了一会，男人们脚痒起来，其中两个用最标准的姿势相互搭起跳舞的架子，象法官般地庄严，绕着圈子也跳起华尔兹来。
突然一声叫喊：“丽莎来了！”人群中有几个回过头去，大声嚷道：“嗬——瞧丽莎！”
在跳舞的人也停下来看她的丰姿，摇风琴的摇完了这一曲，也停了下来，瞧是什么叫人这样激动的。
“嗬——丽莎！”他们齐声号叫。“瞧丽莎；嗬——瞧啊！”
来的是一个约莫十八岁的年轻姑娘，黑眼珠，蓬松而鬈曲的刘海遮掩着整个前额，直垂在眉毛处。她穿着一身鲜艳的紫罗兰色的衣裳，飘舞着宽阔的丝绒裙边，头上戴着一顶插满羽毛的黑色大帽子。
“瞧，她打扮得多漂亮！”她走过人家门口的时候，门口的人群中发出了这样的叫喊。
“穿着漂亮极了，我说是盖了帽了。”
丽莎看到自己所引起的震动；她把身子稍稍向前倾，一摇一摆，昂首阔步朝街上走来，扬扬得意，仿佛整个这块天地是属于她的。
“你把这条街买下来了吗，比尔？”一个小伙子喊道；接着六七个小伙子似乎得到了灵感，立即齐声高呼一
“压倒了老肯特大道上的娘儿们注！”
一下子另外六七个小伙子接了上来，他们一起尽着嗓子大叫——
“压倒了老肯特大道上的娘儿们！嗨，嗨，压倒了老肯特大道上的娘儿们！”
“嗬——丽莎！”他们呼唤；整个街道的人们合成一气，发出长长的刺耳的尖叫和呼啸，从小街的这一头传到那一头，又从那一头传回到这一头。
“妙得出奇！”一个爱说笑话的人说。
“嗨，丽莎！嗬——！嗬——！”一片叫喊声和口哨声，然后又是雷声般地响起了——
“压倒了老肯特大道上的娘儿们！’’
丽莎摆出征服一切英雄的神气，踱步前来，陶醉在喧闹的呼声之中。她撑起臂肘子，侧着头，在人丛中一路走过去，心想——
“够味儿！”
“压倒了老肯特大道上的娘儿们！”
当她走到风琴周围的人群时，有个姑娘大声问她一
“这是你的新衣裳吗，丽莎？”
“怎么，不象是旧的吧，”丽莎说。
“哪儿来的？”另一个朋友带着妒忌的口气问她。
“街上拾来的，还有哪儿来！”丽莎鄙夷地回答她。
“这套衣裳正是我在威斯敏斯特桥大道的当铺里看到过的，”一个男人有意说这话逗弄她。
“是啊；不过你在那里干什么？是在当你的衬衫，还是裤子？”
“哼，我才不要在当铺里买旧衣裳哩！”
“见你的鬼！”丽莎愤怒地说。“你再跟我噜苏，我给你个嘴巴子。我这衣裳，料子是西区注买来的，叫我的宫廷服装师给我做的，这下你可以少耍贫嘴了，朋友。”
“去你的！”那个人回答。
丽莎一心关注着她的新衣裳和它所引起的议论，所以没注意到那个风琴。
“噢——风琴，嗨，我们来跳一会舞吧，”她一看见风琴，嚷道。“来啊，萨莉，”她随即对一个姑娘说，“你跟我一起跳。风琴摇起来，老头儿！”
那个人换了一支新的曲子，风琴开始奏起《乡村骑士》注中的《间奏曲》。另外的一对对很快就跟着丽莎一块跳起来，她们同先前一样庄严地开始绕着圈子跳华尔兹；然而丽莎卓然不同于众，如果说别人雍容大方如女王，那她是仪表万千如女皇。她跳华尔兹的平稳和端庄令人震惊，在对比之下，你会觉得法国式的小步舞简直是开玩笑；那该是适合于在舞蹈明星的坟墓周围或者职业幽默家的葬礼上跳的舞步。她的优雅的丰姿，眼睛里迷惘的神情，翘起的嘴唇上的轻蔑的表情，手轻轻的一转，脚微微的一侧：多美啊！你不由得承认，她确有十足的权利称霸于维尔街上。
她忽地停了下来，摆脱了她的舞伴。
“啊，”她说，“这曲子慢得要死，我都要呕出来了。”
这并不是她的原话，不过丽莎和这个故事中其他人物所说的原话，要全部准确写出来，也不大可能；因此还得要求读者运用自己的想象力，去补足这些对话中不得已的失真之处。
“曲子太慢，’’她又说了一遍；“我都要呕出来了。给我们奏点比这支华尔兹更轻快些的。你站到那边去，萨莉，我们来给她们看看怎么跳长裙舞。注”
他们都停止了跳华尔兹。
“讲什么坎特伯雷和伦敦南区的芭蕾舞。你们等着瞧兰贝斯区维尔街的芭蕾舞吧——我们要压倒它们！”
她走到摇风琴的跟前。
“喂，意大利朋友，”她对他说，“快点，给我们来一支有劲些的曲子！懂吗？”
她抓起他的大帽子，压在他的眼睛上。那个人咧着嘴笑起来，把压着眼睛的帽子往一边推开些，开始奏起丽莎要求的那种轻快的曲子。
男人们退了下去，而几个姑娘站好了位置，一对对面对面的。音乐一响，她们就翩翩起舞了。她们双手拎起裙子的两边，让大家能看她们的脚。她们按着拍子表演这种舞蹈的很难跳的步子和很难做的动作。丽莎说得不错；专门训练过的芭蕾舞演员也未必比她们跳得好。而她们中间跳得最出色的是丽莎。她全神贯注，忘却了她认为跳华尔兹时应该保持的端正姿势，屏弃了华尔兹的复杂的优雅步法，完全纵情于此时此刻的欢乐。
渐渐地，其余的一对对站到了一边去，只剩下丽莎和萨莉两个。她们跳得很认真，相互盯着对方的脚步，似乎出于本能似地，每个动作都配合得非常协调，整个舞蹈显得无限地谐和。
“我快透不过气来了，”萨莉气喘吁吁地说。“我吃不消啦。”
“再跳下去，丽莎！”当萨莉停下来时，几个声音高喊着。
她仿佛没听见他们的叫喊，只是悠然继续她的舞蹈。她顺着拍子跳去，飘飘然宛如在往还滑翔，一面挥动着她的裙子，一切都是不可思议地美妙。过了一会，音乐转了，她的舞蹈风格随之变换，脚步加速，时而飘离地面。
她为周围观看的人的赞赏而感奋，越跳越奔放、越大胆。她把裙子提得更高，即兴地插入新的更难的动作，踢起腿，向前向后地摆动，做出了舞蹈家据以自豪的奇妙花样。
“瞧她的大腿I’’男人中间有一个叫道。
“瞧她的长统袜！”另一个叫道I的确，这双袜子很漂亮，因为丽莎是拣了和衣裳一样鲜艳的颜色，自己也为它们颜色配得恰当而非常得意。
她的舞越跳越欢，双脚常腾空，还疯狂地旋转。
“当心别绷开了！”那些爱开玩笑的人中的一个看见她特别大胆地踢起一条腿时，哇的叫道。
这话刚出口，丽莎猛力举起脚来，一脚踢掉了他的帽子。这一绝招博得了一片彩声。
她继续跳舞，又是旋转，又是扭动，裙子摆弄出各种花样，腿越踢越高，终于在一阵叫嚷声中，双手往地上一撑，来了个出色的侧翻筋斗，再匆促站起，闯进在圈子前排站着的一个小伙子的怀里。
“那才是，丽莎，”他说。“给我亲个嘴，这回，”说着迅快地想去吻她。
“滚开！”丽莎说着，不太客气地将他一把推开了。
“对，给我亲个嘴．”另一个奔上前去，大声说。
“我给你吃耳光！”她灵巧地闪避过他。
“抓住她，比尔．”第三个喊道，“我们大家来亲她个嘴。”
“不，你们休想！”丽莎尖声叫道，一边拔脚就逃。
“大家来，”他们叫着，“抓住她。”
她从他们大腿底下、胳膊底下，竭力闪避，终于摆脱了这批家伙，提起裙子，不让绊脚，拚命沿着小街逃去。有十来个人追赶着，吹着口哨，叫着，喊着。一家家门口的人看得好看，一路上大声呼唤她。她奔得象阵风那么快。
忽然路旁有个人冲到街道中央，扑面挡住了她的去路。她自己也不知道是怎么回事，尖叫着扑倒在他的怀里。而他，捧起她的脸，就在她两面面颊上出声地吻了两下。
“啊，你这——！”她说。她这话实在不宜刊印出来，也没法换上个比较雅致的词儿。
旁观的人和那些在追赶她的人哗然大笑，丽莎抬头看时，只见一个她从没看见过的长大胡子的高大汉子。她面孔红到头发根，迅速从他怀抱里挣脱出来，在众人的嘲笑声中，溜进了就近一所房子里，躲藏了起来。
Vere street, Lambeth, is a short, straight street leading out of the Westminster Bridge Road; it has forty houses on one side and forty houses on the other, and these eighty houses are very much more like one another than ever peas are like peas, or young ladies like young ladies. They are newish, three-storied buildings of dingy grey brick with slate roofs, and they are perfectly flat, without a bow-window or even a projecting cornice or window-sill to break the straightness of the line from one end of the street to the other.
This Saturday afternoon the street was full of life; no traffic came down Vere Street, and the cemented space between the pavements was given up to children. Several games of cricket were being played by wildly excited boys, using coats for wickets, an old tennis-ball or a bundle of rags tied together for a ball, and, generally, an old broomstick for bat. The wicket was so large and the bat so small that the man in was always getting bowled, when heated quarrels would arise, the batter absolutely refusing to go out and the bowler absolutely insisting on going in. The girls were more peaceable; they were chiefly employed in skipping, and only abused one another mildly when the rope was not properly turned or the skipper did not jump sufficiently high. Worst off of all were the very young children, for there had been no rain for weeks, and the street was as dry and clean as a covered court, and, in the lack of mud to wallow in, they sat about the road, disconsolate as poets. The number of babies was prodigious; they sprawled about everywhere, on the pavement, round the doors, and about their mothers' skirts. The grown-ups were gathered round the open doors; there were usually two women squatting on the doorstep, and two or three more seated on either side on chairs; they were invariably nursing babies, and most of them showed clear signs that the present object of the maternal care would be soon ousted by a new arrival. Men were less numerous but such as there were leant against the walls, smoking, or sat on the sills of the ground-floor windows. It was the dead season in Vere Street as much as in Belgravia, and really if it had not been for babies just come or just about to come, and an opportune murder in a neighbouring doss-house, there would have been nothing whatever to talk about. As it was, the little groups talked quietly, discussing the atrocity or the merits of the local midwives, comparing the circumstances of their various confinements.
'You'll be 'avin' your little trouble soon, eh, Polly?' asked one good lady of another.
'Oh, I reckon I've got another two months ter go yet,' answered Polly.
'Well,' said a third. 'I wouldn't 'ave thought you'd go so long by the look of yer!'
'I 'ope you'll have it easier this time, my dear,' said a very stout old person, a woman of great importance.
'She said she wasn't goin' to 'ave no more, when the last one come.' This remark came from Polly's husband.
'Ah,' said the stout old lady, who was in the business, and boasted vast experience. 'That's wot they all says; but, Lor' bless yer, they don't mean it.'
'Well, I've got three, and I'm not goin' to 'ave no more bli'me if I will; 'tain't good enough--that's wot I says.'
'You're abaht right there, ole gal,' said Polly, 'My word, 'Arry, if you 'ave any more I'll git a divorce, that I will.'
At that moment an organ-grinder turned the corner and came down the street.
'Good biz; 'ere's an organ!' cried half a dozen people at once.
The organ-man was an Italian, with a shock of black hair and a ferocious moustache. Drawing his organ to a favourable spot, he stopped, released his shoulder from the leather straps by which he dragged it, and cocking his large soft hat on the side of his head, began turning the handle. It was a lively tune, and in less than no time a little crowd had gathered round to listen, chiefly the young men and the maidens, for the married ladies were never in a fit state to dance, and therefore disinclined to trouble themselves to stand round the organ. There was a moment's hesitation at opening the ball; then one girl said to another:
'Come on, Florrie, you and me ain't shy; we'll begin, and bust it!'
The two girls took hold of one another, one acting gentleman, the other lady; three or four more pairs of girls immediately joined them, and they began a waltz. They held themselves very upright; and with an air of grave dignity which was quite impressive, glided slowly about, making their steps with the utmost precision, bearing themselves with sufficient decorum for a court ball. After a while the men began to itch for a turn, and two of them, taking hold of one another in the most approved fashion, waltzed round the circle with the gravity of judges.
All at once there was a cry: 'There's Liza!' And several members of the group turned and called out: 'Oo, look at Liza!'
The dancers stopped to see the sight, and the organ-grinder, having come to the end of his tune, ceased turning the handle and looked to see what was the excitement.
'Oo, Liza!' they called out. 'Look at Liza; oo, I sy!'
It was a young girl of about eighteen, with dark eyes, and an enormous fringe, puffed-out and curled and frizzed, covering her whole forehead from side to side, and coming down to meet her eyebrows. She was dressed in brilliant violet, with great lappets of velvet, and she had on her head an enormous black hat covered with feathers.
'I sy, ain't she got up dossy?' called out the groups at the doors, as she passed.
'Dressed ter death, and kill the fashion; that's wot I calls it.'
Liza saw what a sensation she was creating; she arched her back and lifted her head, and walked down the street, swaying her body from side to side, and swaggering along as though the whole place belonged to her.
''Ave yer bought the street, Bill?' shouted one youth; and then half a dozen burst forth at once, as if by inspiration:
'Knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road!'
It was immediately taken up by a dozen more, and they all yelled it out:
'Knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road. Yah, ah, knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road!'
'Oo, Liza!' they shouted; the whole street joined in, and they gave long, shrill, ear-piercing shrieks and strange calls, that rung down the street and echoed back again.
'Hextra special!' called out a wag.
'Oh, Liza! Oo! Ooo!' yells and whistles, and then it thundered forth again:
'Knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road!'
Liza put on the air of a conquering hero, and sauntered on, enchanted at the uproar. She stuck out her elbows and jerked her head on one side, and said to herself as she passed through the bellowing crowd:
'This is jam!'
'Knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road!'
When she came to the group round the barrel-organ, one of the girls cried out to her:
'Is that yer new dress, Liza?'
'Well, it don't look like my old one, do it?' said Liza.
'Where did yer git it?' asked another friend, rather enviously.
'Picked it up in the street, of course,' scornfully answered Liza.
'I believe it's the same one as I saw in the pawnbroker's dahn the road,' said one of the men, to tease her.
'Thet's it; but wot was you doin' in there? Pledgin' yer shirt, or was it yer trousers?'
'Yah, I wouldn't git a second-'and dress at a pawnbroker's!'
'Garn!' said Liza indignantly. 'I'll swipe yer over the snitch if yer talk ter me. I got the mayterials in the West Hend, didn't I? And I 'ad it mide up by my Court Dressmiker, so you jolly well dry up, old jellybelly.'
'Garn!' was the reply.
Liza had been so intent on her new dress and the comment it was exciting that she had not noticed the organ.
'Oo, I say, let's 'ave some dancin',' she said as soon as she saw it. 'Come on, Sally,' she added, to one of the girls, 'you an' me'll dance togither. Grind away, old cock!'
The man turned on a new tune, and the organ began to play the Intermezzo from the 'Cavalleria'; other couples quickly followed Liza's example, and they began to waltz round with the same solemnity as before; but Liza outdid them all; if the others were as stately as queens, she was as stately as an empress; the gravity and dignity with which she waltzed were something appalling, you felt that the minuet was a frolic in comparison; it would have been a fitting measure to tread round the grave of a _premiere danseuse_, or at the funeral of a professional humorist. And the graces she put on, the languor of the eyes, the contemptuous curl of the lips, the exquisite turn of the hand, the dainty arching of the foot! You felt there could be no questioning her right to the tyranny of Vere Street.
Suddenly she stopped short, and disengaged herself from her companion.
'Oh, I sy,' she said, 'this is too bloomin' slow; it gives me the sick.'
That is not precisely what she said, but it is impossible always to give the exact unexpurgated words of Liza and the other personages of the story, the reader is therefore entreated with his thoughts to piece out the necessary imperfections of the dialogue.
'It's too bloomin' slow,' she said again; 'it gives me the sick. Let's 'ave somethin' a bit more lively than this 'ere waltz. You stand over there, Sally, an' we'll show 'em 'ow ter skirt dance.'
They all stopped waltzing.
'Talk of the ballet at the Canterbury and South London. You just wite till you see the ballet at Vere Street, Lambeth--we'll knock 'em!'
She went up to the organ-grinder.
'Na then, Italiano,' she said to him, 'you buck up; give us a tune that's got some guts in it! See?'
She caught hold of his big hat and squashed it down over his eyes. The man grinned from ear to ear, and, touching the little catch at the side, began to play a lively tune such as Liza had asked for.
The men had fallen out, but several girls had put themselves in position, in couples, standing face to face; and immediately the music struck up, they began. They held up their skirts on each side, so as to show their feet, and proceeded to go through the difficult steps and motions of the dance. Liza was right; they could not have done it better in a trained ballet. But the best dancer of them all was Liza; she threw her whole soul into it; forgetting the stiff bearing which she had thought proper to the waltz, and casting off its elaborate graces, she gave herself up entirely to the present pleasure. Gradually the other couples stood aside, so that Liza and Sally were left alone. They paced it carefully, watching each other's steps, and as if by instinct performing corresponding movements, so as to make the whole a thing of symmetry.
'I'm abaht done,' said Sally, blowing and puffing. 'I've 'ad enough of it.'
'Go on, Liza!' cried out a dozen voices when Sally stopped.
She gave no sign of having heard them other than calmly to continue her dance. She glided through the steps, and swayed about, and manipulated her skirt, all with the most charming grace imaginable, then, the music altering, she changed the style of her dancing, her feet moved more quickly, and did not keep so strictly to the ground. She was getting excited at the admiration of the onlookers, and her dance grew wilder and more daring. She lifted her skirts higher, brought in new and more difficult movements into her improvisation, kicking up her legs she did the wonderful twist, backwards and forwards, of which the dancer is proud.
'Look at 'er legs!' cried one of the men.
'Look at 'er stockin's!' shouted another; and indeed they were remarkable, for Liza had chosen them of the same brilliant hue as her dress, and was herself most proud of the harmony.
Her dance became gayer: her feet scarcely touched the ground, she whirled round madly.
'Take care yer don't split!' cried out one of the wags, at a very audacious kick.
The words were hardly out of his mouth when Liza, with a gigantic effort, raised her foot and kicked off his hat. The feat was greeted with applause, and she went on, making turns and twists, flourishing her skirts, kicking higher and higher, and finally, among a volley of shouts, fell on her hands and turned head over heels in a magnificent catharine-wheel; then scrambling to her feet again, she tumbled into the arms of a young man standing in the front of the ring.
'That's right, Liza,' he said. 'Give us a kiss, now,' and promptly tried to take one.
'Git aht!' said Liza, pushing him away, not too gently.
'Yus, give us a kiss,' cried another, running up to her.
'I'll smack yer in the fice!' said Liza, elegantly, as she dodged him.
'Ketch 'old on 'er, Bill,' cried out a third, 'an' we'll all kiss her.'
'Na, you won't!' shrieked Liza, beginning to run.
'Come on,' they cried, 'we'll ketch 'er.'
She dodged in and out, between their legs, under their arms, and then, getting clear of the little crowd, caught up her skirts so that they might not hinder her, and took to her heels along the street. A score of men set in chase, whistling, shouting, yelling; the people at the doors looked up to see the fun, and cried out to her as she dashed past; she ran like the wind. Suddenly a man from the side darted into the middle of the road, stood straight in her way, and before she knew where she was, she had jumped shrieking into his arms, and he, lifting her up to him, had imprinted two sounding kisses on her cheeks.
'Oh, you ----!' she said. Her expression was quite unprintable; nor can it be euphemized.
There was a shout of laughter from the bystanders, and the young men in chase of her, and Liza, looking up, saw a big, bearded man whom she had never seen before. She blushed to the very roots of her hair, quickly extricated herself from his arms, and, amid the jeers and laughter of everyone, slid into the door of the nearest house and was lost to view.
八月的第二个星期六下午。那天从早晨就热得火辣辣的I碧空无云，太阳逼在屋顶上，顶层的房间热得象火坑。可是此刻随着黄昏的来临，天气凉快了些，维尔街上住的每一个人都跑到了门外来。
兰贝斯区注的维尔街是威斯敏斯特桥大道岔出来的一条短而直的小街，两旁一边有四十幢房子，另一边也是四十幢。这八十幢房子的模样都差不多，比一颗颗豌豆、一个个姑娘更彼此相似。这些房屋是用暗淡的灰色砖砌的三层楼房，还不很陈旧，屋顶是石板盖的。两排房屋的正面截平，没有凸肚窗，甚至没有檐口或窗盘冲破这条小街从头至尾一直线的平整。
这个星期六的下午，街上热闹得很。没有车辆开到维尔街来，人行道之间的水泥马路上全是孩子们在玩。喧嚣的男孩子们分了几摊在打板球。他们脱下外套，堆成了球门，用旧网球或者扎起一束破布作球儿，还往往用旧扫帚柄当球棒。球门那么宽，球棒又那么细，所以击球手弄不好就得退场。但是击球手坚决不肯出去，而投球手坚持定要进来，于是激烈争吵起来。
女孩子们比较文静。她们主要是跳绳，只有在绳子挥得不好，或者跳的人跳得不够高时，才彼此稍微埋怨两声。
最苦恼的是那些年龄很小的孩子们，因为连着几个星期没有下雨，街上干干的，清洁得象有棚顶的院子，没有泥浆给他们在里面打滚，只好在马路上三三两两呆坐着，象诗人一样忧忧郁郁的。
婴孩可多啦，他们在人行道上、在一家家门口、在他们母亲的裙脚底下到处乱爬。
成年入团聚在一些敞开的大门口，往往是两个女的蹲坐在门前石阶上，两旁各有两、三个坐在椅子上。她们总是抱着小宝宝，而且清楚地看得出，她们中间大多数现在的心肝宝贝不久将被新生的所排斥。男人没有女人多，可是在那里的男人们不是靠在墙上抽着烟，就是坐在底层窗口的石槛上。
这时候的维尔街同贝尔格雷维亚注一样，不是在社交季节，的确要不是有那些刚生下和即将生下的婴孩们和附近小客栈里正好发生的杀人事件，他们简直没有谈话的资料。事实上，一小圈一小圈的人都悄悄地交谈着，议论当地的接生婆是残酷还是有她们的用处，相互比较各人每次分娩的情况。
“你不久又要吃点小苦头啦，是不是，波莉？”一个好心的女人问另一个。
“哦，我算算还有两个月哪，”波莉回答。
“不过，”第三个说，“我看你样子，原以为你就快生了。”
“我希望你这回生得顺当些，我亲爱的”，一个健壮而很有威望的老太太说。
“她上回生了那个，原说再也不要生孩子了。”波莉的丈夫插嘴说。
“啊，”那个健壮的老太太对此最在行，常夸耀自己的丰富经验，她说，“她们都是那么说的；可是，上帝保佑，有哪个照着做的？”
“不过我已经有了三个，我可真不要再生孩子了，杀我头也不生；再生下去不得了——我是那么说。”
“你这话说得对了，好阿姨，”波莉说。“说真的，哈利，你再要我生孩子，我准跟你离婚，我说了算。”
正在这时候，一个摇风琴的卖艺人拐着弯儿朝这条小街上走来了。
“好哇，风琴来了！”六七个人同时叫喊起来。
那摇风琴的是个意大利人，一头蓬松的黑头发，嘴上盖着一小簇浓密的胡子。他把风琴拖到一个合适的地方，站定了下来，把拖风琴的皮带从肩胛上卸了下来，顺手把他柔软的大帽子往半边头上一侧，开始摇动起风琴的摇柄来。
他奏的是一支轻快的曲子，不一会一小群人就聚拢来听了，主要是年轻小伙子和姑娘们，因为已经结了婚的女人再也不适宜跳舞，所以无意去挨在风琴周围凑热闹。起初大家犹豫了一会，舞会没有就开始；随后有一个姑娘对另一个说一一
“来吧，弗洛莉，你和我不是忸忸怩怩的；我们来开个头，来！”
两个姑娘互相抱住，一个作男的，一个作女的；另外三、四对姑娘马上跟上了她们，一起跳起华尔兹来。她们身子挺直，非常庄重严肃，缓慢地滑动着，步子极其准确，文雅得足以适应宫廷舞会。过了一会，男人们脚痒起来，其中两个用最标准的姿势相互搭起跳舞的架子，象法官般地庄严，绕着圈子也跳起华尔兹来。
突然一声叫喊：“丽莎来了！”人群中有几个回过头去，大声嚷道：“嗬——瞧丽莎！”
在跳舞的人也停下来看她的丰姿，摇风琴的摇完了这一曲，也停了下来，瞧是什么叫人这样激动的。
“嗬——丽莎！”他们齐声号叫。“瞧丽莎；嗬——瞧啊！”
来的是一个约莫十八岁的年轻姑娘，黑眼珠，蓬松而鬈曲的刘海遮掩着整个前额，直垂在眉毛处。她穿着一身鲜艳的紫罗兰色的衣裳，飘舞着宽阔的丝绒裙边，头上戴着一顶插满羽毛的黑色大帽子。
“瞧，她打扮得多漂亮！”她走过人家门口的时候，门口的人群中发出了这样的叫喊。
“穿着漂亮极了，我说是盖了帽了。”
丽莎看到自己所引起的震动；她把身子稍稍向前倾，一摇一摆，昂首阔步朝街上走来，扬扬得意，仿佛整个这块天地是属于她的。
“你把这条街买下来了吗，比尔？”一个小伙子喊道；接着六七个小伙子似乎得到了灵感，立即齐声高呼一
“压倒了老肯特大道上的娘儿们注！”
一下子另外六七个小伙子接了上来，他们一起尽着嗓子大叫——
“压倒了老肯特大道上的娘儿们！嗨，嗨，压倒了老肯特大道上的娘儿们！”
“嗬——丽莎！”他们呼唤；整个街道的人们合成一气，发出长长的刺耳的尖叫和呼啸，从小街的这一头传到那一头，又从那一头传回到这一头。
“妙得出奇！”一个爱说笑话的人说。
“嗨，丽莎！嗬——！嗬——！”一片叫喊声和口哨声，然后又是雷声般地响起了——
“压倒了老肯特大道上的娘儿们！’’
丽莎摆出征服一切英雄的神气，踱步前来，陶醉在喧闹的呼声之中。她撑起臂肘子，侧着头，在人丛中一路走过去，心想——
“够味儿！”
“压倒了老肯特大道上的娘儿们！”
当她走到风琴周围的人群时，有个姑娘大声问她一
“这是你的新衣裳吗，丽莎？”
“怎么，不象是旧的吧，”丽莎说。
“哪儿来的？”另一个朋友带着妒忌的口气问她。
“街上拾来的，还有哪儿来！”丽莎鄙夷地回答她。
“这套衣裳正是我在威斯敏斯特桥大道的当铺里看到过的，”一个男人有意说这话逗弄她。
“是啊；不过你在那里干什么？是在当你的衬衫，还是裤子？”
“哼，我才不要在当铺里买旧衣裳哩！”
“见你的鬼！”丽莎愤怒地说。“你再跟我噜苏，我给你个嘴巴子。我这衣裳，料子是西区注买来的，叫我的宫廷服装师给我做的，这下你可以少耍贫嘴了，朋友。”
“去你的！”那个人回答。
丽莎一心关注着她的新衣裳和它所引起的议论，所以没注意到那个风琴。
“噢——风琴，嗨，我们来跳一会舞吧，”她一看见风琴，嚷道。“来啊，萨莉，”她随即对一个姑娘说，“你跟我一起跳。风琴摇起来，老头儿！”
那个人换了一支新的曲子，风琴开始奏起《乡村骑士》注中的《间奏曲》。另外的一对对很快就跟着丽莎一块跳起来，她们同先前一样庄严地开始绕着圈子跳华尔兹；然而丽莎卓然不同于众，如果说别人雍容大方如女王，那她是仪表万千如女皇。她跳华尔兹的平稳和端庄令人震惊，在对比之下，你会觉得法国式的小步舞简直是开玩笑；那该是适合于在舞蹈明星的坟墓周围或者职业幽默家的葬礼上跳的舞步。她的优雅的丰姿，眼睛里迷惘的神情，翘起的嘴唇上的轻蔑的表情，手轻轻的一转，脚微微的一侧：多美啊！你不由得承认，她确有十足的权利称霸于维尔街上。
她忽地停了下来，摆脱了她的舞伴。
“啊，”她说，“这曲子慢得要死，我都要呕出来了。”
这并不是她的原话，不过丽莎和这个故事中其他人物所说的原话，要全部准确写出来，也不大可能；因此还得要求读者运用自己的想象力，去补足这些对话中不得已的失真之处。
“曲子太慢，’’她又说了一遍；“我都要呕出来了。给我们奏点比这支华尔兹更轻快些的。你站到那边去，萨莉，我们来给她们看看怎么跳长裙舞。注”
他们都停止了跳华尔兹。
“讲什么坎特伯雷和伦敦南区的芭蕾舞。你们等着瞧兰贝斯区维尔街的芭蕾舞吧——我们要压倒它们！”
她走到摇风琴的跟前。
“喂，意大利朋友，”她对他说，“快点，给我们来一支有劲些的曲子！懂吗？”
她抓起他的大帽子，压在他的眼睛上。那个人咧着嘴笑起来，把压着眼睛的帽子往一边推开些，开始奏起丽莎要求的那种轻快的曲子。
男人们退了下去，而几个姑娘站好了位置，一对对面对面的。音乐一响，她们就翩翩起舞了。她们双手拎起裙子的两边，让大家能看她们的脚。她们按着拍子表演这种舞蹈的很难跳的步子和很难做的动作。丽莎说得不错；专门训练过的芭蕾舞演员也未必比她们跳得好。而她们中间跳得最出色的是丽莎。她全神贯注，忘却了她认为跳华尔兹时应该保持的端正姿势，屏弃了华尔兹的复杂的优雅步法，完全纵情于此时此刻的欢乐。
渐渐地，其余的一对对站到了一边去，只剩下丽莎和萨莉两个。她们跳得很认真，相互盯着对方的脚步，似乎出于本能似地，每个动作都配合得非常协调，整个舞蹈显得无限地谐和。
“我快透不过气来了，”萨莉气喘吁吁地说。“我吃不消啦。”
“再跳下去，丽莎！”当萨莉停下来时，几个声音高喊着。
她仿佛没听见他们的叫喊，只是悠然继续她的舞蹈。她顺着拍子跳去，飘飘然宛如在往还滑翔，一面挥动着她的裙子，一切都是不可思议地美妙。过了一会，音乐转了，她的舞蹈风格随之变换，脚步加速，时而飘离地面。
她为周围观看的人的赞赏而感奋，越跳越奔放、越大胆。她把裙子提得更高，即兴地插入新的更难的动作，踢起腿，向前向后地摆动，做出了舞蹈家据以自豪的奇妙花样。
“瞧她的大腿I’’男人中间有一个叫道。
“瞧她的长统袜！”另一个叫道I的确，这双袜子很漂亮，因为丽莎是拣了和衣裳一样鲜艳的颜色，自己也为它们颜色配得恰当而非常得意。
她的舞越跳越欢，双脚常腾空，还疯狂地旋转。
“当心别绷开了！”那些爱开玩笑的人中的一个看见她特别大胆地踢起一条腿时，哇的叫道。
这话刚出口，丽莎猛力举起脚来，一脚踢掉了他的帽子。这一绝招博得了一片彩声。
她继续跳舞，又是旋转，又是扭动，裙子摆弄出各种花样，腿越踢越高，终于在一阵叫嚷声中，双手往地上一撑，来了个出色的侧翻筋斗，再匆促站起，闯进在圈子前排站着的一个小伙子的怀里。
“那才是，丽莎，”他说。“给我亲个嘴，这回，”说着迅快地想去吻她。
“滚开！”丽莎说着，不太客气地将他一把推开了。
“对，给我亲个嘴．”另一个奔上前去，大声说。
“我给你吃耳光！”她灵巧地闪避过他。
“抓住她，比尔．”第三个喊道，“我们大家来亲她个嘴。”
“不，你们休想！”丽莎尖声叫道，一边拔脚就逃。
“大家来，”他们叫着，“抓住她。”
她从他们大腿底下、胳膊底下，竭力闪避，终于摆脱了这批家伙，提起裙子，不让绊脚，拚命沿着小街逃去。有十来个人追赶着，吹着口哨，叫着，喊着。一家家门口的人看得好看，一路上大声呼唤她。她奔得象阵风那么快。
忽然路旁有个人冲到街道中央，扑面挡住了她的去路。她自己也不知道是怎么回事，尖叫着扑倒在他的怀里。而他，捧起她的脸，就在她两面面颊上出声地吻了两下。
“啊，你这——！”她说。她这话实在不宜刊印出来，也没法换上个比较雅致的词儿。
旁观的人和那些在追赶她的人哗然大笑，丽莎抬头看时，只见一个她从没看见过的长大胡子的高大汉子。她面孔红到头发根，迅速从他怀抱里挣脱出来，在众人的嘲笑声中，溜进了就近一所房子里，躲藏了起来。