词汇：imagined

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But I never imagined she would take those scribblings..
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He thought often of the men he had left up on the Milk, and of the boy. He had not expected the parting to go as it had, and could not get his mind off it. For several hundred miles, down through Montana and Wyoming, he left them all over again in his mind, day after day. He imagined many times that he had said things he had not said, and, from concentrating on it too much as he traveled down the plains, he began to grow confused. He missed being able to sit at the corrals and watch Newt work with the horses. He wondered if the boy was handling the Hell Bitch well and if any more men had left the ranch.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Yet May wore on and June approached, and still he had not gone. The snows had melted, all down the plains, he imagined, and yet something held him. It wasn’t work. There were plenty of men to do the work—they had even had to turn away three or four men who came looking to hire on. Many times Call spent much of the afternoon watching Newt work with the new batch of horses they had bought on a recent trip to the fort. It was work he himself had never been particularly good at—he had always lacked the patience. He let the boy alone and never made suggestions. He liked to watch the boy with the horses; it had become a keen pleasure. If a cowboy came over and tried to talk to him while he was watching he usually simply ignored the man until he went away. He wanted to watch the boy and not be bothered. It could only be for a few days, he knew. It was a long piece to Texas and back. Sometimes he wondered if he would even come back. The ranch was started, and the dangers so far had been less than he feared. He felt sometimes that he had no more to do. He felt much older than anyone he knew. Gus had seemed young even when he was dying, and yet Call felt old. His interest in work had not returned. It was only when he was watching the boy with the horses that he felt himself.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Call promptly paid him his wages, much to Soupy’s astonishment. He had never imagined such an outcome. “Why, Captain, I don’t want to leave,” he said plaintively. “I got nothing to go to back down south.” “Then give me back the money and behave yourself,” Call said. “I decide who’ll do what around here.” “I know, Captain,” Soupy said. He was aware that he had chosen a bad moment to make his scene—right after breakfast, with many of the hands standing around.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Yes, and colder too,” Jasper said. “I’ve got my feet practically in the fire and my dern toes are still frozen.” Dish found to his annoyance that his own breath caused his mustache to freeze, something he would not have imagined could happen. The men put on all the clothes they had and were still terribly cold. When the storm blew out and the sun reappeared, the cold refused to leave. In fact, it got colder, and formed such a hard crust on the snow that the men slipped and fell just going a few feet to the wagon.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Before the work had been in progress a week, an event occurred which changed the men’s attitudes dramatically. The event was a blizzard, which howled out of the north for three days. Only the fact that Call had seen to it that ample firewood had been cut saved the outfit. The men had never known or imagined such cold. They built two large fires and huddled between them, feeding them logs, freezing on the side not closest to the fire. The first day there was no visibility at all—the men could not even to go the horses without the risk of being lost in the swirling snow.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Two hours after sunup the next day, Dish Boggett, who had been sent off to do a little scouting, thought he saw a figure, far to the north. At first he couldn’t tell if it was a man or an antelope. If it was a man, it was an Indian, he imagined, and he raced back to the herd and got the Captain, who had been shoeing the mare—always an arduous task. She hated anyone to handle her feet and had to be securely snubbed before she would submit to it.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
And she was married. Her husband lay sick above their heads, which made his love seem all the more hopeless. But it didn’t stop the longing he felt for her. In his daydreams he fell to reinventing the past, imagining that he had married Clara instead of Elmira. He gave himself a very different marriage. Clara wouldn’t sit in the loft with her feet dangling all day. She wouldn’t have run off on a whiskey boat. Probably she wouldn’t have cared that Jake Spoon shot Benny. He imagined them raising horses and children together.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Despite that ache, the thing that made July least comfortable of all was that he knew he was in love with Clara. The feeling had started even before he knew Elmira was dead, and it grew even when he knew he ought to be grieving for Elmira. He felt guilty about it, he felt hopeless about it, but it was true. At night he thought of her, and imagined her in her room, in her gown. At breakfast and supper he watched her, whenever he thought he could do so without her noticing.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
He was riding the Hell Bitch, but for long moments he imagined he was riding old Ben again—a mule he had relied on frequently during his campaigning on the llano. Ben had had an infallible sense of direction and a fine nose for water. He wasn’t fast but he was sure. At the time, some men had scoffed at him for riding a mule, but Call ignored them. The stakes were life or death, and Ben was the most reliable animal he had ever seen, if far from the prettiest.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
By the time they were within a week of Ogallala, all subjects other than whoring were judged to be superfluous. Newt and the Rainey boys were rather surprised. They were interested in whoring too, in a vague sort of way, but listening to the grown men talk at night, or during almost any stop, they concluded there must be more to whoring than they had imagined. Getting to visit a whore quickly came to seem the most exciting prospect life had to offer.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Bad men would have a better team,” Clara said. “Find any colts?” Cholo shook his head. His hair was white—Clara had never been able to get his age out of him, but she imagined he was seventy-five at least, perhaps eighty. At night by the fire, with the work done, Cholo wove horsehair lariats. Clara loved to watch the way his fingers worked. When a horse died or had to be killed, Cholo always saved its mane and tail for his ropes. He could weave them of rawhide too, and once had made one for her of buckskin, although she didn’t rope. Bob had been puzzled by the gift—“Clara couldn’t rope a post,” he said—but Clara was not puzzled at all. She had been very pleased. It was a beautiful gift; Cholo had the finest manners. She knew he appreciated her as she appreciated him. That was the year she bought him the coat. Sometimes, reading her magazines, she would look up and see Cholo weaving a rope and imagine that if she ever did try to write a story she would write it about him. It would be very different from any of the stories she read in the English magazines.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Lorena tried to shut her mind when he talked like that. She knew the trick of not talking, and was learning not to hear. At night she wondered sometimes if she could just learn to die. She wanted to, and imagined how angry they would be if they woke up one morning and she was dead so they could get no more from her.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
He rode as hard as he dared, but he had only one horse and couldn’t afford to ruin him. At each watering he let him have a few minutes of rest. He rode all night, and the next day the tracks were still bearing northwest. He felt unhappy with himself for he wasn’t catching up. Lorena was getting a taste of hard travel the like of which she had never imagined.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“I dream about them,” Janey said, not reassured. “They just keep coming, and I can’t run.” Except for snapping turtles and sleep, she seemed to fear nothing. Many times coiled rattlers would sing at them as they traveled, and Janey would never give the snakes a glance. Old Memphis was more nervous about snakes than she was, and Roscoe more nervous than either one of them. He had once heard of a man being bitten by a rattlesnake that had gotten up in a tree. According to the story, the snake had dropped right off a limb and onto the man and had bitten him in the neck. Roscoe imagined how unpleasant it could be to have a snake drop on one’s neck—he took care to ride under as few limbs as possible and was glad to see the trees thinning out as they rode west.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
She had never been so thirsty in her life, and had not imagined it could be such a pain. The most terrible part was when they crossed water—for creeks were numerous. She would look down at the water as they crossed, and she wanted to beg. She leaned over at one of the deeper creeks, trying to get a little water in her hand, but she couldn’t reach it, though it splashed beneath the horse’s belly. She cried then, tears mingling with the sweat. Her head throbbed from the beating sunlight, and she began to lose hold on life for minutes at a time. She felt she might cross over. What a joke it would be on the man if, when he got her wherever he was taking her, she was dead. He wouldn’t get much from her dead.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Several times, mostly at night, he had imagined Sean was still alive. Being so sleepy made it harder to keep from mixing dreams with what was actually happening. He even had conversations with the other hands that seemed like they were conversations in dreams. He had never known the sadness of losing a friend, and had begun to consider what a long way they had to go.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Ed’s a snake,” Louisa said. “Big rattler. I named him after my uncle, because they’re both lazy. I let Ed stay around because he holds down the rodents. He don’t bother me and I don’t bother him. But he hangs out around to the back, so watch out where you throw down your blanket.” Roscoe did watch. He stepped so gingerly, getting his bedding arranged, that it took him nearly twenty minutes to settle down. Then he couldn’t get the thought of the big snake off his mind. He had never heard of anyone naming a snake before, but then nothing she did accorded with any procedure he was familiar with. The fact that she had mentioned the snake meant that he had little chance of getting to sleep. He had heard that snakes had a habit of crawling in with people, and he definitely didn’t want to be crawled in with. He wrapped his blanket around him tightly to prevent Ed from slipping in, but it was a hot sultry night and he was soon sweating so profusely that he couldn’t sleep anyway. There were plenty of grass and weeds around, and every time anything moved in the grass he imagined it to be the big rattler. The snake might get along with Louisa, but that didn’t mean he would accept strangers.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
In his mind he began to wish for some way to undo what had happened—to make the days run backward, to the time when they were still in Lonesome Dove. He imagined Sean alive and well—and did what he had not done, told him to go off to Galveston and find a boat to take him home. But he kept looking back, and there was Deets and Mr. Gus, kneeling by Sean. He longed to see Sean sit up and be all right, but Sean didn’t, and Newt could only sit hopelessly on his horse and hold the cattle.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“The wind’s gonna come about sundown,” he said. “First it will be sand and then lightning. Don’t tie the horses to no big trees.” Despite herself, Lorena felt her spirits sinking. She had always feared lightning above all things, and here she was without even a house to hide in. She saw it was going to be harder than she had imagined. Here it was only the second day and she had already had a fright like death. Now lightning was coming. For a moment it all felt hopeless—better she had just sat in the Dry Bean for life, or married Xavier. She had gone over to Jake in a minute, and yet, the truth was Xavier would probably have taken care of her better. It was all foolish, her dream of San Francisco.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
As they ate, the dusk deepened. Sean O’Brien, on the far side of the herd, began to sing his night song, an Irish melody whose words did not carry across the long plain where the cattle stood. But in the still night the sound carried; somehow it made Newt want to cry. He was sitting stiffly only a few feet from Lorena. He had been looking at her closely for the first time—hardly daring to, and yet feeling that he was safe because of the dusk. She was more beautiful than he had imagined, but she did not look happy—it gave him a painful feeling to see her unhappiness, and the song made it worse.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Lippy nearly fell off his stool. He had never seen or imagined anything so rash. Fifty dollars for one poke? Then it occurred to him he would cheerfully give as much, if he had it, to get under Lorena’s skirts. A man could always get more money, but there wasn’t but one Lorie, not on the border, anyway.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Other times, though, the moon rode so high that Deets had to come to his senses and admit that no man could really ride on it. When he imagined himself up there, on the thin little hook that hung above him white as a tooth, he almost got dizzy from his own imagining and had to try harder to pay attention to what was happening on the ground.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇