词汇：spirit/ˈspɪrɪt/

n. 精神；心灵；志气；烈酒；情绪

相关场景

“I guess the Captain’s going,” Pea Eye said. “He’s taking old Greasy and an extra horse.” Newt felt his spirits sink. He knew the Captain had to leave, and yet he hoped he wouldn’t—not for another few days anyway.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“That girl plays beautifully,” the doctor said. “They say she studied music in Philadelphia when she was younger.” “How old is she now?” Augustus asked. “Maybe I’ll send her a bouquet.” The doctor smiled. “It’s plain you’re a man of spirit,” he said. “That’s good. I’m afraid you’ve a few fractuosities yet to endure.” “A few what?” Augustus asked. “You better introduce yourself before you start talking Latin.” “Dr. Mobley,” the man said. “Joseph C. Mobley, to be precise. The C stands for Cincinnatus.” “More Latin, I guess,” Augustus said. “Explain that first bunch of Latin you talked.” “I mean we’ve got to take off that other leg,” Dr. Mobley said. “I should have done it while you were out, but frankly, getting the left leg off exhausted me.” “It’s a good thing,” Augustus said. “If you’d hacked off my right leg, you’d be the one who was out. I need that right leg.” His gun belt was hanging over a chair nearby, and he reached out and took his pistol from the holster.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
What was approaching now was death, he knew. He had faced it before and overridden its motion with his own. To sit and wait for it gave it too many advantages. He had seen many men die of wounds, and had watched the turning of their spirits from active desire to live to indifference. With a bad wound, the moment indifference took over, life began to subside. Few men rose out of it: most lost all impulse toward activity and ended by offering death at least a halfhearted welcome.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
The crew, which had been in high spirits and drunk on their own celebrity—for weren’t they the first men to bring a Texas herd across the Yellowstone?—sobered up immediately when they saw the condition Pea Eye was in.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“I can get myself out of trouble,” Augustus said. “But if I have to lead some quaking spirit like Jasper Fant it’ll slow me down. None of these cowpokes is exactly wilderness hands. We buried the last reliable man down on the Powder, remember?” “I remember,” Call said.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
With Deets dead, Augustus and Call alternated the scouting duties. One day Augustus asked Newt to ride along with him, much to Newt’s surprise. In the morning they saw a grizzly, but the bear was far upwind and didn’t scent them. It was a beautiful day—no clouds in the sky. Augustus rode with his big rifle propped across the saddle—he was in the highest of spirits. They rode ahead of the herd some fifteen miles or more, and yet when they stopped to look back they could still see the cattle, tiny black dots in the middle of the plain, with the southern horizon still far behind them.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Call had scarcely spoken since the death of Deets, but the beauty of the high prairies, the abundance of game, the coolness of the mornings finally raised his spirits. It was plain that Jake Spoon, who had been wrong about most things, had been right about Montana. It was a cattleman’s paradise, and they were the only cattlemen in it. The grassy plains seemed limitless, stretching north. It was strange that they had seen no Indians, though. Often he mentioned this to Augustus.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Not too much,” he said. “You’re just dead.” “Maybe it ain’t as big a change as we think,” Clara said. “Maybe you just stay around near where you lived. Near your family, or wherever you was happiest. Only you’re just a spirit, and you don’t have the troubles the living have.” A minute later she shook her head, and stood up. “I guess that’s silly,” she said, and started back to the house.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Cholo was watching her to see if she was hurt. He loved Clara completely and tried in small ways to make life easier for her, although he had concluded long before that she wasn’t seeking ease. Often in the morning when she came down to the lots she would be somber and would stand by the fence for an hour, not saying a word to anyone. Other times there would be something working in her that scared the horses. He thought of Clara as like the clouds. Sometimes the small black clouds would pour out of the north; they seemed to roll over and over as they swept across the sky, like tumbleweeds. On some mornings things rolled inside Clara, and made her tense and snappish. She could do nothing with the horses on days like that. They became as she was, and Cholo would try gently to persuade her that it was not a good day to do the work. Other days, her spirit was quiet and calm and the horses felt that too. Those were the days they made progress training them.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Let me hold him,” she said, reaching for the baby. Augustus was glad to hand the baby over. He had been watching Clara and didn’t enjoy having to divert his attention to a wiggly baby. It was the same old Clara, so far as spirit went, though her body had changed. She was fuller in the bosom, thinner in the face. The real change was in her hands. As a girl she had had delicate hands, with long fingers and tiny wrists. Now it was her hands that drew his eyes: the work she had done had swollen and strengthened them; they seemed as large at the joints as a man’s. She was peeling potatoes with them and handled a knife as deftly as a trapper. Her hands were no longer as beautiful, but they were arresting: the hands of a formidable woman, perhaps too formidable.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Let’s ask him where the whores are,” Ben suggested. “I doubt we can find any by ourselves.” They caught up with Dish by the livery stable. He didn’t look to be in high spirits, but at least he was walking straight, which was more than could be said for the men who had returned to camp.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Or she might have become merely a worked-out, worn-down pioneer woman, her beauty gone and her spirit tamed. He might look at her and not feel a thing—in which case he would lose something he treasured. On the other hand, he might look at her and feel all that he had felt in their younger days—in which case riding off and leaving her wouldn’t be very easy.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
As soon as they heard the ruling, spirits improved, all except Po Campo’s. He continued to insist that it would be dry.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
That afternoon they swam the Republican without losing an animal. At supper afterward, Jasper Fant’s spirits were high—he had built up an unreasoning fear of the Republican River and felt that once he crossed it he could count on living practically forever. He felt so good he even danced an impromptu jig.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Well then, save it, at least,” Clara said, feeling so downcast suddenly that she left the room. She got a water bucket and walked out of the house, meaning to get some water for Bob. It was a beautiful morning, light touching the farthest edges of the plains. Clara noticed the beauty and thought it strange that she could still respond to it, tired as she was and with two people dying in her house—perhaps three. But she loved the fine light of the prairie mornings; it had resurrected her spirits time after time though the years, when it seemed that dirt and cold and death would crush her. Just to see the light spreading like that, far on toward Wyoming, was her joy. It seemed to put energy into her, make her want to do things.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Deets don’t need to tie me,” Jake said. For a moment his spirits rose, just from the sound of Gus’s voice. It was Call and Gus, his old compañeros. It was just a matter of making them realize what an accident it had been, him riding with the Suggs. It was just that they had happened by the saloon just as he was deciding to leave. If he could just get his head clear of the whiskey he could soon explain it all.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
At close range she looked younger, perhaps only fifteen or sixteen. Probably she had scarcely even had beaux, or if she had, they would only have been farm boys with no knowledge of the world. She had a curling upper lip, which he liked—it indicated she had some spirit. If she had been a whore, he would have contracted with her for a week, just on the strength of that lip and the curve of her bosom. But she was just a barefoot girl sitting on a wagon, with dust on her bare feet.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Elmira was apprehensive, fearing a fight then and there, but Zwey seemed to have forgotten the whole business. About the time Luke rode up they spotted two or three buffalo and immediately rode off to shoot them, leaving Elmira to drive the wagon. They came back after dark with three fresh hides, and seemed in good spirits. Luke scarcely looked at her. He and Zwey sat up late, cooking slices of buffalo liver. They were both as bloody as if they’d been skinned. Elmira hated the smell of blood and kept away from them as best she could.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
While he rested, a big badger walked up to the spring and July shot him with his pistol. He had never eaten badger, but he ate this one and drank the spring water. Even better than food were the trees. Being in the shade again eased his spirit a little. He could look across the hot prairies for miles, from the comfort of his shade. The sun couldn’t parch him while he was under the trees.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
The next morning he started walking, but he didn’t feel the same. He felt like he no longer belonged to life. It would not have surprised him to see a cloud of buzzards circling over him. In spirit he had gone to visit Roscoe. He finished his water that night, having walked all day through the brown wavy grass. He tried a long shot at a deer but missed. The next morning he was awakened by the cawing of crows. He looked up to see several of them flapping overhead in the early grayness. He was tired from his long day’s walk and didn’t get up immediately. There was nothing to get up for but the bright sun and the shimmering plains. But he kept hearing the crows, cawing and quarreling not far away. When he stood up, he saw a little grove of low trees not two hundred yards away—they weren’t much, but they were trees, and the crows were resting in them.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
The sight of the sun put the men in high spirits. Hadn’t they crossed the Red River and lived to tell about it? That night the Irishman sang for hours, and a few of the cowboys joined in—they had gradually learned a few of the Irish songs.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Blue Duck kicked Lorena twice more. “You ain’t worth selling,” Blue Duck said. “The Kiowas can have you.” “What about me?” Monkey John asked. “What about my half interest?” “I won back your half interest,” Blue Duck said. “I won the Kiowas’ half too.” “Then how come you’re giving her to the goddamn Kiowas?” Monkey John said. “Give her to me.” “No, I want them to carve her up,” Blue Duck said. “It might put some spirit in them, so they can go out tomorrow and run that old Ranger to ground.” “Hell, I’m as mean as they are,” Monkey John said. “I can finish him, if he comes around here.” Blue Duck mounted. “You ain’t half as mean as they are,” he said. “And if McCrae comes around here you better step quick or you’ll be plugged. He got Ermoke, and Ermoke was three times the fighter you are.” He opened his pack, took out a bottle of whiskey and pitched it to the Indians. Then he said something to them in their language and rode away toward the river.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“I guess it’s a free country,” the cowboy said. “Anyway, I ain’t cussing.” “I hope you can afford a stamp,” the old man said. “We don’t give credit around here.” July didn’t wait to hear the end of the argument. He could tell by the handwriting on the envelope that the letter was from Peach, not Elmira. The realization knocked his spirits down several pegs. He knew he had no reason to expect a letter from Elmira in the first place, but he was longing to see her, and the thought that she might have written had been comforting.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Newt’s spirits fell. It was just what he had feared she would say. He had been ordered to come and look after her, and he couldn’t just blithely disobey an order. But neither did he want to disobey Lorena. He sat where he was, on Mouse, in the grip of terrible indecision. He almost wished something would happen—a sudden attack of Mexicans or something. He might be killed, but at least he wouldn’t have to make a choice between disobeying Mr. Gus and disobeying Lorena.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Call, you ought to have married and had six or eight kids,” Augustus remarked. If he couldn’t get anywhere with one subject he liked to move on to another. Call’s spirits hadn’t improved much. When he was low it was hard to get him to talk.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇