词汇：coffee

n. 咖啡；咖啡豆；咖啡色

相关场景

“Oh, Miss Lorena and I like to take our coffee together in the morning,” Augustus said.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“I don’t want to go to San Antone,” she said. “I been there.” Jake was taken aback. “Why, it’s a good gambling town,” he said. “We ain’t rich yet. It wouldn’t hurt us to stop for a week, while the boys get the herd started good. Then we can catch up.” “I don’t like to go back to places,” Lorena said. “It’s bad luck.” “Yes, and it would be worse luck to get up the trail and run out of money.” “That’s all right, Jake,” Augustus said, flinging the dregs of his coffee into a chaparral bush. “I’ll be glad to keep tabs on Lorie while you run into town and lose your wad.”“What makes you think I’d lose it?” Jake said, his face darkening.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“I hope there’s still some coffee in the pot,” he said, when he dismounted. “I’ve usually had ten biscuits by this time of day, not to mention some honey and a few eggs. Got any eggs, Lorie?” “No, but we got bacon,” she said. “I’ll fry you some.” Augustus looked around with amusement at the muddy camp.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
The only awkward part was that the few foodstuffs they had brought had been soaked. The flour was ruined, the salt a lump. At least the bacon and coffee weren’t ruined, and they had a little of each before Jake rode off to look for her horse.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Miss, you oughta get him on across the river,” he said, when he handed back the coffee cup.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“I’ll play you right now, Deets,” he said. “You’re the only one in the whole dern outfit with any money.” The black man just grinned and returned the needle to the little packet in his saddlebag. Then he accepted the cup of coffee which Lorie offered.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
When he sat up, she eased out from under him. He looked around with no recognition. She dressed and helped him dress, then got him propped against a big shade tree. She made a little fire, thinking some coffee might help him. While she was getting the pot out of the pack she heard a splashing and looked up to see a black man ride his horse into the river from the other side. Soon the horse was swimming, but the black man didn’t seem frightened. The horse waded out, dripping, and the black man dismounted and let it shake itself.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
After accepting a cup of coffee from Lorie, he took a look at Jake’s thumb, which was swollen and turning white.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“If you men want grub, you better go get it,” he said. “Sundown would be the time to leave.” After supper Jake and Augustus went outside to smoke and spit. Dish sat on the Dutch oven, sipping black coffee and squeezing his temples with one hand—each temple felt like someone had given it a sharp rap with a small ax. Deets and Newt started for the lots to catch the horses, Newt very conscious of the fact that he was the only one in the group without a sidearm. Deets had an old Walker Colt the size of a ham, which he only wore when he went on trips, since even he wouldn’t have been stout enough to carry it all day without wearing down.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
What counted was that Lorena, looking prettily flushed, was sitting at a table with Jake Spoon, the coffee-eyed stranger with the pearl-handled pistol. Jake had his hat pushed back on his head and was addressing her, with his eyes at least, as if he had known her for years. There was a single glass of whiskey sitting on the table. From the doorway Dish saw Lorena take a sip out of the glass and then casually hand it to Jake, who took more than a sip.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Jake looked thoughtful, as he almost always did. His coffee-colored eyes always seemed to be traveling leisurely overscenes from his own past, and they gave the impression that he was a man of sorrows—an impression very appealing to the ladies. It disgusted Augustus a little that ladies were so taken in by Jake’s big eyes. In fact, Jake Spoon had had a perfectly easy life, doing mostly just what he pleased and keeping his boots clean; what his big eyes concealed was a slow-working brain. Basically Jake just dreamed his way through life and somehow got by with it.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“He found that cap in the fifties, to the best of my recollection,” Augustus said. “You know Deets is like me—he’s not one to quit on a garment just because it’s got a little age. We can’t all be fine dressers like you, Jake.” Jake turned his coffee eyes on Augustus and broke out another slow grin. “What’d it take to get you to whip up another batch of them biscuits?” he said. “I’ve come all the way from Arkansas without tasting a good bite of bread.” “From the looks of that pony it’s been fast traveling,” Call said, which was as close to prying as he intended to get. He had run with Jake Spoon off and on for twenty years, and liked him well; but the man had always worried him a little, underneath. There was no more likable man in the west, and no better rider, either; but riding wasn’t everything, and neither was likableness. Something in Jake didn’t quite stick. Something wasn’t quite consistent. He could be the coolest man in the company in one fight, and in the next be practically worthless.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Jake’s eyes were the color of coffee, and he wore a little mustache. He looked them all over for a moment, and then broke out a slow grin.“Howdy, boys,” he said. “What’s for breakfast?” “Why, biscuits and fatback, Jake,” Augustus said. “The usual fare. Only we won’t be serving it up for about twenty-four hours. I hope you’ve got a buffalo liver or a haunch of venison on you to tide you over.” “Gus, don’t tell me you’ve et,” Jake said, swinging off the bay. “We rode all night, and Deets couldn’t think of nothing to talk about except the taste of them biscuits you make.” “While you was talking, Gus was eating them,” Call said. He and Jake shook hands, looking one another over.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“It would take a hacksaw to cut these eggs,” Call said. “I’ve seen bricks that was softer.” “Well, Bol spilled coffee in them,” Augustus said, “I expect it was hard coffee.” Call finished the rocklike eggs and gave Dish the onceover. He was a lank fellow, loose-built, and a good rider. Five or six more like him and they could make up a herd themselves and drive it north. The idea had been in his mind for a year or more. He had even mentioned it to Augustus, but Augustus merely laughed at him.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Throw that pig them eggshells,” he said to Bolivar. “He’s starving.” “I don’t care,” Bolivar said, sucking coffee-colored sugar out of a big spoon. “I feel sick.” “You’re repeating yourself, Bol,” Augustus said. “If you’re planning on dying today I hope you dig your grave first.” Bolivar looked at him sorrowfully. So much talk in the morning gave him a headache to go with his shakes. “If I dig a grave it will be yours,” he said simply.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Augustus had fried the eggs hard as marbles to compensate for the coffee grains, and when they looked done to him he poured the grease into the big three-gallon syrup can they used for a grease bucket.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“I guess it won’t hurt the coffee none to taste like eggs,” he said testily. “Most of the time your eggs taste like coffee.” “I don’t care,” Bolivar said. “I feel sick.” Pea Eye came stumbling through about that time, trying to get his pizzle out of his pants before his bladder started to flood. It was a frequent problem. The pants he wore had about fifteen small buttons, and he got up each morning and buttoned every one of them before he realized he was about to piss. Then he would come rushing through the kitchen trying to undo the buttons. The race was always close, but usually Pea would make it to the back steps before the flood commenced. Then he would stand there and splatter the yard for five minutes or so. When he could hear sizzling grease in one ear and the sound of Pea Eye pissing in the other, Augustus knew that the peace of the morning was over once again.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Your tough luck, then, son,” Augustus said. “Morning around here is more like a nightmare. Now look what’s happened!” In an effort to get the coffee going, Bolivar had spilled a small pile of coffee grounds into the grease where the eggs and bacon were frying. It seemed a small enough matter to him, but it enraged Augustus, who liked to achieve an orderly breakfast at least once a week.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“We come to this place to make money,” Call said. “Nothing about fun was in the deal.” “Call, you don’t even like money,” Augustus said. “You’ve spit in the eye of every rich man you’ve ever met. You like money even less than you like fun, if that’s possible.” Call sighed, and sat down at the table. Bolivar was up and stumbling around the stove, shaking so that he spilled coffee grounds on the floor.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“A man that sleeps all night wastes too much of life,” he often said. “As I see it the days was made for looking and the nights for sport.” Since sport was what he had been brooding about when he got home, it was still in his thoughts when he arose, which he did about 4 A.M., to see to the breakfast—in his view too important a meal to entrust to a Mexican bandit. The heart of his breakfast was a plenitude of sourdough biscuits, which he cooked in a Dutch oven out in the backyard. His pot dough had been perking along happily for over ten years, and the first thing he did upon rising was check it out. The rest of the breakfast was secondary, just a matter of whacking off a few slabs of bacon and frying a panful of pullet eggs. Bolivar could generally be trusted to deal with the coffee.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Bol, I want you to quit whackin’ that bell with that crowbar,” he said. “You can do it at noon if you want to but let off doin’ it at night. A man with any sense can tell when it’s sundown. You’ve spoilt many a pretty evening for me, whackin’ that bell.” Bolivar stirred his sugary coffee and held his peace. He whacked the dinner bell because he liked the sound, not because he wanted anybody to come and eat. The men could eat when they liked—he would whack the bell when he liked. He enjoyed being a cook—it was a good deal more relaxing than being a bandit—but that didn’t mean that he intended to take orders. His sense of independence was undiminished.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Because it’s what real cooks are supposed to wear,” Augustus said, looking at Bolivar, who was stirring a little coffee into his brown sugar. “Not so much a hat as a kind of big white cap—it looked like it could have been made out of a bedsheet.” “I’d be damned if I’d wear one,” Call said.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“I don’t know where you keep finding these Mexican strawberries,” he said, referring to the beans. Bolivar managed to find them three hundred and sixty-five days a year, mixing them with so many red chilies that a spoonful of beans was more or less as hot as a spoonful of red ants. Newt had come to think that only two things were certain if you worked for the Hat Creek Cattle Company. One was that Captain Call would think of more things to do than he and Pea Eye and Deets could get done, and the other was that beans would be available at all meals. The only man in the outfit who didn’t fart frequently was old Bolivar himself—he never touched beans and lived mainly on sourdough biscuits and chickory coffee, or rather cups of brown sugar with little puddles of coffee floating on top. Sugar cost money, too, and it irked the Captain to spend it, but Bolivar could not be made to break a habit. Augustus claimed the old man’s droppings were so sugary that the blue shoat had taken to stalking him every time he went to shit, which might have been true. Newt had all he could do to keep clear of the shoat, and his own droppings were mostly bean.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Yvonne got her coffee shop back.
>> 倾城佳话 It Could Happen to You (1994) Movie Script
"Yvonne's Coffee Shop." - It's five dollars.
>> 倾城佳话 It Could Happen to You (1994) Movie Script