词汇：apt

adj. 有…倾向的；恰当的；灵敏的

相关场景

INT DAY:
NERI'S APT. (1955) ALBERT NERI moves around in his small Corona Apartment; he pulls a small trunk from under his bed. He opens it, and we see in it, nearly folded, a New York City Policeman's uniform. He takes it out piece by piece, almost reverently.
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INT DAY:
CONNIE'S APT. (SPRING 1946) CONNIE and CARLO's apartment. She's in a slip, on the phone.
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INT NIGHT:
MANCINI APT. HALL (SUMMER 1945) The hallway of an apartment building. SONNY enters, climbs two steps at a time. He knocks, and then whispers.
>> The Godfather教父 1972 Movie Script
“You can’t carry me to the herd, and I doubt I can walk it,” Augustus said. “I’m running such a fever I’m apt to go out of my head any time. You’ll probably have to trot back and bring some of the boys, or maybe the wagon. Then I can ride back in style.” The thought struck Pea Eye for the first time that Gus might die. He had no color, and he was shaking. It had never been suggested that Gus might die. Of course, he knew any man could die. Pea himself had seen many die. Yet it was a condition he had never associated with Gus McCrae, or with the Captain either. They were not normal men, as he understood normal, and he had never reckoned with the possibility that either of them might die. Now, when he looked at Gus and saw his pallor and his shakes, the thought came into his mind and wouldn’t leave. Gus might die. Pea knew at once that he had to do everything possible to prevent it. If he went back to the wagon and reported that Gus was dead, there was no telling what the Captain would say.
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“Oh, yeah, them girls is apt to be rank,” Lippy assured them. “Hell, they wallow around with buffalo hunters and such like.
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“We thought it would be a good place to sit back and watch ’em shit,” Augustus said. Insolence was apt to bring out the comic in him, as Call knew too well.
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“Don’t worry about months,” Po Campo said. “Months won’t bother you. I’m more worried about it being dry.” “Lord, it ain’t been dry yet,” Pea said. “It’s rained aplenty.” “I know,” Po said. “But we may come to a place where it will forget to rain.” He had long since won the affection of Gus’s pigs. The shoat followed him around everywhere. It had grown tall and skinny. It annoyed Augustus that the pigs had shown so little fidelity; when he came to the camp and noticed the shoat sleeping right beside Po Campo’s workplace, he was apt to make tart remarks. The fact that many of the men had come to regard Po Campo as an oracle also annoyed Augustus.
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“No, Dish, I’ve someone else in mind,” Augustus said. “Don’t run your hopes up no flagpole, though. Lorie’s apt to be skittish of men for the next few years.” “Hell, she always was,” Needle observed. “I offered her good money twice and she looked right through me like I was a glass window or something.” “Well, you are skinny,” Augustus said. “Plus you’re too tall to suit a woman. Women would rather have runts, on the whole.”The remark struck the company as odd—why would women rather have runts? And how did Gus know such a thing? But then, it was a comforting remark too, for it was like Gus to say something none of them expected to hear. Those that had night guard would be able to amuse themselves with the remark for hours, considering the pros and cons of it and debating among themselves whether it could be true.
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“I don’t want them,” she said, looking at Gus.“You won’t have to have ’em,” Augustus said. “I’ll see you’re let be. But we can’t stay here. Game’s skimpy and there’s no telling who’ll come along.” Lorena began to cry when she got on her horse. She could no longer control her tears. They were apt to come at any time, though, like talk, they did no good. Things happened, no matter how hard you cried.
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“Well, sir, it’s my wife,” July said. “She’s gone from home. It might be that she got stolen too.” Augustus felt that was interesting. They were both chasing women across the plains. He said no more. A man whose wife had left was apt to be sore about it and touchy. He changed the subject at once.
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“My God, don’t do that, she’s apt to cut us in two,” Jim said. His voice had a husky croak from the blow on his throat—it pained him to speak, but the sight of the girl with the shotgun clearly pained him more.
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“Let’s just shoot them and take the horse,” Hutto, the big man said. “We could have done it this afternoon and saved all this time.” “Yeah, and the dern soldiers would have found them,” the other said. “You can’t just leave bodies lying right in the road no more. Somebody’s apt to take an interest.” “Jim, you’re too nervous,” Hutto said. “Anyway, this ain’t a road, and we ain’t far from the Territory. Let’s shoot ’em and take what they got.” “What have they got, by God?” Jim asked. “Go bring the horse.” Hutto brought Memphis and the two amused themselves for a few minutes by going through the bedroll and the saddlebags. One kept Roscoe covered with the shotgun while the other emptied the contents of the saddlebags carelessly on the wet grass. What they saw was very disappointing to them.
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“I like to snatch a minute for Mr. Milton, and the morning’s my only hope,” Wilbarger added. “At night I’m apt to be in a stampede, and you can’t read Mr. Milton during a stampede—not and take his sense. My days are mostly taken up with lunkheads and weather and sick horses, but I sometimes get a moment of peace after breakfast.” The man looked at them sternly through his glasses. Joe, who had hated what little schooling he’d had, was at a loss to know why a grown man would sit around and read on a pretty day.
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“Keep in my tracks,” Blue Duck said. “If you don’t you’re apt to bog.” Just as he was about to put his horse into the sand, he held up. Across the river Lorena saw four riders watching them.
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“Well, I hope you get back to the herd tonight, in case I’m late,” he said. “There should be somebody with some experience around.” “Oh, I don’t know,” Augustus said. “It’s time that outfit got a little practice in doing without us. They probably think the sun won’t come up unless you’re there to allow it.” Rather than re-argue yet another old argument, Call turned the Hell Bitch. Even experienced men were apt to flounder badly in crises if they lacked leadership. He had seen highly competent men stand as if paralyzed in a crisis, though once someone took command and told them what to do they might perform splendidly. A loose group like the Hat Creek outfit wouldn’t even know how to decide who was to decide, if both he and Gus were gone.
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“It’s dern likely,” Augustus said. “If I can find a squaw I like, I’m apt to marry her. The thing is, if I’m going to be treated like an Indian, I might as well act like one. I think we spent our best years fighting on the wrong side.” Call didn’t want to argue with nonsense like that. They were nearly to the edge of town, passing a few adobe hovels where the poorer Mexicans lived. In one of them a baby cried. Call was relieved to be leaving. With Gus on the prod, anything could happen. In the country, if he got mad and shot something, it would probably be a snake, not a rude bartender.
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“Just don’t get nobody who cooks snakes,” he warned. “If I have to eat any more snakes I’m apt to give notice.” “That’s an idle threat, Jasper,” Augustus said. “You wouldn’t know where to go if you was to quit. For one thing, you’d be skeert to cross a river.” “You ought to let him be about that,” Call said, when they had ridden out of earshot. Jasper’s fear of water was nothing to joke about. Call had seen grown men get so scared of crossing rivers that it was practically necessary to knock them out at every crossing—and a shaky man was apt to panic and spook the herd. Under normal circumstances, Jasper Fant was a good hand, and there was nothing to be gained by riding him about his fear of water.
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“You’d lose it if I was around,” Augustus said, “and if I wasn’t handy, you’d probably get in a scrape and shoot another dentist. Besides, if anybody with a badge on is trying to hunt you up, I’d think the first place they’d look is San Antonio.” “If anybody with a badge on comes looking for me he’s apt to find more of me than he wants,” Jake said. “Let’s get packed, Lorie. We might make town tomorrow, if we push on.” “I don’t want to go to San Antonio,” Lorena said again. She knew Jake hated to be contradicted, but she didn’t much care.
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When Roscoe saw them coming he snapped shut his whittling knife and put the stick he had been whittling in his shirt pocket. There was no law against whittling, but he didn’t want to get a reputation as an idler, particularly not with a man who was as apt as not to end up the next mayor of Fort Smith.
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Then, the very minute she got in the room, Jake decided he wanted a poke, and in a hurry. He had drunk a half glass of whiskey while he was climbing the stairs, and a big shot of whiskey nearly always made him want it. He was dusty as could be from a day with the cattle, and would usually have waited for a bath, or at least washed the grit off his face and hands in the washbasin, but this time he didn’t wait. He even tried to kiss her with his hat on, which didn’t work at all. His hat was as dusty as the rest of him. The dust got in her nose and made her sneeze. His haste was unusual—he was a picky man, apt to complain if the sheets weren’t clean enough to suit him.
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“Marry her?” Jake asked, astonished. “Why would I marry her?” “You could do worse,” Augustus said. “An old scamp like you’s apt to break down any time. It would be nice to have a young woman to rub your back and bring you soup.” “I ain’t near as old as you,” Jake reminded him. “Why don’t you marry her?” It was talk he didn’t care to hear.
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Augustus chuckled. “You was always slow to see the point, Jake,” he said. “If you fool with women you’ll get hit by a stove lid, sooner or later, whereas if you live with Mexicans you have to expect beans in your diet.” “I’d like to see a woman that can hit me with a stove lid,” Jake said. “I will take an insult once in a while, but I’d bedamned if I’d take that.” “Lorie’s apt to hit you with worse if you try to wiggle out of taking her to San Francisco,” Augustus said, delighted that an opportunity had arisen to catch Jake out so early in his visit.
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“If I ain’t careful I’m apt to sprout up again,” he said.
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She was the one who suggested they go upstairs, mainly because she was tired of Lippy and Xavier listening to everything they said. On the way up she noticed that Jake was favoring one foot. It turned out one of his ankles had been broken years before, when a horse fell on him—the ankle was apt to swell if he had to ride hard for long stretches, as he had just done. She helped him ease his boot off and got him some hot water and Epsom salts. After he had soaked his foot for a while he looked amused, as if he had just thought of something pleasant.
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Jake looked at Augustus. “Call’s apt to fire him,” he said. “Ain’t there any excuses we can make for him?” “Dish Boggett is a top hand,” Augustus said. “He can make his own excuses.” Call walked up and looked at the stricken cowboy, whose stomach was still heaving. “What happened to him?” he asked, frowning.
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