But when you assume that my recovery has been a gradual process, you are wrong. You will think me more than ever deranged7; but I assure you that it has been brought about, not by long strivings, but suddenly — without preparation of mine —and by the immediate9 hand of our dead brother.
Yes; you shall have the whole tale. The first effect of the news of Harry’s death in October last was simply to stun10 me. You may remember how once, years ago when we were children, we rode home together across the old Racecourse after a long day’s skating, our skates swinging at our saddle-bows; how Harry challenged us to a gallop11; and how, midway, the roan mare12 slipped down neck over crop on the frozen turf and hurled13 me clean against the face of a stone dyke14. I had been thrown from horseback more than once before, but somehow had always found the earth fairly elastic15. So I had griefs before Harry died and took some rebound16 of hope from each: but that cast repeated in a worse degree the old shock — the springless brutal17 jar — of the stone dyke. With him the sun went out of my sky.
I understand that this torpor18 is quite common with men and women suddenly bereaved19. I believe that a whole week passed before my brain recovered any really vital motion; and then such feeble thought as I could exert was wholly occupied with the desperate stupidity of the whole affair. If God were indeed shaping the world to any end, if any design of His underlay20 the activities of men, what insensate waste to quench21 such a heart and brain as Harry’s! — to nip, as it seemed out of mere22 blundering wantonness, a bud which had begun to open so generously: to sacrifice that youth and strength, that comeliness23, that enthusiasm, and all for nothing! Had some campaign claimed him, had he been spent to gain a citadel24 or defend a flag, I had understood. But that he should be killed on a friendly mission; attacked in ignorance by those East Coast savages25 while bearing gifts to their king; deserted26 by the porters whose comfort (on their own confession) he had studied throughout the march; left to die, to be tortured, mutilated — and all for no possible good: these things I could not understand. At the end he might have escaped; but as he caught hold of his saddle by the band between the holsters, it parted: it was not leather, but faced paper, the job of some cheating contractor27. I thought of this, too. And Harry had been through Chitral!
But though a man may hate, he cannot easily despise God for long. “He is great — but wasteful28,” said the American. We are the dust on His great hands, and fly as He claps them carelessly in the pauses of His work. Yet this theory would not do at all: for the unlucky particles are not dust, not refuse, but exquisite29 and exquisitely30 fashioned, designed to live, and to every small function of life adapted with the minutest care. There were nights indeed when, walking along the shore where we had walked together on the night before Harry left England and looking from the dark waters which divided me from his grave up to the nightly moon and to the stars around her, I could well believe God wasteful of little things. Sirius flashing low, Orion’s belt with the great nebula31 swinging like a pendant of diamonds; the ruby32 stars, Betelgueux and Aldebaran — my eyes went up beyond these to Perseus shepherding the Kids westward33 along the Milky34 way. From the right Andromeda flashed signals to him: and above sat Cassiopeia, her mother, resting her jewelled wrists on the arms of her throne. Low in the east Jupiter trailed his satellites in the old moon’s path. As they all moved, silent, looking down on me out of the hollow spaces of the night, I could believe no splendid waste too costly35 for their perfection: and the Artificer who hung them there after millions of years of patient effort, if more intelligible36 than a God who produced them suddenly at will, certainly not less divine. But walking the same shore by daylight I recognised that the shells, the mosses37, the flowers I trampled38 on, were, each in its way, as perfect as those great stars: that on these — and on Harry — as surely as on the stars — God had spent, if not infinite pains, then at least so superlative a wisdom that to conceive of them as wastage was to deny the mind which called them forth39.
There they were: and that He who had skill to create them could blunder in using them was simply incredible.
But this led to worse: for having to admit the infallible design, I now began to admire it as an exquisite scheme of evil, and to accuse God of employing supreme40 knowledge and skill to gratify a royal lust41 of cruelty. For a month and more this horrible theory justified42 itself in all innocent daily sights. Throughout my country walks I “saw blood.” I heard the rabbit run squeaking43 before the weasel; I watched the butcher crow working steadily44 down the hedge. If I turned seaward I looked beneath the blue and saw the dog-fish gnawing45 on the whiting. If I walked in the garden I surprised the thrush dragging worms from the turf, the cat slinking on the nest, the spider squatting46 in ambush47. Behind the rosy48 face of every well-nourished child I saw a lamb gazing up at the butcher’s knife. My dear Violet, that was a hideous49 time!
And just then by chance a book fell into my hands — Lamartine’s Chute d’un Ange. Do you know the Seventh and Tenth Visions of that poem, which describe the favourite amusements of the Men-gods? Before the Deluge50, beyond the rude tents of the nomad51 shepherds, there rose city upon city of palaces built of jasper and porphyry, splendid and utterly52 corrupt53; inhabited by men who called themselves gods and explored the subtleties54 of all sciences to minister to their vicious pleasures. At ease on soft couches, in hanging gardens set with fountains, these beings feasted with every refinement55 of cruelty. Kneeling slaves were their living tables; while for their food —
Tous les oiseaux de l’air, tous les poissons de l’onde,
Tout56 ce qui vole ou nage ou rampe dans le monde,
Mourant pour leur plaisir des plus cruels trepas
De sanglantes savours composent leurs repas . . . .
In these lines I believed that I discerned the very God of the universe, the God whom men worship —
Dans les infames jeux de leur divin loisir
Le supplice de l’homme est leur premier57 plaisir.
Pour que leur oeil feroce a l’envi s’en repaisse
Des bourreaux devant eux en immolent sans cesse.
Tantot ils font lutter, dans des combats affreux,
L’homme contre la brute58 et les hommes entre eux,
Aux longs ruisseaux de sang qui coulent de la veine,
Aux palpitations des membres sur l’arene,
Se levant a demi de leurs lits de repos
Des frissons de plaisir fremissent sur leurs peaux.
Le cri de la torture est leur douce harmonie,
Et leur oeil dans son oeil boit sa lente agonie.
I charged the Supreme Power with a cruelty deliberate, ruthless, serene59. Nero the tyrant60 once commanded a representation in grim earnest of the Flight of Icarus; and the unhappy boy who took the part, at his first attempt to fly, fell headlong beside the Emperor’s couch and spattered him with blood and brains. For the Emperor, says Suetonius, perraro praesidere, ceterum accubans, parvis primum foraminibus, deinde toto podio adaperto, spectare consuerat. So I believed that on the stage of this world men agonised for the delight of one cruel intelligence which watched from behind the curtain of a private box.
2
In this unhappy condition of mind, then, I was lying in my library chair here at Sevenhays, at two o’clock on the morning of January 4th. I had just finished another reading of the Tenth Vision and had tossed my book into the lap of an armchair opposite. Fire and lamp were burning brightly. The night outside was still and soundless, with a touch of frost.
I lay there, retracing62 in thought the circumstances of Harry’s last parting from me, and repeating to myself a scrap63 here and there from the three letters he wrote on his way — the last of them, full of high spirits, received a full three weeks after the telegram which announced his death. There was a passage in this last letter describing a wonderful ride he had taken alone and by moonlight on the desert; a ride (he protested) which wanted nothing of perfect happiness but me, his friend, riding beside him to share his wonder. There was a sentence which I could not recall precisely64, and I left my chair and was crossing the room towards the drawer in the writing-table where I kept his letters, when I heard a trampling65 of hoofs66 on the gravel67 outside, and then my Christian68 name called — with distinctness, but not at all loudly.
I went to the window, which was unshuttered; drew up the blind and flung up the sash. The moon, in its third quarter and about an hour short of its meridian69, shone over the deodars upon the white gravel. And there, before the front door, sat Harry on his sorrel mare Vivandiere, holding my own Grey Sultan ready bridled70 and saddled. He was dressed in his old khaki riding suit, and his face, as he sat askew71 in his saddle and looked up towards my window, wore its habitual72 and happy smile.
Now, call this and what follows a dream, vision, hallucination, what you will; but understand, please, that from the first moment, so far as I considered the matter at all, I had never the least illusion that this was Harry in flesh and blood. I knew quite well all the while that Harry was dead and his body in his grave. But, soul or phantom73 — whatever relation to Harry this might bear — it had come to me, and the great joy of that was enough for the time. There let us leave the question. I closed the window, went upstairs to my dressing-room, drew on my riding-boots and overcoat, found cap, gloves, and riding-crop, and descended74 to the porch.
Harry, as I shall call him, was still waiting there on the off side of Grey Sultan, the farther side from the door. There could be no doubt, at any rate, that the grey was real horseflesh and blood, though he seemed unusually quiet after two days in stall. Harry freed him as I mounted, and we set off together at a walk, which we kept as far as the gate.
Outside we took the westward road, and our horses broke into a trot75. As yet we had not exchanged a word; but now he asked a question or two about his people and his friends; kindly76, yet most casually77, as one might who returns after a week’s holidaying. I answered as well as I could, with trivial news of their health. His mother had borne the winter better than usual — to be sure, there had been as yet no cold weather to speak of; but she and Ethel intended, I believed, to start for the south of France early in February. He inquired about you. His comments were such as a man makes on hearing just what he expects to hear, or knows beforehand. And for some time it seemed to be tacitly taken for granted between us that I should ask him no questions.
“As for me —” I began, after a while.
He checked the mare’s pace a little. “I know,” he said, looking straight ahead between her ears; then, after a pause, “it has been a bad time for you, You are in a bad way altogether. That is why I came.”
“But it was for you!” I blurted78 out. “Harry, if only I had known why you were taken — and what it was to you!”
He turned his face to me with the old confident comforting smile.
“Don’t you trouble about that. That’s nothing to make a fuss about. Death?” he went on musing79 — our horses had fallen to a walk again — “It looks you in the face a moment: you put out your hands: you touch — and so it is gone. My dear boy, it isn’t for us that you need worry.”
“For whom, then?”
“Come,” said he, and he shook Vivandiere into a canter.
3
I cannot remember precisely at what point in our ride the country had ceased to be familiar. But by-and-by we were climbing the lower slopes of a great down which bore no resemblance to the pastoral country around Sevenhays. We had left the beaten road for short turf — apparently80 of a copper81-brown hue82, but this may have been the effect of the moonlight. The ground rose steadily, but with an easy inclination83, and we climbed with the wind at our backs; climbed, as it seemed, for an hour, or maybe two, at a footpace, keeping silence. The happiness of having Harry beside me took away all desire for speech.
This at least was my state of mind as we mounted the long lower slopes of the down. But in time the air, hitherto so exhilarating, began to oppress my lungs, and the tranquil84 happiness to give way to a vague discomfort85 and apprehension86.
“What is this noise of water running?”
I reined87 up Grey Sultan as I put the question. At the same moment it occurred to me that this sound of water, distant and continuous, had been running in my ear for a long while.
Harry, too, came to a halt. With a sweep of the arm that embraced the dim landscape around and ahead, he quoted softly —
en detithei potamoio mega spenos Okeanoio
antyga par8 pymaten sakeos pyka poietoio . . . .
and was silent again.
I recalled at once and distinctly the hot summer morning ten years back, when we had prepared that passage of the Eighteenth Book together in our study at Clifton; I at the table, Harry lolling in the cane-seated armchair with the Liddell and Scott open on his knees; outside, the sunny close and the fresh green of the lime-trees.
Now that I looked more attentively89 the bare down, on which we climbed like flies, did indeed resemble a vast round shield, about the rim61 of which this unseen water echoed. And the resemblance grew more startling when, a mile or so farther on our way, as the grey dawn overtook us, Harry pointed90 upwards91 and ahead to a small boss or excrescence now lifting itself above the long curve of the horizon.
At first I took it for a hummock92 or tumulus. Then, as the day whitened about us, I saw it to be a building — a tall, circular barrack not unlike the Colosseum. A question shaped itself on my lips, but something in Harry’s manner forbade it. His gaze was bent93 steadily forward, and I kept my wonder to myself, and also the oppression of spirit which had now grown to something like physical torture.
When first the great barrack broke into sight we must have been at least two miles distant. I kept my eyes fastened on it as we approached, and little by little made out the details of its architecture. From base to summit — which appeared to be roofless — six courses of many hundred arches ran around the building, one above the other; and between each pair a course, as it seemed, of plain worked stone, though I afterwards found it to be sculptured in low relief. The arches were cut in deep relief and backed with undressed stone. The lowest course of all, however, was quite plain, having neither arches nor frieze94; but at intervals95 corresponding to the eight major points of the compass — so far as I who saw but one side of it could judge — pairs of gigantic stone figures supported archways pierced in the wall; or sluices96, rather, since from every archway but one a full stream of water issued and poured down the sides of the hill. The one dry archway was that which faced us with open gate, and towards which Harry led the way; for oppression and terror now weighted my hand as with lead upon Grey Sultan’s rein88.
Harry, however, rode forward resolutely98, dismounted almost in the very shadow of the great arch, and waited, smoothing his mare’s neck. But for the invitation in his eyes, which were solemn, yet without a trace of fear, I had never dared that last hundred yards. For above the rush of waters I heard now a confused sound within the building — the thud and clanking of heavy machinery99, and at intervals a human groan100; and looking up I saw that the long friezes101 in bas-relief represented men and women tortured and torturing with all conceivable variety of method and circumstance — flayed102, racked, burned, torn asunder103, loaded with weights, pinched with hot irons, and so on without end. And it added to the horror of these sculptures that while the limbs and even the dress of each figure were carved with elaborate care and nicety of detail, the faces of all — of those who applied104 the torture and of those who looked on, as well as of the sufferers themselves — were left absolutely blank. On the same plan the two Titans beside the great archway had no faces. The sculptor105 had traced the muscles of each belly106 in a constriction107 of anguish108, and had suggested this anguish again in moulding the neck, even in disposing the hair of the head; but the neck supported, and the locks fell around, a space of smooth stone without a feature.
Harry allowed me no time to feed on these horrors. Signing to me to dismount and leave Grey Sultan at the entrance, he led me through the long archway or tunnel. At the end we paused again, he watching, while I drew difficult breath . . . .
I saw a vast amphitheatre of granite109, curving away on either hand and reaching up, tier on tier, till the tiers melted in the grey sky overhead. The lowest tier stood twenty feet above my head; yet curved with so lordly a perspective that on the far side of the arena110, as I looked across, it seemed almost level with the ground; while the human figures about the great archway yonder were diminished to the size of ants about a hole . . . For there were human figures busy in the arena, though not a soul sat in any of the granite tiers above. A million eyes had been less awful than those empty benches staring down in the cold dawn; bench after bench repeating the horror of the featureless carvings111 by the entrance-gate — repeating it in series without end, and unbroken, save at one point midway along the semicircle on my right, where the imperial seat stood out, crowned like a catafalque with plumes112 of purple horse-hair, and screened close with heavy purple hangings. I saw these curtains shake once or twice in the morning wind.
The floor of this amphitheatre I have spoken of as an arena; but as a matter of fact it was laid with riveted114 sheets of copper that recalled the dead men’s shelves in the Paris morgue. The centre had been raised some few feet higher than the circumference115, or possibly the whole floor took its shape from the rounded hill of which it was the apex116; and from an open sluice97 immediately beneath the imperial throne a flood of water gushed117 with a force that carried it straight to this raised centre, over which it ran and rippled118, and so drained back into the scuppers at the circumference. Before reaching the centre it broke and swirled119 around a row of what appeared to be tall iron boxes or cages, set directly in face of the throne. But for these ugly boxes the whole floor was empty. To and from these the little human figures were hurrying, and from these too proceeded the thuds and panting and the frequent groans120 that I had heard outside.
While I stood and gazed, Harry stepped forward into the arena. “This also?” I whispered.
He nodded, and led the way over the copper floor, where the water ran high as our ankles and again was drained off, until little dry spaces grew like maps upon the surface, and in ten seconds were flooded again. He led me straight to the cages, and I saw that while the roof and three sides of these were of sheet iron, the fourth side, which faced the throne, lay open. And I saw — in the first cage, a man scourged121 with rods; in the second, a body twisted on the rack; in the third, a woman with a starving babe, and a fellow that held food to them and withdrew it quickly (the torturers wore masks on their faces, and whenever blood flowed some threw handfuls of sawdust, and blood and sawdust together were carried off by the running water); in the fourth cage, a man tied, naked and helpless, whom a masked torturer pelted122 with discs of gold, heavy and keen-edged; in the fifth a brasier with irons heating, and a girl’s body crouched123 in a corner —
“I will see no more!” I cried, and turned towards the great purple canopy124. High over it the sun broke yellow on the climbing tiers of seats. “Harry! someone is watching behind those curtains! Is it — HE?”
Harry bent his head.
“But this is all that I believed! This is Nero, and ten times worse than Nero! Why did you bring me here?” I flung out my hand towards the purple throne, and finding myself close to a fellow who scattered125 sawdust with both hands, made a spring to tear his mask away. But Harry stretched out an arm.
“That will not help you,” he said. “The man has no face.”
“No face!”
“He once had a face, but it has perished. His was the face of these sufferers. Look at them.”
I looked from cage to cage, and now saw that indeed all these sufferers — men and women — had but one face: the same wrung126 brow, the same wistful eyes, the same lips bitten in anguish. I knew the face. We all know it.
“His own Son! O devil rather than God!” I fell on my knees in the gushing127 water and covered my eyes.
“Stand up, listen and look!” said Harry’s voice.
“What can I see? He hides behind that curtain.”
“And the curtain?”
“It shakes continually.”
“That is with His sobs128. Listen! What of the water?”
“It runs from the throne and about the floor. It washes off the blood.”
“That water is His tears. It flows hence down the hill, and washes all the shores of earth.”
Then as I stood silent, conning129 the eddies130 at my feet, for the first time Harry took my hand.
“Learn this,” he said. “There is no suffering in the world but ultimately comes to be endured by God.”
Saying this, he drew me from the spot; gently, very gently led me away; but spoke113 again as we were about to pass into the shadow of the arch —
“Look once back: for a moment only.”
I looked. The curtains of the imperial seat were still drawn131 close, but in a flash I saw the tiers beside it, and around, and away up to the sunlit crown of the amphitheatre, thronged132 with forms in white raiment. And all these forms leaned forward and bowed their faces on their arms and wept.
So we passed out beneath the archway. Grey Sultan stood outside, and as I mounted him the gate clashed behind . . . .
4
I turned as it clashed. And the gate was just the lodge-gate of Sevenhays. And Grey Sultan was trampling the gravel of our own drive. The morning sun slanted133 over the laurels134 on my right, and while I wondered, the stable clock struck eight.
The rest I leave to you; nor shall try to explain. I only know that, vision or no vision, my soul from that hour has gained a calm it never knew before. The sufferings of my fellows still afflict135 me; but always, if I stand still and listen, in my own room, or in a crowded street, or in a waste spot among the moors136, I can hear those waters moving round the world — moving on their “priest-like task “— those lustral divine tears which are Oceanus.
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1
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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2
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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3
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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4
aspires
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| v.渴望，追求( aspire的第三人称单数 ) | |
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5
mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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6
mote
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| n.微粒；斑点 | |
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7
deranged
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| adj.疯狂的 | |
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par
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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9
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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10
stun
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| vt.打昏，使昏迷，使震惊，使惊叹 | |
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11
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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12
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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13
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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dyke
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| n.堤，水坝，排水沟 | |
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elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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rebound
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| v.弹回；n.弹回，跳回 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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torpor
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| n.迟钝；麻木；（动物的）冬眠 | |
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bereaved
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| adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去（希望、生命等）( bereave的过去式和过去分词)；（尤指死亡）使丧失（亲人、朋友等）；使孤寂；抢走（财物） | |
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underlay
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| v.位于或存在于（某物）之下( underlie的过去式 )；构成…的基础（或起因），引起n.衬垫物 | |
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quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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comeliness
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| n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
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citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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contractor
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| n.订约人，承包人，收缩肌 | |
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wasteful
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| adj.（造成）浪费的，挥霍的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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nebula
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| n.星云，喷雾剂 | |
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ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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mosses
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| n. 藓类, 苔藓植物 名词moss的复数形式 | |
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trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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42
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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43
squeaking
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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44
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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45
gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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46
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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47
ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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48
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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49
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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50
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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51
nomad
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| n.游牧部落的人，流浪者，游牧民 | |
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52
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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53
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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54
subtleties
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| 细微( subtlety的名词复数 )； 精细； 巧妙； 细微的差别等 | |
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55
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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56
tout
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| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
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57
premier
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| adj.首要的；n.总理，首相 | |
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58
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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59
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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60
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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61
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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62
retracing
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| v.折回( retrace的现在分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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63
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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64
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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65
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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66
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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67
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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68
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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69
meridian
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| adj.子午线的；全盛期的 | |
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70
bridled
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的过去式和过去分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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71
askew
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| adv.斜地；adj.歪斜的 | |
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72
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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73
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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74
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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75
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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76
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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77
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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78
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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80
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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81
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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82
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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83
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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84
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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85
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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86
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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87
reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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88
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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89
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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90
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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91
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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92
hummock
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| n.小丘 | |
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93
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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94
frieze
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| n.(墙上的)横饰带，雕带 | |
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95
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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96
sluices
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| n.水闸( sluice的名词复数 )；（用水闸控制的）水；有闸人工水道；漂洗处v.冲洗( sluice的第三人称单数 )；（指水）喷涌而出；漂净；给…安装水闸 | |
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97
sluice
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| n.水闸 | |
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98
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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99
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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100
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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101
friezes
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| n.（柱顶过梁和挑檐间的）雕带，（墙顶的）饰带( frieze的名词复数 ) | |
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102
flayed
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| v.痛打( flay的过去式和过去分词 )；把…打得皮开肉绽；剥（通常指动物）的皮；严厉批评 | |
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103
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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104
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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105
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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106
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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107
constriction
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| 压缩； 紧压的感觉； 束紧； 压缩物 | |
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108
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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109
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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110
arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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111
carvings
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| n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 )；雕刻术；雕刻品；雕刻物 | |
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112
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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113
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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114
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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115
circumference
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| n.圆周，周长，圆周线 | |
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116
apex
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| n.顶点，最高点 | |
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117
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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118
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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119
swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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120
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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121
scourged
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| 鞭打( scourge的过去式和过去分词 )； 惩罚，压迫 | |
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122
pelted
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| （连续地）投掷( pelt的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续抨击； 攻击； 剥去…的皮 | |
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123
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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125
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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126
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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127
gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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128
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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129
conning
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| v.诈骗，哄骗( con的现在分词 )；指挥操舵( conn的现在分词 ) | |
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130
eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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131
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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132
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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134
laurels
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| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
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135
afflict
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| vt.使身体或精神受痛苦，折磨 | |
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136
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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