Long after he had vanished, Nostromo, lifting his eyes up to the sky, muttered, “I am not dead yet.”
The Capataz of the Sulaco Cargadores had lived in splendour and publicity20 up to the very moment, as it were, when he took charge of the lighter21 containing the treasure of silver ingots.
The last act he had performed in Sulaco was in complete harmony with his vanity, and as such perfectly22 genuine. He had given his last dollar to an old woman moaning with the grief and fatigue23 of a dismal24 search under the arch of the ancient gate. Performed in obscurity and without witnesses, it had still the characteristics of splendour and publicity, and was in strict keeping with his reputation. But this awakening25 in solitude, except for the watchful26 vulture, amongst the ruins of the fort, had no such characteristics. His first confused feeling was exactly this — that it was not in keeping. It was more like the end of things. The necessity of living concealed27 somehow, for God knows how long, which assailed28 him on his return to consciousness, made everything that had gone before for years appear vain and foolish, like a flattering dream come suddenly to an end.
He climbed the crumbling29 slope of the rampart, and, putting aside the bushes, looked upon the harbour. He saw a couple of ships at anchor upon the sheet of water reflecting the last gleams of light, and Sotillo’s steamer moored30 to the jetty. And behind the pale long front of the Custom House, there appeared the extent of the town like a grove31 of thick timber on the plain with a gateway32 in front, and the cupolas, towers, and miradors rising above the trees, all dark, as if surrendered already to the night. The thought that it was no longer open to him to ride through the streets, recognized by everyone, great and little, as he used to do every evening on his way to play monte in the posada of the Mexican Domingo; or to sit in the place of honour, listening to songs and looking at dances, made it appear to him as a town that had no existence.
For a long time he gazed on, then let the parted bushes spring back, and, crossing over to the other side of the fort, surveyed the vaster emptiness of the great gulf. The Isabels stood out heavily upon the narrowing long band of red in the west, which gleamed low between their black shapes, and the Capataz thought of Decoud alone there with the treasure. That man was the only one who cared whether he fell into the hands of the Monterists or not, the Capataz reflected bitterly. And that merely would be an anxiety for his own sake. As to the rest, they neither knew nor cared. What he had heard Giorgio Viola say once was very true. Kings, ministers, aristocrats34, the rich in general, kept the people in poverty and subjection; they kept them as they kept dogs, to fight and hunt for their service.
The darkness of the sky had descended36 to the line of the horizon, enveloping37 the whole gulf, the islets, and the lover of Antonia alone with the treasure on the Great Isabel. The Capataz, turning his back on these things invisible and existing, sat down and took his face between his fists. He felt the pinch of poverty for the first time in his life. To find himself without money after a run of bad luck at monte in the low, smoky room of Domingo’s posada, where the fraternity of Cargadores gambled, sang, and danced of an evening; to remain with empty pockets after a burst of public generosity38 to some peyne d’oro girl or other (for whom he did not care), had none of the humiliation39 of destitution40. He remained rich in glory and reputation. But since it was no longer possible for him to parade the streets of the town, and be hailed with respect in the usual haunts of his leisure, this sailor felt himself destitute41 indeed.
His mouth was dry. It was dry with heavy sleep and extremely anxious thinking, as it had never been dry before. It may be said that Nostromo tasted the dust and ashes of the fruit of life into which he had bitten deeply in his hunger for praise. Without removing his head from between his fists, he tried to spit before him —“Tfui”— and muttered a curse upon the selfishness of all the rich people.
Since everything seemed lost in Sulaco (and that was the feeling of his waking), the idea of leaving the country altogether had presented itself to Nostromo. At that thought he had seen, like the beginning of another dream, a vision of steep and tideless shores, with dark pines on the heights and white houses low down near a very blue sea. He saw the quays42 of a big port, where the coasting feluccas, with their lateen sails outspread like motionless wings, enter gliding43 silently between the end of long moles44 of squared blocks that project angularly towards each other, hugging a cluster of shipping45 to the superb bosom46 of a hill covered with palaces. He remembered these sights not without some filial emotion, though he had been habitually47 and severely48 beaten as a boy on one of these feluccas by a short-necked, shaven Genoese, with a deliberate and distrustful manner, who (he firmly believed) had cheated him out of his orphan’s inheritance. But it is mercifully decreed that the evils of the past should appear but faintly in retrospect50. Under the sense of loneliness, abandonment, and failure, the idea of return to these things appeared tolerable. But, what? Return? With bare feet and head, with one check shirt and a pair of cotton calzoneros for all worldly possessions?
The renowned51 Capataz, his elbows on his knees and a fist dug into each cheek, laughed with self-derision, as he had spat52 with disgust, straight out before him into the night. The confused and intimate impressions of universal dissolution which beset53 a subjective54 nature at any strong check to its ruling passion had a bitterness approaching that of death itself. He was simple. He was as ready to become the prey55 of any belief, superstition56, or desire as a child.
The facts of his situation he could appreciate like a man with a distinct experience of the country. He saw them clearly. He was as if sobered after a long bout57 of intoxication58. His fidelity59 had been taken advantage of. He had persuaded the body of Cargadores to side with the Blancos against the rest of the people; he had had interviews with Don Jose; he had been made use of by Father Corbelan for negotiating with Hernandez; it was known that Don Martin Decoud had admitted him to a sort of intimacy60, so that he had been free of the offices of the Porvenir. All these things had flattered him in the usual way. What did he care about their politics? Nothing at all. And at the end of it all — Nostromo here and Nostromo there — where is Nostromo? Nostromo can do this and that — work all day and ride all night — behold61! he found himself a marked Ribierist for any sort of vengeance62 Gamacho, for instance, would choose to take, now the Montero party, had, after all, mastered the town. The Europeans had given up; the Caballeros had given up. Don Martin had indeed explained it was only temporary — that he was going to bring Barrios to the rescue. Where was that now — with Don Martin (whose ironic63 manner of talk had always made the Capataz feel vaguely64 uneasy) stranded66 on the Great Isabel? Everybody had given up. Even Don Carlos had given up. The hurried removal of the treasure out to sea meant nothing else than that. The Capataz de Cargadores, on a revulsion of subjectiveness67, exasperated68 almost to insanity69, beheld70 all his world without faith and courage. He had been betrayed!
With the boundless71 shadows of the sea behind him, out of his silence and immobility, facing the lofty shapes of the lower peaks crowded around the white, misty72 sheen of Higuerota, Nostromo laughed aloud again, sprang abruptly73 to his feet, and stood still. He must go. But where?
“There is no mistake. They keep us and encourage us as if we were dogs born to fight and hunt for them. The vecchio is right,” he said, slowly and scathingly. He remembered old Giorgio taking his pipe out of his mouth to throw these words over his shoulder at the cafe, full of engine-drivers and fitters from the railway workshops. This image fixed75 his wavering purpose. He would try to find old Giorgio if he could. God knows what might have happened to him! He made a few steps, then stopped again and shook his head. To the left and right, in front and behind him, the scrubby bush rustled76 mysteriously in the darkness.
“Teresa was right, too,” he added in a low tone touched with awe78. He wondered whether she was dead in her anger with him or still alive. As if in answer to this thought, half of remorse79 and half of hope, with a soft flutter and oblique80 flight, a big owl74, whose appalling81 cry: “Ya-acabo! Ya-acabo! — it is finished; it is finished”— announces calamity82 and death in the popular belief, drifted vaguely like a large dark ball across his path. In the downfall of all the realities that made his force, he was affected83 by the superstition, and shuddered84 slightly. Signora Teresa must have died, then. It could mean nothing else. The cry of the ill-omened bird, the first sound he was to hear on his return, was a fitting welcome for his betrayed individuality. The unseen powers which he had offended by refusing to bring a priest to a dying woman were lifting up their voice against him. She was dead. With admirable and human consistency85 he referred everything to himself. She had been a woman of good counsel always. And the bereaved86 old Giorgio remained stunned87 by his loss just as he was likely to require the advice of his sagacity. The blow would render the dreamy old man quite stupid for a time.
As to Captain Mitchell, Nostromo, after the manner of trusted subordinates, considered him as a person fitted by education perhaps to sign papers in an office and to give orders, but otherwise of no use whatever, and something of a fool. The necessity of winding88 round his little finger, almost daily, the pompous89 and testy90 self-importance of the old seaman91 had grown irksome with use to Nostromo. At first it had given him an inward satisfaction. But the necessity of overcoming small obstacles becomes wearisome to a self-confident personality as much by the certitude of success as by the monotony of effort. He mistrusted his superior’s proneness92 to fussy93 action. That old Englishman had no judgment94, he said to himself. It was useless to suppose that, acquainted with the true state of the case, he would keep it to himself. He would talk of doing impracticable things. Nostromo feared him as one would fear saddling one’s self with some persistent95 worry. He had no discretion96. He would betray the treasure. And Nostromo had made up his mind that the treasure should not be betrayed.
The word had fixed itself tenaciously97 in his intelligence. His imagination had seized upon the clear and simple notion of betrayal to account for the dazed feeling of enlightenment as to being done for, of having inadvertently gone out of his existence on an issue in which his personality had not been taken into account. A man betrayed is a man destroyed. Signora Teresa (may God have her soul!) had been right. He had never been taken into account. Destroyed! Her white form sitting up bowed in bed, the falling black hair, the wide-browed suffering face raised to him, the anger of her denunciations appeared to him now majestic98 with the awfulness of inspiration and of death. For it was not for nothing that the evil bird had uttered its lamentable99 shriek100 over his head. She was dead — may God have her soul!
Sharing in the anti-priestly freethought of the masses, his mind used the pious101 formula from the superficial force of habit, but with a deep-seated sincerity102. The popular mind is incapable103 of scepticism; and that incapacity delivers their helpless strength to the wiles104 of swindlers and to the pitiless enthusiasms of leaders inspired by visions of a high destiny. She was dead. But would God consent to receive her soul? She had died without confession105 or absolution, because he had not been willing to spare her another moment of his time. His scorn of priests as priests remained; but after all, it was impossible to know whether what they affirmed was not true. Power, punishment, pardon, are simple and credible106 notions. The magnificent Capataz de Cargadores, deprived of certain simple realities, such as the admiration107 of women, the adulation of men, the admired publicity of his life, was ready to feel the burden of sacrilegious guilt108 descend35 upon his shoulders.
Bareheaded, in a thin shirt and drawers, he felt the lingering warmth of the fine sand under the soles of his feet. The narrow strand65 gleamed far ahead in a long curve, defining the outline of this wild side of the harbour. He flitted along the shore like a pursued shadow between the sombre palm-groves and the sheet of water lying as still as death on his right hand. He strode with headlong haste in the silence and solitude as though he had forgotten all prudence109 and caution. But he knew that on this side of the water he ran no risk of discovery. The only inhabitant was a lonely, silent, apathetic110 Indian in charge of the palmarias, who brought sometimes a load of cocoanuts to the town for sale. He lived without a woman in an open shed, with a perpetual fire of dry sticks smouldering near an old canoe lying bottom up on the beach. He could be easily avoided.
The barking of the dogs about that man’s ranche was the first thing that checked his speed. He had forgotten the dogs. He swerved111 sharply, and plunged112 into the palm-grove, as into a wilderness113 of columns in an immense hall, whose dense114 obscurity seemed to whisper and rustle77 faintly high above his head. He traversed it, entered a ravine, and climbed to the top of a steep ridge115 free of trees and bushes.
From there, open and vague in the starlight, he saw the plain between the town and the harbour. In the woods above some night-bird made a strange drumming noise. Below beyond the palmaria on the beach, the Indian’s dogs continued to bark uproariously. He wondered what had upset them so much, and, peering down from his elevation116, was surprised to detect unaccountable movements of the ground below, as if several oblong pieces of the plain had been in motion. Those dark, shifting patches, alternately catching117 and eluding118 the eye, altered their place always away from the harbour, with a suggestion of consecutive119 order and purpose. A light dawned upon him. It was a column of infantry120 on a night march towards the higher broken country at the foot of the hills. But he was too much in the dark about everything for wonder and speculation121.
The plain had resumed its shadowy immobility. He descended the ridge and found himself in the open solitude, between the harbour and the town. Its spaciousness122, extended indefinitely by an effect of obscurity, rendered more sensible his profound isolation123. His pace became slower. No one waited for him; no one thought of him; no one expected or wished his return. “Betrayed! Betrayed!” he muttered to himself. No one cared. He might have been drowned by this time. No one would have cared — unless, perhaps, the children, he thought to himself. But they were with the English signora, and not thinking of him at all.
He wavered in his purpose of making straight for the Casa Viola. To what end? What could he expect there? His life seemed to fail him in all its details, even to the scornful reproaches of Teresa. He was aware painfully of his reluctance124. Was it that remorse which she had prophesied125 with, what he saw now, was her last breath?
Meantime, he had deviated126 from the straight course, inclining by a sort of instinct to the right, towards the jetty and the harbour, the scene of his daily labours. The great length of the Custom House loomed127 up all at once like the wall of a factory. Not a soul challenged his approach, and his curiosity became excited as he passed cautiously towards the front by the unexpected sight of two lighted windows.
They had the fascination128 of a lonely vigil kept by some mysterious watcher up there, those two windows shining dimly upon the harbour in the whole vast extent of the abandoned building. The solitude could almost be felt. A strong smell of wood smoke hung about in a thin haze129, which was faintly perceptible to his raised eyes against the glitter of the stars. As he advanced in the profound silence, the shrilling130 of innumerable cicalas in the dry grass seemed positively131 deafening132 to his strained ears. Slowly, step by step, he found himself in the great hall, sombre and full of acrid133 smoke.
A fire built against the staircase had burnt down impotently to a low heap of embers. The hard wood had failed to catch; only a few steps at the bottom smouldered, with a creeping glow of sparks defining their charred134 edges. At the top he saw a streak135 of light from an open door. It fell upon the vast landing, all foggy with a slow drift of smoke. That was the room. He climbed the stairs, then checked himself, because he had seen within the shadow of a man cast upon one of the walls. It was a shapeless, highshouldered shadow of somebody standing136 still, with lowered head, out of his line of sight. The Capataz, remembering that he was totally unarmed, stepped aside, and, effacing137 himself upright in a dark corner, waited with his eyes fixed on the door.
The whole enormous ruined barrack of a place, unfinished, without ceilings under its lofty roof, was pervaded138 by the smoke swaying to and fro in the faint cross draughts139 playing in the obscurity of many lofty rooms and barnlike passages. Once one of the swinging shutters140 came against the wall with a single sharp crack, as if pushed by an impatient hand. A piece of paper scurried141 out from somewhere, rustling142 along the landing. The man, whoever he was, did not darken the lighted doorway143. Twice the Capataz, advancing a couple of steps out of his corner, craned his neck in the hope of catching sight of what he could be at, so quietly, in there. But every time he saw only the distorted shadow of broad shoulders and bowed head. He was doing apparently144 nothing, and stirred not from the spot, as though he were meditating145 — or, perhaps, reading a paper. And not a sound issued from the room.
Once more the Capataz stepped back. He wondered who it was — some Monterist? But he dreaded146 to show himself. To discover his presence on shore, unless after many days, would, he believed, endanger the treasure. With his own knowledge possessing his whole soul, it seemed impossible that anybody in Sulaco should fail to jump at the right surmise147. After a couple of weeks or so it would be different. Who could tell he had not returned overland from some port beyond the limits of the Republic? The existence of the treasure confused his thoughts with a peculiar148 sort of anxiety, as though his life had become bound up with it. It rendered him timorous149 for a moment before that enigmatic, lighted door. Devil take the fellow! He did not want to see him. There would be nothing to learn from his face, known or unknown. He was a fool to waste his time there in waiting.
Less than five minutes after entering the place the Capataz began his retreat. He got away down the stairs with perfect success, gave one upward look over his shoulder at the light on the landing, and ran stealthily across the hall. But at the very moment he was turning out of the great door, with his mind fixed upon escaping the notice of the man upstairs, somebody he had not heard coming briskly along the front ran full into him. Both muttered a stifled151 exclamation152 of surprise, and leaped back and stood still, each indistinct to the other. Nostromo was silent. The other man spoke153 first, in an amazed and deadened tone.
“Who are you?”
Already Nostromo had seemed to recognize Dr. Monygham. He had no doubt now. He hesitated the space of a second. The idea of bolting without a word presented itself to his mind. No use! An inexplicable154 repugnance155 to pronounce the name by which he was known kept him silent a little longer. At last he said in a low voice —
“A Cargador.”
He walked up to the other. Dr. Monygham had received a shock. He flung his arms up and cried out his wonder aloud, forgetting himself before the marvel156 of this meeting. Nostromo angrily warned him to moderate his voice. The Custom House was not so deserted157 as it looked. There was somebody in the lighted room above.
There is no more evanescent quality in an accomplished158 fact than its wonderfulness. Solicited159 incessantly160 by the considerations affecting its fears and desires, the human mind turns naturally away from the marvellous side of events. And it was in the most natural way possible that the doctor asked this man whom only two minutes before he believed to have been drowned in the gulf —
“You have seen somebody up there? Have you?”
“No, I have not seen him.”
“Then how do you know?”
“I was running away from his shadow when we met.”
“His shadow?”
“Yes. His shadow in the lighted room,” said Nostromo, in a contemptuous tone. Leaning back with folded arms at the foot of the immense building, he dropped his head, biting his lips slightly, and not looking at the doctor. “Now,” he thought to himself, “he will begin asking me about the treasure.”
But the doctor’s thoughts were concerned with an event not as marvellous as Nostromo’s appearance, but in itself much less clear. Why had Sotillo taken himself off with his whole command with this suddenness and secrecy161? What did this move portend162? However, it dawned upon the doctor that the man upstairs was one of the officers left behind by the disappointed colonel to communicate with him.
“I believe he is waiting for me,” he said.
“It is possible.”
“I must see. Do not go away yet, Capataz.”
“Go away where?” muttered Nostromo.
Already the doctor had left him. He remained leaning against the wall, staring at the dark water of the harbour; the shrilling of cicalas filled his ears. An invincible163 vagueness coming over his thoughts took from them all power to determine his will.
“Capataz! Capataz!” the doctor’s voice called urgently from above.
The sense of betrayal and ruin floated upon his sombre indifference164 as upon a sluggish165 sea of pitch. But he stepped out from under the wall, and, looking up, saw Dr. Monygham leaning out of a lighted window.
“Come up and see what Sotillo has done. You need not fear the man up here.”
He answered by a slight, bitter laugh. Fear a man! The Capataz of the Sulaco Cargadores fear a man! It angered him that anybody should suggest such a thing. It angered him to be disarmed166 and skulking167 and in danger because of the accursed treasure, which was of so little account to the people who had tied it round his neck. He could not shake off the worry of it. To Nostromo the doctor represented all these people. . . . And he had never even asked after it. Not a word of inquiry168 about the most desperate undertaking169 of his life.
Thinking these thoughts, Nostromo passed again through the cavernous hall, where the smoke was considerably170 thinned, and went up the stairs, not so warm to his feet now, towards the streak of light at the top. The doctor appeared in it for a moment, agitated171 and impatient.
“Come up! Come up!”
At the moment of crossing the doorway the Capataz experienced a shock of surprise. The man had not moved. He saw his shadow in the same place. He started, then stepped in with a feeling of being about to solve a mystery.
It was very simple. For an infinitesimal fraction of a second, against the light of two flaring172 and guttering173 candles, through a blue, pungent174, thin haze which made his eyes smart, he saw the man standing, as he had imagined him, with his back to the door, casting an enormous and distorted shadow upon the wall. Swifter than a flash of lightning followed the impression of his constrained175, toppling attitude — the shoulders projecting forward, the head sunk low upon the breast. Then he distinguished176 the arms behind his back, and wrenched177 so terribly that the two clenched178 fists, lashed179 together, had been forced up higher than the shoulder-blades. From there his eyes traced in one instantaneous glance the hide rope going upwards180 from the tied wrists over a heavy beam and down to a staple181 in the wall. He did not want to look at the rigid182 legs, at the feet hanging down nervelessly, with their bare toes some six inches above the floor, to know that the man had been given the estrapade till he had swooned. His first impulse was to dash forward and sever49 the rope at one blow. He felt for his knife. He had no knife — not even a knife. He stood quivering, and the doctor, perched on the edge of the table, facing thoughtfully the cruel and lamentable sight, his chin in his hand, uttered, without stirring —
“Tortured — and shot dead through the breast — getting cold.”
This information calmed the Capataz. One of the candles flickering183 in the socket184 went out. “Who did this?” he asked.
“Sotillo, I tell you. Who else? Tortured — of course. But why shot?” The doctor looked fixedly185 at Nostromo, who shrugged186 his shoulders slightly. “And mark, shot suddenly, on impulse. It is evident. I wish I had his secret.”
Nostromo had advanced, and stooped slightly to look. “I seem to have seen that face somewhere,” he muttered. “Who is he?”
The doctor turned his eyes upon him again. “I may yet come to envying his fate. What do you think of that, Capataz, eh?”
But Nostromo did not even hear these words. Seizing the remaining light, he thrust it under the drooping187 head. The doctor sat oblivious188, with a lost gaze. Then the heavy iron candlestick, as if struck out of Nostromo’s hand, clattered189 on the floor.
“Hullo!” exclaimed the doctor, looking up with a start. He could hear the Capataz stagger against the table and gasp190. In the sudden extinction191 of the light within, the dead blackness sealing the window-frames became alive with stars to his sight.
“Of course, of course,” the doctor muttered to himself in English. “Enough to make him jump out of his skin.”
Nostromo’s heart seemed to force itself into his throat. His head swam. Hirsch! The man was Hirsch! He held on tight to the edge of the table.
“But he was hiding in the lighter,” he almost shouted His voice fell. “In the lighter, and — and —”
“And Sotillo brought him in,” said the doctor. “He is no more startling to you than you were to me. What I want to know is how he induced some compassionate192 soul to shoot him.”
“So Sotillo knows —” began Nostromo, in a more equable voice.
“Everything!” interrupted the doctor.
The Capataz was heard striking the table with his fist. “Everything? What are you saying, there? Everything? Know everything? It is impossible! Everything?”
“Of course. What do you mean by impossible? I tell you I have heard this Hirsch questioned last night, here, in this very room. He knew your name, Decoud’s name, and all about the loading of the silver. . . . The lighter was cut in two. He was grovelling193 in abject194 terror before Sotillo, but he remembered that much. What do you want more? He knew least about himself. They found him clinging to their anchor. He must have caught at it just as the lighter went to the bottom.”
“Went to the bottom?” repeated Nostromo, slowly. “Sotillo believes that? Bueno!”
The doctor, a little impatiently, was unable to imagine what else could anybody believe. Yes, Sotillo believed that the lighter was sunk, and the Capataz de Cargadores, together with Martin Decoud and perhaps one or two other political fugitives195, had been drowned.
“I told you well, senor doctor,” remarked Nostromo at that point, “that Sotillo did not know everything.”
“Eh? What do you mean?”
“He did not know I was not dead.”
“Neither did we.”
“And you did not care — none of you caballeros on the wharf196 — once you got off a man of flesh and blood like yourselves on a fool’s business that could not end well.”
“You forget, Capataz, I was not on the wharf. And I did not think well of the business. So you need not taunt197 me. I tell you what, man, we had but little leisure to think of the dead. Death stands near behind us all. You were gone.”
“I went, indeed!” broke in Nostromo. “And for the sake of what — tell me?”
“Ah! that is your own affair,” the doctor said, roughly. “Do not ask me.”
Their flowing murmurs198 paused in the dark. Perched on the edge of the table with slightly averted199 faces, they felt their shoulders touch, and their eyes remained directed towards an upright shape nearly lost in the obscurity of the inner part of the room, that with projecting head and shoulders, in ghastly immobility, seemed intent on catching every word.
“Muy bien!” Nostromo muttered at last. “So be it. Teresa was right. It is my own affair.”
“Teresa is dead,” remarked the doctor, absently, while his mind followed a new line of thought suggested by what might have been called Nostromo’s return to life. “She died, the poor woman.”
“Without a priest?” the Capataz asked, anxiously.
“What a question! Who could have got a priest for her last night?”
“May God keep her soul!” ejaculated Nostromo, with a gloomy and hopeless fervour which had no time to surprise Dr. Monygham, before, reverting200 to their previous conversation, he continued in a sinister tone, “Si, senor doctor. As you were saying, it is my own affair. A very desperate affair.”
“There are no two men in this part of the world that could have saved themselves by swimming as you have done,” the doctor said, admiringly.
And again there was silence between those two men. They were both reflecting, and the diversity of their natures made their thoughts born from their meeting swing afar from each other. The doctor, impelled201 to risky202 action by his loyalty203 to the Goulds, wondered with thankfulness at the chain of accident which had brought that man back where he would be of the greatest use in the work of saving the San Tome mine. The doctor was loyal to the mine. It presented itself to his fifty-years’ old eyes in the shape of a little woman in a soft dress with a long train, with a head attractively overweighted by a great mass of fair hair and the delicate preciousness of her inner worth, partaking of a gem204 and a flower, revealed in every attitude of her person. As the dangers thickened round the San Tome mine this illusion acquired force, permanency, and authority. It claimed him at last! This claim, exalted205 by a spiritual detachment from the usual sanctions of hope and reward, made Dr. Monygham’s thinking, acting206, individuality extremely dangerous to himself and to others, all his scruples207 vanishing in the proud feeling that his devotion was the only thing that stood between an admirable woman and a frightful208 disaster.
It was a sort of intoxication which made him utterly209 indifferent to Decoud’s fate, but left his wits perfectly clear for the appreciation210 of Decoud’s political idea. It was a good idea — and Barrios was the only instrument of its realization211. The doctor’s soul, withered212 and shrunk by the shame of a moral disgrace, became implacable in the expansion of its tenderness. Nostromo’s return was providential. He did not think of him humanely214, as of a fellow-creature just escaped from the jaws216 of death. The Capataz for him was the only possible messenger to Cayta. The very man. The doctor’s misanthropic217 mistrust of mankind (the bitterer because based on personal failure) did not lift him sufficiently218 above common weaknesses. He was under the spell of an established reputation. Trumpeted219 by Captain Mitchell, grown in repetition, and fixed in general assent220, Nostromo’s faithfulness had never been questioned by Dr. Monygham as a fact. It was not likely to be questioned now he stood in desperate need of it himself. Dr. Monygham was human; he accepted the popular conception of the Capataz’s incorruptibility simply because no word or fact had ever contradicted a mere33 affirmation. It seemed to be a part of the man, like his whiskers or his teeth. It was impossible to conceive him otherwise. The question was whether he would consent to go on such a dangerous and desperate errand. The doctor was observant enough to have become aware from the first of something peculiar in the man’s temper. He was no doubt sore about the loss of the silver.
“It will be necessary to take him into my fullest confidence,” he said to himself, with a certain acuteness of insight into the nature he had to deal with.
On Nostromo’s side the silence had been full of black irresolution221, anger, and mistrust. He was the first to break it, however.
“The swimming was no great matter,” he said. “It is what went before — and what comes after that —”
He did not quite finish what he meant to say, breaking off short, as though his thought had butted222 against a solid obstacle. The doctor’s mind pursued its own schemes with Machiavellian223 subtlety224. He said as sympathetically as he was able —
“It is unfortunate, Capataz. But no one would think of blaming you. Very unfortunate. To begin with, the treasure ought never to have left the mountain. But it was Decoud who — however, he is dead. There is no need to talk of him.”
“No,” assented225 Nostromo, as the doctor paused, “there is no need to talk of dead men. But I am not dead yet.”
“You are all right. Only a man of your intrepidity226 could have saved himself.”
In this Dr. Monygham was sincere. He esteemed227 highly the intrepidity of that man, whom he valued but little, being disillusioned228 as to mankind in general, because of the particular instance in which his own manhood had failed. Having had to encounter singlehanded during his period of eclipse many physical dangers, he was well aware of the most dangerous element common to them all: of the crushing, paralyzing sense of human littleness, which is what really defeats a man struggling with natural forces, alone, far from the eyes of his fellows. He was eminently229 fit to appreciate the mental image he made for himself of the Capataz, after hours of tension and anxiety, precipitated230 suddenly into an abyss of waters and darkness, without earth or sky, and confronting it not only with an undismayed mind, but with sensible success. Of course, the man was an incomparable swimmer, that was known, but the doctor judged that this instance testified to a still greater intrepidity of spirit. It was pleasing to him; he augured231 well from it for the success of the arduous232 mission with which he meant to entrust233 the Capataz so marvellously restored to usefulness. And in a tone vaguely gratified, he observed —
“It must have been terribly dark!”
“It was the worst darkness of the Golfo,” the Capataz assented, briefly234. He was mollified by what seemed a sign of some faint interest in such things as had befallen him, and dropped a few descriptive phrases with an affected and curt235 nonchalance236. At that moment he felt communicative. He expected the continuance of that interest which, whether accepted or rejected, would have restored to him his personality — the only thing lost in that desperate affair. But the doctor, engrossed237 by a desperate adventure of his own, was terrible in the pursuit of his idea. He let an exclamation of regret escape him.
“I could almost wish you had shouted and shown a light.”
This unexpected utterance238 astounded239 the Capataz by its character of cold-blooded atrocity240. It was as much as to say, “I wish you had shown yourself a coward; I wish you had had your throat cut for your pains.” Naturally he referred it to himself, whereas it related only to the silver, being uttered simply and with many mental reservations. Surprise and rage rendered him speechless, and the doctor pursued, practically unheard by Nostromo, whose stirred blood was beating violently in his ears.
“For I am convinced Sotillo in possession of the silver would have turned short round and made for some small port abroad. Economically it would have been wasteful241, but still less wasteful than having it sunk. It was the next best thing to having it at hand in some safe place, and using part of it to buy up Sotillo. But I doubt whether Don Carlos would have ever made up his mind to it. He is not fit for Costaguana, and that is a fact, Capataz.”
The Capataz had mastered the fury that was like a tempest in his ears in time to hear the name of Don Carlos. He seemed to have come out of it a changed man — a man who spoke thoughtfully in a soft and even voice.
“And would Don Carlos have been content if I had surrendered this treasure?”
“I should not wonder if they were all of that way of thinking now,” the doctor said, grimly. “I was never consulted. Decoud had it his own way. Their eyes are opened by this time, I should think. I for one know that if that silver turned up this moment miraculously242 ashore243 I would give it to Sotillo. And, as things stand, I would be approved.”
“Turned up miraculously,” repeated the Capataz very low; then raised his voice. “That, senor, would be a greater miracle than any saint could perform.”
“I believe you, Capataz,” said the doctor, drily.
He went on to develop his view of Sotillo’s dangerous influence upon the situation. And the Capataz, listening as if in a dream, felt himself of as little account as the indistinct, motionless shape of the dead man whom he saw upright under the beam, with his air of listening also, disregarded, forgotten, like a terrible example of neglect.
“Was it for an unconsidered and foolish whim244 that they came to me, then?” he interrupted suddenly. “Had I not done enough for them to be of some account, por Dios? Is it that the hombres finos — the gentlemen — need not think as long as there is a man of the people ready to risk his body and soul? Or, perhaps, we have no souls — like dogs?”
“There was Decoud, too, with his plan,” the doctor reminded him again.
“Si! And the rich man in San Francisco who had something to do with that treasure, too — what do I know? No! I have heard too many things. It seems to me that everything is permitted to the rich.”
“I understand, Capataz,” the doctor began.
“What Capataz?” broke in Nostromo, in a forcible but even voice. “The Capataz is undone245, destroyed. There is no Capataz. Oh, no! You will find the Capataz no more.”
“Come, this is childish!” remonstrated246 the doctor; and the other calmed down suddenly.
“I have been indeed like a little child,” he muttered.
And as his eyes met again the shape of the murdered man suspended in his awful immobility, which seemed the uncomplaining immobility of attention, he asked, wondering gently —
“Why did Sotillo give the estrapade to this pitiful wretch247? Do you know? No torture could have been worse than his fear. Killing248 I can understand. His anguish249 was intolerable to behold. But why should he torment250 him like this? He could tell no more.”
“No; he could tell nothing more. Any sane251 man would have seen that. He had told him everything. But I tell you what it is, Capataz. Sotillo would not believe what he was told. Not everything.”
“What is it he would not believe? I cannot understand.”
“I can, because I have seen the man. He refuses to believe that the treasure is lost.”
“What?” the Capataz cried out in a discomposed tone.
“That startles you — eh?”
“Am I to understand, senor,” Nostromo went on in a deliberate and, as it were, watchful tone, “that Sotillo thinks the treasure has been saved by some means?”
“No! no! That would be impossible,” said the doctor, with conviction; and Nostromo emitted a grunt252 in the dark. “That would be impossible. He thinks that the silver was no longer in the lighter when she was sunk. He has convinced himself that the whole show of getting it away to sea is a mere sham213 got up to deceive Gamacho and his Nationals, Pedrito Montero, Senor Fuentes, our new Gefe Politico, and himself, too. Only, he says, he is no such fool.”
“But he is devoid253 of sense. He is the greatest imbecile that ever called himself a colonel in this country of evil,” growled254 Nostromo.
“He is no more unreasonable255 than many sensible men,” said the doctor. “He has convinced himself that the treasure can be found because he desires passionately256 to possess himself of it. And he is also afraid of his officers turning upon him and going over to Pedrito, whom he has not the courage either to fight or trust. Do you see that, Capataz? He need fear no desertion as long as some hope remains257 of that enormous plunder258 turning up. I have made it my business to keep this very hope up.”
“You have?” the Capataz de Cargadores repeated cautiously. “Well, that is wonderful. And how long do you think you are going to keep it up?”
“As long as I can.”
“What does that mean?”
“I can tell you exactly. As long as I live,” the doctor retorted in a stubborn voice. Then, in a few words, he described the story of his arrest and the circumstances of his release. “I was going back to that silly scoundrel when we met,” he concluded.
Nostromo had listened with profound attention. “You have made up your mind, then, to a speedy death,” he muttered through his clenched teeth.
“Perhaps, my illustrious Capataz,” the doctor said, testily259. “You are not the only one here who can look an ugly death in the face.”
“No doubt,” mumbled260 Nostromo, loud enough to be overheard. “There may be even more than two fools in this place. Who knows?”
“And that is my affair,” said the doctor, curtly261.
“As taking out the accursed silver to sea was my affair,” retorted Nostromo. “I see. Bueno! Each of us has his reasons. But you were the last man I conversed262 with before I started, and you talked to me as if I were a fool.”
Nostromo had a great distaste for the doctor’s sardonic263 treatment of his great reputation. Decoud’s faintly ironic recognition used to make him uneasy; but the familiarity of a man like Don Martin was flattering, whereas the doctor was a nobody. He could remember him a penniless outcast, slinking about the streets of Sulaco, without a single friend or acquaintance, till Don Carlos Gould took him into the service of the mine.
“You may be very wise,” he went on, thoughtfully, staring into the obscurity of the room, pervaded by the gruesome enigma150 of the tortured and murdered Hirsch. “But I am not such a fool as when I started. I have learned one thing since, and that is that you are a dangerous man.”
Dr. Monygham was too startled to do more than exclaim —
“What is it you say?”
“If he could speak he would say the same thing,” pursued Nostromo, with a nod of his shadowy head silhouetted264 against the starlit window.
“I do not understand you,” said Dr. Monygham, faintly.
“No? Perhaps, if you had not confirmed Sotillo in his madness, he would have been in no haste to give the estrapade to that miserable265 Hirsch.”
The doctor started at the suggestion. But his devotion, absorbing all his sensibilities, had left his heart steeled against remorse and pity. Still, for complete relief, he felt the necessity of repelling266 it loudly and contemptuously.
“Bah! You dare to tell me that, with a man like Sotillo. I confess I did not give a thought to Hirsch. If I had it would have been useless. Anybody can see that the luckless wretch was doomed267 from the moment he caught hold of the anchor. He was doomed, I tell you! Just as I myself am doomed — most probably.”
This is what Dr. Monygham said in answer to Nostromo’s remark, which was plausible268 enough to prick269 his conscience. He was not a callous270 man. But the necessity, the magnitude, the importance of the task he had taken upon himself dwarfed271 all merely humane215 considerations. He had undertaken it in a fanatical spirit. He did not like it. To lie, to deceive, to circumvent272 even the basest of mankind was odious273 to him. It was odious to him by training, instinct, and tradition. To do these things in the character of a traitor274 was abhorrent275 to his nature and terrible to his feelings. He had made that sacrifice in a spirit of abasement276. He had said to himself bitterly, “I am the only one fit for that dirty work.” And he believed this. He was not subtle. His simplicity277 was such that, though he had no sort of heroic idea of seeking death, the risk, deadly enough, to which he exposed himself, had a sustaining and comforting effect. To that spiritual state the fate of Hirsch presented itself as part of the general atrocity of things. He considered that episode practically. What did it mean? Was it a sign of some dangerous change in Sotillo’s delusion278? That the man should have been killed like this was what the doctor could not understand.
“Yes. But why shot?” he murmured to himself.
Nostromo kept very still.
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1
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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6
prudently
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| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
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7
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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8
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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voracious
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| adj.狼吞虎咽的，贪婪的 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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15
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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16
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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18
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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20
publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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21
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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22
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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23
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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24
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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25
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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26
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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27
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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28
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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29
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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30
moored
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| adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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31
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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32
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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33
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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34
aristocrats
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| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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35
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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36
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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37
enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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38
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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39
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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40
destitution
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| n.穷困，缺乏，贫穷 | |
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41
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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42
quays
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| 码头( quay的名词复数 ) | |
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43
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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44
moles
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| 防波堤( mole的名词复数 )； 鼹鼠； 痣； 间谍 | |
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45
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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46
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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47
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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48
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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49
sever
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| v.切开，割开；断绝，中断 | |
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50
retrospect
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| n.回顾，追溯；v.回顾，回想，追溯 | |
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51
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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52
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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53
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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54
subjective
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| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
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55
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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56
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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57
bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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58
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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59
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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60
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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61
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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62
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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63
ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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64
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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65
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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66
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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67
subjectiveness
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| 主观（性） | |
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68
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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69
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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70
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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71
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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72
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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73
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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74
owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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75
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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76
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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78
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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79
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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80
oblique
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| adj.斜的，倾斜的，无诚意的，不坦率的 | |
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81
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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82
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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83
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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84
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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85
consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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86
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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87
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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88
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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89
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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90
testy
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| adj.易怒的；暴躁的 | |
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91
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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92
proneness
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| n.俯伏，倾向 | |
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93
fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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94
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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95
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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96
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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97
tenaciously
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| 坚持地 | |
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98
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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99
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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100
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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101
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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102
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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103
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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104
wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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105
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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106
credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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107
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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108
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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109
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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110
apathetic
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| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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111
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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113
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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114
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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115
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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116
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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117
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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118
eluding
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的现在分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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119
consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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120
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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121
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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122
spaciousness
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| n.宽敞 | |
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123
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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124
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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125
prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126
deviated
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| v.偏离，越轨( deviate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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128
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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129
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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130
shrilling
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的现在分词 )； 凄厉 | |
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131
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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132
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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133
acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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134
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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135
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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136
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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137
effacing
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| 谦逊的 | |
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138
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139
draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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140
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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141
scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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142
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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143
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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144
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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145
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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146
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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147
surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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148
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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149
timorous
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| adj.胆怯的，胆小的 | |
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150
enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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151
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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152
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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153
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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154
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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155
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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156
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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157
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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158
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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159
solicited
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| v.恳求( solicit的过去式和过去分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
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160
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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161
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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162
portend
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| v.预兆，预示；给…以警告 | |
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163
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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164
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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165
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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166
disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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167
skulking
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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168
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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169
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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170
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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171
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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172
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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173
guttering
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| n.用于建排水系统的材料；沟状切除术；开沟 | |
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174
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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175
constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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176
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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177
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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178
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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179
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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180
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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181
staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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182
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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183
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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184
socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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185
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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186
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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187
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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188
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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189
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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190
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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191
extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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192
compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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193
grovelling
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| adj.卑下的，奴颜婢膝的v.卑躬屈节，奴颜婢膝( grovel的现在分词 )；趴 | |
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194
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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195
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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196
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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197
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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198
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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199
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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200
reverting
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| 恢复( revert的现在分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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201
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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202
risky
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| adj.有风险的，冒险的 | |
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203
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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204
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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205
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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206
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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207
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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208
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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209
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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210
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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211
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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212
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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213
sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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humanely
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| adv.仁慈地；人道地；富人情地；慈悲地 | |
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humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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misanthropic
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| adj.厌恶人类的，憎恶（或蔑视）世人的；愤世嫉俗 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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trumpeted
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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irresolution
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| n.不决断，优柔寡断，犹豫不定 | |
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butted
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| 对接的 | |
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machiavellian
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| adj.权谋的，狡诈的 | |
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subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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226
intrepidity
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| n.大胆，刚勇；大胆的行为 | |
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esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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disillusioned
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| a.不再抱幻想的，大失所望的，幻想破灭的 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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precipitated
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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augured
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| v.预示，预兆，预言( augur的过去式和过去分词 )；成为预兆；占卜 | |
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arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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entrust
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| v.信赖，信托，交托 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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atrocity
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| n.残暴，暴行 | |
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241
wasteful
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| adj.（造成）浪费的，挥霍的 | |
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miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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250
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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254
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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255
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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258
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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259
testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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260
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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261
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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262
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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263
sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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264
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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265
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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266
repelling
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| v.击退( repel的现在分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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267
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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268
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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269
prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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270
callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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271
dwarfed
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| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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272
circumvent
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| vt.环绕，包围；对…用计取胜，智胜 | |
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273
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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274
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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275
abhorrent
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| adj.可恶的，可恨的，讨厌的 | |
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276
abasement
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| n.滥用 | |
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277
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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278
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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