He had scarcely instructed me on the former point and declared his ignorance of the latter, before Valerie appeared at the head of the stairs and descended6 to meet me, carrying her violin case in her hand. I greeted her in English, and after I had slipped a couple of florins into the servant’s hand, we left the hotel together and made our way in the direction of the Platz, where to my delight I found the cab I had ordered the previous afternoon already waiting for us. We took our places, and I gave the driver his instructions. In less than a quarter of an hour he had brought us to the station I wanted to reach. I had taken the tickets, and the train was carrying us away from Prague and the man whom we devoutly7 hoped we should never see again as long as we lived. Throughout the drive we had scarcely spoken a couple of dozen words to each other, having been far too much occupied with the affairs of the moment to think of anything but our flight. Knowing Pharos as we did, it seemed more than probable that he might even now be aware of our escape, and be taking measures to insure our return. But when we found ourselves safely in the train our anxiety lessened9 somewhat, and with every mile we threw behind us our spirits returned. By the time we reached Dresden we were as happy a couple as any in Europe, and when some hours later we stepped out of the carriage on to the platform at Berlin, we were as unlike the pair who had left the hotel at Prague as the proverbial chalk is like cheese. Even then, however, we were determined10 to run no risk. Every mile that separated us from Pharos meant greater security, and it was for this reason I had made up my mind to reach the German capital, if possible, instead of remaining at Dresden, as had been our original intention.
When our train reached its destination it was a few minutes after six o’clock, and for the first time in my life I stood in the capital of the German empire. Though we had been travelling for more than ten hours, Valerie had so far shown no sign of fatigue11.
“What do you propose doing now?” she inquired as we stood together on the platform.
“Obtain some dinner,” I answered, with a promptness and directness worthy12 of the famous Mr. Dick.
“You must leave that to me,” she said, with one of her own bright smiles, which had been so rare of late. “Remember I am an old traveller, and probably know Europe as well as you know Piccadilly.”
“I will leave it to you then,” I answered, “and surely man had never a fairer pilot.”
“On any other occasion I should warn you to beware of compliments,” she replied, patting me gaily13 on the arm with her hand, “but I feel so happy now that I am compelled to excuse you. To-night, for the last time, I am going to play the part of your hostess. After that it will be your duty to entertain me. Let us leave by this door.”
So saying, she led me from the station into the street outside, along which we passed for some considerable distance. Eventually we reached a restaurant, before which Valerie paused.
“The proprietor14 is an old friend of mine,” she said, “who, though he is acquainted with Pharos, will not, I am quite sure, tell him he has seen us.”
We entered, and when the majordomo came forward to conduct us to a table, Valerie inquired whether his master were visible. The man stated that he would find out, and departed on his errand.
While we waited I could not help noticing the admiring glances that were thrown at my companion by the patrons of the restaurant, among whom were several officers in uniform. Just, however, as I was thinking that some of the latter would be none the worse for a little lesson in manners, the shuffling16 of feet was heard, and presently, from a doorway17 on the right, the fattest man I have ever seen in my life made his appearance. He wore carpet slippers18 on his feet, and a red cap upon his head, and carried in his hand a long German pipe with a china bowl. His face was clean shaven, and a succession of chins fell one below another, so that not an inch of his neck was visible. Having entered the room, he paused, and when the waiter had pointed19 us out to him as the lady and gentleman who had asked to see him, he approached and affected20 a contortion21 of his anatomy22 which was evidently intended to be a bow.
“I am afraid, Herr Schuncke, that you do not remember me,” said Valerie, after the short pause that followed.
The man looked at her rather more closely, and a moment later was bowing even more profusely23 and inelegantly than before.
“My dear young lady,” he said, “I beg your pardon ten thousand times. For the moment, I confess, I did not recognise you. Had I done so I should not have kept you standing24 here so long.”
Then, looking round, with rather a frightened air, he added, “But I do not see Monsieur Pharos? Perhaps he is with you, and will be here presently?”
“I sincerely hope not,” Valerie replied. “That is the main reason of my coming to you.” Then, sinking her voice to a whisper, she added, as she saw the man’s puzzled expression, “I know I can trust you, Herr Schuncke. The truth is, I have run away from him.”
“Herr Gott!” said the old fellow. “So you have run away from him. Well, I do not wonder at it, but you must not tell him I said so. How you could have put up with him so long I do not know; but that is no business of mine. But I am an old fool; while I am talking so much I should be finding out how I can be of assistance to you.”
“You will not find that very difficult,” she replied. “All we are going to trouble you for is some dinner, and your promise to say nothing, should Monsieur Pharos come here in search of us.”
“I will do both with the utmost pleasure,” he answered. “You may be sure I will say nothing, and you shall have the very best dinner old Ludwig can cook. What is more, you shall have it in my own private sitting-room25, where you will be undisturbed. Oh, I can assure you, Fr?ulein, it is very good to see your face again.”
“It is very kind of you to say so,” said Valerie, “and also to take so much trouble. I thank you.”
“You must not thank me at all,” the old fellow replied. “But some day, perhaps, you will let me hear you play again.” Then, pointing to the violin-case, which I carried in my hand, he continued, “I see you have brought the beautiful instrument with you. Ah, Gott! what recollections it conjures26 up for me. I can see old — but there, there, come with me, or I shall be talking half the night!”
We accordingly followed him through the door by which he had entered, and along a short passage to a room at the rear of the building. Here he bade us make ourselves at home, while he departed to see about the dinner. Before he did so, however, Valerie stopped him.
“Herr Schuncke,” she said, “before you leave us, I want your congratulations. Let me introduce you to Mr. Forrester, the gentleman to whom I am about to be married.”
The old fellow turned to me, and gave another of his grotesque27 bows.
“Sir,” he said, “I congratulate you with all my heart. To hear her play always, ah! what good fortune for a man. You will have a treasure in your house that no money could buy. Be sure that you treat her as such.”
When I had promised to do so, the warm-hearted old fellow departed on his errand.
I must leave you to imagine the happiness of that dinner. Even now it sends a thrill through me to think of it. I can recall the quaint15 little room, so undeniably German in its furniture and decorations; the table laden28 with the good things the landlord had provided for us — even to the extent of a bottle of his own particular wine, which only saw the light on the most important occasions; the military-looking waiter, with his close-cropped hair and heavy eyes; and Valerie seated opposite, looking so beautiful and so happy that I could scarcely believe she was the same woman I had seen rising from her knees in the Teyn Kirche only the day before.
“I hope all this travelling has not tired you, dearest?” I said, when the waiter had handed us our coffee and had left the room.
“You forget that I am an old traveller,” she said, “and not likely to be fatigued29 by such a short journey. You have some reason, however, for asking the question. What is it?”
“I will tell you,” I answered. “I have been thinking that it would not be altogether safe for us to remain in Berlin. It is quite certain that, as soon as he discovers that we are gone, Pharos will make inquiries30, and find out what trains left Prague in the early morning. He will then put two and two together, after his own diabolical31 fashion, and as likely as not he will be here in search of us to-morrow morning, if not sooner.”
“In that case, what do you propose doing?” she asked.
“I propose, if you are not too tired, to leave here by the express at half-past seven,” I replied, “and travel as far as Wittenberge, which place we should reach by half-past ten. We can manage it very easily. I will telegraph for rooms, and to-morrow morning early we can continue our journey to Hamburg, where we shall have no difficulty in obtaining a steamer for London. Pharos would never think of looking for us in a small place like Wittenberge, and we should be on board the steamer and en route to England by this time to-morrow evening.”
“I can be ready as soon as you like,” she answered bravely, “but before we start you must give me time to reward Herr Schuncke for his kindness to us.”
A few moments later our host entered the room. I was about to pay for our meal, when Valerie stopped me.
“You must do nothing of the kind,” she said; “remember, you are my guest. Surely you would not deprive me of one of the greatest pleasures I have had for a long time?”
“You shall pay with all my heart,” I answered, “but not with Pharos’ money.”
“I never thought of that,” she replied, and her beautiful face flushed crimson32. “No, no, you are quite right. I could not entertain you with his money. But what am I to do? I have no other.”
“In that case you must permit me to be your banker,” I answered, and with that I pulled from my pocket a handful of German coins.
Herr Schuncke at first refused to take anything, but when Valerie declared that if he did not do so she would not play to him, he reluctantly consented, vowing33 at the same time that he would not accept it himself, but would bestow34 it upon Ludwig. Then Valerie went to the violin-case, which I had placed upon a side table, and taking her precious instrument from it — the only legacy35 she had received from her father — tuned36 it, and stood up to play. As Valerie informed me later, the old man, though one would scarcely have imagined it from his commonplace exterior37, was a passionate38 devotee of the beautiful art, and now he stood, leaning against the wall, his fat hands clasped before him, and his upturned face expressive39 of the most celestial40 enjoyment41. Nor had Valerie, to my thinking, ever done herself greater justice. She had escaped from a life of misery42 that had been to her a living death, and her whole being was in consequence radiant with happiness; this was reflected in her playing. Nor was the effect she produced limited to Herr Schuncke. Under the influence of her music I found myself building castles in the air, and upon such firm foundations, too, that for the moment it seemed no wind would ever be strong enough to blow them down. When she ceased I woke as from a happy dream; Schuncke uttered a long sigh, as much as to say, “It will be many years before I shall hear anything like that again,” and then it was time to go. The landlord accompanied us into the street and called a cab. As it pulled up beside the pavement a cripple passed, making his way slowly along with the assistance of a pair of crutches43. Valerie stopped him.
“My poor fellow,” she said, handing him the purse containing the money with which, ten minutes before, she had thought of paying for our dinner, “there is a little present which I hope may bring you more happiness than it has done me. Take it.”
The man did so, scarcely able to contain his surprise, and when he had examined the contents burst into a flood of thanks.
“Hush,” she said, “you must not thank me. You do not know what you are saying.” Then turning to Schuncke, she held out her hand. “Good-bye,” she said, “and thank you for your kindness. I know that you will say nothing about having seen us.”
“You need have no fear on that score,” he said. “Pharos shall hear nothing from me, I can promise you that. Farewell, Fr?ulein, and may your life be a happy one.”
I said good-bye to him, and then took my place in the vehicle beside Valerie. A quarter of an hour later we were on our way to Wittenberge, and Berlin, like Prague, was only a memory. Before leaving the station I had purchased an armful of papers, illustrated44 and otherwise, for Valerie’s amusement. Though she professed45 to have no desire to read them, but to prefer sitting by my side, holding my hand, and talking of the happy days we hoped and trusted were before us, she found time, as the journey progressed, to skim their contents. Seeing her do this brought the previous evening to my remembrance, and I inquired what further news there was of the terrible pestilence46 which Pharos had declared to be raging in eastern Europe.
“I am afraid it is growing worse instead of better,” she answered, when she had consulted the paper. “The latest telegram declares that there have been upward of a thousand fresh cases in Turkey alone within the past twenty-four hours, that it has spread along the Black Sea as far as Odessa, and north as far as Kiev. Five cases are reported from Vienna; and, stay, here is a still later telegram in which it says”— she paused, and a look of horror came into her face, “Can this be true? — it says that the pestilence has broken out in Prague, and that the Count de Schelyani, who, you remember, was so kind and attentive47 to us last night at the palace, was seized this morning, and at the time this telegram was despatched was lying in a critical condition.”
“That is bad news indeed,” I said. “Not only for Austria but also for us.”
“How for us?” she asked.
“Because it will make Pharos move out of Prague,” I replied. “When he spoke8 to me yesterday of the way in which this disease was gaining ground in Europe he seemed visibly frightened, and stated that as soon as it came too near he should at once leave the city. We have had one exhibition of his cowardice49, and you may be sure he will be off now as fast as trains can take him. It must be our business to take care that his direction and ours are not the same.”
“But how are we to tell in which direction he will travel?” asked Valerie, whose face had suddenly grown bloodless in its pallor.
“We must take our chance of that,” I answered. “My principal hope is that knowing, as he does, the whereabouts of the yacht he will make for her, board her, and depart for mid-ocean to wait there until all danger is passed. For my own part I am willing to own that I do not like the look of things at all. I shall not feel safe until I have got you safely into England, and that little silver streak50 of sea is between us and the Continent.”
“You do love me, Cyril, do you not?” she inquired, slipping her little hand into mine, and looking into my face with those eyes that seemed to grow more beautiful with every day I looked into them. “I could not live without your love now.”
“God grant you may never be asked to do so,” I answered; “I love you, dearest, as I believe man never loved woman before, and, come what may, nothing shall separate us. Surely even death itself could not be so cruel. But why do you talk in this dismal51 strain? The miles are slipping behind us; Pharos, let us hope, is banished52 from our lives for ever; we are together, and as soon as we reach London, we shall be man and wife. No, no, you must not be afraid, Valerie.”
“I am afraid of nothing,” she answered, “when I am with you. But ever since we left Berlin I seem to have been overtaken by a fit of melancholy53 which I can not throw off. I have reasoned with myself in vain. Why I should feel like this I can not think. It is only transitory, I am sure; so you must bear with me; to-morrow I shall be quite myself again.”
“Bear with you, do you say?” I answered. “You know that I will do so. You have been so brave till now, that I can not let you give way just at the moment when happiness is within your reach. Try and keep your spirits up, my darling, for both our sakes. To-morrow, you will be on the blue sea with the ship’s head pointing for old England. And after that — well, I told you just now what would happen then.”
In spite of her promises, however, I found that in the morning my hopes were not destined54 to be realized. Though she tried hard to make me believe that the gloom had passed, it needed very little discernment upon my part to see that the cheerfulness she affected was all assumed, and, what made it doubly hard to bear, that it was for my sake.
Our stay at Wittenberge was not a long one. As soon as we had finished our breakfast, we caught the 8.30 express and resumed our journey to Hamburg, arriving there a little before midday. Throughout the journey, Valerie had caused me considerable anxiety. Not only had her spirits reached a lower level than they had yet attained55, but her face, during the last few hours, had grown singularly pale and drawn56, and when I at last drove her to it, she broke down completely and confessed to feeling far from well.
“But it can not be anything serious,” she cried. “I am sure it can not. It only means that I am not such a good traveller as I thought. Remember, we have covered a good many hundred miles in the last week, and we have had more than our share of anxiety. As soon as we reach our hotel in Hamburg I will go to my room and lie down. After I have had some sleep, I have no doubt I shall be myself again.”
I devoutly hoped so; but in spite of her assurance, my anxiety was in no way diminished. Obtaining a cab, we drove at once to the H?tel Continental57, at which I had determined to stay. Here I engaged rooms as usual for Mr. and Miss Clifford, for it was as brother and sister we had decided58 to pass until we should reach England and be made man and wife. It was just luncheon-time when we arrived there; but Valerie was so utterly59 prostrated60 that I could not induce her to partake of anything. She preferred, she declared, to retire to her room at once, and believing that this would be the wisest course for her to pursue, I was only too glad that she should do so. Accordingly, when she had left me I partook of lunch alone, but with no zest61, as may be supposed, and having despatched it, put on my hat and made my way to the premises62 of the Steamboat Company in order to inquire about a boat for England.
On arrival at the office in question it was easily seen that something unusual had occurred. In place of the business-like hurry to which I was accustomed, I found the clerks lolling listlessly at their desks. So far as I could see, they had no business wherewith to occupy themselves. Approaching the counter, I inquired when their next packet would sail for the United Kingdom, and in return received a staggering reply.
“I am afraid, sir,” said the man, “you will find considerable difficulty in getting into England just now.”
“Difficulty in getting into England?” I cried in astonishment63, “and why so, pray?”
“Surely you must have heard?” he replied, and looking me up and down as if I were a stranger but lately arrived from the moon. The other clerks smiled incredulously.
“I have heard nothing,” I replied, a little nettled64 at the fellow’s behaviour. “Pray be kind enough to inform me what you mean. I am most desirous of reaching London at once, and will thank you to be good enough to tell me when, and at what hour, your next boat leaves?”
“We have no boat leaving,” the clerk answered, this time rather more respectfully than before. “Surely, sir, you must have heard that there have been two cases of the plague notified in this city to-day, and more than a hundred in Berlin; consequently, the British Government have closed their ports to German vessels65, and, as it is rumoured67 that the disease has made its appearance in France, it is doubtful whether you will get into a French port either.”
“But I must reach England,” I answered desperately68. “My business is most important. I do not know what I shall do if I am prevented. I must sail to-day, or to-morrow at latest.”
“In that case, sir, I am afraid it is out of my power to help you,” said the man. “We have received a cablegram from our London office this morning advising us to despatch48 no more boats until we receive further orders.”
“Are you sure there is no other way in which you can help me?” I asked. “I shall be glad to pay anything in reason for the accommodation.”
“It is just possible, though I must tell you, sir, I do not think it is probable, that you might be able to induce the owner of some small craft to run the risk of putting you across, but as far as we are concerned, it is out of the question. Why, sir, I can tell you this, if we had a boat running this afternoon, I could fill every berth69 thrice over, and in less than half an hour. What’s more, sir, I’d be one of the passengers myself. We’ve been deluged70 with applications all day. It looks as if everybody is being scared off the Continent by the news of the plague. I only wish I were safe back in England myself. I was a fool ever to have left it.”
While the man was talking I had been casting about me for some way out of my difficulty, and the news that this awful pestilence had made its appearance in the very city in which we now were, filled me with so great a fear that, under the influence of it, I very nearly broke down. Pulling myself together, however, I thanked the man for his information, and made my way into the street once more. There I paused and considered what I should do. To delay was impossible. Even now Pharos might be close behind me. A few hours more, and it was just possible he might have tracked us to our hiding-place. But I soon discovered that even my dread71 of Pharos was not as great as my fear of the plague, and as I have said before, I did not fear that for myself. It was of Valerie I thought, of the woman I loved more than all the world; whose existence was so much to me that without her I should not have cared to go on living. The recollection of her illness brought a thought into my mind that was so terrible, so overwhelming, that I staggered on the pavement and had to clutch at a tree for support.
“My God,” I said to myself, “what should I do if this illness proved to be the plague?”
The very thought of such a thing was more than I could bear. It choked, it suffocated72 me, taking all the pluck out of me and making me weaker than a little child. But it could not be true, I said, happen what might I would not believe it. Fate, which had brought so much evil upon me already, could not be so cruel as to frustrate73 all my hopes just when I thought I had turned the corner and was in sight of peace once more.
What the passers-by must have thought I do not know, nor do I care. The dreadful thought that filled my mind was more to me than anyone else’s good opinion could possibly be. When I recovered myself I resumed my walk to the hotel, breathing in gasps74 as the thought returned upon me, and my whole body alternately flushing with hope and then numbed75 with terror. More dead than alive I entered the building and climbed the stairs to the sitting-room I had engaged. I had half hoped that on opening the door I should find Valerie awaiting me there, but I was disappointed. Unable to contain my anxiety any longer, I went along the passage and knocked at the door of her room.
“Who is there?” a voice that I scarcely recognised asked in German.
“It is I,” I replied. “Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, better,” she answered, still in the same hard tone, “but I think I would prefer to lie here a little longer. Do not be anxious about me, I shall be quite myself again by dinner time.”
I asked if there was anything I could procure76 for her, and on being informed to the contrary, left her and went down to the manager’s office in the hope that I might be able to discover from him some way in which we might escape to our own country.
“You have reached Hamburg at a most unfortunate time,” he answered. “As you are doubtless aware, the plague has broken out here, and Heaven alone knows what we shall do if it continues. I have seen one of the councillors within the last hour, and he tells me that three fresh cases have been notified since midday. The evening telegrams report that more than five thousand deaths have already occurred in Turkey and Russia alone. It is raging in Vienna, and indeed through the whole of Austria. In Dresden and Berlin it has also commenced its dreadful work, while three cases have been certified77 in France. So far England is free, but how long she will continue to be so it is impossible to say. That they are growing anxious there is evident from the stringency78 of the quarantine regulations they are passing. No vessel66 from any infected country, they do not limit it even to ports, is allowed to land either passengers or cargo79 until after three weeks’ quarantine, so that communication with the Continent is practically cut off. The situation is growing extremely critical, and every twenty-four hours promises to make it more so.”
“In that case I do not know what I shall do,” I said, feeling as if my heart would break under the load it was compelled to carry.
“I am extremely sorry for you, sir,” the manager answered, “but what is bad for you is even worse for us. You simply want to get back to your home. We have home, nay80, even life itself at stake.”
“It is bad for everyone alike,” I answered, and then, with a heart even heavier than it was before, I thanked him for his courtesy and made my way upstairs to our sitting-room once more. I opened the door and walked in, and then uttered a cry of delight, for Valerie was at the farther end of the room, standing before the window. My pleasure, however, was short lived, for on hearing my step she turned, and I was able to see her face. What I saw there almost brought my heart into my mouth.
“Valerie,” I cried, “what has happened? Are you worse that you look at me like that?”
“Hush!” she whispered, “do not speak so loud. Can not you see that Pharos is coming?”
Her beautiful eyes were open to their widest extent, and there was an air about her that spoke of an impending81 tragedy.
“Pharos is coming,” she said again, this time very slowly and deliberately82. “It is too late for us to escape. He is driving down the street.”
There was a long pause, during which I felt as if I were being slowly turned to stone.
“He has entered the hotel.”
There was another pause.
“He is here.” And as she spoke the handle of the door was turned.
As the person, whoever he might be, entered, Valerie uttered a little cry and fell senseless into my arms. I held her tightly and then wheeled round to see who the intruder might be.
It was Pharos!
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reimburse
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| v.补偿，付还 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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situated
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celebrated
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descended
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devoutly
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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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lessened
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determined
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fatigue
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worthy
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gaily
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proprietor
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quaint
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shuffling
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doorway
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slippers
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pointed
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affected
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contortion
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anatomy
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profusely
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standing
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sitting-room
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conjures
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的第三人称单数 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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vowing
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的现在分词形式） | |
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bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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tuned
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| adj.调谐的，已调谐的v.调音( tune的过去式和过去分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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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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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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prostrated
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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rumoured
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| adj.谣传的；传说的；风 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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deluged
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| v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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frustrate
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| v.使失望；使沮丧；使厌烦 | |
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gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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certified
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| a.经证明合格的；具有证明文件的 | |
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78
stringency
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| n.严格，紧迫，说服力；严格性；强度 | |
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79
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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