The diabolical10 nature of the man, and his love of witnessing the sufferings of others, tallied11 exactly with the conclusion I had arrived at; and if my reasoning were correct, this would account for the expression of triumph I had seen upon his face. When I descended12 to the breakfast-room I found Valerie awaiting me there. She was looking quite her own self again by this time, and greeted me with a pretty exhibition of shyness upon her face, which I could understand when she handed me a number of letters she had received, congratulating her upon our engagement.
“You were late last night,” she said. “Hour after hour I lay awake listening for your step, and it was broad daylight when I heard you ascend13 the stairs. I cannot tell you how frightened I was while you were away. I knew you were with him, and I imagined you exposed to a hundred dangers.”
I told her where and with whom I had been.
“But why did he take you with him?” she inquired, when I had finished. “I cannot understand that.”
“I must confess that it has puzzled me also,” I replied.
“The whole thing is very strange,” she continued, “and I do not like the look of it. We have reason to know that he does nothing without a motive14. But what can the motive have been in this particular instance?”
“That is more than I can say,” I answered, and with that we changed the subject, and interested ourselves in our own and more particular concerns. So engrossing15 were they, and so pleasant were the thoughts they conjured16 up, that when breakfast was finished I remained in the dining-room, and did not open any of the morning papers which were lying in a heap upon the library table. At half-past ten I said good-bye to Valerie, who was practising in the drawing-room — Pharos I had not yet seen — and, putting on my hat, left the house. It was the first opportunity I had had since my return to London of visiting my studio, and I was exceedingly anxious to discover how things had been progressing there during my absence. It was a lovely morning for walking, the sky being without a cloud, and the streets in consequence filled with sunshine. In the Row a considerable number of men and women were enjoying their morning canter, and nurse-maids in white dresses were to be counted by the dozen in the streets leading to the Park. At the corner of Hamilton Place a voice I recognised called to me to stop, and on turning round I found my old friend, Sir George Legrath, hastening after me.
“My dear Cyril,” he said, as he shook hands with me, “I am indeed glad to see you. I had no idea you had returned.”
“I reached London yesterday morning,” I answered, but in such a constrained17 voice that he must have been dense18 indeed if he did not see that something was amiss. “How did you know I had been away?”
“Why, my dear fellow,” he answered, “have you forgotten that I sent you a certain address in Naples? and then I called at your studio the following morning, when your man told me you were abroad. But somehow you don’t look well. I hope nothing is the matter?”
“Nothing, nothing,” I replied, almost sharply, and for the first time in my life his presence was almost distasteful to me, though if I had been asked the reason I should have found it difficult to say why. “Sir George, when I called on you at the Museum that morning, you told me you would rather see me in my grave than connected in any way with Pharos.”
“Well?” he inquired, looking up at me with a face that had suddenly lost its usual ruddy hue19. “What makes you remind me of that now?”
“Because,” I answered, “if it were not for one person’s sake I could wish that that opportunity had been vouchsafed20 you. I have been two months with Pharos.”
“Well?” he said again.
“What more do you expect me to say?” I continued. Then, sinking my voice a little, as if I were afraid Pharos might be within hearing distance, I added, “Sir George, if I were to tell you all I know about that man ——”
“You must tell me nothing,” he cried hastily. “I know too much already.”
We walked for some distance in silence, and it was not until we were opposite Devonshire House that we spoke21 again.
Then Sir George said abruptly22, and with a desire to change the subject that could not be disguised, “Of course you have heard the terrible news this morning?”
Following the direction of his eyes I saw what had put the notion into his head. A news-seller was standing23 in the gutter24 on the other side of the street, holding in his hand the usual placard setting forth25 the contents of the papers he had for sale. On this was printed in large letters —
TERRIBLE OUTBREAK OF THE PLAGUE IN LONDON.
“You refer to the plague, I presume?” I said, with an assumed calmness I was far from feeling. “From that headline it would seem to have made its appearance in London after all.”
“It has, indeed,” said Sir George, with a gloominess that was far from usual with him. “Can it be possible you have not seen the papers?”
“I have scarcely seen a paper since I left London,” I replied. “I have been far too busy. Tell me about it. Is it so very bad?”
“It has come upon us like a thunderclap,” he answered. “Two days ago it was not known. Yesterday there was but one case, and that in the country. This morning there are no less than three hundred and seventy-five, and among them some of our most intimate friends. God help us if it gets worse! The authorities assure us they can stamp it out with ease, but it is my opinion this is destined26 to prove a grave crisis in England’s history. However, it does not do to look on the black side of things, so I’ll not turn prophet. Our ways part here, do they not? In that case, good-bye. I am very glad to have seen you. If you should be passing the Museum I hope you will drop in. You know my hours, I think?”
“I shall be very glad to do so,” I answered, and thereupon we parted with the first shadow of a cloud between us that our lives had seen. On reviewing our conversation afterward27 I could recall nothing that should have occasioned it; nevertheless, there it was, “that little rift28 within the lute,” as Tennyson says, “which by and by would make the music mute.”
After we had parted, I crossed the road and walked by way of Dover Street to my studio. Scarcely two months had elapsed since that fatal day when I had left it to go in search of Pharos, and yet those eight weeks seemed like years. So long did I seem to have been away that I almost expected to find a change in the houses of the street, and when I passed the curiosity shop at the corner where the murder had taken place — that terrible tragedy which had been the primary cause of my falling into Pharos’s power — it was with a sensible feeling of surprise I found the windows still decorated with the same specimens29 of china, and the shop still carrying on its trade under the name of Clausand. I turned the corner and crossed the road. Instinctively30 my hand went into my pocket and produced the latchkey. I tapped it twice against the right-hand pillar of the door, just as I had been in the habit of doing for years, and inserted it in the lock. A few seconds later I had let myself in and was standing amongst my own lares and penates once more. Everything was just as I had left it; the clock was ticking on the mantelpiece, not a speck31 of dirt or dust was upon chair or china; indeed, the only thing that served to remind me that I had been away at all was the pile of letters which had been neatly32 arranged upon my writing-table. These I opened, destroyed what were of no importance, and placed the rest in my pocket to be answered at a more convenient opportunity. Then, leaving a note upon my table to inform my servant that I had returned, and would call again on the following morning, I let myself out, locked the door, and returned to Piccadilly en route to Park Lane.
A great writer has mentioned somewhere that the gravest issues are often determined33 by the most insignificant34 trifles. As I have just remarked, I had, in this instance, made up my mind to return to Park Lane, in the hope that I might be able to induce Valerie to take a stroll with me in the Park, and had left Bond Street in order to turn westward35, when, emerging from a shop on the other side of the road, I espied36 the writer of one of the most important of the many letters I had found awaiting me at the studio. He was a member of my own club, and thinking I had better apologise to him while I had the chance for not having answered his letter sooner, I hastened after him. He, however, seemed to be in a hurry, and as soon as it came to a race between us it was evident that he had the advantage of me on a point of speed. I chased him until I saw that he was bound for the club, whereupon, knowing I should be certain to catch him there, I slackened my pace and strolled leisurely37 along. In other days I had often been twitted in a jocular fashion by my friends about my membership of this particular club. The reputation it possessed38 was excellent in every way, but it certainly must be confessed that what it gained in respectability it lacked in liveliness. For the most part the men who made use of it were middle-aged39 — in point of fact, I believe there were but two younger than myself; consequently the atmosphere of the house, while being always dignified40, was sometimes cold almost to the borders of iciness.
On this particular day there was an additional air of gloom about it that rather puzzled me. When, however, I had finished my conversation with the man I had been following, and sought the smoking-room, the reason of it soon became apparent. That terrible fear which was destined within a few hours to paralyse all London was already beginning to make its presence felt, and as a result the room, usually so crowded, now contained but four men. These greeted me civilly enough, but without any show of interest. They were gathered round one of their number who was seated at a table with a pencil in his hand and a map of Europe spread out before him. From the way in which he was laying down the law, I gathered that he was demonstrating some theory upon which he pinned considerable faith.
“I have worked the whole thing out,” he was saying as I entered, “and you can see it here for yourselves. On this sheet of paper I have pasted every telegram that has reached London from the time the disease first made its appearance in Constantinople. As each country became affected41 I coloured it upon the map in red, while these spots of a darker shade represent the towns from which the first cases were notified. At a glance, therefore, you can see the way in which the malady42 has travelled across Europe.”
On hearing this, you may be sure I drew closer to the table, and looked over the shoulders of the men at the map below.
“As you see,” said the lecturer, with renewed interest as he observed this addition to his audience, “it started in Constantinople, made its appearance next in Southern Russia and the Balkan States. Two days later a case was notified from Vienna and another in Prague. Berlin was the next city visited, then Wittenberg, then Hamburg. France did not become infected until some days later, and then the individual who brought it was proved to have arrived the day before from Berlin. Yesterday, according to the official returns, there were twelve hundred cases in France, eighteen thousand in Austria, sixteen thousand in Germany — of which Hamburg alone contributes five thousand three hundred and fifty — while in Italy there have been three thousand four hundred, in Spain and Portugal only two hundred and thirty, while Turkey and Russia have forty-five thousand, and thirty-seven thousand three hundred and eighty, respectively. Greece returns seventeen thousand six hundred and twenty, Holland seven thousand two hundred and sixty-four, Belgium nine thousand five hundred and twenty-three, while Denmark completes the total of Europe with four thousand two hundred and twenty-one. The inferences to be drawn43 from these figures are apparent. The total number of deaths upon the Continent up to midnight last night was one hundred and fifty-nine thousand eight hundred and thirty-eight. The nations most seriously affected are Turkey and the countries immediately surrounding her, namely, Greece, Russia, and Austria. Germany follows next, though why Hamburg should contribute such a large proportion as five thousand three hundred and fifty I must admit it is difficult to see. England hitherto has stood aloof44; now, however, it has broken out in London, and three hundred and seventy-five cases have been notified up to eight o’clock this morning.”
On hearing this, the men standing round him turned pale and shuffled45 uneasily upon their feet. As for myself, I might have been changed to stone, so cold and so incapable46 of moving was I. It was as if a bandage had suddenly been removed from my eyes, enabling me to see everything plainly and in its proper light.
“The returns for our own country,” continued this indefatigable47 statistician, without noticing my condition, “are as interesting as those from the Continent. I have filed everything already published, and have applied48 the result to this map of London. The two cases that occurred in Norfolk, the porter in Norwich, and the stationmaster at Tebworth Junction49, I omit, for the reason that they tell us nothing. Of the cases notified in this city, careful inquiries50 on the part of the authorities have elicited51 the information that twenty-five spent the evening at the Antiquarian Club last night, seventy-one at the Fancy Dress Ball at Covent Garden, while, strangely enough, no less than thirty-seven can be proved to have been among the guests of the Duchess of Amersham at her ball in Carlton House Terrace. The others are more difficult to account for, being made up of costermongers, homeless vagrants52, street hawkers, and others of the same class.”
I could bear no more, but stumbled from the room like a drunken man out into the hall beyond. A servant, thinking I was ill, hastened to inquire if he could be of any assistance to me.
“Get me a cab,” I faltered53 huskily.
The man ran into the street and blew his whistle. A hansom drove up, and I made my way into the street and scrambled54 into it, scarcely knowing how I managed it, and then fell back upon the cushions as if I were in a fit. The cab sped along the streets, threaded its way in and out of the traffic with a dexterity55 and a solicitude56 for my safety that was a more biting sarcasm57 than any lips could utter. What was my safety to me now? Knowing what I knew, I had better, far better, be dead.
The dreadful secret was out. In less than five minutes the mystery of two months had been solved. Now I knew the meaning of the spot I had discovered upon my arm on the morning following my terrible adventure in the Pyramid; now I could understand my illness in the desert, and the sudden death of the poor Arab who had nursed me. In the light of this terrible truth, everything was as clear as daylight, and all I wanted was to get back to Park Lane and find myself face to face with Pharos, in order that I might tax him with it, and afterwards go forth and publish his infamy58 to the world. Fast as the man was driving, he could not make his horse go fast enough for me. Though at first my blood had been as cold as ice, it now raced through my veins59 like liquid fire. A feverish60 nervousness had seized me, and for the time being I was little better than a madman. Regardless of the passers-by, conscious only of the vile61 part I had been induced to play — unwittingly, it is true — in his unbelievable wickedness, I urged the driver to greater speed. At last, after what seemed an eternity62, we reached our destination. I alighted, and, as I had done in Hamburg, paid the cabman with the first money I took from my pocket, and then went up the steps and entered the house. By this time the all-consuming fire of impatience63 which had succeeded the icy coldness of the first discovery had left me, and was succeeded by a strange, unnatural64 calm, in which I seemed to be myself, and yet to be standing at a distance, watching myself. In a voice that I scarcely recognised, I inquired from the butler where I could find his master. He informed me that he was in the drawing-room, and I accordingly went thither65 in search of him. I had not the least notion of what I was going to say to him when I found him, or how I should say it, but I had to relieve my mind of the weight it was carrying, and then —— Why, after that, nothing would matter. I opened the door and entered the room. The sunshine was streaming in through the windows at the further end, falling upon the elegant furniture, the embroideries66 and draperies, the china, and the hundred-and-one knick-knacks that go to make up a fashionable drawing-room. Of Pharos, however, there was no sign. In place of him Valerie rose from a chair by the window and greeted me with a little exclamation67 of delight. Then, seeing the look upon my face, and the deadly pallor of my complexion68, she must have realised that something serious had happened to me, for she ran forward and took my hands in hers.
“My darling!” she cried, with a look of terror upon her face, “what has happened? Tell me, for pity’s sake, for your face terrifies me!”
The pressure of her hands and the sight of those beautiful frightened eyes gazing up into mine cut me to the heart. Overwhelmed with sorrow as I was, she alone of all the world could soothe69 me and alleviate70 the agony I was suffering. It was not possible, however, that I could avail myself of her sympathy. I was dishonoured72 enough already, without seeking to dishonour71 her. Here our love must end. For the future I should be an outcast, a social leper, carrying with me to my grave the knowledge of the curse I had brought upon my fellow men. I tried to put her from me, but she would not be denied.
“Oh, what can have happened that you treat me like this?” she cried. “Your silence breaks my heart.”
“You must not come near me, Valerie,” I muttered hoarsely73. “Leave me. You have no notion what I am.”
“You are the man I love,” she answered. “That is enough for me. Whatever it may be, I have the right to share your sorrow with you.”
“No, no!” I cried. “You must have no more to do with me. Drive me away from you. I tell you I am viler74 than you can believe, lower than the common murderer, for he kills but one, while, God help me, I have killed thousands.”
She must have thought me mad, for she uttered a little choking sob75 and sank down upon the floor, the very picture and embodiment of despair. Then the door opened and Pharos entered.
Seeing me standing in the centre of the room with a wild look upon my face, and Valerie crouching76 at my feet, he paused and gazed from one to the other of us in surprise.
“I am afraid I am de trop,” he said, with the old nasty sneer77 upon his face. “If it is not putting you to too much trouble, perhaps one of you will be good enough to tell me what it means.”
Neither of us answered for upward of a minute; then I broke the spell that bound us and turned to Pharos. How feeble the words seemed when compared with the violence of my emotions and the unbelievable nature of the charge I was bringing against him I must leave you to imagine.
“It means, Monsieur Pharos,” I said, “that I have discovered everything.”
I could say no more, for a lump was rising in my throat which threatened to choke me. It soon appeared, however, that I had said enough, for Pharos must either have read my thoughts and have understood that denial would be useless, or, since I was no longer necessary to him, he did not care whether he confessed to me or not. At any rate, he advanced into the room, his cruel eyes watching me intently the while.
“So you have discovered everything, have you, my friend?” he said. “And pray what is this knowledge that you have accumulated?”
“How can I tell you?” I cried, scarcely knowing how to enter upon my terrible indictment78. “How can I make you understand your wickedness? I have discovered that it is you who are responsible for the misery from which Europe is now suffering. I know that it was I, through you, who introduced the plague and carried it from Constantinople to London. Inhuman79 monster!” I continued, having by this time worked myself to a white heat. “I was in your power and you made me your tool. But you shall not escape. It is not too late even now to punish you. Within an hour the world shall know everything, and you will be dead, if devils can die. I have been your tool, but, since I know your wickedness, I will not be your accomplice80. Oh, my God! is it possible that a man breathing the pure air of heaven can be so vile?”
All the time I had been thus denouncing him I had been standing just as I was when he entered the room, with Valerie still crouching at my feet. The dangerous light I remembered so well of old had returned to his eyes, making him look indescribably fiendish.
“Are you mad that you dare to talk to me in this fashion?” he said at last, but with a calmness the meaning of which there was no mistaking. “Since it is plain that you do not remember the hold I have upon you, nor what your fate will be if you anger me, I must enlighten you. You bring these accusations81 against me and you threaten to betray me to the world — me, Pharos the Egyptian, and to your pitiful world which I spurn82 beneath my feet. Once more I ask you, are you mad? But since there is no further need for concealment83, and you desire the truth, you shall hear it.” He paused, and when he spoke again it was noticeable that he had dropped his former conversational84 tone and had adopted a manner more in keeping with the solemnity of what he had to say. “Know, then, that what thou sawest in the vision before the Sphinx and in the Temple of Ammon was the truth, and not a dream, as I desired thee to believe. I, whom thou hast known as Pharos, am none other than Ptahmes, son of Netruh?tep, prophet of the north and south, the same whom Pharaoh sought to kill, and who died in hiding and was buried by his faithful priests under cover of night more than three thousand years ago. Cursed by the Gods, and denied the right of burial by order of the King, I have inhabited this shape since then. Darest thou, knowing this, pit thyself against the servant of the Mighty85 Ones? For I tell thee assuredly that the plague which is now destroying Europe was decreed by the Gods of Egypt against such nations as have committed the sin of sacrilege.”
He paused, and for a moment I thought he would have sprung upon me as he had done that night in my studio. But he controlled himself with an effort, and a moment later his voice was as soft and conciliatory and yet as full of malice86 as before. I also noticed that he had returned to his ordinary and more colloquial87 tone.
“Are you anxious to hear more? If you are determined to proclaim my doings to the world, it is only fit you should know everything. I will willingly confess. Why should I not do so? You are mine to do with as I please. Without my leave you are powerless to hurt me, and who would believe you if you were to tell? No one! They would call you mad, as you undoubtedly88 are, and say that fear of the plague had turned your brain. In Naples you accused me of the murder of Clausand, the curiosity dealer89. I denied it because the time was not then ripe for me to acquaint you with the truth. Now I confess it. I stabbed him because he would not give me a certain scarabeus, and to divert suspicion willed that the half-crazy German, Schmidt, whom the other had cast out of his service, should declare that he did the deed. In obedience90 to my desire you followed me to Italy and accompanied me thence to Egypt. I it was who drew you to the Pyramid and decreed that you should lose your way inside, in order that when fear had deprived you of your senses I might inoculate91 you with the plague. Seven days later you were stricken with it in the desert. As soon as you recovered I carried you off to Europe to begin the work required of you. In Constantinople, Vienna, Prague, Berlin, Hamburg, wherever you went you left the fatal germs of the disease as a legacy92 behind you. You infected this woman here, and but for me she would have died. To-day the last portion of that vengeance which has been decreed commences, and when all is finished I go to that rest in ancient Thebes which has been denied me these long three thousand years. Hark! Even now the sound of wailing93 is to be heard in London. Hour by hour the virulence94 of the pestilence95 increases, and the strong men and weak women, youths and maidens96, children and babes, go down before it like corn before the reaper97. On every hand the voices of mourners rise into the summer air, and it is I, Ptahmes, the servant of the Gods, the prophet of the King, the man whom thou hast said thou wilt98 proclaim to the world, who has brought it about.”
Then, lifting his right hand, he pointed it at me.
“Fool — fool!” he cried, with withering99 scorn. “Frail atom in the path of life, who art thou that thou shouldst deem thyself strong enough to cope with me? Learn then that the time is not yet ripe. I have further need of thee. Sleep again, and in that sleep do all I shall require of thee.”
As he said this his diminutive100 form seemed to grow larger and more terrible, until it appeared to have attained101 twice its ordinary size. His eyes shone in his head like living coals and seemed to burn into my brain. I saw Valerie rise from the place where she had hitherto been crouching, and snatch an Oriental dagger102 from a table. Then, swift as a panther, she sprang upon him, only to be hurled103 back against the wall as if struck by an invisible hand. Then, obedient as a little child, I closed my eyes and slept.
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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frailties
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| n.脆弱( frailty的名词复数 )；虚弱；（性格或行为上的）弱点；缺点 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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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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diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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tallied
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| v.计算，清点( tally的过去式和过去分词 )；加标签（或标记）于；（使）符合；（使）吻合 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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engrossing
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| adj.使人全神贯注的，引人入胜的v.使全神贯注( engross的现在分词 ) | |
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conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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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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abruptly
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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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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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forth
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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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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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rift
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| n.裂口，隙缝，切口；v.裂开，割开，渗入 | |
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specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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instinctively
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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espied
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| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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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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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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46
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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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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elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vagrants
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| 流浪者( vagrant的名词复数 )； 无业游民； 乞丐； 无赖 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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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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dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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embroideries
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| 刺绣( embroidery的名词复数 )； 刺绣品； 刺绣法 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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alleviate
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| v.减轻，缓和，缓解(痛苦等) | |
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dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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dishonoured
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| a.不光彩的，不名誉的 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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viler
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| adj.卑鄙的( vile的比较级 )；可耻的；极坏的；非常讨厌的 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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indictment
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| n.起诉；诉状 | |
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inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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82
spurn
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| v.拒绝，摈弃；n.轻视的拒绝；踢开 | |
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83
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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84
conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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85
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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86
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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colloquial
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| adj.口语的，会话的 | |
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88
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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89
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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90
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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91
inoculate
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| v.给...接种，给...注射疫苗 | |
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92
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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93
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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94
virulence
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| n.毒力，毒性；病毒性；致病力 | |
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95
pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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96
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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97
reaper
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| n.收割者，收割机 | |
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98
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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99
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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100
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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101
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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102
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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103
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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