“It’s dreadful, George, dreadful!” the lady cried in an agony of sobs11. “If we had only passed with the others! Oh, why did you save us? I feel as if it is we that are dead and everyone else alive.”
Challenger’s great eyebrows12 were drawn13 down in concentrated thought, while his huge, hairy paw closed upon the outstretched hand of his wife. I had observed that she always held out her arms to him in trouble as a child would to its mother.
“Without being a fatalist to the point of nonresistance,” said he, “I have always found that the highest wisdom lies in an acquiescence14 with the actual.” He spoke16 slowly, and there was a vibration17 of feeling in his sonorous18 voice.
“I do not acquiesce15,” said Summerlee firmly.
“I don’t see that it matters a row of pins whether you acquiesce or whether you don’t,” remarked Lord John. “You’ve got to take it, whether you take it fightin’ or take it lyin’ down, so what’s the odds19 whether you acquiesce or not?
“I can’t remember that anyone asked our permission before the thing began, and nobody’s likely to ask it now. So what difference can it make what we may think of it?”
“It is just all the difference between happiness and misery,” said Challenger with an abstracted face, still patting his wife’s hand. “You can swim with the tide and have peace in mind and soul, or you can thrust against it and be bruised20 and weary. This business is beyond us, so let us accept it as it stands and say no more.”
“But what in the world are we to do with our lives?” I asked, appealing in desperation to the blue, empty heaven.
“What am I to do, for example? There are no newspapers, so there’s an end of my vocation21.”
“And there’s nothin’ left to shoot, and no more soldierin’, so there’s an end of mine,” said Lord John.
“And there are no students, so there’s an end of mine,” cried Summerlee.
“But I have my husband and my house, so I can thank heaven that there is no end of mine,” said the lady.
“Nor is there an end of mine,” remarked Challenger, “for science is not dead, and this catastrophe22 in itself will offer us many most absorbing problems for investigation23.”
He had now flung open the windows and we were gazing out upon the silent and motionless landscape.
“Let me consider,” he continued. “It was about three, or a little after, yesterday afternoon that the world finally entered the poison belt to the extent of being completely submerged. It is now nine o’clock. The question is, at what hour did we pass out from it?”
“The air was very bad at daybreak,” said I.
“Later than that,” said Mrs. Challenger. “As late as eight o’clock I distinctly felt the same choking at my throat which came at the outset.”
“Then we shall say that it passed just after eight o’clock. For seventeen hours the world has been soaked in the poisonous ether. For that length of time the Great Gardener has sterilized24 the human mold which had grown over the surface of His fruit. Is it possible that the work is incompletely done — that others may have survived besides ourselves?”
“That’s what I was wonderin’” said Lord John. “Why should we be the only pebbles25 on the beach?”
“It is absurd to suppose that anyone besides ourselves can possibly have survived,” said Summerlee with conviction. “Consider that the poison was so virulent26 that even a man who is as strong as an ox and has not a nerve in his body, like Malone here, could hardly get up the stairs before he fell unconscious. Is it likely that anyone could stand seventeen minutes of it, far less hours?”
“Unless someone saw it coming and made preparation, same as old friend Challenger did.”
“That, I think, is hardly probable,” said Challenger, projecting his beard and sinking his eyelids27. “The combination of observation, inference, and anticipatory28 imagination which enabled me to foresee the danger is what one can hardly expect twice in the same generation.”
“Then your conclusion is that everyone is certainly dead?”
“There can be little doubt of that. We have to remember, however, that the poison worked from below upwards29 and would possibly be less virulent in the higher strata30 of the atmosphere. It is strange, indeed, that it should be so; but it presents one of those features which will afford us in the future a fascinating field for study. One could imagine, therefore, that if one had to search for survivors31 one would turn one’s eyes with best hopes of success to some Tibetan village or some Alpine32 farm, many thousands of feet above the sea level.”
“Well, considerin’ that there are no railroads and no steamers you might as well talk about survivors in the moon,” said Lord John. “But what I’m askin’ myself is whether it’s really over or whether it’s only half-time.”
Summerlee craned his neck to look round the horizon. “It seems clear and fine,” said he in a very dubious33 voice; “but so it did yesterday. I am by no means assured that it is all over.”
Challenger shrugged34 his shoulders.
“We must come back once more to our fatalism,” said he. “If the world has undergone this experience before, which is not outside the range of possibility; it was certainly a very long time ago. Therefore, we may reasonably hope that it will be very long before it occurs again.”
“That’s all very well,” said Lord John, “but if you get an earthquake shock you are mighty35 likely to have a second one right on the top of it. I think we’d be wise to stretch our legs and have a breath of air while we have the chance. Since our oxygen is exhausted36 we may just as well be caught outside as in.”
It was strange the absolute lethargy which had come upon us as a reaction after our tremendous emotions of the last twenty-four hours. It was both mental and physical, a deep-lying feeling that nothing mattered and that everything was a weariness and a profitless exertion37. Even Challenger had succumbed38 to it, and sat in his chair, with his great head leaning upon his hands and his thoughts far away, until Lord John and I, catching39 him by each arm, fairly lifted him on to his feet, receiving only the glare and growl40 of an angry mastiff for our trouble. However, once we had got out of our narrow haven41 of refuge into the wider atmosphere of everyday life, our normal energy came gradually back to us once more.
But what were we to begin to do in that graveyard42 of a world? Could ever men have been faced with such a question since the dawn of time? It is true that our own physical needs, and even our luxuries, were assured for the future. All the stores of food, all the vintages of wine, all the treasures of art were ours for the taking. But what were we to do? Some few tasks appealed to us at once, since they lay ready to our hands. We descended43 into the kitchen and laid the two domestics upon their respective beds. They seemed to have died without suffering, one in the chair by the fire, the other upon the scullery floor. Then we carried in poor Austin from the yard. His muscles were set as hard as a board in the most exaggerated rigor44 mortis, while the contraction45 of the fibres had drawn his mouth into a hard sardonic46 grin. This symptom was prevalent among all who had died from the poison. Wherever we went we were confronted by those grinning faces, which seemed to mock at our dreadful position, smiling silently and grimly at the ill-fated survivors of their race.
“Look here,” said Lord John, who had paced restlessly about the dining-room whilst we partook of some food, “I don’t know how you fellows feel about it, but for my part, I simply can’t sit here and do nothin’.”
“Perhaps,” Challenger answered, “you would have the kindness to suggest what you think we ought to do.”
“Get a move on us and see all that has happened.”
“That is what I should myself propose.”
“But not in this little country village. We can see from the window all that this place can teach us.”
“Where should we go, then?”
“To London!”
“That’s all very well,” grumbled47 Summerlee. “You may be equal to a forty-mile walk, but I’m not so sure about Challenger, with his stumpy legs, and I am perfectly48 sure about myself.” Challenger was very much annoyed.
“If you could see your way, sir, to confining your remarks to your own physical peculiarities49, you would find that you had an ample field for comment,” he cried.
“I had no intention to offend you, my dear Challenger,” cried our tactless friend, “You can’t be held responsible for your own physique. If nature has given you a short, heavy body you cannot possibly help having stumpy legs.”
Challenger was too furious to answer. He could only growl and blink and bristle50. Lord John hastened to intervene before the dispute became more violent.
“You talk of walking. Why should we walk?” said he.
“Do you suggest taking a train?” asked Challenger, still simmering.
“What’s the matter with the motor-car? Why should we not go in that?”
“I am not an expert,” said Challenger, pulling at his beard reflectively. “At the same time, you are right in supposing that the human intellect in its higher manifestations51 should be sufficiently52 flexible to turn itself to anything. Your idea is an excellent one, Lord John. I myself will drive you all to London.”
“You will do nothing of the kind,” said Summerlee with decision.
“No, indeed, George!” cried his wife. “You only tried once, and you remember how you crashed through the gate of the garage.”
“It was a momentary53 want of concentration,” said Challenger complacently54. “You can consider the matter settled. I will certainly drive you all to London.”
The situation was relieved by Lord John.
“What’s the car?” he asked.
“A twenty-horsepower Humber.”
“Why, I’ve driven one for years,” said he. “By George!” he added. “I never thought I’d live to take the whole human race in one load. There’s just room for five, as I remember it. Get your things on, and I’ll be ready at the door by ten o’clock.”
Sure enough, at the hour named, the car came purring and crackling from the yard with Lord John at the wheel. I took my seat beside him, while the lady, a useful little buffer55 state, was squeezed in between the two men of wrath56 at the back. Then Lord John released his brakes, slid his lever rapidly from first to third, and we sped off upon the strangest drive that ever human beings have taken since man first came upon the earth.
You are to picture the loveliness of nature upon that August day, the freshness of the morning air, the golden glare of the summer sunshine, the cloudless sky, the luxuriant green of the Sussex woods, and the deep purple of heather-clad downs. As you looked round upon the many-coloured beauty of the scene all thought of a vast catastrophe would have passed from your mind had it not been for one sinister57 sign — the solemn, all-embracing silence. There is a gentle hum of life which pervades58 a closely-settled country, so deep and constant that one ceases to observe it, as the dweller59 by the sea loses all sense of the constant murmur60 of the waves. The twitter of birds, the buzz of insects, the far-off echo of voices, the lowing of cattle, the distant barking of dogs, roar of trains, and rattle61 of carts — all these form one low, unremitting note, striking unheeded upon the ear. We missed it now. This deadly silence was appalling62. So solemn was it, so impressive, that the buzz and rattle of our motor-car seemed an unwarrantable intrusion, an indecent disregard of this reverent64 stillness which lay like a pall63 over and round the ruins of humanity. It was this grim hush65, and the tall clouds of smoke which rose here and there over the country-side from smoldering66 buildings, which cast a chill into our hearts as we gazed round at the glorious panorama67 of the Weald.
And then there were the dead! At first those endless groups of drawn and grinning faces filled us with a shuddering68 horror. So vivid and mordant69 was the impression that I can live over again that slow descent of the station hill, the passing by the nurse-girl with the two babes, the sight of the old horse on his knees between the shafts70, the cabman twisted across his seat, and the young man inside with his hand upon the open door in the very act of springing out. Lower down were six reapers71 all in a litter, their limbs crossing, their dead, unwinking eyes gazing upwards at the glare of heaven. These things I see as in a photograph. But soon, by the merciful provision of nature, the over-excited nerve ceased to respond. The very vastness of the horror took away from its personal appeal. Individuals merged7 into groups, groups into crowds, crowds into a universal phenomenon which one soon accepted as the inevitable72 detail of every scene. Only here and there, where some particularly brutal73 or grotesque74 incident caught the attention, did the mind come back with a sudden shock to the personal and human meaning of it all.
Above all, there was the fate of the children. That, I remember, filled us with the strongest sense of intolerable injustice75. We could have wept — Mrs. Challenger did weep — when we passed a great council school and saw the long trail of tiny figures scattered76 down the road which led from it. They had been dismissed by their terrified teachers and were speeding for their homes when the poison caught them in its net. Great numbers of people were at the open windows of the houses. In Tunbridge Wells there was hardly one which had not its staring, smiling face. At the last instant the need of air, that very craving77 for oxygen which we alone had been able to satisfy, had sent them flying to the window. The sidewalks too were littered with men and women, hatless and bonnetless, who had rushed out of the houses. Many of them had fallen in the roadway. It was a lucky thing that in Lord John we had found an expert driver, for it was no easy matter to pick one’s way. Passing through the villages or towns we could only go at a walking pace, and once, I remember, opposite the school at Tonbridge, we had to halt some time while we carried aside the bodies which blocked our path.
A few small, definite pictures stand out in my memory from amid that long panorama of death upon the Sussex and Kentish high roads. One was that of a great, glittering motor-car standing78 outside the inn at the village of Southborough. It bore, as I should guess, some pleasure party upon their return from Brighton or from Eastbourne. There were three gaily79 dressed women, all young and beautiful, one of them with a Peking spaniel upon her lap. With them were a rakish-looking elderly man and a young aristocrat80, his eyeglass still in his eye, his cigarette burned down to the stub between the fingers of his begloved hand. Death must have come on them in an instant and fixed81 them as they sat. Save that the elderly man had at the last moment torn out his collar in an effort to breathe, they might all have been asleep. On one side of the car a waiter with some broken glasses beside a tray was huddled82 near the step. On the other, two very ragged83 tramps, a man and a woman, lay where they had fallen, the man with his long, thin arm still outstretched, even as he had asked for alms in his lifetime. One instant of time had put aristocrat, waiter, tramp, and dog upon one common footing of inert84 and dissolving protoplasm.
I remember another singular picture, some miles on the London side of Sevenoaks. There is a large convent upon the left, with a long, green slope in front of it. Upon this slope were assembled a great number of school children, all kneeling at prayer. In front of them was a fringe of nuns85, and higher up the slope, facing towards them, a single figure whom we took to be the Mother Superior. Unlike the pleasure-seekers in the motor-car, these people seemed to have had warning of their danger and to have died beautifully together, the teachers and the taught, assembled for their last common lesson.
My mind is still stunned by that terrific experience, and I grope vainly for means of expression by which I can reproduce the emotions which we felt. Perhaps it is best and wisest not to try, but merely to indicate the facts. Even Summerlee and Challenger were crushed, and we heard nothing of our companions behind us save an occasional whimper from the lady. As to Lord John, he was too intent upon his wheel and the difficult task of threading his way along such roads to have time or inclination86 for conversation. One phrase he used with such wearisome iteration that it stuck in my memory and at last almost made me laugh as a comment upon the day of doom87.
“Pretty doin’s! What!”
That was his ejaculation as each fresh tremendous combination of death and disaster displayed itself before us. “Pretty doin’s! What!” he cried, as we descended the station hill at Rotherfield, and it was still “Pretty doin’s! What!” as we picked our way through a wilderness88 of death in the High Street of Lewisham and the Old Kent Road.
It was here that we received a sudden and amazing shock. Out of the window of a humble89 corner house there appeared a fluttering handkerchief waving at the end of a long, thin human arm. Never had the sight of unexpected death caused our hearts to stop and then throb90 so wildly as did this amazing indication of life. Lord John ran the motor to the curb91, and in an instant we had rushed through the open door of the house and up the staircase to the second-floor front room from which the signal proceeded.
A very old lady sat in a chair by the open window, and close to her, laid across a second chair, was a cylinder92 of oxygen, smaller but of the same shape as those which had saved our own lives. She turned her thin, drawn, bespectacled face toward us as we crowded in at the doorway93.
“I feared that I was abandoned here forever,” said she, “for I am an invalid94 and cannot stir.”
“Well, madam,” Challenger answered, “it is a lucky chance that we happened to pass.”
“I have one all-important question to ask you,” said she. “Gentlemen, I beg that you will be frank with me. What effect will these events have upon London and North-Western Railway shares?”
We should have laughed had it not been for the tragic95 eagerness with which she listened for our answer. Mrs. Burston, for that was her name, was an aged96 widow, whose whole income depended upon a small holding of this stock. Her life had been regulated by the rise and fall of the dividend97, and she could form no conception of existence save as it was affected98 by the quotation99 of her shares. In vain we pointed100 out to her that all the money in the world was hers for the taking and was useless when taken. Her old mind would not adapt itself to the new idea, and she wept loudly over her vanished stock. “It was all I had,” she wailed101. “If that is gone I may as well go too.”
Amid her lamentations we found out how this frail102 old plant had lived where the whole great forest had fallen. She was a confirmed invalid and an asthmatic. Oxygen had been prescribed for her malady103, and a tube was in her room at the moment of the crisis. She had naturally inhaled104 some as had been her habit when there was a difficulty with her breathing. It had given her relief, and by doling105 out her supply she had managed to survive the night. Finally she had fallen asleep and been awakened106 by the buzz of our motor-car. As it was impossible to take her on with us, we saw that she had all necessaries of life and promised to communicate with her in a couple of days at the latest. So we left her, still weeping bitterly over her vanished stock.
As we approached the Thames the block in the streets became thicker and the obstacles more bewildering. It was with difficulty that we made our way across London Bridge. The approaches to it upon the Middlesex side were choked from end to end with frozen traffic which made all further advance in that direction impossible. A ship was blazing brightly alongside one of the wharves107 near the bridge, and the air was full of drifting smuts and of a heavy acrid108 smell of burning. There was a cloud of dense109 smoke somewhere near the Houses of Parliament, but it was impossible from where we were to see what was on fire.
“I don’t know how it strikes you,” Lord John remarked as he brought his engine to a standstill, “but it seems to me the country is more cheerful than the town. Dead London is gettin’ on my nerves. I’m for a cast round and then gettin’ back to Rotherfield.”
“I confess that I do not see what we can hope for here,” said Professor Summerlee.
“At the same time,” said Challenger, his great voice booming strangely amid the silence, “it is difficult for us to conceive that out of seven millions of people there is only this one old woman who by some peculiarity110 of constitution or some accident of occupation has managed to survive this catastrophe.”
“If there should be others, how can we hope to find them, George?” asked the lady. “And yet I agree with you that we cannot go back until we have tried.”
Getting out of the car and leaving it by the curb, we walked with some difficulty along the crowded pavement of King William Street and entered the open door of a large insurance office. It was a corner house, and we chose it as commanding a view in every direction. Ascending111 the stair, we passed through what I suppose to have been the board-room, for eight elderly men were seated round a long table in the centre of it. The high window was open and we all stepped out upon the balcony. From it we could see the crowded city streets radiating in every direction, while below us the road was black from side to side with the tops of the motionless taxis. All, or nearly all, had their heads pointed outwards112, showing how the terrified men of the city had at the last moment made a vain endeavor to rejoin their families in the suburbs or the country. Here and there amid the humbler cabs towered the great brass-spangled motor-car of some wealthy magnate, wedged hopelessly among the dammed stream of arrested traffic. Just beneath us there was such a one of great size and luxurious113 appearance, with its owner, a fat old man, leaning out, half his gross body through the window, and his podgy hand, gleaming with diamonds, outstretched as he urged his chauffeur114 to make a last effort to break through the press.
A dozen motor-buses towered up like islands in this flood, the passengers who crowded the roofs lying all huddled together and across each others’ laps like a child’s toys in a nursery. On a broad lamp pedestal in the centre of the roadway, a burly policeman was standing, leaning his back against the post in so natural an attitude that it was hard to realize that he was not alive, while at his feet there lay a ragged newsboy with his bundle of papers on the ground beside him. A paper-cart had got blocked in the crowd, and we could read in large letters, black upon yellow, “Scene at Lord’s. County Match Interrupted.” This must have been the earliest edition, for there were other placards bearing the legend, “Is It the End? Great Scientist’s Warning.” And another, “Is Challenger Justified115? Ominous116 Rumours117.”
Challenger pointed the latter placard out to his wife, as it thrust itself like a banner above the throng118. I could see him throw out his chest and stroke his beard as he looked at it. It pleased and flattered that complex mind to think that London had died with his name and his words still present in their thoughts. His feelings were so evident that they aroused the sardonic comment of his colleague.
“In the limelight to the last, Challenger,” he remarked.
“So it would appear,” he answered complacently. “Well,” he added as he looked down the long vista119 of the radiating streets, all silent and all choked up with death, “I really see no purpose to be served by our staying any longer in London. I suggest that we return at once to Rotherfield and then take counsel as to how we shall most profitably employ the years which lie before us.”
Only one other picture shall I give of the scenes which we carried back in our memories from the dead city. It is a glimpse which we had of the interior of the old church of St. Mary’s, which is at the very point where our car was awaiting us. Picking our way among the prostrate figures upon the steps, we pushed open the swing door and entered. It was a wonderful sight. The church was crammed120 from end to end with kneeling figures in every posture121 of supplication122 and abasement123. At the last dreadful moment, brought suddenly face to face with the realities of life, those terrific realities which hang over us even while we follow the shadows, the terrified people had rushed into those old city churches which for generations had hardly ever held a congregation. There they huddled as close as they could kneel, many of them in their agitation124 still wearing their hats, while above them in the pulpit a young man in lay dress had apparently125 been addressing them when he and they had been overwhelmed by the same fate. He lay now, like Punch in his booth, with his head and two limp arms hanging over the ledge126 of the pulpit. It was a nightmare, the grey, dusty church, the rows of agonized127 figures, the dimness and silence of it all. We moved about with hushed whispers, walking upon our tip-toes.
And then suddenly I had an idea. At one corner of the church, near the door, stood the ancient font, and behind it a deep recess128 in which there hung the ropes for the bell-ringers. Why should we not send a message out over London which would attract to us anyone who might still be alive? I ran across, and pulling at the list-covered rope, I was surprised to find how difficult it was to swing the bell. Lord John had followed me.
“By George, young fellah!” said he, pulling off his coat. “You’ve hit on a dooced good notion. Give me a grip and we’ll soon have a move on it.”
But, even then, so heavy was the bell that it was not until Challenger and Summerlee had added their weight to ours that we heard the roaring and clanging above our heads which told us that the great clapper was ringing out its music. Far over dead London resounded129 our message of comradeship and hope to any fellow-man surviving. It cheered our own hearts, that strong, metallic130 call, and we turned the more earnestly to our work, dragged two feet off the earth with each upward jerk of the rope, but all straining together on the downward heave, Challenger the lowest of all, bending all his great strength to the task and flopping131 up and down like a monstrous132 bull-frog, croaking133 with every pull. It was at that moment that an artist might have taken a picture of the four adventurers, the comrades of many strange perils134 in the past, whom fate had now chosen for so supreme135 an experience. For half an hour we worked, the sweat dropping from our faces, our arms and backs aching with the exertion. Then we went out into the portico136 of the church and looked eagerly up and down the silent, crowded streets. Not a sound, not a motion, in answer to our summons.
“It’s no use. No one is left,” I cried.
“We can do nothing more,” said Mrs. Challenger. “For God’s sake, George, let us get back to Rotherfield. Another hour of this dreadful, silent city would drive me mad.”
We got into the car without another word. Lord John backed her round and turned her to the south. To us the chapter seemed closed. Little did we foresee the strange new chapter which was to open.
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1
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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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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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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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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mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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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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merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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marooned
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| adj.被围困的；孤立无援的；无法脱身的 | |
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aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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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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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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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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acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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acquiesce
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| vi.默许，顺从，同意 | |
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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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vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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sterilized
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| v.消毒( sterilize的过去式和过去分词 )；使无菌；使失去生育能力；使绝育 | |
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25
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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26
virulent
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| adj.有毒的，有恶意的，充满敌意的 | |
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27
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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28
anticipatory
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| adj.预想的，预期的 | |
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29
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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30
strata
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| n.地层（复数）；社会阶层 | |
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31
survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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32
alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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33
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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34
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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35
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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36
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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37
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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38
succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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39
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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40
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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41
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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42
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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43
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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44
rigor
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| n.严酷，严格，严厉 | |
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45
contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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46
sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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47
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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48
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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49
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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50
bristle
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| v.（毛发）直立，气势汹汹，发怒；n.硬毛发 | |
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51
manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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52
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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53
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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54
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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55
buffer
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| n.起缓冲作用的人(或物)，缓冲器；vt.缓冲 | |
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56
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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57
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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58
pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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59
dweller
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| n.居住者，住客 | |
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60
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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61
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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62
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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63
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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64
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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65
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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66
smoldering
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| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的现在分词 ) | |
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67
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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68
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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69
mordant
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| adj.讽刺的；尖酸的 | |
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70
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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71
reapers
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| n.收割者，收获者( reaper的名词复数 )；收割机 | |
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72
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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73
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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74
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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75
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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76
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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77
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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78
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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79
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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80
aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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81
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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82
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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83
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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84
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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85
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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86
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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87
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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88
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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89
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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90
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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91
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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92
cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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93
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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94
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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95
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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96
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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97
dividend
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| n.红利，股息；回报，效益 | |
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98
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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99
quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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100
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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101
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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103
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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104
inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
doling
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| 救济物( dole的现在分词 )； 失业救济金 | |
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106
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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107
wharves
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| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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108
acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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109
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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110
peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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111
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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112
outwards
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| adj.外面的，公开的，向外的；adv.向外；n.外形 | |
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113
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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114
chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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115
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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116
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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117
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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118
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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119
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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120
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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121
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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122
supplication
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| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
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123
abasement
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| n.滥用 | |
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124
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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125
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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126
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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127
agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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128
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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129
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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130
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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131
flopping
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| n.贬调v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的现在分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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132
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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133
croaking
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的现在分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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134
perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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135
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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136
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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