In another moment I was placed, as he described, sustained in Planard’s arms, standing2 at the foot of the coffin3, and so lowered backward, gradually, till I lay my length in it. Then the man, whom he called Planard, stretched my arms by my sides, and carefully arranged the frills at my breast and the folds of the shroud4, and after that, taking his stand at the foot of the coffin made a survey which seemed to satisfy him.
The Count, who was very methodical, took my clothes, which had just been removed, folded them rapidly together and locked them up, as I afterwards heard, in one of the three presses which opened by doors in the panel.
I now understood their frightful5 plan. This coffin had been prepared for me; the funeral of St. Amand was a sham6 to mislead inquiry7; I had myself given the order at Père la Chaise, signed it, and paid the fees for the interment of the fictitious8 Pierre de St. Amand, whose place I was to take, to lie in his coffin with his name on the plate above my breast, and with a ton of clay packed down upon me; to waken from this catalepsy, after I had been for hours in the grave, there to perish by a death the most horrible that imagination can conceive.
If, hereafter, by any caprice of curiosity or suspicion, the coffin should be exhumed9, and the body it enclosed examined, no chemistry could detect a trace of poison, nor the most cautious examination the slightest mark of violence.
I had myself been at the utmost pains to mystify inquiry, should my disappearance10 excite surmises11, and had even written to my few correspondents in England to tell them that they were not to look for a letter from me for three weeks at least.
In the moment of my guilty elation12 death had caught me, and there was no escape. I tried to pray to God in my unearthly panic, but only thoughts of terror, judgment13, and eternal anguish14 crossed the distraction15 of my immediate16 doom17.
I must not try to recall what is indeed indescribable — the multiform horrors of my own thoughts. I will relate, simply, what befell, every detail of which remains18 sharp in my memory as if cut in steel.
“The undertaker’s men are in the hall,” said the Count.
“They must not come till this is fixed19,” answered Planard. “Be good enough to take hold of the lower part while I take this end.” I was not left long to conjecture20 what was coming, for in a few seconds more something slid across, a few inches above my face, and entirely21 excluded the light, and muffled22 sound, so that nothing that was not very distinct reached my ears henceforward; but very distinctly came the working of a turnscrew, and the crunching23 home of screws in succession. Than these vulgar sounds, no doom spoken in thunder could have been more tremendous.
The rest I must relate, not as it then reached my ears, which was too imperfectly and interruptedly to supply a connected narrative25, but as it was afterwards told me by other people.
The coffin-lid being screwed down, the two gentlemen arranged the room and adjusted the coffin so that it lay perfectly24 straight along the boards, the Count being specially26 anxious that there should be no appearance of hurry or disorder27 in the room, which might have suggested remark and conjecture.
When this was done, Doctor Planard said he would go to the hall to summon the men who were to carry the coffin out and place it in the hearse. The Count pulled on his black gloves, and held his white handkerchief in his hand, a very impressive chief-mourner. He stood a little behind the head of the coffin, awaiting the arrival of the persons who accompanied Planard, and whose fast steps he soon heard approaching.
Planard came first. He entered the room through the apartment in which the coffin had been originally placed. His manner was changed; there was something of a swagger in it.
“Monsieur le Comte,” he said, as he strode through the door, followed by half-a-dozen persons, “I am sorry to have to announce to you a most unseasonable interruption. Here is Monsieur Carmaignac, a gentleman holding an office in the police department, who says that information to the effect that large quantities of smuggled28 English and other goods have been distributed in this neighborhood, and that a portion of them is concealed29 in your house. I have ventured to assure him, of my own knowledge, that nothing can be more false than that information, and that you would be only too happy to throw open for his inspection30, at a moment’s notice, every room, closet, and cupboard in your house.”
“Most assuredly,” exclaimed the Count, with a stout31 voice, but a very white face. “Thank you, my good friend, for having anticipated me. I will place my house and keys at his disposal, for the purpose of his scrutiny32, so soon as he is good enough to inform me of what specific contraband33 goods he comes in search.”
“The Count de St. Alyre will pardon me,” answered Carmaignac, a little dryly. “I am forbidden by my instructions to make that disclosure; and that I am instructed to make a general search, this warrant will sufficiently34 apprise35 Monsieur le Comte.”
“Monsieur Carmaignac, may I hope,” interposed Planard, “that you will permit the Count de St. Alyre to attend the funeral of his kinsman36, who lies here, as you see —” (he pointed37 to the plate upon the coffin)—“and to convey whom to Pere la Chaise, a hearse waits at this moment at the door.”
“That, I regret to say, I cannot permit. My instructions are precise; but the delay, I trust, will be but trifling38. Monsieur le Comte will not suppose for a moment that I suspect him; but we have a duty to perform, and I must act as if I did. When I am ordered to search, I search; things are sometimes hid in such bizarre places. I can’t say, for instance, what that coffin may contain.”
“The body of my kinsman, Monsieur Pierre de St. Amand,” answered the Count, loftily.
“Oh! then you’ve seen him?”
“Seen him? Often, too often.” The Count was evidently a good deal moved.
“I mean the body?”
The Count stole a quick glance at Planard.
“N— no, Monsieur — that is, I mean only for a moment.”
Another quick glance at Planard.
“But quite long enough, I fancy, to recognize him?” insinuated39 that gentleman.
“Of course — of course; instantly — perfectly. What! Pierre de St. Amand? Not know him at a glance? No, no, poor fellow, I know him too well for that.”
“The things I am in search of,” said Monsieur Carmaignac, “would fit in a narrow compass — servants are so ingenious sometimes. Let us raise the lid.”
“Pardon me, Monsieur,” said the Count, peremptorily40, advancing to the side of the coffin and extending his arm across it, “I cannot permit that indignity41 — that desecration42.”
“There shall be none, sir — simply the raising of the lid; you shall remain in the room. If it should prove as we all hope, you shall have the pleasure of one other look, really the last, upon your beloved kinsman.”
“But, sir, I can’t.”
“But, Monsieur, I must.”
“But, besides, the thing, the turnscrew, broke when the last screw was turned; and I give you my sacred honor there is nothing but the body in this coffin.”
“Of course, Monsieur le Comte believes all that; but he does not know so well as I the legerdemain43 in use among servants, who are accustomed to smuggling44. Here, Philippe, you must take off the lid of that coffin.”
The Count protested; but Philippe — a man with a bald head and a smirched face, looking like a working blacksmith — placed on the floor a leather bag of tools, from which, having looked at the coffin, and picked with his nail at the screw-heads, he selected a turnscrew and, with a few deft45 twirls at each of the screws, they stood up like little rows of mushrooms, and the lid was raised. I saw the light, of which I thought I had seen my last, once more; but the axis46 of vision remained fixed. As I was reduced to the cataleptic state in a position nearly perpendicular47, I continued looking straight before me, and thus my gaze was now fixed upon the ceiling. I saw the face of Carmaignac leaning over me with a curious frown. It seemed to me that there was no recognition in his eyes. Oh, Heaven! that I could have uttered were it but one cry! I saw the dark, mean mask of the little Count staring down at me from the other side; the face of the pseudo-Marquis also peering at me, but not so full in the line of vision; there were other faces also.
“I see, I see,” said Carmaignac, withdrawing. “Nothing of the kind there.”
“You will be good enough to direct your man to re-adjust the lid of the coffin, and to fix the screws,” said the Count, taking courage; “and — and — really the funeral must proceed. It is not fair to the people, who have but moderate fees for night-work, to keep them hour after hour beyond the time.”
“Count de St. Alyre, you shall go in a very few minutes. I will direct, just now, all about the coffin.”
The Count looked toward the door, and there saw a gendarme48; and two or three more grave and stalwart specimens49 of the same force were also in the room. The Count was very uncomfortably excited; it was growing insupportable.
“As this gentleman makes a difficulty about my attending the obsequies of my kinsman, I will ask you, Planard, to accompany the funeral in my stead.”
“In a few minutes;” answered the incorrigible50 Carmaignac. “I must first trouble you for the key that opens that press.”
He pointed direct at the press in which the clothes had just been locked up.
“I— I have no objection,” said the Count —“none, of course; only they have not been used for an age. I’ll direct someone to look for the key.”
“If you have not got it about you, it is quite unnecessary. Philippe, try your skeleton-keys with that press. I want it opened. Whose clothes are these?” inquired Carmaignac, when, the press having been opened, he took out the suit that had been placed there scarcely two minutes since.
“I can’t say,” answered the Count. “I know nothing of the contents of that press. A roguish servant, named Lablais, whom I dismissed about a year ago, had the key. I have not seen it open for ten years or more. The clothes are probably his.”
“Here are visiting cards, see, and here a marked pocket-handkerchief —‘R.B.’ upon it. He must have stolen them from a person named Beckett — R. Beckett. ‘Mr. Beckett, Berkeley Square,’ the card says; and, my faith! here’s a watch and a bunch of seals; one of them with the initials ‘R.B.’ upon it. That servant, Lablais, must have been a consummate51 rogue52!”
“So he was; you are right, Sir.”
“It strikes me that he possibly stole these clothes,” continued Carmaignac, “from the man in the coffin, who, in that case, would be Monsieur Beckett, and not Monsieur de St. Amand. For wonderful to relate, Monsieur, the watch is still going! The man in the coffin, I believe, is not dead, but simply drugged. And for having robbed and intended to murder him, I arrest you, Nicolas de la Marque, Count de St. Alyre.”
In another moment the old villain53 was a prisoner. I heard his discordant54 voice break quaveringly into sudden vehemence55 and volubility; now croaking56 — now shrieking57 as he oscillated between protests, threats, and impious appeals to the God who will “judge the secrets of men!” And thus lying and raving58, he was removed from the room, and placed in the same coach with his beautiful and abandoned accomplice59, already arrested; and, with two gendarmes_sitting beside them, they were immediate driving at a rapid pace towards the Conciergerie.
There were now added to the general chorus two voices, very different in quality; one was that of the gasconading Colonel Gaillarde, who had with difficulty been kept in the background up to this; the other was that of my jolly friend Whistlewick, who had come to identify me.
I shall tell you, just now, how this project against my property and life, so ingenious and monstrous60, was exploded. I must first say a word about myself. I was placed in a hot bath, under the direction of Planard, as consummate a villain as any of the gang, but now thoroughly61 in the interests of the prosecution62. Thence I was laid in a warm bed, the window of the room being open. These simple measures restored me in about three hours; I should otherwise, probably, have continued under the spell for nearly seven.
The practices of these nefarious63 conspirators64 had been carried on with consummate skill and secrecy65. Their dupes were led, as I was, to be themselves auxiliary66 to the mystery which made their own destruction both safe and certain.
A search was, of course, instituted. Graves were opened in Pere la Chaise. The bodies exhumed had lain there too long, and were too much decomposed67 to be recognized. One only was identified. The notice for the burial, in this particular case, had been signed, the order given, and the fees paid, by Gabriel Gaillarde, who was known to the official clerk, who had to transact68 with him this little funereal69 business. The very trick that had been arranged for me, had been successfully practiced in his case. The person for whom the grave had been ordered, was purely70 fictitious; and Gabriel Gaillarde himself filled the coffin, on the cover of which that false name was inscribed71 as well as upon a tomb-stone over the grave. Possibly the same honor, under my pseudonym72, may have been intended for me.
The identification was curious. This Gabriel Gaillarde had had a bad fall from a runaway73 horse about five years before his mysterious disappearance. He had lost an eye and some teeth in this accident, beside sustaining a fracture of the right leg, immediately above the ankle. He had kept the injuries to his face as profound a secret as he could. The result was, that the glass eye which had done duty for the one he had lost remained in the socket74, slightly displaced, of course, but recognizable by the “artist” who had supplied it.
More pointedly75 recognizable were the teeth, peculiar76 in workmanship, which one of the ablest dentists in Paris had himself adapted to the chasms77, the cast of which, owing to peculiarities78 in the accident, he happened to have preserved. This cast precisely79 fitted the gold plate found in the mouth of the skull80. The mark, also, above the ankle, in the bone, where it had reunited, corresponded exactly with the place where the fracture had knit in the limb of Gabriel Gaillarde.
The Colonel, his younger brother, had been furious about the disappearance of Gabriel, and still more so about that of his money, which he had long regarded as his proper keepsake, whenever death should remove his brother from the vexations of living. He had suspected for a long time, for certain adroitly81 discovered reasons, that the Count de St. Alyre and the beautiful lady, his companion, countess, or whatever else she was, had pigeoned him. To this suspicion were added some others of a still darker kind; but in their first shape, rather the exaggerated reflections of his fury, ready to believe anything, than well-defined conjectures82.
At length an accident had placed the Colonel very nearly upon the right scent83; a chance, possibly lucky, for himself, had apprised84 the scoundrel Planard that the conspirators — himself among the number — were in danger. The result was that he made terms for himself, became an informer, and concerted with the police this visit made to the Chateau85 de la Carque at the critical moment when every measure had been completed that was necessary to construct a perfect case against his guilty accomplices86.
I need not describe the minute industry or forethought with which the police agents collected all the details necessary to support the case. They had brought an able physician, who, even had Planard failed, would have supplied the necessary medical evidence.
My trip to Paris, you will believe, had not turned out quite so agreeably as I had anticipated. I was the principal witness for the prosecution in this cause célèbre, with all the agrémens that attend that enviable position. Having had an escape, as my friend Whistlewick said, “with a squeak” for my life, I innocently fancied that I should have been an object of considerable interest to Parisian society; but, a good deal to my mortification87, I discovered that I was the object of a good-natured but contemptuous merriment. I was a balourd, a benêt, un ane, and figured even in caricatures. I became a sort of public character, a dignity,
“Unto which I was not born,”
and from which I fled as soon as I conveniently could, without even paying my friend, the Marquis d’Harmonville, a visit at his hospitable88 chateau.
The Marquis escaped scot-free. His accomplice, the Count, was executed. The fair Eugenie, under extenuating89 circumstances — consisting, so far as I could discover of her good looks — got off for six years’ imprisonment90.
Colonel Gaillarde recovered some of his brother’s money, out of the not very affluent91 estate of the Count and soi-disant Countess. This, and the execution of the Count, put him in high good humor. So far from insisting on a hostile meeting, he shook me very graciously by the hand, told me that he looked upon the wound on his head, inflicted92 by the knob of my stick, as having been received in an honorable though irregular duel93, in which he had no disadvantage or unfairness to complain of.
I think I have only two additional details to mention. The bricks discovered in the room with the coffin, had been packed in it, in straw, to supply the weight of a dead body, and to prevent the suspicions and contradictions that might have been excited by the arrival of an empty coffin at the chateau.
Secondly94, the Countess’s magnificent brilliants were examined by a lapidary95, and pronounced to be worth about five pounds to a tragedy queen who happened to be in want of a suite96 of paste.
The Countess had figured some years before as one of the cleverest actresses on the minor97 stage of Paris, where she had been picked up by the Count and used as his principal accomplice.
She it was who, admirably disguised, had rifled my papers in the carriage on my memorable98 night-journey to Paris. She also had figured as the interpreting magician of the palanquin at the ball at Versailles. So far as I was affected99 by that elaborate mystification it was intended to re-animate my interest, which, they feared, might flag in the beautiful Countess. It had its design and action upon other intended victims also; but of them there is, at present, no need to speak. The introduction of a real corpse100 — procured101 from a person who supplied the Parisian anatomists — involved no real danger, while it heightened the mystery and kept the prophet alive in the gossip of the town and in the thoughts of the noodles with whom he had conferred.
I divided the remainder of the summer and autumn between Switzerland and Italy.
As the well-worn phrase goes, I was a sadder if not a wiser man. A great deal of the horrible impression left upon my mind was due, of course, to the mere102 action of nerves and brain. But serious feelings of another and deeper kind remained. My afterlife was ultimately formed by the shock I had then received. Those impressions led me — but not till after many years — to happier though not less serious thoughts; and I have deep reason to be thankful to the all-merciful Ruler of events for an early and terrible lesson in the ways of sin.
The End
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1 berth | |
n.卧铺,停泊地,锚位;v.使停泊 | |
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2 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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3 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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4 shroud | |
n.裹尸布,寿衣;罩,幕;vt.覆盖,隐藏 | |
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5 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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6 sham | |
n./adj.假冒(的),虚伪(的) | |
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7 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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8 fictitious | |
adj.虚构的,假设的;空头的 | |
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9 exhumed | |
v.挖出,发掘出( exhume的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10 disappearance | |
n.消失,消散,失踪 | |
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11 surmises | |
v.臆测,推断( surmise的第三人称单数 );揣测;猜想 | |
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12 elation | |
n.兴高采烈,洋洋得意 | |
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13 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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14 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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15 distraction | |
n.精神涣散,精神不集中,消遣,娱乐 | |
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16 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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17 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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18 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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19 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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20 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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21 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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22 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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23 crunching | |
v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 );嘎吱作响;(快速大量地)处理信息;数字捣弄 | |
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24 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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25 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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26 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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27 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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28 smuggled | |
水货 | |
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29 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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30 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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32 scrutiny | |
n.详细检查,仔细观察 | |
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33 contraband | |
n.违禁品,走私品 | |
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34 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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35 apprise | |
vt.通知,告知 | |
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36 kinsman | |
n.男亲属 | |
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37 pointed | |
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38 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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39 insinuated | |
v.暗示( insinuate的过去式和过去分词 );巧妙或迂回地潜入;(使)缓慢进入;慢慢伸入 | |
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40 peremptorily | |
adv.紧急地,不容分说地,专横地 | |
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41 indignity | |
n.侮辱,伤害尊严,轻蔑 | |
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42 desecration | |
n. 亵渎神圣, 污辱 | |
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43 legerdemain | |
n.戏法,诈术 | |
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44 smuggling | |
n.走私 | |
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45 deft | |
adj.灵巧的,熟练的(a deft hand 能手) | |
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46 axis | |
n.轴,轴线,中心线;坐标轴,基准线 | |
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47 perpendicular | |
adj.垂直的,直立的;n.垂直线,垂直的位置 | |
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48 gendarme | |
n.宪兵 | |
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49 specimens | |
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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50 incorrigible | |
adj.难以纠正的,屡教不改的 | |
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51 consummate | |
adj.完美的;v.成婚;使完美 [反]baffle | |
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52 rogue | |
n.流氓;v.游手好闲 | |
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53 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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54 discordant | |
adj.不调和的 | |
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55 vehemence | |
n.热切;激烈;愤怒 | |
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56 croaking | |
v.呱呱地叫( croak的现在分词 );用粗的声音说 | |
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57 shrieking | |
v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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58 raving | |
adj.说胡话的;疯狂的,怒吼的;非常漂亮的;令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话;疯话adv.胡言乱语地;疯狂地 | |
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59 accomplice | |
n.从犯,帮凶,同谋 | |
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60 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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61 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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62 prosecution | |
n.起诉,告发,检举,执行,经营 | |
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63 nefarious | |
adj.恶毒的,极坏的 | |
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64 conspirators | |
n.共谋者,阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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65 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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66 auxiliary | |
adj.辅助的,备用的 | |
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67 decomposed | |
已分解的,已腐烂的 | |
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68 transact | |
v.处理;做交易;谈判 | |
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69 funereal | |
adj.悲哀的;送葬的 | |
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70 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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71 inscribed | |
v.写,刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 );内接 | |
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72 pseudonym | |
n.假名,笔名 | |
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73 runaway | |
n.逃走的人,逃亡,亡命者;adj.逃亡的,逃走的 | |
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74 socket | |
n.窝,穴,孔,插座,插口 | |
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75 pointedly | |
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76 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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77 chasms | |
裂缝( chasm的名词复数 ); 裂口; 分歧; 差别 | |
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78 peculiarities | |
n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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79 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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80 skull | |
n.头骨;颅骨 | |
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81 adroitly | |
adv.熟练地,敏捷地 | |
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82 conjectures | |
推测,猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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83 scent | |
n.气味,香味,香水,线索,嗅觉;v.嗅,发觉 | |
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84 apprised | |
v.告知,通知( apprise的过去式和过去分词 );评价 | |
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85 chateau | |
n.城堡,别墅 | |
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86 accomplices | |
从犯,帮凶,同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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87 mortification | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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88 hospitable | |
adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
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89 extenuating | |
adj.使减轻的,情有可原的v.(用偏袒的辩解或借口)减轻( extenuate的现在分词 );低估,藐视 | |
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90 imprisonment | |
n.关押,监禁,坐牢 | |
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91 affluent | |
adj.富裕的,富有的,丰富的,富饶的 | |
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92 inflicted | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93 duel | |
n./v.决斗;(双方的)斗争 | |
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94 secondly | |
adv.第二,其次 | |
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95 lapidary | |
n.宝石匠;adj.宝石的;简洁优雅的 | |
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96 suite | |
n.一套(家具);套房;随从人员 | |
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97 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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98 memorable | |
adj.值得回忆的,难忘的,特别的,显著的 | |
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99 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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100 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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101 procured | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 );拉皮条 | |
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102 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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