I don’t know whether you are familiar with that part of the Midlands which is drained by the Avon. It is the most English part of England. Shakespeare, the flower of the whole race, was born right in the middle of it. It is a land of rolling pastures, rising in higher folds to the westwards, until they swell2 into the Malvern Hills. There are no towns, but numerous villages, each with its grey Norman church. You have left the brick of the southern and eastern counties behind you, and everything is stone — stone for the walls, and lichened3 slabs4 of stone for the roofs. It is all grim and solid and massive, as befits the heart of a great nation.
It was in the middle of this country, not very far from Evesham, that Sir John Bollamore lived in the old ancestral home of Thorpe Place, and thither5 it was that I came to teach his two little sons. Sir John was a widower6 — his wife had died three years before — and he had been left with these two lads aged7 eight and ten, and one dear little girl of seven. Miss Witherton, who is now my wife, was governess to this little girl. I was tutor to the two boys. Could there be a more obvious prelude8 to an engagement? She governs me now, and I tutor two little boys of our own. But, there — I have already revealed what it was which I gained in Thorpe Place!
It was a very, very old house, incredibly old — preNorman, some of it — and the Bollamores claimed to have lived in that situation since long before the Conquest. It struck a chill to my heart when first I came there, those enormously thick grey walls, the rude crumbling9 stones, the smell as from a sick animal which exhaled10 from the rotting plaster of the aged building. But the modern wing was bright and the garden was well kept. No house could be dismal11 which had a pretty girl inside it and such a show of roses in front.
Apart from a very complete staff of servants there were only four of us in the household. These were Miss Witherton, who was at that time four-and-twenty and as pretty — well, as pretty as Mrs. Colmore is now — myself, Frank Colmore, aged thirty, Mrs. Stevens, the housekeeper12, a dry, silent woman, and Mr. Richards, a tall military-looking man, who acted as steward13 to the Bollamore estates. We four always had our meals together, but Sir John had his usually alone in the library. Sometimes he joined us at dinner, but on the whole we were just as glad when he did not.
For he was a very formidable person. Imagine a man six feet three inches in height, majestically14 built, with a high-nosed, aristocratic face, brindled16 hair, shaggy eyebrows17, a small, pointed18 Mephistophelian beard, and lines upon his brow and round his eyes as deep as if they had been carved with a penknife. He had grey eyes, weary, hopeless-looking eyes, proud and yet pathetic, eyes which claimed your pity and yet dared you to show it. His back was rounded with study, but otherwise he was as fine a looking man of his age — five-and-fifty perhaps — as any woman would wish to look upon.
But his presence was not a cheerful one. He was always courteous19, always refined, but singularly silent and retiring. I have never lived so long with any man and known so little of him. If he were indoors he spent his time either in his own small study in the Eastern Tower, or in the library in the modern wing. So regular was his routine that one could always say at any hour exactly where he would be. Twice in the day he would visit his study, once after breakfast, and once about ten at night. You might set your watch by the slam of the heavy door. For the rest of the day he would be in his library — save that for an hour or two in the afternoon he would take a walk or a ride, which was solitary20 like the rest of his existence. He loved his children, and was keenly interested in the progress of their studies, but they were a little awed21 by the silent, shaggy-browed figure, and they avoided him as much as they could. Indeed, we all did that.
It was some time before I came to know anything about the circumstances of Sir John Bollamore’s life, for Mrs. Stevens, the housekeeper, and Mr. Richards, the land-steward, were too loyal to talk easily of their employer’s affairs. As to the governess, she knew no more than I did, and our common interest was one of the causes which drew us together. At last, however, an incident occurred which led to a closer acquaintance with Mr. Richards and a fuller knowledge of the life of the man whom I served.
The immediate22 cause of this was no less than the falling of Master Percy, the youngest of my pupils, into the mill-race, with imminent23 danger both to his life and to mine, since I had to risk myself in order to save him. Dripping and exhausted24 — for I was far more spent than the child — I was making for my room when Sir John, who had heard the hubbub25, opened the door of his little study and asked me what was the matter. I told him of the accident, but assured him that his child was in no danger, while he listened with a rugged26, immobile face, which expressed in its intense eyes and tightened27 lips all the emotion which he tried to conceal28.
“One moment! Step in here! Let me have the details!” said he, turning back through the open door.
And so I found myself within that little sanctum, inside which, as I afterwards learned, no other foot had for three years been set save that of the old servant who cleaned it out. It was a round room, conforming to the shape of the tower in which it was situated29, with a low ceiling, a single narrow, ivy-wreathed window, and the simplest of furniture. An old carpet, a single chair, a deal table, and a small shelf of books made up the whole contents. On the table stood a full-length photograph of a woman — I took no particular notice of the features, but I remember, that a certain gracious gentleness was the prevailing30 impression. Beside it were a large black japanned box and one or two bundles of letters or papers fastened together with elastic31 bands.
Our interview was a short one, for Sir John Bollamore perceived that I was soaked, and that I should change without delay. The incident led, however, to an instructive talk with Richards, the agent, who had never penetrated33 into the chamber34 which chance had opened to me. That very afternoon he came to me, all curiosity, and walked up and down the garden path with me, while my two charges played tennis upon the lawn beside us.
“You hardly realize the exception which has been made in your favour,” said he. “That room has been kept such a mystery, and Sir John’s visits to it have been so regular and consistent, that an almost superstitious35 feeling has arisen about it in the household. I assure you that if I were to repeat to you the tales which are flying about, tales of mysterious visitors there, and of voices overheard by the servants, you might suspect that Sir John had relapsed into his old ways.”
“Why do you say relapsed?” I asked.
He looked at me in surprise.
“Is it possible,” said he, “that Sir John Bollamore’s previous history is unknown to you?”
“Absolutely.”
“You astound36 me. I thought that every man in England knew something of his antecedents. I should not mention the matter if it were not that you are now one of ourselves, and that the facts might come to your ears in some harsher form if I were silent upon them. I always took it for granted that you knew that you were in the service of ‘Devil’ Bollamore.”
“But why ‘Devil’?” I asked.
“Ah, you are young and the world moves fast, but twenty years ago the name of ‘Devil’ Bollamore was one of the best known in London. He was the leader of the fastest set, bruiser, driver, gambler, drunkard — a survival of the old type, and as bad as the worst of them.”
I stared at him in amazement38.
“What!” I cried, “that quiet, studious, sad-faced man?”
“The greatest rip and debauchee in England! All between ourselves, Colmore. But you understand now what I mean when I say that a woman’s voice in his room might even now give rise to suspicions.”
“But what can have changed him so?”
“Little Beryl Clare, when she took the risk of becoming his wife. That was the turning point. He had got so far that his own fast set had thrown him over. There is a world of difference, you know, between a man who drinks and a drunkard. They all drink, but they taboo39 a drunkard. He had become a slave to it — hopeless and helpless. Then she stepped in, saw the possibilities of a fine man in the wreck40, took her chance in marrying him though she might have had the pick of a dozen, and, by devoting her life to it, brought him back to manhood and decency41. You have observed that no liquor is ever kept in the house. There never has been any since her foot crossed its threshold. A drop of it would be like blood to a tiger even now.”
“Then her influence still holds him?”
“That is the wonder of it. When she died three years ago, we all expected and feared that he would fall back into his old ways. She feared it herself, and the thought gave a terror to death, for she was like a guardian42 angel to that man, and lived only for the one purpose. By the way, did you see a black japanned box in his room?”
“Yes.”
“I fancy it contains her letters. If ever he has occasion to be away, if only for a single night, he invariably takes his black japanned box with him. Well, well, Colmore, perhaps I have told you rather more than I should, but I shall expect you to reciprocate43 if anything of interest should come to your knowledge.”
I could see that the worthy44 man was consumed with curiosity and just a little piqued45 that I, the newcomer, should have been the first to penetrate32 into the untrodden chamber. But the fact raised me in his esteem46, and from that time onwards I found myself upon more confidential47 terms with him.
And now the silent and majestic15 figure of my employer became an object of greater interest to me. I began to understand that strangely human look in his eyes, those deep lines upon his care-worn face. He was a man who was fighting a ceaseless battle, holding at arm’s length, from morning till night, a horrible adversary48 who was forever trying to close with him — an adversary which would destroy him body and soul could it but fix its claws once more upon him. As I watched the grim, round-backed figure pacing the corridor or walking in the garden, this imminent danger seemed to take bodily shape, and I could almost fancy that I saw this most loathsome49 and dangerous of all the fiends crouching50 closely in his very shadow, like a half-cowed beast which slinks beside its keeper, ready at any unguarded moment to spring at his throat. And the dead woman, the woman who had spent her life in warding51 off this danger, took shape also to my imagination, and I saw her as a shadowy but beautiful presence which intervened for ever with arms uplifted to screen the man whom she loved.
In some subtle way he divined the sympathy which I had for him, and he showed in his own silent fashion that he appreciated it. He even invited me once to share his afternoon walk, and although no word passed between us on this occasion, it was a mark of confidence which he had never shown to anyone before. He asked me also to index his library (it was one of the best private libraries in England), and I spent many hours in the evening in his presence, if not in his society, he reading at his desk and I sitting in a recess52 by the window reducing to order the chaos53 which existed among his books. In spite of these close relations I was never again asked to enter the chamber in the turret54.
And then came my revulsion of feeling. A single incident changed all my sympathy to loathing55, and made me realize that my employer still remained all that he had ever been, with the additional vice37 of hypocrisy56. What happened was as follows.
One evening Miss Witherton had gone down to Broadway, the neighbouring village, to sing at a concert for some charity, and I, according to my promise, had walked over to escort her back. The drive sweeps round under the eastern turret, and I observed as I passed that the light was lit in the circular room. It was a summer evening, and the window, which was a little higher than our heads, was open. We were, as it happened, engrossed57 in our own conversation at the moment and we had paused upon the lawn which skirts the old turret, when suddenly something broke in upon our talk and turned our thoughts away from our own affairs.
It was a voice — the voice undoubtedly58 of a woman. It was low — so low that it was only in that still night air that we could have heard it, but, hushed as it was, there was no mistaking its feminine timbre59. It spoke60 hurriedly, gaspingly for a few sentences, and then was silent — a piteous, breathless, imploring62 sort of voice. Miss Witherton and I stood for an instant staring at each other. Then we walked quickly in the direction of the hall-door.
“It came through the window,” I said.
“We must not play the part of eavesdroppers,” she answered. “We must forget that we have ever heard it.”
There was an absence of surprise in her manner which suggested a new idea to me.
“You have heard it before,” I cried.
“I could not help it. My own room is higher up on the same turret. It has happened frequently.”
“Who can the woman be?”
“I have no idea. I had rather not discuss it.”
Her voice was enough to show me what she thought. But granting that our employer led a double and dubious63 life, who could she be, this mysterious woman who kept him company in the old tower? I knew from my own inspection64 how bleak65 and bare a room it was. She certainly did not live there. But in that case where did she come from? It could not be anyone of the household. They were all under the vigilant66 eyes of Mrs. Stevens. The visitor must come from without. But how?
And then suddenly I remembered how ancient this building was, and how probable that some mediaeval passage existed in it. There is hardly an old castle without one. The mysterious room was the basement of the turret, so that if there were anything of the sort it would open through the floor. There were numerous cottages in the immediate vicinity. The other end of the secret passage might lie among some tangle67 of bramble in the neighbouring copse. I said nothing to anyone, but I felt that the secret of my employer lay within my power.
And the more convinced I was of this the more I marvelled68 at the manner in which he concealed69 his true nature. Often as I watched his austere70 figure, I asked myself if it were indeed possible that such a man should be living this double life, and I tried to persuade myself that my suspicions might after all prove to be ill-founded. But there was the female voice, there was the secret nightly rendezvous71 in the turret-chamber — how could such facts admit of an innocent interpretation72. I conceived a horror of the man. I was filled with loathing at his deep, consistent hypocrisy.
Only once during all those months did I ever see him without that sad but impassive mask which he usually presented towards his fellow-man. For an instant I caught a glimpse of those volcanic73 fires which he had damped down so long. The occasion was an unworthy one, for the object of his wrath74 was none other than the aged charwoman whom I have already mentioned as being the one person who was allowed within his mysterious chamber. I was passing the corridor which led to the turret — for my own room lay in that direction — when I heard a sudden, startled scream, and merged75 in it the husky, growling76 note of a man who is inarticulate with passion. It was the snarl77 of a furious wild beast. Then I heard his voice thrilling with anger. “You would dare!” he cried. “You would dare to disobey my directions!” An instant later the charwoman passed me, flying down the passage, white-faced and tremulous, while the terrible voice thundered behind her. “Go to Mrs. Stevens for your money! Never set foot in Thorpe Place again!” Consumed with curiosity, I could not help following the woman, and found her round the corner leaning against the wall and palpitating like a frightened rabbit.
“What is the matter, Mrs. Brown?” I asked.
“It’s master!” she gasped78. “Oh, ‘ow ‘e frightened me! If you had seen ‘is eyes, Mr. Colmore, sir. I thought ‘e would ‘ave been the death of me.”
“But what had you done?”
“Done, sir! Nothing. At least nothing to make so much of. Just laid my ‘and on that black box of ‘is —‘adn’t even opened it, when in ‘e came and you ‘eard the way ‘e went on. I’ve lost my place, and glad I am of it, for I would never trust myself within reach of ’im again.”
So it was the japanned box which was the cause of this outburst — the box from which he would never permit himself to be separated. What was the connection, or was there any connection between this and the secret visits of the lady whose voice I had overheard? Sir John Bollamore’s wrath was enduring as well as fiery79, for from that day Mrs. Brown, the charwoman, vanished from our ken80, and Thorpe Place knew her no more.
And now I wish to tell you the singular chance which solved all these strange questions and put my employer’s secret in my possession. The story may leave you with some lingering doubts as to whether my curiosity did not get the better of my honour, and whether I did not condescend81 to play the spy. If you choose to think so I cannot help it, but can only assure you that, improbable as it may appear, the matter came about exactly as I describe it.
The first stage in this denouement82 was that the small room in the turret became uninhabitable. This occurred through the fall of the worm-eaten oaken beam which supported the ceiling. Rotten with age, it snapped in the middle one morning, and brought down a quantity of plaster with it. Fortunately Sir John was not in the room at the time. His precious box was rescued from amongst the debris83 and brought into the library, where, henceforward, it was locked within his bureau. Sir John took no steps to repair the damage, and I never had an opportunity of searching for that secret passage, the existence of which I had surmised84. As to the lady, I had thought that this would have brought her visits to an end, had I not one evening heard Mr. Richards asking Mrs. Stevens who the woman was whom he had overheard talking to Sir John in the library. I could not catch her reply, but I saw from her manner that it was not the first time that she had had to answer or avoid the same question.
“You’ve heard the voice, Colmore?” said the agent.
I confessed that I had.
“And what do YOU think of it?”
I shrugged85 my shoulders, and remarked that it was no business of mine.
“Come, come, you are just as curious as any of us. Is it a woman or not?”
“It is certainly a woman.”
“Which room did you hear it from?”
“From the turret-room, before the ceiling fell.”
“But I heard it from the library only last night. I passed the doors as I was going to bed, and I heard something wailing86 and praying just as plainly as I hear you. It may be a woman ——”
“Why, what else COULD it be?”
He looked at me hard.
“There are more things in heaven and earth,” said he. “If it is a woman, how does she get there?”
“I don’t know.”
“No, nor I. But if it is the other thing — but there, for a practical business man at the end of the nineteenth century this is rather a ridiculous line of conversation.” He turned away, but I saw that he felt even more than he had said. To all the old ghost stories of Thorpe Place a new one was being added before our very eyes. It may by this time have taken its permanent place, for though an explanation came to me, it never reached the others.
And my explanation came in this way. I had suffered a sleepless87 night from neuralgia, and about midday I had taken a heavy dose of chlorodyne to alleviate88 the pain. At that time I was finishing the indexing of Sir John Bollamore’s library, and it was my custom to work there from five till seven. On this particular day I struggled against the double effect of my bad night and the narcotic89. I have already mentioned that there was a recess in the library, and in this it was my habit to work. I settled down steadily90 to my task, but my weariness overcame me and, falling back upon the settee, I dropped into a heavy sleep.
How long I slept I do not know, but it was quite dark when I awoke. Confused by the chlorodyne which I had taken, I lay motionless in a semi-conscious state. The great room with its high walls covered with books loomed91 darkly all round me. A dim radiance from the moonlight came through the farther window, and against this lighter92 background I saw that Sir John Bollamore was sitting at his study table. His well-set head and clearly cut profile were sharply outlined against the glimmering93 square behind him. He bent94 as I watched him, and I heard the sharp turning of a key and the rasping of metal upon metal. As if in a dream I was vaguely95 conscious that this was the japanned box which stood in front of him, and that he had drawn96 something out of it, something squat97 and uncouth98, which now lay before him upon the table. I never realized — it never occurred to my bemuddled and torpid99 brain that I was intruding100 upon his privacy, that he imagined himself to be alone in the room. And then, just as it rushed upon my horrified101 perceptions, and I had half risen to announce my presence, I heard a strange, crisp, metallic102 clicking, and then the voice.
Yes, it was a woman’s voice; there could not be a doubt of it. But a voice so charged with entreaty103 and with yearning104 love, that it will ring for ever in my ears. It came with a curious faraway tinkle105, but every word was clear, though faint — very faint, for they were the last words of a dying woman.
“I am not really gone, John,” said the thin, gasping61 voice. “I am here at your very elbow, and shall be until we meet once more. I die happy to think that morning and night you will hear my voice. Oh, John, be strong, be strong, until we meet again.”
I say that I had risen in order to announce my presence, but I could not do so while the voice was sounding. I could only remain half lying, half sitting, paralysed, astounded106, listening to those yearning distant musical words. And he — he was so absorbed that even if I had spoken he might not have heard me. But with the silence of the voice came my half articulated apologies and explanations. He sprang across the room, switched on the electric light, and in its white glare I saw him, his eyes gleaming with anger, his face twisted with passion, as the hapless charwoman may have seen him weeks before.
“Mr. Colmore!” he cried. “You here! What is the meaning of this, sir?”
With halting words I explained it all, my neuralgia, the narcotic, my luckless sleep and singular awakening107. As he listened the glow of anger faded from his face, and the sad, impassive mask closed once more over his features.
“My secret is yours, Mr. Colmore,” said he. “I have only myself to blame for relaxing my precautions. Half confidences are worse than no confidences, and so you may know all since you know so much. The story may go where you will when I have passed away, but until then I rely upon your sense of honour that no human soul shall hear it from your lips. I am proud still — God help me!— or, at least, I am proud enough to resent that pity which this story would draw upon me. I have smiled at envy, and disregarded hatred108, but pity is more than I can tolerate.
“You have heard the source from which the voice comes — that voice which has, as I understand, excited so much curiosity in my household. I am aware of the rumours109 to which it has given rise. These speculations110, whether scandalous or superstitious, are such as I can disregard and forgive. What I should never forgive would be a disloyal spying and eavesdropping111 in order to satisfy an illicit112 curiosity. But of that, Mr. Colmore, I acquit113 you.
“When I was a young man, sir, many years younger than you are now, I was launched upon town without a friend or adviser114, and with a purse which brought only too many false friends and false advisers115 to my side. I drank deeply of the wine of life — if there is a man living who has drunk more deeply he is not a man whom I envy. My purse suffered, my character suffered, my constitution suffered, stimulants116 became a necessity to me, I was a creature from whom my memory recoils117. And it was at that time, the time of my blackest degradation118, that God sent into my life the gentlest, sweetest spirit that ever descended119 as a ministering angel from above. She loved me, broken as I was, loved me, and spent her life in making a man once more of that which had degraded itself to the level of the beasts.
“But a fell disease struck her, and she withered120 away before my eyes. In the hour of her agony it was never of herself, of her own sufferings and her own death that she thought. It was all of me. The one pang121 which her fate brought to her was the fear that when her influence was removed I should revert122 to that which I had been. It was in vain that I made oath to her that no drop of wine would ever cross my lips. She knew only too well the hold that the devil had upon me — she who had striven so to loosen it — and it haunted her night and day the thought that my soul might again be within his grip.
“It was from some friend’s gossip of the sick room that she heard of this invention — this phonograph — and with the quick insight of a loving woman she saw how she might use it for her ends. She sent me to London to procure123 the best which money could buy. With her dying breath she gasped into it the words which have held me straight ever since. Lonely and broken, what else have I in all the world to uphold me? But it is enough. Please God, I shall face her without shame when He is pleased to reunite us! That is my secret, Mr. Colmore, and whilst I live I leave it in your keeping.”
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1
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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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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lichened
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| adj.长满地衣的，长青苔的 | |
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slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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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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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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brindled
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| adj.有斑纹的 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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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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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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32
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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33
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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34
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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35
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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36
astound
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| v.使震惊，使大吃一惊 | |
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37
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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38
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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39
taboo
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| n.禁忌，禁止接近，禁止使用；adj.禁忌的；v.禁忌，禁制，禁止 | |
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40
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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41
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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42
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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43
reciprocate
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| v.往复运动；互换；回报，酬答 | |
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44
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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45
piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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46
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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47
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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48
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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49
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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50
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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51
warding
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| 监护，守护（ward的现在分词形式） | |
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52
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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53
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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54
turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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55
loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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56
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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57
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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58
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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59
timbre
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| n.音色，音质 | |
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60
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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61
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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62
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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63
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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64
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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65
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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67
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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68
marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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70
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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71
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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72
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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73
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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74
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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75
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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76
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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77
snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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78
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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79
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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80
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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81
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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82
denouement
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| n.结尾，结局 | |
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83
debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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84
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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85
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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86
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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87
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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88
alleviate
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| v.减轻，缓和，缓解(痛苦等) | |
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89
narcotic
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| n.麻醉药，镇静剂；adj.麻醉的，催眠的 | |
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90
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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91
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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92
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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93
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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94
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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95
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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96
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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97
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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98
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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99
torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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100
intruding
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| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的现在分词)；把…强加于 | |
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101
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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102
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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103
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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104
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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105
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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106
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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107
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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108
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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109
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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110
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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111
eavesdropping
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| n. 偷听 | |
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112
illicit
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| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
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113
acquit
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| vt.宣判无罪；(oneself)使(自己)表现出 | |
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114
adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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115
advisers
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| 顾问，劝告者( adviser的名词复数 )； （指导大学新生学科问题等的）指导教授 | |
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116
stimulants
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| n.兴奋剂( stimulant的名词复数 )；含兴奋剂的饮料；刺激物；激励物 | |
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117
recoils
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| n.（尤指枪炮的）反冲，后坐力( recoil的名词复数 )v.畏缩( recoil的第三人称单数 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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118
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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119
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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120
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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121
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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122
revert
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| v.恢复，复归，回到 | |
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123
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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