Like all the other choice hotels at Interlaken, the H?tel Jungfrau, kept by Meyer, is situated6 on the H?heweg, a wide promenade7 between double rows of chestnut-trees that vaguely8 reminded Tar-tarin of the beloved Tour de Ville of his native town, minus the sun, the grasshoppers9, and the dust; for during his week’s sojourn10 at Interlaken the rain had never ceased to fall.
He occupied a very fine chamber11 with a balcony on the first floor, and trimmed his beard in the morning before a little hand-glass hanging to the window, an old habit of his when travelling. The first object that daily struck his eyes beyond the fields of grass and corn, the nursery gardens, and an amphitheatre of solemn verdure in rising stages, was the Jungfrau, lifting from the clouds her summit, like a horn, white and pure with unbroken snow, to which was daily clinging a furtive12 ray of the still invisible rising sun. Then between the white and rosy13 Alp and the Alpinist a little dialogue took place regularly, which was not without its grandeur14.
“Tartarin, are you coming?” asked the Jung-frau sternly.
“Here, here . . . ” replied the hero, his thumb under his nose and finishing his beard as fast as possible. Then he would hastily take down his ascensionist outfit15 and, swearing at himself, put it on.
“Coquin de sort! there’s no name for it . . . ”
But a soft voice rose, demure16 and clear among the myrtles in the border beneath his window.
“Good-morning,” said Sonia, as he appeared upon the balcony, “the landau is ready . . . Come, make haste, lazy man . . . ”
“I ‘m coming, I ‘m coming . . . ”
In a trice he had changed his thick flannel17 shirt for linen18 of the finest quality, his mountain knickerbockers for a suit of serpent-green that turned the heads of all the women in Tarascon at the Sunday concerts.
The horses of the landau were pawing before the door; Sonia was already installed beside Boris, paler, more emaciated19 day by day in spite of the beneficent climate of Interlaken. But, regularly, at the moment of starting, Tartarin was fated to see two forms arise from a bench on the promenade and approach him with the heavy rolling step of mountain bears; these were Rodolphe Kaufmann and Christian20 Inebnit, two famous Grindelwald guides, engaged by Tartarin for the ascension of the Jungfrau, who came every morning to ascertain21 if their monsieur were ready to start.
The apparition22 of these two men, in their iron-clamped shoes and fustian23 jackets worn threadbare on the back and shoulder by knapsacks and ropes, their na?ve and serious faces, and the four words of French which they managed to splutter as they twisted their broad-brimmed hats, were a positive torture to Tartarin. In vain he said to them: “Don’t trouble yourselves to come; I ‘ll send for you . . . ”
Every day he found them in the same place and got rid of them by a large coin proportioned to the enormity of his remorse24. Enchanted25 with this method of “doing the Jungfrau,” the mountaineers pocketed their trinkgeld gravely, and took, with resigned step, the path to their native village, leaving Tartarin confused and despairing at his own weakness. Then the broad open air, the flowering plains reflected in the limpid27 pupils of Sonia’s eyes, the touch of her little foot against his boot in the carriage . . . The devil take that Jungfrau! The hero thought only of his love, or rather of the mission he had given himself to bring back into the right path that poor little Sonia, so unconsciously criminal, cast by sisterly devotion outside of the law, and outside of human nature.
This was the motive28 that kept him at Interlaken, in the same hotel as the Wassiliefs. At his age, with his air of a good papa, he certainly could not dream of making that poor child love him, but he saw her so sweet, so brave, so generous to all the unfortunates of her party, so devoted29 to that brother whom the mines of Siberia had sent back to her, his body eaten with ulcers30, poisoned with verdigris31, and he himself condemned32 to death by phthisis more surely than by any court. There was enough in all that to touch a man!
Tartarin proposed to take them to Tarascon and settle them in a villa26 full of sun at the gates of the town, that good little town where it never rains and where life is spent in fêtes and song. And with that he grew excited, rattled33 a tambourine34 air on the crown of his hat, and trolled out the gay native chorus of the farandole dance:
Lagadigadeoù
La Tarasque, la Tarasque,
Lagadigadeoù
La Tarasque de Casteoù.
But while a satirical smile pinched still closer the lips of the sick man, Sonia shook her head. Neither fêtes nor sun for her so long as the Russians groaned35 beneath the yoke36 of the tyrant37. As soon as her brother was well — her despairing eyes said another thing — nothing could prevent her from returning up there to suffer and die in the sacred cause.
“But, coquin de bon sort!“ cried Tartarin, “if you blow up one tyrant there ‘ll come another . . . You will have it all to do over again . . . And the years will go by, vé! the days for happiness and love . . . ” His way of saying love —amour—à la Tarasconese, with three r’s in it and his eyes starting out of his head, amused the young girl; then, serious once more, she declared she would never love any man but the one who delivered her country. Yes, that man, were he as ugly as Bolibine, more rustic38 and common than Manilof, she was ready to give herself wholly to him, to live at his side, a free gift, as long as her youth lasted and the man wished for her.
“Free gift!” the term used by Nihilists to express those illegal unions they contract among themselves by reciprocal consent. And of such primitive39 marriage Sonia spoke40 tranquilly41 with her virgin42 air before the Tarasconese, who, worthy43 bourgeois44, peaceful elector, was now ready to spend his days beside that adorable girl in the said state of “free gift” if she had not added those murderous and abominable45 conditions.
While they were conversing46 of these extremely delicate matters, the fields, the lakes, the forests, the mountains lay spread before them, and always at each new turn, through the cool mist of that perpetual shower which accompanied our hero on all his excursions, the Jungfrau raised her white crest47, as if to poison by remorse those delicious hours. They returned to breakfast at a vast table d’h?te where the Rices and Prunes49 continued their silent hostilities50, to which Tartarin was wholly indifferent, seated by Sonia, watching that Boris had no open window at his back, assiduous, paternal51, exhibiting all his seductions as man of the world and his domestic qualities as an excellent cabbage-rabbit.
After this, he took tea with the Russians in their little salon opening on a tiny garden at the end of the terrace. Another exquisite52 hour for Tartarin of intimate chat in a low voice while Boris slept on a sofa. The hot water bubbled in the samovar; a perfume of moist flowers slipped through the half-opened door with the blue reflection of the solanums that were clustering about it. A little more sun, more warmth, and here was his dream realized, his pretty Russian installed beside him, taking care of the garden of the baobab.
Suddenly Sonia gave a jump.
“Two o’clock!.. And the letters?”
“I’m going for them,” said the good Tartarin, and, merely from the tones of his voice and the resolute53, theatrical54 gesture with which he buttoned his coat and seized his cane55, any one would have guessed the gravity of the action, apparently56 so simple, of going to the post-office to fetch the Wassilief letters.
Closely watched by the local authorities and the Russian police, all Nihilists, but especially their leaders, are compelled to take certain precautions, such as having their letters and papers addressed poste restante to simple initials.
Since their installation at Interlaken, Boris being scarcely able to drag himself about, Tartarin, to spare Sonia the annoyance57 of waiting in line before the post-office wicket exposed to inquisitive58 eyes, had taken upon himself the risks and perils59 of this daily nuisance. The post-office is not more than ten minutes’ walk from the hotel, in a wide and noisy street at the end of a promenade lined with cafés, breweries60, shops for the tourists displaying alpenstocks, gaiters, straps61, opera-glasses, smoked glasses, flasks62, travelling-bags, all of which articles seemed placed there expressly to shame the renegade Alpinist. Tourists were defiling63 in caravans64, with horses, guides, mules65, veils green and blue, and a tintinnabulation of canteens as the animals ambled66, the ice-picks marking each step on the cobble-stones. But this festive67 scene, hourly renewed, left Tartarin indifferent. He never even felt the fresh north wind with a touch of snow coming in gusts68 from the mountains, so intent was he on baffling the spies whom he supposed to be upon his traces.
The foremost soldier of a vanguard, the sharpshooter skirting the walls of an enemy’s town, never advanced with more mistrust than the Taras-conese hero while crossing the short distance between the hotel and the post-office. At the slightest heel-tap sounding behind his own, he stopped, looked attentively69 at the photographs in the windows, or fingered an English or German book lying on a stall, to oblige the police spy to pass him. Or else he turned suddenly round, to stare with ferocious70 eyes at a stout71 servant-girl going to market, or some harmless tourist, a table d’h?te Prune48, who, taking him for a madman, turned off, alarmed, from the sidewalk to avoid him.
When he reached the office, where the wickets open, rather oddly, into the street itself, Tartarin passed and repassed, to observe the surrounding physiognomies before he himself approached: then, suddenly darting72 forward, he inserted his whole head and shoulders into the opening, muttered a few indistinct syllables73 (which they always made him repeat, to his great despair), and, possessor at last of the mysterious trust, he returned to the hotel by a great détour on the kitchen side, his hand in his pocket clutching the package of letters and papers, prepared to tear up and swallow everything at the first alarm.
Manilof and Bolibine were usually awaiting his return with the Wassiliefs. They did not lodge74 in the hotel, out of prudence75 and economy. Bolibine had found work in a printing-office, and Manilof, a very clever cabinetmaker, was employed by a builder. Tartarin did not like them: one annoyed him by his grimaces76 and his jeering77 airs; the other kept looking at him savagely78. Besides, they took too much space in Sonia’s heart.
“He is a hero!” she said of Bolibine; and she told how for three years he had printed all alone, in the very heart of St. Petersburg, a revolutionary paper. Three years without ever leaving his upper room, or showing himself at a window, sleeping at night in a great cupboard built in the wall, where the woman who lodged79 him locked him up till morning with his clandestine80 press.
And then, that life of Manilof, spent for six months in the subterranean81 passages beneath the Winter Palace, watching his opportunity, sleeping at night on his provision of dynamite82, which resulted in giving him frightful headaches, and nervous troubles; all this, aggravated83 by perpetual anxiety, sudden irruptions of the police, vaguely informed that something was plotting, and coming, suddenly and unexpectedly, to surprise the workmen employed at the Palace. On one of the rare occasions when Manilof came out of the mine, he met on the Place de l’Amirauté a delegate of the Revolutionary Committee, who asked him in a low voice, as he walked along:
“Is it finished?”
“No, not yet . . . ” said the other, scarcely moving his lips. At last, on an evening in February, to the same question in the same words he answered, with the greatest calmness:
“It is finished . . . ”
And almost immediately a horrible uproar84 confirmed his words, all the lights of the palace went out suddenly, the place was plunged85 into complete obscurity, rent by cries of agony and terror, the blowing of bugles86, the galloping87 of soldiers, and firemen tearing along with their trucks.
Here Sonia interrupted her tale:
“Is it not horrible, so many human lives sacrificed, such efforts, such courage, such wasted intelligence?.. No, no, it is a bad means, these butcheries in the mass . . . He who should be killed always escapes . . . The true way, the most humane88, would be to seek the czar himself as you seek the lion, fully89 determined90, fully armed, post yourself at a window or the door of a carriage . . . and, when he passes. . . . .”
“Bé! yes, certainemain . . . ” responded Tartarin embarrassed, and pretending not to seize her meaning; then, suddenly, he would launch into a philosophical91, humanitarian92 discussion with one of the numerous assistants. For Bolibine and Manilof were not the only visitors to the Wassiliefs. Every day new faces appeared of young people, men or women, with the cut of poor students; elated teachers, blond and rosy, with the self-willed forehead and the childlike ferocity of Sonia; outlawed93 exiles, some of them already condemned to death, which lessened94 in no way their youthful expansiveness.
They laughed, they talked openly, and as most of them spoke French, Tartarin was soon at his ease. They called him “uncle,” conscious of something childlike and artless about him that they liked. Perhaps he was over-ready with his hunting tales; turning up his sleeve to his biceps in order to show the scar of a blow from a panther’s claws, or making his hearers feel beneath his beard the holes left there by the fangs95 of a lion; perhaps also he became too rapidly familiar with these persons, catching96 them round the waist, leaning on their shoulders, calling them by their Christian names after five minutes’ intercourse97:
“Listen, Dmitri . . . ” “You know me, Fédor Ivanovich . . . ” They knew him only since yesterday, in any case; but they liked him all the same for his jovial98 frankness, his amiable99, trustful air, and his readiness to please. They read their letters before him, planned their plots, and told their passwords to foil the police: a whole atmosphere of conspiracy100 which amused the imagination of the Tarasconese hero immensely: so that, however opposed by nature to acts of violence, he could not help, at times, discussing their homicidal plans, approving, criticising, and giving advice dictated101 by the experience of a great leader who has trod the path of war, trained to the handling of all weapons, and to hand-to-hand conflicts with wild beasts.
One day, when they told in his presence of the murder of a policeman, stabbed by a Nihilist at the theatre, Tartarin showed them how badly the blow had been struck, and gave them a lesson in knifing.
“Like this, vé! from the top down. Then there’s no risk of wounding yourself . . . ”
And, excited by his own imitation:
“Let’s suppose, té! that I hold your despot between four eyes in a boar-hunt He is over there, where you are, Fédor, and I’m here, near this round table, each of us with our hunting-knife . . . Come on, monseigneur, we ‘ll have it out now . . . ”
Planting himself in the middle of the salon, gathering102 his sturdy legs under him for a spring, and snorting like a woodchopper, he mimicked103 a real fight, ending by his cry of triumph as he plunged the weapon to the hilt, from the top down, coquin de sort! into the bowels104 of his adversary105.
“That’s how it ought to be done, my little fellows!”
But what subsequent remorse! what anguish106 when, escaping from the magnetism107 of Sonia’s blue eyes, he found himself alone, in his nightcap, alone with his reflections and his nightly glass of eau sucrée!
Différemment, what was he meddling108 with? The czar was not his czar, decidedly, and all these matters didn’t concern him in the least . . . And don’t you see that some of these days he would be captured, extradited and delivered over to Muscovite justice . . . Boufre! they don’t joke, those Cossacks . . . And in the obscurity of his hotel chamber, with that horrible imaginative faculty109 which the horizontal position increases, there developed before him — like one of those unfolding pictures given to him in childhood — the various and terrible punishments to which he should be subjected: Tartarin in the verdigris mines, like Boris, working in water to his belly110, his body ulcerated, poisoned. He escapes, he hides amid forests laden111 with snow, pursued by Tartars and bloodhounds trained to hunt men. Exhausted112 with cold and hunger, he is retaken and finally hung between two thieves, embraced by a pope with greasy113 hair smelling of brandy and seal-oil; while away down there, at Tarascon in the sunshine, the band playing of a fine Sunday, the crowd, the ungrateful crowd, are installing a radiant Costecalde in the chair of the P. C. A.
It was during the agony of one of these dreadful dreams that he uttered his cry of distress114, “Help, help, Bézuquet!” and sent to the apothecary115 that confidential116 letter, all moist with the sweat of his nightmare. But Sonia’s pretty “Good morning” beneath his window sufficed to cast him back into the weaknesses of indecision.
One evening, returning from the Kursaal to the hotel with the Wassiliefs and Bolibine, after two hours of intoxicating117 music, the unfortunate man forgot all prudence, and the “Sonia, I love you,” which he had so long restrained, was uttered as he pressed the arm that rested on his own. She was not agitated118. Perfectly119 pale, she gazed at him under the gas of the portico120 on which they had paused: “Then deserve me . . . ” she said, with a pretty enigmatical smile, a smile that gleamed upon her delicate white teeth. Tartarin was about to reply, to bind121 himself by an oath to some criminal madness when the porter of the hotel came up to him:
“There are persons waiting for you, upstairs . . . some gentlemen . . . They want you.”
“Want me!.. Outre!.. What for?” And No. 1 of his folding series appeared before him: Tartarin captured, extradited . . . Of course he was frightened, but his attitude was heroic. Quickly detaching himself from Sonia: “Fly, save yourself!” he said to her in a smothered122 voice. Then he mounted the stairs as if to the scaffold, his head high, his eyes proud, but so disturbed in mind that he was forced to cling to the baluster.
As he entered the corridor, he saw persons grouped at the farther end of it before his door, looking through the keyhole, rapping, and calling out: “Hey! Tartarin . . . ”
He made two steps forward, and said, with parched123 lips: “Is it I whom you are seeking, messieurs?”
“Te! pardi, yes, my president!.”
And a little old man, alert and wiry, dressed in gray, and apparently bringing on his coat, his hat, his gaiters and his long and pendent moustache all the dust of his native town, fell upon the neck of the hero and rubbed against his smooth fat cheeks the withered124 leathery skin of the retired125 captain of equipment.
“Bravida!.. not possible!.. Excourbaniès too!.. and who is that over there?..”
A bleating126 answered: “Dear ma-a-aster!..” and the pupil advanced, banging against the wall a sort of long fishing-rod with a packet at one end wrapped in gray paper, and oilcloth tied round it with string.
“Hey! vè! why it’s Pascalon . . . Embrace me, little one . . . What’s that you are carrying?.. Put it down . . . ”
“The paper . . . take off the paper!..” whispered Bravida. The youth undid127 the roll with a rapid hand and the Tarasconese banner was displayed to the eyes of the amazed Tartarin.
The delegates took off their hats.
“President”— the voice of Bravida trembled solemnly —“you asked for the banner and we have brought it, té!“
The president opened a pair of eyes as round as apples: “I! I asked for it?”
“What! you did not ask for it? Bézuquet said so.
“Yes, yes, certainemain . . . ” said Tartarin, suddenly enlightened by the mention of Bézuquet. He understood all and guessed the rest, and, tenderly moved by the ingenious lie of the apothecary to recall him to a sense of duty and honour, he choked, and stammered128 in his short beard: “Ah! my children, how kind you are! What good you have done me!”
“Vive le présidain!“ yelped129 Pascalon, brandishing130 the oriflamme. Excourbaniès’ gong responded, rolling its war-cry (” Ha! ha! ha! fen131 dé brut..") to the very cellars of the hotel. Doors opened, inquisitive heads protruded132 on every floor and then disappeared, alarmed, before that standard and the dark and hairy men who were roaring singular words and tossing their arms in the air. Never had the peaceable H?tel Jungfrau been subjected to such a racket.
“Come into my room,” said Tartarin, rather disconcerted. He was feeling about in the darkness to find matches when an authoritative133 rap on the door made it open of itself to admit the consequential134, yellow, and puffy face of the innkeeper Meyer. He was about to enter, but stopped short before the darkness of the room, and said with closed teeth:
“Try to keep quiet . . . or I ‘ll have you taken up by the police . . . ”
A grunt135 as of wild bulls issued from the shadow at that brutal136 term “taken up.” The hotel-keeper recoiled137 one step, but added: “It is known who you are; they have their eye upon you; for my part, I don’t want any more such persons in my house!..”
“Monsieur Meyer,” said Tartarin, gently, politely, but very firmly . . . “Send me my bill . . . These gentlemen and myself start to-morrow morning for the Jungfrau.”
O native soil! O little country within a great one! by only hearing the Tarasconese accent, quivering still with the air of that beloved land beneath the azure138 folds of its banner, behold139 Tartarin, delivered from love and its snares140 and restored to his friends, his mission, his glory.
And now, zou!
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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delegation
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| n.代表团；派遣 | |
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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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promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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grasshoppers
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| n.蚱蜢( grasshopper的名词复数 )；蝗虫；蚂蚱；（孩子）矮小的 | |
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sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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fustian
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| n.浮夸的；厚粗棉布 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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motive
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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ulcers
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| n.溃疡( ulcer的名词复数 )；腐烂物；道德败坏；腐败 | |
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verdigris
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| n.铜锈；铜绿 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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tambourine
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| n.铃鼓，手鼓 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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yoke
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tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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rustic
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primitive
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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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tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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44
bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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45
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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46
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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47
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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48
prune
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| n.酶干；vt.修剪，砍掉，削减；vi.删除 | |
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49
prunes
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| n.西梅脯，西梅干( prune的名词复数 )v.修剪（树木等）( prune的第三人称单数 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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50
hostilities
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| n.战争；敌意(hostility的复数)；敌对状态；战事 | |
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51
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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52
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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53
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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54
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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55
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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56
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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57
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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58
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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59
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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60
breweries
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| 酿造厂，啤酒厂( brewery的名词复数 ) | |
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61
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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62
flasks
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| n.瓶，长颈瓶， 烧瓶( flask的名词复数 ) | |
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63
defiling
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| v.玷污( defile的现在分词 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
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64
caravans
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| （可供居住的）拖车（通常由机动车拖行）( caravan的名词复数 )； 篷车； （穿过沙漠地带的）旅行队（如商队） | |
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65
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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66
ambled
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的过去式和过去分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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67
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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68
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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69
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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70
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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72
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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73
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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74
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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75
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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76
grimaces
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| n.（表蔑视、厌恶等）面部扭曲，鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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77
jeering
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| adj.嘲弄的，揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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78
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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79
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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80
clandestine
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| adj.秘密的，暗中从事的 | |
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81
subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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82
dynamite
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| n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
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83
aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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84
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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85
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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86
bugles
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| 妙脆角，一种类似薯片但做成尖角或喇叭状的零食； 号角( bugle的名词复数 )； 喇叭； 匍匐筋骨草； （装饰女服用的）柱状玻璃（或塑料）小珠 | |
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87
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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88
humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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89
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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90
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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91
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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92
humanitarian
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| n.人道主义者，博爱者，基督凡人论者 | |
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93
outlawed
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| 宣布…为不合法（outlaw的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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94
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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95
fangs
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| n.（尤指狗和狼的）长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 )；（蛇的）毒牙；罐座 | |
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96
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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97
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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98
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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99
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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100
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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101
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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102
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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103
mimicked
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的过去式和过去分词 )；酷似 | |
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104
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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105
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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106
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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107
magnetism
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| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
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108
meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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109
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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110
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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111
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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112
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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113
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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114
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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115
apothecary
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| n.药剂师 | |
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116
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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117
intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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118
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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119
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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120
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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121
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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122
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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123
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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124
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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125
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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126
bleating
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的现在分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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127
Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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128
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
yelped
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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131
fen
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| n.沼泽，沼池 | |
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132
protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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134
consequential
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| adj.作为结果的，间接的；重要的 | |
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135
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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136
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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137
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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138
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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139
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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140
snares
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| n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 )；圈套；诱人遭受失败（丢脸、损失等）的东西；诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
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