Savely listened to all this din19 and frowned. The fact was that he knew, or at any rate suspected, what all this racket outside the window was tending to and whose handiwork it was.
“I know!” he muttered, shaking his finger menacingly under the bedclothes; “I know all about it.”
On a stool by the window sat the sexton’s wife, Raissa Nilovna. A tin lamp standing20 on another stool, as though timid and distrustful of its powers, shed a dim and flickering21 light on her broad shoulders, on the handsome, tempting-looking contours of her person, and on her thick plait, which reached to the floor. She was making sacks out of coarse hempen22 stuff. Her hands moved nimbly, while her whole body, her eyes, her eyebrows23, her full lips, her white neck were as still as though they were asleep, absorbed in the monotonous24, mechanical toil25. Only from time to time she raised her head to rest her weary neck, glanced for a moment towards the window, beyond which the snowstorm was raging, and bent26 again over her sacking. No desire, no joy, no grief, nothing was expressed by her handsome face with its turned-up nose and its dimples. So a beautiful fountain expresses nothing when it is not playing.
But at last she had finished a sack. She flung it aside, and, stretching luxuriously27, rested her motionless, lack-lustre eyes on the window. The panes28 were swimming with drops like tears, and white with short-lived snowflakes which fell on the window, glanced at Raissa, and melted. . . .
“Come to bed!” growled29 the sexton. Raissa remained mute. But suddenly her eyelashes flickered30 and there was a gleam of attention in her eye. Savely, all the time watching her expression from under the quilt, put out his head and asked:
“What is it?”
“Nothing. . . . I fancy someone’s coming,” she answered quietly.
The sexton flung the quilt off with his arms and legs, knelt up in bed, and looked blankly at his wife. The timid light of the lamp illuminated31 his hirsute32, pock-marked countenance33 and glided34 over his rough matted hair.
“Do you hear?” asked his wife.
Through the monotonous roar of the storm he caught a scarcely audible thin and jingling35 monotone like the shrill36 note of a gnat37 when it wants to settle on one’s cheek and is angry at being prevented.
“It’s the post,” muttered Savely, squatting38 on his heels.
Two miles from the church ran the posting road. In windy weather, when the wind was blowing from the road to the church, the inmates39 of the hut caught the sound of bells.
“Lord! fancy people wanting to drive about in such weather,” sighed Raissa.
“It’s government work. You’ve to go whether you like or not.”
The murmur40 hung in the air and died away.
“It has driven by,” said Savely, getting into bed.
But before he had time to cover himself up with the bedclothes he heard a distinct sound of the bell. The sexton looked anxiously at his wife, leapt out of bed and walked, waddling41, to and fro by the stove. The bell went on ringing for a little, then died away again as though it had ceased.
“I don’t hear it,” said the sexton, stopping and looking at his wife with his eyes screwed up.
But at that moment the wind rapped on the window and with it floated a shrill jingling note. Savely turned pale, cleared his throat, and flopped42 about the floor with his bare feet again.
“The postman is lost in the storm,” he wheezed43 out glancing malignantly44 at his wife. “Do you hear? The postman has lost his way!.. I . . . I know! Do you suppose I.. don’t understand? ” he muttered. “I know all about it, curse you!”
“What do you know?” Raissa asked quietly, keeping her eyes fixed45 on the window.
“I know that it’s all your doing, you she-devil! Your doing, damn you! This snowstorm and the post going wrong, you’ve done it all — you!”
“You’re mad, you silly,” his wife answered calmly.
“I’ve been watching you for a long time past and I’ve seen it. From the first day I married you I noticed that you’d bitch’s blood in you!”
“Tfoo!” said Raissa, surprised, shrugging her shoulders and crossing herself. “Cross yourself, you fool!”
“A witch is a witch,” Savely pronounced in a hollow, tearful voice, hurriedly blowing his nose on the hem15 of his shirt; “though you are my wife, though you are of a clerical family, I’d say what you are even at confession46. . . . Why, God have mercy upon us! Last year on the Eve of the Prophet Daniel and the Three Young Men there was a snowstorm, and what happened then? The mechanic came in to warm himself. Then on St. Alexey’s Day the ice broke on the river and the district policeman turned up, and he was chatting with you all night . . . the damned brute47! And when he came out in the morning and I looked at him, he had rings under his eyes and his cheeks were hollow! Eh? During the August fast there were two storms and each time the huntsman turned up. I saw it all, damn him! Oh, she is redder than a crab48 now, aha!”
“You didn’t see anything.”
“Didn’t I! And this winter before Christmas on the Day of the Ten Martyrs49 of Crete, when the storm lasted for a whole day and night — do you remember? — the marshal’s clerk was lost, and turned up here, the hound. . . . Tfoo! To be tempted50 by the clerk! It was worth upsetting God’s weather for him! A drivelling scribbler, not a foot from the ground, pimples51 all over his mug and his neck awry52! If he were good-looking, anyway — but he, tfoo! he is as ugly as Satan!”
The sexton took breath, wiped his lips and listened. The bell was not to be heard, but the wind banged on the roof, and again there came a tinkle53 in the darkness.
“And it’s the same thing now!” Savely went on. “It’s not for nothing the postman is lost! Blast my eyes if the postman isn’t looking for you! Oh, the devil is a good hand at his work; he is a fine one to help! He will turn him round and round and bring him here. I know, I see! You can’t conceal54 it, you devil’s bauble55, you heathen wanton! As soon as the storm began I knew what you were up to.”
“Here’s a fool!” smiled his wife. “Why, do you suppose, you thick-head, that I make the storm?”
“H’m! . . . Grin away! Whether it’s your doing or not, I only know that when your blood’s on fire there’s sure to be bad weather, and when there’s bad weather there’s bound to be some crazy fellow turning up here. It happens so every time! So it must be you!”
To be more impressive the sexton put his finger to his forehead, closed his left eye, and said in a singsong voice:
“Oh, the madness! oh, the unclean Judas! If you really are a human being and not a witch, you ought to think what if he is not the mechanic, or the clerk, or the huntsman, but the devil in their form! Ah! You’d better think of that!”
“Why, you are stupid, Savely,” said his wife, looking at him compassionately56. “When father was alive and living here, all sorts of people used to come to him to be cured of the ague: from the village, and the hamlets, and the Armenian settlement. They came almost every day, and no one called them devils. But if anyone once a year comes in bad weather to warm himself, you wonder at it, you silly, and take all sorts of notions into your head at once.”
His wife’s logic57 touched Savely. He stood with his bare feet wide apart, bent his head, and pondered. He was not firmly convinced yet of the truth of his suspicions, and his wife’s genuine and unconcerned tone quite disconcerted him. Yet after a moment’s thought he wagged his head and said:
“It’s not as though they were old men or bandy-legged cripples; it’s always young men who want to come for the night . . . . Why is that? And if they only wanted to warm themselves —— But they are up to mischief58. No, woman; there’s no creature in this world as cunning as your female sort! Of real brains you’ve not an ounce, less than a starling, but for devilish slyness — oo-oo-oo! The Queen of Heaven protect us! There is the postman’s bell! When the storm was only beginning I knew all that was in your mind. That’s your witchery, you spider!”
“Why do you keep on at me, you heathen?” His wife lost her patience at last. “Why do you keep sticking to it like pitch?”
“I stick to it because if anything — God forbid — happens to-night . . . do you hear? . . . if anything happens to-night, I’ll go straight off to-morrow morning to Father Nikodim and tell him all about it. ‘Father Nikodim,’ I shall say, ‘graciously excuse me, but she is a witch.’ ‘Why so?’ ‘H’m! do you want to know why?’ ‘Certainly. . . . ’ And I shall tell him. And woe59 to you, woman! Not only at the dread60 Seat of Judgment61, but in your earthly life you’ll be punished, too! It’s not for nothing there are prayers in the breviary against your kind!”
Suddenly there was a knock at the window, so loud and unusual that Savely turned pale and almost dropped backwards62 with fright. His wife jumped up, and she, too, turned pale.
“For God’s sake, let us come in and get warm!” they heard in a trembling deep bass63. “Who lives here? For mercy’s sake! We’ve lost our way.”
“Who are you?” asked Raissa, afraid to look at the window.
“The post,” answered a second voice.
“You’ve succeeded with your devil’s tricks,” said Savely with a wave of his hand. “No mistake; I am right! Well, you’d better look out!”
The sexton jumped on to the bed in two skips, stretched himself on the feather mattress64, and sniffing65 angrily, turned with his face to the wall. Soon he felt a draught66 of cold air on his back. The door creaked and the tall figure of a man, plastered over with snow from head to foot, appeared in the doorway67. Behind him could be seen a second figure as white.
“Am I to bring in the bags?” asked the second in a hoarse68 bass voice.
“You can’t leave them there.” Saying this, the first figure began untying69 his hood70, but gave it up, and pulling it off impatiently with his cap, angrily flung it near the stove. Then taking off his greatcoat, he threw that down beside it, and, without saying good-evening, began pacing up and down the hut.
He was a fair-haired, young postman wearing a shabby uniform and black rusty-looking high boots. After warming himself by walking to and fro, he sat down at the table, stretched out his muddy feet towards the sacks and leaned his chin on his fist. His pale face, reddened in places by the cold, still bore vivid traces of the pain and terror he had just been through. Though distorted by anger and bearing traces of recent suffering, physical and moral, it was handsome in spite of the melting snow on the eyebrows, moustaches, and short beard.
“It’s a dog’s life!” muttered the postman, looking round the walls and seeming hardly able to believe that he was in the warmth. “We were nearly lost! If it had not been for your light, I don’t know what would have happened. Goodness only knows when it will all be over! There’s no end to this dog’s life! Where have we come?” he asked, dropping his voice and raising his eyes to the sexton’s wife.
“To the Gulyaevsky Hill on General Kalinovsky’s estate,” she answered, startled and blushing.
“Do you hear, Stepan?” The postman turned to the driver, who was wedged in the doorway with a huge mail-bag on his shoulders. “We’ve got to Gulyaevsky Hill.”
“Yes . . . we’re a long way out.” Jerking out these words like a hoarse sigh, the driver went out and soon after returned with another bag, then went out once more and this time brought the postman’s sword on a big belt, of the pattern of that long flat blade with which Judith is portrayed71 by the bedside of Holofernes in cheap woodcuts. Laying the bags along the wall, he went out into the outer room, sat down there and lighted his pipe.
“Perhaps you’d like some tea after your journey?” Raissa inquired.
“How can we sit drinking tea?” said the postman, frowning. “We must make haste and get warm, and then set off, or we shall be late for the mail train. We’ll stay ten minutes and then get on our way. Only be so good as to show us the way.”
“What an infliction72 it is, this weather!” sighed Raissa.
“H’m, yes. . . . Who may you be?”
“We? We live here, by the church. . . . We belong to the clergy73. . . . There lies my husband. Savely, get up and say good-evening! This used to be a separate parish till eighteen months ago. Of course, when the gentry74 lived here there were more people, and it was worth while to have the services. But now the gentry have gone, and I need not tell you there’s nothing for the clergy to live on. The nearest village is Markovka, and that’s over three miles away. Savely is on the retired75 list now, and has got the watchman’s job; he has to look after the church. . . . ”
And the postman was immediately informed that if Savely were to go to the General’s lady and ask her for a letter to the bishop76, he would be given a good berth77. “But he doesn’t go to the General’s lady because he is lazy and afraid of people. We belong to the clergy all the same . . . ” added Raissa.
“What do you live on?” asked the postman.
“There’s a kitchen garden and a meadow belonging to the church. Only we don’t get much from that,” sighed Raissa. “The old skinflint, Father Nikodim, from the next village celebrates here on St. Nicolas’ Day in the winter and on St. Nicolas’ Day in the summer, and for that he takes almost all the crops for himself. There’s no one to stick up for us!”
“You are lying,” Savely growled hoarsely78. “Father Nikodim is a saintly soul, a luminary79 of the Church; and if he does take it, it’s the regulation!”
“You’ve a cross one!” said the postman, with a grin. “Have you been married long?”
“It was three years ago the last Sunday before Lent. My father was sexton here in the old days, and when the time came for him to die, he went to the Consistory and asked them to send some unmarried man to marry me that I might keep the place. So I married him.”
“Aha, so you killed two birds with one stone!” said the postman, looking at Savely’s back. “Got wife and job together.”
Savely wriggled80 his leg impatiently and moved closer to the wall. The postman moved away from the table, stretched, and sat down on the mail-bag. After a moment’s thought he squeezed the bags with his hands, shifted his sword to the other side, and lay down with one foot touching81 the floor.
“It’s a dog’s life,” he muttered, putting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. “I wouldn’t wish a wild Tatar such a life.”
Soon everything was still. Nothing was audible except the sniffing of Savely and the slow, even breathing of the sleeping po stman, who uttered a deep prolonged “h-h-h” at every breath. From time to time there was a sound like a creaking wheel in his throat, and his twitching82 foot rustled83 against the bag.
Savely fidgeted under the quilt and looked round slowly. His wife was sitting on the stool, and with her hands pressed against her cheeks was gazing at the postman’s face. Her face was immovable, like the face of some one frightened and astonished.
“Well, what are you gaping84 at?” Savely whispered angrily.
“What is it to you? Lie down!” answered his wife without taking her eyes off the flaxen head.
Savely angrily puffed85 all the air out of his chest and turned abruptly86 to the wall. Three minutes later he turned over restlessly again, knelt up on the bed, and with his hands on the pillow looked askance at his wife. She was still sitting motionless, staring at the visitor. Her cheeks were pale and her eyes were glowing with a strange fire. The sexton cleared his throat, crawled on his stomach off the bed, and going up to the postman, put a handkerchief over his face.
“What’s that for?” asked his wife.
“To keep the light out of his eyes.”
“Then put out the light!”
Savely looked distrustfully at his wife, put out his lips towards the lamp, but at once thought better of it and clasped his hands.
“Isn’t that devilish cunning?” he exclaimed. “Ah! Is there any creature slyer than womenkind?”
“Ah, you long-skirted devil!” hissed87 his wife, frowning with vexation. “You wait a bit!”
And settling herself more comfortably, she stared at the postman again.
It did not matter to her that his face was covered. She was not so much interested in his face as in his whole appearance, in the novelty of this man. His chest was broad and powerful, his hands were slender and well formed, and his graceful88, muscular legs were much comelier89 than Savely’s stumps90. There could be no comparison, in fact.
“Though I am a long-skirted devil,” Savely said after a brief interval91, “they’ve no business to sleep here. . . . It’s government work; we shall have to answer for keeping them. If you carry the letters, carry them, you can’t go to sleep . . . . Hey! you!” Savely shouted into the outer room. “You, driver. What’s your name? Shall I show you the way? Get up; postmen mustn’t sleep!”
And Savely, thoroughly92 roused, ran up to the postman and tugged93 him by the sleeve.
“Hey, your honour, if you must go, go; and if you don’t, it’s not the thing. . . . Sleeping won’t do.”
The postman jumped up, sat down, looked with blank eyes round the hut, and lay down again.
“But when are you going?” Savely pattered away. “That’s what the post is for — to get there in good time, do you hear? I’ll take you.”
The postman opened his eyes. Warmed and relaxed by his first sweet sleep, and not yet quite awake, he saw as through a mist the white neck and the immovable, alluring94 eyes of the sexton’s wife. He closed his eyes and smiled as though he had been dreaming it all.
“Come, how can you go in such weather!” he heard a soft feminine voice; “you ought to have a sound sleep and it would do you good!”
“And what about the post?” said Savely anxiously. “Who’s going to take the post? Are you going to take it, pray, you?
The postman opened his eyes again, looked at the play of the dimples on Raissa’s face, remembered where he was, and understood Savely. The thought that he had to go out into the cold darkness sent a chill shudder95 all down him, and he winced96.
“I might sleep another five minutes,” he said, yawning. “I shall be late, anyway. . . . ”
“We might be just in time,” came a voice from the outer room. “All days are not alike; the train may be late for a bit of luck.”
The postman got up, and stretching lazily began putting on his coat.
Savely positively97 neighed with delight when he saw his visitors were getting ready to go.
“Give us a hand,” the driver shouted to him as he lifted up a mail-bag.
The sexton ran out and helped him drag the post-bags into the yard. The postman began undoing98 the knot in his hood. The sexton’s wife gazed into his eyes, and seemed trying to look right into his soul.
“You ought to have a cup of tea . . . ” she said.
“I wouldn’t say no . . . but, you see, they’re getting ready,” he assented99. “We are late, anyway.”
“Do stay,” she whispered, dropping her eyes and touching him by the sleeve.
The postman got the knot undone100 at last and flung the hood over his elbow, hesitating. He felt it comfortable standing by Raissa.
“What a . . . neck you’ve got! . . . ” And he touched her neck with two fingers. Seeing that she did not resist, he stroked her neck and shoulders.
“I say, you are . . . ”
“You’d better stay . . . have some tea.”
“Where are you putting it?” The driver’s voice could be heard outside. “Lay it crossways.”
“You’d better stay. . . . Hark how the wind howls.”
And the postman, not yet quite awake, not yet quite able to shake off the intoxicating101 sleep of youth and fatigue102, was suddenly overwhelmed by a desire for the sake of which mail-bags, postal103 trains . . . and all things in the world, are forgotten. He glanced at the door in a frightened way, as though he wanted to escape or hide himself, seized Raissa round the waist, and was just bending over the lamp to put out the light, when he heard the tramp of boots in the outer room, and the driver appeared in the doorway. Savely peeped in over his shoulder. The postman dropped his hands quickly and stood still as though irresolute104.
“It’s all ready,” said the driver. The postman stood still for a moment, resolutely105 threw up his head as though waking up completely, and followed the driver out. Raissa was left alone.
“Come, get in and show us the way!” she heard.
One bell sounded languidly, then another, and the jingling notes in a long delicate chain floated away from the hut.
When little by little they had died away, Raissa got up and nervously106 paced to and fro. At first she was pale, then she flushed all over. Her face was contorted with hate, her breathing was tremulous, her eyes gleamed with wild, savage107 anger, and, pacing up and down as in a cage, she looked like a tigress menaced with red-hot iron. For a moment she stood still and looked at her abode108. Almost half of the room was filled up by the bed, which stretched the length of the whole wall and consisted of a dirty feather-bed, coarse grey pillows, a quilt, and nameless rags of various sorts. The bed was a shapeless ugly mass which suggested the shock of hair that always stood up on Savely’s head whenever it occurred to him to oil it. From the bed to the door that led into the cold outer room stretched the dark stove surrounded by pots and hanging clouts109. Everything, including the absent Savely himself, was dirty, greasy, and smutty to the last degree, so that it was strange to see a woman’s white neck and delicate skin in such surroundings.
Raissa ran up to the bed, stretched out her hands as though she wanted to fling it all about, stamp it underfoot, and tear it to shreds111. But then, as though frightened by contact with the dirt, she leapt back and began pacing up and down again.
When Savely returned two hours later, worn out and covered with snow, she was undressed and in bed. Her eyes were closed, but from the slight tremor112 that ran over her face he guessed that she was not asleep. On his way home he had vowed113 inwardly to wait till next day and not to touch her, but he could not resist a biting taunt114 at her.
“Your witchery was all in vain: he’s gone off,” he said, grinning with malignant joy.
His wife remained mute, but her chin quivered. Savely undressed slowly, clambered over his wife, and lay down next to the wall.
“To-morrow I’ll let Father Nikodim know what sort of wife you are!” he muttered, curling himself up.
Raissa turned her face to him and her eyes gleamed.
“The job’s enough for you, and you can look for a wife in the forest, blast you!” she said. “I am no wife for you, a clumsy lout110, a slug-a-bed, God forgive me!”
“Come, come . . . go to sleep!”
“How miserable115 I am!” sobbed his wife. “If it weren’t for you, I might have married a merchant or some gentleman! If it weren’t for you, I should love my husband now! And you haven’t been buried in the snow, you haven’t been frozen on the highroad, you Herod!”
Raissa cried for a long time. At last she drew a deep sigh and was still. The storm still raged without. Something wailed116 in the stove, in the chimney, outside the walls, and it seemed to Savely that the wailing was within him, in his ears. This evening had completely confirmed him in his suspicions about his wife. He no longer doubted that his wife, with the aid of the Evil One, controlled the winds and the post sledges117. But to add to his grief, this mysteriousness, this supernatural, weird118 power gave the woman beside him a peculiar119, incomprehensible charm of which he had not been conscious before. The fact that in his stupidity he unconsciously threw a poetic120 glamour121 over her made her seem, as it were, whiter, sleeker122, more unapproachable.
“Witch!” he muttered indignantly. “Tfoo, horrid123 creature!”
Yet, waiting till she was quiet and began breathing evenly, he touched her head with his finger . . . held her thick plait in his hand for a minute. She did not feel it. Then he grew bolder and stroked her neck.
“Leave off!” she shouted, and prodded124 him on the nose with her elbow with such violence that he saw stars before his eyes.
The pain in his nose was soon over, but the torture in his heart remained.
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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patchwork
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| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
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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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ferment
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| vt.使发酵；n./vt.（使）激动，（使）动乱 | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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battering
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| n.用坏，损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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thawing
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| n.熔化，融化v.（气候）解冻( thaw的现在分词 )；（态度、感情等）缓和；（冰、雪及冷冻食物）溶化；软化 | |
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flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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din
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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hempen
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| adj. 大麻制的, 大麻的 | |
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eyebrows
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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luxuriously
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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hirsute
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| adj.多毛的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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34
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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35
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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gnat
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| v.对小事斤斤计较，琐事 | |
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38
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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39
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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40
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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41
waddling
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的现在分词 ) | |
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42
flopped
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| v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的过去式和过去分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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43
wheezed
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
malignantly
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| 怀恶意地； 恶毒地； 有害地； 恶性地 | |
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45
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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46
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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47
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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48
crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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49
martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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50
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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51
pimples
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| n.丘疹，粉刺，小脓疱( pimple的名词复数 ) | |
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52
awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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53
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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54
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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55
bauble
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| n.美观而无价值的饰物 | |
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compassionately
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| adv.表示怜悯地，有同情心地 | |
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57
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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58
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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59
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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60
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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61
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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62
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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63
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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65
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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66
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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67
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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68
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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69
untying
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| untie的现在分词 | |
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70
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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72
infliction
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| n.（强加于人身的）痛苦，刑罚 | |
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73
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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74
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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75
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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76
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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77
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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78
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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79
luminary
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| n.名人，天体 | |
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80
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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81
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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82
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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83
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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85
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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86
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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87
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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88
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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89
comelier
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| adj.英俊的，好看的( comely的比较级 ) | |
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90
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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91
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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92
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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93
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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95
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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96
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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98
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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99
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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101
intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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102
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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103
postal
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| adj.邮政的，邮局的 | |
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104
irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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105
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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106
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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107
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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108
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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109
clouts
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| n.猛打( clout的名词复数 )；敲打；（尤指政治上的）影响；（用手或硬物的）击v.（尤指用手）猛击，重打( clout的第三人称单数 ) | |
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110
lout
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| n.粗鄙的人；举止粗鲁的人 | |
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111
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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112
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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113
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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114
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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115
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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116
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
sledges
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| n.雪橇，雪车( sledge的名词复数 )v.乘雪橇( sledge的第三人称单数 )；用雪橇运载 | |
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118
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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119
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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120
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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121
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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122
sleeker
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| 磨光器，异型墁刀 | |
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123
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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124
prodded
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| v.刺，戳( prod的过去式和过去分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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