The Mathison estate was in the foothills of the Adirondacks. There were farmlands, pulp-mills, forests, and streams. At the northern extremity1 of the estate there was a small lake. The manor2 proper stood on the south shore of this lake, four miles from the village and the railway station. It was a lonely habitation in the winter.
The house was of limestone4, beautifully weathered, and was dated 1812. Here Mathison had been born; here he had spent his early youth. With the father almost constantly at sea, the mother had preferred the quiet of the woods to the noise and bluster5 of New York.
Hilda went into ecstasies6 over chairs and sofas that had become antique in these very rooms. She saw the mother's hand everywhere, the quiet artistry of a hand guided by a noble mind. Hilda romped7 about the[Pg 276] rooms with the eager curiosity of a child; and it might be truthfully added that Mathison romped with her. They were so completely in love that they saw beauty in everything, in the hard, brilliant sunsets, in the Northern Lights, in the yellow dawns. Every day they skated or snow-shoed; and there was always a roaring chestnut8 fire to greet them.
And yet there were shadows, deep and somber9 shadows, that fell across the sunshine of their happiness. They never said anything about these shadows to each other; but always during the hour that comes before candles the shadows pressed in and down. Hilda could not shut out the thought of Berta. Where was she, what was she doing? Berta might deny the blood, but Hilda could not. Berta was her twin. During this twilight10 hour she saw this beautiful counterpart of herself moving furtively11, flying by night, hiding by day, alone, alone; perhaps penniless and hungry. When the thought of the wayward one became too strong Hilda sought the piano, which she played exquisitely12.
Mathison's shadow lay upon him perpetually, but more keenly when he and[Pg 277] Hilda sat before the fire, waiting for the lights. The man Lysgaard had escaped. Free! Beaten and to all appearances broken, he had escaped on the way to the Tombs. A forced pause before a fire in a chemical establishment had opened the way for him. The crowd, the noise and confusion, and the insatiable curiosity and over-confidence of his captors had given him his chance. The strength of the rogue13, after that beating! They had left one man in the patrol with him, and Lysgaard had suddenly dashed his manacled hands into the man's face and then choked him into insensibility. He had coolly taken the operative's hat and overcoat. The latter he had wrapped across his shoulders, holding it together from the inside. He had then stepped into the seething14 crowd and vanished completely. Search for him had been in vain. He had probably known where to find a haven15. The real menace in his being at large lay in the fact that undoubtedly16 he did not know that Berta was a twin. He would have means of finding what had become of John Mathison. He would learn that a woman had accompanied his enemy. A trifling17 description of that woman would be enough.[Pg 278] Being a Prussian, there would be only one idea in Lysgaard's head—Berta had run away with the man who had beaten him. Vengeance18, before they found him and dropped the noose19 over his head.
There was a third shadow and they shared this mutually if silently—Mathison's inevitable20 departure for English waters.
"John," she said, one afternoon, "I'm so happy that it hurts."
He laughed and swung her into his arms, which never ceased to be hungry for her; and there was always a sharp little stab when he let her go. The hour was fast approaching when he would have to let her go, perhaps forever....
"Glorious up here, isn't it?"
"But why do you bar the windows and doors so carefully at night? There can't be any burglars in this wilderness21, at least not in the winter."
"You never can tell. Sometimes there are mighty22 high winds around these diggings. You heard how the windows rattled23 last night." Mathison reached for his cup of tea. So she had noticed?
"How your mother must have loved this place!"
[Pg 279]
"What makes you think that?"
"Why, it fairly breathes of love; the beauty of all the furnishings and the way they are arranged. What fun it must have been—and you toddling24 around after her! Come; I want to show you something." She led over to a corner, and there in a heap were rows of battered25 leaden soldiers, twisted leaden swords, and forts of wood. "War, battle," went on Hilda, soberly; "even as little children. What has happened to the souls of men, that from generation to generation the male child's toys must be these? Must women always suffer to see these things about? I found them in the garret."
"Instinct, little old lady. From the day one man has had to protect himself and his woman, bloodily26. We are still doing it, on a more terrible scale than ever. Odd, I haven't laid eyes on these in twenty years."
"How often your mother must have watched you there on the floor before the fire, playing at war, and your father facing death at sea. But oh, lover, lover!" She caught him fiercely to her. "In so short a time! I haven't said anything, for I did[Pg 280] not want to mar27 your happiness. But it is hurting so! Dear God, bring him back to me!"
"Honey, I'll come back. There isn't a shell or a U-boat in the world with my name on it. I know it. I hate to have you return to the stage, and yet it will be the best thing. You'll be busy. Idleness never bucks28 up a person's courage."
"Hark!" She stepped back from him swiftly. "I hear sleigh-bells." She stiffened29. Sleigh-bells and yellow envelopes, for she knew that Mathison had left orders at the station to send out telegrams immediately they were received. There was no telephone.
"The village grocer, maybe," suggested Mathison, himself receiving a shock at the sound of the bells.
"No; he always drives out before noon."
Hilda ran to the window to peer out, but it was too dark for her to see anything distinctly.
As for Mathison, he shifted his automatic to the right side-pocket of his jacket. Merely precautionary; for the man he was expecting would not approach the front door with such boldness. Yet the man was[Pg 281] infernally clever in some ways. He was likely to do the unexpected. Of course, there was always a chance that Lysgaard might try to put to sea and put over his hour of vengeance until later. There was an odd trait in Mathison's character. He was always suspicious when events ran along too smoothly30. His very happiness was almost a warning. He had often thought of having a Secret Service man come up and watch the four trains that passed daily; but, being a man of red blood, he hated the idea. If Lysgaard succeeded in getting through the cordon31, he would try to find John Mathison. Backed as he was by a powerful secret organization, and no doubt having John Mathison's dossier in his pocket or in his memory, he would not have much difficulty in locating the dove-cote.
"Why, it's a woman!" cried Hilda.
"A woman? All right. You stay here and I'll go to the door."
He reached the door just as the bell rang. The visitor entered without a word and raised a thick veil.
"Well, brother-in-law!" mockingly.
"Berta?" came a startled voice from the doorway32 leading to the living-room.
[Pg 282]
"Yes, dear sister, Berta—the ghost who wants to return to her tomb and can't find the way. I smell tea. I'd like a cup."
Berta passed into the living-room and stopped before the burning logs, stretching out her hands. The sable33 coat, once so magnificent, was matted and torn, the hat bedraggled, the shoes water-soaked and cracked; but the fire in Berta's eyes and the beauty of her face were still undimmed. What a woman! thought Mathison, thrilled in spite of his vague terror.
Hilda, however, saw only the hunted woman, the desperation, the cold, the hunger. A sign, and she would have opened her arms. But Berta was still The Yellow Typhoon, harassed34 but unconquered. She tossed her hat and coat upon a chair and helped herself to a cup of tea. There was evil mischief35 in her smile. After she had drunk the tea, she selected a cigarette and lighted it.
"Ah, that is good! I haven't had a decent cigarette in four days. The driver thought I was you, Hilda. What a Godforsaken hole! But it was not so hard to find. In your dossier—I read it while we were entering New York—it was recorded[Pg 283] that you were born here, that it was the only home you had. Where would two sentimental36 fools like you two come for their honeymoon37? The North is in the blood of both of you. A ghost, Hilda; and with a wave of your hand—my evanishment. I want a passport to Denmark. It will not be wise to refuse me. I haven't tried to see the mother. We are dead to each other; let it be so. But there are other ways by which I can twist your heart, my beautiful Norma."
"Don't mind about me, John. You cannot hurt me, Berta."
"I can try. Arrest me and see what will come of it. You two have sent to his death the only man I ever cared for."
"He was a murderer!" cried Hilda.
"No; it was war. What he did was in the interest of Germany, and that absolves38 him."
"You are not a Prussian; you are a Dane."
"My sympathies are with Prussia; and that is enough for me. I am the daughter of a noble. I did not come here to discuss the war. I came to demand help."
Mathison sighed with relief. The woman did not know that her man was at large. He played a card in the dark.
[Pg 284]
"I purpose to give you up to the authorities at once," he said, coldly.
Berta laughed. "Try it. Do you think me such a fool as to come unarmed?"
"And how might you be armed?"
"Ask my sister."
"She is right, John. This would kill my mother. But if we secure a passport, what is your bond?"
"The word of Berta Nordstrom. I never broke that when once I gave it. Back there in New York you spoke39 of the tomb. All I want is to return to it. Let me get to Denmark, and I shall never bother either of you again."
Mathison began pacing, his hands behind his back, his chin down. Berta eyed him with cynical40 amusement, letting the cigarette smoke drift up her nostrils41. By and by she tossed the cigarette into the fire.
"If I make threats, it is because I have to. I am tired. Wait!" She made a passionate42 gesture. "This is no sign of weakness. I shall hate you both as long as I live. You have forced me to walk alone. I don't want to go on fighting any more. I want peace and quiet. I shall find it where I was born. Get me a [Pg 285]passport and I shall vanish. I have plenty of money. Much of it is in the banks in Copenhagen. I had always planned to return there some day. I can establish proofs of my identity and my right to the inheritance our mother denied us. Until the passport arrives I must abide43 here, however distasteful it may be to you. Do you believe it will be pleasant for me? Your food will be wormwood, your water lees, and your bed will burn me. Odd that I should wish to go on, that I should care to live. I sha'n't disturb your cooing. Your maid, who doubtless knows by this time that there are two of us, can bring me food. I was a fool not to have told him that there were two of us; and he may go to his death believing that I betrayed him. But I have written a letter to Manila explaining. Hate you? With every drop of blood in me! But get me the passport, and I promise to leave you both in peace."
"Very well," said Mathison, facing her; "you shall have it. But for Hilda, I should not stir a hand. You are an alien enemy. You are dangerous and merciless. You have no mercy for your sister, who tried to save you; and the word 'mother' means[Pg 286] nothing to you. You ruined—or tried to—the dearest friend I had. And the man of your choice murdered him in cold blood. There is a black score against you. But because I love your sister beyond ordinary man's love, I am going to let you go."
"Because you are afraid of me," tranquilly44.
"Frankly45 because I am afraid of you."
"I hate you. If I had the time and opportunity I would do you all the evil I could. You defeated me. But for all that, you are a man; and I know men. Hilda, will you know how to keep him?"
"Yes!"
"After all, you are not my sister for nothing. Show me to my room. Have your maid bring me up something to eat. I am starved. It was such a place to find. Cooing doves, in a bleak46 cage like this!"
The chamber47 assigned to her was directly over the living-room. After dinner that night they heard her walking, walking, walking. The Snow-leopard, thought Mathison; and because she was the twin of the noble woman whose hand was locked in his he would have to cheat his government, commit his first dishonorable deed! For he[Pg 287] would have to lie and cheat to secure a passport for Berta Nordstrom.
"John!"
"No. I shouldn't go to her, honey. Honestly, I can't help it, but I do not trust her. I'm afraid of her. The blood no longer links you. Forget that part of it. She's forgotten it."
"Will there be trouble in getting her a passport?"
"The trouble is nothing. I've got to lie and cheat."
"We were so happy! My sister, my own flesh and blood! I just can't understand it!"
"No more can I. But the fact remains48 that she is still The Yellow Typhoon. And God send she leaves no wreckage49 here when she passes. But what a woman!"
"That is it. If we could only save her, make her see!"
Mathison stared at the ceiling and shook his head. The light thud of shoes continued. He walked over to the stand at the side of the fireplace and eyed Malachi, who was dozing50.
"What a jogging I've given the poor little beggar! Malachi?"
[Pg 288]
The little green bird opened one eye belligerently51, and the feathers at the back of his neck ruffled52.
"John, why should she tramp like that?"
"Go to her, honey, if you wish."
But Hilda's knock on the door was not answered.
Berta remained in her room all the following day. The maid reported to her mistress that the unwelcome guest spoke no words, not even a "thank you." She no longer walked the floor, however.
About eight o'clock that night she came unexpectedly into the living-room. Mathison was putting on a fresh log. Hilda was in the music-room, playing Rachmaninoff's surging "Prelude53."
"I was cold," said Berta, unemotionally.
Mathison drew up a chair for her, rather clumsily. She sent him a wry54 little smile as she sat down, spreading her fingers. After a while she raised her head attentively55. She was listening to the music. She held this attitude for several minutes, then propped56 her elbows on her knees and rested her chin in her palms. Hilda played on, Chopin, Grieg, Rubinstein. Stonily57 Berta stared into the fire.
[Pg 289]
"She plays well ... in the dark, too."
"She does all things well," said the lover. "You are fond of something, then?"
"Music? Yes. I am fond of many things; but I except human beings. You are trying to solve the riddle58? Don't waste your time. I'm a riddle to myself. But for Hilda I should have beaten you. Do you know, if Hallowell had been weak I should have gone out to your villa3. I wonder what would have happened?"
"He would have been alive this day," answered Mathison, grimly; "for we both of us would have vacated the premises59. Typhoon. They named you well. And yet!"
"Ah, and yet?" Berta looked up.
"Why not become a friend instead of an enemy? You say you want peace and quiet after all this stormy life. Why not melt a little? I know my wife. She would take you in her arms with half a chance."
"Thanks. Oh, I am not ironic60. I mean it. But it is impossible. I cannot change my nature. There is too much behind me. I chose the road I came by. Regret? Remorse61? No. To you I am bad; to myself, I am only free.... Tell her to play that Russian thing again.... No; I must go my[Pg 290] chosen way. I am like your parrakeet. Sometimes I can be forced to do things, but always I am untamable. Get me that passport and I will vanish. I have never known what it is to be sorry. The faculty62 isn't in me. I am an outcast. I prefer it. But I am not a hypocrite. I did not come here to whine63; I came to demand. But I'll soften64 that. Get me out of this country, which I despise, and I'll thank you. I was not implicated65 in the killing66 of your friend. Besides, it was war."
Mathison shook his head. A pagan; that was it. He stooped to stir a log and got a glimpse of her eyes. They were dry and hard. A passport, or was she up to some deadly mischief? However quickly he might obtain a passport, he knew it would not arrive until after he himself had put to sea. Berta free and Hilda alone? He leaned against the mantel, wondering what the end would be.
There were French doors on the south side of the living-room. To the north were the original deep-set windows with broad seats and heavy shutters67. Mathison locked up only when about to retire for the night. His back was toward the south, so he missed[Pg 291] the forewarning of the menace. The brass68 knob of one of the doors was turning with infinite slowness, a small fraction of an inch at a time. If there was any sound, it was smothered69 by the magnificent chords of Rachmaninoff's melancholy70 inspiration.
Suddenly Berta stood up, covered a yawn, and started toward the staircase. She had reached the middle of the room, when a rush of cold air caused Mathison to turn. He saw Lysgaard, his blue eyes burning with madness, his cheeks hollow and white with fury. There followed two shots, but Mathison's was a second too late. Berta's hands flew automatically to her breast; wide-eyed she stared at Lysgaard for a space, then an expression of deep weariness settled upon her face. She swayed, her knees doubled, and she sank in a huddle71 upon the rug.
Lysgaard leaned against the wall, gripping his bloody72 hand.
"She had to die!... She betrayed me!" His voice was like that of a spent runner. "You! She came to you! I meant to kill you, too!... Gott!"
For Hilda was standing73 in the doorway to the music-room, clutching the portières,[Pg 292] hanging literally74 to them, in fact, struck by that hypnosis with which sudden tragedy always benumbs us. She saw the crumpled75 figure on the floor; her husband, tense of body, his weapon ready, his face hard and merciless; the blond man, sagged76 against the wall, staring with pathetic bewilderment not at the woman he had shot, but at her. With a supreme77 effort Hilda threw off the spell, ran to her sister and knelt. Berta, the little one whom she had always tried to shield, for whom she had accepted many a buffet78, shouldered the charge of many a misdeed!
Hilda was standing in the doorway
Hilda was standing in the doorway, struck by that
hypnosis with which sudden tragedy always benumbs us.
"Berta, Berta!"
One corner of Berta's lips moved upward—a touch of the old irony79. "My passport ... has come!... The mad fool!... As much as I could love any one!... Hilda, the ghost ... returns to the ... tomb!" The beautiful head sank grotesquely80 against Hilda's shoulder. The Yellow Typhoon had slipped down the Far Horizon.
"Two!" whispered Lysgaard, thickly. "Two!... Gott!" He staggered across the room. "Two!... And she never told me!" he babbled81 in German. He dropped to his knees, thrusting Hilda aside; put his sound[Pg 293] arm under the warm, limp body of the woman he had called his own. "Berta, Berta, little one, I did not know! Ah, God, why didn't you tell me? I thought you had betrayed me, left me for this Yankee swine!... Two!"
Mathison sprang to Hilda, raised her in his arms, and pressed her face against his shoulder. A miracle had happened. Berta's presence here had saved Hilda. That was the chief thought in Mathison's mind. Closely he pressed the loved one to him, so that she might not see the second tragedy, should Lysgaard turn upon him. But even as he made the movement he saw a strange action take place. Berta's body slid slowly from Lysgaard's arm. The man's shoulders pinched themselves together convulsively and his head went back with a spasmodic jerk. Then he fell across Berta's body. Mathison thought he had fainted, but later he learned that the bullet that had shattered the hand had ricocheted and plowed82 completely through the body. But for his tremendous vitality83 Lysgaard would never have reached Berta.
"Mat! Mat!" shrieked84 Malachi, across the tragic85 silence.
[Pg 294]
A month later—on a Friday afternoon—Sam Rubin stopped his limousine86 before a handsome apartment building and got out briskly. Under his arm was a portfolio87. He rushed toward the entrance and popped into the elevator. As he was a privileged character, the maid Sarah admitted him at once and indicated that her mistress was in the living-room.
Rubin stepped jauntily88 along the corridor, but he stopped at the door. By one window he saw the star's mother. She was knitting, but her glance was directed toward her daughter.
"Sailorman," said Hilda.
"Sailorman," repeated Malachi, soberly, if huskily.
"Husband, lover!"
But Malachi rocked belligerently and fell to grumbling89.
"I can't make him say that, mother."
"He has more serious things on his mind," interrupted Rubin, entering.
Hilda whirled. "Sam Rubin, what have you got under your arm?"
"A bully90 new play for you; fit you like a glove."
"I'm so glad! Work, work, work; [Pg 295]something new and fresh that I can throw myself into!"
"Well, I've got it right here. What's the news?"
"He's with the convoy91." Hilda caught her manager by the sleeve and drew him over to one of the front windows. "The star in the window—mine!"
"You're the finest woman in all this world!" said Rubin, soberly.
Hilda put her hand under the little silken banner and raised it to her lips.
THE END
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1
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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bluster
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| v.猛刮；怒冲冲的说；n.吓唬，怒号；狂风声 | |
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ecstasies
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| 狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 )； 出神； 入迷； 迷幻药 | |
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romped
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| v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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19
noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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toddling
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| v.（幼儿等）东倒西歪地走( toddle的现在分词 )；蹒跚行走；溜达；散步 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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bloodily
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| adv.出血地；血淋淋地；残忍地；野蛮地 | |
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mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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cordon
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| n.警戒线，哨兵线 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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absolves
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| 宣告…无罪，赦免…的罪行，宽恕…的罪行( absolve的第三人称单数 )； 不受责难，免除责任 [义务] ,开脱（罪责） | |
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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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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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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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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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belligerently
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stonily
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| 石头地，冷酷地 | |
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riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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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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whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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implicated
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| adj.密切关联的；牵涉其中的 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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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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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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huddle
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| vi.挤作一团；蜷缩；vt.聚集；n.挤在一起的人 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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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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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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sagged
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| 下垂的 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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plowed
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| v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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limousine
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| n.豪华轿车 | |
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portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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convoy
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| vt.护送，护卫，护航；n.护送；护送队 | |
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