“By George! it was. Somewhere the lace is screaming for help! A woman—or a girl—must be drowning or sinking—somewhere!” Miles Stackpole jumped to his feet as he spoke5, a ludicrously sanded figure; he had almost tunneled right through one sand-hill in a fevered search for the buried treasure which, according to local tradition, had been hidden by some hardy6 pirate of old among these wild sand-dunes.
The mumbled7 tale of the aged8 hunter after one-legged hen-clams to the effect that, about a quarter of a century prior to this squally day, certain gold and silver coins, a handful of them, stamped like no coinage ever current in the United States, had been picked up on, or near, this very spot, had infected Stack with the gold-fever, with a get-rich-quick delirium9 that showed in his strained eyes as he held his breath for a moment, trying to decide from what quarter came that feminine cry.
Farther off a third figure stood at attention, too, listening with deep snorts, gulping10 breaths, like those of a woodland moose whose long ear is trained to catch a faint sound on the wind.
A strange, lithe11 figure this third in a rough blue shirt that showed a brown, sinewy12 throat, high cowhide boots that reached to the knee, but were as destitute13 of heels as a Camp Fire Girl’s moccasins, and a bright red knitted cap fitting down over his head, with a scarlet14 tassel15 that flirted16 with the young gust17 from the east as he stood on a low sand-hill, alert to catch another cry.
Hardly the interval18 of three seconds elapsed before it came, quivering with the same horrified19, passionate20 terror as the first.
At its first appealing note Stack started off, dashing up the tunneled sand-hill with long springs—like the wild deer that so often traversed these lonely dunes—and down the sandy pyramid upon the other side, landing, breathless, upon the narrow strip of beach for which Jessica had been making. Thence he had a view of the broad, jutting21 point called the Neck and of its flanking sandspits, brown areas of sand on which the wild tide was slowly encroaching, and of something sticking up like a dark stump22 from a sinister23 patch of sands, not thirty yards off, the sinking figure of a girl in a dark sweater, already nearly buried to the waist.
Without a shade of hesitation24 Miles Stackpole, Eagle Scout25, made a valiant26 dash for the wetter sands to reach that figure.
The agonized27 victim saw him coming. In a vague way she recognized him. He had no green and red stripes, no rich points of color, embroidered28 merit badges, upon his sleeve to-day, no swooping29 eagle upon his breast. But he was the same tanned, eighteen-year-old lad who had taken the heavy deaf-and-dumb child, swamped by a cargo30 of green apples, from her dripping arms.
“Keep quiet! Don’t move!” he screamed to her. “More you struggle, faster you sink! I’ll——”
The brave pledge of help was never given. At the moment when he was within twenty feet of her, Jessica, transfixed, saw him rock and sway, saw one side of him grow suddenly shorter, beheld31 him, with admirable presence of mind, thrust his left leg out straight along the surface of the sands instead of setting its foot down,, and throw his khaki-clad body over to the left side, thus preventing his weight from falling upon the right leg which had already sunk deep.
He was helpless, caught in a patch of watery32 quicksands worse, even, than that which imprisoned33 her, seeing that the sucking sands gave way under the first pressure and let the bottomless water ooze34 in down deep beneath him.
In that position he was such a strange, in any other circumstances would have been such a ludicrous, figure, swaying on one leg, with the other stuck out level, like a performing acrobat35 or a barn-yard goose, that a weird36 shriek37 of laughter, palsied by terror, rocked forth38 from the girl’s throat.
Since she had seen the advent39 of this friendly human being from the sand-hills her fear was not so distracted as it had been, at first, in the drifting boat; whereas, if she had only known it, lying in a pool of water in a dory’s bottom among breakers was safety itself compared with her present peril40.
In another few seconds, however, she felt the very framework of her sinking body freeze and stiffen41, her heart drop down—down—like a stone which the quicksands swallowed before they devoured42 the rest of her, for she saw that her would-be rescuer, caught by the leg, with his arms in their khaki sleeves helplessly flapping like brown wings, fingers clutching at air in a desperate attempt to preserve his acrobatic position, was as powerless to extricate43 himself as she was—and, inch by inch, she was silently sinking farther.
It was as if an invisible monster, with a painless knack44, was eating her, bit by bit, alive.
She looked beyond the swaying figure, shrunken upon one side, and saw a bare red head; it seemed to her that in some different world, ages before, she had seen that same red head on a boy outlined in the light of an oily, blazing broom.
She shrieked45 to the head for help. But somebody fiendishly put a restraining hand upon the shoulder belonging to the head and thrust the boy’s figure back as it began to advance toward her.
And what was this third heartless being doing? He was running away from her. Running up and down, this way and that, in frantic46 search, upon the beach.
Then, all at once, she heard a shout from him, a sort of defiant47 bellow48 wild as the roar of the southwesterly squall in which her sufferings had begun, primitive49 as the thunder of the surf upon the bar:
“Hólà! Hol’ up! I come!”
Before that big shout the sucking sands seemed to tremble as death, at times, cowers50 before Life.
It was Life, invincible51 Life, that was bearing down upon her now, as her glazed52 eyes dimly saw, a figure instinct with life, courage and resource from its high boots to the red, bobbing thing that danced like flame about its head as it ran.
On his shoulder this strange being carried, like a feather, a ten-foot plank54, a stout55 piece of driftage which in his wild hither and thither56 search he had picked up on the beach—the beach which, here and there, was starred with silvery driftwood, just as were the Sugarloaf dunes, much of it being traveled logs or planks57, lumber-waifs, swept across the bay from the mouth of some Maine river.
The red-crested being with the long thing on his shoulder came abreast58 of the brown manly59 figure still balancing itself upon one leg in the quicksands,—made a movement as if to lay down the plank as a bridge toward it.
But the Eagle Scout, racked with the effort to keep his left leg stuck out level upon the yielding surface, while his right had sunk to the thigh60, shrieked at him:
“Don’t mind me!... Her!”
And almost immediately thereupon Jessica felt two hoisting61 hands under her armpits which were only a few inches above the sandy surface now. A figure loomed62 beside her balancing itself upon the long plank laid down over the watery sands, that brine-whitened plank supporting it in the same way that long snow-shoes will support a man upon soft snow where, without them, he would sink to his neck.
And now began the desperate tug63 of war between Life and Death, the fight for a girl’s life!
Captain Andy had classed it as the one feat53 of rescue next to impossible, to save a victim more than half of whose body had sunk in a patch of quicksands. At another time he had spoken of those sands which sucked in water beneath the surface as “clinging like a cat,” a clawed wildcat, to anything on which they got a sucking hold.
He had told how they would grip an upright board partially64 sunk in them as in a mould, so that no strength of his could dislodge it.
But if the sands held on to their prey65 like a wildcat, the being upon the plank, with a ruddy tassel bobbing about his swarthy face, like a live flame flickering66 out from the fire in his body, had the fierce tenacity67 of a bulldog.
The froth came out upon his lip as he strained every sinew to raise the girl’s body an inch, to lift her by her armpits and shoulders.
The breath fairly shrieked through his nostrils68 and open mouth with his hoisting struggles, as if he were a derrick with a whining69 pulley inside him.
He was a woodsman. In his veins70 coursed the irresistible71 life of the woods which when the sap runs freely in the hidden roots of a young tree will make it cleave72 the solid rock in order to find daylight and grow, if every other outlet73 is denied it.
It was like cleaving74 the granite75 rock to draw this girl’s body, three-parts sunken, back to daylight—a terrible duel76 between sand and man—in which Jessica felt as if her arms were being torn quivering from their sockets77.
But, glory to Life! the man won.
Little by little the quicksands loosened their sucking hold; inch by inch she was lifted until the sands had no further claim even upon her feet in their soaking canvas shoes.
Then, free, she was borne along the bridging plank in the arms which had rescued her and on over the sands to the very first firm spot, where she was thrown down almost violently in the rescuer’s hurry to get back with the plank to the aid of the Eagle Scout whose distorted body could not maintain its crooked78 position any longer, even for dear life’s sake.
Jessica felt a boyish hand helping79 her to her feet, presently, and guiding her along to the beach, she following blindly.
The boy’s head was very red, his face like chalk.
“Oh!” he said, and she recognized Kenjo’s voice. “Oh-h! if Toiney hadn’t been here, you’d have kept on going an’ going—you’d have sunk out o’ sight in five minutes. I—I couldn’t ha’ got out to you, after Stack got stuck!”
“‘Five minutes!’” The girl stopped and stared at him wildly, snatching her hand away. “Oh, I should think you’d know enough not to say a thing like that—to me!”
Her nerves gave way. She threw herself down on the drying beach and sobbed80 and sobbed as she had never cried even in childhood when, according to her Cousin Anne, she had the happiest child-disposition in the world, when she took her gaiety to bed with her, played a “flower game” with her mother at night and won the name of Morning-Glory.
The Morning-Glory had been through too sore a storm to lift its head for a while; it cowered81, beaten and draggled upon its vine: in other words, Jessica, wet to the skin through her heavy sweater, sand-coated from her shoulders to her canvas toes, curled down upon the beach, her cold cheek pillowed upon its safe sands and utterly82 refused to be comforted.
In vain the two Boy Scouts83 assured her that she was all right now, that just as soon as she got over her fright they would take her to their Boy Scout Camp away off among the dunes or, better still, to another summer camp, not so distant, where there were women and she could get some dry clothes, because “we don’t want to rig a Camp Fire Girl up as a boy!” said Kenjo half-bashfully.
The overwrought girl paid no heed84 to them. At last as the nervous storm spent itself, she lifted her head a little and noticed sitting before her on the beach a figure in a blue shirt with a close-fitting red, tasseled85 cap upon its head and a long plank at its feet.
It was Toiney, her lithe, sinewy figure rescuer, whom she had heard Kenjo laud86 as being “queer stuff, but the stuff,” on the evening that Ken1 and his brother Scout who imagined himself poisoned had spent at the girls’ camp on the Sugarloaf.
Vaguely87 she remembered hearing Kenjo say that this Toiney was a French-Canadian with a little remote strain of Indian blood in him, who gave the Scouts lessons in wood-craft, trailing and tracking.
Presently Toiney glanced round at her and muttered consolingly in the funniest jumble88 of dialect French and broken English: “Tiens! ma fille, t’as pas besoin to cryee—engh?” Then he began to relieve his feelings by softly abusing the quicksands. “Ach, diable! she’s devil quicksan’,” he gurgled. “She’s bad, dam’ devil quicksan’!” the flicking89 of his red tassel lending color to the curses.
“Oh! don’t call the—the quicksands ‘she’!” Morning-Glory suddenly sat up, indignant on behalf of her sex, a little hysterical90 spasm91 of laughter contending with her sobs92; because she was no pure, passionless flower, but a very human girl, it did her a rousing lot of good to hear the quicksands called bad names, after their treating her so meanly when the sea had cast her ashore93 among them.
“Engh?” Toiney grunted94 questioningly as he looked over his blue shoulder at her. “Sapré! w’at time I’ll see you sink in her, I’ll t’ink I see two, t’ree girl go down!”
“Oh! one was enough.” Jessica’s laugh pattered now between her chattering95 teeth, like sunlit hail through rain; she understood her rescuer’s description of the dazed horror in which he had sought up and down for a saving plank.
“How on earth did you come to be by yourself on that lonely part of the Neck—and so wet, too?” asked Miles Stackpole whose skin had not the golden hue96 at this minute that it showed when he worked for the resuscitation97 of little, deaf-and-dumb Rebecca; instead it betrayed a greenish tinge98 around the edges of his tan; three or four minutes of being trapped by one leg in wicked quicksands, knowing that the other limb, stretched out along their sucking surface, was very slowly sinking, too, that he would certainly be swallowed up alive if help did not come, and quickly, was no enviable experience.
And he understood the peril better than the girl-victim upon whose sand-plastered, draggled condition he now looked with chivalrous99 pity while he questioned her.
“I was out in a rowboat, alone, on the river when the squall came on; I lost an oar—I hope the other one is in the dory still; they were such pretty oars100, all painted over on blades and handles with our Camp Fire symbols—at first I wanted to stand up in the boat and yell and yell—I was so frightened—for it was just frightfully rough; it seemed every minute as if the waves would roll the dory over, topsy-turvy. But I remembered that”—the girl’s voice was still broken and breathless—“that Captain Andy told us Camp Fire Girls that if one of us was ever caught in such a predicament and couldn’t row, the only hope was to flatten101 oneself to a flounder in the dory’s bottom. Well! I did—and a pretty wet flounder I was.”
“Then that sou’westerly squall swept the boat down the river, I suppose, before the wind shifted round to the east,” suggested Stack. “Were you cast ashore on the Neck?”
“I felt the dory’s bottom touch—then d’you suppose ’twould take me long to flounder out of her?” chuckled102 the girl. The Morning-Glory spirit, the little touch of humor, though draggled, was reviving in her.
“If it hadn’t been for hearing your voices among the dunes I might have got along all right, for Captain Andy had warned us about quicksands and said ‘they’d fool you,’ so I crept along on all fours, at first, after landing, teetering this way an’ that—you might have taken me for a seal if you’d seen me from a distance!” laughing shakily.
“But ’twas all so wild and lonely!” with a gasp103. “I wanted to get where the voices were. And”—a sudden recollection came to her,—she dimpled mischievously—“I heard you shout to each other about digging—digging for buried treasure—Kenjo told us what the very old man who was hunting hen-clams said about strange coins being picked up near here.... I saw something bright, like silver, flashing after the rain, in the side of that sand-hill there—I thought I might get ahead of you....”
“Where was it?” Stack was up like an arrow; the gold-microbe working in him again as an antidote104 to the quicksands’ scare. “Can you show me where it was?”
He moistened his lips eagerly.
Morning-Glory, appealed to thus, dragged herself, with his help, to her feet; the eyes which were so like her great-grandfather’s in the old miniature searched gravely the side of the sand-pyramid.
“No, I can’t—see—it—now. Ye-es, I do, though!There it is!” She pointed105 triumphantly106 to a sparkle in one of the wind-hollowed grooves108 of the wet sand-hill.
“Where? Where? Yes, I see—I’m on to it now!”
Stack was ploughing up the sodden109 sand-peak, in his drab gaiters and sand-coated khaki, only a shade less quickly than he had crossed it a few minutes before on hearing the girl’s cry for help.
He reached the sandy niche110 of the “bright shell,” stooped and picked up something.
Those below saw him reel as he looked at it, as if he had a sunstroke.
The next minute dunes, beach, Neck, sands-pits—the very quicksands themselves—rang with a new cry, wild, amazed, whooping111, triumphant107.
“Oh-h! let’s go an’ see what it is—what he’s found!” gasped112 the girl who had seen the bright thing from afar.
“I guess you won’t find it easy climbing in those wet clothes! Here, let me help you!” volunteered Kenjo, aflame all over with a curiosity greater than Boy Scout had ever known before.
Up the wet sand-mound they plodded113. Toiney, picking up the dwarf-stemmed pipe which he had thrown away in his search for a plank, arose and followed them.
“My eye! Stack’s gone clean daffy over something,” panted Kenjo.
Well might he gasp; Miles Stackpole, Eagle Scout, was yelling like a Comanche, dancing like a madman among the wet, plumy beach-grass that thatched the tall sand-mound.
“What is it? What have you found?” The foremost climbers, hand in hand, were stumbling, tripping—shrieking in a clamorous114 duet.
“Oh! look and see. Our fortune’s made! There must—must be more where this came from!”
That which the finder held out to his companions, that which the sou’westerly squall had unearthed115, unsanded, rather, upon the side of this wet sand-dune was a large, antique silver coin of a size and stamp such as neither Boy Scouts nor Camp Fire Girl had ever seen before, even in their dreams of fairy-land.
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1
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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dunes
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| 沙丘( dune的名词复数 ) | |
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shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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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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hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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gulping
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的现在分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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tassel
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| n.流苏，穗；v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须 | |
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flirted
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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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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jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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swooping
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ooze
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| n.软泥，渗出物；vi.渗出，泄漏；vt.慢慢渗出，流露 | |
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acrobat
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| n.特技演员，杂技演员 | |
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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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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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stiffen
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| v.(使)硬，(使)变挺，(使)变僵硬 | |
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devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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44
knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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45
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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cowers
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的第三人称单数 ) | |
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51
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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52
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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54
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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56
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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57
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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58
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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59
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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60
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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61
hoisting
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| 起重，提升 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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63
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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65
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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66
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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67
tenacity
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| n.坚韧 | |
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68
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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69
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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70
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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71
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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72
cleave
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| v．(clave；cleaved)粘着，粘住；坚持；依恋 | |
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73
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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74
cleaving
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| v.劈开，剁开，割开( cleave的现在分词 ) | |
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75
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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76
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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78
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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80
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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81
cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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82
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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83
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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84
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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85
tasseled
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| v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的过去式和过去分词 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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86
laud
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| n.颂歌；v.赞美 | |
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87
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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89
flicking
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的现在分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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90
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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92
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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95
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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96
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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97
resuscitation
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| n.复活 | |
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98
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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99
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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100
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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101
flatten
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| v.把．．．弄平，使倒伏；使(漆等)失去光泽 | |
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102
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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104
antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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105
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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106
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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107
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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108
grooves
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| n.沟( groove的名词复数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏v.沟( groove的第三人称单数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏 | |
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109
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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110
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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111
whooping
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| 发嗬嗬声的，发咳声的 | |
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112
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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113
plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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114
clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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115
unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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