After doing this Barrant returned to the empty lounge, where Mrs. Pendleton sat in partial darkness with tearful face. All the other guests had retired4, and a lurking5 porter yawned longingly6 in the passage, waiting for an opportunity to put out the last of the lights and get to bed.
In the first shock of Barrant’s violent apparition7 and angry questions, Mrs. Pendleton had tried, in a bewildered way, to insist that her niece had not left her room on the previous night. But now, in her troubled consideration of the new strange turn of events surrounding her brother’s death, she saw that she might have been deceived on this point. Barrant, for his part, had not the slightest doubt of it when he heard that her belief rested on no stronger foundation than Sisily’s early withdrawal8 from the dining-room on the plea of fatigue9, and the fact that her bedroom door was locked when Mrs. Pendleton returned from her own visit to Flint House. Sisily’s subsequent flight eliminated any uncertainty10 about that, and established beyond reasonable doubt her identity with the silent girl who had entered the returning wagonette at the cross-roads. The coincidence of those two facts had a terrible significance. Barrant had no doubt that Sisily had gone to her own room early in order to find an opportunity to pay a secret visit to her home, for a purpose which now seemed to stand sinisterly11 revealed by her disappearance12. He also thought he saw the motive13—that vital factor in murder—looming behind her nocturnal expedition. But that was a question he was not inclined to analyze14 too closely at that moment. He wanted to know how she had been able to disappear that day without the knowledge of her aunt.
Mrs. Pendleton had a ready explanation of that. She said that after returning from her visit to the police station that morning she had been engaged with her brother Austin until nearly lunch-time, and when she went up to Sisily’s room she found it empty. She concluded that her niece had gone out somewhere to be alone with her grief—she was the type of girl that liked to be alone. After lunch Mrs. Pendleton had letters to write, and then she had gone to her bedroom and fallen sound asleep till dinner-time, worn out by the shock of her brother’s death, and the sleepless15 night which had followed it. When Sisily did not appear at dinner she began to grow uneasy, but sought to convince herself that Sisily might have gone on a char-à-banc trip to Falmouth which had been advertised for that day. The incongruity16 of a sad solitary17 girl like Sisily nursing her grief in a public vehicle packed with curious chattering18 trippers did not seem to have occurred to her. But as time passed she grew seriously alarmed, and sent her husband out to make enquiries.
She had sat in the lounge listening with strained ears for the girl’s footsteps until Barrant arrived.
“Has your niece any friends in Cornwall or London, or anywhere, for that matter, who would receive her?” Barrant abruptly19 demanded.
“I really do not know,” said Mrs. Pendleton.
She wiped the tears from her eyes with a large white handkerchief. She was overwhelmed by the shock of her niece’s disappearance, and the terrible interpretation20 Barrant evidently placed upon it. But Barrant was in no mood to allow for her confused state of mind.
“You had better try and remember,” he said irritably21. “It seems to me that I’ve been kept in the dark. You went to the police to demand an investigation22 into your brother’s death, but you did not say anything of the disclosure he made to you yesterday of his daughter’s illegitimacy. Instead of doing so, you only directed suspicion to his man-servant. Meanwhile your niece, who was placed in your care, disappears to heaven knows where, and you took no steps to inform the police. You have acted very indiscreetly, Mrs. Pendleton, to say the least.”
“I did not know—I did not think,” gasped23 Mrs. Pendleton. She endeavoured to commence a flurried explanation of the mixed motives24 and impulses which had swayed her since her brother’s death, but Barrant cut it short with an impatient wave of the hand.
“Never mind that now,” he said. “I have lost too much time already. Have you no idea where your niece is likely to have sought refuge?”
Mrs. Pendleton shook her head. “Robert had no friends,” she said, “and Sisily led a very lonely life. Robert told me that yesterday. That was the reason he wanted me to take charge of her—so as to give her the opportunity of making some girl friends of her own age.”
She paused, embarrassed by the recollection that her brother’s real intention in placing Sisily in her charge was altogether different. Barrant noted25 her hesitation26, and interpreted it aright.
“No,” he said. “The real reason of your brother parting with his daughter provides the motive for her return to his house last night. What happened between them is a matter for conjecture27, at present. Apparently28 she was the last person who saw him alive before he was shot, and now she is not to be found.”
There was something so portentously29 solemn in his manner of speaking these last words that his listener quaked in terror, and gazed at him with widened eyes. Barrant turned abruptly to another phase.
“Are you quite sure that it was the man-servant you saw looking through the door yesterday afternoon?”
It was proof of the fallibility of human testimony30 that Mrs. Pendleton had sincerely convinced herself that she was quite sure. “Yes,” she said.
Barrant looked doubtful. By reason of his calling he was well aware of the human tendency to unintentional mistake in identity. With women especially, the jump from an impression to a conclusion was sometimes as rapid as the thought itself.
“Did you see his face?” he asked.
“Only the eyes. But I am sure that they were Thalassa’s eyes.”
Barrant did not press the point. He did not doubt the honesty of her belief, but the words in which it was conveyed suggested hasty impression rather than conviction. Such proofs of identity were not to be relied upon.
“Had your brother’s servant any reason, so far as you know, to be listening at the door?” he asked.
“All servants are curious,” murmured Mrs. Pendleton. She shook her head wisely, as one intimating a wide knowledge of their class.
“All curious servants are not murderers,” returned Barrant. “This man has been in your brother’s service for a long time, has he not?”
“For a great number of years. Almost ever since Robert returned to England, I think.”
“So Mr. Austin Turold informed me. Had he any grudge31 against his master?”
“Thalassa? I really couldn’t tell you, because I do not know. But he has a most truculent32 and overbearing manner—not at all the kind of manner you expect in a servant, and he seemed to do just what he liked. I disliked him as soon as I saw him. I’m sure he looks more like some dreadful old sea pirate than a gentleman’s servant. I would not have him in my household.” Mrs. Pendleton set her lips firmly. “No, not for a single moment. But I suppose poor Robert was attached to him from long association.”
Barrant nodded in an understanding way. “Then this man Thalassa must have known your niece from childhood,” he said in a casual tone. “Was he attached to her, do you think?”
“I know nothing of that.”
“That’s rather a pity,” he said with a gentle shake of the head. He looked at her knowingly.
“I do not understand you,” she faltered33.
“You had grounds for your suspicions of Thalassa—reasonable grounds. He must have admitted your niece into the house last night, you know. I must get it out of him.”
She gave a start, for she saw now where his drift of questions was taking them. With a sickening sense of horror she realized that her slight suspicions were being used by him to help fashion a case against her own flesh and blood.
“What are you suggesting?” she breathed, with a nervous look.
“Nothing at present,” he said, with a quick realization34 of the fact that he was in danger of talking too much. “Can you tell me if your niece is provided with money?”
“My brother gave her twenty-five pounds in bank notes yesterday—he told me.”
“That is enough to keep her for some weeks. You are quite sure you cannot form any idea where she has gone?”
“No,” said Mrs. Pendleton coldly, with a belated inward resolve not to be so ready in volunteering information to the police in future.
“I should like to see the room your niece occupied last night,” he said.
That was a search which brought nothing to light. Barrant left the hotel just as little Mr. Pendleton returned to it with an alarmed face and a feeling of personal guilt35 at his failure to find Sisily.
Barrant passed him with a side glance, his mind full of the problem of the girl’s disappearance. He left the hotel in a state of thoughtfulness, fully36 realizing the difficulties of the task which lay before him in tracing Sisily’s movements on the previous night, and discovering where she had flown. The deeper questions of motive and the inconsequence of some of her actions he preferred to leave till later. Action, and not mental analysis, was the need of the moment. Barrant prided himself on being a man of action, and he was also a detective. The thrill of pursuit stirred in his blood.
His later activities that night and the following day brought to light many things, but not all that he wanted to know. He convinced himself, in the first place, that it was possible for the girl to have left her room and returned to it on the night of her father’s death without any of the inmates38 of the hotel being aware of her absence. That lessened39 the complexity40 of the case by absolving41 Mrs. Pendleton from the suspicion of pretended ignorance. Barrant was also convinced the aunt believed her niece to be in bed and asleep during the time of her own visit to her brother’s house. Sisily had to pass the office of the hotel in going out and returning, but she could easily have done so unobserved. There were few guests at that season of the year, and the proprietor’s daughter, who looked after the office, was in the dining-room having her dinner at half-past seven. She went to bed shortly after ten, leaving the front entrance in charge of the porter, who had duties to perform in various parts of the house. And it was possible to descend42 the stairs and leave the hotel without being seen from the lounge or smoking-room.
There was a wagonette to St. Fair from the railway station at half-past-seven. The hotel dinner was at a quarter to seven for the convenience of some permanent guests, and Sisily, who left the table before the meal was concluded—about a quarter-past seven, according to Mrs. Pendleton—had time to catch the wagonette. On the assumption that even a Cornish wagonette would cover the journey of five miles across the moors43 in less than an hour, Sisily had probably reached her father’s house at half-past eight or a little earlier. The stopped clock in the study indicated that he met his death at half-past nine. If so, Sisily must have left Flint House shortly before her aunt’s arrival to catch the returning wagonette at the cross-roads where the young woman was seen waiting by Peter Portgartha.
But that plausibly44 conceived itinerary45 of events needed the support of proof, and there Barrant found himself in difficulty.
The morning’s enquiries made it manifest that Sisily had left Penzance by the mid-day train on the previous day. After leaving Mrs. Pendleton, Barrant had gone to the station. The sour and elderly ticket-clerk on duty could give him no information, but let it be understood that there was another clerk selling tickets for the mid-day train, which was unusually crowded by farmers going to Redruth. The other clerk, seen in the morning, had no difficulty in recalling the young lady of Barrant’s description. She was pretty and slight and dark, with a pale clear complexion46, and she carried a small handbag. She asked for a ticket to London. The clerk understood her to ask for a return ticket, but as she picked it up with the change for the five pound note with which she paid for it, she said that she thought she had asked for a single ticket. He assured her that she had not, but offered to change it. At that moment the departure of the train was signalled, and she ran through the barrier without waiting to change the ticket. The incident caused him to observe her, and his description tallied47 so completely with Mrs. Pendleton’s description that Barrant had not the least doubt that it was Sisily.
On the strength of this information Barrant applied48 to a local magistrate49 for a warrant for the girl’s arrest. He was well aware that he had not yet gathered sufficient evidence to satisfy the law that she had murdered her father, but his action was justified50 by her flight and the presumption51 of her secret visit to her father’s house when she was supposed to be in bed and asleep at the hotel.
These things fulfilled, Barrant then applied his mind to the question of Thalassa’s complicity. If Sisily’s actions on the night of her father’s death, and her subsequent flight, simplified matters to the extent of deepening the assumption of murder into a practical certainty, they added to the complexity of the case by giving it the appearance of a carefully planned crime in which Thalassa seemed to be deeply involved.
The insistent52 necessity of motive which should explain the events of that night with apt presumptions53, threw Barrant back on the suggestion, made by Austin Turold, that it was really Sisily whom Mrs. Pendleton had detected looking through the door of the downstairs room when the other members of the family were assembled within listening to Robert Turold. Barrant told himself that Mrs. Pendleton’s suspicion of Thalassa rested on nothing more substantial than feminine prejudice, an unreasoning impulse of dislike which would leave few men alive if it always carried capital punishment in its train.
The substitution of Sisily for Thalassa provided a convincing motive for murder. The overheard revelation of her mother’s shame and her own precarious54 condition in the world when she might reasonably have been counting on becoming an heiress of note, were sufficient to account for the nocturnal return and an effort to entreat55 justice or compel silence—the alternatives depended on the type of girl. From what Mrs. Pendleton had told him of Sisily and her love for her mother—poor Mrs. Pendleton had insisted, all unwittingly, very strongly on that—Barrant had pictured her as a brooding yet passionate56 type of girl who might have committed the murder in a sudden frenzy57 of determination to prevent her father making public the unhappy secret of her mother’s life. That was an act by no means inconsistent with the temperament58 of a strongwilled and lonely girl, whose stormy passions had been wrought59 to the breaking-point by disclosures made on the very day that her loved mother had been buried in a nameless grave. There was, additionally, the motive of self-interest, awakened60 to the lamentable61 fact that she had no claim on her father beyond what generosity62 might dictate63. In short, Barrant believed the motive for the murder to be a mixed one, as human motives generally are. At that stage of his reasoning he did not ask himself whether worldly greed was likely to enter into the composition of a girl like Sisily.
This reconstruction64 of the crime pointed65 to an accomplice66, and that accomplice must have been the man-servant. Nobody but Thalassa could have let the girl into the house; and he could have dropped the key in the room after the door was broken open. That theory not only presupposed strong devotion on Thalassa’s part for a girl he had known from childhood, which was a theory reasonable of belief, but it also suggested that he bore a deep grudge against his master on his own account, sufficient to cause him to refrain from doing anything to prevent the accomplishment67 of the murder, and to risk his own skin afterwards to shield the girl from the consequences. This aspect of the case struck Barrant as very strange and deep, because it failed to account for Sisily’s subsequent flight. If Thalassa had jeopardized68 himself by keeping silence about her visit, and had returned the key to her father’s room in order to create the idea of suicide, why had she dispelled69 the illusion by running away, bringing both her accomplice and herself into danger? Had she been, seized with terror, perhaps due to Mrs. Pendleton’s insistence70 on her belief of murder, or had Thalassa conveyed some warning to her that inquiries71 were likely to be put afoot?
These were questions to which Barrant felt he could find no answer until he had seen Thalassa and attempted to wrest72 the truth from him.
He postponed73 his visit to Flint House until the evening. He wanted to make the journey as Sisily had made it on the previous night, in order to find out, as nearly as possible, the exact moment she had arrived at her father’s house. He was not even in a position to prove that she had gone by the wagonette until he had questioned the driver.
He took his way to the station that evening with the feeling that it would be difficult to get anything out of Thalassa, whatever the reasons for his silence. He instinctively74 recognized that the authority of the law, which strikes such terror into craven hearts, would not help him with this old man whose glance had the lawless fearlessness of an eagle. But he had confidence in his ability to extract the truth, and Thalassa, moreover, was at the disadvantage of having something to hide. It would be strange if he did not succeed in getting the facts out of him.
The St. Fair wagonette was pulled up outside the station. Mr. Crows, master of his destiny and time-tables, reclined in front, regarding with a glazed75 eye his drooping76 horse. Inside, some stout77 women with bundles waited patiently until it suited the autocrat78 on the box seat to start on his homeward way. Mr. Crows showed no indication of being in a hurry. His head nodded drowsily79, and a little saliva80 trickled81 down his nether82 lip. He straightened himself with a sudden jerk as Barrant climbed up beside him.
“What be yewer doin’ yare?” he demanded.
“I’m going to St. Fair,” said Barrant.
“I doan’t allow no passergers to sit alongside o’ me.”
“You’ll have to put up with it for once,” returned Barrant curtly84, in no way softened85 by the odour of Mr. Crows’ breath.
As this was a reply which no resident of St. Fair would have dared to make, Mr. Crows bent86 a muddled87 glance on his fare, and by a concentrated effort recalled the face of the man who had given him ten shillings on the previous night. He decided88 to pocket the present indignity89 in the hope of another tip.
“Aw right,” he said, with unwonted amiability90, “yewer can stay where yew83 are—for wance.”
He applied himself to driving the wagonette. Sobriety was not an essential of the feat91. The horse knew the way, drew clear of the town without accident, and jogged into the long winding92 road which stretched across the moors. The shadows deepened into night, and Mr. Crows lighted a solitary lamp in the front of his vehicle.
“Aren’t you going to light up inside?” asked Barrant, when the lamp was flickering93 faintly.
“No,” replied Mr. Crows shortly. “It don’t pay. Let ‘em set in the dark.”
“Not enough passengers, eh?”
“Moren enough fat old wommen on the out journey,” declared Mr. Crows passionately94. “That’s because it’s all up-hill. But they walk in downhill to save a shellen. I know them.” He brooded darkly. “It’s all part of the plan,” he went on. Then, as though feeling that this latter statement, in itself, erred37 on the side of vagueness, he added—“to worrit a man.”
“How many passengers did you have on your last journey in, last night?”
“Two on ‘em.” Mr. Crows, with forefinger95 and thumb, snuffed his nose as he had previously96 snuffed the candle in the lamp. “There was Peter Portgartha and a young woman. I happen to know it was a young ‘un because she went away at such a rate when she got out. When wommen begins to get up in years they go in the legs, same as harses.”
“Would you know her again if you saw her?” asked Barrant eagerly.
“Not if you was to sware me on the Howly Trinity.”
“Did this young woman travel up with you by this wagonette last night?”
Mr. Crows couldn’t say for that. There were six insides, that was all he knew. He disremembered anything about them.
“Surely you notice the passengers you carry?”
Mr. Crows, with the air of one propounding97 an insoluble riddle98, asked his fare why should he take notice of his passengers? He weren’t paid for that—no, not he. What’s more, the night was a dark one. He knew there was six insides because six fares was put through the winder, but whether they was put through by men or ma’adens or widder wommen was moren he cud say.
He again called on the Trinity to attest99 his ignorance.
“Their shellens is nuthin’ to me”—the reference was to the passengers. “They wouldn’t pay for the harse’s feed. I work for the Duchy, I do, which is almost the same as being in Guvverment, ain’t it? I remember yew, thow—because yew gave me ten shellens for driving yew to the Central hotel last night.” Mr. Crows cast a quick glance at his fare to see how he took this artful reminder100 of his munificence101. “But as for their bobs—” He spat102 into the night in order to express his contempt for the insignificance103 of such small sums.
There was a tap at the window behind him. He unfastened the pane104, and a spectral105 hand came through with a coin. Mr. Crows took it, the hand disappeared, to be replaced by another, more dirty than spectral, with a coin in the outstretched palm, like its predecessor106.
“You see,” said Mr. Crows, when he had collected six shillings in this manner. “What’s the need for to look at them? I’ve learnt them to hand in their fares this way. Saves time and talk for nothing. Why should I look at a lot of fat old wommen? I ain’t paid for that. It’s quite enough to let them set in my cab, wearing out my cushions with their great fat bodies, without looking at them.” He eyed Barrant with some sternness.
“But this was not a fat old woman,” said Barrant. “She was a pretty young girl.”
“Ma’ad or widder, it’s all the same to me,” returned the misogynist107. “Some holds with the sex and finds them soothing108, but I was never took up with them myself. I prefers beer. Every man to his taste.”
“Did any of the passengers alight at the crossroads?”
They were nearing the cross-roads as he spoke109, and the rude outline of the wayside cross loomed110 out of the shadows directly ahead.
“I couldn’t tell you that, neither. I always stop at the cross-roads, in and out. It’s one of my regular stopping-places. Come to think of it, though, somebody did get out at the cross-roads last night.”
“A man or woman?” asked Barrant with eagerness.
“A woman. She went off acrass the moors that way.” Mr. Crows pointed an indifferent whip into the blackness which rested like a pall111 between the white road and the distant roaring sea. “She was a wunner to go, too—out of sight in a moment, she was.”
“Thank you. I’ll get down here, too.”
As the wagonette stopped at the cross-roads Barrant jumped down from his seat and disappeared in the indicated direction before Mr. Crows could summon his slow wits to determine the value of the coin which the detective had pressed into his passively expectant palm.
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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longingly
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| adv. 渴望地 热望地 | |
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apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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sinisterly
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| 不吉祥地，邪恶地 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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incongruity
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| n.不协调，不一致 | |
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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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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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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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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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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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portentously
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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truculent
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| adj.野蛮的，粗野的 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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erred
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| 犯错误，做错事( err的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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complexity
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| n.复杂(性)，复杂的事物 | |
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absolving
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| 宣告…无罪，赦免…的罪行，宽恕…的罪行( absolve的现在分词 )； 不受责难，免除责任 [义务] ,开脱（罪责） | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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43
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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44
plausibly
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| 似真地 | |
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45
itinerary
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| n.行程表，旅行路线；旅行计划 | |
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46
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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47
tallied
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| v.计算，清点( tally的过去式和过去分词 )；加标签（或标记）于；（使）符合；（使）吻合 | |
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48
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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49
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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50
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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51
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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52
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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53
presumptions
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| n.假定( presumption的名词复数 )；认定；推定；放肆 | |
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54
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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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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57
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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58
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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59
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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61
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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63
dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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reconstruction
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| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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jeopardized
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| 危及，损害( jeopardize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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wrest
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| n.扭，拧，猛夺；v.夺取，猛扭，歪曲 | |
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postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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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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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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autocrat
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| n.独裁者；专横的人 | |
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drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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saliva
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| n.唾液，口水 | |
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81
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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83
yew
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| n.紫杉属树木 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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85
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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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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muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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89
indignity
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| n.侮辱，伤害尊严，轻蔑 | |
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90
amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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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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92
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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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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94
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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95
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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96
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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97
propounding
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| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的现在分词 ) | |
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98
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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99
attest
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| vt.证明，证实；表明 | |
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100
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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101
munificence
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| n.宽宏大量，慷慨给与 | |
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102
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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103
insignificance
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| n.不重要；无价值；无意义 | |
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104
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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105
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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106
predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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107
misogynist
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| n.厌恶女人的人 | |
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108
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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109
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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110
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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111
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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