It was a world of snow; snow-covered roofs, paths dug between snow-walls, trees bent1 down with the burden of their snow-laden branches. Even a shout given in the open seemed dulled and deadened. The air, ice-cold though it was, had no tonic3 sting to it. It penetrated5, chilling and dispiriting, to the soldiers’ very bones. The sun peeped out from behind the everlasting6 clouds only to disappear again before its pale warmth was felt, and in its place fog descended7 over the snow-fields, shortening the brief hours of daylight still more, so that sometimes the noon dinner hour was no more than over before darkness began to fall.
The snow kept Alan Leslie in the American hospital for weeks after Christmas, and when he and Bob were well on the road to convalescence8 it prevented them from moving beyond the hospital’s small, crowded rooms, where they shivered in draughts9 or crouched10 by the stove, longing11 for sunshine and a chance to hobble about outdoors a little without plunging12 into snowdrifts.
“This is no place for you to get well, Bob. We’ll send you away,” said Major Greyson one morning.
As a result of his friend’s negotiations13 Bob received news about the first of February which raised his spirits with a joyful14 leap from their tired level.
“It’s all fixed15, Bob,” the surgeon told him, coming into the room, papers in hand. “You’re to go south at once, and what’s better, they have consented to your father’s request. You are to go to the convalescent hospital at Badheim, near Coblenz. Captain Leslie will travel with you on his way to England. This climate won’t do any longer for that foot of his.”
“Greyson, it’s you who fixed it all for me. I’ll never forget it!” Bob glowed with delighted anticipation16, walking on his mended leg with sudden boldness and confidence. What were the eternal grey skies to him now, or the darkness of early afternoon that already began to fill the room? He forgot the hardships of the long journey before him, the weary painful days he had just passed through, as well as the lingering weakness of his body. “And Alan can go with me!” he exclaimed, hardly believing his own good fortune. “When do we start, Greyson? My leg feels as strong as iron.”
“Next week if all goes well. I shall send a Hospital Corps18 man with you. Remember you’re not a well man yet, and have a long way to travel. Do you feel strong enough to undertake it? From here to Moscow—to Warsaw—to Berlin?”
“Around the world, if you like, so that it lands me somewhere out of the Arctic Circle,” said Bob, undashed in spirit by any prospect19 of hardship ahead. “Greyson, I’d like to go where the sun’s hot enough to sunburn me, and where oranges would drop off the trees into my lap.”
“Coblenz won’t quite come up to that, but it’s a big improvement on Archangel.”
“I wish you were coming, Greyson. As Alan would say, 'Horrid20 beasts—Bolshies.’”
Ten days later Bob and Alan left Archangel to begin their journey south. Toward the end of February, after weeks of slow, interrupted, uncomfortable travel, they reached Berlin, and realized with a swift reaction after days of discouragement, that the worst of the way lay behind them.
“The longest part, you mean,” remarked Alan when Bob made this observation. “Don’t know about the worst.”
He said this as they emerged from the Friedrichstrasse station onto the broad avenue Friedrichstrasse.
While the Hospital Corps man who accompanied them went in search of a taxicab the two young officers stood looking curiously21 about them. Alan had but once in his life passed through Berlin and Bob had never set foot in it, but this was not the reason for their motionless absorption. There was something strangely restless and uneasy about the crowd surging through the streets, hurrying in every direction, or stopping short to exchange excited words. A kind of suspense22 hung over the city, a tense expectation of disaster, perceptible even to strangers casually23 entering the capital.
“What’s wrong with them, anyway, Alan?” asked Bob, completely puzzled. “They look frightened. What can they be afraid of?”
“There’s something going on, that’s certain,” Alan responded, doubtfully too. “Here’s our taxi, anyway. Let’s get to the hotel.”
Miller24, the Hospital Corps man, had managed, with the aid of a policeman, to find a ramshackle old vehicle, much the worse for wear, driven by a man who looked as frightened as the rest of the population and almost ran into the curb25 as he drew up before the station.
“A nice car you picked out, Miller,” remarked Bob as they got in. “Hotel Adlon,” he told the driver.
“Best I could do, sir,” declared Miller, getting in after them. “There’s some sort of a row on here.”
To Bob’s and Alan’s surprise the policeman climbed up beside the driver and began talking volubly to him, evidently silencing the man’s uneasy protests. The taxicab started off jerkily, the motor missing explosions so frequently that Bob pricked26 up his ears, thinking of his airplane the night he had fallen. “We shan’t get far in this,” he prophesied27.
Alan was staring through the dirty window. A light snow had fallen over the city, but now the sky was clearing and the sun shone from behind drifting clouds. The same hurrying, debating, anxious crowd filled the streets as the taxicab turned into the fine avenue of Unter den2 Linden and approached the Pariser Platz and the more populous28 part of the city. Half a mile from the station shots echoed from beyond a building close at hand. A group of men ran out from behind a wall. The crowd shrieked29, and some soldiers, suddenly appearing, plunged30 after the fugitives31.
The policeman beside the taxi driver shouted in his ear. The man shook his head with every sign of unwillingness32, but put on speed nevertheless, and drove rapidly through the disorderly throng35, dodging36 the people as best he could.
“There’s a bit of a tittup here, Bob, and no mistake,” said Alan, his face toward the window. “Do you 'Sprechen sie Deutsch’ enough to ask the bobby to explain?”
“Yes, but why explain now? Let’s get to the hotel. It looks like a riot. I’m not a bit anxious to get into a German quarrel.”
“Neither am I,” agreed Alan fervently37. “Jove, it seems to be getting thicker here.”
He pointed38 to a new congestion39 in the crowd which, apparently40 divided into conflicting parties, swayed back and forth41 across the thoroughfare.
“Beg pardon, Captain Gordon,” broke in Miller, who sat grasping the two hand-bags as though prepared to jump out at any emergency, “I understood the policeman to say that there’s a fight on between the government party and the rebels. Nobody knows yet who’s got the upper hand.”
Bob and Alan listened uncomprehendingly. No news had reached them in Archangel of the serious outbreaks of Bolshevism in Berlin and elsewhere in Germany. The name of Spartacans which the rebels had taken was an unknown word to them. But the terror of the people, the disorder34 in the once strictly42 governed city, was plain enough to their eyes.
The taxi continued to force a difficult way through the crowds clustering about the streets, drawn43 into frightened groups that dispersed44 into mad flight at each new alarm. Suddenly more shots rang out, this time from the roof of a building bordering the great square called Pariser Platz. The taxi came to an abrupt45 stop, and, before the policeman could impede46 him, the driver had sprung from his place and was running headlong across the square toward shelter.
Shots from rifles and machine guns placed on the roofs rained down on the open. The people fled in screaming panic, leaving some of their number stretched on the pavement. A company of soldiers, sheltered behind improvised47 breastworks of tipped-over wagons48, returned the fire, but ineffectually, for the rebels were lying flat on the roofs, nearly invisible. Shots pattered over the taxicab and a bullet smashed a window and buried itself in the cushion behind Miller’s back.
“We can’t stay here!” Bob shouted. “Come, both of you. We’ll run for it!”
“You can’t run, sir,” protested Miller, at his wits’ end. “Get behind the cab, sir. Won’t that protect some?”
The policeman was already down and crouching49 against the cab, calling out unintelligible50 orders to people who did not stop to heed51 him. Another company of infantry52 reached the square on a run and went to the help of their comrades. But the rebels’ increasing fire now made the place almost untenable.
“We can’t stay here like rats in a trap,” Bob panted, furious at his helplessness. “We can run if we take it slowly, Alan. Go ahead, Miller. No need for you to dawdle53, too.”
“Take the cushions, Bob! Hold them over us! Better than nothing,” cried Alan.
He seized one of the heavy, hair-lined seats from the cab, tossed it to Bob, picked up the other and, holding it above his head, began to run slowly and limpingly across the square. Bob followed, groaning54 once in spite of himself at the pain in his leg from this unaccustomed speed. He heard bullets strike the pavement around him, and every second expected one to penetrate4 the cushion, but desperately55 he ran on, following as best he could the zigzag56 course Alan led to put the Spartacist riflemen off their aim. In five minutes they reached the shelter of the houses on the east side of the square and, spent and breathless, sank down on the first threshold their steps encountered.
Miller, pale with alarm for his charges, opened one of the bags he had doggedly57 clung to and thrust a flask58 into Bob’s hand. “We can’t stop here but a moment, sir. The shots still reach us.” He pointed to a bullet which had just clanged against the pavement.
“Alan!” said Bob, suddenly aghast. He seized the Britisher’s hand, pushing back the sleeve from the wrist about which Alan was hurriedly winding59 a blood-stained handkerchief. “You’re wounded!”
Alan shook his head. “Nothing but a flea-bite. A grazing bullet nipped off a bit of skin. Honor bright, Bob.” He let Miller fasten the handkerchief more securely. “Wounded upholding the German Empire,” he remarked scornfully. “Not much glory to be got out of this.”
At the moment that he spoke60 a fresh burst of firing from the roofs on the opposite side of the square sprayed the pavement in front of the threshold where they sat with bullets. The square was now deserted61, except for the two companies of infantry crouched behind their shelter.
“Come on,” cried Alan, starting to his feet. “We’re done for if we stop here.”
He glanced out into the square, then at the houses on each side of them.
“No chance out there,” said Bob. “Inside a house,—it’s the only way.”
Alan nodded, his keen eyes on the closed windows. Bob ran to one near the street level, cold with a prickling dread62 of bullets in his back, climbed upon the stone coping and tried to force up the sash. The window was locked.
“Inhospitable beggars,” muttered Alan. He sprang on the coping and grasped the window shutters63. “Push me up, Miller—on to the sill!” he ordered.
The orderly offered his shoulder for support. Alan reached the window-sill, clung there kneeling, and, driving his elbow through the glass of the upper frame, thrust in his hand and unlocked the catch. He threw open the window, pushed back the heavy curtains and stepped into the house. “All right,” he cried, holding out his hands to his companions.
The next moment all three were standing65 inside a luxuriously66 furnished room, leaving behind them the deadly rain of bullets and the wounded lying in the sunlit square.
“What now?” inquired Bob, glancing about him uncertainly. “We look uncommonly67 like housebreakers, but Heaven knows we had excuse enough.”
“Yes, my conscience doesn’t trouble me,” said Alan, closing the broken window. “I tell you, Bob, I had the shakes at thought of coming all through the war only to be brought down in the cross-fire of a silly Boche quarrel. You’ve found out something on your journey at any rate, my lad—the answer to one of those questions that are always worrying you. Whether or not there are Germans with the Bolsheviki at Archangel, there are certainly Bolshies in Germany.”
“I say, Alan, we’d better go and explain ourselves to somebody,” suggested Bob, smiling in spite of himself at the cool casualness which allowed Alan to stand and converse68 at his ease in any and all circumstances.
“Right-o. Shall we go on through the house? Doesn’t seem to be anyone in it. Pretty taste in furniture.”
The windows of the big drawing-room which they had entered were draped with red velvet69 and white lace curtains and its floor was covered with a red plush carpet. The cushions and upholstery of the massive chairs and sofas were of the same color, and on the chimneypiece stood huge gilt70 vases filled with artificial flowers. An air of gloomy richness pervaded71 everything.
The young officers and the orderly went on into a hall, across from which was a closed door. Carpeted stairs led to the second story. Behind the closed doors sounded the murmur72 of voices.
“Shall we beard the Prussian in his den, Bob, or go out again and be shot at?” asked Alan, jerking his head toward the door.
For answer Bob knocked at the door, put his hand on the knob and turned it, Alan close behind. “You might wait here, Miller,” said Bob. The door opened and the two officers entered a large library, around the center table of which sat half a dozen grave, bearded, pompous-looking men, engaged in excited discussion.
At sight of Bob and Alan several of them sprang to their feet in startled haste. One or two showed signs of terror, the rest looked puzzled, which feeling changed to something like indignation as the young men’s uniforms identified them to the Germans’ eyes.
“What do you wish here, meinen Herrn?” demanded a beetle-browed, professorial-looking person, whose worn frock coat curved tightly over his rounded form. “Have you mistaken your way?”
“We came into this house to escape being shot in the square outside,” said Bob without apology. “We have no other desire than to reach our hotel in safety.”
“You haven’t noticed that there’s shooting going on, Herr Professor? Take a short walk about the city,” suggested Alan, eyeing the group.
His German was so bad that he was scarcely understood, but something of veiled contempt in his tone penetrated the Germans’ wits. Resentful glances were turned on the intruders. The man who had spoken before said sharply, his bushy brows drawn closer together:
“We regret extremely that you were exposed to danger. I and my colleagues, the Herrn Councillors, are gathered here to decide how to restore order.” Casting an unfriendly eye at the young officers’ immovable faces he added with gloomy bitterness, “This anarchy73 is the result of a long and cruel war.”
“Yes, too bad you started it,” remarked Alan, losing his temper.
Bob nudged him to be silent. “Could you give us a police escort, or a vehicle of some sort, mein Herr?” he asked. “We want to reach the hotel as soon as possible. Our train goes out this evening.”
“Certainly. That is reasonable,” acceded74 the German, pompously75. He sat down before a telephone on the table and for five minutes vainly tried to get any communication. One of his colleagues muttered angrily:
“The Spartacans have cut some of the wires. I doubt if you can get a police station.”
The man at the telephone shook his head. “No, no. It’s the current that’s weak. The power houses are not——” He broke off to say to Bob, with a sort of exasperated76 dignity, “I will send a servant to fetch you a taxicab and an escort.”
“Very well,” agreed Bob. “Shall we wait in the drawing-room across the hall?”
“Yes, yes—sehr gut77.” The German walked with the officers to the library door, his face showing all the angry annoyance78 he was powerless to conceal79. “Cursed rebels,” he growled80, more to himself than to his listeners. “I will inform you, gentlemen, when the taxi arrives.”
“He’s more put out because we saw his helplessness than at the real state of things,” said Alan as they sank down into the depths of a red plush sofa to wait.
“It’s funny,” pondered Bob, looking out between the heavy curtains at the square, where the firing had slackened. “In spite of Berlin’s former good government they don’t seem to have any resources at a time like this. Those old codgers talking in there aren’t going to accomplish much.”
“They only know how to govern by force. Their leaders have no real influence over the people,” commented Alan, in one of his rare thoughtful moments. “I expect that burly chap who talked with us is lord and master of all this grandeur81.” He waved one hand about the drawing-room. “How can he think at all, Bob? Wouldn’t even your lively brain be stifled82 in this wilderness83 of plush and lace? Why, hello—they’ve sent a woman for the taxi! Isn’t that just like them?”
The street door had closed before he spoke and a slight figure came into view in front of the house—a woman with head and shoulders wrapped in a shawl, who hesitated, visibly frightened, though the firing had ceased and a few citizens again ventured abroad. Bob went to the window and looked down at her as, having evidently summoned up her courage, she stepped off the curb, only to hesitate again on the edge of the square.
“What a beastly shame! Let’s stop her,” he exclaimed, fumbling84 with the window-catch beyond the layers of curtain.
“Out the front door’s the best,” said Alan, making for the hall. “She won’t hear you from inside.”
He unbolted the house door, pulled it open and ran down the steps. “You speak to her, Bob,” he called back as his cousin followed him. “My German is rather worse than yours.”
Though all was quiet in the square, an uneasy silence, and the crouching, watchful85 figures of infantrymen below and Spartacans above suggested that the firing might recommence at any moment. Bob ran to the woman’s side and touched her arm just as she started at last to cross the square.
“You need not go, Frau,” he said, close to her ear. “It’s no time for women to be out. Tell me where the police——” He paused, staring into her face, struck dumb with amazement86.
“Mr. Bob!” The woman’s voice quivered. Her thin hands clasped the young officer’s arm in her overpowering excitement. “Oh, Mr. Bob—you here!”
She spoke in English and Bob abandoned his halting German, though now he hardly knew what he answered in the shock of his astonishment87. “You—Elizabeth! Wait, you can’t go on. Come back into the house.”
“I say, she speaks English? She knows you?” demanded Alan, staring.
Bob had not time to reply before the machine guns on the opposite roofs, as though they had received a fresh supply of ammunition-belts, reopened fire. The silence of the square was rudely shattered. Put-put-put-put-a-put the machine guns hammered, and the rifles cracked in scattering88 shots sent by both rebels and loyalists. Cries resounded89 from neighboring windows, and from the Spartacan stronghold on the roofs came faint shouts of triumph.
Bob caught Elizabeth’s shoulder and pushed her toward the house door. “Go back! Hide!” he ordered. “We’ll run for it.”
The bullets were not yet falling dangerously near. Both Bob and Alan felt so unwilling33 to return to the Herr Councillor’s drawing-room for an indefinite wait that in silent agreement they began running along the street bordering the square, to the first corner, down which they turned.
The firing sounded fainter, though even here few passers-by were to be met with, their pale, frightened faces, and the locked and shuttered windows of every house showing a state of fear bordering on panic. At the next corner Bob and Alan paused uncertainly, looking vainly about for a policeman.
“Not that way, Mr. Bob! To the right side turn,” cried a panting voice just behind.
Elizabeth came up running, her thin little figure shivering in the poor shawl wrapped about her, her quick breath puffing90 into the cold air.
“Elizabeth!” Bob’s voice held sharp reproach. “Why didn’t you go back to your master’s house? What are you doing here?”
“You cannot the police find, Mr. Bob. I will show you,” declared the German woman, still panting. “This way come!” She led the way across the street and around a corner. The officers followed, Alan’s curiosity no longer to be suppressed.
“Who is she, Bob? Are you in league with the enemy?”
“She’s not the enemy, poor old soul. She’s as pro-Ally as we are. She’s done the Allies more than one good turn. She was our servant at home in America before the war. Which way now, Elizabeth?” he asked, as the German woman paused for a second, undecided.
“This way, I think.” She hurried on down another street, evidently avoiding open places and crowded thoroughfares. In ten minutes more the three emerged on to Unter den Linden and saw the colored lamp of a police station over a door a few steps away.
“Now, Elizabeth, we’re all right. Go back, won’t you? Get under shelter before the firing grows worse. Else you may not be able to get into the house at all,” entreated91 Bob, pausing on the sidewalk by the police station door.
“I don’t want to go back, Mr. Bob,” said Elizabeth, her voice shaking with some emotion that was neither fear nor weariness.
Bob looked into her face and saw that the soft, dark eyes were shining with a sudden hope and joy that illumined her thin, worn face and brought almost a smile to her pale lips.
“I want to stay with you, Mr. Bob. Oh, don’t leave me behind, dear, kind Mr. Bob! Take me back to America! Surely God put me in your path!”
The objections trembling on Bob’s lips were too many to find expression at that moment. He could not bring himself to speak a curt64 refusal. The little German woman’s face touched him too deeply with all its gentle reminders92 of old days. He hesitated, glanced around him at the avenue, along the sidewalks and pavements of which disorderly crowds were strolling, arguing, fighting, shouting and gesticulating—occasionally broken up by groups of harassed93 policemen charging fiercely into their midst. Bob felt Alan’s hand on his arm and put Elizabeth off for the moment by saying:
“Elizabeth, we can’t talk now. Wait until we find a taxi and get to the hotel. You can come that far, anyhow.”
Elizabeth nodded, her habitual94 patience overcoming her eager longing to be answered. She followed the two young men into the station, where a red-faced, worried-looking police sergeant95 was seated before a desk, his ear to the telephone, his hand fingering reports lying in scattered96 heaps in front of him. He spoke into the telephone:
“Ja, ja. You can do nothing? Himmel! Then call out men from the next precinct. There are none? You ass17, what is the use in telling me that? Wait? Yes, yes—hurry!”
He hung up, breathing fast, caught sight of his visitors, stared, then rose to his feet, demanding, in a voice still unsteady with anger, “What do you wish, Herrn Officers?”
“A taxi, please, and a policeman to escort us to our hotel,” requested Bob.
“Everybody’s shooting at us. They don’t seem to know the war’s over,” added Alan, looking without any trace of sympathy at the sergeant’s frowning, troubled face.
Alan had suffered much during the war, and, in the course of many gallant97 exploits, had been three times wounded, and left with a bullet buried in his knee which hurt him atrociously when least expected. Human nature forbade that such mild revenge as this should not be sweet to him.
The sergeant grew a deeper crimson98, casting a sour look at the young Britisher. “I will get you a taxi, Herr Officer,” he said to Bob. “But a policeman—where are they? I haven’t a man left here.”
“All right, a taxi will do,” said Bob. “Only, please tell the driver to stick to his job and not run away at the first shot.”
“And if I tell him, will he do it?” grumbled99 the sergeant. He picked up the telephone once more.
It was half an hour before he succeeded in getting hold of a taxi, and he probably never would have done so if Bob had not told him to offer double tariff100 to pay the driver for his fear of death. In that half hour Elizabeth drew from Bob as much of the Gordon family’s recent history as he could collect his wits to impart. At the news that General Gordon was stationed at Coblenz she gave a little cry of joyful thanksgiving.
“I could go there with you, Mr. Bob? Say yes! I could the house of your father keep? I will the hardest work do!”
“Elizabeth, don’t be in a hurry,” Bob fenced, casting about for decisive objections. “How can you run away from Berlin like this? It’s idiotic101. You may be sorry. Why, you’ve no baggage nor anything.”
“My baggage, Mr. Bob? The best clothes I have are on my back. No people in Berlin have good clothes now, not even the rich.”
Alan said in Bob’s ear, “Boche and all, I feel sorry for her. Let’s buy her a new shawl, if nothing else.”
Bob gave up the struggle of trying to harden his heart against Elizabeth’s pleadings. With Lucy in his mind he said, as the slow taxi neared the hotel, which after all this delay turned out to be on the Pariser Platz itself, some hundred yards from the councillor’s house.
“All right, Elizabeth, I’ll take you to Coblenz. I don’t say to America.”
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1
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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negotiations
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| 协商( negotiation的名词复数 )； 谈判； 完成（难事）； 通过 | |
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joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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miller
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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pricked
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prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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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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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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unwillingness
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| n. 不愿意，不情愿 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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35
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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36
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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38
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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congestion
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| n.阻塞，消化不良 | |
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40
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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41
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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42
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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43
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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impede
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，阻止 | |
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improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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48
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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49
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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50
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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52
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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53
dawdle
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| vi.浪费时间；闲荡 | |
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groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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58
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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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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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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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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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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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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luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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acceded
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| v.（正式）加入( accede的过去式和过去分词 )；答应；（通过财产的添附而）增加；开始任职 | |
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pompously
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| adv.傲慢地，盛大壮观地；大模大样 | |
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exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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77
gut
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| n.[pl.]胆量；内脏；adj.本能的；vt.取出内脏 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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83
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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84
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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85
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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86
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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87
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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88
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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90
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reminders
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| n.令人回忆起…的东西( reminder的名词复数 )；提醒…的东西；（告知该做某事的）通知单；提示信 | |
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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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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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96
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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99
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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100
tariff
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| n.关税，税率；(旅馆、饭店等)价目表，收费表 | |
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101
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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