When I was a little girl and was taken to see my grandmother, she set out for my amusement, to be looked at but not touched by little fingers, various curios brought home by my grandfather from China in the old days when he was a sailor in the Honourable3 East India Company's service; beautifully carved ivory chessmen, a model of a Chinese lady's foot about three inches long, dainty mother-of-pearl counters made in the likeness4 of all manner of strange beasts, lacquer boxes and ivory balls; models of palankeens in ivory, and fans that seemed to me, brought up in the somewhat rough-and-ready surroundings of a new country, dreams of loveliness. The impression was made, I felt the fascination5 of China, the fascination of a thing far beyond me. Like the pretty things, so out of my reach it seemed that I did not even add it to the list of places I intended to 002visit when I grew up, for even then my great desire was to travel all over the world; I was born with the wander fever in my blood, but unfortunately with small means of satisfying it. As I grew older I used to read every travel book I could get hold of, and later on when I began to live by my pen I got into the habit of gauging6 my chances of seeing a country by the number of books written about it. China, judged by this standard, fell naturally into the place assigned to it by my grandmother's curios; for from the days of Marco Polo men have gone up and down the land, painfully, sorrowfully, gladly, triumphantly7, and at least half of them seem to have put pen to paper to describe what they have seen. Was it likely there would be anything left for me to write about?
Then one bright Sunday morning when the sun was shining, as he does occasionally shine in England, the spirit moved me to go down the Brighton line to spend a day with Parry Truscott, a fellow storyteller. The unkind Fates have seen to it that I live alone, and arriving at Victoria that bright morning I felt amiably8 disposed and desirous of exchanging ideas with somebody. In the carriage I had chosen were already seated two nicely dressed women, and coming along the platform was a porter with hot-water bottles. The morning was sharp and the opportunity was not to be lost, I turned to them and asked them if they would not like a hot-water bottle. Alas9! Alas! Those women towards whom I had felt so friendly evidently did not reciprocate10 my feelings. In chilly11 accents calculated to discourage the boldest—and I am not the boldest—they gave me to understand that they required neither the hot-003water bottle nor my conversation, so, snubbed, I retired12 to the other side of the carriage and amused myself with my own thoughts and the sunshine and shadow on the green country through which we were passing. Half the journey was done when I saw, to my astonishment13, a sight that is not often seen in the Sussex lanes, a train of camels and elephants marching along. It seemed to me something worth seeing, and entirely14 forgetting that I had been put in my place earlier in the morning I cried, “Oh, look! Look! Camels and elephants!”
Those two ladies were a credit to the English nation. They bore themselves with the utmost propriety15. What they thought of me I can only dimly guess, but they never even raised their eyes from their papers. Of course the train rushed on, the camels and elephants were left behind, and there was nothing to show they had ever been there. Then I regret to state that I lay back and laughed till I cried, and whenever I felt a little better the sight of those two studious women solemnly reading their papers set me off again. When I got out at Hassocks they did not allow themselves to look relieved, that perhaps would have been expressing too much emotion before a stranger who had behaved in so eccentric a fashion, but they literally16 drew their skirts around them so that they should not touch mine and be contaminated as I passed.
There is always more than one side to a story; how I should love to hear the version of that journey told by those two ladies; doubtless it would not in the faintest degree resemble mine. And yet there really were camels and elephants. And so it occurred to me why not go to a country and try and 004write about it, although many had written before. If the gods were kind might I not find a story even in China.
Meanwhile one of my brothers had married a sister of Dr Morrison, and I had come into touch with the famous Times correspondent, an Australian like myself, and when he came to England he used to come and see me, and we talked about China. When I met him again after my elephant and camel experience I asked his opinion, would it be worth my while to go to China?
He was quite of opinion it would, more, he and his newly-wedded wife gave me a cordial invitation to stay with them, and the thing was settled. I decided17 to go to Peking. Accordingly, on the last day of January in the year of Our Lord 1913, I left Charing18 Cross in a thick fog for the Far East. It is a little thing to do, to get into a train and be whirled eastward19. There is nothing wonderful about it and yet—and yet—to me it was the beginning of romance. I was bound across the old world for a land where people had lived as a civilised people for thousands of years before we of the West emerged from barbarism, for a country which the new nation from which I have sprung regards with peculiar20 interest. Australia has armed herself. Why? Because of China's millions to the north. Australia has voted solid for a white Australia, and rigidly21 excluded the coloured man. Why? Not because she fears the Kanaka who helped to develop her sugar plantations22, but because she fears the yellow man and his tireless energy and his low standard of living.
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When I was a child my father, warden23 of the 005goldfield where he was stationed, was also, by virtue1 of his office, protector of the Chinese; and Heaven knows the unfortunate Chinese, industrious24, hardworking men of the coolie class from Amoy and Canton, badly needed a protector. Many a time have I seen an unfortunate Chinaman, cut and bleeding, come to my father's house to claim his protection. The larrikins, as we used to call the roughs, had stoned him for no reason that they or anyone else could understand but only because he was a Chinaman. Now I understand what puzzled and shocked me then, and what shocks me still. It is that racial animosity that is so difficult to explain to the home-staying Englishman: that animosity which is aroused because, subconsciously25, the white man knows that the yellow man, in lowering the standard of living, will literally take away much of the bread and all chance of butter from the community in which he has a foothold.
Here I was going to see the land whence had come that subservient26, patient, hard-working coolie of my childhood. And the wonder of that rush across the old world, the twelve days' railway journey that takes us from the most modern of civilisations to the most ancient—it grew upon me as we crossed the great northern plain—historic ground whereon the great battles of Europe have been fought. The people in the train were dining, supping, playing cards, sleeping, and the cities we passed in the darkness seemed mere28 clusters of dancing lights, such lights as I have seen after rain on many a hot and steamy night in West Africa. When morning dawned we had passed Berlin and were slowly leaving the packed civilisation27 behind us. A grey low 006sky was overhead and there were clumps29 of fir-trees. Dirty snow was in the hollows, and there were long, straight roads drawn30 with a ruler as they are in Australia, with little bare trees at regular intervals31 on either side, and then again dark fir woods and rain everywhere. Soon we had passed the frontier and were in Russia, and I felt I could not rush through without one glimpse of it, so I stayed one little week in Moscow, and I shall always be glad I did, though there, for the first time in my life, I was in a country where my nationality did not count, and it was not a pleasant feeling. But Moscow is the city of a dream. I arrived there at night to streets all covered with a mantle32 of snow. The many lights shone clear in the keen, cold, windless air and the sleighs drawn by sturdy little horses glided33 over the white snow as silently as if they had been moving shadows. And when morning came it was snowing. Softly, softly, fell the flakes34 and the city was a city of silence, white everywhere, and when the sun came out dazzling, sparkling white, only the cupolas of the many churches—Moscow in the heart of holy Russia has sixteen hundred—were golden or bright blue, or dark vivid green, for the snow that hid the brilliant roofs could not lie on their rounded surfaces. Above the cupolas are crosses, and from the crosses hang long chains, and ever and again on the silence rang out the musical clang of some deep-toned bell. But it is the silence that impresses. The bells were but incidental, trifling—the silence is eternal. The snow fell with a hush35, there was no rush nor roar nor crash of storm, but every snowflake counted. The little sledges36 were half buried in it, the drivers in their fur-edged caps 007and blue coats girt in at the waist with a red sash or silver embroidered38 band, shook it out of their eyes and out of their great beards and brushed it from their shoulders; in every crevice39 of the old grey walls of the Kremlin it piled up.
A dream city! A city of silence!! The snow reigned40, deadening all sound save the insistent41 bells that rang to the glory of God, and the cawing of the black and grey crows that were everywhere. What have scavenger42 crows to do in this beautiful city? They were there flying round the churches, darting43 down the spotless roads, gathering44 in little conclaves45, raising their raucous46 voices as if in protest against the all-embracing silence. They were the discordant47 note that emphasised the harmony.
Cold, was there ever such cold? The air crackled with it. It cut like a knife, for all its clear purity. At every street corner I passed as I drove to the railway station were little piles of fir logs, and little braziers were burning, glowing red spots of brightness where the miserable48 for a moment might warm their hands.
They say one should leave Moscow in summer to cross the Siberian plain, because then there are the flowers—such flowers—and the green trees, and the sunshine, and you may see the road—the long and sorrowful road—along which for years the exiles have passed. I have heard many complaints about the weariness of the journey in winter. There is nothing to be seen say the grumblers. For these luckless ones I have the sincerest pity. They have missed something goodly. I suppose for most of us life, as it unfolds itself, is a disappointing thing, full of bitterness and—worse still—of unattainable 008desires, but of one thing I shall always be glad, that I crossed the Siberian plain in the heart of winter, and saw it beneath its mantle of spotless snow. Possibly I may never see it in summer, but its winter beauty is something to be remembered to my dying day.
And yet it is a land of exile. Even in childhood I had read of the sufferings of those who have been sent there; and my conception of the land and the reality before my eyes as I rushed through it in an express train were always starting up in comparison with each other. A land of exile, and yet from the plains of Eastern Russia in the west to the frozen hills round Kharbin in the east it is a lovely land. It is a plain, of course—a plain thousands of miles in extent, and the vastness and the beauty of the snow-clad solitudes51 cry aloud in praise to the God Who made them. Overhead, far, far away, is the great arch of the deep blue sky, clear, bright, enticing52, delightful53, with no threat in its translucent54 depths such as one knows is latent in tropical lands, and below is the snow-clad plain, stretching far as the eye can see, bathed in the brilliant sunshine. From the desert and the mountains in the south it stretches away north to the frozen sea; and from the busy towns of the Baltic in the west, in close touch with modern civilisation, to the busy toiling55 millions of the East with their own civilisation that comes from a dateless antiquity56; and in all those thousands of miles it changes its character but little.
But first there were the Urals. I had looked upon them as mountains all my life; and I saw one evening only some very minor57 hills, deep in snow, with steep sides covered with a forest of fir and leafless 009larch, dark against the white background; next morning all trace of them was gone, and we were in Asia. On the station platforms were men and women, Cossacks of the west, Buriats of the centre, Tartars of the east, Christians59, Buddhists60, Mohammedans; there was little difference in outward appearance, muffled61 as they were against the cold which was often thirty degrees below freezing-point. The men were in long-skirted coats, and the women in short petticoats and high boots, so that it would have been difficult to tell one from the other save that on their heads the men wore fur caps, ragged62, dirty, but still fur, while the women muffled themselves in shawls still dirtier. Though they looked as if they had not given water a thought from the day they were born, I, the daughter of a subtropical land, could forgive them. Who could face water in such a biting atmosphere? I sympathised but I did not desire to go too close when we passengers bundled out for exercise on the station platforms, at least most of us did. Some preferred bridge.
“My God! my God!” said an old military man with unnecessary fervour. “What are the idiots getting out for. I go one no trump63, partner. Where is my partner? The donkey 'll be slipping and hurting himself on those slippery steps next and then our four 'll be spoilt,” and he looked round for sympathy.
Someone murmured something about seeing the country, but he shrivelled him with his scorn.
“Seeing the country! This is the eleventh time I've been across and I never even look out if I can help myself. Know better. Oh, here you are, 010partner,” slightly mollified. “I've gone one no trump, and there are two hearts against you.”
It was a curious thing to me that most of the passengers in that luxuriously64 equipped train, with every comfort for the asking save fresh air, grumbled65 so continuously. It seems to be the accepted thing that the traveller who travels luxuriously should grumble49. Our old soldier considered himself a much-injured individual when the attendants did not know by instinct when he required lemon and tea and when whisky-and-soda; and the breaking up of a game of auction66 bridge because the tables were wanted for dinner reduced him to blackest despair. The hordes67 which through the ages have swept, conquering, westwards probably never complained, their lives were too strenuous68, either they fought and died and were at peace, or they fought and conquered, and small discomforts69 were swallowed up in the joy of victory. It is left to these modern travellers flying eastward at a rate that would have made the old-time nomads70 think of witchcraft71 and sorcery to make a fuss about trifles, to complain of the discomforts and hardships of the long journey across the old world.
I knew the country. In the days when I was a little girl studying my map with diligence I should have counted it a joy unspeakable if I had thought that ever I should be crossing Siberia; crossing the great rivers, the Obi, the Yenesei and the Angara that were then as far away and distant to me as the river that Christian58 crossed to gain high Heaven; that I should watch the sledges travelling in the sunlight along their hard, frozen surfaces, I to whom a small piece of ice on a saucer of water, which by 011luck we might get if there happened to be an exceptionally cold night in the winter, was a wonder and a delight. I suppose my joy would have' been tempered could I have known how many years must pass over my head before this wonderful thing would happen, for in those days five-and-twenty seemed extraordinarily72 old, and I was very sure that at thirty life would not be worth living. And I have passed that terrible age limit and have missed most things I have set my heart upon, but still there are moments when life is well worth living. Strange and bitter is the teaching of the years—bitter but kindly73, too.
We passed Irkutsk where East and West meet, a great city with church spires74 and cupolas and buildings overlooking the broad and frozen Angara. We raced along by leafless woods, by barren stretches of spotless snow, and sometimes the swiftly running river was piling up the ice in great slabs75 and blocks and girding and fretting76 at its chains, and sometimes it was flowing free for a few miles, the only flowing river in all the long, long journey from the old Russian capital. The water was black, and dark, and cold, looking far colder than the ice. The duck rose, leaving long wakes on the water; then there was a little steam, and then a greater steam in the clear sunlight, but by the time we reached Lake Baikal, the Fortunate Sea, the Holy Sea, the frost had gripped the water again, the lake was a sheet of white, and the afternoon sun shone on hills snow-clad on the eastern side. The hills, hardly worth mentioning when one thinks of the great plain across which we had come, are down to the very ice edge. The great lake, the eighth in the world, is 012but a cleft77 in them, and the railway track runs on a ledge37 cut out of the steep hill-side overhanging its waters, waters that were now smooth and white and hard as marble. Here and there little jetties run out; here and there were boats, useless now, close against them; here and there were piles of wood that would be burned up before the thaw78. It had been Siberia for days but Baikal struck the true Siberian note.
Here there were convicts too. Some alterations79 or repairs were being carried out on the line, and drab-coloured convicts were working at them, guarded by soldiers with fixed80 bayonets. Siberia! Siberia of the story-teller! On every little point of vantage stood a soldier with high fur cap, looking out over the men working below him, and they, splitting wood, digging holes in the iron-bound ground, paused in their labours and lifted their faces to the passing train. Did it speak to them of home and culture and love and happiness and freedom, or were they merely the brutal81 criminal justly punished, and the peasant, poor and simple, here because the Government want workers, and that he cannot pay his taxes is excuse enough.
The sun was brilliant but it was cold, bitter cold, such cold as I had never dreamed of. Men's breath came like solid steam, and the hair on their faces was fringed with white hoar-frost. The earth was so hard frozen that they were building great fires to thaw it before working; and as the darkness fell the flames leapt yellow and red and blue, glowing spots of colour against the whiteness and the night. And with the night came the full moon high in the clear sky, a disc of dazzling silver. The Providence82 that 013has guided my wandering footsteps surely gives sometimes with a lavish83 hand; that which I have sought earnestly with many tears is not for me, but this still moonlight winter's night in Siberia was mine, and all the world that we were rushing past was fairyland. There was in it nothing sordid84, nothing unclean, nothing sorrowful.
And it was still fairyland when I awoke in the morning to a brilliant sun shining upon a forest of dainty, delicate, graceful85 birches with every branch, every little twig86, clothed in sparkling white, for the sunbeams were caught and reflected a million times on the frost flowers, and the whole forest was a thing of beauty and wonder that to see once is to remember for a lifetime. It is worth living to have seen it. I have seen great rivers and mountains and been awed88 by mighty89 forests, I have watched the thundering surf and listened to the roar of the tornado90; but this was something quite different. Awe87 was not the predominant feeling, but joy—joy that such beauty exists, that I was alive to look upon it. Behind us lay a long, long trail. We in the rushing train represented the onward91 march of a mighty civilisation, but all around us in the brilliant winter sunshine lay the limitless plains of Siberia, and the birch forest, and the snow, and the frost, and the beauty that is not made with hands, that defies civilisation, that was before civilisation, and we were moved to raise our eyes with the psalmist and cry aloud: “How wonderful are thy works, O Lord!”
But I did not appreciate the beauty of the winter or the moonlight when they roused me at three o'clock in the morning at Manchuria because my luggage 014had to be examined at the Chinese Customs. The scanty92 lights on the station, the silver moon in the heaven above lit up the platform as we passengers of the train de luxe made our way to the baggage-room along a path between heaped-up frozen snow and ice, and the difference in temperature between that station platform and the carriages from which the hot air gushed93 was perhaps one hundred degrees. The reek94 from those carriages went up to heaven, but the sudden change was cruel.
Our pessimistic old soldier wailed95 loudest. “My God! My God! this is unbearable96!” and I wondered why, because on his way through the world he must have encountered worse things than bitter cold that has only to be borne for a few minutes. Probably that was the reason. If he had had something really hard to bear he would very likely have said nothing about it. The baggage-room was confusion, worse confounded, and nobody seemed to know what was being looked for, opium97, or arms or both. This place is the Port Said of the East, and people from all corners of the earth were gathered round their belongings98. There were groups of Chinese with women and children and weird99 bundles; there were the very latest dressing-cases and despatch-boxes from Bond Street and Piccadilly; there was a babel of tongues, Russian and French and German and English and the unknown tongues of Asia. China, China at last, and I was within two days of my destination.
And when the day dawned we had left beautiful Siberia behind, and instead there were flat lands, deserts of stones and dry earth, with but little snow to veil the apparent barrenness, and hills first with 015scanty trees, but growing more and more barren as we approached Kharbin. It looked desolate100, cold, uninviting. The land may be rich, it is I am told, but when I passed there was no outward sign of that richness; the covering of beautiful white was gone, there was only a patch or two of snow here and there in the hollows, and the brilliant sunshine was like gleams of light on steel. At Kharbin they examined our baggage again—why I know not—and again it was chaos, chaos in the bitter cold with the mercury many degrees below freezing-point and screeching101 demons102 with a Mongolian type of countenance103, muffled in furs and rags that seemed the cast-off clothes of all the nations of the earth, hauled the luggage about, pored over tickets and made entries in books with all the elaborate effort of the unlearned, and finally marked the unhappy boxes with great sprawling104 figures in tar50 or some such compound.
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“Four roubles, twenty kopecks.” Why I had to pay I know not, that was beyond me, but I was glad to get off so lightly, for had they seen fit to ask me one hundred roubles, I should have been equally helpless. I was thankful to get out of the cold back to my warm and evil-smelling coup105??.
And at Ch'ang Ch'un I fairly felt I had crossed half the world, and the oldest old world greeted me with active winter. I did not know then, as I do now, how wonderful a thing is a snowstorm in Northern China. Here the snow was falling, falling. We had left behind us the great spaces of the earth, and come back to agriculture. Through the whirling snowflakes, little low-roofed houses, surrounded with walls of stone with little portholes for 016guns—the Japanese block-houses, for Japan holds Manchuria by force of arms—alternated with farmhouses106, with fences of high yellow millet107 stalks. The doors were marked with brilliant red paper with inscriptions108 in Chinese characters upon it—a spot of brightness amidst the prevailing109 white that lent tone and colour to the picture.
Here it was that the Russians and the sons of Nippon had been at death-grips, and we who were in this train realised why the Eastern nation had won. At Kharbin and at Manchuria, with things managed by Chinese, reigned confusion. That we ever emerged with a scrap110 of luggage seemed to be more by good luck than good management. From Ch'ang Ch'un to Mukden the little men from the islands in the eastern sea run the railway, and they know what they are about; everything is in order, and everything marches without apparent effort. They bought this land with their blood, and they are holding it now with the sure grip that efficiency gives.
At Mukden a blizzard111 was raging, and the old Tartar City was veiled in snow. When the snow went, the sunshine was bleak112 and bright, and everywhere, far as the eye could see, stretched tilled fields, bare of every green thing. Flatter and flatter grew the land. It was half ice and half earth, and the little sledges that were hitherto drawn by ponies113 were now drawn by men. Once we had left behind the Siberian fir, there was not a green thing to be seen all the way to Peking. The earth of the fields was streaked114, dark brown and lighter115 brown; there were bare trees with their promise for the future; and once we were in China proper, there were the 017graves—graves solitary116, and graves in clusters—just neatly117 kept little heaps of earth piled up and pointed118, something like an ant-hill. The air was clear and sparkling, the outlook was wide. We passed town after town, and where on the Siberian border the names of the stations were in Russian and Chinese, and so equally unintelligible119, here in China they were in English and Chinese.
“Do you like China?” I asked a Frenchman who sat opposite me at tiffin.
“No,” said he frankly120. “It is too English.” But he laughed when I said that naturally I considered that a distinct point in the Chinaman's favour.
A wind rose, and it was as if the brown earth were literally lifted into the air. Everything was smothered121 in a dust storm. The atmosphere was heavy as a London fog, a fog that had been dried by some freezing process. The air was full of dry brown particles that shrivelled the skin, and parched122 the lips, and made me weigh in my mind the respective merits of a soft, moist air, and a clear and sparkling one. I had left London in a yellow fog that veiled the tops of the houses, and lent an air of mystery to the street in the near distance, I arrived at Peking in a typical North China dust storm. We came through the wall, the wall of the Chinese city, that until I had seen the Tartar wall looked grey, and grim, and stern, and solid, and I wondered at the curved tiled roofs, and the low houses, and the great bare spaces that go to make up the city.
The East at last, the Far East! All across the old world I had come; and here on a bitter cold February afternoon, with a wild wind blowing, the train drew up outside the Tartar wall, the wall that 018Kublai Khan and the Ming Emperors built in the capital city of the civilisation that was old when the Roman legions planted their eagles in the marshes123 of the Thames. I had reached China, the land of blue skies and of sunshine; the land of desperate poverty and of wonderful wealth; the land of triumph, and of martyrdom, and of mystery. What was it going to hold for me?
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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gauging
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| n.测量[试]，测定，计量v.（用仪器）测量( gauge的现在分词 )；估计；计量；划分 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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reciprocate
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| v.往复运动；互换；回报，酬答 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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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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charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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rigidly
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plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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subconsciously
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| ad.下意识地，潜意识地 | |
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subservient
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| adj.卑屈的，阿谀的 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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32
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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33
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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34
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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35
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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36
sledges
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| n.雪橇，雪车( sledge的名词复数 )v.乘雪橇( sledge的第三人称单数 )；用雪橇运载 | |
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37
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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38
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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39
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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40
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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41
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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42
scavenger
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| n.以腐尸为食的动物，清扫工 | |
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43
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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44
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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45
conclaves
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| n.秘密会议，教皇选举会议，红衣主教团( conclave的名词复数 ) | |
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46
raucous
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| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
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47
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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48
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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49
grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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50
tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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51
solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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52
enticing
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| adj.迷人的；诱人的 | |
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53
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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54
translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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55
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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56
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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57
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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58
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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59
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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60
Buddhists
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| n.佛教徒( Buddhist的名词复数 ) | |
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61
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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62
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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63
trump
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| n.王牌，法宝；v.打出王牌，吹喇叭 | |
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luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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65
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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66
auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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nomads
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| n.游牧部落的一员( nomad的名词复数 )；流浪者；游牧生活；流浪生活 | |
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71
witchcraft
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| n.魔法，巫术 | |
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72
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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73
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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74
spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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75
slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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76
fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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77
cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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78
thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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79
alterations
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| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
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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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81
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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82
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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83
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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84
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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85
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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86
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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87
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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88
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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90
tornado
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| n.飓风，龙卷风 | |
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91
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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92
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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93
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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94
reek
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| v.发出臭气；n.恶臭 | |
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95
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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97
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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98
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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99
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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100
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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101
screeching
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| v.发出尖叫声( screech的现在分词 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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102
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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103
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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104
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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105
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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106
farmhouses
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| n.农舍，农场的主要住房( farmhouse的名词复数 ) | |
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107
millet
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| n.小米，谷子 | |
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108
inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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109
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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110
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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111
blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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112
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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113
ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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114
streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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115
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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116
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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117
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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118
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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119
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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120
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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121
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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122
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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123
marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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