So was the Mont, spectral2 no longer, but nearing with every plunge3 forward of our sturdy young Percheron. Locomotion4 through any new or untried medium is certain to bring with the experiment a dash of elation5. Now, driving through water appears to be no longer the fashion in our fastidious century; someone might get a wetting, possibly, has been the conclusion of the prudent6. And thus a very innocent and exciting bit of fun has been gradually relegated8 among the lost arts of pleasure.
We were taking water as we had never taken it before, and liking9 the method. We were as wet as ducks, but what cared we? We were being deluged10 with spray; the spume of the sea was spurting11 in our faces with the force of a strong wet breeze, and still we liked it. Besides, driving thus into the white foam12 of the waters, over the sand ridges13, across the downs, into the wide plains of wet mud, this was the old classical way of going up to the Mont. Surely, what had been found good enough as a pathway for kings and saints and pilgrims should be good enough for two lovers of old-time methods. The dike14 yonder was built for those who believe in the devil of haste, and for those who also serve him faithfully.
Someone else besides ourselves was enjoying our drive through the waves. Our gay young Normandy driver seemed to find an exquisite15 relish16 in the spectacle of our wet faces and unstable17 figures. He could not keep his eyes off us; they fairly glistened18 with the dew of his enjoyment19. Two ladies pitched and rolled about, exactly as if they were peasants, and laughing as if they were children—this was a spectacle and a keen appreciation20 of a joke that brought joy to a rustic21 blouse.
"Ah—ah! mesdames!" he cried, exultingly23, between the gasps24 of his own laughter, as he tossed his own fine head in the air, sitting on his rude bench, covered with sheepskin, as if it had been an armchair. "Ah, ah! mesdames, you didn't expect this, hein? You hoped for a landau, and feathers and cushions, perhaps? But soft feathers and springs are not for the grève."
"Is it dangerous? are there deep holes?"
"Oh, the holes, they are as nothing. It is the quicksands we fear. But it is only a little danger, and danger makes the charm of travel, is it not so, my ladies? Adventure, that is what one travels for! Hui! Fend25 l'Air!"
It had occurred to us before that we had been uncommonly26 lucky in our coachmen, as well as in the names of the horses, that had brightened our journey. In spite of Juliet, whose disdain27 of the virtue28 or the charm that lies in a name is no more worthy29 of respect than is any lover's opinion when in the full-orbed foolishness of his lunacy, I believe names to be a very effective adjunct to life's scenic30 setting. Most of the horses we had had along these Normandy high-roads, had answered to names that had helped to italicize the features of the country. Could Poulette, the sturdy little mare31, with whom only an hour ago we had parted forever, have been given a better sobriquet32 by which to have identified for us the fat landscape? And now here was Fend l'Air proving good his talent for cleaving33 through space, whatever of land or sea lay in his path.
"And he merits his name, my lady," his driver announced with grave pride, as he looked at the huge haunches with a loving eye. "He can go, oh, but as the wind! It is he who makes of the crossing but as if it were nothing!"
The crossing! That was the key-note of the way the coast spoke34 of the Mont. The rock out yonder was a country apart, a bit of land or stone the shore claimed not, had no part in, felt to be as remote as if it were a foreign province. At Genets the village spoke of the Mont as one talks of a distant land. Even the journey over the sands was looked upon with a certain seriousness. A starting forth35 was the signal for the village to assemble about the char-à-banc's wheels. Quite a large company for a small village to muster36 was grouped about our own vehicle, to look on gravely as we mounted to the rude seat within. The villagers gave us their "bonjours" with as much fervor37 as if we were starting forth on a sea voyage.
"You will have a good crossing!" cackled one of the old men, nodding toward the peak in the sky.
"The sands may be wet, but they are firm already!" added a huge peasant—the fattest man in all the canton, whisperingly confided38 the landlady39, as one proud of possessing a village curiosity.
"Hui, Fend l'Air! attention, toi!" Fend l'Air tossed his fine mane, and struck out with a will over the cobbles. But his driver was only posing for the assembled village. He was in no real haste; there was a fresh voice singing yonder in his mother's tavern40; the sentimentalist in him was on edge to hear the end of the song.
"Do you hear that, mesdames? There's no such singing as that out of
Paris. One must go to a café—"
"Allons, toi!" shrieked41 his mother's voice, as her face darkened. "Do you think these ladies want to spend the night on the grève? Depêches-toi, vaurien!" And she gave the wheels a shove with her strong hand, whereat all the village laughed. But the good-for-nothing son made no haste as the song went on—
"Le bon vin me fait dormir,
L'amour me réveil—"
He continued to cock his head on one side and to let his eyes dream a bit.
Within, a group of peasants was gathered about the inn table. There were some young girls seated among the blouses; one of them, for the hour that we had sat waiting for Fend l'Air to be captured and harnessed, had been singing songs of questionable42 taste in a voice of such contralto sweetness as to have touched the heart of a bishop43. "Some young girls from the factories at Avranches, mesdames, who come here Sundays to get a bit of fresh air; Dieu soit si elles en ont besoin, pauvres enfants!" was the landlady's charitable explanation. It appeared to us that the young ladies from Avranches were more in need of a moral than a climatic change. But then, we also charitably reflected, it makes all the difference in the world, in these nice questions of taste and morality, whether one has had as an inheritance a past of Francis I. and a Rabelais, or of Calvin and a Puritan conscience.
The geese on the green downs, just below the village, had clearly never even heard of Calvin; they were luxuriating in a series of plunges44 into the deep pools in a way to prove complete ignorance of nice sabbatarian laws.
With our first toss upon the downs, a world of new and fresh experiences began. Genets was quite right; the Mont over yonder was another country; even at the very beginning of the journey we learned so much. This breeze blowing in from the sea, that had swept the ramparts of the famous rock, was a double extract of the sea essence; it had all the salt of the sea and the aroma45 of firs and wild flowers; its lips had not kissed a garden in high air without the perfume lingering, if only to betray them. Even this strip of meadow marsh46 had a character peculiar47 to itself; half of it belonged to earth and half to the sea. You might have thought it an inland pasture, with its herds48 of cattle, its flocks of sheep, and its colonies of geese—patrolled by ragged49 urchins50. But behold51, somewhere out yonder the pasture was lost in high sea-waves; ships with bulging52 sails replaced the curve of the cattle's sides, and instead of bending necks of sheep, there were seagulls swooping53 down upon the foamy54 waves.
As the incarnation of this dual7 life of sea and land, the rock stands. It also is both of the sea and the land. Its feet are of the waters—rocks and stones the sea-waves have used as playthings these millions of years. But earth regains55 possession as the rocks pile themselves into a mountain. Even from this distance, one can see the moving arms of great trees, the masses of yellow flower-tips that dye the sides of the stony56 hill, and the strips of green grass here and there. So much has nature done for this wonderful pyramid in the sea. Then man came and fashioned it to his liking. He piled the stones at its base into titanic57 walls; he carved about its sides the rounded breasts of bastions; he piled higher and higher up the dizzy heights a medley58 of palaces, convents, abbeys, cloisters59, to lay at the very top the fitting crown of all, a jewelled Norman-Gothic cathedral.
Earth and man have thrown their gauntlet down to the sea—this rock is theirs, they cry to the waves and the might of oceans. And the sea laughs—as strong men laugh when boys are angry or insistent60. She has let them build and toil61, and pray and fight; it is all one to her what is done on the rock—whether men carve its stones into lace, or rot and die in its dungeons62; it is all the same to her whether each spring the daffodils creep up within the crevices63 and the irises64 nod to them from the gardens.
It is all one to her. For twice a day she recaptures the Mont. She encircles it with the strong arm of her tides; with the might of her waters she makes it once more a thing of the sea.
The tide was rising now.
The fringe of the downs had dabbled65 in the shoals till they had become one. We had left behind the last of the shepherd lads, come out to the edge of the land to search for a wandering kid. We were all at once plunging66 into high water. Our road was sunk out of sight; we were driving through waves as high as our cart-wheels. Fend l'Air was shivering; he was as a-tremble as a woman. The height of the rivers was not to his liking.
"Sacré fainéant!" yelled his owner, treating the tremor67 to a mighty68 crack of the whip.
"Is he afraid?"
"Yes—when the water is as high as that, he is always afraid. Ah, there he is—diantre, but he took his time!" he growled70, but the growl69 was set in the key of relief. He was pointing toward a figure that was leaping toward us through the water. "It is the guide!" he added, in explanation.
The guide was at Fend l'Air's shoulder. Very little of him was above water, but that little was as brown as an Egyptian. He was puffing71 and blowing like unto a porpoise72. In one hand he held a huge pitchfork—the trident of this watery73 Mercury.
"Shall I conduct you?" he asked, dipping the trident as if in salute74, into the water, as he still puffed75 and gasped76.
"If you please," as gravely responded our driver. For though up to our cart-wheels and breasts in deep water, the formalities were not to be dispensed77 with, you understand. The guide placed himself at once in front of Fend l'Air, whose shivers as quickly disappeared.
"You see, mesdames—the guide gives him courage—and he now knows no fear," cried out with pride our whip on the outer bench. "And what news, Victor—is there any?" It was of the Mont he was asking. And the guide replied, taking an extra plunge into deep water:
"Oh, not much. There's to be a wedding tomorrow and a pilgrimage the next day. Madame Poulard has only a handful as yet. Ces dames22 descend78 doubtless at Madame Poulard's—celle qui fait les omelettes?" The ladies were ignorant as yet of the accomplishments79 of the said landlady; they had only heard of her beauty.
"C'est elle," gravely chorussed the guide and the driver, both nodding their heads as their eyes met. "Fameuse, sa beauté, comme son omelette," as gravely added our driver.
The beauty of this lady and the fame of her omelette were very sobering, apparently80, in their effects on the mind; for neither guide nor driver had another word to say.
Still the guide plunged81 into the rivers, and Fend l'Air followed him. Our cart still pitched and tossed—we were still rocked about in our rough cradle. But the sun, now freed from the banks of clouds, was lighting82 our way with a great and sudden glory. And for the rest of our watery journey we were conscious only of that lighting. Behind the Mont, lay a vast sea of saffron. But it was in the sky; against it the great rock was as black as if the night were upon it. Here and there, through the curve of a flying buttress83, or the apertures84 of a pierced parapet, gay bits of this yellow world were caught and framed. The sea lay beneath like a quiet carpet; and over this carpet ships and sloops85 swam with easy gliding86 motion, with sails and cordage dipped in gold. The smaller craft, moored87 close to shore, seemed transfigured as in a fog of gold. And nearer still were the brown walls of the Mont making a great shadow, and in the shadow the waters were as black as the skin of an African. In the shoals there were lovely masses of turquoise88 and palest green; for here and there a cloudlet passed, to mirror their complexions89 in the translucent90 pools.
But Fend l'Air's hoofs91 had struck a familiar note. His iron shoes were clicking along the macadam of the dike. There was a rapid dashing beneath the great walls; a sudden night of darkness as we plunged through an open archway into a narrow village street; a confused impression of houses built into side-walls; of machicolated gateways92; of rocks and roof-tops tumbling about our ears; and within the street was sounding the babel of a shrieking94 troop of men and women. Porters, peasants, lads, and children were clamoring about our cart-wheels like unto so many jackals. The bedlam95 did not cease as we stopped before a wide, brightly-lit open doorway96.
Then through the doorway there came a tall, finely-featured brunette. She made her way through the yelling crowd as a duchess might cleave97 a path through a rabble98. She was at the side of the cart in an instant. She gave us a bow and smile that were both a welcome and an act of appropriation99. She held out a firm, soft, brown hand. When it closed on our own, we knew it to be the grasp of a friend, and the clasp of one who knew how to hold her world. But when she spoke the words were all of velvet100, and her voice had the cadence101 of a caress102.
"I have been watching you, chères dames—crossing the grève—but how wet and weary you must be! Come in by the fire, it is ablaze103 now—I have been feeding it for you!" And once more the beautifully curved lips parted over the fine teeth, and the exceeding brightness of the dark eyes smiled and glittered in our own. The caressing104 voice still led us forward, into the great gay kitchen; the touch of skilful105, discreet106 fingers undid107 wet cloaks and wraps; the soft charm of a lovely and gracious woman made even the penetrating108 warmth of the huge fire-logs a secondary feature of our welcome. To those who have never crossed a grève; who have had no jolting109 in a Normandy char-à-banc; who, for hours, have not known the mixed pleasures and discomfort110 of being a part of sea-rivers; and who have not been met at the threshold of an Inn on a Rock by the smiling welcome of Madame Poulard—all such have yet a pleasant page to read in the book of travelled experience.
Meanwhile somewhere, in an inner room, things sweet to the nostrils111 were cooking. Maids were tripping up and down stairs with covered dishes; there was the pleasant clicking in the ear of the lids of things; dishes or pans or jars were being lifted. And more delicious to the ear than even the promise to starving mouths of food, and of red wine to the lip, was the continuing music of madame's voice, as she stood over us purring with content at seeing her travellers drying and being thoroughly112 warmed. "The dinner-bell must soon be rung, dear ladies; I delayed it as long as I dared—I gauged113 your progress across from the terrace—I have kept all my people waiting; for your first dinner here must be hot! But now it rings! Shall I conduct you to your rooms?"
I have no doubt that, even without this brunette beauty, with her olive cheek and her comely114 figure as guides, we should have gone the way she took us in a sort of daze115. One cannot pass under machicolated gateways; rustle116 between the walls of fourteenth century fortifications; climb a stone stairway that begins in a watch-tower and ends in a rampart, with a great sea view, and with the breadth of all the land shoreward; walk calmly over the top of a king's gate, with the arms of a bishop and the shrine117 of the Virgin118 beneath one's feet; and then, presently, begin to climb the side of a rock in which rude stone steps have been cut, till one lands on a miniature terrace, to find a preposterously119 sturdy-looking house affixed120 to a ridiculous ledge121 of rock that has the presumption122 to give shelter to a hundred or more travellers—ground enough, also, for rows of plane-trees, for honeysuckles, and rose-vine, with a full coquettish equipment of little tables and iron chairs—no such journey as that up a rock was ever taken with entirely123 sober eyes.
Although her people were waiting below, and the dinner was on its way to the cloth, Madame Poulard had plenty of time to give to the beauty about her. How fine was the outlook from the top of the ramparts! What a fresh sensation, this, of standing124 on a terrace in mid-air and looking down on the sea, and across to the level shores! The rose-vines—we found them sweet—tiens—one of the branches had fallen—she had full time to re-adjust the loosened support. And "Marianne, give these ladies their hot water, and see to their bags—" even this order was given with courtesy. It was only when the supple125, agile126 figure had left us to fly down the steep rock-cut steps; when it shot over the top of the gateway93 and slid with the grace of a lizard127 into the street far below us, that we were made sensible of there having been any especial need of madame's being in haste.
That night, some three hours later, a picturesque128 group was assembled about this same supple figure. A pretty, and unlooked-for ceremony was about to take place.
It was the ceremony of the lighting of the lanterns.
In the great kitchen, in the dance of the firelight and the glow of the lamps, some seven or eight of us were being equipped with Chinese lanterns. This of itself was an engaging sight. Madame Poulard was always gay at this performance—for it meant much innocent merriment among her guests, and with the lighting of the last lantern, her own day was done. So the brilliant eyes flashed with a fresh fire, and the olive cheek glowed anew. All the men and women laughed as children sputter129 laughter, when they are both pleased and yet a little ashamed to show their pleasure. It was so very ridiculous, this journey up a rock with a Chinese lantern! But just because it was ridiculous, it was also delightful130. One—two—three—seven—eight—they were all lit. The last male guest had touched his cap to madame, exchanging the "bonne nuit" a man only gives to a pretty woman, and that which a woman returns who feels that her beauty has received its just meed of homage131; madame's figure stood, still smiling, a radiant benedictory presence, in the doorway, with the great glow of the firelight behind her; the last laugh echoed down the street—and behold, darkness was upon us! The street was as black as a cavern132. The strip of sky and the stars above seemed almost day, by contrast. The great arch of the Porte du Roi engulphed us, and then, slowly groping our way, we toiled133 up the steps to the open ramparts. Here the keen night air swept rudely through our cloaks and garments; the sea tossed beneath the bastions like some restless tethered creature, that showed now a gray and now a purple coat, and the stars were gold balls that might drop at any instant, so near they were. The men shivered and buttoned their coats, and the women laughed, a trifle shrilly134, as they grasped the floating burnous closer about their faces and shoulders.
And the lanterns' beams danced a strange dance on the stone flagging.
Once more we were lost in darkness. We were passing through the old guard-house. And then slowly, more slowly than ever, the lanterns were climbing the steps cut in the rock. Hands groped in the blackness to catch hold of the iron railing; the laughter had turned into little shouts and gasps for help. And then one of the lanterns played a treacherous135 trick; it showed the backs of two figures groping upward together—about one of the girlish figures a man's arm was flung. As suddenly the noise of the cries was stilled.
The lanterns played their fitful light on still other objects. They illumined now a vivid yellow shrub136; they danced upon a roof-top; they flooded, with a sudden circlet of brilliance137, the awful depths below of the swirling138 waters and of rocks that were black as a bottomless pit.
Then the terrace was reached. And the lanterns danced a last gay little dance among the roses and the vines before, Pouffe! Pouffe! and behold! they were all blown out.
Thus it was we went to bed on the Mont.
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1
char
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| v.烧焦；使...燃烧成焦炭 | |
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spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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locomotion
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| n.运动，移动 | |
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elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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dual
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| adj.双的；二重的，二元的 | |
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relegated
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| v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 )；使降职；转移；把…归类 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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deluged
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| v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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spurting
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的现在分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺； 溅射 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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dike
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| n.堤，沟；v.开沟排水 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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unstable
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| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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exultingly
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| 兴高采烈地，得意地 | |
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gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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fend
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| v.照料（自己），（自己）谋生，挡开，避开 | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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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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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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scenic
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| adj.自然景色的，景色优美的 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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sobriquet
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| n.绰号 | |
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cleaving
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| v.劈开，剁开，割开( cleave的现在分词 ) | |
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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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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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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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questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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plunges
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| n.跳进，投入vt.使投入，使插入，使陷入vi.投入，跳进，陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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47
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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48
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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49
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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50
urchins
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| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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51
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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52
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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53
swooping
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
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54
foamy
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| adj.全是泡沫的，泡沫的，起泡沫的 | |
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55
regains
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| 复得( regain的第三人称单数 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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56
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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57
titanic
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| adj.巨人的，庞大的，强大的 | |
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58
medley
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| n.混合 | |
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59
cloisters
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| n.（学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的）走廊( cloister的名词复数 )；回廊；修道院的生活；隐居v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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60
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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61
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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62
dungeons
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| n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
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63
crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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64
irises
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| n.虹( iris的名词复数 )；虹膜；虹彩；鸢尾（花） | |
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65
dabbled
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| v.涉猎( dabble的过去式和过去分词 )；涉足；浅尝；少量投资 | |
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66
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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67
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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68
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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69
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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70
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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71
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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72
porpoise
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| n.鼠海豚 | |
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73
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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74
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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75
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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76
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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77
dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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78
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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79
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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80
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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81
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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82
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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83
buttress
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| n.支撑物；v.支持 | |
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84
apertures
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| n.孔( aperture的名词复数 )；隙缝；（照相机的）光圈；孔径 | |
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85
sloops
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| n.单桅纵帆船( sloop的名词复数 ) | |
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86
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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87
moored
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| adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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88
turquoise
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| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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89
complexions
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| 肤色( complexion的名词复数 )； 面色； 局面； 性质 | |
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90
translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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91
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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92
gateways
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| n.网关( gateway的名词复数 )；门径；方法；大门口 | |
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93
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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94
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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95
bedlam
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| n.混乱，骚乱；疯人院 | |
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96
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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97
cleave
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| v．(clave；cleaved)粘着，粘住；坚持；依恋 | |
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98
rabble
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| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
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99
appropriation
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| n.拨款，批准支出 | |
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100
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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101
cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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102
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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103
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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104
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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105
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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106
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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107
Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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108
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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109
jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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110
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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111
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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112
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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113
gauged
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| adj.校准的；标准的；量规的；量计的v.（用仪器）测量( gauge的过去式和过去分词 )；估计；计量；划分 | |
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114
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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115
daze
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| v.(使)茫然，(使)发昏 | |
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116
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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117
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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118
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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119
preposterously
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| adv.反常地；荒谬地；荒谬可笑地；不合理地 | |
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120
affixed
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| adj.[医]附着的，附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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121
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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122
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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123
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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124
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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125
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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126
agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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127
lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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128
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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129
sputter
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| n.喷溅声；v.喷溅 | |
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130
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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131
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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132
cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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133
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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134
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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135
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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136
shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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137
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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138
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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