Two young naval officers were actually quartered at the Appledore Hotel, but they spent all their time observing the ships’ movements from the highest point of the island, or signalling from one of the headlands. When they could be stopped and questioned they seemed to display such pitiful ignorance alongside of the fluent knowledge of the lecturers on the wharf that it hardly seemed worth while to ask them anything.
The first three days had been dull and foggy, making the man?uvres even more confusing than usual to the uninstructed mind; so Billy, who had done his best to have no interest in the matter, finally proclaimed loudly that the whole business was a great bore and that he would waste no more time in watching it. But on the fourth day, a clear cloudless one, with brisk winds and a sea so bright that it fairly hurt your eyes to look at it, he went down to see his friend Captain Saulsby and found that he, too, was caught by the fascination10 of this same war game.
“I wish I could see the way I used to,” the old man sighed as he put down his battered11 telescope—Billy felt better about him when he found that he actually had one—and leaned back in his chair by the door. “That ship that’s going by now is either the Kentucky or the Alabama and for the life of me I can’t tell which. I’ve watched them off this point for a lot of years now, and never could see so little before. I do believe,”—he spoke12 as though the suspicion had only just occurred to him—“that I’m getting old!”
A week ago Billy might have felt inclined to laugh at any one who was so bowed down with years but who seemed so surprised on discovering the fact. Now, however, he had become too fast a friend of the Captain’s for that. A man who could endure pain as unfalteringly as Captain Saulsby did, who, although nearly a cripple, could still work for his scanty13 living and never complain of the toil14 and hardship, such a person was not to be laughed at.
Moreover, on the Captain’s knee was the model of the boat that was to teach Billy something of seamanship, the Josephine, a very marvel15 of graceful16 lines and intricate rigging. Such loving, patient care as had gone into the building of the little craft only those two would ever know. The Captain’s rough thick fingers had worked wonders; Billy’s impatient, unskilled ones had done their full share. The two had had long talks together over their labours, in which the boy had learned much of odd sounding names and strange sea terms, but more of the adventures and hardships and restlessness of the life of those who follow the sea.
He did not admit to himself yet that he liked the sea, or that he was anything but disappointed and angry that he must spend his summer on the Island of Appledore, but he could not deny that there was a charm in the company of the old captain and that his stories of all that happened off this bit of rugged18, rocky coast; of the smugglers that had hidden in the little harbour below the mill, of the privateers that had lain behind the island waiting until the enemy should pass, of the wrecks19 and daring rescues by the fishermen of the Island, all these were tales of which he never tired. He was full of questions to ask today, and wanted first of all to know what the war game really meant.
“It’s just practice,” Captain Saulsby explained, “just to learn what to do if there was real war. Over across the sea they’re playing the game in earnest; a mistake there means a lost ship and the crew drowned, and a greater danger to the country they’re guarding like grim death. Please Heaven we won’t have that over here, but there’s many that are saying it is coming with another year.”
“War—us!” exclaimed Billy incredulously. “Why, surely we couldn’t have war!”
“It could come mighty20 easy,” the Captain insisted, “but well, it’s not here yet and that’s something to be thankful for. But in this war game, they bring the fleet out for man?uvres and they play out their problems in naval tactics like a great big match of chess, with dreadnaughts and destroyers and submarines for the pieces and the whole wide ocean for their board. They divide up into two fleets and each one tries to destroy the other. There’s no real sinking, you understand, but, for instance, a torpedo21-boat tries to creep up to a battleship in the dark, and send up a rocket to show that she’s supposed to have fired a torpedo, then if she’s near enough for an undoubted hit, why that vessel22 is counted as sunk. Or if the battleship finds her with the searchlights and she is so close that she could be smashed with a volley from the guns, why, it’s the torpedo-boat that’s sunk. So it goes.”
“It sounds to me pretty silly,” remarked Billy with some disdain23.
“Wait until you’ve played it once, son,” returned the sailor. “When you creep along in the dark to make an attack, or put on every ounce of steam you can to get away, when you know that each man must do his own part the best way he knows how, and that the honour of his ship may hang on every move he makes, why you forget a little that it’s just a game. When it’s over you surely come down with a bump, you have been so sure all along that it was the real thing.”
Billy considered the matter idly for a little, scorning to show too much interest, even in spite of Captain Saulsby’s enthusiasm. The old sailor himself seemed to be full of other thoughts, for when he spoke again it was as much to himself as to Billy.
“I wish I knew whatever could have sunk Johann’s boat,” he said. “There was no storm nor any accident, and he certainly kept her in such good order that there was no chance of her having sprung a leak without his knowing it. The poor fellow surely loved her; he seems broken-hearted whenever you talk to him about her sinking, but he doesn’t do a thing to try to raise her. I don’t understand it.”
It had seemed very strange to Billy also, especially in the light of what he had seen that day upon the shore. He made no comment now, however; indeed he had scarcely been listening, but had let his wandering wits take a sudden jump in the direction of quite different matters. When the old man had finished speaking he put a question that, had he known more of the ways of the sea and of sailor men, he would never have dared to ask.
“Captain Saulsby,” he said, “what were you captain of? Was it in the Navy or just of the Josephine?”
“Bless you, no; not in the Navy or of the Josephine, either,” replied his friend. “The Josephine was the first ship I ever sailed on when I was an apprentice25 boy, and the captain of her was such a great man that he hardly knew I was on board. No, I wasn’t captain of the Josephine.”
“Well,” insisted Billy, not to be put off, “what ship were you captain of?”
Captain Saulsby heaved a great sigh and was silent for a long time. He took up the little model from his knee and turned it over and over before he spoke.
“No, not of the Josephine,” he said again, “although I fully26 intended to be. Do you see that little catboat riding at anchor down by the wharf; the old, old grey one that’s needed a coat of paint these two years past and a new sail for at least five? Well, that’s the only craft that Ned Saulsby ever was skipper of, or ever will be.”
He made this statement very abruptly27 and fell immediately to work on stepping a mast of the little vessel.
“There’s a lot of kind-hearted folks in the world,” he went on after a pause, “and some of them started calling me ‘Captain’ about the time my rheumatism28 got so bad that I could never go to sea again. They thought giving me the name would make me feel better, and I guess it did, perhaps. When you’ve followed the sea since you were hardly more than so high, and suffered by it, won and lost by it, hated it and loved it, why it’s not easy to find out, all of a sudden, that you’ve got to stop on shore for all the rest of your days.”
Billy would have pursued the subject further, but the old man changed the course of the talk. He took up the model of the Josephine and set it down upon the doorstep beside the boy.
“Now, young fellow,” he said cheerily, “suppose you name over these ropes as far as we have gone, and we’ll see if you are as much of a landlubber as you were when you came here a week ago.”
Billy, nothing loth, took up the challenge and went through his lesson with great credit, making nothing of naming the parts of the rigging of the little schooner29 and of running off lightly many terms that had so lately been pure Greek to him.
“Good,” said the old man when he had finished. “I do believe that you can hope to be a sailor yet.”
He said it with such confidence that this must surely be Billy’s one ambition, that the boy made haste to correct him.
“I’m not going to be a sailor ever,” he said. “I’m going into business and—and make a pile of money.”
Captain Saulsby did not answer at once, for he was staring out beyond the point where one of the big battleships had chanced to come close in and was steaming by at full speed. Billy could see the tremendous wave that surged up before her bow; he watched the cloud of drifting smoke that poured from her funnels30 and he had suddenly a vision of what gigantic power must drive her so swiftly through the sea. It gave him a queer thrill, unlike anything that he had ever felt before, and, oddly enough, seemed to fill him with a sudden doubt as to the wisdom of his choice of a career. Buying and selling and making money might after all prove a dull occupation. Were there after all bigger things than Big Business? Such a question had never occurred to him before.
“Now,” said the Captain, interrupting his reverie, “you just tell your aunt to come down on the beach this afternoon and see the best boat this side of Cape31 Hatteras put to sea. These good warm days have baked some of the rheumatism out of me and I’m almost as good a man as you this morning. We’ll go down to the rocks below the willows32 there and put the Josephine into the water. I hope she’ll sail as pretty as she looks.”
It was a great occasion, the launching of the Josephine. Aunt Mattie attended it, and broke a bottle of cologne over the little vessel’s newly painted bow, to make a formal christening. There was a fresh wind that flecked the water with dancing white caps on one side of the point, but on the other, inside the harbour, afforded the best sort of breeze for a maiden33 trip. The sails were hoisted34, the rudder adjusted and the little boat breathlessly lowered off the edge of a rock. She rocked and dipped upon the ripples35 in a bit of quiet water, then was pushed out until the wind caught her new white sails. How they curved to the breeze, how she heeled over just as a real vessel should and skimmed away as though she had a sailor at her helm and had set her course for far and foreign lands! The cord by which she was held trailed out behind her, grew taut36, and at last brought her successful journey sharply to an end.
“Pull her in and we’ll try her on a different tack24,” directed Captain Saulsby much excited; “she surely can sail! We didn’t hit it wrong when we named her the Josephine.”
Billy, who had no leanings of sentiment toward the name of Captain Saulsby’s well-beloved first ship, had felt that Josephine was not the most perfect title in the world for his new and cherished vessel. Captain Saulsby, however, had seemed so hurt and disappointed when he even hinted at the possibility of another choice, that the idea had been dropped at once. Certainly the little boat was doing her best to be worthy37 of her so-famous namesake.
“I wish I had a longer string,” said Billy; “it seems as though she only got a good start every time before I have to pull her in again.”
“She doesn’t have any chance to show what she can do,” answered the Captain, regarding his handiwork with as proud and pleased an eye as did Billy himself. “Here, now, the wind is right and the tide is running in; why shouldn’t we just launch her and let her sail across the harbour. She will come ashore38, surely, on that bit of sandy beach and we can walk round and pick her up. That will give her a chance to do a bit of real sailing.”
The plan was readily agreed to by all concerned, apparently with the most heartiness39 by the Josephine herself. She dipped and danced irresolutely40 for a moment when first she was launched upon her new voyage, then spread her sails to the wind and scudded41 off like a racing42 yacht. Even Aunt Mattie joined in the chorus of cheers that celebrated43 the triumphant44 setting sail. Captain Saulsby’s rheumatism seemed completely forgotten as he set off along the shore path to meet the boat when she came to port, with Aunt Mattie walking beside him.
Billy, lagging a little behind, looked up suddenly toward the rocks above him and caught a movement of something behind the biggest of the stones. The brown mink45 perhaps it was, but—possibly—something else. He climbed up to investigate, but found the rocks were slippery and not easy to scale, and that the smooth surface was hot under his hands. He reached the top of the biggest one at last and, not much to his surprise, found no one there. Not a sign could he see of any presence but his own. He had been foolish to climb up—but wait—what was that?
Wet footprints showed on the grey stone surface, as though somebody had but now walked across the weed-fringed rocks, uncovered by the half tide, and had then crossed the drier space above. Such marks would only last for a moment under this hot sun; indeed, they faded and disappeared even as he stood staring at them. What was that gleam of sunlight on metal just beyond that stone? He went quickly to see and discovered a pair of field glasses, binoculars46 of the highest power, lying half tumbled out of their case, as though dropped in hasty flight. He picked them up, adjusted them to his eyes with some slight difficulty and turned them out to sea. At first he saw only a dazzling expanse of blue sky, then, as he shifted, an equally dazzling glare of blue water. Then quite by chance, the glass fell upon the warship47, and he could see the sparkle of her shining brass48 work, the blue uniforms of tiny figures moving on her deck, the black gaping49 mouths of her big guns. He laid the glasses upon a ledge9 of rock, so that he should not break them as he clambered down to a lower level. It was not easy climbing and he had to watch his footing carefully. Once below he reached up to get the binoculars down, failed to touch them and reached again. Still the rock was bare to his hand so he scrambled50 up to see what was the matter. The ledge was empty, they were gone!
Billy had a sudden feeling that it would be pleasant to rejoin Captain Saulsby and his Aunt as soon as it was possible. He was not afraid but—well such things were queer. There was something warmly comforting about the old sailor’s hearty51 laugh as it came drifting back to him. He hurried quickly after the two with the unpleasant feeling that a pair of peering black eyes were watching him from somewhere as he passed along.
Miss Pearson had elected not to meet the Josephine when she came to port, but had turned aside to go down to the steamboat landing. She was going to Boston by the afternoon boat and had just heard the whistle calling her on board. She waved good-bye to Billy but motioned him to follow the Captain, who was trudging52 on alone. Billy would have come down to see her off, none the less, had he not suddenly noticed something that knocked both the departure of Aunt Mattie and the affair of the field-glasses completely out of his head.
“Oh, look, Captain Saulsby,” he cried; “look what’s happened to the Josephine!”
Not one of them had noticed that the wind had changed. But the little Josephine had, for she had altered her course and instead of heading for the sandy beach opposite, was speeding away for the harbour’s mouth and the open sea. The breeze was steadily freshening, the little boat as steadily gathering53 headway, so that it would not be long before she would pass the headland and be out of sight.
“Oh, stop her,” cried Billy, in frantic54 excitement. “Oh, isn’t there any way to stop her.”
The old man was quite as distressed55 as he.
“We can’t lose her,” he exclaimed; “we never could lose the Josephine!” He stood gazing helplessly after the fast-vanishing little vessel. “What on earth can we do?”
He thought a minute and then turned to hurry awkwardly down the path toward the wharf.
“We’ll take my catboat,” he said; “she’s not been sailed for a month of Sundays but she’s seaworthy all right. The Josephine may have the start of us while we’re getting up sail, but we’ll catch her in the end.”
It was wonderful what short work the old captain made of seizing upon a dory, rowing out to the little catboat that bobbed in the tide, boarding her and getting up sail. Billy’s assistance was willing but extremely awkward, so that he hindered far more than he helped. At length, however, they were under weigh, riding gaily56 the gradually rising waves, and skimming along in the wake of the fleeing Josephine.
Captain Saulsby’s burst of energy seemed to wear itself out with surprising quickness. Once they were well started he put the tiller into Billy’s hand and went and sat down in the cockpit.
“I’m an old man,” he said gloomily. “I’m not a sailor any longer, just an old man, and good for nothing.”
Billy hardly heard him, so intent was he upon the responsibility of steering57 the boat. She was a clumsy little craft with a rather daring expanse of sail, she cut through the water swiftly but was not easy to keep upon her course. The tiller jerked and kicked under his hand; there were times when he could scarcely hold it, and when the bow veered58 threateningly to one side or another. The Captain paid little attention to his difficulties but sat hunched59 up in his corner staring idly before him.
“There’s a shoal place here off the headland,” he remarked at last; “you’ll have to make two or three tacks60 to get around it. That pesky Josephine can sail right over and will get more of a start than ever. If the tide were half an hour higher I would risk following. Now we’ve come so far we’ve got to get her.”
“But—but—what do I do?” inquired Billy, quite bewildered at the task set him. A boy who has never sailed a boat before finds suddenly a whole world of things that he would like to know.
“Why, nothing but just come up into the wind, loose the sheet, lay your new course over toward the lighthouse there. Now’s the minute—Ready about!”
Somehow, Billy never quite knew how, the thing was done. The bow swung round, the big sail fluttered and trembled a moment, then came over with a rush, and the catboat was off on her new tack. To Billy it seemed as though the wind had totally changed in direction, as though the small vessel were tipping dangerously, and as though anything might happen at any moment, but he kept manfully silent about it all. If this was the way one learned to sail a boat, he supposed that he could master it as well as another.
Captain Saulsby seemed to be totally unaware61 of his torment62 of mind. He still sat, gazing moodily63 out to sea and saying not a word.
“You’d better come about now,” he remarked suddenly when they had sailed some distance toward the lighthouse. After an instant of indecision and fumbling64 awkwardness, come about Billy did, with more ease this time, but no great knowledge of just what was happening. Once more they stood off on the new course, the tubby little craft rising and dipping bravely, Billy clinging to the tiller and beginning to feel suddenly that the boat was a live thing under his hand, ready to do his slightest bidding.
“Once more,” ordered Captain Saulsby when it was time to tack, and this time Billy accomplished65 it without a hitch66.
“Captain Saulsby,” he cried in beaming delight, “I can sail her, I know how to sail her!” A slow broad grin illuminated67 Captain Saulsby’s mahogany-colored countenance68.
“I thought you could,” he said slowly, “but it was a little ticklish69 at first, wasn’t it? And, good Heavens, the wake you leave!”
Billy glanced backward at the line upon the water that marked the pathway of his course.
“It’s not very straight,” he admitted, “but the waves have mussed it up some. Oh, but it’s great to sail a boat!”
The wind hummed in the rounding curve of the sail, the waves slapped and splashed along the boat’s side, the Island of Appledore fell away behind them, and they came out into the full sweep of the open sea. Aunt Mattie’s steamer was a black speck70 off toward the south, trailing a long, thin line of smoke. The sun that had shone so hot vanished presently behind a cloud, the water seemed to be a shade less blue, the little white sail of the fugitive71 Josephine seemed now and then to show mockingly ahead of them and now to disappear entirely72. On they sped and on and on, while Billy with the wind blowing through his hair and with his hand upon the quivering tiller, felt that he was quite the happiest boy in the world.
“Tell me, Captain Saulsby,” he asked idly at last, “what makes the water look so queer over there to the north?”
The Captain, who had been puffing73 comfortably upon his pipe and had almost, it seemed, fallen into a doze74, turned slowly and awkwardly to look where Billy pointed17. In the twinkling of an eye he became transformed into a different man.
“Old fool that I am,” he cried, “sitting here and not keeping a look-out! Half asleep I must have been and in such tricky75 weather, too.”
He sprang up and was at Billy’s side in one movement. What pain such activity must have cost him it would be hard to tell; his weather-beaten face turned almost pale, and drops of moisture stood on his forehead. He seized the tiller and gave Billy a sharp succession of orders, which the poor boy was too bewildered to more than half understand.
“Cast off that rope, not that one, no, no, the other, quick, oh, if only I could reach it!”
He groaned76 aloud, not so much with the pain he must have felt, but with the helpless impatience77 of knowing himself to be unequal to the crisis. The deeper blue streak78 of water that Billy had pointed out, became rapidly darker and darker until it was grey, then black, and came rushing toward them at furious speed. The little catboat swung round to meet it. Billy tugged79 manfully at the sheet and noticed, with sudden consternation80, that the strands81 of the rope had been frayed82 against the cleat and showed a dangerously weak place.
“What shall I do?” he cried. “Look, quick—” but he spoke too late.
The squall struck them, the sheet parted with a crack like a pistol shot and in an instant the great sail was flapping backward and forward over their heads like a mad thing. The heavy boom swung over and then back with sickening jerks, the old rotten mast groaned, creaked, then suddenly, with a splintering crash, went overboard dragging with it a mass of cordage and canvas.
In wild haste Captain Saulsby and Billy strove to cut away the wreckage83, but they were not quick enough. The boat heeled over farther and farther, the water came pouring in over the gunwale. There was a harrowing moment of suspense84, then their little craft turned completely over, throwing them both into the water, amid the tangle85 of sail and rigging.
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1
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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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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wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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dissertations
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| 专题论文，学位论文( dissertation的名词复数 ) | |
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naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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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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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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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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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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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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torpedo
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| n.水雷，地雷；v.用鱼雷破坏 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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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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tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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funnels
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| 漏斗( funnel的名词复数 )； （轮船，火车等的）烟囱 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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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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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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irresolutely
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| adv.优柔寡断地 | |
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41
scudded
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| v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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mink
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| n.貂，貂皮 | |
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binoculars
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| n.双筒望远镜 | |
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warship
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| n.军舰，战舰 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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52
trudging
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的现在分词形式） | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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veered
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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tacks
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| 大头钉( tack的名词复数 )； 平头钉； 航向； 方法 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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ticklish
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| adj.怕痒的；问题棘手的；adv.怕痒地；n.怕痒，小心处理 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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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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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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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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82
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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84
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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85
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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