Walter Dene, deacon, in his faultless Oxford1 clerical coat and broad felt hat, strolled along slowly, sunning himself as he went, after his wont2, down the pretty central lane of West Churnside. It was just the idyllic3 village best suited to the taste of such an idyllic young curate as Walter Dene. There were cottages with low-thatched roofs, thickly overgrown with yellow stonecrop and pink house-leek; there were trellis-work porches up which the scented4 dog-rose and the fainter honeysuckle clambered together in sisterly rivalry5; there were pargeted gable-ends of Elizabethan farmhouses6, quaintly7 varied8 with black oak joists and moulded plaster panels. At the end of all, between an avenue of ancient elm trees, the heavy square tower of the old church closed in the little vista—a church with a round Norman doorway9 and dog-tooth arches, melting into Early English lancets in the aisle10, and finishing up with a great Decorated east window by the broken cross and yew11 tree. Not a trace of Perpendicularity12 about it anywhere, thank goodness: "for if it were Perpendicular," said Walter Dene to himself often, "I really think, in spite of my uncle, I should have to look out for another curacy."
Yes, it was a charming village, and a charming country; but, above all, it was rendered habitable and pleasurable for a man of taste by the informing presence of Christina Eliot. "I don't think I shall propose[Pg 67] to Christina this week after all," thought Walter Dene as he strolled along lazily. "The most delightful13 part of love-making is certainly its first beginning. The little tremor14 of hope and expectation; the half-needless doubt you feel as to whether she really loves you; the pains you take to pierce the thin veil of maidenly15 reserve; the triumph of detecting her at a blush or a flutter when she sees you coming—all these are delicate little morsels16 to be rolled daintily on the critical palate, and not to be swallowed down coarsely at one vulgar gulp17. Poor child, she is on tenter-hooks of hesitation18 and expectancy19 all the time, I know; for I'm sure she loves me now, I'm sure she loves me; but I must wait a week yet: she will be grateful to me for it hereafter. We mustn't kill the goose that lays the golden eggs; we mustn't eat up all our capital at one extravagant20 feast, and then lament21 the want of our interest ever afterward23. Let us live another week in our first fool's paradise before we enter on the safer but less tremulous pleasures of sure possession. We can enjoy first love but once in a lifetime; let us enjoy it now while we can, and not fling away the chance prematurely24 by mere25 childish haste and girlish precipitancy." Thinking which thing, Walter Dene halted a moment by the churchyard wall, picked a long spray of scented wild thyme from a mossy cranny, and gazed into the blue sky above at the graceful26 swifts who nested in the old tower, as they curved and circled through the yielding air on their evenly poised27 and powerful pinions28.
Just at that moment old Mary Long came out of her cottage to speak with the young parson. "If ye plaze, Maister Dene," she said in her native west-country dialect, "our Nully would like to zee 'ee. She's main ill to-day, zur, and she be like to die a'most, I'm thinking."
"Poor child, poor child," said Walter Dene tenderly. "She's a dear little thing, Mrs. Long, is your Nellie, and I hope she may yet be[Pg 68] spared to you. I'll come and see her at once, and try if I can do anything to ease her."
He crossed the road compassionately29 with the tottering30 old grandmother, giving her his helping31 hand over the kerbstone, and following her with bated breath into the close little sick-room. Then he flung open the tiny casement32 with its diamond-leaded panes33, so as to let in the fresh summer air, and picked a few sprigs of sweet-briar from the porch, which he joined with the geranium from his own button-hole to make a tiny nosegay for the bare bedside. After that, he sat and talked awhile gently in an undertone to pale, pretty little Nellie herself, and went away at last promising34 to send her some jelly and some soup immediately from the vicarage kitchen.
"She's a sweet little child," he said to himself musingly35, "though I'm afraid she's not long for this world now; and the poor like these small attentions dearly. They get them seldom, and value them for the sake of the thoughtfulness they imply, rather than for the sake of the mere things themselves. I can order a bottle of calf's-foot at the grocer's, and Carter can set it in a mould without any trouble; while as for the soup, some tinned mock-turtle and a little fresh stock makes a really capital mixture for this sort of thing. It costs so little to give these poor souls pleasure, and it is a great luxury to oneself undeniably. But, after all, what a funny trade it is to set an educated man to do! They send us up to Oxford or Cambridge, give us a distinct taste for ?schylus and Catullus, Dante and Milton, Mendelssohn and Chopin, good claret and olives farcies, and then bring us down to a country village, to look after the bodily and spiritual ailments36 of rheumatic old washerwomen! If it were not for poetry, flowers, and Christina, I really think I should succumb37 entirely38 under the infliction39."
"He's a dear, good man, that he is, is young passon," murmured old Miry Long as Walter disappeared between the elm trees; "and he do love the[Pg 69] poor and the zick, the same as if he was their own brother. God bless his zoul, the dear, good vulla, vor all his kindness to our Nully."
Halfway40 down the main lane Walter came across Christina Eliot. As she saw him she smiled and coloured a little, and held out her small gloved hand prettily41. Walter took it with a certain courtly and graceful chivalry42. "An exquisite43 day, Miss Eliot," he said; "such a depth of sapphire44 in the sky, such a faint undertone of green on the clouds by the horizon, such a lovely humming of bees over the flickering45 hot meadows! On days like this, one feels that Schopenhauer is wrong after all, and that life is sometimes really worth living."
"It seems to me often worth living," Christina answered; "if not for oneself, at least for others. But you pretend to be more of a pessimist46 than you really are, I fancy, Mr. Dene. Any one who finds so much beauty in the world as you do can hardly think life poor or meagre. You seem to catch the loveliest points in everything you look at, and to throw a little literary or artistic47 reflection over them which makes them even lovelier than they are in themselves."
"Well, no doubt one can increase one's possibilities of enjoyment48 by carefully cultivating one's own faculties50 of admiration51 and appreciation," said the curate thoughtfully; "but, after all, life has only a few chapters that are thoroughly52 interesting and enthralling53 in all its history. We oughtn't to hurry over them too lightly, Miss Eliot; we ought to linger on them lovingly, and make the most of their potentialities; we ought to dwell upon them like "linked sweetness long drawn54 out." It is the mistake of the world at large to hurry too rapidly over the pleasantest episodes, just as children pick all the plums at once out of the pudding. I often think that, from the purely55 selfish and temporal point of view, the real value of a life to its subject may be measured by the space of time over which he has managed to spread the[Pg 70] enjoyment of its greatest pleasures. Look, for example, at poetry, now."
A faint shade of disappointment passed across Christina's face as he turned from what seemed another groove56 into that indifferent subject; but she answered at once, "Yes, of course one feels that with the higher pleasures at least; but there are others in which the interest of plot is greater, and then one looks naturally rather to the end. When you begin a good novel, you can't help hurrying through it in order to find out what becomes of everybody at last."
"Ah, but the highest artistic interest goes beyond mere plot interest. I like rather to read for the pleasure of reading, and to loiter over the passages that please me, quite irrespective of what goes before or what comes after; just as you, for your part, like to sketch57 a beautiful scene for its own worth to you, irrespective of what may happen to the leaves in autumn, or to the cottage roof in twenty years from this. By the way, have you finished that little water-colour of the mill yet? It's the prettiest thing of yours I've ever seen, and I want to look how you've managed the light on your foreground."
"Come in and see it," said Christina. "It's finished now, and, to tell you the truth, I'm very well pleased with it myself."
"Then I know it must be good," the curate answered; "for you are always your own harshest critic." And he turned in at the little gate with her, and entered the village doctor's tiny drawing-room.
Christina placed the sketch on an easel near the window—a low window opening to the ground, with long lithe58 festoons of faint-scented jasmine encroaching on it from outside—and let the light fall on it aslant59 in the right direction. It was a pretty and a clever sketch certainly, with more than a mere amateur's sense of form and colour; and Walter Dene,[Pg 71] who had a true eye for pictures, could conscientiously60 praise it for its artistic depth and fulness. Indeed, on that head at least, Walter Dene's veracity61 was unimpeachable62, however lax in other matters; nothing on earth would have induced him to praise as good a picture or a sculpture in which he saw no real merit. He sat a little while criticizing and discussing it, suggesting an improvement here or an alteration63 there, and then he rose hurriedly, remembering all at once his forgotten promise to little Nellie. "Dear me," he said, "your daughter's picture has almost made me overlook my proper duties, Mrs. Eliot. I promised to send some jelly and things at once to poor little Nellie Long at her grandmother's. How very wrong of me to let my natural inclinations64 keep me loitering here, when I ought to have been thinking of the poor of my parish!" And he went out with just a gentle pressure on Christina's hand, and a look from his eyes that her heart knew how to read aright at the first glance of it.
"Do you know, Christie," said her father, "I sometimes fancy when I hear that new parson fellow talk about his artistic feelings, and so on, that he's just a trifle selfish, or at least self-centred. He always dwells so much on his own enjoyment of things, you know."
"Oh no, papa," cried Christina warmly. "He's anything but selfish, I'm sure. Look how kind he is to all the poor in the village, and how much he thinks about their comfort and welfare. And whenever he's talking with one, he seems so anxious to make you feel happy and contented65 with yourself. He has a sort of little subtle flattery of manner about him that's all pure kindliness66; and he's always thinking what he can say or do to please you, and to help you onward67. What you say about his dwelling68 on enjoyment so much is really only his artistic sensibility. He feels things so keenly, and enjoys beauty so deeply, that he can't help talking enthusiastically about it even a little out of season. He[Pg 72] has more feelings to display than most men, and I'm sure that's the reason why he displays them so much. A ploughboy could only talk enthusiastically about roast beef and dumplings; Mr. Dene can talk about everything that's beautiful and sublime69 on earth or in heaven."
Meanwhile, Walter Dene was walking quickly with his measured tread—the even, regular tread of a cultivated gentleman—down the lane toward the village grocer's, saying to himself as he went, "There was never such a girl in all the world as my Christina. She may be only a country surgeon's daughter—a rosebud70 on a hedgerow bush—but she has the soul and the eye of a queen among women for all that. Every lover has deceived himself with the same sweet dream, to be sure—how over-analytic we have become nowadays, when I must needs half argue myself out of the sweets of first love!—but then they hadn't so much to go upon as I have. She has a wonderful touch in music, she has an exquisite eye in painting, she has an Italian charm in manner and conversation. I'm something of a connoisseur71, after all, and no more likely to be deceived in a woman than I am in a wine or a picture. And next week I shall really propose formally to Christina, though I know by this time it will be nothing more than the merest formality. Her eyes are too eloquent72 not to have told me that long ago. It will be a delightful pleasure to live for her, and in order to make her happy. I frankly73 recognize that I am naturally a little selfish—not coarsely and vulgarly selfish; from that disgusting and piggish vice74 I may conscientiously congratulate myself that I'm fairly free; but still selfish in a refined and cultivated manner. Now, living with Christina and for Christina will correct this defect in my nature, will tend to bring me nearer to a true standard of perfection. When I am by her side, and then only, I feel that I am thinking entirely of her, and not at all of myself. To her I show my best side; with her, that best side would[Pg 73] be always uppermost. The companionship of such a woman makes life something purer, and higher, and better worth having. The one thing that stands in our way is this horrid75 practical question of what to live upon. I don't suppose Uncle Arthur will be inclined to allow me anything, and I can't marry on my own paltry76 income and my curacy only. Yet I can't bear to keep Christina waiting indefinitely till some thick-headed squire77 or other chooses to take it into his opaque78 brain to give me a decent living."
From the grocer's the curate walked on, carrying the two tins in his hand, as far as the vicarage. He went into the library, sat down by his own desk, and rang the bell. "Will you be kind enough to give those things to Carter, John?" he said in his bland79 voice; "and tell her to put the jelly in a mould, and let it set. The soup must be warmed with a little fresh stock, and seasoned. Then take them both, with my compliments, to old Mary Long the washerwoman, for her grandchild. Is my uncle in?"
"No, Master Walter," answered the man—he was always "Master Walter" to the old servants at his uncle's—"the vicar have gone over by train to Churminster. He told me to tell you he wouldn't be back till evening, after dinner."
"Did you see him off, John?"
"Yes, Master Walter. I took his portmantew to the station."
"This will be a good chance, then," thought Walter Dene to himself. "Very well, John," he went on aloud: "I shall write my sermon now. Don't let anybody come to disturb me."
John nodded and withdrew. Walter Dene locked the door after him carefully, as he often did when writing sermons, and then lit a cigar, which was also a not infrequent concomitant of his exegetical80 labours. After that he walked once or twice up and down the room, paused a[Pg 74] moment to look at his parchment-covered Rabelais and Villon on the bookshelf, peered out of the dulled glass windows with the crest81 in their centre, and finally drew a curious bent82 iron instrument out of his waistcoat pocket. With it in his hands, he went up quietly to his uncle's desk, and began fumbling83 at the lock in an experienced manner. As a matter of fact, it was not his first trial of skill in lock-picking; for Walter Dene was a painstaking84 and methodical man, and having made up his mind that he would get at and read his uncle's will, he took good care to begin by fastening all the drawers in his own bedroom, and trying his prentice hand at unfastening them again in the solitude85 of his chamber86.
After half a minute's twisting and turning, the wards87 gave way gently to his dexterous88 pressure, and the lid of the desk lay open before him. Walter Dene took out the different papers one by one—there was no need for hurry, and he was not a nervous person—till he came to a roll of parchment, which he recognized at once as the expected will. He unrolled it carefully and quietly, without any womanish trembling or excitement—"thank Heaven," he said to himself, "I'm above such nonsense as that"—and sat down leisurely89 to read it in the big, low, velvet-covered study chair. As he did so, he did not forget to lay a notched90 foot-rest for his feet, and to put the little Japanese dish on the tiny table by his side to hold his cigar ash. "And now," he said, "for the important question whether Uncle Arthur has left his money to me, or to Arthur, or to both of us equally. He ought, of course, to leave at least half to me, seeing I have become a curate on purpose to please him, instead of following my natural vocation91 to the Bar; but I shouldn't be a bit surprised if he had left it all to Arthur. He's a pig-headed and illogical old man, the vicar; and he can never forgive me, I believe, because, being the eldest92 son, I wasn't called after him by my father and mother. As if that was my fault! Some people's ideas[Pg 75] of personal responsibility are so ridiculously muddled93."
He composed himself quietly in the arm-chair, and glanced rapidly at the will through the meaningless preliminaries till he came to the significant clauses. These he read more carefully. "All my estate in the county of Dorset, and the messuage or tenement94 known as Redlands, in the parish of Lode95, in the county of Devon, to my dear nephew, Arthur Dene," he said to himself slowly: "Oh, this will never do." "And I give and bequeath to my said nephew, Arthur Dene, the sum of ten thousand pounds, three per cent. consolidated96 annuities97, now standing98 in my name."—"Oh this is atrocious, quite atrocious! What's this?" "And I give and bequeath to my dear nephew, Walter Dene, the residue99 of my personal estate"—"and so forth100. Oh no. That's quite sufficient. This must be rectified101. The residuary legatee would only come in for a few hundreds or so. It's quite preposterous102. The vicar was always an ill-tempered, cantankerous103, unaccountable person, but I wonder he has the face to sit opposite me at dinner after that."
He hummed an air from Schubert, and sat a moment looking thoughtfully at the will. Then he said to himself quietly, "The simplest thing to do would be merely to scrape out or take out with chemicals the name Arthur, substituting the name Walter, and vice versa. That's a very small matter; a man who draws as well as I do ought to be able easily to imitate a copying clerk's engrossing105 hand. But it would be madness to attempt it now and here; I want a little practice first. At the same time, I mustn't keep the will out a moment longer than is necessary; my uncle may return by some accident before I expect him; and the true philosophy of life consists in invariably minimizing the adverse106 chances. This will was evidently drawn up by Watson and Blenkiron, of Chancery Lane. I'll write to-morrow and get them to draw up a will for[Pg 76] me, leaving all I possess to Arthur. The same clerk is pretty sure to engross104 it, and that'll give me a model for the two names on which I can do a little preliminary practice. Besides, I can try the stuff Wharton told me about, for making ink fade on the same parchment. That will be killing107 two birds with one stone, certainly. And now if I don't make haste I shan't have time to write my sermon."
He replaced the will calmly in the desk, fastened the lock again with a delicate twirl of the pick, and sat down in his arm-chair to compose his discourse108 for to-morrow's evensong. "It's not a bad bit of rhetoric," he said to himself as he read it over for correction, "but I'm not sure that I haven't plagiarized109 a little too freely from Montaigne and dear old Burton. What a pity it must be thrown away upon a Churnside congregation! Not a soul in the whole place will appreciate a word of it, except Christina. Well, well, that alone is enough reward for any man." And he knocked off his ash pensively110 into the Japanese ash-pan.
During the course of the next week Walter practised diligently111 the art of imitating handwriting. He got his will drawn up and engrossed112 at Watson and Blenkiron's (without signing it, bien entendu); and he spent many solitary113 hours in writing the two names "Walter" and "Arthur" on the spare end of parchment, after the manner of the engrossing clerk. He also tested the stuff for making the ink fade to his own perfect satisfaction. And on the next occasion when his uncle was safely off the premises114 for three hours, he took the will once more deliberately115 from the desk, removed the obnoxious116 letters with scrupulous117 care, and wrote in his own name in place of Arthur's, so that even the engrossing clerk himself would hardly have known the difference. "There," he said to himself approvingly, as he took down quiet old George Herbert from the[Pg 77] shelf and sat down to enjoy an hour's smoke after the business was over, "that's one good deed well done, anyhow. I have the calm satisfaction of a clear conscience. The vicar's proposed arrangement was really most unfair; I have substituted for it what Aristotle would have rightly called true distributive justice. For though I've left all the property to myself, by the unfortunate necessity of the case, of course I won't take it all. I'll be juster than the vicar. Arthur shall have his fair share, which is more, I believe, than he'd have done for me; but I hate squalid money-grubbing. If brothers can't be generous and brotherly to one another, what a wretched, sordid118 little life this of ours would really be!"
Next Sunday morning the vicar preached, and Walter sat looking up at him reflectively from his place in the chancel. A beautiful clear-cut face, the curate's, and seen to great advantage from the doctor's pew, set off by the white surplice, and upturned in quiet meditation119 towards the elder priest in the pulpit. Walter was revolving120 many things in his mind, and most of all one adverse chance which he could not just then see his way to minimize. Any day his uncle might take it into his head to read over the will and discover the—ah, well, the rectification121. Walter was a man of too much delicacy122 of feeling even to think of it to himself as a fraud or a forgery123. Then, again, the vicar was not a very old man after all; he might live for an indefinite period, and Christina and himself might lose all the best years of their life waiting for a useless person's natural removal. What a pity that threescore was not the utmost limit of human life! For his own part, like the Psalmist, Walter had no desire to outlive his own highest tastes and powers of enjoyment. Ah, well, well, man's prerogative124 is to better and improve upon nature. If people do not die when they ought, then it becomes clearly necessary for philosophically125 minded juniors to help them on[Pg 78] their way artificially.
It was an ugly necessity, certainly; Walter frankly recognized that fact from the very beginning, and he shrank even from contemplating126 it; but there was no other way out of the difficulty. The old man had always been a selfish bachelor, with no love for anybody or anything on earth except his books, his coins, his garden, and his dinner; he was growing tired of all except the last; would it not be better for the world at large, on strict utilitarian127 principles, that he should go at once? True, such steps are usually to be deprecated; but the wise man is a law unto himself, and instead of laying down the wooden, hard-and-fast lines that make conventional morality so much a rule of thumb, he judges every individual case on its own particular merits. Here was Christina's happiness and his own on the one hand, with many collateral128 advantages to other people, set in the scale against the feeble remnant of a selfish old man's days on the other. Walter Dene had a constitutional horror of taking life in any form, and especially of shedding blood; but he flattered himself that if anything of the sort became clearly necessary, he was not the man to shrink from taking the needful measures to ensure it, at any sacrifice of personal comfort.
All through the next week Walter turned over the subject in his own mind; and the more he thought about it, the more the plan gained in definiteness and consistency129 as detail after detail suggested itself to him. First he thought of poison. That was the cleanest and neatest way of managing the thing, he considered; and it involved the least unpleasant consequences. To stick a knife or shoot a bullet into any sentient130 creature was a horrid and revolting act; to put a little tasteless powder into a cup of coffee and let a man sleep off his life quietly was really nothing more than helping him involuntarily to a[Pg 79] delightful euthanasia. "I wish any one would do as much for me at his age, without telling me about it," Walter said to himself seriously. But then the chances of detection would be much increased by using poison, and Walter felt it an imperative131 duty to do nothing which would expose Christina to the shock of a discovery. She would not see the matter in the same practical light as he did; women never do; their morality is purely conventional and a wise man will do nothing on earth to shake it. You cannot buy poison without the risk of exciting question. There remained, then, only shooting or stabbing. But shooting makes an awkward noise, and attracts attention at the moment; so the one thing possible was a knife, unpleasant as that conclusion seemed to all his more delicate feelings.
Having thus decided132, Walter Dene proceeded to lay his plans with deliberate caution. He had no intention whatsoever133 of being detected, though his method of action was simplicity134 itself. It was only bunglers and clumsy fools who got caught; he knew that a man of his intelligence and ability would not make such an idiot of himself as—well, as common ruffians always do. He took his old American bowie-knife, bought years ago as a curiosity, out of the drawer where it had lain so long. It was very rusty136, but it would be safer to sharpen it privately137 on his own hone and strop than to go asking for a new knife at a shop for the express purpose of enabling the shopman afterwards to identify him. He sharpened it for safety's sake during sermon-hour in the library, with the door locked as usual. It took a long time to get off all the rust135, and his arm got quickly tired. One morning as he was polishing away at it, he was stopped for a moment by a butterfly which flapped and fluttered against the dulled window-panes. "Poor thing," he said to himself, "it will beat its feathery wings to pieces in its struggles;" and he put a vase of Venetian glass on top of it, lifted the sash carefully, and let the creature fly away outside in the broad sunshine.[Pg 80] At the same moment the vicar, who was strolling with his King Charlie on the lawn, came up and looked in at the window. He could not have seen in before, because of the dulled and painted diamonds.
"That's a murderous-looking weapon, Wally," he said, with a smile, as his glance fell upon the bowie and hone. "What do you use it for?"
"Oh, it's an American bowie," Walter answered carelessly. "I bought it long ago for a curiosity, and now I'm sharpening it up to help me in carving138 that block of walnut139 wood." And he ran his finger lightly along the edge of the blade to test its keenness. What a lucky thing that it was the vicar himself, and not the gardener! If he had been caught by anybody else the fact would have been fatal evidence after all was over. "Méfiez-vous des papillons," he hummed to himself, after Béranger, as he shut down the window. "One more butterfly, and I must give up the game as useless."
Meanwhile, as Walter meant to make a clean job of it—hacking and hewing140 clumsily was repulsive141 to all his finer feelings—he began also to study carefully the anatomy142 of the human back. He took down all the books on the subject in the library, and by their aid discovered exactly under which ribs143 the heart lay. A little observation of the vicar, compared with the plates in Quain's "Anatomy," showed him precisely144 at what point in his clerical coat the most vulnerable interstice was situated145. "It's a horrid thing to have to do," he thought over and over again as he planned it, "but it's the only way to secure Christina's happiness." And so, by a certain bright Friday evening in August, Walter Dene had fully49 completed all his preparations.
That afternoon, as on all bright afternoons in summer, the vicar went for a walk in the grounds, attended only by little King Charlie. He was squire and parson at once in Churnside, and he loved to make the round[Pg 81] of his own estate. At a certain gate by Selbury Copse the vicar always halted to rest awhile, leaning on the bar and looking at the view across the valley. It was a safe and lonely spot. Walter remained at home (he was to take the regular Friday evensong) and went into the study by himself. After a while he took his hat, not without trembling, strolled across the garden, and then made the short cut through the copse, so as to meet the vicar by the gate. On his way he heard the noise of the Dennings in the farm opposite, out rabbit-shooting with their guns and ferrets in the warren. His very soul shrank within him at the sound of that brutal146 sport. "Great heavens!" he said to himself, with a shudder147; "to think how I loathe148 and shrink from the necessity of almost painlessly killing this one selfish old man for an obviously good reason, and those creatures there will go out massacring innocent animals with the aid of a hideous149 beast of prey150, not only without remorse151, but actually by way of amusement! I thank Heaven I am not even as they are." Near the gate he came upon his uncle quietly and naturally, though it would be absurd to deny that at that supreme152 moment even Walter Dene's equable heart throbbed153 hard, and his breath went and came tremulously. "Alone," he thought to himself, "and nobody near; this is quite providential," using even then, in thought, the familiar phraseology of his profession.
"A lovely afternoon, Uncle Arthur," he said as composedly as he could, accurately154 measuring the spot on the vicar's coat with his eye meanwhile. "The valley looks beautiful in this light."
"Yes, a lovely afternoon, Wally, my boy, and an exquisite glimpse down yonder into the churchyard."
As he spoke155, Walter half leaned upon the gate beside him, and adjusted the knife behind the vicar's back scientifically. Then, without a word more, in spite of a natural shrinking, he drove it home up to the haft,[Pg 82] with a terrible effort of will, at the exact spot on the back that the books had pointed156 out to him. It was a painful thing to do, but he did it carefully and well. The effect of Walter Dene's scientific prevision was even more instantaneous than he had anticipated. Without a single cry, without a sob157 or a contortion158, the vicar's lifeless body fell over heavily by the side of the gate. It rolled down like a log into the dry ditch beneath. Walter knelt trembling on the ground close by, felt the pulse for a moment to assure himself that his uncle was really dead, and having fully satisfied himself on this all-important point, proceeded to draw the knife neatly159 out of the wound. He had let it fall in the body, in order to extricate160 it more easily afterward, and not risk pulling it out carelessly so as to get himself covered needlessly by tell-tale drops of blood, like ordinary clumsy assassins. But he had forgotten to reckon with little King Charlie. The dog jumped piteously upon the body of his master, licked the wound with his tongue, and refused to allow Walter to withdraw the knife. It would be unsafe to leave it there, for it might be recognized. "Minimize the adverse chances," he muttered still; but there was no inducing King Charlie to move. A struggle might result in getting drops of blood upon his coat, and then, great heavens, what a terrible awakening161 for Christina! "Oh, Christina, Christina, Christina," he said to himself piteously, "it is for you only that I could ever have ventured to do this hideous thing." The blood was still oozing162 out of the narrow slit163, and saturating164 the black coat, and Walter Dene with his delicate nerves could hardly bear to look upon it.
At last he summoned up resolution to draw out the knife from the ugly wound, in spite of King Charlie, and as he did so, oh, horror! the little dog jumped at it, and cut his left fore-leg against the sharp edge deep to the bone. Here was a pretty accident indeed! If Walter Dene had been a common heartless murderer he would have snatched up the[Pg 83] knife immediately, left the poor lame22 dog to watch and bleed beside his dead master, and skulked165 off hurriedly from the mute witness to his accomplished166 crime. But Walter was made of very different mould from that; he could not find it in his heart to leave a poor dumb animal wounded and bleeding for hours together, alone and untended. Just at first, indeed, he tried sophistically to persuade himself his duty to Christina demanded that he should go away at once, and never mind the sufferings of a mere spaniel; but his better nature told him the next moment that such sophisms were indefensible, and his humane167 instincts overcame even the profound instinct of self-preservation. He sat down quietly beside the warm corpse168. "Thank goodness," he said, with a slight shiver of disgust, "I'm not one of those weak-minded people who are troubled by remorse. They would be so overcome by terror at what they had done that they would want to run away from the body immediately, at any price. But I don't think I could feel remorse. It is an incident of lower natures—natures that are capable of doing actions under one set of impulses, which they regret when another set comes uppermost in turn. That implies a want of balance, an imperfect co-ordination of parts and passions. The perfect character is consistent with itself; shame and repentance169 are confessions170 of weakness. For my part, I never do anything without having first deliberately decided that it is the best or the only thing to do; and having so done it, I do not draw back like a girl from the necessary consequences of my own act. No fluttering or running away for me. Still, I must admit that all that blood does look very ghastly. Poor old gentleman! I believe he really died almost without knowing it, and that is certainly a great comfort to one under the circumstances."
He took King Charlie tenderly in his hands, without touching171 the wounded leg, and drew his pocket handkerchief softly from his pocket. "Poor[Pg 84] beastie," he said aloud, holding out the cut limb before him, "you are badly hurt, I'm afraid; but it wasn't my fault. We must see what we can do for you." Then he wrapped the handkerchief deftly172 around it, without letting any blood show through, pressed the dog close against his breast, and picked up the knife gingerly by the reeking173 handle. "A fool of a fellow would throw it into the river," he thought, with a curl of his graceful lip. "They always dredge the river after these incidents. I shall just stick it down a hole in the hedge a hundred yards off. The police have no invention, dull donkeys; they never dredge the hedges." And he thrust it well down a disused rabbit burrow174, filling in the top neatly with loose mould.
Walter Dene meant to have gone home quietly and said evensong, leaving the discovery of the body to be made at haphazard175 by others, but this unfortunate accident to King Charlie compelled him against his will to give the first alarm. It was absolutely necessary to take the dog to the veterinary at once, or the poor little fellow might bleed to death incontinently. "One's best efforts," he thought, "are always liable to these unfortunate contretemps. I meant merely to remove a superfluous176 person from an uncongenial environment; yet I can't manage it without at the same time seriously injuring a harmless little creature that I really love." And with one last glance at the lifeless thing behind him, he took his way regretfully along the ordinary path back towards the peaceful village of Churnside.
Halfway down the lane, at the entrance to the village, he met one of his parishioners. "Tom," he said boldly, "have you seen anything of the vicar? I'm afraid he's got hurt somehow. Here's poor little King Charlie come limping back with his leg cut."
"He went down the road, zur, 'arf an hour zince, and I arn't zeen him afterwards."
"Tell the servants at the vicarage to look around the grounds, then; I'm[Pg 85] afraid he has fallen and hurt himself. I must take the dog at once to Perkins's, or else I shall be late for evensong."
The man went off straight toward the vicarage, and Walter Dene turned immediately with the dog in his arms into the village veterinary's.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
Oxford
|
|
| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
idyllic
|
|
| adj.质朴宜人的，田园风光的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
scented
|
|
| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
rivalry
|
|
| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
farmhouses
|
|
| n.农舍，农场的主要住房( farmhouse的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
quaintly
|
|
| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
varied
|
|
| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
aisle
|
|
| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
yew
|
|
| n.紫杉属树木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
perpendicularity
|
|
| n.垂直，直立；垂直度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
tremor
|
|
| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
maidenly
|
|
| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
morsels
|
|
| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
gulp
|
|
| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
expectancy
|
|
| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
extravagant
|
|
| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
lament
|
|
| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
lame
|
|
| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
afterward
|
|
| adv.后来；以后 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
prematurely
|
|
| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
poised
|
|
| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
pinions
|
|
| v.抓住[捆住]（双臂）( pinion的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
compassionately
|
|
| adv.表示怜悯地，有同情心地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
tottering
|
|
| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
helping
|
|
| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
casement
|
|
| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
panes
|
|
| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
promising
|
|
| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
musingly
|
|
| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
36
ailments
|
|
| 疾病（尤指慢性病），不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
succumb
|
|
| v.屈服，屈从；死 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
infliction
|
|
| n.（强加于人身的）痛苦，刑罚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
halfway
|
|
| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
prettily
|
|
| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
chivalry
|
|
| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
sapphire
|
|
| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
flickering
|
|
| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
pessimist
|
|
| n.悲观者；悲观主义者；厌世 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
artistic
|
|
| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
faculties
|
|
| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
enthralling
|
|
| 迷人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
purely
|
|
| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
groove
|
|
| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
sketch
|
|
| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
lithe
|
|
| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
aslant
|
|
| adv.倾斜地；adj.斜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
conscientiously
|
|
| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
veracity
|
|
| n.诚实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
unimpeachable
|
|
| adj.无可指责的；adv.无可怀疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
alteration
|
|
| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
inclinations
|
|
| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
contented
|
|
| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
kindliness
|
|
| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
onward
|
|
| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
sublime
|
|
| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
rosebud
|
|
| n.蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
connoisseur
|
|
| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
eloquent
|
|
| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
vice
|
|
| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
horrid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
paltry
|
|
| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
squire
|
|
| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
opaque
|
|
| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
bland
|
|
| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
exegetical
|
|
| adj.评释的，解经的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
crest
|
|
| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
fumbling
|
|
| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
painstaking
|
|
| adj.苦干的；艰苦的，费力的，刻苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
wards
|
|
| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
dexterous
|
|
| adj.灵敏的；灵巧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
leisurely
|
|
| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
notched
|
|
| a.有凹口的，有缺口的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
vocation
|
|
| n.职业，行业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
eldest
|
|
| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
muddled
|
|
| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
tenement
|
|
| n.公寓；房屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
lode
|
|
| n.矿脉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
consolidated
|
|
| a.联合的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
annuities
|
|
| n.养老金；年金( annuity的名词复数 )；（每年的）养老金；年金保险；年金保险投资 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
residue
|
|
| n.残余，剩余，残渣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
rectified
|
|
| [医]矫正的，调整的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
preposterous
|
|
| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
cantankerous
|
|
| adj.爱争吵的，脾气不好的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
engross
|
|
| v.使全神贯注 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
engrossing
|
|
| adj.使人全神贯注的，引人入胜的v.使全神贯注( engross的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
adverse
|
|
| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
killing
|
|
| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
discourse
|
|
| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
plagiarized
|
|
| v.剽窃，抄袭( plagiarize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
pensively
|
|
| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
diligently
|
|
| ad.industriously;carefully | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
engrossed
|
|
| adj.全神贯注的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
premises
|
|
| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
obnoxious
|
|
| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
scrupulous
|
|
| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
sordid
|
|
| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
meditation
|
|
| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
revolving
|
|
| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
rectification
|
|
| n. 改正, 改订, 矫正 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
delicacy
|
|
| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
forgery
|
|
| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
prerogative
|
|
| n.特权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
philosophically
|
|
| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
contemplating
|
|
| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
utilitarian
|
|
| adj.实用的，功利的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
collateral
|
|
| adj.平行的；旁系的；n.担保品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
consistency
|
|
| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
sentient
|
|
| adj.有知觉的，知悉的；adv.有感觉能力地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
imperative
|
|
| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
whatsoever
|
|
| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
rust
|
|
| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
rusty
|
|
| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
privately
|
|
| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
carving
|
|
| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
walnut
|
|
| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
hewing
|
|
| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的现在分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
repulsive
|
|
| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
anatomy
|
|
| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
ribs
|
|
| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
situated
|
|
| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
brutal
|
|
| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
shudder
|
|
| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
loathe
|
|
| v.厌恶，嫌恶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
prey
|
|
| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
remorse
|
|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
throbbed
|
|
| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
accurately
|
|
| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
sob
|
|
| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
contortion
|
|
| n.扭弯，扭歪，曲解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
neatly
|
|
| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
extricate
|
|
| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
awakening
|
|
| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
oozing
|
|
| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
slit
|
|
| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
saturating
|
|
| 浸湿，浸透( saturate的现在分词 )； 使…大量吸收或充满某物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
skulked
|
|
| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
humane
|
|
| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
corpse
|
|
| n.尸体，死尸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
repentance
|
|
| n.懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
confessions
|
|
| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
deftly
|
|
| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
reeking
|
|
| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
burrow
|
|
| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
haphazard
|
|
| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
superfluous
|
|
| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |