When the Sunday arrived he came half an hour earlier than usual to watch every incident of the day with his little black eyes open their widest.
It was a crisp November morning. Recent rains had washed the streets clean, the wind was blowing fresh, the sky was cloudless and the sun lit in cool gleaming splendour every avenue and park of the great city.
The people had returned from their country places and the hotels were thronged2 with merchants and visitors from the four quarters of the earth.
An enormous crowd squeezed into every inch of space the police would allow to be filled in the church, and hundreds were turned away, unable to gain admission.
Gordon had spent the entire day and night before in an agony of preparation, and he had not left his study until two o’clock Sunday morning. He took his seat in the pulpit trembling with anxiety. The organ burst into the strains of the Doxology and the crowd rose. He stood with folded hands looking over the sea of faces, and his heart began to ache with an agony of suspense3 and fear of failure.
The singing ceased, and every head bent4 as he lifted his big hand, with its blue veins5 standing6 out like a net of steel wires, and pronounced a brief invocation.
When he read the hymn7, the people felt in his voice the shock of a storm of pent-up emotion. He read it slowly, beautifully, and with exquisite8 tenderness.
While they sang he sat with his elbow on the little table on which stood a vase of roses, his face resting thoughtfully on his left hand, studying the people, his soul on fire with the sense of their infinite needs.
Crouching9 low in his seat under the left gallery, he saw a man who had confessed a great wrong and was searching for peace.
At a post on the right, in a seat where he had been accustomed to see a working-girl for the past two years, a stranger sat. The girl was found dead in her room the week before. She had lost her place because she wore shabby clothes, and she wore shabby clothes because she had been sending her earnings10 to her home in Connecticut, supporting an aged11 father, mother and a worthless brother.
The rich, the poor, the old, the young, the outcast, the publican and sinner, the strange woman and the sweet face of innocent girlhood were there looking up at him for guidance and help.
But outnumbering all were massed rows of clean-faced young men whom his enthusiasm had drawn12 resistlessly. His heart went out to them in yearning13 sympathy, fighting their battles in the morning of life with the powers and princes of the spirit world for the mastery of the soul.
He felt the sledge-hammer blow of their united heart-beat strike his brain with the pain of a bludgeon.
The agony of fear was now upon him. He saw Van Meter sitting in the central tier of seats watching him sharply out of his little half-closed eyes, the incarnate14 sign of the mortal enmity of organised wealth, and he must appeal for money.
His great crowd had infinite needs, but much money they did not have. He thought with hope of the twenty millions of people who read his sermons on Monday morning, and of a dozen big-hearted men of wealth he knew in the city, and he was cheered.
He had prepared a most powerful sermon on the text, “The common people heard Him gladly.” He felt they could not resist his appeal. And yet in spite of himself his gaze would wander back to Van Meter, drawn by his black eyes as by the charm of an adder15.
The Deacon was wondering, as he watched him, what could possibly be the outcome of this daring insanity16. He had been fooled so often by the power of this athletic17 dreamer, he feared to predict the end, though he felt certain what it would be.
The services were unusually impressive. Special music had been prepared by the choir18 and rendered magnificently. Gordon read the hymns19 and Scripture20 with a feeling so intense the people were thrilled. His prayer had been simple and heartfelt, and had melted scores of people to tears.
He rose and faced the crowd with the keenest sense of solemnity. The hour was propitious21; he could feel the hearts of the people beat responsive to his slightest tone, word or gesture.
As he swept rapidly through his introduction and into his theme he knew he was holding these thousands of breathless listeners in the hollow of his hand. He could feel their heartstrings quiver as he touched them with tenderness or struck them with some mighty22 thought.
His soul was singing with triumph, when suddenly a ripple23 of laughter ran along the front tier of the gallery, and a hundred heads were turned upward to see what the disturbance24 meant.
Had a bolt of lightning struck his spinal25 column he could not have been more shocked.
He repeated mechanically the last sentence in a dazed sort of way, and a louder ripple of laughter ran the entire length of both galleries and echoed through the main floor.
He stopped, fumbled26 at his notes, and turned red. The people before him were smiling and craning their necks to see more plainly something on the wide platform of the pulpit.
He suddenly got the insane idea that a fiend had thrust his head in the door behind him and was mocking and grinning.
He turned and looked, and there sat an impudent27 little black cat with big yellow eyes.
She had been sitting on her haunches blinking at him when he raised his voice or gestured, and the crowd has never yet gathered on this earth in the temple of Baal or Jehovah that can resist a cat accompaniment to the functions of a priest.
When Gordon looked the little cat full in the face, she liked him at once, and in the softest, friendliest treble said:
“Meow!”
And the crowd burst into incontrollable laughter.
At first the full import of the situation did not reach his mind, he was so stunned28 with surprise. He stood looking at the cat in helpless stupor29, and blushing red. And then the sickening certainty crushed him that the day was lost; that it was beyond the power of human genius, or the reach of the spirit of God, to remove that cat and regain31 control of his audience.
He turned sick with anger and humiliation32, and his big bear-like hands clasped his sheet of notes and slowly crushed them.
He continued to look at the cat and she cocked her head to one side, opened her yellow eyes wider and, slowly, in grieved accents said:
“M-e-o-w!”
Which unmistakably meant, “I’m very sorry you don’t like me as well as I do you.”
Again the crowd laughed.
Gordon stepped backward and bent slowly over the cat. She did not look very bright, but she was too shrewd for that movement.
The crowd watched breathlessly. He grasped at her.
She sprang quickly to one side, bowed her back, bushed33 her tail, and scampered34 across the platform crying:
“Pist! pist!” and ran up the column that supported the end of the gallery.
The preacher’s empty hand struck the bare floor, and the crowd was convulsed.
A young man sitting in the gallery near the column caught the cat as she climbed over the rail, ran to a window and was about to throw her down to the pavement twenty feet below.
Gordon lifted his hand and cried:
“Don’t do that, young man—don’t hurt her; bring her here.”
It had, suddenly occurred to the preacher as he watched Van Meter bending low in his pew overcome with laughter, that he had stooped to this contemptible35 trick to defeat him and make the solemnest hour of life ridiculous. He knew the Deacon had come to the church earlier than usual. He was sure he had done it.
A curious smile began to play about his lips, and a cold glitter came into his steel-gray eyes.
He took the cat in his arms and stroked her gently. She purred and rubbed her face against his and moved her feet up and down, sheathing36 and unsheathing her claws in his robe with evident delight.
The crowd grew still. Instinctively37 they knew that something big was happening in the soul of the man they were watching.
“This little cat, my friends,” he said, “is an innocent actor in a tragedy this morning, but she is the agent of one who is not innocent.”
He fixed38 his gaze on Van Meter, who stirred with uneasy amazement39.
“They say that cats sometimes incarnate the souls of dead men. This one is the soul of a living man, my good friend, Deacon Arnold Van Meter, who had her brought here this morning.”
The Deacon turned red, drew his head down as though he would pull it within his shoulders, and shrank from the gaze of the crowd.
Gordon handed the cat back to the young man, whispered something to him, and he disappeared.
Then, walking up to the pulpit, he snatched off its crimson40 cloth and threw it behind him. He ran his big muscular hands into the throat of his robe, ripped it open, tore it from his arms, crushed it into a shapeless mass and threw it on the floor.
He snatched up the golden lectern pulpit, hurled41 it back into the comer, and moved the little table with its vase of roses into its place. He did this quickly, without a word or an exclamation42 to break the awful stillness with which the crowd watched him.
They knew that a tremendous drama was being enacted43 before them. So intense was the excitement the people on the back tiers of the galleries sprang impulsively44 to their feet and stood on the pews.
Van Meter’s eyes danced with wild amazement as he straightened himself up, sure Gordon had gone mad. But when he advanced to the edge of the platform, looking a foot taller in his long black Prince Albert coat, folded his giant arms across his breast, the nostrils45 of his great aquiline46 nose dilated47, his lips quivering, and looked straight into Van Meter’s face, the Deacon saw there was dangerous method in his madness.
His eyes blazing with pent-up passion, he began in deliberate tones an extempore address.
In a moment the air was charged with the thrill of his powerful personality wrought48 to the highest tension of emotional power.
“My friends,” he began, “there are moments in our experience when we live a lifetime—moments when the hair of our heads turns gray, a soul dies within a laving body, or a dead one rises, shakes off its grave clothes, and lifts its head in the sunlight.
“From this hour I am a free man. I will live what I am, and speak what I feel to be the truth. The truth shall be its own justification49. I will wear no robes, mumble50 no ceremonies, call no man Rabbi, and permit no man to call me Rabbi. I proclaim the universal priesthood of believers.
“While I am your pastor51 the Kitchen Mission in which we have gathered the poor on the East Side will be closed at the hour of service, and all God’s children shall enter this house because it is their Father’s!”
Van Meter shrank back in his pew as a ripple of applause ran round the galleries.
“If men ask a sign to-day whether the Church of the living God exists in New York, what is our answer?
“Look about you. New York is the centre of the commerce, society, art, literature and politics of the Western World. Her port, in which fly the flags of every nation, is the gateway52 of two worlds. The feet of four millions daily press her pavements. Her walls frame the furnace in which are being tried by fire the faiths, hopes and dreams of the centuries past and to come. In mere53 volume of population she is the equal of three great Atlantic states: Virginia, North and South Carolina. One man alone of her millions of citizens possesses wealth greater than the valuation of all the property of the State of North Carolina, the cradle of American democracy, containing fifty thousand square miles and supporting a population of a million six hundred thousand.
“In the roar of this modern Babylon beats the fevered heart of modern civilisation54. He who wins that heart holds the key to the century. Imperial Rome, mistress of the world, was a pygmy compared to this.
“And what are we doing?
“Our Protestant churches have thirty-five thousand men and one hundred thousand women enrolled55 out of two millions on Manhattan Island. Our invested capital is one hundred million dollars, our annual gifts four millions, and we fail to hold one-half the children born in our own homes.
“As a remedy for this the Trustees proposed to me to sell out and move uptown to vacant lots! They say the people have gone. They have come—come in such numbers and with such problems, churches have fled before the avalanche56 of humanity.
“Within a stone’s throw of this church are districts in which ten men and women sleep in one room twelve feet square. New York is the most crowded city in the world. London has seven people to a house; we have sixteen. In two houses were found the other day one hundred and thirty-six children. Death stalks through these crowded alleys57 with scythe58 ever swinging.
“Shall we, too, desert?
“I hear the tread of coming thousands from these shadows who will laugh at your flag, who know not the name of your President, or your God, whose heavy hands upon your doors will summon you before the tribunal of the knife, the torch, the bomb to make good your right to live.
“When your population shall number ten millions, and the gulf59 between the rich and poor shall have become impassable, some gigantic corner shall have doubled the price of bread, starvation spread her black wings, and idle thousands sullen60 and desperate begin to look with darkening brows on your unprotected wealth, then will come the test of modern society.
“This growth of the city is as resistless and inevitable61 as the movement of time. Why people continue to turn their backs upon the open fields and crowd into this great foul62, rattling63, crawling, smoking, stinking64, ghastly heap of fermenting65 brickwork, oozing66 poison at every pore, is beyond my ken30, but they come. They come each year in hundreds, thousands and tens of thousands, crowding the crowded trades, crowding closer the crowded dens67 in which human beings whelp and stable as beasts. They leave friends and neighbours who love them, leave earth for hell, and still they come. The tenement68, huge monster of modern greed, engulfs69 them, and the word home is stricken from their tongue.
“They tell us that yesterday a man in a fit of insanity murdered his wife and two daughters. Insanity? Love has its hours when death becomes beautiful. Poets sing of old Virginius who slew70 his daughter to save her from dishonour71. May it not be better to die a man than live a beast?
“There are conditions about us where suicide is a luxury and the death of a child a joy. They are gathered to the Potters’ Field, but they rest. We pile them one on top of the other in big black trenches72, but the dawn does not call them to beastly toil73. Their little forms moulder74, but they no longer cry for bread and their pinched faces no longer try to smile. They are safe in Death’s land-locked harbour.
“Last year the deaths on this island numbered forty thousand. Ten thousand—one in four—were buried from hospitals, jails, almshouses, asylums75 and workhouses. I have been assailed76 by a deacon of this church because I no longer preach hell. Why preach hell to people who expect to better their condition in the next world whether they go up or down?
“I am here henceforth to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, the healing of the bruised77, the release of the captive, and to preach the Gospel to the poor.
“Let snobs78 and apes hear me. Democracy is the goal of the race, the destiny of the world. American Democracy is but a hundred years old, yet not one crowned head is left on the western hemisphere. Crowns, thrones, scepters, titles, privileges belong to the past; they are doomed79. The people already rule the world. Emperors, kings and presidents exist, not by the grace of God, but by the consent of the people, to whom they give account of their stewardship80. Empires are the dungheaps out of which democracies grow.
“The historian writes of the common people. Once of kings and princes were their stories. The eyes of the world are on the masses. Science toils81 to make Nature their servant. Art portrays82 their life. Literature, once a clown at the feet of Fortune’s fools, now writes of the people. Wealth lays its tribute at their feet. The millionaire, who dies to-day grasping his millions as his own, is hissed83 while he lives, openly cursed while he lies cold in death, and forgotten in contempt.
“Outside the history of the common people there is nothing worth recording84. They are mankind. As a half-million miles make no difference in the vast distance to the sun in figuring an eclipse, so the classes may be disregarded.
“Jesus Christ was the carpenter’s son. His home was humble85, His birth lowly. He was born poor, lived and died poor. The foxes had holes, the birds of the air nests, but He had not where to lay His head. Our robes and altar cloths, our tin and tinsel, were not His.
“When John Wesley raised his voice for the people the Church of England had the opportunity to become the Church of the Anglo-Saxon race, that is now conquering the world. They called him a liar86, a hypocrite, a Jesuit, a devil, cast him out, and the opportunity passed forever.
“I see a man before me who hates this big crowd and yet expects to go to heaven. Heaven is the home of millions—‘a great multitude which no man could number,’ says the seer. Hell is the home of swell87 society.”
The words leaped from Gordon’s lips a rushing torrent88 and swept the crowd. Growing each moment more and more conscious of his strength, he attained89 the heights of eloquence90. Intoxicated91 with the reflex action from the sea of eager listeners, he outdid himself with each succeeding climax92 of feeling. Never had his voice been so deep, so full, so clear, so penetrating93, so thrilling, and never had he been so conscious of its control. Not once did it break. Its loudest trumpet94 note echoed with sure roundness.
When he turned his eyes from Van Meter after his first assault they rested on the face of Kate Ransom95, her magnificent figure tense, rigid96, her cheeks scarlet97, her blue eyes flashing with tears of excitement. She was stirred to her soul’s depths, and no figure in all the throbbing99 crowd gave to the speaker such inspiring response. Her face flashed back as from a mirror every throb98 of thought and stroke of his heart.
Van Meter gazed on him hypnotised by the violence of his onrush. When Gordon would suddenly lift his enormous blue-veined hand high over his head in an impassioned gesture the Deacon cowered100 unconsciously beneath his towering figure.
Pausing a moment, while the crowd held its’ breath, watching every movement and every twitch101 of a muscle of his face, he pointed102 his long finger at the Deacon and continued:
“And, as if to mock intelligence, Tradition raises the feeble cry of reminiscent senility, ‘Back to the old paths!’
“Protestantism is the rebellion of reason against the shackles103 of authority. Our conscience fettered104 by tradition stultifies105 its own life. We must go forward or die.
“Theology is a science, religion a life. The one is a fact, the other an analysis after the fact. The stage-coach yielded to the limited, the sailing craft to the ocean greyhound, but we are told that the only age that ever knew the truth, or had the right to express it, was the age which burned witches, executed dumb animals as criminals, whipped church bells for heresy106, held chemistry a black art and electricity a manifestation107 of the devil or the Shekina of God.
“The men to whom I speak have seen New York grow from a town of three hundred thousand on the lower end of Manhattan Island to be the imperial metropolis108 of the New World with four millions within her golden gates.
“Within a generation, the Brooklyn Bridge, a dream in the brain of a man, has spun109 its spider web of steel across the river, our buildings grown from four stories to towering castles of steel with their flag-staffs in the clouds.
“Our nation has been baptised in blood and a new Constitution established.
“The German Empire has been created, and a new map of the world made.
“Steam and electricity have been applied110 to travel and speech, and the earth transformed into a whispering gallery. The cylinder111 press has proclaimed universal education, and the dynamo crowned the brow of humanity with a coronet of light.
“But our churches in New York have merely moved uptown! Their methods are the methods of their fathers—a solecism, stupid, irrational112, immoral113.
“The superstition114 that seeks to limit the horizon of the soul to the bounds of ancestral tradition has ever been the deadliest foe115 of human hope. Doubt is the vestibule of knowledge. They who doubt, rebel and disobey have ever led the shining way of progress and of life.
“Your Traditionalists crucified the Christ. They declared him to be the friend of publicans and harlots.
“Since then they have covered the Church with the infamy116 of cruelty and blood, flame, sword, thumb-screw, rack and torch. The blackest pages in the story of the martyrdom of man have been written by their hands. They sent Alva into the Netherlands to sweep it with fire. They revoked118 the edict of Nantes until the soil of France was drunk with the blood of her children. They led the trembling sons and daughters of faith, barefoot and blindfolded119, over burning plowshares, stretched them on wheel and rack, tore them limb from limb, sparing not for the groan120 of age, the lisp of childhood, or the piteous cry of expectant motherhood.
“The Bible they made a bludgeon with which to brain heretics, forged its word into chains, and with its leaves kindled121 martyr117 fires.
“They have arraigned122 the reason, the heart and the knowledge of the race against Jesus Christ and His religion. They stretched Galileo on the rack for inventing a telescope which gave new beauty to the psalm123, ‘The heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament124 showeth His handiwork.’
“They are driving manhood from the modern Church. Your New York congregations average four women to one man. Of forty-three Governors of our states, only seventeen are members of any church; yet all profess125 allegiance to the religion of Jesus. The men have formed secret societies outside the Church.
“The Church triumphant126 will be a social power. Man to-day is more than an individual. The individual has played his role in the growth of the centuries. This is the age of federation127, organisation128, society, humanity. Man can no longer live to himself or die to himself.
“I proclaim again the universal priesthood of believers. I call for those mighty forces among the unordained which thrilled the Waldenses, the Franciscans, the Puritan and early Methodists and sent them on their glorious careers. I preach a holy crusade for man as man, in the name of God, whose image he bears. I ask you to join with me as man, not as priest, and build here a ‘Temple of Humanity’ that shall be for a sign of hope and faith and freedom.”
As he closed, a spontaneous burst of applause shook the building, and instead of the usual prayer which ended his sermons he lifted both his big hands high above his head and the audience rose.
“Let us sing the national hymn, ‘My Country, ‘Tis of Thee, Sweet Land of Liberty,’” he cried, his voice still throbbing with emotion. “And while we sing the ushers130 will pass the subscription131 cards that you may join with us in our enterprise.”
He dismissed the crowd with the Benediction132, and the whole mass lingered, discussing with flushed faces the extraordinary scene they had witnessed and speculating on its outcome. It was evident his action and speech had produced a moral earthquake in the church.
The older and more conservative members slipped out one by one and went home dazed.
The younger and more sensitive crowded about Gordon in hundreds, wrung133 his hand and pledged their support. For half an hour he could not move, so dense129 was this struggling mass around him.
He did not see Kate among them. He knew the scene had cut too deeply into her life for such poor expression. The ushers at last handed him a bundle of subscription cards and he hurried to his study to read their verdict.
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1
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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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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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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incarnate
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| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
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adder
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| n.蝰蛇；小毒蛇 | |
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insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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propitious
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| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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spinal
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| adj.针的，尖刺的，尖刺状突起的；adj.脊骨的，脊髓的 | |
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fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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bushed
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| adj.疲倦的 | |
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scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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sheathing
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| n.覆盖物，罩子v.将（刀、剑等）插入鞘( sheathe的现在分词 )；包，覆盖 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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39
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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40
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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41
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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42
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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43
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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45
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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46
aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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47
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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49
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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50
mumble
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| n./v.喃喃而语，咕哝 | |
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51
pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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52
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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53
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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54
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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55
enrolled
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| adj.入学登记了的v.[亦作enrol]( enroll的过去式和过去分词 )；登记，招收，使入伍（或入会、入学等），参加，成为成员；记入名册；卷起，包起 | |
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56
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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57
alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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58
scythe
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| n. 长柄的大镰刀，战车镰； v. 以大镰刀割 | |
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59
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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60
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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61
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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62
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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63
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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64
stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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65
fermenting
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| v.（使）发酵( ferment的现在分词 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
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66
oozing
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| 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 | |
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67
dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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68
tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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69
engulfs
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| v.吞没，包住( engulf的第三人称单数 ) | |
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70
slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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71
dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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72
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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73
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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74
moulder
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| v.腐朽，崩碎 | |
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75
asylums
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| n.避难所( asylum的名词复数 )；庇护；政治避难；精神病院 | |
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76
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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77
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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78
snobs
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| （谄上傲下的）势利小人( snob的名词复数 )； 自高自大者，自命不凡者 | |
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79
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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80
stewardship
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| n. n. 管理工作；管事人的职位及职责 | |
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81
toils
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| 网 | |
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82
portrays
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| v.画像( portray的第三人称单数 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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83
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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84
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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85
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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86
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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87
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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88
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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89
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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90
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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91
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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92
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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93
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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94
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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95
ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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96
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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97
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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98
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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99
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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100
cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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101
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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102
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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103
shackles
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| 手铐( shackle的名词复数 )； 脚镣； 束缚； 羁绊 | |
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104
fettered
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| v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
stultifies
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| v.使成为徒劳，使变得无用( stultify的第三人称单数 ) | |
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106
heresy
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| n.异端邪说；异教 | |
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107
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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108
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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109
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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110
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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111
cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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112
irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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113
immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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114
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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115
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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116
infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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117
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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118
revoked
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| adj.[法]取消的v.撤销，取消，废除( revoke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
blindfolded
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| v.（尤指用布）挡住（某人）的视线( blindfold的过去式 )；蒙住（某人）的眼睛；使不理解；蒙骗 | |
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120
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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121
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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122
arraigned
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| v.告发( arraign的过去式和过去分词 )；控告；传讯；指责 | |
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123
psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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124
firmament
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| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
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125
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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126
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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127
federation
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| n.同盟，联邦，联合，联盟，联合会 | |
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128
organisation
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| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
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129
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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130
ushers
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| n.引座员( usher的名词复数 )；招待员；门房；助理教员v.引，领，陪同( usher的第三人称单数 ) | |
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131
subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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132
benediction
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| n.祝福；恩赐 | |
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133
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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