Morris King’s appeal had stirred elements of her character she had long ignored or suppressed. The old pride of blood from races who had been the conquerors3 and rulers of the world began to beat its wings against the bars of love.
The special swept along the banks of the majestic4 Hudson, roaring through cities where she saw crowded express trains held on the side tracks for her to pass.
She drew herself up proudly, and a wave of fierce resentment5 against the man who had deserted6 her came like a blast of icy wind from the snow-tipped mountains beyond the western shore of the river.
The splendour of the stately mansion7 on the hill, the enthusiasm of the people for her old lover, his tenderness and deathless loyalty8, and the memories that linked him to her in a cloudless girlhood, began to draw her with terrible fascination9.
There was something so old-fashioned and chival-rous about King and his love, she felt a strange melting within her heart. This element of romance she knew he had inherited from her own medieval, home-loving South which she loved. It appealed to her now with a peculiar10 force—this old-fashioned people and their ways, and a sense of alienation11 and hostility12 to Gordon and his radicalism13 swept once more the storm-clouds across her dark eyes.
She began to question her position and the sanity14 of her course. She felt the stirrings of social instincts from the high-bred women of old Virginia, the Mother of Presidents and the home of the great constructive15 minds which had created the Republic. She knew instinctively16 that she could preside over the White House at Washington with the ease and distinction of the proudest woman who had ever graced it.
Her old lover seemed certain to be the nominee17 of his party, and his chance of election was one in two. Whatever the outcome, he was young and already a figure of national importance. He was sure to play a greater role in the future than he had ever played in the past.
The idea that she ruled his life and made him what he was, and might be, brought a smile to her lips and the red blood to her cheeks. His fame as a man of cold and selfish ambitions made her knowledge of the secret of his inner life the more sacred and charming.
For two months this battle of pride and blood with the one great passion silently raged in her soul, until she became afraid to hear the ring of her doorbell lest it should be the Governor.
She determined18 to go to Florida for two weeks on a visit to an old schoolmate in Tampa. There, amid the sunshine and the soft breezes from the gulf19, she hoped to see her life and duty in clearer outline.
It was the first week in March which found her seated in the centre of a Pullman car of the Florida Limited of the Atlantic Coast Line.
The train had passed Richmond and was sweeping20 through the desolate21 broom-sedge fields still furrowed22 by those mortal trenches23 around Petersburg.
Her father had been killed in one of those trenches, a gallant25 colonel cheering a ragged26 handful of half-starved men in gray, unmindful of the order of retreat until engulfed27 by the grand army that swept over them like a tidal wave.
She took the children into the dining-car and found every table full except one, and two seats at that one already reserved. Lucy was placed next to the window, Frank next to the aisle28, and the mother crowded between them with an arm encircling each.
She had given the order to the waiter, and was pointing out to Lucy the lines of the battle-field on which her father had died.
“There, dear, it is,” she said, with a tremor29 in her voice, pointing to an angle in the trench24 on the crest30 of a ridge31. “There is where grandfather was killed.”
While Lucy looked and Frank climbed into her lap and was peering out the window, the conductor placed a beautiful woman and tall, distinguished-looking man in the reserved seats at the same table, opposite.
The boy turned, still on his knees, in his mother’s lap, and faced the newcomers, whom Ruth had not been able to see for the child’s movements.
He stared for a moment at the man with wide-dilated eyes, his body suddenly stiffened32, and with a half sob33, half cry, he sprang to the floor.
“Look! Mama, dear—look! It’s Papa!”
He threw himself on Gordon, and his little arms held his neck convulsively.
The man blushed like a girl as his great trembling fingers smoothed the boy’s hair.
Kate’s face was scarlet34, Ruth turned pink and white, and Lucy, trembling and sobbing35, began to scramble36 across her mother’s lap.
The boy’s hands tenderly framed his father’s crimson37 cheeks, he kissed him, and again and again his arms clung in passionate38 clasp about his neck.
“Oh, Papa, we’ve got you at last! Why didn’t you come? We’ve been praying, Lucy and me, every night for you, and we thought you’d never come back. Mama said you’d gone a long, long way—”
Ruth was choking with emotion, and yet she smiled through her tears. She knew those tiny hands were deep down in the man’s soul sweeping his heart-strings with wild, sweet music.
The brunette looked across the table into the trembling face of the fair one. The dark eyes were now tranquil39, whatever the storm within. A faint sinile suffused40 her face with mantling41 blushes.
Lucy pulled the boy’s arms from around her father’s neck and slipped her own softer, slender ones there. She kissed him, and laid her brown curls on his breast. Her little hands patted his broad shoulder, and she murmured:
“Papa, dear, I love you!”
Kate attempted to rise, bit her lip, and fairly hissed42 in Gordon’s ear:
“End this scene! Find another table!”
Gordon drew Lucy’s arm from his neck and whispered:
“They are all filled, my dear.”
The blue eyes blazed with fury as she cried under her breath:
“Get up and let me out!”
Gordon gently drew the children’s arms away, placed them back in their seats, rose, still blushing, and accompanied Kate back into their car.
At first the boy was too astonished to speak or protest. When he found his voice he whispered in wonder:
“Mama, who is she?”
Ruth placed a finger on her trembling lips and shook her head.
“Will she let him come back?” he asked, anxiously.
“Hush, dear,” the mother said, softly.
The boy put his arms on the table and burst into tears.
Lucy sat very quiet, glancing into her mother’s face wistfully. And then she felt under the table, found one of her hands and began to stroke it gently.
When Gordon returned to his car, immediately behind the one in which Ruth was riding, Kate sat for half an hour in furious silence, refusing to speak or answer a question. He had never seen her so beside herself with anger.
She turned on him in a sudden flash and asked with frowning emphasis:
“I wonder why you dragged me off on this idiotic43 trip?”
“I was worn out and needed the rest,” he answered, quietly.
She looked at him with defiance44.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” she said, indignantly. “You wish to get me out of New York. You were too much of a coward to tell Overman your suspicions that he was trying to win your wife.”
Gordon looked out of the window in silence.
“We will stop at the next station and go back. I don’t care for any more free vaudeville45 shows in the dining-car.”
“Don’t be absurd, my dear; you need not meet again.”
Gordon smiled in spite of himself.
Tears of vexation filled the violet eyes. “For all of your loud talk of freedom, I believe you still love that first wife of yours! And I am beginning to despise you.”
“Come, Kate, this is too absurd. How could I help the accident of such a meeting? I had not seen the children since our separation. She has always taught them to love me. How could I prevent it if I wished?”
“Yes; and you love her, too,” she insisted stubbornly, and the full red lips trembled and parted, and then softened46 into a—smile.
“But don’t flatter yourself I care, or am jealous, because this scene has humiliated47 and angered me. You’re not worth a moment’s jealousy48, you great hulking baby!”
Gordon pressed the button and ordered a lunch served in their seat, and smilingly refused to continue the quarrel.
When the train crossed the North Carolina line it ran into the belt of the advancing spring rains from the South. At Wilson, it was pouring in torrents49 and had been raining steadily51 for two days. At Fayetteville, the train was an hour late, delayed by a washout.
Lucy had gone to sleep with her arm around her mother’s neck and one hand resting softly on her cheek. Ruth’s heart had been deeply touched by this gentle and silent sympathy of the dawning sex consciousness of her daughter’s soul. The quick little eyes had seen the tragedy, and a voice within whispered its soft words of new, mysterious kinship.
Soon after the train pulled out of Fayetteville it struck the long, straight run of the South Carolina low country. For thirty miles the track is as straight as an arrow, and before the gleaming headlight of the engine shows on the track the watchers at the stations can see the trembling light in the distant sky beyond the sixteen-mile line of the horizon.
The dark eyes were dozing52 in fitful sleep with the old spell of love once more enveloping53 the soul. She was dreaming of him, laughing at some boyish prank54.
Over the straight track, down grade, the Limited was sweeping at full speed through the black storm.
Suddenly Ruth was awakened55 by a sickening crash as though the earth had collided with a star and been crushed as an egg-shell. The car seemed to leap a hundred feet into the air, plunge56 through space, and strike the ground with a dull smash that sent dust and splinters flying through every inch of space.
She instinctively seized the children, trembling and dazed, and hugged them close. Merciful God, would it never stop! Now the car was plowing57 through the earth—now falling end over end, straining, grinding, roaring, smashing into death and eternity58!
At last—it had seemed an hour—it stopped with a shivering crash.
And then the blackness of night, the swash of gusts59 of rain overhead, and the moan of the wind. Not another sound. Not a groan60 or a cry or a human voice.
Was she dead or alive? Ruth felt she must scream this awful question or faint. The children began to sob and she gasped61 in gratitude62:
“Thank God, they are not dead!”
She attempted to get out of her berth63 and found she must climb. The car was lying on its side. She looked out into the aisle through her curtains and everything was dark. The air choked her with dust, and she caught the odour of burning wool. Deep down below somewhere she could hear, in the lull64 of the wind, the roar of waters, and feel the car sway as though it were hanging on the edge of an embankment or trestle and about to topple into a torrent50.
She pulled the children out into the aisle and tried to crawl toward the end of the car, only to find it crushed into a shapeless mass and the way piled with debris65.
A light suddenly flashed up and the steady crackle of flames began. From the debris below came the scream of a woman for help.
She drew back her slender fist and tried to smash the double plate glass windows and only bruised66 her tapering67 fingers.
She found a step-ladder and broke the windows out.
Lifting herself on the seat, and peering through, she saw by the glare of the buring wreck68 the swirling69 waters of the river twenty feet below.
She rushed back to her berth, on the lower side, smashed the windows, and found the car resting on another sleeper70. The blow had broken through both sets of windows.
She lightly sprang through and drew the children after her. A stifled71 groan, as from one straining the last muscle in some desperate effort, came from a berth. Rushing forward, still dragging the children, she found Kate pinned on her back, with the flames leaping closer each moment.
The violet eyes turned pitifully on Ruth, staring wide with the set agony of speechless fear and searched her face for the verdict of life.
A faint cry came from the full lips, white at the thought of death:
“Help me, for God’s sake; I’ll be burning in a moment!”
Did the dark eyes waver with an instant’s hesitation72 as she thought of her children imperiled by the delay and of the shame this woman’s life meant to her? If so, she who cried did not see it. Swiftly the lithe73 form sprang to the rescue. She ran her hands over Kate’s magnificent figure and tore her robe loose where it was pinioned74 between the timbers, loosed the wealth of auburn hair caught in the snap of the folding rack of the berth, and she was free.
She took Ruth’s hand and kissed it impulsively75.
“Thank you. You are an angel.”
“Come, we will be burned to death if we don’t get out of here in a minute,” Ruth cried, excitedly.
She found the berth ladder she had thrown through the window and broke the windows out on the lower side of the car, and called:
“Is any one down there?”
Only the roar of the water and crackling flames answered.
She looked and saw a strip of ground on the bank of the river some eight feet below. They might slide down the trestle if no one could help.
The black eyes flashed into the blue for a moment and the little brunette face went white.
“Where is Frank?” she gasped.
Kate shivered and glanced at the flames.
“I don’t know. He was in the berth in front of mine. I hope he is gone for help.”
Ruth handed her the children and leaped back to the berth. It was smashed upward and a great hole torn through the roof.
She hurried back and again peered down through the broken window at the narrow strip of ground on the river’s brink76 lit by the rising flames.
And then she gave a cry of joy at the sound of a voice somewhere amid the mass beneath,
“Ruth! Ruth! Is that you and the children in that car?”
“Yes, Frank,” came back the steady answer.
“Are you hurt?” he cried, with breathless intensity77.
“I think not,” she replied, cheerfully.
“Thank God!” she heard his deep voice burst out with trembling fervour.
“Have you seen Kate?” he called.
“Yes; she is here.”
“Come, get out of there quick. You will be burned to death!” he shouted. “Hand the children to me and then swing down—I can catch you, one at a time.”
She held the boy’s hands and dropped him in his father’s arms, then swung Lucy through and saw her clasp his neck and kiss him. She helped Kate hold and swing down into his arms. And when she felt him tremble at the touch of her own petite figure her arms tightened78 about his neck, she kissed him and whispered:
“My own dear love!”
They climbed up the river bank and walked around in the pouring rain, barefoot and treading on broken glass at every step.
Neither the conductor of the train or Pullman cars were anywhere to be seen. Only one porter appeared to have survived, and he sat moaning on a piece of debris.
The great engine, like a huge living monster that had seen with its single eye the abyss of the broken bridge in time, had leaped the chasm79 and gone plunging80 and faring over the ties and rails a half mile beyond the wreck, with the engineer and fireman clinging to it.
The lighter81 portion of the train had struck the embankment of the narrow river. The day cars were piled across the track beyond; the threes Pullmans, smashed and heaped on top of one another, hung on the edge of the broken bridge.
Gordon, with the two women and children, finally found a man who had some sense—a fat drummer seated on his sample-cases calmly putting on his shoes by the light of the burning cars.
He was talking to a younger drummer sitting near, who fidgeted and kept looking about nervously82.
“Take it easy, sonny. Put on your shoes,” he said, soothingly83.
“This is awful!” the young one sighed.
“Well, we’re all right, top side up, marked ‘with care.’ Don’t worry. Put on your shoes. You can’t walk in this glass barefoot.”
When he saw Gordon and his party he stopped tying his shoes and laughed.
“Well, partner, you look like a patriarch who’s lost his way. Ain’t none of your family got shoes?”
He looked at Gordon’s bleeding feet and at Kate and Ruth shivering behind him in the rain.
Gordon smiled and shook his head.
The fat man hastily pulled off his own shoes, snatched off those of the younger man beside him and offered them to the ladies.
“They won’t be what you might call a stylish84 fit, madam,” he said gallantly85 to Ruth, “but they’ll beat broken glass for comfort.”
Paying no attention to their protests, he made them sit down on the sample-cases and put them on.
Turning to Gordon and his companion, he called cheerfully:
“Come, men, that Pullman’s full of blankets; we must get them out for the women and children before it’s too late. It’s too dark to find our umbrellas. I believe that fool conductor’s got mine anyhow and gone home with it. I haven’t seen him anywhere.”
In a few minutes, he had blankets for all the passengers who had lost their clothes. By daybreak he had found the conductor, counted his tickets, and discovered that out of fifty passengers on the train twenty had been wounded, none fatally, and that thirty had escaped without a scratch. The train had dropped most of its passengers during the day and had only an average of ten people to a coach, and they were seated and sleeping near the centres of each car. By what seemed a miracle, none were killed.
Just as the sun rose, the drummer formed the passengers in line, with the conductor bringing up the rear, and marched them to a cabin where he saw smoke curling up from the edge of a field.
The relief train from Florence, four miles away, arrived at eight, just four hours from the time the accident occurred, bringing the surgeons and new officers to take charge, and the drummer resigned his command.
The new conductor took the name and address of each passenger as they sat in grim array swathed in blankets in the cabin.
Gordon gave the name of “Mr. and Mrs. Frank Gordon, New York,” for himself and Kate, who sat beside him. Ruth, not hearing him, with an absent look gave the address, “Mrs. Frank Gordon, New York.”
The conductor looked from one to the other, puzzled, and the drummer grinned.
“A Mormon Elder, by the Lord—and he lives in Gotham!” he whispered to the youngster he had in tow.
Lucy lay in her mother’s lap suffering from an ugly gash86 across her forehead. Gordon had bathed her forehead as soon as he had discovered it, and carried her to the cabin, with her soft arms clinging around his neck.
He was watching her lips twitch87.
She had grown in the three years out of all resemblance to the child he had left. Her eyes now looked at him with the timid light of a maiden88.
As she had clung to him while he carried her to the house, he had felt her lips soft and warm with the dawn of sex when she kissed him and murmured:
“Papa, dear, it’s so good to have you carry me. I love you.”
For the first time there came into his soul the sweet and terrible realisation that his own flesh and blood had become one with Ruth’s in the greatest miracle of earth, the heart of a woman—a woman who could live and suffer and whose heart could break even as her mother’s! Her eyes were all his, her hair a perfect mixture of the pigments89 with which theirs had been coloured. The strength of the man trembled with tender pride and wonder as he looked at her—his living marriage vow90, written out before his eyes in a beautiful poem of flesh and blood. In the gentle beauty of her face he saw reflected himself blended with the young vision of Ruth as he had first met her a laughing girl—the little stranger a growing woman, himself and his first love dream in one. Her face held him fascinated.
Kate watched him furtively91.
The doctor examined and dressed Lucy’s wound, and told Ruth it must be sewed up at once if the child were saved from an ugly scar that would disfigure her for life. He pronounced the heart action too weak from the shock to use an anesthetic92.
“It can only be done, madam,” he gravely said to her, “if you can get her consent to endure the pain.”
“Will you bear it, dear?” the mother asked.
She raised herself up and beckoned93 to her father.
Gordon had heard the doctor’s remark, came at once and bent94 over her.
“I can if Papa will hold me in his arms and you take one hand and he the other,” she said, eagerly.
Gordon took her and told the surgeon to take the stitches without delay.
The first one she bore bravely. But when the steel needle cut the flesh the second time, and the sharp pain sent its chill to her heart, the little face went white and she gasped:
“Kiss me, Papa—Mama, quick—”
They both bent at once, and the blond locks of the man mingled95 with the dark hair of the woman as their lips touched her face.
The doctor paused, and Lucy smiled faintly.
“I’m better now. I can stand it.”
Gordon felt a strange thrill to the last depths of his soul as he sat there holding one of his daughter’s hands while Ruth held the other. A sense of mysterious unity96 with their life came over him.
The little woman saw his emotion and knew its meaning.
She bent close and, while a smile played around her eyes, whispered softly and triumphantly97:
“Frank, I’d go through another wreck for this.”
And the man was silent.
At Florence, clothes were brought to the train, and those who had none were rigged out after a fashion for the return home.
Not a passenger on the train wished to continue his journey except the fat drummer. He went on to the next station where he had intended to stop, as though nothing worth talking about had happened, and sold a bill of goods before dinner.
Ruth and the children returned to New York on the first train, and Gordon and Kate followed on the next.
Kate had scarcely spoken a word since he had lifted her from the wreck. She was in a deep reverie, but from the occasional gleam of her eyes Gordon knew she was passing through some great crisis. He wondered what the effects of this hour face to face with death would be on her character.
He was amazed at the changes in Ruth since he had last seen her. She had blossomed into the perfect beauty of womanhood. Not a trace of anxiety was left on her face. Her great dark eyes were calm and soft. Her lips were fuller, and her complexion98 white and pink, wreathed in its raven99 hair. Her figure was now the perfection of the petite Spanish type, in full, voluptuous100 lines, yet erect101, lithe, with small hands and feet and tiny wrists, her whole being breathing a spiritual charm. Grace, delicacy102, and distinction were in every movement of her body, and over it all, an unconscious and winning dignity.
After several hours of silence, as they sped back toward New York, Kate looked at him curiously103 and laughed.
“You’re not quite so handsome, Frank, in those trousers that stop at the top of your shoes and that coat that pauses just below your elbow.”
He held up his long, powerful arms and said, meditatively104:
“No. Gestures arrayed like that could hardly move an audience.”
The shadows fell across the blue eyes again and they swept him with a critical expression.
“I didn’t tell you that Ruth saved my life.”
Gordon turned suddenly.
“Yes, and it was a shock to me I’ll never get over. I don’t know whether I could have done as much for her under similar circumstances, with two children clinging to me and life depending on a moment’s time perhaps. But she did it, swiftly and beautifully. To tell you the truth, I’ve quite fallen in love with her. She is a wonderful little woman. I’ve been sitting here for hours wondering at the meanness of a man who could desert her. Those great soulful eyes of hers! When I looked up into them, crying like a poor coward for life—I, who had robbed her of what she held dearer than life—I saw only a tender mother’s soul looking down at me. Frank, I fear your spell over me is broken. You’re a poor piece of clay. The blaze in that car lit up some corners of my soul I never saw before. I think I’ll despise all men and love all women after to-day. What fools and puppets we are!”
The man made no reply. He only looked out the window at the flying landscape and saw the sweet face of a little girl.
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1
inauguration
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| n.开幕、就职典礼 | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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conquerors
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| 征服者，占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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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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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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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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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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alienation
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| n.疏远；离间；异化 | |
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hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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radicalism
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| n. 急进主义, 根本的改革主义 | |
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sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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constructive
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| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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nominee
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| n.被提名者；被任命者；被推荐者 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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engulfed
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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40
suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
mantling
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| 覆巾 | |
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42
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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43
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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45
vaudeville
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| n.歌舞杂耍表演 | |
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46
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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47
humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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48
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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49
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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50
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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52
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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53
enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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prank
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| n.开玩笑，恶作剧；v.装饰；打扮；炫耀自己 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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56
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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plowing
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| v.耕( plow的现在分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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58
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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59
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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60
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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tapering
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| adj.尖端细的 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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pinioned
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| v.抓住[捆住]（双臂）( pinion的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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76
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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81
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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82
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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83
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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84
stylish
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| adj.流行的，时髦的；漂亮的，气派的 | |
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85
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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86
gash
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| v.深切，划开；n.(深长的)切(伤)口；裂缝 | |
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87
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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88
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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89
pigments
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| n.（粉状）颜料( pigment的名词复数 )；天然色素 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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91
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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92
anesthetic
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| n.麻醉剂，麻药；adj.麻醉的，失去知觉的 | |
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93
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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95
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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96
unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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97
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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98
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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99
raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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100
voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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101
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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102
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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103
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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104
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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