Jimmie went to supper in the mess-hall; but the piles of steaming hot food choked him—he was thinking of the half-starved little Jew. The thirty pieces of silver in the pocket of his army jacket burned each a separate hole. Like the Judas of old, he wanted to hang himself, and he took a quick method of doing it.
Next to him at the table sat a motor-cyclist who had been a union plumber1 before the war, and had agreed with Jimmie that working-men were going to get their jobs back or would make the politicians sweat for it. On the way out from the meal, Jimmie edged this fellow off and remarked, “Say, I've got somethin' interestin'.”
Now interesting things were rare here under the Arctic Circle. “What's that?” asked the plumber.
“I was walkin' on the street,” said Jimmie, “an' I seen a printed paper in the gutter2. It's a copy of the proclamation the Bolsheviki have made to the German soldiers, an' that they're givin' out in the German trenches3.”
“By heck!” said the plumber. “What's in it?”
“Why, it calls on them to rise against the Kaiser—to do what the Russians have done.”
“Can you read German?” asked the other.
“Naw,” said Jimmie. “This is in English.”
“But what's it doin' in English?”
“I'm sure I dunno.”
“What's it doin' in Archangel?”
“Dunno that either.”
“I hadn't thought of that,” said Jimmie, subtly. “Maybe it's so.”
“They won't get very far with the Yanks, I bet,” predicted the other.
“No, I suppose not. But, anyhow, it's interesting, what they say.”
“Lemme see it,” said the plumber.
“But say,” said Jimmie, “don't you tell nobody. I don't want to get into trouble.”
“Mum's the word, old man.” And the plumber took the dirty scrap5 of paper and read. “By God!” said he. “That's kind o' funny.”
“How do you mean?”
“Why, that don't sound like them fellers were backing the Kaiser, does it?” And the plumber scratched his head. “Say, that sounds all right to me!”
“Me too!” said Jimmie. “Didn't know they had that much sense.”
“It's just what the German people ought to have, by God,” said the plumber. “Seems to me we ought to hire fellows to give out things like that.”
“I think so, too,” said Jimmie, enraptured6.
The plumber reflected again. “I suppose,” said he, “the trouble is they wouldn't give it to the Germans only; they'd want to give it to both sides.”
“Exactly!” said Jimmie, enraptured still more.
“And, of course, that wouldn't do,” said the plumber; “that would interfere8 with discipline.” So Jimmie's hopes were dashed.
But the upshot of the interview was that the plumber said he would like to keep the paper and show it to a couple of other fellows. He promised again that he wouldn't mention Jimmie, so Jimmie said all right, and went his way, feeling one seed was lodged9 in good soil.
II.
The “Y” had come to Archangel along with the rest of the expedition, and had set up a hut, in which the men played checkers and read, and bought chocolate and cigarettes at prices which they considered too high. Jimmie strolled in, and there was a doughboy with whom he had had some chat on the transport. This doughboy had been a printer at home, and he had agreed with Jimmie that maybe a whole lot of politicians and newspaper editors didn't really understand President Wilson's radical10 thought, and so far as they did understand it, hated and feared it. This printer was reading one of the popular magazines, full of the intellectual pap which a syndicate of big bankers considered safe for the common people. He looked bored, so Jimmie strolled up and lured11 him away, and repeated his play-acting as with the plumber—and with the same result.
Then he strolled in to see one of the picture-shows which had been brought along to beguile12 the long Arctic nights for the expedition. The picture showed a million-dollar-a-year girl doll-baby in her habitual13 role, a poor little child-waif dressed in the newest fashion and with a row of ringlets just out of a band-box, sharing those terrible fates which the poor take as an everyday affair, and being rewarded at the end by the love of a rich and noble and devoted14 youth who solves the social problem by setting her up in a palace. This also had met with the approval of a syndicate of bankers before it reached the common people; and in the very midst of it, while the child-waif with the ringlets was being shown in a “close-up” with large drops of water running down her cheeks, the doughboy in the seat next to Jimmie remarked, “Aw, hell! Why do they keep on giving us this bunk15?”
So Jimmie suggested that they “cut it”, and they went out, and Jimmie played his little game a third time, and again was asked to leave the leaflet he had picked out of the gutter.
So on for two days until Jimmie had got rid of the last of the manifestoes which Kalenkin had entrusted16 to him. And on the evening of the last day, as the subtle propagandist was about to turn into his bunk for the night, there suddenly appeared a sergeant17 with a file of half a dozen men and announced, “Higgins, you are under arrest.”
Jimmie stared at him. “What for?”
“Orders—that's all I know.”
“Well, wait—” began Jimmie; but the other said there was no wait about it, and he took Jimmie by the arm, and one of the other men took him by the other arm, and marched him away. A third man slung18 Jimmie's kit-bag on to his shoulder, while the rest began to search the place, ripping open the mattress19 and looking for loose boards in the floor.
III.
It didn't take Jimmie very long to figure out the situation. By that time he had come into the presence of Lieutenant20 Gannet, he had made up his mind what had happened, and what he would do about it.
The lieutenant sat at a table, erect21 and stiff, with a terrible frown behind his glasses. He had his sword on the table and also his automatic—as if he intended to execute Jimmie, and had only to decide which method to use.
“Higgins,” he thundered, “where did you get that leaflet?”
“I found it in the gutter.”
“You lie!” said the lieutenant.
“No, sir,” said Jimmie.
“How many did you find.”
Jimmie had imagined this emergency, and decided22 to play safe. “Three, sir,” said he; and added, “I think.”
“You lie!” thundered the lieutenant again.
“Whom did you give them to?”
“I command you to say,” said the lieutenant.
“I'm sorry, sir, but I couldn't.”
“You'll have to say before you get through,” said the other. “You might as well understand that now. You say you found three?”
“It might have been four,” said Jimmie, playing still safer. “I didn't pay any particular attention to them.”
“You sympathize with these doctrines,” said the lieutenant. “Do you deny it?”
“Why, no sir—not exactly. I sympathize with part of them.”
“And you found these leaflets in the gutter, and you didn't take the trouble to count whether there were three or four?”
“No, sir.”
“There couldn't have been five?”
“I don't know, sir—I don't think so.”
“Certainly not six?”
“No, sir,” said Jimmie, feeling quite safe now. “I'm sure there weren't six.”
So the lieutenant opened a drawer in the table before him, and took out a bunch of the leaflets, folded, wrinkled and dirt-stained, and spread them before Jimmie's eyes, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. “You lie!” said the lieutenant.
“I was mistaken, sir,” said Jimmie.
“Have you searched this man?” the officer demanded of the other soldiers.
“Not yet, sir.”
“Do it now.”
They made certain that Jimmie had no weapons, and then they made him strip to the skin. They searched everything, even prying25 loose the soles of his boots; and, of course, one of the first things they found was the red card in the inside jacket-pocket. “Aha!” cried the lieutenant.
“Don't you know that back home men who carry that card are being sent to jail for twenty years?”
“It ain't fer carryin' the card,” said Jimmie, sturdily.
There was a pause, while Jimmie got his clothes on again. “Now, Higgins,” said the lieutenant, “you have been caught red-handed in treason against your country and its flag. The penalty is death. There is just one way you can escape—by making a clean breast of everything. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then tell me who gave you those leaflets?”
“I'm sorry, sir, I found them in the gutter.”
“You intend to stick to that silly tale?”
“It's the truth, sir.”
“You will protect your fellow-conspirators with your life?”
“I have told you all I know, sir.”
“All right,” said the lieutenant. He took a pair of handcuffs from the drawer and saw them put on Jimmie. He picked up his sword and his automatic—and Jimmie, who did not understand military procedure, stared with fright. But the lieutenant was merely intending to strap28 the weapons on to his belt; then he got into his overcoat and his big fur gloves and his fur hat that covered everything but his eyes and nose, and ordered Jimmie brought along. Outside an automobile29 was waiting, and the officer and the prisoner and two guards rode to the military jail.
IV.
There was terror in the soul of the prisoner, but he did not let anyone see it. And in the same way Lieutenant Gannet did not let anyone see the perplexity that was in his soul. He was a military officer, he had his stern military duty to do, and he was doing it; but he had never put anybody in handcuffs before, and had never taken anybody to jail before, and he was almost as much upset about it as the prisoner.
The lieutenant had seen the terrible spectacle of Russia collapsing30, falling into ruin and humiliation31, because of what seemed to him a propaganda of treason which had been carried on in her armies; he realized that these “mad dogs” of Bolsheviki were deliberately32 conspiring33 to poison the other armies, to bring the rest of the world into their condition. It seemed to him monstrous34 that such efforts should be under way in the American army. How far had the thing gone? The lieutenant did not know, and he was terrified, as men always are in the presence of the unknown. It was his plain duty, to which he had sworn himself, to stamp his heel upon the head of this snake; but still he was deeply troubled. This Sergeant Higgins had been promoted for valour in France, and had been, in spite of his reckless tongue, a pretty decent subordinate. And behold35, here he was, an active conspirator27, a propagandist of sedition36, a defiant37 and insolent38 traitor39!
They came to the jail, which had been constructed by the Tsar for the purpose of holding down the people of the region. It loomed40, a gigantic stone bulk in the darkness; and Jimmie, who had preached in Local Leesville that America was worse than Russia, now learned that he had been mistaken—Russia was exactly the same.
They entered through a stone gateway41, and a steel door opened before them and clanged behind them. At a desk sat a sergeant, and except that he was British, and that his uniform was brown instead of blue, it might have been Leesville, U.S.A. They took down Jimmie's name and address, and then Lieutenant Gannet asked: “Has Perkins come yet?”
“Not yet, sir,” was the reply; but at that moment the front door was opened, and there entered a big man, bundled in an overcoat which made him even bigger. From the first moment, Jimmie watched this man as a fascinated rabbit watches a snake. The little Socialist had had so much to do with policemen and detectives in his hunted life that he knew in a flash what he was “up against”.
This Perkins before the war had been an “operative” for a private detective agency—what the workers contemptuously referred to as a “sleuth”. The government, having found itself in sudden need of much “sleuthing”, had been forced to take what help it could get, without too close scrutiny42. So now Perkins was a sergeant in the secret service; and just as the carpenters were hammering nails as at home, and the surgeons were cutting flesh as at home, so Perkins was “sleuthing” as at home.
“Well, sergeant?” said the lieutenant. “What have you got?”
“I think I've got the story, sir.”
You could see the relief in Gannet's face; and Jimmie's heart went down into his boots.
“There's just one or two details I want to make sure about,” continued Perkins. “I suppose you won't mind if I question this prisoner?”
“Oh, not at all,” said the other. He was relieved to be able to turn this difficult matter over to a man of decision, a professional man, who was used to such cases and knew how to handle them.
“I'll report to you at once,” said Perkins.
“I'll wait,” said the lieutenant.
And Perkins took Jimmie's trembling arm in a grip like a vice43, and marched him down a long stone corridor and down a flight of steps. On the way he picked up two other men, also in khaki, who followed him; the four passed through a series of underground passages, and entered a stone cell with a solid steel door, which they clanged behind them—a sound that was like the knell44 of doom45 to poor Jimmie's terrified soul. And instantly Sergeant Perkins seized him by the shoulder and whirled him about, and glared into his eyes. “Now, you little son-of-a-bitch!” said he.
Having been a detective in an American city, this man was familiar with the “third degree”, whereby prisoners are led to tell what they know, and many things which they don't know, but which they know the police want them to tell. Of the other two men, one Private Connor, had had this inquisition applied46 to him on more than one occasion. He was a burglar with a prison-record; but his last arrest had been in a middle Western town for taking part in a bar-room fight, and the judge didn't happen to know his record, and accepted his tearful plea, agreeing to suspend sentence provided the prisoner would enlist47 to fight for his country.
The other man was named Grady, and had left a wife and three children in a tenement48 in “Hell's Kitchen”, New York, to come to fight the Kaiser. He was a kind-hearted and decent Irishman, who had earned a hard living carrying bricks and mortar49 up a ladder ten hours a day; but he was absolutely convinced that there existed, somewhere under his feet, a hell of brimstone and sulphur in which he would roast for ever if he disobeyed the orders of those who were set in authority over him. Grady knew that there were certain wicked men, hating and slandering51 religion, and luring52 millions of souls into hell; they were called Socialists53, or Anarchists54, and must obviously be emissaries of Satan, so it was God's work to root them out and destroy them. Thus the Gradys have reasoned for a thousand years; and thus in black dungeons55 underground they have turned the thumb-screws and pulled the levers of the rack. They do it still in many of the large cities of America, where superstition57 runs the police-force, in combination with liquor interests and public service corporations.
VI.
“Now, you little son-of-a-bitch,” said Perkins, “listen to me. I been lookin' into this business of yours, and I got the names of most of them Bolsheviks you been dealing58 with. But I want to know them all, and I'm going to know—see?”
In spite of all his terror, Jimmie's heart leaped with exultation60. Perkins was lying! He hadn't found out a thing! He was just trying to bluff61 his prisoner, and to make his superior officer think he was a real “sleuth”. He was doing what the police everywhere do—trying to obtain by brutality62 what they cannot obtain by skill and intelligence.
“Now, you're goin' to tell,” continued the man. “You may think you can hold out, but you'll find it's no go. I'll tear you limb from limb if you make me—I'll do just whatever I have to do to make you come through. You get me?”
Jimmie nodded his head in a sort of spasm63, but his effort to make a sound resulted only in a gulp64 in his throat.
“You'll only make yourself a lot of pain if you delay, so you'd better be sensible. Now—who are they?”
“They ain't anybody. They—”
“So that's it? Well, we'll see.” And the sergeant swung Jimmie about, so as to be at his back. “Hold him,” he said to the two men, and they grasped the prisoner's shoulders; the sergeant grasped his two wrists, which were handcuffed together, and began to force them up Jimmie's back.
“Ow!” cried Jimmie. “Stop! Stop!”
“Will you tell?” said the sergeant.
“Stop!” cried Jimmie, wildly; and as the other pushed harder, he began to scream. “You'll break my arm! The one that was wounded.”
“Wounded?” said the sergeant.
“It was broken by a bullet!”
“The hell you say!” said the sergeant.
“It's true—ask anybody! The battle of Chatty Terry in France!”
For just a moment the pressure on Jimmie's arms weakened; but then the sergeant remembered that military men who have a career to make do not go to their superior officers with sentimentalities. “If you were wounded in battle,” said the sergeant, “what you turnin' traitor for? Give me the names I want!” And he began to push again.
It was the most horrible agony that Jimmie had ever dreamed of. His voice rose to a shriek65: “Wait! Wait! Listen!” The torturer would relax the pressure and say: “The names?” And when Jimmie did not give the names, he would press harder yet. Jimmie writhed67 convulsively, but the other two men held him as in a vice. He pleaded, he sobbed68 and moaned; but the walls of this dungeon56 had been made so that the owners of property outside would not be troubled by knowing what was being done in their interest.
We go into museums and look at devilish instruments which men once employed for the torment69 of their fellows, and we shudder70 and congratulate ourselves that we live in more humane71 days; quite overlooking the fact that it does not need elaborate instruments to inflict72 pain on the human body. Any man can do it to another, if he has him helpless. The thing that is needed is the motive—that is to say, some form of privilege established by law, and protecting itself against rebellion.
“Tell me the names!” said the sergeant. He had Jimmie's two hands forced up the back of his neck, and was lying over on Jimmie, pushing, pushing. Jimmie was blinded with the pain, his whole being convulsed. It was too horrible, it could not be! Anything, anything to stop it! A voice shrieked73 in his soul: “Tell! Tell!” But then he thought of the little Jew, pitiful, trusting—no, no, he would not tell! He would never tell! But then what was he to do'? Endure this horror? He could not endure it—it was monstrous!
He would writhe66 and scream, babble74 and plead and sob50. Perhaps there have been men who have endured torture with dignity, but Jimmie was not one of these. Jimmie was abject75, Jimmie was frantic76; he did anything, everything he could think of—save one thing, the thing that Perkins kept telling him to do.
This went on until the sergeant was out of breath; that being one disadvantage of the primitive77 hand-processes of torture to which American police-officials have been reduced by political sentimentalism. The torturer lost his temper, and began to shake and twist at Jimmie's arms, so that Connor had to warn him—he didn't want to break anything, of course.
So Perkins said, “Put his head down.” They bent78 Jimmie over till his head was on the ground, and Grady tied Jimmie's legs to keep them quiet, and Connor held his neck fast, and Perkins put his foot on the handcuffs and pressed down. By this means he could continue the torture while standing79 erect and breathing freely, a great relief to him. “Now, damn you!” said he. “I can stay here all night. Come through!”
VII.
Jimmie thought that each moment of pain was the worst. He had never had any idea that pain could endure so long, could burn with such a white and searing flame. He ground his teeth together, he chewed his tongue through, he gound his face upon the stones. Anything for a respite80—even a new kind of pain, that he might forget the screaming ache in his shoulders and elbows and wrists. But there was no respite; his spirit was whirled and beaten about in bottomless abysses, and from their depths he heard the voice of Perkins, as from a far-off mountain-top: “Come through! Come through—or you'll stay like this all night!”
But Jimmie did not stay like that; for Perkins got tired of standing on one foot, and he knew that the Lieutenant was pacing about upstairs, wondering why it took so long to ask a few questions. Jimmie heard the voice from the far-off mountain-top: “This won't do; we'll have to string him up for a bit.” And he took from his pocket a strong cord, and tied one end about Jimmie's two thumbs, and ran the other end over an iron ring in the wall of the dungeon—put there by some agent of the Tsar for use in the cause of democracy. The other two men lifted Jimmie till his feet were off the ground, and then made fast the cord, and Jimmie hung with his full weight from his thumbs, still handcuffed behind his back.
So now he was no trouble to the three jailers—except that he was an ugly-looking object, with his face purple and convulsed, and his bloody81 tongue being chewed up. They turned him about, with his face against the stones, and then they had nothing but the sounds of him, which had become feebler, but were none the less disagreeable, a babbling82 and gabbling, continuous and yet unrhythmic, as if made by a whole menagerie of tormented83 animals.
Still the minutes passed, and Perkins's irritation84 grew. He wouldn't have minded for himself, for his nerves were strong, he had handled a good many of the I.W.W. in the old days back home; but he had promised to get the information, and so his reputation was at stake. He would prod85 Jimmie and say: “Will you tell?” And when Jimmie still refused, finally he said: “We'll have to try the water-cure. Connor, get me a couple of pitchers86 of water and a good-sized funnel87.”
“Yes, sir,” said the ex-burglar, and went out; and meantime Perkins addressed his victim again. “Listen, you little hell-pup,” said he. “I'm going to do something new, something that'll break you sure. I been with the army in the Philippines, and seen it worked there many's the time, and I never yet seen anybody that could stand it. We're going to fill you up with water; and we'll leave you to soak for a couple of hours, and then we'll put in some more, and we'll keep that up day and night till you come through. Now, you better think it over and speak quick, before we get the water in, because it ain't so easy to get out.”
Jimmie lay with his face against the wall, and the agony of his tortured thumbs was like knives twisted into him; he listened to these threats and heard again the cry in his soul for respite at any hazard.
Jimmie was fighting a battle, the sternest ever fought by man—the battle of conscience against the weakness of the flesh. To tell or not to tell? The poor tormented body shrieked, Tell! But conscience, in a feeble voice, gasped88 over and over and over, No! No! No! It had to keep on insisting, because the battle was never over, never won. Each moment was a new agony, and therefore a fresh temptation; each argument had to be repeated without end. Why should he not tell? Because Kalenkin had trusted him, and Kalenkin was a comrade. But maybe Kalenkin was gone now, maybe he had died of one of his coughing spells, maybe he had heard of Jimmie's arrest and made his escape. Maybe they would not torture Kalenkin as they had Jimmie, because he was not a soldier; they might just put him in jail and keep him there, and others would do the work. Maybe—
And so on. But the feeble voice whispered in the soul of Jimmie Higgins: You are the revolution. You are social justice, struggling for life in this world. You are humanity, setting its face to the light, striving to reach a new goal, to put behind it an old horror. You are Jesus on the Cross; and if you fail, the world goes back, perhaps for ever. You must hold out! You must bear this! And this! And this! You must bear everything—for ever—as long as needs be! You must not “come through!”
VIII.
Connor came back with his pitchers of water and his funnel! They took Jimmie down—oh, the blessed relief to his thumbs!—and laid him on the ground, with his racked and swollen89 hands still handcuffed under him; and Grady sat on his feet, and Connor sat on his chest, and Perkins forced the funnel down his throat and poured in the water.
Jimmie had to swallow, of course; he had to gulp desperately90, to keep from being choked; and pretty soon the water filled him up, and then began the most fearful agony he had yet endured. It was like the pain of the ether-gas, only infinitely91 worse. He was blown out like a balloon; his insides were about to burst; his whole body was one sore boil—and Connor, sitting on his stomach, sat a little harder now and then, to make sure the water got jostled into place. Jimmie could not scream, but his face turned purple and the cords stood out on his forehead and neck; he began to strangle, and this was worst of all; every convulsion of his body stabbed him with ten thousand knives.
Jimmie had talked with a number of the “wobblies” who had had this “water-cure”, a regular device of police-authorities in small towns and villages. It is simple and cheap and cleanly; it leaves no blood and no bruises92 to be exhibited in court; it muzzles93 the victim, so that his screams cannot be heard through jail-windows—therefore a simple denial covers it completely. “Wild Bill” had had this treatment, “Strawberry” Curran had had it several times. But oh, thought Jimmie, it could not be like this—no human being had ever endured anything like this! Poor Jimmie was not learned in history, and did not realize that men have endured everything that other men can inflict. They will continue to endure it, so long as privilege is written in the law, and allowed to use the law in its unholy cause.
So the battle of the ages went on in the soul of Jimmie Higgins. He was a little runt of a Socialist machinist, with bad teeth and gnarled hands, and he could do nothing sublime94 or inspiring, nothing even dignified95; in fact, it would be hard for anyone to do anything dignified, when he lies on the floor with a gallon or two of water in him, and one man sitting on his legs and another on his stomach, and another jamming a funnel into his mouth. All Jimmie could do was to fight the fearful fight in the deeps of him, and not lose it. “Lift your knee if you are ready to tell,” Perkins would say; and Grady would rise up, so that Jimmie could lift his knee if he wanted to; but Jimmie's knee did not lift.
Far down in the deeps of Jimmie Higgins' tormented soul, something strange was happening. Lying there bound and helpless, despairing, writhing96 with agony, half-insane with the terror of it, Jimmie called for help—and help came to him; the help which penetrates97 all dungeon walls, and cheats all jailors and torturers; that power which breaks all bars of steel and bars of fear—
“Thou has great allies; Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind!”
In the soul of Jimmie Higgins was heard that voice which speaks above the menaces and commands of tyranny: which says: I am Man, and I prevail. I conquer the flesh, I trample98 upon the body and rise above it. I defy its imprisonments, its prudences and fears. I am Truth, and will be heard in the world. I am Justice, and will be done in the world. I am Freedom, and I break all laws, I defy all repressions99, I exult59, I proclaim deliverance!—and because, in every age and in every clime, this holy Power has dwelt in the soul of man, because this mystic Voice has spoken there, humanity has moved out of darkness and savagery100 into at least the dream of a decent and happy world.
So Jimmie lay, converting his pain into ecstasy101, a dizzy and perilous102 rapture7, close to the border-line of madness; and Sergeant Perkins arose and looked down on him and shook his head. “By God!” said he. “What's in that little hell-pup?” He gave Jimmie a kick in the ribs103; and Jimmie's soul took a leap, and went whirling through eternities of anguish104.
“By Jesus, I'll make you talk!” cried Perkins, and he began to kick with his heavy boots—until Connor stopped him, knowing that this was not ethical—it would leave marks.
So finally the sergeant said abruptly105, “Wait here.” And he went upstairs to where Gannet was pacing about.
“Lieutenant,” he said, “that fellow's a stubborn case.”
“What does he say?”
“I can't get a word out of him. He's a Socialist and a crank, you know, and you'd be surprised how ugly some of them fellows can be. As soon as I get the story complete I'll report to you, but meantime there's no use your waiting here.”
So the officer went away, and Perkins went back to the dungeon and gave orders that every two hours someone should come and fill Jimmie up with water, and give him another chance to say “Yes”. And Jimmie lay and moaned and wept, all by himself, quivering now and then with the perilous ecstasy, which does not last, but has to be renewed by continuous efforts of the will, as a tired horse has to be driven with spur and whip. Never, never could this battle be truly won! Never could the body be wholly forgotten, its clamorous106 demands wholly stilled! God comes, but doubt follows closely. What is the use of this fearful sacrifice? What good will it accomplish, who will know about it, who will care? Thus Satan in the soul, and thus the eternal duel107 between the new thing that man dreams, and the old thing that he has made into law.
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plumber
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| n.(装修水管的)管子工 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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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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stunts
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| n.惊人的表演( stunt的名词复数 )；（广告中）引人注目的花招；愚蠢行为；危险举动v.阻碍…发育[生长]，抑制，妨碍( stunt的第三人称单数 ) | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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enraptured
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| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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11
lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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12
beguile
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| vt.欺骗，消遣 | |
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13
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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14
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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15
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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16
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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18
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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19
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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20
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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21
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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22
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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23
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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24
stumped
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| 僵直地行走，跺步行走( stump的过去式和过去分词 )； 把（某人）难住； 使为难； （选举前）在某一地区作政治性巡回演说 | |
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25
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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26
socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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27
conspirator
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| n.阴谋者，谋叛者 | |
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28
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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29
automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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30
collapsing
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| 压扁[平]，毁坏，断裂 | |
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31
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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32
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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33
conspiring
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| 密谋( conspire的现在分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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34
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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35
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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36
sedition
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| n.煽动叛乱 | |
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37
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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38
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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39
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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40
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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41
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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42
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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43
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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44
knell
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| n.丧钟声；v.敲丧钟 | |
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45
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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46
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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47
enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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48
tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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49
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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50
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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51
slandering
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| [法]口头诽谤行为 | |
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52
luring
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的现在分词形式） | |
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53
socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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54
anarchists
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| 无政府主义者( anarchist的名词复数 ) | |
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55
dungeons
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| n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
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56
dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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57
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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58
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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59
exult
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| v.狂喜，欢腾；欢欣鼓舞 | |
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60
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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61
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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62
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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63
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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64
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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65
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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66
writhe
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| vt.挣扎，痛苦地扭曲；vi.扭曲，翻腾，受苦；n.翻腾，苦恼 | |
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67
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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69
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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70
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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71
humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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72
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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73
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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75
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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76
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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77
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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78
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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79
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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80
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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81
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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82
babbling
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| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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83
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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84
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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85
prod
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| vt.戳，刺；刺激，激励 | |
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86
pitchers
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| 大水罐( pitcher的名词复数 ) | |
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87
funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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88
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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89
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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90
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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91
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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92
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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93
muzzles
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| 枪口( muzzle的名词复数 )； （防止动物咬人的）口套； （四足动物的）鼻口部； （狗）等凸出的鼻子和口 | |
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94
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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95
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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96
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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97
penetrates
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| v.穿过( penetrate的第三人称单数 )；刺入；了解；渗透 | |
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98
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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99
repressions
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| n.压抑( repression的名词复数 )；约束；抑制；镇压 | |
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100
savagery
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| n.野性 | |
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101
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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102
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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103
ribs
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| 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 | |
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104
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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105
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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106
clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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107
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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