To come back and be forgiven!
Owen Meredith.
It was Sunday morning, and all prisoners having the white Church of England ticket on their doors had been rounded up for the chapel2. Not that that was any hardship, for they liked the service; it was commendably3 short, there were plenty of hymns4, and even the lessons, as read by Dr. Scott in his voice of gold, were really quite amusing, especially the chroniques scandaleuses of the Old Testament5. By contrast with the bareness of their cells they liked, too, the satins and the embroideries6, the lights and the flowers and the incense7 on which the little doctor squandered8 most of his pocket-money. He was a believer in the beauty of holiness; he had transformed the bare little barn of a place into a gem9. Only the jeweled cross and candlesticks, source of covetous10 desires in such members of the congregation as did not happen to be set upon righteousness, had been a thank-offering from another donor11.
By way of prelude14 to this boldly hopeful text, Mr. Roche had just announced the fall of Antwerp. Scott did not love the new chaplain, but he could not deny that he preached well, or that he got hold of the men. The atmosphere of the chapel was not as a rule what one might call devotional, but this morning there was a fullness in the responses and a[Pg 282] clean-cut hush15 during the sermon which rather touchingly16 reflected the general state of feeling. It was hard in 1914 to be a prisoner, since even criminals may love their country. Several of Scott's patients had proclaimed their intention of enlisting18 the moment they were free. As months, or even years, had to elapse before that happy time, these protestations were cheap and safe. Others, who said less, perhaps felt more. Scott had been sorry for many, leashed in by their punishment; for none more than B14.
"Con—found—their—pol—itics,
Frus—trate—their—knav—ish tricks—"
The National Anthem20 having been roared out from throats kept artificially silent during the week, chapel was dismissed, and it was the immediate21 duty of the medical officer to take the casual sick. Scott made a rush to his house for a glance at The Observer, which did not reach Westby till midday, and was back in the casualty room by a quarter to twelve. He stood at a desk, with Mackenzie, as chief warder, beside him, and a table covered with pills, potions, and ointments22 ready to hand. One by one, as their names were called, the patients came up for treatment.
"Mason A29, sir."
Mason advanced, a doleful wisp of a man. "Well, Mason, what's the matter with you?"
"Oh, if you please, sir, I've got such a dreadful cold in my head!" A fruity and exhaustive sniff23 lent point to the complaint.
"A cold in the head, have you? Give me your hand. Now let's see your tongue. H'm! Dose of No. 7."
No. 7 was poured out, Mason choked over it, and was passed out by the opposite door. "Next," said Scott.
"Gardiner B14, sir."
This was unexpected. Gardiner B14 stood cheerfully submissive, nursing his hand, which was wrapped in his clean Sunday handkerchief.
"Hullo, you in the wars again? What's the matter now, hey?"
[Pg 283]
"Bad thumb, sir," said Gardiner, gingerly unrolling it. Yes, his hand had broken out again. "I shall have to lance this," snapped Scott, and did so, with inward ruth. After twenty years of practice, he still hated inflicting24 pain. "What have you been doing to yourself? Why didn't you come to me before?"
"Well, sir, I never thought twice about it till this morning. I knocked it on a nail; I thought it would get all right."
"Get all right? Get all wrong! Your blood must be in a shocking state. Ever have anything of this sort before you came here?"
"N-no, I don't know that I have. I expect perhaps it's the confinement25; I'm not used to it, you know."
"H'm! well, your time's up next month, isn't it? and then you'll be free to get some war work, which is what you're fidgeting after, aren't you? Take care of that hand, and don't go jabbing nails into it, unless you want to lose it altogether. Two thousand men of the Naval26 Division have crossed the Dutch frontier and will have to be interned27. Next."
B14, with the faint suggestion of a smile, went the way of A29, and Scott looked after him with a sigh and the faint suggestion of a frown. Ever since his night in the padded cell it had been the same; Gardiner was polite, and even friendly, but he kept his distance. With no one is a reserved man more reserved than with the person before whom he has once been helplessly open. "I've lost him for good," Scott said to himself; and another sigh came, for he had not many friends. But he was right, it was irrevocable; Gardiner had definitively28 snapped the thread.
Sunday is a day of rest. Prisoners attend chapel twice, they have two separate hours of exercise, morning and afternoon; at half-past four they go to their cells for supper, and are then locked up for the night. In winter, all lights are put out. In summer, many read in bed. But on the brightest of June mornings Gardiner's cell was barely light enough for that; and by five o'clock in October it was as black as a cave. He had finished his supper, and was [Pg 284]screwing up his patience to endure the interminable night, when his door opened to admit that very welcome sight, a visitor—Mr. Roche the chaplain.
"I meant to get round before, but I haven't had a moment; I've been up to my eyes in business the whole day. But I thought I might just catch you before bed-time. How are you, eh?"
"Very well, thank you, sir. Very glad to see you." Gardiner's manner was an odd blend of orthodox respect and unorthodox friendliness29. It had its counterpart in Roche's own: he could not quite shake off the condescension30 of the chaplain, yet he did not take possession of the prisoner's stool and leave him to stand. The consequence was that both kept their feet.
"To tell the truth, Gardiner, I've come to say good-by. I shan't have another chance; I'm off first thing to-morrow."
"Off on leave, sir?"
"Off for good. I'm leaving the prison. It's been in the air for some time, but it was only finally arranged last night. I've said nothing about it, because I didn't want a fuss; but I could not leave without seeing you."
"Thanks," said Gardiner, smiling. "You'll be missed. I'm glad my time's nearly up. Are you going to another prison, or is it an ordinary parish job?"
"Neither. I am joining up."
"Chaplain to the forces?"
"Better than that. I enlist17." Gardiner's face, in the first moment of surprise, was more expressive31 than he could have wished. Roche, with his odd touch of the theatrical32, laid a hand on his shoulder. "You envy me?" he asked, his voice thrilling and deepening. "Never mind, my poor fellow, your turn will come. Another month and you too will be free to do your bit with the best of us. In the service of your country there is no respect of persons—"
The hand was vigorously shaken off, and Gardiner stepped back. "I'll be shot if I'm going to let you patronize me! If you think that because you happen to be the Honorable and Reverend Dalrymple-Roche, and I'm B14—Why, I[Pg 285] was round the world and back again before you were out of your schoolroom!" He burst out laughing.
"Gardiner—"
"No, no, wait a bit; let me finish what I've got to say, now I've begun. I've had it on my mind for some time; I meant to save it up for when I got out, but as it seems I shan't have the chance then I'll do it now. You've been very decent to me, and you've kept me going through a rather beastly time, and I don't forget that, and I don't want to let it all lapse19, and I rather think you don't either; but I won't be patronized. I may be in prison, but I've done nothing I'm ashamed of, and I do not consider myself disgraced. Got that?" The words were not bluff33, they were plain truth; very telling was his vigorous independence. "Well, then, if I pay you deference34 here it's because discipline has to be maintained, and incidentally because I should get it hot if I didn't. For that reason, and for no other; certainly not because I feel deferential35. Deferential! You wait till you've cut your wisdom teeth, my son, before you start preaching to me. There; I've done. You can report me if you like—sir."
Roche had colored up; he looked very haughty36 and very angry. "I think you forget yourself," he began, and then his mobile face changed. "I beg your pardon, Gardiner; you are perfectly37 right. I have no business to patronize you. I don't mean to do it; but it's the more or less official manner, and one slips into it—to tell the truth, that's one reason why I want to get away."
"Oh, that's all right, lots of parsons have a turn for magniloquence," said Gardiner, with a laugh, "and if you do it again I shall tell you again, that's all. You inevitably38 will. And so you mean to enlist? Ho ho!" His smile broadened as he ran his eye over Roche's handsome figure. He did not say, "You won't like that, my friend," but he thought it.
"The French priests take their places in the ranks," said Roche, "why not we? I put that to my bishop39. He refused to release me. One must act on one's own conscience[Pg 286] in these matters. I am a priest, it is my duty to lead men; when peace comes, how can I expect them to follow me, if during the war I have been skulking40 behind my cloth here in England? I would not follow such a man. If the clergy41 shirk now, they will be digging the Church's grave."
"Very sound sentiments. I have an old daddy, and if he were thirty years younger—thank goodness he isn't, for he'd certainly get shot. Well, I congratulate you. Mind my finger, I'm still rather frail42." Roche had wrung43 his hand with more fervor44 than discretion45. "Funny beggar you are!" Gardiner added, with the laugh in his eyes that was often there when he talked to Roche. "You won't get shot. Bet you what you like you come out with the V.C.!"
"Priests don't bet."
"Privates do, though. Not that you'll stay a private. You'll be offered a commission—"
"I shan't accept it," Roche declared.
"More fool you, then, for you're just the sort they want. You lucky beggar—oh, you lucky beggar!"
The hunger of envy peeped out. Roche, at times self-absorbed and blind, had at other times an Irish quickness of perception.
"Gardiner—I'm sorry! Perhaps after all, if a competent surgeon sees your hand, instead of that wretched little sawbones—"
"Oh, that's all right, I shall get my whack46 by and by, even if I can't go into the trenches47. Which reminds me: you won't forget to put through that little bit of business I asked you about, will you? (There's old Busy Bee locking up for the night, you'll have to clear out in two twos.) Just a word of introduction to Lord Ronayne, that's all I want. You see a criminal just out of jail does need some sort of sponsor." Gardiner's grin was quite free from bitterness.
"I won't forget," said Roche hurriedly, "I hadn't forgotten. I can answer for my father. Good-by, Gardiner—God bless you!"
Again he wrung the prisoner's hand, and again left him[Pg 287] laughing and swearing and shaking his fingers—a characteristic farewell.
Chim-chime. Chim-chime. Chim-chime. A quarter to five. St. Agnes' clock was striking as Roche came out into the lilac and gold of the October sunset, which lightened and broadened down the clean deserted48 streets, and glittered like tongues of fire in all the western windows. The trees in the square were brilliant, gold lace over iron filigree49. Beyond them three tall chimneys stood, slender, black, and tapering50 against the cornflower-blue of distant hills. A train, just arrived in the station, was veiling itself in snowy mist, sun-smitten; and as Roche turned into the High Street St. Agnes' bells began to play The King of Love, merry and clear, a sweet little rocking tune51 in triplets. How bright the town was, and how peaceful in its Sunday rest! Not a soul was about, except the half-dozen travelers from the train; one of these, a tall man in the then unfamiliar52 uniform of the Royal Flying Corps53, stopped to ask Roche the way to the prison.
In B14's cell it was already night. There was no sunshine here, not even light enough for him to throw his shoe at the blackbeetle which had crawled up the hot-water pipes, and was running about on the concrete floor. Gardiner lay on his back, hands clasped behind his head, staring at the gray oblong of his window, and wondering how he was going to get through the thirteen hours of darkness. He was not laughing now. He would have given twenty pounds for a candle and a book to read, fifty for a cigarette—he might as well have offered to buy the moon.
In the padded cell he had touched bottom; nothing could ever be so bad again as the days before that night, in their agony of impotence, or the night itself, in its agony of despair. Prison—it was a tedious business, no doubt, but what of that? He could only wonder why he had ever made a fuss about such a trifle. He had grappled with his bogy, and behold54 it turned out to be only a turnip-lantern ghost after all. Difficulties, once surmounted55, have a way of[Pg 288] sinking back and effacing56 themselves in the past; absorbed in a greater trouble, Gardiner did not realize that he had at last fought and won the battle, long impending57, which made him master of himself.
He did believe, from the first he had never doubted, that Lettice was dead. Wandesforde's message, which he faithfully delivered in person, had not shaken that conviction. It had only made him feel that Denis was dead too. Yes, they were both gone; but Gardiner no longer held himself responsible. That dreadful crazy feeling of guilt58, which his sanity59, half insane, had used to save him from himself, had passed with the crisis it provoked. He had not killed her; yet she was dead, and he missed her more instead of less every day; every day he came upon fresh tracts60 of his mind marked broad with her mark, and saw with dismay the widening scope of his loss. But no one knew of it, and no one was going to know, through him. "Not that anybody would be particularly interested," he reflected. "My dear daddy—he would, bless his heart, but he'll never see, and I shall never tell him; he'd get the shock of his life to think I was old enough to want to get married. Married! Oh, my Lord, I wish I had married her; I could have stood it better now if I'd ever had one ounce of satisfaction.... And besides daddy, who else? Tom? Roche? I don't think!" He laughed. "Little Scott, then—he'd be all agog61, but he isn't going to have the chance, confound him! I wish old Denis were here. I could have talked to him. He would have understood. He knew me pretty well, did Denis, after all these years. I wonder how I'm going to get on without him. 'Their soul was much discouraged because of the way.' Hard going: that's what I'm to expect, I suppose, for the rest of my wanderings in this wilderness62.... There was a lot of likeness63 between them at bottom. I expect that's why I feel as though I'd known her all my life and before I was born—I did know her, in him. But he would always try to hide his dear old head in a bag whenever I did anything to upset his little feelings, and she never did. Not she! She'd go picking her way with her little lamp round all your[Pg 289] dark corners, inexorably showing you every cobweb and every speck64 of dust that her highness didn't approve, and all without a word spoken, just by the poise65 of that darling little head of hers and those inimitable hazel eyes—hazel? No, b' Jove! What was it she used to say? 'Weak Bovril, with little bits of carrot floating about'—oh, Lettice, Lettice! oh, why the devil did I let myself begin on this?"
He flung his arm across his eyes, as if he would have hidden his trouble even from himself. Blind instinct had first dragged him to Lettice, a straw in the current; he felt he needed her long before he knew he loved her. But love, and even passion, had come since, flooding in by back ways, filling him to the brim. He was tormented67 by his lost opportunities. "When I had her to myself there in Rochehaut, why didn't I make her marry me? She'd have done it if I'd put the screw on; you can get pretty well anything out of Lettice if she's only sorry enough for you. Or here in prison, why couldn't I have put my arm round that little waist of hers and taken a kiss? What would she have done if I had? Would she have had the impertinence to ruffle68 up all her pretty feathers and make believe to be affronted69? Or could I have got right down through all her defenses to the very heart of her, and made her drop her lashes70, and color, and—acknowledge me? I'd give my eyes to know, and I never shall, never. She had more reticences and reserves and evasions71 than any human being I have ever met. She was as delicate as the bloom on a butterfly. Angelita de mi corazón, I would have respected your little fads72; you should have kept your fenced garden and your fountain sealed. I could have held your life in my hand and never closed my fingers on it—yes, I could; even that. I was your very true lover. I wonder, was it a bayonet—"
To this precipice73 Gardiner always came, sooner or later. We talk of unimaginable horrors; there were none he had not imagined. How do men live, with thoughts like these? God knows.
"B14, are ye waukin? Ye're to dress and come wi' me."
"Hullo! is that Mr. Mackenzie? What's up?"
[Pg 290]
"It's a veesitor for ye."
"A visitor at this time of night? Here's an exciting go! Who is it—an officer? Big man in the R.F.C.?"
Mackenzie shook his head. "I canna tell ye, for I havena seen him."
"Now I wonder what good you think you are?" said Gardiner, sitting up, laughing, blinking at the light. "Rousing me out of my beauty sleep! Yes, I beg your pardon, sir, and all that, but I'm coming out quite soon, you know. Hold the light, do you mind, and let me find my socks?"
He laughed in self-defense, and he asked questions for form's sake; but he knew all the time that this was his doom74. Only an urgent messenger would have been admitted at this hour. It was Wandesforde, come to tell him how she had died. That thought went with him down the twilit passages, it stood sentinel before the yellow-glimmering door of the visitors' room. "Ye've half-an-hour," said Mackenzie in business-like tones as he turned the handle. Gardiner drew a long breath and walked through the specter into the room.
A long-legged officer stood up. Wandesforde? No. Oh, good God!
"She's safe," said Denis instantly. "Here, hold on, old man; it's all right!"
Gardiner was not all right; he was nearly fainting. By and by he found himself sitting in a chair, still gripping Denis with both hands, while Denis patted him gently on the back.
"She's all right," he kept repeating—wise Denis, to harp75 on the one thing that mattered. "Quite all right; quite safe. Gently does it. Better now, are you?"
Yes, Gardiner was better and he said so with decision. Denis withdrew to the other side of the table and sat smiling at him.
"We got back last night. We've been together all the time. Didn't Wandesforde tell you? I went first to the W.O. to report myself, and then straight on to get leave to see you. Even a Government department has bowels[Pg 291] these days. I wanted Lettice to come too, but she said she thought you'd rather not, so she's gone down to her own people in Kent. Rather rough luck on them all this time, what? She sent her love."
"Go on," said Gardiner, leaning back and composing himself to listen. "Begin at the beginning and go on to the end, then stop. Lord! I wish you'd asked the bowelful Home Office to let me have a smoke while you were about it. Anda, caballerito! Let's have the 'ole of the 'orrible details."
Denis launched into his tale. He began, as directed, with the raid on Aix, and his soft Irish tongue ran on fluently till he came to the Bellevue. "I can't tell you what it was like to see it, Harry76. It's one thing to read about these things, safe here in England; but to see it—a place you've known—"
"A place you own," said Gardiner grimly. "Yes, that's what these beastly pacifists never seem to grasp. On a toujours assez de force—they'd sing a different song if it was their own maux instead of those of autrui. Poor old Bellevue. Well, I'll build it up again. Go ahead. What happened next?"
"Oh, well, of course I had to ask about it—them—I was a bit reckless, I suppose. I went down and hailed a man in the road. He told me they were safe at the Hasquins' farm. And so while we were talkin' of course a lot of beastly Boches came round the corner. I skipped like a young unicorn77, I can tell you, but they potted me, and then they chased me all over the place. But I dodged78 'em and got up into the fir wood. I wanted pretty badly to see for myself—"
"Ah, but I never meant to show up. I was goin' to lie doggo and get off again after dark. It was Lettice spied me out—you know what her eyes are." Gardiner nodded. "I do blame myself," said Denis earnestly. "I'll never get over it; but I was bleedin' like a pig and a bit muzzy-headed. Well, there it was, anyway. I fainted, and they did what[Pg 292] they liked with me. They got me over and hid me in the tower. Remember the tower?"
Did Gardiner remember the tower? He remembered it so well, and saw Lettice beside it so vividly81, that he fell silent, and let Denis tell the rest of his tale almost without question. They had stayed at the farm till Denis was fit to travel. Then, one wet evening, they set out to tramp across Belgium, he in Monsieur Hasquin's blouse and loose trousers, she in Madame's Sunday skirt. "She didn't like it one bit," said Denis, with a reminiscent smile. "Wanted to take her hair curlers in the bundle. Very annoyed with me because I wouldn't let her. It rankled82 for days." Denis in addition had his scarred face tied up to represent toothache. "We did look rather scalawags," he admitted. They lay up by day and walked by night, keeping mostly to the fields, and guiding themselves by Denis's pocket compass. Once the café where they were at supper was invaded by soldiers, who luckily took no notice of their ragged66 companions. Another time when they were sheltering in a barn some Brandenburgers came in to search for fodder83. They did not search behind the patent reaper84 in the corner. Yet again they went to sleep in a copse, and woke to find they had chosen the exercising ground of a squadron of cavalry85. That was near the Dutch frontier. Next night they crossed under cover of darkness, and were safe.
"Well, I consider it all most compromising for Lettice, and if you'd a spark of proper feeling you'd offer to marry her," said Gardiner, yawning with his arms above his head, "but of course you never think of that, selfish brute86. Lord! I shall sleep like a pig to-night. Spoiled your beauty, Denis," he added, looking at the scar, red and puckered87. Denis put up his hand to the place.
"That was our friend Fritz. He does sometimes score a bull's-eye."
"Well, it seriously detracts from your market value as a husband. On second thought, I'm not sure but Lettice had better put up with me after all." He hesitated. A point that had not escaped him was Denis's significant change of[Pg 293] pronoun in the latter part of his narrative88 from "they" to "she." What in the world had they done with Dorothea? Left her behind at the farm? Anything was possible with that dear lunatic! He had no thought of tragedy. There seemed no room for it in Denis's straightforward89 tale, and no hint of it in his quiet, smiling manner. "I say, Denis, I've no wish to be indiscreet, and I'm not asking if I ought to hold my tongue—but Wandesforde said—"
"Yes," said Denis, "I was comin' to that. She died."
"Died!"
"Instead of me. I'd never have got off but for her. She put on my flying kit90 and led them away from the farm. She was always keen on dressin' up as a boy. Of course I'd have stopped it if I'd known, but I didn't; I was off my head. I can't tell you exactly what happened, but they shot her, and they hunted her, and finally they rounded her up in the fir wood. The officer in command was quite a decent boy, Lettice said; she'd have been all right if she'd given herself up. But that would have meant givin' me up, do you see, so she wouldn't do it. She crawled into one of those caves up there and refused to come out."
"Well?"
"They bombed her," said Denis simply. "Like clearin' a dug-out. So the whole place fell in. She must have counted on that. She knew it wasn't safe."
"That was pretty fine," said Gardiner under his breath. He could find nothing more. The contrast was too poignant91. "The one shall be taken"—but Lettice was left.
"Yes," said Denis. "I've wondered, Harry: do you think there's anything in that Carth'lic idea of prayers for the dead?"
Gardiner, with those expectant dark blue eyes fixed92 on him in their inveterate93 simplicity94, found himself answering: "Oh, I expect—"
"Because, you see, we didn't have much time to say things," Denis explained. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bore you with this, but it's been rather a facer for me. You know, if she'd lived, she'd have been my wife."
"Oh, my dear old Denis—!" said Gardiner.
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skeptical
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| adj.怀疑的，多疑的 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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commendably
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| 很好地 | |
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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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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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embroideries
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| 刺绣( embroidery的名词复数 )； 刺绣品； 刺绣法 | |
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incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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squandered
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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covetous
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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donor
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| n.捐献者；赠送人；(组织、器官等的)供体 | |
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psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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touchingly
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| adv.令人同情地，感人地，动人地 | |
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enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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enlisting
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| v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的现在分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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anthem
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| n.圣歌，赞美诗，颂歌 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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ointments
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sniff
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inflicting
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confinement
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naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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interned
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| v.拘留，关押( intern的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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definitively
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| adv.决定性地，最后地 | |
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friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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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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deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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skulking
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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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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fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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whack
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| v.敲击，重打，瓜分；n.重击，重打，尝试，一份 | |
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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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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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filigree
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| n.金银丝做的工艺品；v.用金银细丝饰品装饰；用华而不实的饰品装饰；adj.金银细丝工艺的 | |
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tapering
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| adj.尖端细的 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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54
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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effacing
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| 谦逊的 | |
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impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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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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tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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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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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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affronted
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| adj.被侮辱的，被冒犯的v.勇敢地面对( affront的过去式和过去分词 )；相遇 | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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evasions
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| 逃避( evasion的名词复数 )； 回避； 遁辞； 借口 | |
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fads
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| n.一时的流行，一时的风尚( fad的名词复数 ) | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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unicorn
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| n.(传说中的)独角兽 | |
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dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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risky
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| adj.有风险的，冒险的 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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rankled
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
fodder
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| n.草料；炮灰 | |
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84
reaper
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| n.收割者，收割机 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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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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93
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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