In her left a human head.”
I
NSPECTOR PUTTIS, N.M.P., is pacing the verandah of Borbong head-station house. The hour is early, and although the active little man was one of the liveliest of last night’s party of bronzed and loud-voiced men, who held wild carousal3 till the “wee, sma’ hours,” he is up betimes, as usual, to enjoy a cup of tea in the cool morning air, and issue instructions for the day to the “boys” of his troop. The loose verandah boards creak under his diminutive4 Wellington boots, as with military strut5 he marches to and fro; and each time he reaches the end of his beat and right-about-faces to 356 move back again, a sable6 crow upon a native orange tree hard by, who is acting7 as sentry8 to some feathered thieves by the kitchen door, raises his hoarse9 voice in a warning caw.
The Inspector10’s head is bent11 forward, and after a custom of his when thinking deeply, he carries his hands folded behind his back. This morning they rest upon an empty revolver case, suspended from the wide, white-leather belt which he always wears when upon active duty.
If the man before us would only cease frowning at the boards, and, arranging his thoughts, give us the benefit of the same in words, they would probably be after this fashion:—
“Yes, I don’t see how he can miss me this time. And the risk is not so very great, as we shall have rain enough to-night, or to-morrow at furthest, to drown any tracks. I will take his horses away; then either himself, or one, perhaps two, of the blacks, will have to go after them. The rest will be easy. If his body ever is found, and it’s not likely, they will think he was in the black camp and got shot there, and, as everybody round about here will have a finger in that affair, nobody will dare to make a fuss about it.”
A loud flapping of wings, as the crows at the back of the house fly off at the approach of footsteps, now arouses the Inspector from his meditations13.
“Ah, Yegerie!” he says, as his black orderly presents himself, and stands “attention” after duly saluting14 his officer.
“Why didn’t you report yourself here to me directly you arrived?” Puttis adds, for, casting a rapid glance at the boy, the Inspector—having almost as sharp 357 an eye as the best tracker in his troop—has discovered some wood ashes upon the new arrival’s boots.
Yegerie, who has just returned from doing a piece of special duty, has waited to warm his cold, stiff fingers at the camp-fire before hobbling out his horse, and he trembles now before the master who seems to see and know everything. Inspector Puttis does not appear to expect his black trooper to answer the question put to him, but marches up the verandah and back again. Then he halts opposite Yegerie, and examines him as to how he has performed instructions given him.
“Everything right?”
“All lite, Marmie,” replies the boy, saluting again. “Mine bin15 come up werry slow. Mine bin come longer ribber. No leabe it any tracks” (Anglicé, All right. I have been delayed by following up river bed, in order to leave no tracks).
“What tracks you see?”
“I bin see tracks longer six yarraman. I bin catch it; see um mob” (I have seen the tracks of six horses. I have seen also the party). “I bin see one white beggar, one pickaninnie white beggar, three black beggar. One fellow Myall, him make it the walk all about longer mob” (One wild black walked alongside the party).
“Ah, that’s right! Who’s on guard at the camp?”
“Sambo and Dick, Marmie.”
“Run ring round camp. Report to me if you see a track directly. That’ll do. Dismiss.”
We pause here to explain that on the vast majority of up-country runs the native station-hands reside 358 in villages of huts, built by themselves in close proximity17 to the head and out stations. No other aborigines are allowed even to cross the run, far less to live on it. On the arrival of a “rounding-up” party or a police troop at a station, a guard is generally placed over the station black camp, to prevent any of its inhabitants giving the alarm to such runaway18 blacks, or Myalls, who may be camped—in contravention of the squatter19’s decrees—in the vicinity. The police officer has just commanded Yegerie to walk round the camp and see if there are any signs of such a messenger having escaped the sentries20 and set out during the night.
Half an hour passes, and then the musical clatter21 of cups and plates is heard in the dining-room, as the breakfast things are laid—or, to speak more accurately22, flung—upon the long table, in serried23 rows, by a laughing, chattering24 bevy25 of dark-skinned damsels belonging to Mr. Manager Browne’s harem.
There are few up-country bachelor squatters but solace26 themselves for the absence of white ladies by indulging their leisure moments in the society of a private, selected circle of native girls—popularly known as the “stud gins.” Many of these dark-eyed houris are remarkably27 handsome, and after a year or two at “Government House” they are relegated28 to the black camp for the use of the black and white station-hands.
But to return to Inspector Puttis. With his usual abstemiousness29 he drank but little last evening, and his nerves are in perfect order for the day’s, or rather night’s, work before him. He is, of the whole “rounding-up” party collected beneath the hospitable30 359 roof of Borbong head-station house, the only one that feels much inclined for breakfast that morning.
So when Charlie, the clean, yellow-faced Chinese cook, informs him that the morning meal is “all lie” (Anglicé, all right, or ready), he turns immediately towards the glass-door of the dining-room. But just then the rattle31 of a buggy coming at a furious pace towards the station arrests his attention, and he waits to see who is so rash as to drive so fast over the rough ground.
“Giles, for a tenner!” he mutters half out loud; “no other fool would drive like that.”
The dust cloud occasioned by the arrival of the vehicle presently subsides32, and, amidst a crashing of breakers suddenly applied33 and a volley of blasphemy34, a pair of reeking35 horses are pulled back on to their haunches. Then a red-faced, burly form clambers slowly down from the trap, and after kicking an attendant “boy” gives him some directions, and waddles36 hurriedly towards the house.
“Well, Puttis, I’ve found you at last.”
“Morning, Giles. Want me particularly?” inquires the police officer.
“Want you? Yes, by Jupiter! Haven’t I driven all night from Bulla Bulla to try and catch you?”
“Indeed!” observes the smaller man, keenly observing the excited face of Mr. Giles, as he mops it with a red silk handkerchief. “Come in and have a nip.”
The squatter half turns, by force of custom, towards the door, then he stops, and says hurriedly, “No, I won’t. Here, come outside. I want to speak to you first.”
360
“You’ve had good news, Giles,” remarks the Inspector, his sun-dried cheeks wrinkling up into a grin, and exposing his large, canine37 teeth.
“How the devil do you know?”
“Never mind, old friend. What have you to tell me?”
The men stroll out by the kitchen garden, where Giles takes a seat upon a low, rustic38 gate, beneath a sweetly scented39 gum-tree. Looking nervously40 round about to be sure that they are alone, the owner of Murdaro turns to his companion, and in a low voice asks, “What have you done about Angland?”
“Nothing,” replies the Inspector; adding hurriedly, “Did you tell Miss Mundella you were coming to see me?”
“Thank the Lord, I’m in time!” exclaims Giles, quite ignoring the question put to him. “Now, listen ter me, Puttis, and don’t interrupt. Firstly, you mustn’t interfere41 with Angland. I’ll explain why directly. Secondly42, I’m going to repudiate43 my agreement with Lileth.”
“Stay!” exclaims Puttis, half shutting his eyes and causing his parchment cheeks to warp44 once more into a sardonic45 smile. “In that case, must make fresh bargain.”
The low, wooden gate groans46 beneath Mr. Giles, as he shakes his podgy sides with a series of defiant47 laughs, which he raps out with a double, postman’s-knock-like abruptness48.
“Ah!” thinks Inspector Puttis, looking at him, “he has the air of a man who holds good cards. Wonder what his game is?”
“I am going to repudiate my agreement,” repeats 361 Mr. Giles. “I am going to repudiate everything.” His voice grows more cheerful and confident as he proceeds to disclose his intentions. “And if you’re the sensible chap I take you ter be, you’ll just listen ter what I’ve got ter say.”
The police officer leans over the low gate, and, nodding his head as a sign that he agrees to keep silent, prepares to listen. “I’ve had a letter from Angland,” the squatter continues, “which has altered my opinions of him. He writes from Palmerville to say he’s just returned from where that—where Dyesart the explorer pegged49 out.” The sonorous50 clanking of a bullock-bell, the signal for breakfast, here interrupts the speaker. “There’s tucker ready, so I’ll cut short what I was going to say. Angland writes to say he finds as I’m indebted to him, as heir to Dyesart, for a large amount; but don’t intend pressing me, as was his uncle’s wish. And then, blow me if he don’t say that he wants to marry Glory! When I told the gal51 blessed if she didn’t seem to expect it. And lastly, what d’yer think of this? If he ain’t found my little Georgie!” The speaker’s sensual face looks almost handsome for an instant, as a momentary52 blaze of parental53 pride and love warms the sinful old heart. “Yes, he’s found my little Georgie as I lost six year ago!”
In the excitement caused by disclosing the news of the discovery of his long-lost son and heir, Mr. Giles springs from the gate, and after performing a short pas seul upon the ground,—much resembling the clumsy prancings of a pole-prodded street bear,—he turns to Puttis, and suddenly seizing his hand wrings55 it violently.
362
“How did he get hold of boy?” asks the Inspector, as the squatter resumes his seat upon the gate.
“Oh, I’ll tell you all about that another time.” Mr. Giles’s face has resumed its ponderously56 would-be cunning expression as he goes on: “Not only that, but it appears Dyesart had just discovered a whacking57 big mountain of gold, or something of the sort, up there, just before he kicked the bucket,—a sort of second Mount Morgan, and I’m to have a share in it.”
Inspector Puttis faces round at this, and beneath the stern, determined58 stare of the little man, Mr. Giles feels and looks very uncomfortable.
“Congratulate you on your luck. Lost son restored. Rich son-in-law. Debts forgiven. But,”—the police officer grins as he growls59 the next words,—“but you’ll not forget your friends? Awkward rather if Angland should happen to hear of your late contract with your niece, eh?”
“We won’t have a row about it!” exclaims Giles weakly, avoiding the Inspector’s gaze; “why should we? And look here,” he adds in a tone in which the bully60 gradually becomes discernible,—“look here, I’ve got copies of certain letters you’ve received from Lileth about Angland. Ah! that’s got you, has it? And I can prove you received them, that’s more. You can’t prove I had anything to do with ‘this arrangement,’ as Lileth calls it. I defy you to do it.”
“Don’t try it, old friend,” observes Puttis, pulling his moustache; “don’t try it. I’ve got the ‘joker’ to play yet. Don’t forget that.”
“You mean my nephew,” responds Giles. “I’ve squared him all right. And I can prove, moreover,363 that it was you got him a hiding-place at Ulysses. Can you beat that?”
“Yes!” hisses61 Puttis, whose inventive genius is only equalled by a valuable faculty63 he possesses for bringing all kinds of novel resources to his aid upon an emergency arising. “D’you remember the musical box Miss Mundella received from Brisbane a month ago?”
“What has that got ter do with all this?” asks Giles, looking in a puzzled way at the calm, firm face that is grinning coolly up at him.
“Well, old friend, musical box all sham64. ’Twas a phonograph. All your talk taken down. Even your swear words.” The speaker pauses a moment, then adds, “Have another card to play. Do you want it?”
Mr. Giles remembers the fact of a so-called musical box having arrived at Murdaro, which Lileth had informed him, and with perfect truth, had been broken in coming up from the coast, and would not play. Like all ignorant persons, he has an almost superstitious65 dread66 of the more modern appliances, of which he has read such wonderful stories in that sole source of his information regarding the outside world, the weekly press. It never for a moment enters his head that Puttis is “bluffing him,” to use a colonial term. Giles has been flattering himself up to this minute that he is at last free from the machinations of his tyrant67 niece, and the horrible thought that she has still got him in her power, and can reproduce his late conversations with her by means of a phonograph, so flurries his loosely strung brain, that for a time he becomes quite unable to see that, for their own sakes,364 neither Puttis nor Lileth are likely to take that step, even if it were in their power to do so. It is not so much that he fears how he might suffer in body or estate at the hands of Angland, should his villainies be made patent; but rather a sneaking68, cowardly horror of what his circle of squatter acquaintances would think of him, should they discover by means of this threatened exposé, how he, Giles, the man who has always loudly affected69 to consider woman as an inferior creation, has been all this time guided, even governed, by one—and a young one at that.
Before a minute has elapsed, however, the squatter has recovered considerably70 from the effects of the shock that Puttis’s words have dealt him, and his wits are sharpened by the very desperateness of his position.
“That’s mighty71 clever of you both, that is,” Giles says, with an attempt at a careless laugh—which breaks down as he catches sight of the Inspector’s watchful72, grinning face. “Look here, though this plan of yours might hurt me with Angland, what good will it do you? You’ll all be in for conspiracy73 to defraud74.”
“Pshaw!” exclaims Miss Mundella’s fiancé, “Angland won’t prosecute75 his father-in-law. We stand behind the father-in-law. But here’s Browne coming to drag us in to breakfast. Say, what about deed of partnership76 in run for Lileth? Must I play my joker?”
“I’m going to repudiate all that, I tell you,” replies Giles doggedly77. “If you’re fools enough to bring it into Court, I’ll swear I was drunk or something.”
Inspector Puttis grins again, and, drawing an 365 imaginary card from his pocket, leans forward as if to play it, and speaks in a low, hurried voice, for Mr. Browne is slowly approaching.
“Once upon a time there was a stockman on Nango run; let me see, he was head-stockkeeper if I remember rightly. He had a sister, and her only fault was a blind devotion to the interests of her brother. She was——”
“Curse you, what d’you mean?” gasps78 Giles, going through the eye-bulging and general inflammatory symptoms which we have already had occasion to describe.
“The owner and manager of Nango at this time,” continues Puttis in a louder voice, for Mr. Browne, seeing his friends are evidently busy, has moved away again, “at this time was a wealthy young man, who had been bred and born to believe in the Jewish system of salvation79.” Mr. Giles continues silent, though breathing stentoriously. “A successful trick was played upon the Hebrew squatter.”
“I won’t risk it, old friend,” laughs Puttis coolly. “I’ve shown you corner of card. How d’you like it?”
Mr. Giles does not appear anxious to criticise80 the appearance of the figurative “joker,” and remains81 silent.
“If things must go to Court,” the Inspector continues in a careless tone of voice, “we’d have to show a reason why you should have made present to Lileth of share,—a quid pro12 quo. Now, a certain agreement made between her mother and you would nicely suit our purposes. I think you take my meaning.”
366
Both men again remain silent for a time, then Inspector Puttis closes the interview with the following words, by which he routs82 his opponent entirely83, “You know me, Giles; I don’t shirk at the hurdles84. If too high I’ll break the timber. Now Lileth’s entitled to this share and more. I’m not very partial to half-bred Jewesses generally, but this one I know to be an heiress, although she’s not aware of it herself. Besides, she’s the niece of a very dear old friend.” The little man grins up at his big victim, with the same kind of smile that no doubt a small spider puts on, could we but catch it doing so, when in the act of putting the finishing turns to the silken hammock in which it has managed to swaddle an intrusive85 blue-bottle.
“Yes, friend Giles, I’ve started on last lap. Don’t stand in the way. Will be worse for you. Don’t want to tell Lileth how she came to be heiress. Would spoil my chance with her. Would hate me. Secret need never be unearthed86. But if you attempt repudiation87, or Lileth goes in for jilting me when she gets her own again, then out comes my trump88 card, my little ‘joker.’ Now, old friend, let’s go to breakfast. Hope you’ve got a good appetite.”
An hour after this conversation, Inspector Puttis despatches a native trooper with orders to recall two others, who are watching a party of horsemen approaching Borbong run.
After some clever man?uvring the “boy”—known officially as Native Constable89 Dick—succeeds in discovering his fellows, without attracting the attention of any of the members of the cavalcade90 which has been under their surveillance, and the three blacks return together stationwards. Not long afterwards the 367 travellers, who are Claude, Don, Joe, and the two desert trackers, prepare to camp just within the Borbong boundary, by a water-hole lying in the course of Agate91 Creek92. Close by on their right hand rise the dark, bush-draped heights of the rocky promontory93 forming the boundary between Murdaro and Borbong runs, in whose fastnesses Billy had waited for Claude’s coming.
“Big fellow rain come alonger night, muckerie” (Anglicé, heavy rain to-night, friend), observes General Gordon to Don, as the two return from hobbling out the horses; and the white youth, to whom Claude has decided94 to impart the secret of his birth upon the morrow, goes straightway and informs our hero what the native meteorologist has prophesied95.
“Well, we’ll have to put up with wet jackets, my boy,” answers Angland, “for Billy and Williams have got our tents with them at the mine. But perhaps,” he adds, looking at the darkening cliffs, “we’ll be able to get a dry roost for the night up there somewhere, if there are any caves about. Tell Gordon I want him.” The black villagers, whose hamlet is only some four miles distant, fortunately know of a suitable shelter, and soon the party are spreading their blankets beneath an overhanging, smoke-discoloured slab96 of granite97, some fifty feet above the plain. Down below, beyond the water-hole, the horses are feeding upon a patch of herbage, whence comes the musical jangle through the darkness of a solitary98 bell, which is clanking against old Rupert’s busy jaws99.
Claude feels very happy as, forming one of the picturesque100 group round the fire, he sits smoking368 beneath the rocky portico101. To-morrow, all being well, he will feast his eyes and soul in the presence of the girl he loves so well; to whom, blessed thought, he can now, being wealthy, approach honourably102 as a suitor for her hand and heart. To-morrow he will see his little friend Don—now “George,” but always to be Don to him—welcomed to a home where a parent and sister await him. To-morrow, taking his uncle’s cloak upon his shoulders, he will begin the great Work of Humanity to which the dead explorer has asked him to dedicate half of the vast wealth of the “Golden Cliffs.”
To-morrow the wonderful prophecy concerning the mysterious Pillythilcha Doolkooro—whispered and repeated for many cruel years by trembling slaves and fugitives103 in tireless camps—will begin its humanizing fulfilment: a bright to-morrow of mercy for the unhappy race that Dyesart had pitied, beginning with the emancipation104 and protection of the villagers who had succoured the doctor’s faithful servant Billy—without whose devoted105 courage and assistance the “Valley of Glowing Embers” would still be waiting for a hand to rouse the great slumbering106 Moora-moora to defend His children.
Claude sits smoking long after his companions have fallen asleep, for his brain is far too busy with happy thoughts for it to become drowsy107. By-and-by he notices that Gordon’s prognostications are about to be fulfilled, and rain-clouds are flying across the starlit heavens from the north-east,—dark, shadowy masses of vapour, “like flocks of evil birds,” heralding108 an approaching thunderstorm.
“If the creek rises we shall be cut off from the 369 horses,” thinks Claude, as he hears the awe-inspiring mutterings of thunder echoing down the valley.
“Suppose I must go out and turn the brutes109 back this way myself,” he says to himself, adding in a louder voice, “Here, Joe, you young rascal110. Come, turn out and lend me a hand.” But the youngster sleeps on, or pretends to do so, and Angland, hearing the heavy drops of rain that, like skirmishers before the advance guard of the shower, begin to pat, pit-pat, plop around, thinks that it is a pity to disturb the boy, and determines to go alone, as the horses are at no great distance, and so save the youth a ducking.
Angland therefore rakes up the fire into a blaze, so that it may serve as a beacon111 to guide him on his way back to the camp, and as he steps forth112 into the darkness he hears the buzz of a heavy tropical rainfall coming nearer and nearer over the forest leaves.
Stumbling down the hill the best way he can in the darkness, over awkward boulders113 and through detaining brushwood, Claude soon finds himself upon the plain. The horse-bell sounds delightfully114 near at hand, and crossing the bed of the creek with some difficulty, he finds it already knee-deep in water, although quite dry when he passed it three hours before. Another minute or two and he is alongside of the bell-horse, and by stooping can distinguish the heads of several of the others standing115 out against the lighter116 sky on the horizon like inferior silhouettes117. Then, as if some one had pulled the string of an enormous shower-bath suspended in the great black cloud overhead, down comes the rain in one mighty cataract118 that370 floods the plain around with tons of water per acre in as many seconds,—a true tropical shower that will fill the half-empty water-holes in a few minutes to overflowing119. It is not long, however, before the downfall lessens120 in violence, and then, using old Rupert as a blind, Claude drifts gradually towards the other horses, which are momentarily revealed by the white glare of lightning flashes. Some of the animals are naturally rogues121 at any time, and now are doubly difficult to approach, having become timid and treacherous122 under the combined effects of heaven’s fiery123 and watery124 display.
After a hard fight, however, a series of highly scientific strategic movements brings the work of unhobbling to a close, and mounting his own mare125 barebacked, which Claude knows he can reckon on as a good swimmer, he drives the little mob of horses across the level ground, now six inches deep in water, towards the river. An almost constant succession of lightning flashes shows to the rider the frightened animals before him for the first hundred yards,—then, suddenly, the electric display ceases, and the rain pours sullenly126 down; and Claude finds himself sitting on a wet, trembling steed in perfect darkness, without the slightest idea of which direction he ought to pursue in order to find the camp, whose fire he has long lost sight of.
Our young friend, whose bush experience has not been lengthy127 enough to teach him to trust his steed rather than himself in such an emergency, now goes through the usual bewildering tactics of a new “hand.” One minute pushing on hurriedly, the next stopping to listen for Rupert’s bell, anon trying to retrace128 his 371 steps, till he is completely lost, and as cold and miserable129 as he was jolly and warm half an hour before.
By-and-by the storm begins to withdraw from off the face of the sky like the black edge of a magic-lantern slide, and a patch of starlit heaven shows towards the east, shining all the brighter apparently130 for having had such a washing.
Claude now gradually makes out that he is close under a cliff, and strains his eyes into the darkness to see more; when, hiss62! and the blackness before him is suddenly dissolved into fire. A blue-white column of flame has leapt from the cloud above and struck the earth close in front with frightful131 force, and everything around whirls into sparks, chaos132, then silent darkness.
For, unconscious of the mighty crash of thunder that, like a thousand exploding shells, follows instantly upon the flash, Claude is lying stunned133 and bleeding beneath a tree against which his frighted steed has thrown him, on the other side of the valley to that where his camp amongst the rocks is situated134.
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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carousal
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| n.喧闹的酒会 | |
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diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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strut
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| v.肿胀，鼓起；大摇大摆地走；炫耀；支撑；撑开；n.高视阔步；支柱，撑杆 | |
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sable
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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sentry
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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pro
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| n.赞成，赞成的意见，赞成者 | |
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meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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saluting
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的现在分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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salutes
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| n.致敬，欢迎，敬礼( salute的名词复数 )v.欢迎，致敬( salute的第三人称单数 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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proximity
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runaway
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squatter
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| n.擅自占地者 | |
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sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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accurately
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serried
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| adj.拥挤的；密集的 | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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bevy
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solace
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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relegated
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| v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 )；使降职；转移；把…归类 | |
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abstemiousness
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| n.适中，有节制 | |
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30
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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31
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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32
subsides
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的第三人称单数 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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33
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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34
blasphemy
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| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
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35
reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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36
waddles
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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37
canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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38
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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39
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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40
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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41
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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42
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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43
repudiate
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| v.拒绝，拒付，拒绝履行 | |
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44
warp
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| vt.弄歪，使翘曲，使不正常，歪曲，使有偏见 | |
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45
sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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46
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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47
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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48
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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49
pegged
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| v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的过去式和过去分词 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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50
sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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51
gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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52
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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53
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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54
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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55
wrings
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| 绞( wring的第三人称单数 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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56
ponderously
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57
whacking
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| adj.（用于强调）巨大的v.重击，使劲打( whack的现在分词 ) | |
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58
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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59
growls
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的第三人称单数 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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60
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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61
hisses
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| 嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
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62
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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63
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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64
sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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65
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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66
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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67
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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68
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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69
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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70
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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71
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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72
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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73
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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74
defraud
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| vt.欺骗，欺诈 | |
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75
prosecute
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| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
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76
partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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77
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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78
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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79
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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80
criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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81
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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82
routs
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| n.打垮，赶跑( rout的名词复数 )；（体育）打败对方v.打垮，赶跑( rout的第三人称单数 )；（体育）打败对方 | |
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83
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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84
hurdles
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| n.障碍( hurdle的名词复数 )；跳栏；（供人或马跳跃的）栏架；跨栏赛 | |
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85
intrusive
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| adj.打搅的；侵扰的 | |
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86
unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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87
repudiation
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| n.拒绝；否认；断绝关系；抛弃 | |
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88
trump
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| n.王牌，法宝；v.打出王牌，吹喇叭 | |
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89
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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90
cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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91
agate
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| n.玛瑙 | |
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92
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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93
promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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94
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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95
prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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97
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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98
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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99
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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100
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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101
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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102
honourably
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| adv.可尊敬地，光荣地，体面地 | |
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103
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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104
emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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105
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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106
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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107
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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108
heralding
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| v.预示( herald的现在分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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109
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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110
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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111
beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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112
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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113
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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114
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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115
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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116
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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117
silhouettes
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| 轮廓( silhouette的名词复数 )； （人的）体形； （事物的）形状； 剪影 | |
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118
cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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119
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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120
lessens
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| 变少( lessen的第三人称单数 )； 减少（某事物） | |
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121
rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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122
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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123
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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124
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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125
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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126
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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127
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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128
retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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129
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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130
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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131
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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132
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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133
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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134
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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