Once upon a time, I judged as I measured him with my eye, he must have been a fine figure of a man. Though now coarse and bloated, with white and flabby flesh, it would easily be seen that he was tall beyond the ordinary with the narrow hips7 of the athlete. His eyes were deeply sunk in his head; and in them flickered8 wanly9 that strange, restless light which one sees so often in the faces of those whom Death is soon to claim. Even amid the ravages10 which under-nourishment, drink and drugs had made in his features, the influence of gentle birth might yet be marked in the straight, firm pencilling of the eyebrows11 and the well-shaped aquiline12 nose. I thought the man looked dreadfully ill and I noted13 about nose and mouth that pinched look which can never deceive.
The whole shack15 appeared to consist of the one room in which I found myself. It was pitiably bare. A table on which stood some unappetising remnants of food was set against the wall beneath the unglazed window which faced the sick man's couch. A broken stool and a couple of soap-boxes, one furnished with a tin basin and a petrol can of water, completed the furniture.
"There's a bar to go across the door," said a weak voice from the corner where the sick man lay; "would you be good enough to put it down? I don't want us to be disturbed...."
He cast an apprehensive16 glance at the window. I fitted the rough beam across the door and approached the couch. It was merely a bed of maize17 stalks.
"You're very ill, I'm afraid," I said pulling over one of the boxes and seating myself by the Englishman. "Have you seen a doctor?"
"My dear fellow," he said—and again I noted the refinement19 in his voice,—"no sawbones can help me. I never held with them much anyway. Luisa got paid to-day—she washes at Bard's, you know (it was she who told me you were here)—and so I've got some medicine...."—he touched a little pannikin which stood on the floor at his side—"it's all that keeps me alive now that I can't get the 'snow!'"
"It's paradoxical," he gasped22 out presently, "but the more I take of my life-giving elixir23 here the quicker the end will come. All I live for now, it seems to me, is to shorten as much as possible the intervals24 between the bouts25."
I've seen something in my time of the cynical26 resignation of your chronic27 drunkard. So I wasted no good advice on the poor devil, but held my peace while he swallowed a mouthful from the pannikin at his elbow.
"You went out of your way to do me a good turn once, Okewood," he said, setting the vessel28 down and wiping his mouth on his soiled sleeve. "I know your name, you see. I made some inquiries29 about you before they ran me out of San Salvador. You got a D.S.O. in the war, I think?"
"They gave away so many!" I said idiotically. But that sort of remark always engenders31 an idiotic30 reply.
"No, no," he insisted. "Yours was one of the right ones, Okewood; I can see that by looking at you. You're the real type of British officer. And, although you may not think it to see me now, I know what I'm talking about. You fellows had your chance in the war and by Gad32, sir, some of you took it...."
I knew he was an army man and said so.
He nodded.
I told him I was a field-gunner—or used to be, and then I asked him his name.
He smiled wanly at that.
"No names, no court-martials!" he quoted.
He drank from his pannikin again.
"Call me Adams!" he said.
There was a moment's silence. The sick man moved restlessly on his rustling34 couch and I heard his teeth rattle35 in his head. Outside, the pulsating36 life of the negro quarter shattered the brooding stillness of the tropical night. The sound of low, full-throated laughter, mingling37 with the jangling of guitars, drifted up from the lane.
"Broken as a major," the sick man said abruptly38. "A bad business, very. Yes, they jailed me over it. And when I came out it was to find every man's hand against me. It's been against me ever since! Ah, it's a bad thing to make an enemy of England! When I think of the humble39 pie I've eaten from some of these blasted counter-jumping finnicking consuls40 of ours along this coast only to be thrown out of doors at last by their Dago servants! Once go down and out in England, and God help you! You'll never come back! Ah! it's not your own folk who'll lend you a hand then. It's the humble people, like Luisa here on whom I sponge, who keeps me, Okewood, who is proud to keep me...."
His voice quavered and broke. Tears welled up in his sunken eyes. One hates to see a man break down, so I looked away. And the beachcomber went to his pannikin for solace41.
"That day at the calaboose at San Salvador," he said presently, "I wanted to tell you who I was. Twenty-five years ago I buried my real name. But what you did for me.... well, it was a white thing to do. I wanted to say to you: 'Race tells, sir! You have helped one of your own breed and upbringing.' It shall be written in our family records that 'Such-a-one (meaning myself) of Blank in the County of So-and-So, being in sore distress42 in the hands of the foreigner, was succoured by the chivalrous43 intervention44 of Major Desmond Okewood.'"
He sighed, then added:—
"But I doubt if you would have understood my meaning!"
I found myself becoming extraordinarily45 interested in this grotesque46 wastrel47 who, though sunk to the lowest depths a man may touch, managed to cling so desperately48 to his pride of birth.
"I mustn't waste your time. But it's so rare to find one of my own world to talk to. Listen to me, now! You stood up for me at San Salvador and in return.... You're not a rich man, Okewood?"
I laughed.
"I have to work for my living, Adams," I answered.
"Good, good! Then you will appreciate the more the fortune I am going to put in your way. An Eldorado to make you rich beyond the dreams of...."
His talk about fortunes and the rest made me think he was a trifle light-headed. So I made to rise from my seat.
"You're talking too much," I said soothingly51. "I think I'll leave you now and come back another day!"
But the beach-comber thrust out a hand—such a thin and wasted hand!—and clutched my sleeve. He could not speak for the moment, but he cast me a despairing look eloquent52 in its appeal to me to stay.
"A fortune," he gasped out when his breath began to come back to him. "I'll make you rich! I want to show my gratitude53 to the man who knows what is due to a.... a.... a gentleman!"
He fell back with livid face. I raised his head and held the pannikin to his lips. It was half full of some terrible-looking, dark-brown liquor. He drank a little, then lay back with closed eyes. He lay so still that, with his sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, you might have taken him for a corpse54.
In a little while he was better and spoke again.
"Okewood," he said—and this time his voice was hardly above a whisper, "I believe I know where treasure's hid. For more than a year now I've carried my secret round with me, for the chance to get back there, waiting to find the partner I could trust. And now Fate (with whom I've quarrelled all my life) has played me a dirty trick to finish up. I've found my partner when it's too late for me to share!"
He relapsed into silence again. His head drooped55 and his eyes were closed so that for the moment, I thought he had fainted. But presently he asked abruptly:—
"Have you ever heard of Cock Island?"
"Cock Island?" I repeated. "No, I don't think so. Where is it?"
"In the Pacific, about 400 miles out at sea. Many months ago—the summer after the Armistice56 it was—I was serving before the mast in a Dutch schooner57—the Huis-ten-Bosch, her name was. I signed on at Papeete to run to Callao with a cargo58 of copra. The crew were all Kanakas, natives, you know, except for one other man who signed on with me—Dutchey, they called him. We were on the beach together in Tahiti...."
His fit of weakness seemed to have passed and his voice grew stronger and his eyes brighter as he proceeded with his tale.
"Well, something went amiss with our fresh water supply," he went on, "so we laid off at Cock Island to replenish59 our casks. It was a jolly little place—you know the sort of thing, all wavy60 coconut61 palms and wooded peaks running up steeply from the fore-shore. And, of course, the very dickens of a surf bar. The skipper sent me and Dutchey with a gang of Kanakas to fill up with water. We found a way in through the bar and having landed, set the Kanakas to work to fill the casks at a fine spring of water, cold and clear, which fell from the hillside. Then Dutchey and I had a look round.
"I had asked our old man—the captain, you know—about Cock Island. He had told me that, according to the Sailing Directions, it was uninhabited. Therefore, as Dutchey and I were pushing our way through the undergrowth to get to the high central upland, we were a bit taken aback to come upon a grave in a clearing.
"It was a regular grave cut out of the rough grass with a mound63 and a cross all shipshape and proper. The cross, which was merely two bits of stout64 deal lashed65 together with wire, was a bit weatherbeaten and polished smooth by the sand blown against it. It had no inscription66. Against the cross a small mirror was propped up, while in front of it stood a bottle half embedded67 in the earth. The bottle contained some writing on a piece of folded oil-silk."
"We used to bury fellows that way in France," I remarked. "One stuck the name and particulars on a piece of paper and shoved it in a bottle until they had time to put a cross up, don't you know?"
"I had no idea what this was," said the beach-comber, "the writing was a fearful scrawl68 and rather faint at that. I couldn't make head or tail of it. I just slipped it into my pocket, meaning to have a look at it another time. While I had been examining the grave, the fellow with me, the man we called Dutchey, had been rooting about in the clearing. Presently he emerged from behind a bush with a whole collection of junk which he laid on the ground at my feet. There was an old newspaper, a piece of dirty packing paper and a cigar-box.
"He was a queer chap, this Dutchey. We never could quite make him out. Personally, I thought he wasn't all there. He spoke very rarely but, when he opened his lips, he talked some kind of German-American double Dutch. He was very taciturn; the sort of man you know, who gives no confidences and invites none. That was really what attracted him to me when we chummed up on the beach at Papeete. We went through a rough time there together, too!...."
The sick man broke off musingly69. Then the cough took him again and it was some minutes before he resumed speaking.
"Dutchey laid all this junk out in front of me rather like a dog bringing you a stick you've thrown it. Then he said:—
"Dutchey's conversational70 bursts generally opened enigmatically and I knew from experience that it was no use interrupting him to ask for enlightenment. One could only hope it might come in due course.
"Dutchey lifted up the newspaper.
"'De Heraldo of San Salvador of nineteen eighteen—you see de date March Seventeen?'
"He raised up the piece of wrapping paper.
"(I should say I did, Okewood. He was the swine that jugged me over his rotten bill!)
"'Dis from Garcia's store! You see de name printed on it?'
"Finally he picked up the cigar-box and opening it displayed a row of mouldy cigars with a yellow band.
"'Black Pablo!' he said.
"'How do you mean, Dutchey?' I asked.
"'Dere ain't but the one man in San Salvador smoke dese ceegyars,' he answered, 'and dat's Black Pablo. Jose Garcia smuggles72 dem in express for him. Dis sure is fonny!'
"'Dis um de l'il island!' he exclaimed and went off again.
"'But who is Black Pablo?' I demanded. 'Is he the head of this gang?'
"'Is he.... hell?' cried Dutchey. 'Dere ain't no one amounts to a row o' beans since El Cojo come along. Black Pablo, Neque, Mahon.... dere's not one of them dawg-gorn four-flushers dare open deir face when El Cojo's round. Dey shoot off deir mouth to me 'bout14 deir l'il island. Pretty goddam mysterious 'bout it, too. No blab to Dutchey, dey say. El Cojo won't have it. But Dutchey knows. Blarst me sowl....'
"Dutchey had a great flow of language. And he let it rip as he told me the way he meant to crow over El Cojo and his gang when he got back to San Salvador."
Adams had warmed to his story and a little red had crept into his cheeks. He was an excellent raconteur74 and he seemed to enjoy reproducing the extraordinary lingo75 of his friend Dutchey.
"We rowed over to the ship again," he resumed, "and as soon as I had a moment alone I had another look at the writing on the oilsilk. But I could make nothing of it. I thought I'd keep it, though, just for luck, so I strung it round my neck and forgot all about it until one day in the calaboose at San Salvador I overheard a very curious conversation. Can you reach the pannikin? Thanks!"
"You know the way they lock one up in these Dago jails—all in a common room together. Well, a day or two after I got in I was sitting on the floor with my back against the wall taking a bit of a siesta77 when suddenly I heard the name 'Neque.' I recollected78 at once that Dutchey had spoken of 'Neque' as one of El Cojo's gang because once, years ago, I had a Spanish pal62 whose nickname was 'Neque'—I used to play polo with him in Madrid—and the name was familiar to me.
"I opened my eyes and saw two of the prisoners sitting on the floor within a yard of me talking together in Spanish. Everybody else was asleep. The one whom I discovered to be Neque was a young fellow of about twenty-five, very slim and wiry. His companion was a dark man with a yellow face, a broken nose, and a patch over one eye. I closed my eyes quickly again and pretended to be asleep.
"'Such accursed luck!' the younger man said, 'five hundred thousand dollars in gold and you and I will not be there to share it!'
"'Caraco!' replied the fat man, 'but who shall say it is there?'
"'Imbecile!' exclaimed Neque. 'I was with El Cojo when he examined the Kanaka. Did not this Kanaka sail in the ship which brought the foreigner and the gold to Cock Island? He was one of those, this Kanaka, who survived the influenza79 sickness that swept the vessel. He told El Cojo—I, Neque, heard it with my own ears—how the foreigner was landed alone with the gold, how he remained by himself on the island for two days and how, when the Kanakas rowed in from the ship to fetch him, they found him with death on his face—the mauve death, you and I have seen it, per Dios, eh? And the boxes of gold gone! The foreigner gave them a bottle with a writing in it, bidding them swear that they would put it on his grave or he would haunt them. Then he died and the Kanakas buried him and having placed this object on the grave as he had ordered, fled from the island in the ship!'
"'Who shall believe a Kanaka?' he said contemptuously.
"'The foreigner was the only white man with these natives,' argued Neque. 'They feared him and they did as he bade them lest his spirit should torment81 them. Besides the grave has been seen on the island since....'
"At that the fat man woke up and became interested.
"'Never!' he exclaimed in astonishment82.
"And then Neque told him of a conversation El Cojo had had with a 'mad seaman83,' in whom it was not difficult to recognise Dutchey, who had landed with a companion from a Dutch schooner and had seen the grave and on it a bottle. The other man, the 'loco' (madman) had said, had taken out of the bottle a piece of writing.
"'This other man,' questioned his companion. 'Who was he?'
"'An Inglez,' replied Neque, 'but the mad seaman did not know his name and had not seen him since they had landed.'
"At that the fat man spat again.
"'Bah!' he said, 'these locitos are cunning. There was no Inglez. The mad seaman has that writing which tells where the gold lies as sure as men call me Black Pablo....'
"The name brought back to me Cock Island in a flash; I seemed to see Dutchey, with his puzzled, woe-begone expression, holding a handful of mouldy cigars, the cigars that Jose Garcia imported for Black Pablo. And looking at the fellow with his single eye and his hideous84 twisted nose I couldn't help feeling glad, my friend, that he doubted my existence...."
The beach-comber stopped and looked at me. Then he thrust a lean hand inside the bosom85 of his ragged jacket.
"You've now heard the tale for what it's worth, Okewood," said he, "and here's that dead man's message! Take good care of it! It may mean a fortune for you!...."
He pulled out a greasy86 package which hung on a cord round his neck. He unfastened the cord and handed me a flat, narrow parcel. I was going to open it; but he stayed my hand.
"I'm afraid it's a dangerous present I'm making you, old man!"
"Why do you say that?" I demanded.
The sick man turned his head and looked at the unglazed window protected only by a pair of rough-carpentered wooden shutters88. In the street outside someone was lightly thrumming a guitar. Now and then came the sound of soft laughter. Otherwise the negro village had sunk to rest. All was still without and the plaintive89 chords resounded90 distinctly through the hot night.
"A week after I was shipped from San Salvador," he said, "they found Dutchey's body in the dock with a noose91 round his neck. Poor old Dutchey who never harmed anybody! Listen!"
The rich, full-throated tenor92 voice, which I had heard as I was following Do?a Luisa through the negro quarter, suddenly burst into song quite close at hand. On a sad and plaintive melody it sang with a liquid enunciation93 which made every chord distinct:—
"Se murio, y sobre su cara
"Un panuelito le heche
"For que no toque la tierra
"Esa bocca que yo bese!"
"It is time for you to go!" he whispered. "The door over there, opposite the one by which you came in, leads to the yard at the back. Cross the yard, take the path through the plantation95, bear always to the right and you will strike the main road to the docks. Go as quietly as you can and don't dawdle96 on the way.... Ah!"
Again the singer in the lane sent his plaintive melody soaring to the stars. He chanted his little verse through once more. Feebly, the sick man beat time with his hand.
"He's been singing on and off all the evening, Okewood," he murmured. "Always the same song. I Englished it while I was waiting for you. Listen!"
In a soft, quavering voice he whispered rather than sang:—
"She died and on her face
I laid a napkin fine
Lest the cold earth should touch
Those lips I pressed to mine...."
"Ah!" he sighed as the song died away and silence fell on us once more; "when the hour strikes for me, Okewood, there'll be no one, except, maybe, old Mammie Luisa there, to lay a pretty thought like that in my coffin97!"
He held out his hand.
"Now go!" he bade me. "And good luck go with you!"
"I will come again and see you, Adams," said I. "I expect you'll want to hear what I've made of the message!"
He was looking at me whimsically.
"No, Okewood," he said, shaking his head, "I'm thinking we shan't meet again!"
I was thinking the same; for, in truth, the man looked at death's door.
The unseen singer had attacked another verse.
"Mir a si seria bella...."
The opening words came resonantly99 to me as I quietly stole from the room. At the door I turned for a last look at the beachcomber. The candle was guttering100 away and its trembling light illuminated101 only the pinched, worn features and the sombre, suffering eyes. The grossness of that broken body was mercifully swallowed up in the shadows. To and fro across the candle's feeble gleam the hands moved in cadence102 with the song....
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1
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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2
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stuffiness
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| n.不通风，闷热；不通气 | |
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4
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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7
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
wanly
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| adv.虚弱地；苍白地，无血色地 | |
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ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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13
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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maize
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| n.玉米 | |
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vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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cocaine
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| n.可卡因，古柯碱（用作局部麻醉剂） | |
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spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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elixir
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| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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25
bouts
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| n.拳击（或摔跤）比赛( bout的名词复数 )；一段（工作）；（尤指坏事的）一通；（疾病的）发作 | |
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26
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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28
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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engenders
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| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的第三人称单数 ) | |
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gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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pulsating
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| adj.搏动的，脉冲的v.有节奏地舒张及收缩( pulsate的现在分词 )；跳动；脉动；受（激情）震动 | |
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37
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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38
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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39
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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40
consuls
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| 领事( consul的名词复数 )； （古罗马共和国时期）执政官 （古罗马共和国及其军队的最高首长，同时共有两位，每年选举一次） | |
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41
solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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42
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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43
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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44
intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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47
wastrel
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| n.浪费者；废物 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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49
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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50
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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51
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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54
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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55
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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armistice
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| n.休战，停战协定 | |
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57
schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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59
replenish
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| vt.补充；(把…)装满；(再)填满 | |
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wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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coconut
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| n.椰子 | |
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pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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63
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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66
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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embedded
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| a.扎牢的 | |
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scrawl
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| vt.潦草地书写；n.潦草的笔记，涂写 | |
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musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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savvy
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| v.知道，了解；n.理解能力，机智，悟性；adj.有见识的，懂实际知识的，通情达理的 | |
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smuggles
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| v.偷运( smuggle的第三人称单数 )；私运；走私；不按规章地偷带（人或物） | |
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dribbling
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| n.（燃料或油从系统内）漏泄v.流口水( dribble的现在分词 )；（使液体）滴下或作细流；运球，带球 | |
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raconteur
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| n.善讲故事者 | |
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lingo
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| n.语言不知所云，外国话，隐语 | |
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cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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siesta
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| n.午睡 | |
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recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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influenza
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| n.流行性感冒，流感 | |
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80
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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81
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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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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83
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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84
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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85
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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91
noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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enunciation
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| n.清晰的发音；表明，宣言；口齿 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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96
dawdle
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| vi.浪费时间；闲荡 | |
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97
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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98
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
resonantly
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| adv.共鸣地，反响地 | |
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100
guttering
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| n.用于建排水系统的材料；沟状切除术；开沟 | |
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101
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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102
cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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