He turned sharply now, and began to make his way as best he could in the darkness toward the window at the end of that aisle7 of tanks outside of which he knew the masked man had stood. He dared not show any light here, though by so doing he would have been able to move more swiftly. The man who had been at the window was almost certainly gone now—to watch for the old maniac's appearance outside the house. And Mr. Marlin would assuredly, and as quickly as he could, scurry8 outside to hide his money away again. And even if the man in the mask had had no previous knowledge of the old madman's strange nightly movements, which would be a very unsafe assumption on which to depend, he would have heard enough at the window, if not to know, then, at least, to expect that the old maniac's one thought now would be to secrete9 his money, and that the hiding place, this time-lock that God had made, as the old man had called it, was somewhere outside the house. But the watcher's new lurking10 place might still embrace a view of the window, and if he, Locke, climbed out with the light behind him—
He was at the window now. He smiled grimly. He was pitted against no fool—but then he never had been fool enough himself ever to place Captain Francis Newcombe in that category! The man in the mask had left no tell-tale evidence of his presence behind him. The shade was drawn11 down; the window closed.
Locke lifted the shade now, raised the window quietly, and stood for an instant listening, staring out. He could see little or nothing, other than the swaying branches of trees against the sky line; and there was no sound save the sweep of the wind which was still blowing half a gale12. And now he swung himself over the window sill, dropped the few feet to the ground—and crouched13 against the wall, listening, staring again into the blackness.
Nothing! The moon, burrowing14 deeper under the clouds, made it even blacker than it had been a moment ago. He straightened up and began to run toward the front of the house. It was perhaps a case of blindman's-buff, but there was not an instant to lose, and, deprived of any aid from the sense of either sight or hearing, he was left with only one thing to do. From the living room window a little while ago, he had seen Mr. Marlin coming toward the house from across the lawn, after having presumably just unearthed15 his money from its hiding place; the chances were that it was by the same route the old maniac would return now.
Locke ran on, stumbling, half groping his way through what seemed a veritable maze16 of out-buildings here at the rear of the house. The minutes seemed to be flying—wasted. The old maniac, if he had left the house the moment he had run from the aquarium17, must by now have had a good three minutes' start; and if the man in the mask had at once picked up the trail, then—
No; he was not too late! He had reached the front corner of the house now, and across the lawn, where in the open space it was a little lighter18, something, a blacker thing than the darkness, moving swiftly, caught his eye. It was the figure of a man running toward the trees in the direction of the path that led to the shore, and from which old Mr. Marlin had emerged earlier in the evening. And now the figure was gone—lost in the trees.
But he, Locke, too, was running now, sprinting19 for all he knew across the lawn. It was perhaps sixty yards. There was no time to use caution and circuit warily20 around the edge of the woods. He might be seen—but he had to take that chance. He would not be heard—the soft grass and the whine21 of the wind guaranteed him against that. It was a little better than an even break. The figure he had seen was not, he was sure, that of the old maniac. The long, flapping dressing22 gown would, even in a shadowy way, have been distinguishable. If he were right, then, in his supposition, the figure he had seen was the man in the mask, and old Mr. Marlin was already in there on the path leading through the woods to the shore. A cry, sudden, like a scream that was strangled, came with the gusting23 wind. It came again. From the edge of the lawn now, Locke leaped forward along the path. Black, twisting shapes loomed24 up just ahead of him. He flung himself upon them.
A low, startled, vicious snarl25 answered his attack. After that there was no sound while perhaps a minute passed, save the rustle26 of leaves and foliage27, the snip28 of broken twigs29 under swiftly moving, straining feet. Locke was fighting now with merciless, exultant30 ferocity. It was the man in the mask he was at grips with—it was not the dressing gown alone, the feel of it, that distinguished31 one from the other; he had even in that first plunging32 rush in the darkness felt his hand brush against the mask on the man's cheek.
It was all shadow, all blackness. To this side and that, close locked together, he and his antagonist33 now swayed madly. The man's one evident desire was to break away from his, Locke's, encircling arms; his, Locke's, purpose not only to prevent escape, but to unmask the other—the moon might come out again at any instant—filter through the branches—just enough light to see the other's face if the mask were off.
A peal34 of laughter rang out. It was the old madman. Locke, as he fought, more sensed than saw the old man's form close to the ground, as though the other were groping around on his hands and knees. The peal of laughter came again; and then the old maniac's voice in a triumphant35 scream:
"I've got it! I've got it! Money! Money! Money! Millions! Millions! Millions! It's all here! I've got it! It's all—"
The voice was dying away in the distance. Locke laughed a little with grim, panting breath. Whether it had been dropped or had been snatched from him in the first attack, old Marlin had now obviously recovered his package of bank notes. He was gone now—running to hide it again, of course. In any event, the old maniac and his money were safe, and—
His antagonist had wrenched36 free an arm. Locke's head jolted37 back suddenly from a wicked short-arm blow that caught the point of his chin. A sensation of numbness38 seemed to be trying insidiously39 to creep upward to his brain—but it did not reach that far—not quite that far—only it loosened his grip for an instant and the shadowy form that he had held appeared to be floating away from him. And then, as his brain cleared, he shot his body forward in a low, lunging tackle. The other almost eluded40 him, but his hands caught and clung to the man's arm—both around one of the other's arms. The man wrenched and squirmed in a savage41 frenzy42 to tear himself free. There was a sound of the ripping and rending43 of cloth—something showed white in the darkness—the other's sleeve had torn away at the armpit.
A white shirt sleeve! It was a beacon44 in the blackness. The man would not get away now. There was something more tangible45 than a shadow—something to see. In a flash Locke shifted his hold, and his arms swept around the other, pinioning46 the man's hands to his sides—tighter—tighter. Neither spoke47. The only sounds were hoarse48, rasping gasps49 for breath. Tighter! He was bending the man backward now—slowly—surely—a little more. No—the man was too strong—the pinioned50 arms were free again, and Locke felt them grip together like a vise around the small of his own back.
They lurched now, swaying from side to side like drunken men. The mask! To get at the mask! They were locked together, the chin of one on the other's shoulder—straining until the muscles cracked. Locke began to raise his head a little. The hot breath of the other was on his cheek now—and now his cheek rubbed against the other's mask.
An oath broke suddenly from the man—quick, muttered, the voice unrecognisable in its laboured breathing; and the other, seeming to sense his, Locke's, intention, suddenly relinquished51 his grip, snatched for a throat-hold instead, and, missing, began then to tear at Locke's arms in an effort to break away.
And then Locke laughed again grimly. It would avail nothing to snatch at the mask and get it off in the darkness here, if by so doing, with his own hold on the other gone, the man should get away. There was another way to get the mask off—and still maintain his grip upon the other!
They were holding now, seemingly as motionless as statues, the strength of one matched against the other in a supreme52 effort. The sweat broke out in great beads53 on Locke's forehead; his arms seemed to be tearing away from their sockets55. He could feel the muscles in the other's neck, as it hugged against his own, swell56 and stand out like great steel ridges57. And then slowly, inch by inch, he forced his own head around until his face was against the other's cheek. He could just feel the mask now with his lips—another inch—yes, now he had it—his teeth closed on the lower edge of the mask, chewed at it until he had a still firmer grip—and then he suddenly wrenched his head backward.
The mask came away in Locke's teeth. He spat58 it out. The other was a man gone mad with fury now; and with a new strength that fury brought he strove only to strike and strike again—but Locke only closed his hold the tighter. To strike back was to take the chance of the other breaking loose. It was too dark to see the man's face, though the mask was off now—but it could only be a few yards along the path to the open space of the lawn out there—and the moon would not always be fickle—it would break through the clouds, and—
They were rocking, lurching, twisting, swaying in their mad struggle—and now they circled more widely—and branches snatched and tore at them, and broke and fell from the trees at the sides of the path. And here Locke gave a step, and there another, working nearer and nearer to the edge of the lawn.
And then suddenly there came a half-choked cry from the other. The man had tripped in the undergrowth. Locke swung his weight to complete the fall—tripped himself—and both, with their balance gone, but grappling the fiercer at each other, pitched headlong with terrific force into the trees at the side of the path.
And Locke was for an instant conscious of a great blow, of streaks59 of fiery60 light that smote61 at his eyeballs with excruciating pain—and then utter blackness came.
When he opened his eyes again a moonbeam lay along the path, and a figure in a long dressing gown was passing by. He was dreaming, wasn't he? There was a sick sensation in his head, a giddiness—and besides that it gave him great pain. He raised himself up cautiously on his elbow, fighting to clear his mind—and suddenly his lips tightened62 grimly. There was something ironical63 in that moonbeam—something that mocked him in disclosing a figure in a dressing gown instead of a face that had been unmasked yet still could not be seen. He looked around him now. He was lying a few feet in from the edge of the path, and against the trunk of a large tree. Yes, he remembered now. His head had struck against the tree and he had been knocked unconscious. And the man who had been masked was gone.
He rose to his feet. He was very groggy—and for a moment he leaned against the tree trunk for support. The giddiness began to pass away. That was old Mr. Marlin who had just gone by. Well, neither the old madman nor his money had come to any harm, anyway! He stepped out on the path, and from there to the edge of the lawn. The old madman was just disappearing around the corner of the verandah.
Locke put his hands to his eyes. How his head throbbed64! How long had he lain there unconscious? He took out his watch. His eyes seemed blurred—or was it the meagreness of the moonlight? He was not quite sure, but it seemed to be ten minutes after three. It wasn't very easy to figure backward. He did not know how long he and the old maniac had been together in the aquarium, but, say, half an hour. Starting then at the hour of the rendezvous65, which had been at a quarter past two, that would bring it to a quarter of three; then, say, ten minutes for what had happened afterward66, including the fight, and that would make it five minutes of three. He must therefore have been lying in there unconscious for at least fifteen minutes.
The man who had worn the mask was gone now—naturally. But perhaps it would not be so difficult to pick up the trail. Captain Francis Newcombe's room offered very promising67 possibilities—and there was a torn coat sleeve that would not readily be replaced in fifteen minutes!
He made his way now across the lawn, and up the steps to the verandah. He tried the front door. It was locked. Of course! He had forgotten that he had left the house by crawling out of the aquarium window. There was no use going back that way because the old madman had locked the aquarium door. Mr. Marlin, though, had some means of entrance—and if that door through which the man had so suddenly appeared in the back hall meant anything, the entrance the old man used was likely to be somewhere in the rear. But Mr. Marlin would probably have locked that, too, behind him.
He looked up and down the now moon-flecked verandah—and began to try the French windows that opened upon it from the front rooms of the house. The first two were locked as he had expected. It was only a chance, but he might as well begin here as anywhere else. He tried the third one almost perfunctorily. It opened at a touch.
"I'm in luck!" Locke muttered, and stepped inside.
He turned the knob to lock the French window behind him, and found the bolt already thrown. Queer! He stood frowning for an instant, then stooped and felt along the inside edge of the threshold. The socket54 that ordinarily housed the bolt-bar was gone. The same condition therefore obviously existed at the top, as the long bar had a double throw.
He straightened up, a curious smile twitching68 at his lips now, and, making his way silently to the stairs, he reached the upper hall, stole along it to the door of his own room, and entered. Here, from one of his bags, he procured69 a revolver; and a moment later, his ear to the panel, listening, he stood outside Captain Francis Newcombe's door.
There was no sound from within. Softly he began to turn the door handle—the door would hardly be locked; that would be a misplay; one didn't lock one's bedroom door when a guest in a private house. No; it was not locked. He had the door ajar now. Again he listened. There was still no sound from within. Was the man back yet, or not? The absence of any sound meant nothing, save that Newcombe was probably not in the sitting room of his suite—he might easily, however, be in either the bathroom or the bedroom beyond.
Locke swung the door a little wider open, stepped through, and closed it noiselessly behind him. Again he stood still, his revolver now outthrust a little before him. The moonlight played across the floor. It disclosed an open door beyond. Still no sound.
Locked moved forward. He could see into the bedroom now. The bed was not only empty, but had not been slept in. He turned quickly and opened the bathroom door. The bathroom, too, was empty.
Captain Francis Newcombe had not, then, as yet returned. With a grim smile Locke thrust his revolver into his pocket. It was perhaps just as well—the time while he waited might possibly be used to very good advantage! Captain Francis Newcombe's baggage was invitingly70 at one's disposal—the Talofa, with its confined quarters, and where, on the little vessel71, it was always crowded, as it were, had offered no such opportunity!
Locke opened one of the bags. His smile now had changed to one of irony72. Barring any other justification73, turn about was no more than fair play, was it? He possessed74 a moral certainty, if he lacked the actual proof, that Captain Francis Newcombe had not hesitated to invade his, Locke's, cabin on the liner and go through his, Locke's, effects.
He laughed a little now in low, grim mirth. He wondered which of the two, Newcombe or himself, would be the better rewarded for his efforts?
There was little light, but Locke worked swiftly by the sense of touch, with fingers that ignored the general contents, and that sought dexterously75 for hidden things. His fingers traversed every inch of the lining76 of the bag, top, bottom and sides. He disturbed nothing.
Presently he laid the bag aside, and started on another—and suddenly he nodded his head sharply in satisfaction. This one was what was generally known as a Gladstone bag, and under the lining at one side his fingers felt what seemed like a folded paper that moved under his touch. The lining was intact, of course, but there must be some way of getting in underneath77 it—yes, here it was! Rather clever! And ordinarily quite safe—unless one were actually looking for something of the sort! There was a flap, or pocket, at the side of the bag, the ordinary sort of thing, and at the bottom of the flap Locke's fingers, working deftly78, found that the edges of the lining, while apparently79 fastened together, were made, in reality, into a double fold—the lining being stiff enough, even when the edges were displaced, to fall back of its own accord into place again.
He separated the edges now, worked his fingers into the opening, and drew out an envelope. It had been torn open at one end, and there was a superscription of some sort on it in faded writing which, in the semi-darkness, he could not make out. He stood up, and went quickly to the window to obtain the full benefit of the moonlight. He could just decipher the writing now:
"Polly's papers which is God's truth,
Mrs. Wickes X her mark."
For a moment he stood there motionless—but his eyes had lifted from the envelope now and were fixed80 on the lawn below. The window here gave on the side of the lawn with the trees at the rear of the house in view. A man had just stepped out from the shadow of the trees and was coming toward the house.
Locke stared, even the envelope in his hand temporarily forgotten, as a frown of perplexity that deepened into amazed chagrin81 gathered on his forehead. The figure was quite recognisable, even minutely so. It was Captain Francis Newcombe. It accounted for the missing sockets on that French window perhaps—but the man was as perfectly82 and immaculately dressed as he had been that night at dinner. There was no torn coat—on missing coat sleeve. The man he had fought with, the man in the mask, had not been Captain Francis Newcombe.
He laughed now—not pleasantly. He had obviously been waiting here for the wrong man. There was no need of waiting any longer—unless he desired to be caught himself! Queer! Strange! But there was the envelope. Polly's papers! What was it that was "God's truth"? At least, he would find that out!
He thrust the envelope into his pocket, closed the bag, and returned to his own room. He switched on the light, hurriedly took the envelope from his pocket again, and from it drew out two documents. He studied them while minute after minute passed, then dropping them on the table before him, he stood with drawn face and clenched83 fists staring across the room. Polly's birth certificate! The marriage certificate of her parents! He saw again the agony in the dark eyes, he heard again the agony in the voice that had proclaimed a parentage outside the pale. And a great oath came now from Locke's white lips.
He flung himself into a chair beside the table. He fought for cool, contained reasoning. These papers—Newcombe! Did it change anything, place Newcombe in any better light, because it was some other man who had worn that mask to-night? He shook his head in quick, emphatic84 dissent85. It did not! He was sure, certain of that. The trail led too far back, was too well defined, too conclusive86. And even to-night! What was Newcombe doing out of the house at three o'clock in the morning? Ah, yes—he had it! The old maniac's words came back with sudden and sure significance: "Digging—digging—digging.... The wrong scent87.... The hut in the woods at the rear of the house."
Locke gnawed88 savagely89 at his lips. That was where Newcombe had come from—the woods at the rear of the house. It meant that Newcombe was the one who had been tricked by the old madman's cunning, which could never have happened if Newcombe had not been stealthily trying to find the hidden money; it simply meant that Newcombe was the one who had been on the wrong scent—and that some one else had been on the right one!
His face was set in lines like chiselled90 marble now. Who was this "some one else"? Was the question very hard to answer? The field was very limited—significantly limited now! He wasn't wrong, was he? He couldn't be wrong! And there was always the torn sleeve!
Locke's eyes fixed upon the two documents on the table again. Captain Francis Newcombe! No; it did not make Newcombe any the less a guilty man because it was not he who had worn the mask to-night. Newcombe stood out sharply defined against the light of evidence which, if only circumstantial, was strong enough to damn the man a thousand times over for what he was. And here, adding to that evidence, was the proof that Polly's identity had been, and was being, deliberately91 concealed92 from her. It opened a vista93 to uglier and still more evil things—things that only a soul dead to decency94, black as the pit of hell, could have conceived and patiently put into execution. A child—a gutter-snipe, Polly had called herself—rescued from naked poverty and the slums of Whitechapel by a man such as Newcombe, whose only promptings were the promptings of a fiend! Why? Was there room to question further why Captain Francis Newcombe had years ago adopted such a ward—when now before one's eyes those years were bearing their poison fruit? Polly's introduction into this family here was even at this moment being traded upon to effect the theft of half a million dollars. That was too obvious now to permit denial. Newcombe was making of a girl, high-minded, pure-souled, a hideous95 cat's-paw. Yes, yes! All that was clear enough! But why should Polly have been deprived of her rightful name, her claim to honest parentage? Was it to weld a stronger bond of gratitude96—or make her the more helpless, and therefore the more dependent upon her guardian97? Where were these parents? Dead or living? There was Mrs. Wickes—Mrs. Wickes, who had posed as the mother! Well, there were certain quarters in London where those who strayed outside the law could be made to talk. Mrs. Wickes should be able to furnish very interesting information. It was not far to Whitechapel and London—by cable.
His mind, his brain, worked on—but now suddenly in turmoil98 and misery99 despite all effort of his to hold himself in check.
Polly! Polly Gray!
She loved this monster—that she thought a man, and called her guardian. Not the love of a maid for lover; but with the love, the honour, the respect and gratitude that she would give a cherished father.
The truth would break her heart. The love her friends had given her, turned to their own undoing100! The shame would be torture; the self-degradation, the abasement101 that she would know, would be beyond the bearing. Her faith would be a shattered thing!
Locke's clenched hands lay outspread across the table. He drew them suddenly together and dropped his head upon them.
"And you love her," he whispered to himself. "Do you know what that is going to mean? You did not count on that, did you? Do you know where that will lead? Do you know the consequences?"
He answered his own questions.
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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scurry
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| vi.急匆匆地走；使急赶；催促；n.快步急跑，疾走；仓皇奔跑声；骤雨，骤雪；短距离赛马 | |
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secrete
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| vt.分泌；隐匿，使隐秘 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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burrowing
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的现在分词 )；翻寻 | |
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unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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aquarium
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| n.水族馆，养鱼池，玻璃缸 | |
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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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sprinting
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| v.短距离疾跑( sprint的现在分词 ) | |
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warily
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whine
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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gusting
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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foliage
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snip
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| n.便宜货，廉价货，剪，剪断 | |
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twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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exultant
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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peal
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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jolted
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numbness
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| n.无感觉，麻木，惊呆 | |
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insidiously
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| 潜在地，隐伏地，阴险地 | |
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eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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42
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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pinioning
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| v.抓住[捆住]（双臂）( pinion的现在分词 ) | |
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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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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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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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pinioned
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| v.抓住[捆住]（双臂）( pinion的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
relinquished
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 )； 放弃 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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53
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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invitingly
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| adv. 动人地 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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dexterously
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| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
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lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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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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chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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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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83
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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88
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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89
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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90
chiselled
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| adj.凿过的，凿光的； （文章等）精心雕琢的v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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93
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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95
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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96
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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97
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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98
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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99
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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100
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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101
abasement
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| n.滥用 | |
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102
numbly
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| adv.失去知觉，麻木 | |
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