This hall serves as a waiting-room, and there42 are nearly always some people waiting in it. It may be a sniffing8 woman who has called for her dead husband’s clothes. It may be a still breathless messenger with a “midwifery card” in her hand, or a girl waiting for a dose of emergency medicine. There may be some minor10 accident cases also, such as a torn finger, a black eye like a bursting plum, a child who has swallowed a halfpenny, and a woman who has been “knocked about cruel,” but has little to show for it except a noisy desire to have her husband “locked up.” In certain days of stress, as on Saturday nights, when the air is heavy with alcohol, or on the occasion of a “big” dock accident, the waiting-room is crowded with excited folk, with patients waiting their turn to be dressed, with policemen, busybodies, reporters and friends of the injured.
On each side of the waiting-hall is a dressing11 room—one for women, one for men. Into these rooms the accident cases are taken one after the other. Here the house-surgeon and his dressers are engaged, and here the many-sided drama of the Receiving Room reaches its culminating point. It is an uninviting room, very plain, and, like the outer hall, bears an aspect of callous12 unconcern. By the window is a suspiciously large sink, and on the ledge13 above it a number of pewter porringers.43 One side of the room is occupied by a mysterious cupboard containing dressings14, gags, manacles, emetics15 and other unattractive things. In the centre are a common table and two hard chairs.
The most repellent thing in the room is a low sofa. It is wide and is covered with very thick leather which is suspiciously shiny and black. It suggests no more comfort than a rack. Its associations are unpleasant. It has been smothered16 with blood and with every kind of imaginable filth17, and has been cleaned up so often that it is no wonder that the deeply stained leather is shiny. It is on this grim black couch that “the case” just carried into the hospital is placed. It may be a man ridden over in the street, with the red bone-ends of his broken legs sticking through his trousers. It may be a machine accident, where strips of cotton shirt have become tangled18 up with torn flesh and a trail of black grease. It may be a man picked up in a lane with his throat cut, or a woman, dripping foul19 mud, who has been dragged out of a river. Sometimes the occupant of the sofa is a snoring lump of humanity so drunk as to be nearly dead, or it may be a panting woman who has taken poison and regretted it. In both cases the stomach pump is used with nauseating21 incidents. Now and then44 the sofa is occupied by a purple-faced maniac22, who is pinned down by sturdy dressers while a strait-jacket is being applied23 to him. This is not the whole of its history nor of its services, for the Receiving Room nurse, who is rather proud of it, likes to record that many a man and many a woman have breathed their last on this horrible divan24.
The so-called dressing room is at its best a “messy” place, as two mops kept in the corner seem to suggest. It is also at times a noisy place, since the yells and screams that escape from it may be heard in the street and may cause passers-by to stop and look up at the window.
Among the sick and the maimed who are “received” in this unsympathetic hall, the most pathetic are the wondering babies and the children. Many are brought in burnt and wrapped up in blankets, with only their singed25 hair showing out of the bundle. Others have been scalded, so that tissue-paper-like sheets of skin come off when their dressings are applied. Not a few, in old days, were scalded in the throat from drinking out of kettles. Then there are the children who have swallowed things, and who have added to the astounding26 collection of articles—from buttons to prayer-book clasps—which have found their way,45 at one time or another, into the infant interior, as well as children who have needles embedded27 in parts of their bodies or have been bitten by dogs or cats or even by rats.
I remember one bloated, half-dressed woman who ran screaming into the Receiving Room with a dead baby in her arms. She had gone to bed drunk, and had awakened28 in the morning in a tremulous state to find a dead infant by her side. This particular experience was not unusual in Whitechapel. Then there was another woman who rushed in drawing attention to a thing like a tiny bead29 of glass sticking to her baby’s cheek. The child had acute inflammation of the eyeball, which the mother had treated with cold tea. The eye had long been closed, but when the mother made a clumsy attempt to open the swollen30 lids something had popped out, some fluid and this thing like glass. She was afraid to touch it. She viewed it with horror as a strange thing that had come out of the eye. Hugging the child, she had run a mile or so with the dread31 object still adhering to the skin of the cheek. This glistening32 thing was the crystalline lens. The globe had been burst, and the child was, of course, blind. Happily, such a case could hardly be met with at the present day.
46
On the subject of children and domestic surgery as revealed in the Receiving Room, I recall the case of a boy aged2 about four who had pushed a dry pea into his ear. The mother attempted to remove it with that common surgical33 implement34 of the home, a hairpin35. She not only failed, but succeeded in pushing the pea farther down into the bony part of the canal. Being a determined36 woman, she borrowed a squirt, and proceeded to syringe out the foreign body with hot water. The result was that the pea swelled37, and, being encased in bone, caused so intense and terrible a pain that the boy became unconscious from shock.
Possibly the most dramatic spectacle in connexion with Receiving Room life in pre-ambulance days was the approach to the hospital gate of a party carrying a wounded woman or man. Looking out of the Receiving Room window on such occasion a silent crowd would be seen coming down the street. It is a closely packed crowd which moves like a clot9, which occupies the whole pavement and oozes38 over into the road. In the centre of the mass is an obscure object towards which all eyes are directed. In the procession are many women, mostly with tousled heads, men, mostly without caps, a butcher, a barber’s47 assistant, a trim postman, a whitewasher41, a man in a tall hat, and a pattering fringe of ragged20 boys. The boys, being small, cannot see much, so they race ahead in relays to glimpse the fascinating object from the front or climb up railings or mount upon steps to get a view of it as it passes by. Possibly towering above the throng42 would be two policemen, presenting an air of assumed calm; but policemen were not so common in those days as they are now.
The object carried would be indistinct, being hidden from view as is the queen bee by a clump43 of fussing bees. Very often the injured person is merely carried along by hand, like a parcel that is coming to pieces. There would be a man to each leg and to each arm, while men on either side would hang on to the coat. Possibly some Samaritan, walking backwards44, would hold up the dangling45 head. It was a much prized distinction to clutch even a fragment of the sufferer or to carry his hat or the tools he had dropped.
At this period the present-day stretcher was unknown in civil life. A stretcher provided by the docks was a huge structure with high sides. It was painted green, and was solid enough to carry a horse. A common means of conveyance46 for the helpless was a shutter47, but with the48 appearance of the modern ambulance the shutter has become as out of date as the sedan chair. Still, at this time, when anyone was knocked down in the street some bright, resourceful bystander would be sure to call out “Send for a shutter!”
The conveying of a drunken man with a cut head to the hospital by the police (in the ancient fashion) was a more hilarious48 ceremonial. The “patient” would be hooked up on either side by an official arm. His body would sag49 between these two supports so that his shoulders would be above his ears. His clothes would be worked up in folds about his neck, and he would appear to be in danger of slipping earthwards out of them. As it was, there would be a display of shirt and braces50 very evident below his coat. His legs would dangle51 below him like roots, while his feet, as they dragged along the pavement, would be twisted now in one direction and now in another like the feet of a badly stuffed lay figure. He would probably be singing as he passed along, to the delight of the people.
Of the many Receiving Room processions that I have witnessed the most moving, the most savage52 and the most rich in colour, noise and language was on an occasion when two “ladies” who had been badly lacerated in a fight were being49 dragged, carried or pushed towards the hospital for treatment. They were large, copious53 women who were both in an advanced stage of intoxication54. They had been fighting with gin bottles in some stagnant55 court which had become, for the moment, an uproarious cockpit. The technique of such a duel56 is punctilious57. The round, smooth bottoms of the bottles are knocked off, and the combatants, grasping the weapons by the neck, proceed to jab one another in the face with the jagged circles of broken glass.
The wounds in this instance were terrific. The faces of the two, hideously59 distorted, were streaming with blood, while their ample bodies seemed to have been drenched60 with the same. Their hair, soaked in blood, was plastered to their heads like claret-coloured seaweed on a rock. The two heroines were borne along by their women friends. The police kept wisely in the background, for their time was not yet. The crowd around the two bleeding figures was so compressed that the whole mass moved as one. It was a wild crowd, a writhing61 knot of viragoes62 who roared and screamed and rent the air with curses and yells of vengeance63, for they were partisans64 in the fight, the Montagues and Capulets of a ferocious65 feud66.
50
The crowd as it came along rocked to and fro, heaved and lurched as if propelled by some uneasy sea. The very pavement seemed unsteady. Borne on the crest67 of this ill-smelling wave were the two horrible women. One still shrieked68 threats and defiance69 in a voice as husky as that of a beast, while now and then she lifted aloft a blood-streaked arm in the hand of which was clutched a tuft of hair torn from her opponent’s head. Every display of this trophy70 called forth71 a shout of pride from her admirers.
The other woman was in a state of drunken hysteria. Throwing back her head until the sun illumined her awful features, she gave vent72 to bursts of maniacal73 laughter which were made peculiarly hideous58 by the fact that her nose was nearly severed74 from her face, while her grinning lips were hacked75 in two. At another moment, burying her head against the back of the woman in front of her, she would break out into sobs76 and groans77 which were even more unearthly than her laughter.
The whole affair suggested some fearful Bacchanalian78 orgy, associated with bloodshed, in which all concerned were the subjects of demoniacal possession. There is, happily, much less drunkenness nowadays and less savagery79, while the police51 control of these “street scenes” is so efficient and the public ambulance so secretive that such a spectacle as I now recall belongs for ever to the past.
When a crowd, bearing a “casualty,” reaches the hospital gates its progress is stayed. It rolls up against the iron barrier. It stops and recoils80 like a muddy wave against a bank. The porter is strict. Only the principals, their supporters and the police are allowed to filter through. The members of the crowd remain in the street, where they look through the railings, to which they cling, and indulge in fragments of narrative81, in comments on the affair, and on the prospects82 of the parties injured. If a scream should escape from the Receiving Room the watchers feel that they are well rewarded for long waiting, while any member of the privileged party who may leave the building is subjected to very earnest questioning.
It is needless to say that the Receiving Room is not always tragical83, not always the scene of alarms and disorders84, not always filled with wild-eyed folk nor echoing the scuffle of heavy feet and the moans of the suffering. It may be as quiet as a room in a convent. I have seen it so many a time, and particularly on a Sunday morning in52 the heyday85 of summer. Then the sun, streaming through the windows, may illumine the figure of the nurse as she sits on the awful sofa. She has her spectacles on, and is busy with some white needlework. Her attitude is so placid86 that she might be sitting at a cottage door listening to a blackbird in a wicker cage. Yet this quiet-looking woman, although she has not fought with wild beasts at Ephesus, has fought with raving87 drunkards and men delirious88 from their hurts, and has heard more foul language and more blasphemy89 in a week than would have enlivened a pirate ship in a year.
The Receiving Room nurse was, in old days, without exception the most remarkable91 woman in the hospital. She appeared as a short, fat, comfortable person of middle age, with a ruddy face and a decided92 look of assurance. She was without education, and yet her experience of casualties of all kinds—from a bee-sting to sudden death—was vast and indeed unique. She was entirely93 self-taught, for there were no trained nurses in those days. She was of the school of Mrs. Gamp, was a woman of courage and of infinite resource, an expert in the treatment of the violent and in the crushing of anyone who gave her what she called “lip.” She was possessed94 of much humour,53 was coarse in her language, abrupt95, yet not unkindly in her manner, very indulgent towards the drunkard and very skilled in handling him. She was apt to boast that there was no man living she would not “stand up to.” She called every male over fifty “Daddy” and every one under that age “My Son.” She would tackle a shrieking96 woman as a terrier tackles a rat, while the woman who “sauced” her she soon reduced to a condition of palsy. She objected to the display of emotion or of feeling in any form, and was apt to speak of members of her sex as a “watery-headed lot.”
She had, like most nurses of her time, a leaning towards gin, but was efficient even in her cups. She had wide powers, for she undertook—on her own responsibility—the treatment of petty casualties. The dressers regarded her with respect. Her knowledge and skill amazed them, while from her they acquired the elements of minor surgery and first aid. The house-surgeons were a little frightened of her, yet they admired her ready craft and were duly grateful for her unswerving loyalty97 and her eagerness to save them trouble. Her diagnosis98 of an injury was probably correct, so sound was her observation and wide her experience. She was a brilliant bandager, and was accepted by the students as the standard of style54 and finish in the applying of a dressing. She was on duty from early in the morning until late at night, and knew little of “hours off” and “half-days.” In the personnel of the hospital of half a century ago she was an outstanding figure, yet now she is as extinct as the dodo.
The hospital in the days of which I speak was anathema99. The poor people hated it. They dreaded100 it. They looked upon it primarily as a place where people died. It was a matter of difficulty to induce a patient to enter the wards39. They feared an operation, and with good cause, for an operation then was a very dubious101 matter. There were stories afloat of things that happened in the hospital, and it could not be gainsaid102 that certain of those stories were true.
Treatment was very rough. The surgeon was rough. He had inherited that attitude from the days when operations were carried through without an?sthetics, and when he had need to be rough, strong and quick, as well as very indifferent to pain. Pain was with him a thing that had to be. It was a regrettable feature of disease. It had to be submitted to. At the present day pain is a thing that has not to be. It has to be relieved and not to be merely endured.
Many common measures of treatment involved55 great suffering. Bleeding was still a frequent procedure, and to the timid the sight of the red stream trickling103 into the bowl was a spectacle of terror. There were two still more common measures in use—the seton and the issue. The modern student knows nothing of these ancient and uncleanly practices. He must inform himself by consulting a dictionary. Without touching104 upon details, I may say that in my early days, as a junior dresser, one special duty was to run round the ward40 before the surgeon arrived in order to draw a fresh strand105 of thread through each seton and to see that a fresh pea was forced into the slough106 of every issue.
Quite medi?val methods were still observed. The first time in my life that I saw the interior of an operating theatre I, in my ignorance, entered by the door which opened directly into the area where the operating table stood. (I should have entered by the students’ gallery.) When I found myself in this amazing place there was a man on the table who was shrieking vehemently107. The surgeon, taking me by the arm, said, “You seem to have a strong back; lay hold of that rope and pull.” I laid hold of the rope. There were already two men in front of me and we all three pulled our best. I had no idea what56 we were pulling for. I was afterwards informed that the operation in progress was the reduction of a dislocated hip90 by compound pulleys. The hip, however, was not reduced and the man remained lame108 for life. At the present day a well-instructed schoolgirl could reduce a recent hip dislocation unaided.
In this theatre was a stove which was always kept alight, winter and summer, night and day. The object was to have a fire at all times ready whereat to heat the irons used for the arrest of bleeding as had been the practice since the days of Elizabeth. Antiseptics were not yet in use. Sepsis was the prevailing109 condition in the wards. Practically all major wounds suppurated. Pus was the most common subject of converse110, because it was the most prominent feature in the surgeon’s work. It was classified according to degrees or vileness111. “Laudable” pus was considered rather a fine thing, something to be proud of. “Sanious” pus was not only nasty in appearance but regrettable, while “ichorous” pus represented the most malignant112 depths to which matter could attain113.
There was no object in being clean. Indeed, cleanliness was out of place. It was considered to be finicking and affected114. An executioner57 might as well manicure his nails before chopping off a head. The surgeon operated in a slaughter-house-suggesting frock coat of black cloth. It was stiff with the blood and the filth of years. The more sodden115 it was the more forcibly did it bear evidence to the surgeon’s prowess. I, of course, commenced my surgical career in such a coat, of which I was quite proud. Wounds were dressed with “charpie” soaked in oil. Both oil and dressing were frankly116 and exultingly117 septic. Charpie was a species of cotton waste obtained from cast linen118. It would probably now be discarded by a motor mechanic as being too dirty for use on a car.
Owing to the suppurating wounds the stench in the wards was of a kind not easily forgotten. I can recall it to this day with unappreciated ease. There was one sponge to a ward. With this putrid119 article and a basin of once-clear water all the wounds in the ward were washed in turn twice a day. By this ritual any chance that a patient had of recovery was eliminated. I remember a whole ward being decimated by hospital gangrene. The modern student has no knowledge of this disease. He has never seen it and, thank heaven, he never will. People often say how wonderful it was that surgical patients lived in these days.58 As a matter of fact they did not live, or at least only a few of them. Lord Roberts assured me that on the Ridge120 at Delhi during the Indian Mutiny no case of amputation121 recovered. This is an extreme instance, for the conditions under which the surgeons on the Ridge operated were exceptional and hopelessly unfavourable.
The attitude that the public assumed towards hospitals and their works at the time of which I write may be illustrated122 by the following incident. I was instructed by my surgeon to obtain a woman’s permission for an operation on her daughter. The operation was one of no great magnitude. I interviewed the mother in the Receiving Room. I discussed the procedure with her in great detail and, I trust, in a sympathetic and hopeful manner. After I had finished my discourse123 I asked her if she would consent to the performance of the operation. She replied: “Oh! it is all very well to talk about consenting, but who is to pay for the funeral?”
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1
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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4
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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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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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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clot
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| n.凝块；v.使凝成块 | |
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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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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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dressings
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| n.敷料剂；穿衣( dressing的名词复数 )；穿戴；（拌制色拉的）调料；（保护伤口的）敷料 | |
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emetics
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| n.催吐药( emetic的名词复数 ) | |
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smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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nauseating
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| adj.令人恶心的，使人厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的现在分词 ) | |
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maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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singed
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| v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
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astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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embedded
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| a.扎牢的 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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surgical
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| adj.外科的，外科医生的，手术上的 | |
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implement
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| n.(pl.)工具，器具；vt.实行，实施，执行 | |
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hairpin
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| n.簪,束发夹，夹发针 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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oozes
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的第三人称单数 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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39
wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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41
whitewasher
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| 粉刷匠（whitewash名词形式） | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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44
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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45
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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46
conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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47
shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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48
hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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49
sag
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| v.下垂，下跌，消沉；n.下垂，下跌，凹陷，[航海]随风漂流 | |
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50
braces
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| n.吊带，背带；托架( brace的名词复数 )；箍子；括弧；（儿童）牙箍v.支住( brace的第三人称单数 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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51
dangle
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| v.(使)悬荡，(使)悬垂 | |
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52
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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53
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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54
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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55
stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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56
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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57
punctilious
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| adj.谨慎的，谨小慎微的 | |
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58
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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59
hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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60
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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61
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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62
viragoes
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| n.泼妇( virago的名词复数 ) | |
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63
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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64
partisans
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| 游击队员( partisan的名词复数 )； 党人； 党羽； 帮伙 | |
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65
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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66
feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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67
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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68
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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70
trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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71
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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72
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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73
maniacal
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| adj.发疯的 | |
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74
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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75
hacked
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| 生气 | |
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76
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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77
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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78
bacchanalian
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| adj.闹酒狂饮的；n.发酒疯的人 | |
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79
savagery
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| n.野性 | |
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80
recoils
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| n.（尤指枪炮的）反冲，后坐力( recoil的名词复数 )v.畏缩( recoil的第三人称单数 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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81
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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82
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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83
tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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84
disorders
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| n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 )；凌乱；骚乱；（身心、机能）失调 | |
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85
heyday
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| n.全盛时期，青春期 | |
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86
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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87
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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88
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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89
blasphemy
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| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
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90
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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91
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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92
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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93
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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94
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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95
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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96
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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97
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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98
diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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99
anathema
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| n.诅咒；被诅咒的人(物)，十分讨厌的人(物) | |
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100
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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101
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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102
gainsaid
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| v.否认，反驳( gainsay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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104
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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105
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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106
slough
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| v.蜕皮，脱落，抛弃 | |
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107
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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108
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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109
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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110
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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111
vileness
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| n.讨厌，卑劣 | |
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112
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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113
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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114
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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115
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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116
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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117
exultingly
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| 兴高采烈地，得意地 | |
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118
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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119
putrid
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| adj.腐臭的；有毒的；已腐烂的；卑劣的 | |
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120
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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121
amputation
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| n.截肢 | |
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122
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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123
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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