I arrived there while yet the daylight lingered, and as my hosts were out, I took a ramble3 round the place. The house and garden stood on a plateau facing south; below it were a couple of acres of pasture that sloped down to a vagrant4 stream crossed by a foot-bridge, by the side of which stood a thatched cottage with a vegetable patch surrounding it. A path ran close past this across the pasture from a wicket-gate in the garden, conducted you over the foot-bridge, and, so my remembered sense of geography told me, must constitute a short cut to the links that lay not half a mile beyond. The cottage itself was clearly on the land of the little estate, and I at once supposed it to be the gardener’s house. What went against so obvious and simple a theory was that it appeared to be untenanted. No wreath[178] of smoke, though the evening was chilly5, curled from its chimneys, and, coming closer, I fancied it had that air of “waiting” about it which we so often conjure6 into unused habitations. There it stood, with no sign of life whatever about it, though ready, as its apparently7 perfect state of repair seemed to warrant, for fresh tenants8 to put the breath of life into it again. Its little garden, too, though the palings were neat and newly painted, told the same tale; the beds were untended and unweeded, and in the flower-border by the front door was a row of chrysanthemums9, which had withered10 on their stems. But all this was but the impression of a moment, and I did not pause as I passed it, but crossed the foot-bridge and went on up the heathery slope that lay beyond. My geography was not at fault, for presently I saw the club-house just in front of me. Hugh no doubt would be just about coming in from his afternoon round, and so we would walk back together. On reaching the club-house, however, the steward11 told me that not five minutes before Mrs. Grainger had called in her car for her husband, and I therefore retraced12 my steps by the path along which I had already come. But I made a detour13, as a golfer will, to walk up the fairway of the seventeenth and eighteenth holes just for the pleasure of recognition, and looked respectfully at the yawning sandpit which so inexorably guards the eighteenth green, wondering in what circumstances I should visit it next, whether with a step complacent14 and superior, knowing that my ball reposed15 safely on the green beyond, or with the heavy footfall of one who knows that laborious16 delving17 lies before him.
[179]The light of the winter evening had faded fast, and when I crossed the foot-bridge on my return the dusk had gathered. To my right, just beside the path, lay the cottage, the whitewashed18 walls of which gleamed whitely in the gloaming; and as I turned my glance back from it to the rather narrow plank19 which bridged the stream I thought I caught out of the tail of my eye some light from one of its windows, which thus disproved my theory that it was untenanted. But when I looked directly at it again I saw that I was mistaken: some reflection in the glass of the red lines of sunset in the west must have deceived me, for in the inclement20 twilight21 it looked more desolate22 than ever. Yet I lingered by the wicket gate in its low palings, for though all exterior23 evidence bore witness to its emptiness, some inexplicable24 feeling assured me, quite irrationally25, that this was not so, and that there was somebody there. Certainly there was nobody visible, but, so this absurd idea informed me, he might be at the back of the cottage concealed26 from me by the intervening structure, and, still oddly, still unreasonably27, it became a matter of importance to my mind to ascertain28 whether this was so or not, so clearly had my perceptions told me that the place was empty, and so firmly had some conviction assured me that it was tenanted. To cover my inquisitiveness29, in case there was someone there, I could inquire whether this path was a short cut to the house at which I was staying, and, rather rebelling at what I was doing, I went through the small garden, and rapped at the door. There was no answer, and, after waiting for a response to a second summons, and having tried[180] the door and found it locked, I made the circuit of the house. Of course there was no one there, and I told myself that I was just like a man who looks under his bed for a burglar and would be beyond measure astonished if he found one.
My hosts were at the house when I arrived, and we spent a cheerful two hours before dinner in such desultory30 and eager conversation as is proper between friends who have not met for some time. Between Hugh Grainger and his wife it is always impossible to light on a subject which does not vividly31 interest one or other of them, and golf, politics, the needs of Russia, cooking, ghosts, the possible victory over Mount Everest, and the income tax were among the topics which we passionately32 discussed. With all these plates spinning, it was easy to whip up any one of them, and the subject of spooks generally was lighted upon again and again.
“Margaret is on the high road to madness,” remarked Hugh on one of these occasions, “for she has begun using planchette. If you use planchette for six months, I am told, most careful doctors will conscientiously33 certify34 you as insane. She’s got five months more before she goes to Bedlam36.”
“Does it work?” I asked.
“Yes, it says most interesting things,” said Margaret. “It says things that never entered my head. We’ll try it to-night.”
“Oh, not to-night,” said Hugh. “Let’s have an evening off.”
Margaret disregarded this.
“It’s no use asking planchette questions,” she went on, “because there is in your mind some sort[181] of answer to them. If I ask whether it will be fine to-morrow, for instance, it is probably I—though indeed I don’t mean to push—who makes the pencil say ‘yes.’”
“And then it usually rains,” remarked Hugh.
“Not always: don’t interrupt. The interesting thing is to let the pencil write what it chooses. Very often it only makes loops and curves—though they may mean something—and every now and then a word comes, of the significance of which I have no idea whatever, so I clearly couldn’t have suggested it. Yesterday evening, for instance, it wrote ‘gardener’ over and over again. Now what did that mean? The gardener here is a Methodist with a chin-beard. Could it have meant him? Oh, it’s time to dress. Please don’t be late, my cook is so sensitive about soup.”
We rose, and some connection of ideas about “gardener” linked itself up in my mind.
“By the way, what’s that cottage in the field by the foot-bridge?” I asked. “Is that the gardener’s cottage?”
“It used to be,” said Hugh. “But the chin-beard doesn’t live there: in fact nobody lives there. It’s empty. If I was owner here, I should put the chin-beard into it, and take the rent off his wages. Some people have no idea of economy. Why did you ask?”
I saw Margaret was looking at me rather attentively37.
“Curiosity,” I said. “Idle curiosity.”
“I don’t believe it was,” said she.
“But it was,” I said. “It was idle curiosity to know whether the house was inhabited. As I passed it, going down to the club-house, I felt sure[182] it was empty, but coming back I felt so sure that there was someone there that I rapped at the door, and indeed walked round it.”
Hugh had preceded us upstairs, as she lingered a little.
“And there was no one there?” she asked. “It’s odd: I had just the same feeling as you about it.”
“That explains planchette writing ‘gardener’ over and over again,” said I. “You had the gardener’s cottage on your mind.”
“How ingenious!” said Margaret. “Hurry up and dress.”
A gleam of strong moonlight between my drawn38 curtains when I went up to bed that night led me to look out. My room faced the garden and the fields which I had traversed that afternoon, and all was vividly illuminated39 by the full moon. The thatched cottage with its white walls close by the stream was very distinct, and once more, I suppose, the reflection of the light on the glass of one of its windows made it appear that the room was lit within. It struck me as odd that twice that day this illusion should have been presented to me, but now a yet odder thing happened. Even as I looked the light was extinguished.
The morning did not at all bear out the fine promise of the clear night, for when I woke the wind was squealing40, and sheets of rain from the south-west were dashed against my panes41. Golf was wholly out of the question, and, though the violence of the storm abated42 a little in the afternoon, the rain dripped with a steady sullenness43. But I wearied of[183] indoors, and, since the two others entirely44 refused to set foot outside, I went forth45 mackintoshed to get a breath of air. By way of an object in my tramp, I took the road to the links in preference to the muddy short cut through the fields, with the intention of engaging a couple of caddies for Hugh and myself next morning, and lingered awhile over illustrated46 papers in the smoking-room. I must have read for longer than I knew, for a sudden beam of sunset light suddenly illuminated my page, and looking up, I saw that the rain had ceased, and that evening was fast coming on. So instead of taking the long detour by the road again, I set forth homewards by the path across the fields. That gleam of sunset was the last of the day, and once again, just as twenty-four hours ago, I crossed the foot-bridge in the gloaming. Till that moment, as far as I was aware, I had not thought at all about the cottage there, but now in a flash the light I had seen there last night, suddenly extinguished, recalled itself to my mind, and at the same moment I felt that invincible47 conviction that the cottage was tenanted. Simultaneously48 in these swift processes of thought I looked towards it, and saw standing49 by the door the figure of a man. In the dusk I could distinguish nothing of his face, if indeed it was turned to me, and only got the impression of a tallish fellow, thickly built. He opened the door, from which there came a dim light as of a lamp, entered, and shut it after him.
So then my conviction was right. Yet I had been distinctly told that the cottage was empty: who, then, was he that entered as if returning home? Once more, this time with a certain qualm of fear,[184] I rapped on the door, intending to put some trivial question; and rapped again, this time more drastically, so that there could be no question that my summons was unheard. But still I got no reply, and finally I tried the handle of the door. It was locked. Then, with difficulty mastering an increasing terror, I made the circuit of the cottage, peering into each unshuttered window. All was dark within, though but two minutes ago I had seen the gleam of light escape from the opened door.
Just because some chain of conjecture50 was beginning to form itself in my mind, I made no allusion51 to this odd adventure, and after dinner Margaret, amid protests from Hugh, got out the planchette which had persisted in writing “gardener.” My surmise52 was, of course, utterly53 fantastic, but I wanted to convey no suggestion of any sort to Margaret.... For a long time the pencil skated over her paper making loops and curves and peaks like a temperature chart, and she had begun to yawn and weary over her experiment before any coherent word emerged. And then, in the oddest way, her head nodded forward and she seemed to have fallen asleep.
“She fell asleep the other night over it,” he said.
Margaret’s eyes were closed, and she breathed the long, quiet breaths of slumber55, and then her hand began to move with a curious firmness. Right across the big sheet of paper went a level line of writing, and at the end her hand stopped with a jerk, and she woke.
She looked at the paper.
[185]“Hullo,” she said. “Ah, one of you has been playing a trick on me!”
We assured her that this was not so, and she read what she had written.
“Gardener, gardener,” it ran. “I am the gardener. I want to come in. I can’t find her here.”
“O Lord, that gardener again!” said Hugh.
Looking up from the paper, I saw Margaret’s eyes fixed56 on mine, and even before she spoke I knew what her thought was.
“Did you come home by the empty cottage?” she asked.
“Yes: why?”
“Still empty?” she said in a low voice. “Or—or anything else?”
I did not want to tell her just what I had seen—or what, at any rate, I thought I had seen. If there was going to be anything odd, anything worth observation, it was far better that our respective impressions should not fortify57 each other.
“I tapped again, and there was no answer,” I said.
Presently there was a move to bed: Margaret initiated58 it, and after she had gone upstairs Hugh and I went to the front door to interrogate60 the weather. Once more the moon shone in a clear sky, and we strolled out along the flagged path that fronted the house. Suddenly Hugh turned quickly and pointed61 to the angle of the house.
“Who on earth is that?” he said. “Look! There! He has gone round the corner.”
I had but the glimpse of a tallish man of heavy build.
[186]“Didn’t you see him?” asked Hugh. “I’ll just go round the house, and find him; I don’t want anyone prowling round us at night. Wait here, will you, and if he comes round the other corner ask him what his business is.”
Hugh had left me, in our stroll, close by the front door which was open, and there I waited until he should have made his circuit. He had hardly disappeared when I heard, quite distinctly, a rather quick but heavy footfall coming along the paved walk towards me from the opposite direction. But there was absolutely no one to be seen who made this sound of rapid walking. Closer and closer to me came the steps of the invisible one, and then with a shudder62 of horror I felt somebody unseen push by me as I stood on the threshold. That shudder was not merely of the spirit, for the touch of him was that of ice on my hand. I tried to seize this impalpable intruder, but he slipped from me, and next moment I heard his steps on the parquet63 of the floor inside. Some door within opened and shut, and I heard no more of him. Next moment Hugh came running round the corner of the house from which the sound of steps had approached.
“But where is he?” he asked. “He was not twenty yards in front of me—a big, tall fellow.”
“I saw nobody,” I said. “I heard his step along the walk, but there was nothing to be seen.”
“And then?” asked Hugh.
“Whatever it was seemed to brush by me, and go into the house,” said I.
There had certainly been no sound of steps on the bare oak stairs, and we searched room after room[187] through the ground floor of the house. The dining-room door and that of the smoking-room were locked, that into the drawing-room was open, and the only other door which could have furnished the impression of an opening and a shutting was that into the kitchen and servants’ quarters. Here again our quest was fruitless; through pantry and scullery and boot-room and servants’ hall we searched, but all was empty and quiet. Finally we came to the kitchen, which too was empty. But by the fire there was set a rocking-chair, and this was oscillating to and fro as if someone, lately sitting there, had just quitted it. There it stood gently rocking, and this seemed to convey the sense of a presence, invisible now, more than even the sight of him who surely had been sitting there could have done. I remember wanting to steady it and stop it, and yet my hand refused to go forth to it.
What we had seen, and in especial what we had not seen, would have been sufficient to furnish most people with a broken night, and assuredly I was not among the strong-minded exceptions. Long I lay wide-eyed and open-eared, and when at last I dozed64 I was plucked from the borderland of sleep by the sound, muffled65 but unmistakable, of someone moving about the house. It occurred to me that the steps might be those of Hugh conducting a lonely exploration, but even while I wondered a tap came at the door of communication between our rooms, and, in answer to my response, it appeared that he had come to see whether it was I thus uneasily wandering. Even as we spoke the step passed my door, and the stairs leading to the floor above creaked to[188] its ascent66. Next moment it sounded directly above our heads in some attics67 in the roof.
“Those are not the servants’ bedrooms,” said Hugh. “No one sleeps there. Let us look once more: it must be somebody.”
With lit candles we made our stealthy way upstairs, and just when we were at the top of the flight, Hugh, a step ahead of me, uttered a sharp exclamation68.
“But something is passing by me!” he said, and he clutched at the empty air. Even as he spoke, I experienced the same sensation, and the moment afterwards the stairs below us creaked again, as the unseen passed down.
All night long that sound of steps moved about the passages, as if someone was searching the house, and as I lay and listened that message which had come through the pencil of the planchette to Margaret’s fingers occurred to me. “I want to come in. I cannot find her here.”... Indeed someone had come in, and was sedulous69 in his search. He was the gardener, it would seem. But what gardener was this invisible seeker, and for whom did he seek?
Even as when some bodily pain ceases it is difficult to recall with any vividness what the pain was like, so next morning, as I dressed, I found myself vainly trying to recapture the horror of the spirit which had accompanied these nocturnal adventures. I remembered that something within me had sickened as I watched the movements of the rocking-chair the night before and as I heard the steps along the paved way outside, and by that invisible pressure against me knew that someone had entered the house. But now in the sane35 and tranquil70 morning, and all day[189] under the serene71 winter sun, I could not realise what it had been. The presence, like the bodily pain, had to be there for the realisation of it, and all day it was absent. Hugh felt the same; he was even disposed to be humorous on the subject.
“Well, he’s had a good look,” he said, “whoever he is, and whomever he was looking for. By the way, not a word to Margaret, please. She heard nothing of these perambulations, nor of the entry of—of whatever it was. Not gardener, anyhow: who ever heard of a gardener spending his time walking about the house? If there were steps all over the potato-patch, I might have been with you.”
Margaret had arranged to drive over to have tea with some friends of hers that afternoon, and in consequence Hugh and I refreshed ourselves at the club-house after our game, and it was already dusk when for the third day in succession I passed homewards by the whitewashed cottage. But to-night I had no sense of it being subtly occupied; it stood mournfully desolate, as is the way of untenanted houses, and no light nor semblance72 of such gleamed from its windows. Hugh, to whom I had told the odd impressions I had received there, gave them a reception as flippant as that which he had accorded to the memories of the night, and he was still being humorous about them when we came to the door of the house.
“What’s the door locked for?” he asked his servant who opened it.
[190]The man shifted from one foot to the other.
“The bell rang half an hour ago, sir,” he said, “and when I came to answer it there was a man standing outside, and——”
“Well?” asked Hugh.
“I didn’t like the looks of him, sir,” he said, “and I asked him his business. He didn’t say anything, and then he must have gone pretty smartly away, for I never saw him go.”
“Where did he seem to go?” asked Hugh, glancing at me.
“I can’t rightly say, sir. He didn’t seem to go at all. Something seemed to brush by me.”
“That’ll do,” said Hugh rather sharply.
Margaret had not come in from her visit, but when soon after the crunch76 of the motor wheels was heard Hugh reiterated77 his wish that nothing should be said to her about the impression which now, apparently, a third person shared with us. She came in with a flush of excitement on her face.
“Never laugh at my planchette again,” she said. “I’ve heard the most extraordinary story from Maud Ashfield—horrible, but so frightfully interesting.”
“Out with it,” said Hugh.
“Well, there was a gardener here,” she said. “He used to live at that little cottage by the foot-bridge, and when the family were up in London he and his wife used to be caretakers and live here.”
Hugh’s glance and mine met: then he turned away. I knew, as certainly as if I was in his mind, that his thoughts were identical with my own.
“He married a wife much younger than himself,”[191] continued Margaret, “and gradually he became frightfully jealous of her. And one day in a fit of passion he strangled her with his own hands. A little while after someone came to the cottage, and found him sobbing78 over her, trying to restore her. They went for the police, but before they came he had cut his own throat. Isn’t it all horrible? But surely it’s rather curious that the planchette said Gardener. ‘I am the gardener. I want to come in. I can’t find her here.’ You see I knew nothing about it. I shall do planchette again to-night. Oh dear me, the post goes in half an hour, and I have a whole budget to send. But respect my planchette for the future, Hughie.”
We talked the situation out when she had gone, but Hugh, unwillingly80 convinced and yet unwilling79 to admit that something more than coincidence lay behind that “planchette nonsense,” still insisted that Margaret should be told nothing of what we had heard and seen in the house last night, and of the strange visitor who again this evening, so we must conclude, had made his entry.
“She’ll be frightened,” he said, “and she’ll begin imagining things. As for the planchette, as likely as not it will do nothing but scribble81 and make loops. What’s that? Yes: come in!”
There had come from somewhere in the room one sharp, peremptory82 rap. I did not think it came from the door, but Hugh, when no response replied to his words of admittance, jumped up and opened it. He took a few steps into the hall outside, and returned.
“Didn’t you hear it?” he asked.
“Certainly. No one there?”
[192]“Not a soul.”
Hugh came back to the fireplace and rather irritably83 threw a cigarette which he had just lit into the fender.
“That was rather a nasty jar,” he observed; “and if you ask me whether I feel comfortable, I can tell you I never felt less comfortable in my life. I’m frightened, if you want to know, and I believe you are too.”
I hadn’t the smallest intention of denying this, and he went on.
“We’ve got to keep a hand on ourselves,” he said. “There’s nothing so infectious as fear, and Margaret mustn’t catch it from us. But there’s something more than our fear, you know. Something has got into the house and we’re up against it. I never believed in such things before. Let’s face it for a minute. What is it anyhow?”
“If you want to know what I think it is,” said I, “I believe it to be the spirit of the man who strangled his wife and then cut his throat. But I don’t see how it can hurt us. We’re afraid of our own fear really.”
“But we’re up against it,” said Hugh. “And what will it do? Good Lord, if I only knew what it would do I shouldn’t mind. It’s the not knowing.... Well, it’s time to dress.”
Margaret was in her highest spirits at dinner. Knowing nothing of the manifestations of that presence which had taken place in the last twenty-four hours, she thought it absorbingly interesting that her planchette should have “guessed” (so ran her[193] phrase) about the gardener, and from that topic she flitted to an equally interesting form of patience for three which her friend had showed her, promising84 to initiate59 us into it after dinner. This she did, and, not knowing that we both above all things wanted to keep planchette at a distance, she was delighted with the success of her game. But suddenly she observed that the evening was burning rapidly away, and swept the cards together at the conclusion of a hand.
“Now just half an hour of planchette,” she said.
“Oh, mayn’t we play one more hand?” asked Hugh. “It’s the best game I’ve seen for years. Planchette will be dismally85 slow after this.”
“Darling, if the gardener will only communicate again, it won’t be slow,” said she.
“But it is such drivel,” said Hugh.
“How rude you are! Read your book, then.”
Margaret had already got out her machine and a sheet of paper, when Hugh rose.
“Please don’t do it to-night, Margaret,” he said.
“But why? You needn’t attend.”
“Well, I ask you not to, anyhow,” said he.
Margaret looked at him closely.
“Hughie, you’ve got something on your mind,” she said. “Out with it. I believe you’re nervous. You think there is something queer about. What is it?”
I could see Hugh hesitating as to whether to tell her or not, and I gathered that he chose the chance of her planchette inanely86 scribbling87.
“Go on, then,” he said.
Margaret hesitated: she clearly did not want to[194] vex88 Hugh, but his insistence89 must have seemed to her most unreasonable90.
“Well, just ten minutes,” she said, “and I promise not to think of gardeners.”
She had hardly laid her hand on the board when her head fell forward, and the machine began moving. I was sitting close to her, and as it rolled steadily91 along the paper the writing became visible.
“I have come in,” it ran, “but still I can’t find her. Are you hiding her? I will search the room where you are.”
What else was written but still concealed underneath92 the planchette I did not know, for at that moment a current of icy air swept round the room, and at the door, this time unmistakably, came a loud, peremptory knock. Hugh sprang to his feet.
“Margaret, wake up,” he said, “something is coming!”
The door opened, and there moved in the figure of a man. He stood just within the door, his head bent93 forward, and he turned it from side to side, peering, it would seem, with eyes staring and infinitely94 sad, into every corner of the room.
“Margaret, Margaret,” cried Hugh again.
But Margaret’s eyes were open too; they were fixed on this dreadful visitor.
“Be quiet, Hughie,” she said below her breath, rising as she spoke. The ghost was now looking directly at her. Once the lips above the thick, rust-coloured beard moved, but no sound came forth, the mouth only moved and slavered. He raised his head, and, horror upon horror, I saw that one side of his neck was laid open in a red, glistening95 gash96....
[195]For how long that pause continued, when we all three stood stiff and frozen in some deadly inhibition to move or speak, I have no idea: I suppose that at the utmost it was a dozen seconds. Then the spectre turned, and went out as it had come. We heard his steps pass along the parqueted97 floor; there was the sound of bolts withdrawn from the front door, and with a crash that shook the house it slammed to.
“It’s all over,” said Margaret. “God have mercy on him!”
Now the reader may put precisely98 what construction he pleases on this visitation from the dead. He need not, indeed, consider it to have been a visitation from the dead at all, but say that there had been impressed on the scene, where this murder and suicide happened, some sort of emotional record, which in certain circumstances could translate itself into images visible and invisible. Waves of ether, or what not, may conceivably retain the impress of such scenes; they may be held, so to speak, in solution, ready to be precipitated99. Or he may hold that the spirit of the dead man indeed made itself manifest, revisiting in some sort of spiritual penance100 and remorse101 the place where his crime was committed. Naturally, no materialist102 will entertain such an explanation for an instant, but then there is no one so obstinately103 unreasonable as the materialist. Beyond doubt a dreadful deed was done there, and Margaret’s last utterance104 is not inapplicable.
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manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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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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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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chrysanthemums
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| n.菊花( chrysanthemum的名词复数 ) | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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detour
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| n.绕行的路，迂回路；v.迂回，绕道 | |
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complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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delving
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| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的现在分词 ) | |
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whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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inclement
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| adj.严酷的，严厉的，恶劣的 | |
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21
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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23
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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24
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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25
irrationally
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| ad.不理性地 | |
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26
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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unreasonably
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| adv. 不合理地 | |
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28
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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29
inquisitiveness
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| 好奇，求知欲 | |
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30
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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31
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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32
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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34
certify
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| vt.证明，证实；发证书(或执照)给 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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36
bedlam
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| n.混乱，骚乱；疯人院 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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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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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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40
squealing
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
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41
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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43
sullenness
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| n. 愠怒, 沉闷, 情绪消沉 | |
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44
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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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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47
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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51
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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52
surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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54
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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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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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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fortify
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| v.强化防御，为…设防；加强，强化 | |
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initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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initiate
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| vt.开始，创始，发动；启蒙，使入门；引入 | |
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interrogate
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| vt.讯问，审问，盘问 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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parquet
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| n.镶木地板 | |
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dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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attics
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| n. 阁楼 | |
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68
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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sedulous
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| adj.勤勉的，努力的 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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psychic
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| n.对超自然力敏感的人；adj.有超自然力的 | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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76
crunch
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| n.关键时刻；艰难局面；v.发出碎裂声 | |
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reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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79
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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81
scribble
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| v.潦草地书写，乱写，滥写；n.潦草的写法，潦草写成的东西，杂文 | |
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82
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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83
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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84
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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85
dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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86
inanely
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87
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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88
vex
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| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
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89
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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90
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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92
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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93
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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94
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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95
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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96
gash
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| v.深切，划开；n.(深长的)切(伤)口；裂缝 | |
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parqueted
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| v.镶木地板( parquet的过去式 )；（剧场的）正厅后排 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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99
precipitated
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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100
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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101
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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102
materialist
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| n. 唯物主义者 | |
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103
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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104
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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