“I had forgotten America,” he said na?vely.
“You’re nothing, if not original,” she laughed. “That’s what I like about you.”
He insisted on the wild extravagance of a taxi to the garden city. All that money he declared had gone to his head. He felt the glorious intoxication5 of wealth. When they were about to turn off the safe highway into devious6 garden-city paths, he said:
“Let us change our minds and go straight on to John o’ Groats.”
“All right. Let us. We’re on the right road.”
She opened her bag and took out her purse.
“I’ve got fifteen and sevenpence. How much have you?”
“About three pounds ten.”
She sighed. “This unromantic taxi man would charge us at least five pounds to take us there.”
“We can turn back and fill our pockets at the bank.”
“It’s Sunday.”
“But one of these days we’ll go, you and I together, to John o’ Groats—as far as we can and then——”
“And then?”
“You’ll let Myra come too?” said Olivia, deliciously anxious to keep to the playful side of an inevitable11 road.
“Of course. We’ll find her a husband. The cabin-boy. Pour mousse un chérubin.”
“And when we get to the Fortunate Isles, what should we do there?”
“We shall fill our souls with sunlight, so that we could use it when we came back to our work in this dark and threatening modern world.”
The girl’s heart leapt at the reply.
“I’ll go up to John o’ Groats with you whenever you like,” she said.
But the taxi, at that moment drawing up before the detached toy villa12, whose “Everdene” painted on the green garden gate proclaimed the home of the Blenkirons, inhibited13 Triona’s reply.
They found within an unbeautiful assemblage of humans inextricably mingled14 with crumbling15 cake and sloppy16 cups of tea and cigarette smoke. Agnes, shining with heat and hospitality, gave them effusive17 welcome and, extricating18 her brother from a distant welter, introduced him to the newcomers. He was a flabby-faced young man with a back-thatch of short rufous hair surmounting19 a bald forehead. By his ears grew little patches of side whiskers. He wore an old unbuttoned Norfolk jacket and a red tie in a soft collar without an under pin. He greeted them with an enveloping20 clammy hand.
“So good of you to come, Miss Gale21. So glad to meet you, Mr. Triona. We have heard so much about you. You will find us here all very earnest in our endeavour to find a Solution—for never has human problem been so intricate that a Solution has not been discovered.”
“What’s the problem?” asked Olivia.
“Why, my dear lady, there’s only one. The Way Out—or, if you have faith—The Way In.” He caught a lean, thin-bearded man by the arm. “Dawkins, let me introduce you to Miss Gale. Mr. Dawkins is our rapporteur.”
“You haven’t any tea,” said Dawkins rebukingly22, as though bidden to a marriage feast she had no wedding garment. “Come with me.”
He frayed23 her a passage through the chattering24 swarm25 that over-filled the little bow-windowed sitting-room26 and provided her with what seemed to be the tepid27 symbols of the brotherhood28.
“What did you think of Roger’s article in this week’s Signal?”
“Who is Roger, and what is The Signal?” Olivia asked simply.
Dawkins stared at her for a second and then, deliberately29 turning, wormed his path away.
Olivia’s gasp30 of surprise was followed by a gurgle of laughter which shook her lifted cup so that it spilled. The sight of a stained skirt drew from her a sharp exclamation31 of dismay. Agnes Blenkiron disengaging herself from the cluster round the tea-table came to the rescue. What was the matter? Olivia explained.
“Oh, my dear,” said Agnes, “I ought to have told you. It’s my fault. Dawkins is such a touchy32 old thing. Roger, of course, is my brother—didn’t you know? And The Signal is our weekly. Dawkins is the editor.”
“Why, of course,” replied Agnes Blenkiron intensely. “Everybody ought to read it. It’s the only periodical that matters in London.”
“I’ll get a copy to-morrow at the bookstall at Victoria Station.”
Agnes smiled in her haggard way. “My dear, an organ like The Signal doesn’t lie on the bookstalls, like Comic Cuts or The Fortnightly Review. It’s posted to private subscribers, or it’s given away at meetings.”
“Who pays for the printing of it?” asked the practical Olivia, who had learned from Triona something of the wild leap in cost of printed matter.
“Aubrey Dawkins finds the money. He gets it in the City. He has given up his heart and soul to The Signal.”
“I’ve made an enemy for life,” said Olivia penitently35.
Miss Blenkiron reassured36 her. “Oh, no you haven’t. We haven’t time for enemy making here. Our business is too important.”
“What is your business?”
“Why, my dear child, the Social Revolution. Didn’t you know?”
“Not a bit,” said Olivia.
She learned many astonishing things that afternoon, as she was swayed about from introduction to introduction among the eagerly disputing groups. Hitherto she had thought, with little comprehension, of the world-spread social unrest. Strikes angered her because they interfered38 with necessary reconstruction39 and only set the working classes in a vicious circle chasing high wages and being chased in their turn by high prices. At other demands she shuddered40, dimly dreading41 the advent42 of Bolshevism. And there she left it. She had imagined that revolutionary doctrines43 were preached to factory hands either secretly by rat-faced agents, or by brass-throated, bull-necked demagogues. That they should be accepted as a common faith by a crowd of people much resembling a fairly well-to-do suburban44 church congregation stirred her surprise and even dismay.
“I don’t see how intelligent folk can hold such views,” she said to Roger Blenkiron, who had been defending the Russian Soviet45 system as a philosophic46 experiment in government.
He smiled indulgently. “Doesn’t the fault lie rather in you, dear lady, than in the intelligent folk?”
“Would that argument stand,” she replied, “if you had been maintaining that the earth was flat and stood still in space?”
“No. The roundness and motion of the earth are ascertained47 physical facts. But—I speak with the greatest deference—can you assert it to be a scientific fact that a community of human beings are a priori incapable48 of managing their own affairs on a basis of social equality?”
“Of course I can,” Olivia declared, to the gentle amusement of standers-by. “Human nature won’t allow it. With inequalities of brain and character social equality is impossible.”
“Dear Lady”—she hated the apostrophe as he said it and the lift of the eyebrows49 which caused an upward ripple50 that was lost in the far reaches of his bald forehead. “Dear Lady,” said he, “in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot you can find every grade of human intellect, from the inbred young aristocrat51 who is that much removed”—he flicked52 a finger nail—“from a congenital idiot to the acute-brained statesman; every grade of human character from the lowest of moral defectives53 to the highest that the present civilization can produce. And yet they are all on a social equality. And why? They started life on a common plane. The same phenomenon exists in a mass-meeting of working-men—in any assemblage of human beings of a particular class who have started life on a common plane. Now, don’t you see, that if we abolished all these series of planes and established only one plane, social equality would be inevitable?”
“I don’t see how you’re going to do it.”
“Ah! That’s another question. Think of what the task is. To make a clean sweep of false principles to which mankind has subscribed54 for—what do I know—say—eight thousand years. It can’t be done in a day. Not even in a generation. If you wish to render a pestilence55-stricken area habitable, you must destroy and burn for miles around before you can rebuild. Extend the area to a country—to the surface of the civilized56 globe. That’s the philosophic theory of what is vulgarly called Bolshevism. Let us lay waste the whole plague-stricken fabric57 of our civilization, so that the world may arise, a new Ph?nix, under our children’s hands.”
“You have put the matter to Miss Gale with your usual cogency58, my dear Roger,” said Dawkins, who had joined the group. “Perhaps now she may take a less flippant view of our activities.”
He smiled, evidently meaning to include the neophyte59 in the sphere of his kind indulgence. But Olivia flushed at the rudeness of his words.
Triona who, hidden from Olivia by the standing60 group, had been stuffed into a sedentary and penitential corner with two assertive61 women and an earnest young Marxian gasfitter, and had, nevertheless, kept an alert ear on the neighbouring conversation, suddenly appeared once more to her rescue.
“Pardon me, sir,” said he, “but to one who has gone through, as I have done, the Bolshevist horrors which you advocate so complacently62, it’s your view that hardly seems serious.”
“Atrocities, my dear friend,” said the seer-like Dawkins, “are proverbially exaggerated.”
“There’s a fellow like you mentioned in the Bible,” retorted Triona.
“I have always admired Didymus for his scientific mind,” said Dawkins.
Triona pulled up his trouser leg and exposed his ankle. “That’s the mark of fetters63. There was a chain and a twelve pound shot at the end of it.”
“Doubtless you displeased64 the authorities,” said Dawkins blandly65. “Oh, I’ve read your book, Mr. Triona. But before judging I should like to hear the other side.”
“I’m afraid, Mr. Blenkiron,” said Triona, growing white about the nostrils66, to his host who stood by in a detached sort of manner, with his hands on his hips67, “I’ve unconsciously abused your hospitality.”
Blenkiron protested cheerfully. “Not a bit, my dear fellow. We pride ourselves on our broad mindedness. If you preached reactionary68 Anglicanism here you would be listened to with respect and interest. On the other hand, we expect the same consideration to be shown to the apostles—if you will pardon the word—of our advanced thought. Your experiences were, beyond doubt, very terrible. But we admit the necessity of a reign69 of terror. We shall have it in this country within the next ten years. Possibly—probably—all of us here and all the little gods we cling to will be swept away like the late Russian aristocracy and intelligentsia. But suppose we are all—Dawkins, my sister, and myself—prepared to suffer martyrdom for the sake of humanity, what would you have to say against us? Nay—you can be quite frank. Words cannot hurt us.”
“I should say you ought to be tied up in Bedlam,” said Triona.
“Do you agree with that, Miss Gale?” said Roger Blenkiron, turning on her suddenly.
She reflected for a moment. Then she replied: “If you can prove beyond question that in fifty years’ time you will create a more beautiful world, there’s something in your theories. If you can’t, you all ought to be shot.”
He laughed and held out his hand. “That’s straight from the shoulder. That’s what we like to hear. Shake hands on it.” He drew a little book from his pocket and scribbled70 a memorandum71. “You’re on the free-list of The Signal. I think Agnes has your address. You’ll find in it overwhelming proof. Perhaps, Mr. Triona, too, would like——”
But Triona shook his head. “As a technical alien perhaps it would be inadvisable for me to be in receipt of revolutionary literature.”
“I quite understand,” smiled Blenkiron, returning the book to his pocket.
Dawkins melted away. Other guests took leave of their host. Triona and Olivia, making a suffocating72 course towards the door, were checked by Agnes Blenkiron who was eager to introduce them to Tom Pyefinch who, during the war had suffered, at the hands of a capitalist government, the tortures of the hero too brave to fight.
Agnes did not hear. But Pyefinch, a pallid74 young man with a scrubby black moustache, was too greatly occupied with his immediate75 circle to catch his hostess’s eye. From his profane76 lips Olivia learned that patriotism77 was the most blatant78 of superstitions79: that the attitude of the fly preening80 itself over its cesspool was that of the depraved and mindless being who could take pride in being an Englishman. He was not peculiarly hard on England. All other countries were the mere81 sewerages of the nationalities that inhabited them. The high ideals supposed to crystallize a nation’s life were but factitious and illusory, propagated by poets and other decadents83 in the pay of capitalists: in reality, patriotism only meant the common cause of the peoples floundering each in its separate sewer82. . . .
Mere rats, he declared, changing his metaphor84. That was why he and every other intelligent man in the country refused to join in the rat fight which was the late war.
Olivia clutched Triona’s arm. “For God’s sake, Alexis, let us get out of this. It makes me sick.”
They drew deep breaths when they escaped into the fresh air. To Olivia, the little overcrowded drawing-room, deafening85 with loud voices, sour with the smell of milky86 tea and Virginian tobacco, reeking87 almost physically88 with the madness of anarchy89, seemed a miniature of the bottomless pit. The irony90 of the man’s talk—the need to purify by flame a plague-stricken area! God once destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah. Why did He not blast with fire from heaven this House of Pestilence?
Alexis Triona laughed sympathetically at her outburst.
“I confess they’re rather trying,” he remarked. “Whenever you hear English people say they belong to the intelligentsia, you may be sure they’re frightened at common sense as not being intellectual enough. Blenkiron and Dawkins are fools of the first water; but Pyefinch is dangerous. I am afraid I lost my temper,” he added after a few steps.
“You were splendid,” said Olivia.
More than ever did he seem the one clear-brained, purposeful man of her acquaintance in the confused London world. Rapidly she passed them in review as she walked. Of the others Mauregard was the best; but he was spending his life on fribbles, his highest heaven being a smile on the lips of a depraved dancing-woman. Then, Sydney Rooke, Mavenna, and, even worse now than Mavenna, the unspeakable Bobby Quinton. So much for the Lydian set of professed materialists and pleasure-seekers. In accepting Agnes Blenkiron’s invitation she had pleasurable anticipation91 of entering a sphere of earnest thinkers and social workers who might guide her stumbling footsteps into the path of duty to herself and her kind. And to her dismay she had met Dawkins and Blenkiron and Pyefinch, earnest, indeed, in their sophistry92 and mad in their theories of destruction. Her brain was in a whirl with the doctrines to which she had listened. She felt terrified at she knew not what. Even Lydia’s cynical93 world was better than this. Yet between these two extremes there must be a world of high endeavour, of science, art, philanthropy, thought; that in which, she vaguely94 imagined, Blaise Olifant must have his being; even that of the women at the club dinner. But her mind shook off women as alien to its subconscious95 argument. In this conjectural96 London world one man alone stood out typical—the man striding loosely by her side. A young careless angel, he had delivered her from Mavenna. A man, he had exorcised her horror of Bobby Quinton. And now, once more, she saw him, in her girlish fancy, a heroic figure, sane97, calm, and scornful, facing a horde98 of madmen.
They walked, occasionally losing their way and being put on it by chance encounters, through the maze of new and distressingly99 decorous avenues, some finished, others petering out, after a few houses, into placarded building lots or waste land; a wilderness100 not of the smug villa-dom of old-established suburbs, but of a queer bungalow-dom assertive, in its distinctive101 architecture, of unreal pursuit of Aspirations102 in capital letters. Most of the avenues abutted103 on a main street of shops with pseudo-artistic frontages giving the impression that the inhabitants of the City could only be induced to satisfy the vulgar needs of their bodies by the lure104 of the ?sthetic.
“Don’t let us judge our late friends too harshly,” said Triona waving an arm. “All this is the Land of Self-Consciousness.”
At last they made their way through the solider, stolider fringes of the main road, and emerged on the great thoroughfare itself, wide and unbusied on this late summer Sunday afternoon. Prosaically105 they lingered, waiting for an infrequent omnibus.
“Thank goodness, we’re out of the Land of Self-Consciousness,” said Olivia. “The Great North Road is too big a thing.”
Their eyes met in a smile.
“I don’t forget your love of big things,” said he. “It’s inspiring. Yes. It’s a big thing. And it doesn’t really begin in London. It starts from Land’s End—and it goes on and on through the heart of England and through the heart of Scotland carrying two nations’ history on its flanks, caring for nothing but its appointed task, until it sighs at John o’ Groats and says: ‘My duty’s done.’ There’s nothing that stirs one’s imagination more than a great road or a great river. Somehow I prefer the road.”
“You’re nearer to it because it was made by man.”
“How our minds work together!” he cried admiringly “I only have to say half a thing and you complete it. More than that—you give my meaningless ideas meaning. Yes. God’s works are great. But we can’t measure them. We have no scale for God, But we have for Man, and so Man’s big works thrill us and compel us.”
“What big thing could we do?” asked Olivia.
“Do you mean humanity—or you and I together?”
“Two human beings thinking alike, and free and honest.” Instinctively106 she took his arm and her step danced in time with his. “Oh, you don’t know how good it is to feel real. Let us do something big in the world. What can we do?”
“You can help me to the very biggest thing in all the universe—for me,” he cried, pressing her arm tight against him.
Her pulses throbbed107. She knew that further argument on her part would be but exquisite108 playing with words. The hour which, in her maidenly109 uncertainty110 she had dreaded111, had now come, and all fear had passed away. Yes; now she was real; now she was certain that her love was real. Real man, real woman. Her heart leaped to him with almost the shock of physical pain. Again in a flash she swept the Lydian and the Blenkiron firmament112 and exulted113. Yet in her happiness she said with very foolish and with very feminine guile114:
“Ah, my dear Alexis, that’s what I’ve longed for. If only I could be of some little help to you!”
“Help?” He laughed shortly and halted and swung her round. “Have you ever tried to think what you are to me? Would you like me to tell you?”
She disengaged herself and walked delicately on.
“It may pass the time till the bus comes,” she said.
He began to tell her. And three minutes afterwards the noisy, infrequent motor-bus passed them by, unheeded and even unperceived.
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1
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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serially
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| adv.连续地，连续刊载地 | |
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transcended
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的过去式和过去分词 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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opulence
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| n.财富，富裕 | |
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intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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inhibited
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| a.拘谨的，拘束的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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effusive
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| adj.热情洋溢的；感情(过多)流露的 | |
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extricating
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的现在分词 ) | |
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surmounting
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| 战胜( surmount的现在分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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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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rebukingly
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frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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tepid
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| adj.微温的，温热的，不太热心的 | |
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brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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touchy
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| adj.易怒的；棘手的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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penitently
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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reconstruction
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| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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Soviet
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| adj.苏联的，苏维埃的；n.苏维埃 | |
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philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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51
aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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52
flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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defectives
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| 次品 | |
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subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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cogency
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| n.说服力；adj.有说服力的 | |
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neophyte
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| n.新信徒；开始者 | |
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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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assertive
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| adj.果断的，自信的，有冲劲的 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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fetters
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| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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reactionary
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| n.反动者，反动主义者；adj.反动的，反动主义的，反对改革的 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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memorandum
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| n.备忘录，便笺 | |
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suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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blatant
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| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
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superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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preening
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| v.（鸟）用嘴整理（羽毛）( preen的现在分词 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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sewer
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| n.排水沟，下水道 | |
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83
decadents
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| n.颓废派艺术家（decadent的复数形式） | |
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metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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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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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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sophistry
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| n.诡辩 | |
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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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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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subconscious
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| n./adj.潜意识(的)，下意识(的) | |
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conjectural
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| adj.推测的 | |
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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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horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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distressingly
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| adv. 令人苦恼地；悲惨地 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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103
abutted
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| v.（与…）邻接( abut的过去式和过去分词 )；（与…）毗连；接触；倚靠 | |
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104
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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prosaically
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| adv.无聊地；乏味地；散文式地；平凡地 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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107
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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108
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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maidenly
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| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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110
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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111
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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112
firmament
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| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
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113
exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
guile
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| n.诈术 | |
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