Ourida met him in transports of joy, a two-month baby in her arms. It was a son, the exact spit and image of him, she declared, a person of already incredible sagacity and ferocious8 strength. A few years and he too would be riding at the head of massed squadrons, bearing the green banner of the Prophet.
Ortho, burned black with Saharan suns, weak with privation, sick of the reek10 of festering battlefields, contemplated11 the tiny pink creature he had brought into the world and swore in his heart that this boy of his should follow peaceful ways.
Fighting men were, as a class, the salt of the earth, simple-hearted, courageous12, dog-loyal, dupes of the cunning and the cowardly. But apart from the companionship he had no illusions concerning the profession of arms as practiced in the Shereefian empire; it was one big bully13 maintaining himself in the name of God against a horde14 of lesser15 bullies16 (also invoking17 the Deity) by methods that would be deemed undignified in a pot-house brawl18. He was in it for the good reason that he could not get out; but no son of his should be caught in the trap if he could help it. However, he said nothing of this to Ourida. He kissed her over and over and said the boy was magnificent and would doubtless make a fine soldier—but there was time to think about that.
He saw winter and summer through in Morocco, with the exception of a short trip on the Sultan’s bodyguard19 to Mogador, which port Mahomet had established to offset20 fractious Agadir and taken under his special favor.
The sand-blown white town was built on the plans of an Avignon engineer named Cornut, with fortifications after the style of Vauban. This gave it a pronounced European flavor which was emphasized by the number of foreign traders in its streets, drawn21 thither22 by the absence of custom. Also there was the Atlantic pounding on the Island, a tang of brine in the air and a sea wind blowing. Ortho had not seen the Atlantic since he left Sallee; homesickness gnawed23 at him.
He climbed the Skala tower, and, sitting on a cannon cast for the third Philippe in 1595, watched the sun westering in gold and crimson24 and dreamed of the Owls’ House, the old Owls’ House lapped in its secret valley, where a man could live his life out in fullness and peace—and his sons after him.
Walking back through the town, he met with a Bristol trader and turned into a wine shop. The Englishman treated him to a bottle of Jerez and the news of the world. Black bad it was. The tight little island had her back to the wall, fighting for bare life against three powerful nations at once. The American colonists25 were in full rebellion to boot, India was a cock-pit, Ireland sharpening pikes. General Burgoyne had surrendered at Saratoga. Eliott was besieged26 in Gibraltar. French, American and Spanish warships27 were thick as herring in the Channel; the Bristolian had only slipped through them by sheer luck and would only get back by a miracle.
Taxation28 at home was crippling, and every mother’s son who had one leg to go upon and one arm to haul with was being pressed for service; they were even emptying the jails into the navy. He congratulated Ortho on being out of the country and harm’s way. Ortho had had a wild idea of getting a letter written and taken home to Eli by this man, but as he listened he reflected that it was no time now. Also, if he wanted to be bought out he would have to give minute instructions as to where the smuggling29 money was hidden. Letters were not inviolate30; the bearer, and not Eli, might find that hidden money. And then there was Ourida and Sa?d II. Sa?d would become acclimatized, but England and Ourida were incompatible31. He could not picture the ardent32 Bedouin girl—her bangles, silks and exotic finery—in the gray north; she would shrivel up like a frost-bitten lotus, pine and die.
No, he was firmly anchored now. One couldn’t have everything; he had much. He drank up his wine, wished the Bristolian luck with his venture and rode back to the Diabat Palace.
A week later he was home again in Morocco.
Added means had enabled him to furnish the Bab Ahmar house very comfortably, Moorish34 fashion, with embroidered35 haitis on the walls, inlaid tables and plenty of well-cushioned lounges. The walls were thick; the rooms, though small, were high and airy; the oppressive heat of a Haouz summer did not unduly36 penetrate37. Ourida bloomed, Sa?d the younger progressed from strength to strength, waxing daily in fat and audacity38. He was the idol39 of the odd-job boy and the two slave women (the household had increased with its master’s rank), of Osman Baki and Ortho’s men. The latter brought him presents from time to time: fruit stolen from the Aguedal, camels, lions and horses (chiefly horses) crudely carved and highly colored, and, when he was a year old, a small, shy monkey caught in the Rif, and later an old eagle with clipped wings and talons41 which, the donor42 explained, would defend the little lord from snakes and such-like. Concerning these living toys, Sa?d II. displayed a devouring43 curiosity and no fear at all. When the monkey clicked her teeth at him he gurgled and pulled her tail till she escaped up the wistaria. He pursued the eagle on all fours, caught it sleeping one afternoon, and hung doggedly44 on till he had pulled a tail feather out. The bird looked dangerous, Sa?d II. bubbled delightedly and grabbed for another feather, whereat the eagle retreated hastily to sulk among the orange shrubs45. Was the door left open for a minute, Sa?d II. was out of it on voyages of high adventure.
Once he was arrested by the guard at the Ahmar Gate, plodding46 cheerfully on all fours for open country, and returned, kicking and raging, in the arms of a laughing petty officer.
Ortho himself caught the youngster emerging through the postern onto the Royal parade ground.
“He fears nothing,” Ourida exulted47. “He will be a great warrior48 and slay49 a thousand infidels—the sword of Allah!—um-yum, my jewel.”
That battered50 soldier and turncoat infidel, his father, rubbed his chin uneasily. “M’yes . . . perhaps. Time enough yet.”
But there was no gainsaying51 the fierce spirit of the Arab mother, daughter of a hundred fighting sheiks; her will was stronger than his. The baby’s military education began at once. In the cool of the morning she brought Sa?d II. to the parade ground, perched him on the parapet of the Dar-el-Heni and taught him to clap his hands when the Horse went by.
Once she hoisted52 him to his father’s saddle bow. The fat creature twisted both hands in the black stallion’s mane and kicked the glossy53 neck with his heels, gurgling with joy.
“See, see,” said Ourida, her eyes like stars for radiance. “He grips, he rides. He will carry the standard in his day zahrit.” The soldiers laughed and lifted their lances. “Hail to the young Kaid!”
Ortho, gripping his infant son by the slack of his miniature jellab, felt sick. Ourida and these other simple-minded fanatics54 would beat him yet with their fool ideas of glory, urge this crowing baby of his into hardship, terror, pain, possibly agonizing55 death.
Parenthood was making a thoughtful man of him. He was no longer the restless adventurer of two years ago, looking on any change as better than none. He grudged57 every moment away from the Bab Ahmar, dreaded58 the spring campaign, the separation it would entail59, the chance bullet that might make it eternal.
His ambition dimmed. He no longer wanted power and vast wealth, only enough to live comfortably on with Ourida and young Sa?d just as he was. Promotion60 meant endless back-stair intrigues61; he had no taste left for them and had other uses for the money and so fell out of the running.
A Spanish woman in the royal harem, taking advantage of her temporary popularity with Mahomet, worked her wretched little son into position over Penhale’s head and over him went a fat Moor33, Yakoub Ben Ahmed by name, advanced by the offices of a fair sister, also in the seraglio. Neither of these heroes had more than a smattering of military lore40 and no battle experience whatever, but Ortho did not greatly care. Promotion might be rapid in the Shereefian army, but degradation62 was apt to be instantaneous—the matter of a sword flash. He had risen as far as he could rise with moderate safety and there he would stop. Security was his aim nowadays, a continuance of things as they were.
For life went by very happily in the little house by the Bab Ahmar, pivoting63 on Sa?d II. But in the evening, when that potential conqueror64 had ceased the pursuit of the monkey and eagle and lay locked in sleep, Ourida would veil herself, wind her haik about her and go roaming into the city with Ortho. She loved the latticed souks with their displays of silks, jewelry65 and leather work; the artificers with their long muskets66, curved daggers67, velvet68 scabbarded swords and pear-shaped powder flasks69; the gorgeous horse-trappings at the saddlers’, but these could be best seen in broad daylight; in the evening there were other attractions.
It was the Djeema-el-Fna that drew her, that great, dusty, clamorous70 fair-ground of Morocco where gather the story-tellers, acrobats71 and clowns; where feverish72 drums beat the sun down, assisted by the pipes of Aissawa snake charmers and the jingling73 ouds and cymbals74 of the Berber dancing boys; where the Sultan hung out the heads of transgressors that they might grin sardonically75 upon the revels76. Ourida adored the Djeema-el-Fna. To the girl from the tent hamlet in the Sahara it was Life. She wept at the sad love stories, trembled at the snake charmers, shrieked77 at the crude buffoons78, swayed in sympathy with the Berber dancers, besought79 Ortho for coin, and more coin, to reward the charming entertainers. She loved the varied80 crowds, the movement, the excitement, the din9, but most of all she liked the heads. No evening on the Djeema was complete unless she had inspected these grisly trophies81 of imperial power.
She said no word to Ortho, but nevertheless he knew perfectly82 well what was in her mind; in her mind she saw young Sa?d twenty years on, spattered with infidel blood, riding like a tornado83, serving his enemies even as these.
Ferocious—she was the ultimate expression of ferocity—but knowing no mean she was also ferocious in her love and loyalty84; she would have given her life for husband or son gladly, rejoicing. Such people are difficult to deal with. Ortho sighed, but let her have her way.
Often of an evening Osman Baki came to the house and they would sit in the court drinking Malaga wine and yarning85 about old campaigns, while Ourida played with the little ape and the old eagle watched for mice, pretending to be asleep.
Osman talked well. He told of his boyhood’s home beside the Bosporus, of Constantinople, Bagdad and Damascus with its pearly domes86 bubbling out of vivid greenery. Jerusalem, Tunis and Algiers he had seen also and now the Moghreb, the “Sunset land” of the first Saracen invaders87. One thing more he wanted to see and that was the Himalayas. He had heard old soldiers talk of them—propping the heavens. He would fill his eyes with the Himalayas and then go home to his garden in Rumeli Hissar and brood over his memories.
Sometimes he would take the gounibri and sing the love lyrics88 of his namesake, or of Nêdim, or “rose garden” songs he had picked up in Persia which Ourida thought delicious. And sometimes Ortho trolled his green English ballads89, also favorably received by her, simply because he sang them, for she did not understand their rhythm in the least. But more often they lounged, talking lazily, three very good friends together, Osman sucking at the hookah, punctuating90 the long silences with shrewd comments on men and matters, Ortho lying at his ease watching the brilliant African stars, drawing breaths of blossom-scented air wafted91 from the Aguedal, Ourida nestling at his side, curled up like a sleepy kitten.
Summer passed and winter; came spring and with it, to Ortho’s joy, no prospect92 of a campaign for him. A desert marabout, all rags, filth93 and fervor94, preached a holy war in the Tissant country, gathering95 a few malcontents about him, and Yakoub Ben Ahmed was dispatched with a small force to put a stop to it. There were the usual rumors96 of unrest in the south, but nothing definite, merely young bucks97 talking big. Ortho looked forward to another year of peace.
He went in the Sultan’s train to Mogador for a fortnight in May, and at the end of June was sent to Taroudant, due east of Agadir. A trifling98 affair of dispatches. He told Ourida he would be back in no time and rode off cheerfully.
His business in Taroudant done, he was on the point of turning home when he was joined by a kaid mia and ten picked men from Morocco bearing orders that he was to take them on to Tenduf, a further two hundred miles south, and collect overdue99 tribute.
Ortho well knew what that meant. Tenduf was on the verge100 of outbreak, the first signal of which would be his, the tax collector’s head, on a charger. Had he been single he would not have gone to Tenduf—he would have made a dash for freedom—but now he had a wife in Morocco, a hostage for his fidelity101.
Seeking a public scribe, he dictated102 a letter to Ourida and another to Osman Baki, commending her to his care should the worst befall, and rode on.
The Basha of Tenduf received the Sultan’s envoy103 with the elaborate courtesy that is inherent in a Moor and signifieth nothing. He was desolated104 that the tribute was behindhand, enlarged on the difficulty of collecting it in a land impoverished105 by drought (which it was not), but promised to set to work immediately. In the meantime Ortho lodged106 in the kasba, ostensibly an honored guest, actually a prisoner, aware that the Basha was the ringleader of the offenders107 and that his own head might be removed at any moment. Hawk-faced sheiks, armed to the teeth, galloped109 in, conferred with the Basha, galloped away again. If they brought any tribute it was well concealed110. Time went by; Ortho bit his lip, fuming111 inwardly, but outwardly his demeanor112 was of polite indifference113. Whenever he could get hold of the Basha he regaled him with instances of Imperial wrath114, of villages burned to the ground, towns taken and put to the sword, men, women and children; lingering picturesquely115 on the tortures inflicted116 on unruly governors.
“But why did Sidi do that?” the Basha would exclaim, turning a shade paler at the thought of his peer of Khenifra having all his nails drawn out and then being slowly sawn in half.
“Why?” Ortho would scratch his head and look puzzled. “Why? Bless me if I know! Oh, yes, I believe there was some little hitch117 with the taxes.”
“These walls make me laugh,” he remarked, walking on the Tenduf fortifications.
The Governor was annoyed. “Why so? They are very good walls.”
“As walls go,” Ortho admitted. “But what are walls nowadays? They take so long to build, so short a time to destroy. Why, our Turk gunners breached118 the Derunat walls in five places in an hour. The sole use for walls is to contain the defenders119 in a small space, then every bomb we throw inside does its work.”
“Hum!” The Basha stroked his brindled120 beard. “Hum—but supposing the enemy harass121 you in the open?”
Ortho shrugged122 his shoulders. “Then we kill them in the open, that is all. It takes longer, but they suffer more.”
“It took you a long time at Figvig,” the Basha observed maliciously123.
“Not after we learned the way.”
“And what is the way?”
“We take possession of the wells and they die of thirst in the sands and save us powder. At Figvig there were many wells; it took time. Here—” He swept his hand over the burning champagne124 and snapped his fingers. “Just that.”
“Hum,” said the Basha and walked away deep in thought. Day after day came and went and Ortho was not dead yet. He had an idea that he was getting the better of the bluffing125 match, that the Basha’s nerve was shaking and he was passing it on.
There came a morning when the trails were hazy126 with the dust of horsemen hastening in to Tenduf, and the envoy on the kasba tower knew that the crisis had arrived.
It was over by evening. The tribute began to come in next day and continued to roll in for a week more.
The Basha accompanied Ortho ten miles on his return journey, regretting any slight misconstruction that might have arisen and protesting his imperishable loyalty. He trusted that his dear friend Sa?d el Inglez would speak well of him to the Sultan and presented him with two richly caparisoned horses and a bag of ducats as a souvenir of their charming relations.
Slowly went the train; the horses were heavy laden127 and the heat terrific. Ortho dozed128 in the saddle, impatient at the pace, powerless to mend it. He beguiled129 the tedious days, mentally converting the Basha’s ducats into silks and jewelry for Ourida. It was the end of August before he reached Taroudant. There he got word that the court had moved to Rabat and he was to report there. Other news he got also, news that sent him riding alone to Morocco City, night and day, as fast as driven horseflesh would carry him.
He went through the High Atlas130 passes to Goundafa, then north across the plains by Tagadirt and Aguergour. From Aguergour on the road was crawling with refugees—men, women, children, horses, donkeys, camels loaded with household goods staggering up the mifis valley, anywhere out of the pestilent city. They shouted warnings at the urgent horseman: “The sickness, the sickness! Thou art riding to thy death, lord!”
Ortho nodded; he knew. It was late afternoon when he passed through Tameslouht and saw the Koutoubia minaret in the distance, standing131 serene132, though all humanity rotted.
He was not desperately133 alarmed. Plagues bred in the beggars’ kennels134, not in palace gardens. It would have reached his end of the city last of all, giving his little family ample time to run. Osman Baki would see to it that Ourida had every convenience. They were probably down at Dar el Beida reveling in the clean sea breezes, or at Rabat with the Court. He told himself he was not really frightened; nevertheless he did the last six miles at a gallop108, passed straight through the Bab Ksiba into the kasba. There were a couple of indolent Sudanese on guard at the gate and a few more sprawling135 in the shadow of the Drum Barracks, but the big Standard Square was empty and so were the two further courts.
He jumped off his horse at the postern and walked on. From the houses around came not a sound, not a move; in the street he was the only living thing. He knocked at his own door; no answer. Good! They had gone!
The door swung open to his push and he stepped in, half relieved, half fearful, went from room to room to find them stripped bare. Ourida had managed to take all her belongings136 with her then. He wondered how she had found the transport. Osman Baki contrived137 it, doubtless. A picture flashed before him of his famous black horse squadron trekking138 for the coast burdened with Ourida’s furniture—a roll of haitis to this man, a cushion to that, a cauldron to another—and he laughed merrily.
Where had they gone, he wondered—Safi, Dar el Beida, Mogador, Rabat? The blacks at the barracks might know; Osman should have left a message. He stepped out of the kitchen into the court and saw a man rooting the little orange trees out of their tubs.
“Hey!”
The man swung about, sought to escape, saw it was impossible and flung himself upon the ground writhing139 and sobbing140 for mercy.
It was a beggar who sat at the Ahmar Gate with his head hidden in the hood56 of his haik (he was popularly supposed to have no face), a supplicating141 claw protruding142 from a bundle of foul143 rags and a muffled144 voice wailing145 for largesse146. Ortho hated the loathly beast, but Ourida gave him money—“in the name of God.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Great lord, have mercy in the name of Sidi Ben Youssef the Blest, of Abd el Moumen and Muley Idriss,” he slobbered. “I did nothing, lord, nothing. I thought you had gone to the south and would not return to . . . to . . . this house. Spare me, O amiable147 prince.”
“And why should I not return to this house?” said Ortho.
The beggar hesitated. “Muley, I made sure . . . I thought . . . it was not customary . . . young men do not linger in the places of lost love.”
“Dog,” said Ortho, suddenly cold about the heart, “what do you mean?”
“Surely the Kaid knows?” There was a note of surprise in the mendicant’s voice.
“I know nothing; I have been away . . . the lalla Ourida?”
The beggar locked both hands over his head and squirmed in the dust. “Kaid, Kaid . . . the will of Allah.”
The little court reeled under Ortho’s feet, a film like a heat wave rose up before his eyes, everything went blurred148 for a minute. Then he spoke149 quite calmly:
“Why did she not go away?”
“She had no time, lord. The little one, thy son, took the sickness first; she stayed to nurse him and herself was taken. But she was buried with honor, Kaid; the Turkish officer buried her with honor in a gay bier with tholbas chanting. I, miserable150 that I am, I followed also—afar. She was kind to the poor, the lalla Ourida.”
“But why, why didn’t Osman get them both away before the plague struck the palace?” Ortho muttered fiercely, more to himself than otherwise, but the writhing rag heap heard him and answered:
“He had no time, Muley. The kasba was the first infected.”
“The first! How?”
“Yakoub Ben Ahmed brought many rebel heads from Tissant thinking to please Sidi. They stank151 and many soldiers fell sick, but Yakoub would not throw the heads away—it was his first command. They marched into the kasba with drums beating, sick soldiers carrying offal.”
Ortho laughed mirthlessly. So the dead had their revenge.
“Where is the Turk officer now?” he asked presently. “Rabat?”
“No, Muley—he too took the sickness tending thy lancers.”
Ortho walked away. All over, all gone—wife, boy, faithful friend. Ourida would not see her son go by at the proud head of a regiment152, nor Osman review his memories in his vineyard by the Bosporus. All over, all gone, the best and truest.
Turning, he flung a coin at the beggar. “Go . . . leave me.”
Dusk was flooding the little court, powder blue tinged153 with the rose-dust of sunset. A pair of gray pigeons perched on the parapet made their love cooings and fluttered away again. From the kasba minaret came the boom of the muezzin. High in the summer night drifted a white petal154 of a moon.
Ortho leaned against a pillar listening. The chink of anklets, the plud, plud of small bare feet.
“Sa?d, my beloved, is it you? Tired, my heart’s dear? Rest your head here, lord; take thy ease. Thy fierce son is asleep at last; he has four teeth now and the strength of a lion. He will be a great captain of lances and do us honor when we are old. Your arm around me thus, tall one . . . ?ie, now am I content beyond all women . . .”
From twilight155 places came the voice of Osman Baki and the subdued156 tinkle157 of the gounibri. “Allah has been good to me. I have seen many wonders—rivers, seas, cities and plains, fair women, brave men and stout158 fighting, but I would yet see the Himalayas. After that I will go home where I was a boy. Listen while I sing you a song of my own country such as shepherds sing . . .”
Ortho’s head sank in his hands. All over now, all gone. . . . Something flapped in the shadows by the orange trees, flapped and hopped159 out into the central moonlight and posed there stretching its crippled wings.
It was the old eagle disgustingly bloated.
That alone remained, that and the loathly beggar, left alone in the dead city to their carrion160 orgy. A shock of revulsion shook Ortho. Ugh!
He sprang up and, without looking round, strode out of the house and down the street to where his horse was standing.
A puff161 of hot wind followed him, a furnace blast, foul with the stench of half-buried corpses162 in the big Mussulman cemetery163 outside the walls. Ugh!
He kicked sharp stirrups into his horse and rode through the Ksiba Gate.
“No—ghosts,” said Ortho and turned his beast onto the western road.
“The sea! The sea!”
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oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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precariously
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| adv.不安全地；危险地；碰机会地；不稳定地 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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mobility
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| n.可动性，变动性，情感不定 | |
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exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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minaret
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| n.（回教寺院的）尖塔 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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reek
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| v.发出臭气；n.恶臭 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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bullies
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| n.欺凌弱小者, 开球 vt.恐吓, 威胁, 欺负 | |
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invoking
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| v.援引( invoke的现在分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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brawl
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| n.大声争吵，喧嚷；v.吵架，对骂 | |
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bodyguard
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offset
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| n.分支，补偿；v.抵消，补偿 | |
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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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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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colonists
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besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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warships
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taxation
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smuggling
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| n.走私 | |
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inviolate
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incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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33
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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34
moorish
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| adj.沼地的，荒野的，生[住]在沼地的 | |
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35
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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36
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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37
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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38
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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39
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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40
lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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41
talons
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| n.（尤指猛禽的）爪( talon的名词复数 )；（如爪般的）手指；爪状物；锁簧尖状突出部 | |
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42
donor
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| n.捐献者；赠送人；(组织、器官等的)供体 | |
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43
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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44
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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45
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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46
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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47
exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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49
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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50
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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51
gainsaying
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| v.否认，反驳( gainsay的现在分词 ) | |
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52
hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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54
fanatics
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| 狂热者，入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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55
agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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56
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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57
grudged
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| 怀恨（grudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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58
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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59
entail
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| vt.使承担，使成为必要，需要 | |
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60
promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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61
intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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62
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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63
pivoting
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| n.绕轴旋转，绕公共法线旋转v.（似）在枢轴上转动( pivot的现在分词 )；把…放在枢轴上；以…为核心，围绕（主旨）展开 | |
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64
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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65
jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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66
muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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67
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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68
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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69
flasks
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| n.瓶，长颈瓶， 烧瓶( flask的名词复数 ) | |
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70
clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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71
acrobats
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| n.杂技演员( acrobat的名词复数 )；立场观点善变的人，主张、政见等变化无常的人 | |
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72
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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73
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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74
cymbals
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| pl.铙钹 | |
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75
sardonically
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| adv.讽刺地，冷嘲地 | |
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76
revels
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| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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77
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
buffoons
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| n.愚蠢的人( buffoon的名词复数 )；傻瓜；逗乐小丑；滑稽的人 | |
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79
besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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80
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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81
trophies
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| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
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82
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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83
tornado
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| n.飓风，龙卷风 | |
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84
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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85
yarning
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| vi.讲故事（yarn的现在分词形式） | |
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86
domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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87
invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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88
lyrics
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| n.歌词 | |
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89
ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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90
punctuating
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的现在分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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91
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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93
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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94
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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95
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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96
rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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97
bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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98
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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99
overdue
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| adj.过期的，到期未付的；早该有的，迟到的 | |
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100
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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101
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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102
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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103
envoy
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| n.使节，使者，代表，公使 | |
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104
desolated
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| adj.荒凉的，荒废的 | |
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105
impoverished
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| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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106
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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107
offenders
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| n.冒犯者( offender的名词复数 )；犯规者；罪犯；妨害…的人（或事物） | |
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108
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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109
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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110
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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111
fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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112
demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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113
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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114
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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115
picturesquely
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116
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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118
breached
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| 攻破( breach的现在分词 )； 破坏，违反 | |
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119
defenders
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| n.防御者( defender的名词复数 )；守卫者；保护者；辩护者 | |
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120
brindled
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| adj.有斑纹的 | |
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121
harass
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| vt.使烦恼，折磨，骚扰 | |
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122
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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123
maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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124
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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125
bluffing
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| n. 威吓，唬人 动词bluff的现在分词形式 | |
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126
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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127
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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128
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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129
beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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130
atlas
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| n.地图册，图表集 | |
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131
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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132
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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133
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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134
kennels
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| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
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135
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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136
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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137
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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138
trekking
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| v.艰苦跋涉，徒步旅行( trek的现在分词 )；（尤指在山中）远足，徒步旅行，游山玩水 | |
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139
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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140
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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141
supplicating
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| v.祈求，哀求，恳求( supplicate的现在分词 ) | |
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142
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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143
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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144
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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145
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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146
largesse
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| n.慷慨援助，施舍 | |
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147
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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148
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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149
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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150
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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151
stank
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| n. (英)坝，堰，池塘 动词stink的过去式 | |
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152
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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153
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154
petal
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| n.花瓣 | |
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155
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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156
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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157
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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159
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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160
carrion
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| n.腐肉 | |
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161
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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162
corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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163
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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164
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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