The little man had told me a pack of lies. All his yarns4 about the Balkans and the Jew-Anarchists and the Foreign Office Conference were eyewash, and so was Karolides. And yet not quite, as you shall hear. I had staked everything on my belief in his story, and had been let down; here was his book telling me a different tale, and instead of being once-bitten-twice-shy, I believed it absolutely.
Why, I don’t know. It rang desperately true, and the first yarn3, if you understand me, had been in a queer way true also in spirit. The fifteenth day of June was going to be a day of destiny, a bigger destiny than the killing5 of a Dago. It was so big that I didn’t blame Scudder for keeping me out of the game and wanting to play a lone6 hand. That, I was pretty clear, was his intention. He had told me something which sounded big enough, but the real thing was so immortally7 big that he, the man who had found it out, wanted it all for himself. I didn’t blame him. It was risks after all that he was chiefly greedy about.
The whole story was in the notes—with gaps, you understand, which he would have filled up from his memory. He stuck down his authorities, too, and had an odd trick of giving them all a numerical value and then striking a balance, which stood for the reliability8 of each stage in the yarn. The four names he had printed were authorities, and there was a man, Ducrosne, who got five out of a possible five; and another fellow, Ammersfoort, who got three. The bare bones of the tale were all that was in the book—these, and one queer phrase which occurred half a dozen times inside brackets. (“Thirty-nine steps”) was the phrase; and at its last time of use it ran—(“Thirty-nine steps, I counted them—high tide 10.17 p.m.”). I could make nothing of that.
The first thing I learned was that it was no question of preventing a war. That was coming, as sure as Christmas: had been arranged, said Scudder, ever since February 1912. Karolides was going to be the occasion. He was booked all right, and was to hand in his checks on June 14th, two weeks and four days from that May morning. I gathered from Scudder’s notes that nothing on earth could prevent that. His talk of Epirote guards that would skin their own grandmothers was all billy-o.
The second thing was that this war was going to come as a mighty9 surprise to Britain. Karolides’ death would set the Balkans by the ears, and then Vienna would chip in with an ultimatum10. Russia wouldn’t like that, and there would be high words. But Berlin would play the peacemaker, and pour oil on the waters, till suddenly she would find a good cause for a quarrel, pick it up, and in five hours let fly at us. That was the idea, and a pretty good one too. Honey and fair speeches, and then a stroke in the dark. While we were talking about the goodwill12 and good intentions of Germany our coast would be silently ringed with mines, and submarines would be waiting for every battleship.
But all this depended upon the third thing, which was due to happen on June 15th. I would never have grasped this if I hadn’t once happened to meet a French staff officer, coming back from West Africa, who had told me a lot of things. One was that, in spite of all the nonsense talked in Parliament, there was a real working alliance between France and Britain, and that the two General Staffs met every now and then, and made plans for joint13 action in case of war. Well, in June a very great swell14 was coming over from Paris, and he was going to get nothing less than a statement of the disposition15 of the British Home Fleet on mobilization. At least I gathered it was something like that; anyhow, it was something uncommonly16 important.
But on the 15th day of June there were to be others in London—others, at whom I could only guess. Scudder was content to call them collectively the “Black Stone”. They represented not our Allies, but our deadly foes17; and the information, destined18 for France, was to be diverted to their pockets. And it was to be used, remember—used a week or two later, with great guns and swift torpedoes19, suddenly in the darkness of a summer night.
This was the story I had been deciphering in a back room of a country inn, overlooking a cabbage garden. This was the story that hummed in my brain as I swung in the big touring-car from glen to glen.
My first impulse had been to write a letter to the Prime Minister, but a little reflection convinced me that that would be useless. Who would believe my tale? I must show a sign, some token in proof, and Heaven knew what that could be. Above all, I must keep going myself, ready to act when things got riper, and that was going to be no light job with the police of the British Isles20 in full cry after me and the watchers of the Black Stone running silently and swiftly on my trail.
I had no very clear purpose in my journey, but I steered21 east by the sun, for I remembered from the map that if I went north I would come into a region of coalpits and industrial towns. Presently I was down from the moorlands and traversing the broad haugh of a river. For miles I ran alongside a park wall, and in a break of the trees I saw a great castle. I swung through little old thatched villages, and over peaceful lowland streams, and past gardens blazing with hawthorn22 and yellow laburnum. The land was so deep in peace that I could scarcely believe that somewhere behind me were those who sought my life; ay, and that in a month’s time, unless I had the almightiest of luck, these round country faces would be pinched and staring, and men would be lying dead in English fields.
About midday I entered a long straggling village, and had a mind to stop and eat. Half-way down was the Post Office, and on the steps of it stood the postmistress and a policeman hard at work conning23 a telegram. When they saw me they wakened up, and the policeman advanced with raised hand, and cried on me to stop.
I nearly was fool enough to obey. Then it flashed upon me that the wire had to do with me; that my friends at the inn had come to an understanding, and were united in desiring to see more of me, and that it had been easy enough for them to wire the description of me and the car to thirty villages through which I might pass. I released the brakes just in time. As it was, the policeman made a claw at the hood26, and only dropped off when he got my left in his eye.
I saw that main roads were no place for me, and turned into the byways. It wasn’t an easy job without a map, for there was the risk of getting on to a farm road and ending in a duck-pond or a stable-yard, and I couldn’t afford that kind of delay. I began to see what an ass25 I had been to steal the car. The big green brute27 would be the safest kind of clue to me over the breadth of Scotland. If I left it and took to my feet, it would be discovered in an hour or two and I would get no start in the race.
The immediate28 thing to do was to get to the loneliest roads. These I soon found when I struck up a tributary29 of the big river, and got into a glen with steep hills all about me, and a corkscrew road at the end which climbed over a pass. Here I met nobody, but it was taking me too far north, so I slewed30 east along a bad track and finally struck a big double-line railway. Away below me I saw another broadish valley, and it occurred to me that if I crossed it I might find some remote inn to pass the night. The evening was now drawing in, and I was furiously hungry, for I had eaten nothing since breakfast except a couple of buns I had bought from a baker’s cart.
Just then I heard a noise in the sky, and lo and behold31 there was that infernal aeroplane, flying low, about a dozen miles to the south and rapidly coming towards me.
I had the sense to remember that on a bare moor I was at the aeroplane’s mercy, and that my only chance was to get to the leafy cover of the valley. Down the hill I went like blue lightning, screwing my head round, whenever I dared, to watch that damned flying machine. Soon I was on a road between hedges, and dipping to the deep-cut glen of a stream. Then came a bit of thick wood where I slackened speed.
Suddenly on my left I heard the hoot32 of another car, and realized to my horror that I was almost up on a couple of gate-posts through which a private road debouched on the highway. My horn gave an agonized33 roar, but it was too late. I clapped on my brakes, but my impetus34 was too great, and there before me a car was sliding athwart my course. In a second there would have been the deuce of a wreck35. I did the only thing possible, and ran slap into the hedge on the right, trusting to find something soft beyond.
But there I was mistaken. My car slithered through the hedge like butter, and then gave a sickening plunge36 forward. I saw what was coming, leapt on the seat and would have jumped out. But a branch of hawthorn got me in the chest, lifted me up and held me, while a ton or two of expensive metal slipped below me, bucked37 and pitched, and then dropped with an almighty38 smash fifty feet to the bed of the stream.
Slowly that thorn let me go. I subsided39 first on the hedge, and then very gently on a bower40 of nettles41. As I scrambled42 to my feet a hand took me by the arm, and a sympathetic and badly scared voice asked me if I were hurt.
I found myself looking at a tall young man in goggles43 and a leather ulster, who kept on blessing44 his soul and whinnying apologies. For myself, once I got my wind back, I was rather glad than otherwise. This was one way of getting rid of the car.
“My blame, sir,” I answered him. “It’s lucky that I did not add homicide to my follies45. That’s the end of my Scotch46 motor tour, but it might have been the end of my life.”
He plucked out a watch and studied it. “You’re the right sort of fellow,” he said. “I can spare a quarter of an hour, and my house is two minutes off. I’ll see you clothed and fed and snug47 in bed. Where’s your kit48, by the way? Is it in the burn along with the car?”
“It’s in my pocket,” I said, brandishing49 a toothbrush. “I’m a colonial and travel light.”
“A colonial,” he cried. “By Gad50, you’re the very man I’ve been praying for. Are you by any blessed chance a Free Trader?”
“I am,” said I, without the foggiest notion of what he meant.
He patted my shoulder and hurried me into his car. Three minutes later we drew up before a comfortable-looking shooting-box set among pine trees, and he ushered51 me indoors. He took me first to a bedroom and flung half a dozen of his suits before me, for my own had been pretty well reduced to rags. I selected a loose blue serge, which differed most conspicuously52 from my former garments, and borrowed a linen53 collar. Then he haled me to the dining-room, where the remnants of a meal stood on the table, and announced that I had just five minutes to feed. “You can take a snack in your pocket, and we’ll have supper when we get back. I’ve got to be at the Masonic Hall at eight o’clock, or my agent will comb my hair.”
“You find me in the deuce of a mess, Mr ——; by-the-by, you haven’t told me your name. Twisdon? Any relation of old Tommy Twisdon of the Sixtieth? No? Well, you see I’m Liberal Candidate for this part of the world, and I had a meeting on tonight at Brattleburn—that’s my chief town, and an infernal Tory stronghold. I had got the Colonial ex-Premier fellow, Crumpleton, coming to speak for me tonight, and had the thing tremendously billed and the whole place ground-baited. This afternoon I had a wire from the ruffian saying he had got influenza56 at Blackpool, and here am I left to do the whole thing myself. I had meant to speak for ten minutes and must now go on for forty, and, though I’ve been racking my brains for three hours to think of something, I simply cannot last the course. Now you’ve got to be a good chap and help me. You’re a Free Trader and can tell our people what a wash-out Protection is in the Colonies. All you fellows have the gift of the gab—I wish to Heaven I had it. I’ll be for evermore in your debt.”
I had very few notions about Free Trade one way or the other, but I saw no other chance to get what I wanted. My young gentleman was far too absorbed in his own difficulties to think how odd it was to ask a stranger who had just missed death by an ace11 and had lost a 1,000-guinea car to address a meeting for him on the spur of the moment. But my necessities did not allow me to contemplate57 oddnesses or to pick and choose my supports.
“All right,” I said. “I’m not much good as a speaker, but I’ll tell them a bit about Australia.”
At my words the cares of the ages slipped from his shoulders, and he was rapturous in his thanks. He lent me a big driving coat—and never troubled to ask why I had started on a motor tour without possessing an ulster—and, as we slipped down the dusty roads, poured into my ears the simple facts of his history. He was an orphan58, and his uncle had brought him up—I’ve forgotten the uncle’s name, but he was in the Cabinet, and you can read his speeches in the papers. He had gone round the world after leaving Cambridge, and then, being short of a job, his uncle had advised politics. I gathered that he had no preference in parties. “Good chaps in both,” he said cheerfully, “and plenty of blighters, too. I’m Liberal, because my family have always been Whigs.” But if he was lukewarm politically he had strong views on other things. He found out I knew a bit about horses, and jawed59 away about the Derby entries; and he was full of plans for improving his shooting. Altogether, a very clean, decent, callow young man.
As we passed through a little town two policemen signalled us to stop, and flashed their lanterns on us.
“Beg pardon, Sir Harry60,” said one. “We’ve got instructions to look out for a car, and the description’s no unlike yours.”
“Right-o,” said my host, while I thanked Providence61 for the devious62 ways I had been brought to safety. After that he spoke63 no more, for his mind began to labour heavily with his coming speech. His lips kept muttering, his eye wandered, and I began to prepare myself for a second catastrophe64. I tried to think of something to say myself, but my mind was dry as a stone. The next thing I knew we had drawn65 up outside a door in a street, and were being welcomed by some noisy gentlemen with rosettes.
The hall had about five hundred in it, women mostly, a lot of bald heads, and a dozen or two young men. The chairman, a weaselly minister with a reddish nose, lamented66 Crumpleton’s absence, soliloquized on his influenza, and gave me a certificate as a “trusted leader of Australian thought”. There were two policemen at the door, and I hoped they took note of that testimonial. Then Sir Harry started.
I never heard anything like it. He didn’t begin to know how to talk. He had about a bushel of notes from which he read, and when he let go of them he fell into one prolonged stutter. Every now and then he remembered a phrase he had learned by heart, straightened his back, and gave it off like Henry Irving, and the next moment he was bent67 double and crooning over his papers. It was the most appalling68 rot, too. He talked about the “German menace”, and said it was all a Tory invention to cheat the poor of their rights and keep back the great flood of social reform, but that “organized labour” realized this and laughed the Tories to scorn. He was all for reducing our Navy as a proof of our good faith, and then sending Germany an ultimatum telling her to do the same or we would knock her into a cocked hat. He said that, but for the Tories, Germany and Britain would be fellow-workers in peace and reform. I thought of the little black book in my pocket! A giddy lot Scudder’s friends cared for peace and reform.
Yet in a queer way I liked the speech. You could see the niceness of the chap shining out behind the muck with which he had been spoon-fed. Also it took a load off my mind. I mightn’t be much of an orator69, but I was a thousand per cent better than Sir Harry.
I didn’t get on so badly when it came to my turn. I simply told them all I could remember about Australia, praying there should be no Australian there—all about its labour party and emigration and universal service. I doubt if I remembered to mention Free Trade, but I said there were no Tories in Australia, only Labour and Liberals. That fetched a cheer, and I woke them up a bit when I started in to tell them the kind of glorious business I thought could be made out of the Empire if we really put our backs into it.
Altogether I fancy I was rather a success. The minister didn’t like me, though, and when he proposed a vote of thanks, spoke of Sir Harry’s speech as “statesmanlike” and mine as having “the eloquence70 of an emigration agent.”
When we were in the car again my host was in wild spirits at having got his job over. “A ripping speech, Twisdon,” he said. “Now, you’re coming home with me. I’m all alone, and if you’ll stop a day or two I’ll show you some very decent fishing.”
We had a hot supper—and I wanted it pretty badly—and then drank grog in a big cheery smoking-room with a crackling wood fire. I thought the time had come for me to put my cards on the table. I saw by this man’s eye that he was the kind you can trust.
“Listen, Sir Harry,” I said. “I’ve something pretty important to say to you. You’re a good fellow, and I’m going to be frank. Where on earth did you get that poisonous rubbish you talked tonight?”
His face fell. “Was it as bad as that?” he asked ruefully. “It did sound rather thin. I got most of it out of the Progressive Magazine and pamphlets that agent chap of mine keeps sending me. But you surely don’t think Germany would ever go to war with us?”
“Ask that question in six weeks and it won’t need an answer,” I said. “If you’ll give me your attention for half an hour I am going to tell you a story.”
I can see yet that bright room with the deers’ heads and the old prints on the walls, Sir Harry standing24 restlessly on the stone curb71 of the hearth55, and myself lying back in an armchair, speaking. I seemed to be another person, standing aside and listening to my own voice, and judging carefully the reliability of my tale. It was the first time I had ever told anyone the exact truth, so far as I understood it, and it did me no end of good, for it straightened out the thing in my own mind. I blinked no detail. He heard all about Scudder, and the milkman, and the note-book, and my doings in Galloway. Presently he got very excited and walked up and down the hearthrug.
“So you see,” I concluded, “you have got here in your house the man that is wanted for the Portland Place murder. Your duty is to send your car for the police and give me up. I don’t think I’ll get very far. There’ll be an accident, and I’ll have a knife in my ribs72 an hour or so after arrest. Nevertheless, it’s your duty, as a law-abiding citizen. Perhaps in a month’s time you’ll be sorry, but you have no cause to think of that.”
He was looking at me with bright steady eyes. “What was your job in Rhodesia, Mr Hannay?” he asked.
“Mining engineer,” I said. “I’ve made my pile cleanly and I’ve had a good time in the making of it.”
“Not a profession that weakens the nerves, is it?”
I laughed. “Oh, as to that, my nerves are good enough.” I took down a hunting-knife from a stand on the wall, and did the old Mashona trick of tossing it and catching73 it in my lips. That wants a pretty steady heart.
He watched me with a smile. “I don’t want proofs. I may be an ass on the platform, but I can size up a man. You’re no murderer and you’re no fool, and I believe you are speaking the truth. I’m going to back you up. Now, what can I do?”
“First, I want you to write a letter to your uncle. I’ve got to get in touch with the Government people sometime before the 15th of June.”
He pulled his moustache. “That won’t help you. This is Foreign Office business, and my uncle would have nothing to do with it. Besides, you’d never convince him. No, I’ll go one better. I’ll write to the Permanent Secretary at the Foreign Office. He’s my godfather, and one of the best going. What do you want?”
He sat down at a table and wrote to my dictation. The gist74 of it was that if a man called Twisdon (I thought I had better stick to that name) turned up before June 15th he was to entreat75 him kindly76. He said Twisdon would prove his bona fides by passing the word “Black Stone” and whistling “Annie Laurie”.
“Good,” said Sir Harry. “That’s the proper style. By the way, you’ll find my godfather—his name’s Sir Walter Bullivant—down at his country cottage for Whitsuntide. It’s close to Artinswell on the Kennet. That’s done. Now, what’s the next thing?”
“You’re about my height. Lend me the oldest tweed suit you’ve got. Anything will do, so long as the colour is the opposite of the clothes I destroyed this afternoon. Then show me a map of the neighbourhood and explain to me the lie of the land. Lastly, if the police come seeking me, just show them the car in the glen. If the other lot turn up, tell them I caught the south express after your meeting.”
He did, or promised to do, all these things. I shaved off the remnants of my moustache, and got inside an ancient suit of what I believe is called heather mixture. The map gave me some notion of my whereabouts, and told me the two things I wanted to know—where the main railway to the south could be joined, and what were the wildest districts near at hand.
At two o’clock he wakened me from my slumbers77 in the smoking-room armchair, and led me blinking into the dark starry78 night. An old bicycle was found in a tool-shed and handed over to me.
“First turn to the right up by the long fir-wood,” he enjoined79. “By daybreak you’ll be well into the hills. Then I should pitch the machine into a bog80 and take to the moors81 on foot. You can put in a week among the shepherds, and be as safe as if you were in New Guinea.”
I pedalled diligently82 up steep roads of hill gravel83 till the skies grew pale with morning. As the mists cleared before the sun, I found myself in a wide green world with glens falling on every side and a far-away blue horizon. Here, at any rate, I could get early news of my enemies.
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1
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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yarns
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| n.纱( yarn的名词复数 )；纱线；奇闻漫谈；旅行轶事 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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immortally
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| 不朽地，永世地，无限地 | |
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8
reliability
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| n.可靠性，确实性 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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ultimatum
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| n.最后通牒 | |
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ace
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| n.A牌；发球得分；佼佼者；adj.杰出的 | |
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goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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torpedoes
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| 鱼雷( torpedo的名词复数 )； 油井爆破筒； 刺客； 掼炮 | |
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isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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hawthorn
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| 山楂 | |
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conning
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| v.诈骗，哄骗( con的现在分词 )；指挥操舵( conn的现在分词 ) | |
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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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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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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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tributary
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| n.支流；纳贡国；adj.附庸的；辅助的；支流的 | |
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slewed
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| adj.喝醉的v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去式 )( slew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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hoot
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| n.鸟叫声，汽车的喇叭声； v.使汽车鸣喇叭 | |
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agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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bucked
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| adj.快v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的过去式和过去分词 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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40
bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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41
nettles
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| n.荨麻( nettle的名词复数 ) | |
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42
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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43
goggles
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| n.护目镜 | |
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44
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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45
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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46
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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47
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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48
kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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49
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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50
gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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51
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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53
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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54
yarned
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| vi.讲故事（yarn的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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56
influenza
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| n.流行性感冒，流感 | |
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57
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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58
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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59
jawed
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| adj.有颌的有颚的 | |
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60
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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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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63
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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64
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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65
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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71
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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72
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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gist
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| n.要旨；梗概 | |
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entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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81
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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82
diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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83
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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