THE SQUAD1 of police made their way back to the station: they walked raggedly2 with rifles slung4 anyhow: ends of cotton where buttons should have been: a puttee slipping down over the ankle: small men with black secret Indian eyes. The small plaza5 on the hill-top was lighted with globes strung together in threes and joined by trailing overhead wires. The Treasury6, the Presidencia, a dentist's, the prison—a low white colonnaded7 building which dated back three hundred years, and then the steep street down—the back wall of a ruined church: whichever way you went you came ultimately to water and to river. Pink classical fa?ades peeled off and showed the mud beneath, and the mud slowly reverted8 to mud. Round the plaza the evening parade went on: women in one direction, men in the other: young men in red shirts milled boisterously9 round the gaseosa stalls.
The lieutenant10 walked in front of his men with an air of bitter distaste. He might have been chained to them unwillingly11: perhaps the scar on his jaw12 was the relic13 of an escape. His gaiters were polished, and his pistol-holster: his buttons were all sewn on. He had a sharp crooked14 nose jutting15 out of a lean dancer's face: his neatness gave an effect of inordinate16 ambition in the shabby city. A sour smell came up to the plaza from the [16] river and the vultures were bedded on the roofs, under the tent of their rough black wings. Sometimes a little moron17 head peered out and down and a claw shifted. At nine-thirty exactly, all the lights in the plaza went out.
A policeman clumsily presented arms and the squad marched into barracks; they waited for no order, hanging up their rifles by the officers' room, lurching on into the courtyard, to their hammocks, or the excusado. Some of them kicked off their boots and lay down. Plaster was peeling off the mud walls: a generation of policemen had scrawled18 messages on the whitewash19. A few peasants waited on a bench, hands between their knees. Nobody paid them any attention. Two men were fighting in the lavatory20.
"Where is the jefe?" the lieutenant asked. No one knew: they thought he was playing billiards21 somewhere in the town. The lieutenant sat down with dapper irritation22 at the chief's table: behind his head two hearts were entwined in pencil on the whitewash. "All right," he said, "what are you waiting for? Bring me the prisoners." They came in bowing, hat in hand, one behind the other. "So-and-so. Drunk and disorderly." "Fined five pesos." "But I can't pay, your Excellency." "Let him clean out the lavatory and the cells then." "So-and-so. Defaced an election poster." "Fined five pesos." "So-and-so. Found wearing a holy medal under his shirt." "Fined five pesos." The duty drew to a close: there was nothing of importance. Through the open door the mosquitoes came whirring in.
Outside, the sentry23 could be heard presenting arms: it was the Chief of Police. He came breezily in, a stout24 man with a pink fat face, dressed in white flannels25 with a wide-awake hat and a cartridge-belt and a big pistol dapping his thigh26. He held a handkerchief to his mouth: he was in distress27. "Toothache again," he said, "toothache."
"Nothing to report," the lieutenant said with contempt.
"The Governor was at me again today," the chief complained.
"Liquor?"
"No, a priest."
"The last was shot weeks ago."
"He doesn't think so."
"The devil of it is," the lieutenant said, "we haven't [17] photographs." He glanced along the wall to the picture of James Calver, wanted in the United States for bank robbery and homicide: a tough uneven28 face taken at two angles: description circulated to every station in Central America: the low forehead and the fanatic29 bent-on-one-thing eyes. He looked at it with regret: there was so little chance that he would ever get south: he would be picked up in some dive at the border—in Juarez or Piedras Negras or Nogales.
"He says we have," the chief complained. "My tooth, oh, my tooth!" He tried to find something in his hip-pocket, but the holster got in the way. The lieutenant tapped his polished boot impatiently. "There," the chief said. A large number of people sat round a table: young girls in white muslin: older women with untidy hair and harassed30 expressions: a few men peered shyly and solicitously31 out of the background. All the faces were made up of small dots: it was a newspaper photograph of a first communion party taken years ago: a youngish man in a Roman collar sat among the women. You could imagine him petted with small delicacies32, preserved for their use in the stifling33 atmosphere of intimacy34 and respect. He sat there, plump, with protuberant35 eyes, bubbling with harmless feminine jokes. "It was taken years ago."
"He looks like all the rest," the lieutenant said. It was obscure, but you could read into the smudgy photograph a well-shaved, well—powdered jowl much too developed for his age. The good things of life had come to him too early—the respect of his contemporaries, a safe livelihood36. The trite37 religious word upon the tongue, the joke to ease the way, the ready acceptance of other peoples homage38 ... a happy man. A natural hatred39 as between dog and dog stirred in the lieutenant's bowels40. "We've shot him half a dozen times," he said.
"The Governor has had a report ... he tried to get away last week to Vera Cruz."
"What are the Red Shirts doing that he comes to us?"
"Oh, they missed him, of course. It was just luck that he didn't catch the boat."
"What happened to him?"
"They found his mule41. The Governor says he must have him this month. Before the rains come."
[18] "Where was his parish?"
"Concepcion and the villages round. But he left there years ago."
"Is anything known?"
"He can pass as a gringo. He spent six years at some American seminary. I don't know what else. He was born in Carmen—the son of a storekeeper. Not that that helps."
"They all look alike to me," the lieutenant said. Something you could almost have called horror moved him when he looked at the white muslin dresses—he remembered the smell of incense42 in the churches of his boyhood, the candles and the laciness and the self-esteem, the immense demands made from the altar steps by men who didn't know the meaning of sacrifice. The old peasants knelt there before the holy images with their arms held out in the attitude of the cross: tired by the long day's labour in the plantations43, they squeezed out a further mortification44. And the priest came round with the collecting-bag taking their centavos, abusing them for their small comforting sins, and sacrificing nothing at all in return—except a little sexual indulgence. And that was easy, the lieutenant thought. He himself felt no need of women. He said: "We will catch him. It is only a question of time."
"My tooth," the chief wailed45 again. He said: "It poisons the whole of life. Today my biggest break was twenty-five."
"You will have to change your dentist."
"They are all the same."
The lieutenant took the photograph and pinned it on the wall. James Calver, bank robber and homicide, stared in harsh profile towards the first communion party. "He is a man at any rate," the lieutenant said, with approval.
"Who?"
"The gringo."
The chief said: "You heard what he did in Houston. Got away with ten thousand dollars. Two C-men were shot."
"G-men."
"It's an honour—in a way—to deal with such people." He slapped furiously out at a mosquito.
"A man like that," the lieutenant said, "does no real harm. A few men dead. We all have to die. The money—somebody has to spend it. We do more good when we catch one of [19] these." He had the dignity of an idea, standing46 in the little whitewashed47 room in his polished boots and his venom48. There was something disinterested49 in his ambition: a kind of virtue50 in his desire to catch the sleek51 respected guest of the first communion party.
The chief said mournfully: "He must be devilishly cunning if he's been going on for years."
"Anybody could do it," the lieutenant said. "We haven't really troubled about them—unless they put themselves in our hands. Why, I could guarantee to fetch this man in, inside a month if …"
"If what?"
"If I had the power."
"It's easy to talk," the chief said. "What would you do?"
"This is a small state. Mountains on the north, the sea on the south. I'd beat it as you beat a street, house by house."
"Oh, it sounds easy," the chief wailed indistinctly with his handkerchief against his mouth.
The lieutenant said suddenly: "I will tell you what I'd do. I would take a man from every village in the state as a hostage. If the villagers didn't report the man when he came, the hostages would be shot—and then we'd take more."
"A lot of them would die, of course."
"Wouldn't it be worth it?" the lieutenant said with a kind of exultation52. "To be rid of those people for ever."
"You know," the chief said, "you've got something there."
The lieutenant walked home through the shuttered town. All his life had lain here: the Syndicate of Workers and Peasants had once been a school. He had helped to wipe out that unhappy memory. The whole town was changed: the cement playground up the hill near the cemetery53 where iron swings stood like gallows54 in the moony darkness was the site of the cathedral. The new children would have new memories: nothing would ever be as it was. There was something of a priest in his intent observant walk- a theologian going back over the errors of the past to destroy them again.
He reached his own lodging55. The houses were all one-storied, whitewashed, built round small patios56, with a well and a few flowers. The windows on the street were barred. Inside [20] the lieutenant's room there was a bed made of old packing—cases with a straw mat laid on top, a cushion and a sheet. There was a picture of the President on the wall, a calendar, and on the tiled floor a table and a rocking-chair. In the light of a candle it looked as comfortless as a prison or a monastic cell.
The lieutenant sat down upon his bed and began to take off his boots. It was the hour of prayer. Black beetles59 exploded against the walls like crackers60. More than a dozen crawled over the tiles with injured wings. It infuriated him to think that there were still people in the state who believed in a loving and merciful God. There are mystics who are said to have experienced God directly. He was a mystic, too, and what he had experienced was vacancy—a complete certainty in the existence of a dying, cooling world, of human beings who had evolved from animals for no purpose at all. He knew.
He lay down in his shirt and breeches on the bed and blew out the candle. Heat stood in the room like an enemy. But he believed against the evidence of his senses in the cold empty ether spaces. A radio was playing somewhere: music from Mexico City, or perhaps even from London or New York, filtered into this obscure neglected state. It seemed to him like a weakness: this was his own land, and he would have walled it in with steel if he could, until he had eradicated61 from it everything which reminded him of how it had once appeared to a miserable62 child. He wanted to destroy everything: to be alone without any memories at all. Life began five years ago.
The lieutenant lay on his back with his eyes open while the beetles detonated on the ceiling. He remembered the priest the Red Shirts had shot against the wall of the cemetery up the hill, another little fat man with popping eyes. He was a monsignor, and he thought that would protect him: he had a sort of contempt for the lower clergy63, and right up to the last he was explaining his rank. Only at the very end had he remembered his prayers. He knelt down and they had given him time for a short act of contrition64. The lieutenant had watched: he wasn't t directly concerned. Altogether they had shot about five priests —two or three had escaped, the bishop65 was safely in Mexico City, and one man had conformed to the Governor's law that all priests must marry. He lived now near the river with his house-keeper. That, of course, was the best solution of all, to [21] leave the living witness to the weakness of their faith. It showed the deception66 they had practised all these years. For if they really believed in heaven or hell, they wouldn't mind a little pain now, in return for what immensities. … The lieutenant, lying on his hard bed, in the damp hot dark, felt no sympathy at all with the weakness of the flesh.
In the back room of the Academia Comercial a woman was reading to her family. Two small girls of six and ten sat on the edge of their bed, and a boy of fourteen leant against the wall with an expression of intense weariness.
" 'Young Juan,' " the mother read, " 'from his earliest years was noted67 for his humility68 and piety69. Other boys might be rough and revengeful; young Juan followed the precept70 of Our Lord and turned the other cheek. One day his father thought that he had told a lie and beat him: later he learnt that his son had told the truth, and he apologized to Juan. But Juan said to him: "Dear father, just as Our Father in heaven has the right to chastise71 when he pleases ..." ' "
The boy rubbed his face impatiently against the whitewash and the mild voice droned on. The two little girls sat with beady intense eyes, drinking in the sweet piety.
" 'We must not think that young Juan did not laugh and play like other children, though there were times when he would creep away with a holy picture-book to his father's cow-house from the circle of his merry play-mates.' "
The boy squashed a beetle58 with his bare foot and thought gloomily that after all everything had an end—some day they would reach the last chapter and young Juan would die against a wall, shouting: "Viva el Cristo Rey." But then, he supposed, there would be another book: they were smuggled72 in every month from Mexico City: if only the customs men had known where to look.
" 'No, young Juan was a true young Mexican boy, and if he was more thoughtful than his fellows, he was also always the first when any play-acting73 was afoot. One year his class acted a little play before the bishop, based on the persecution74 of the Early Christians75, and no one was more amused than Juan when he was chosen to play the part of Nero. And what comic spirit he put into his acting—this child, whose young manhood was [22] to be cut short by a ruler far worse than Nero. His class-mate, who later became Father Miguel Cerra, S.J., writes: "None of us who were there will ever forget that day ..." ' "
One of the little girls licked her lips secretively. This was life.
" 'The curtain rose on Juan wearing his mother's best bathrobe, a charcoal76 moustache, and a crown made from a tin biscuit-box. Even the good old bishop smiled when Juan strode to the front of the little home-made stage and began to declaim ...' "
The boy strangled a yawn against the whitewashed wall. He said wearily: "Is he really a saint?"
"He will be one day soon, when the Holy Father pleases."
"And are they all like that?"
"Who?"
"The martyrs78."
"Yes. All."
"Even Padre José?"
"Don't mention him," the mother said. "How dare you? That despicable man. A traitor79 to God."
"He told me he was more of a martyr77 than the rest."
"I've told you many times not to speak to him. My dear child, oh, my dear child ..."
"And the other one—the one who came to see us?"
"No, he is not—exactly—like Juan."
"Is he despicable?"
"No, no. Not despicable."
The smallest girl said suddenly: "He smelt80 funny."
The mother went on reading: "'Did any premonition touch young Juan that night that he, too, in a few short years, would be numbered among the martyrs? We cannot say, but Father Miguel Cerra tells how that evening Juan spent longer than usual upon his knees, and when his class-mates teased him a little, as boys will ..."
The voice went on and on, mild and deliberate, inflexibly81 gentle: the small girls listened intently, framing in their minds little pious82 sentences with which to surprise their parents, and the boy yawned against the whitewash. Everything has an end.
Presently the mother went in to her husband. She said: "I am so worried about the boy."
"Why not about the girls? There is worry everywhere."
[23] "They are two little saints already. But the boy—he asks such questions—about that whisky priest. I wish we had never had him in the house."
"They would have caught him if we hadn't, and then he would have been one of your martyrs. They would write a book about him and you would read it to the children."
"That man—never."
"Well, after all," her husband said, "he carries on. I don't believe all that they write in these books. We are all human." "You know what I heard today? About a poor woman who took him her son to be baptized. She wanted him called Pedro—but he was so drunk that he took no notice at all and baptized the boy Carlota. Carlota."
"Well, it's a good saint's name."
"There are times," the mother said, "when I lose all patience with you. And now the boy has been talking to Padre José."
"This is a small town," her husband said. "And there is no use pretending. We have been abandoned here. We must get along as best we can. As for the Church—the Church is Padre José and the whisky priest—I don't know of any other. If we don't like the Church, well, we must leave it."
He watched her with patience. He had more education than his wife: he could use a typewriter and knew the elements of book-keeping: once he had been to Mexico City: he could read a map. He knew the extent of their abandonment——the ten hours down-river to the port, the forty-two hours in the Gulf83 of Vera Cruz—that was one way out. To the north the swamps and rivers petering out against the mountains which divided them from the next state. And on the other side no roads—only mule-tracks and an occasional unreliable plane: Indian villages and the huts of herds84: two hundred miles away the Pacific.
She said: "I would rather die."
"Oh," he said, "of course. That goes without saying. But we have to go on living."
The old man sat on a packing-case in the little dry patio57. He was very fat and short of breath: he panted a little as if after great exertion85 in the heat. Once he had been something of an astronomer86 and now he tried to pick out the [24] constellations87, staring up into the night sky. He wore only a shirt and trousers: his feet were bare, but there remained something unmistakably clerical in his manner. Forty years of the priesthood had branded him. There was complete silence over the town: everybody was asleep.
The glittering worlds lay there in space like a promise—the world was not the universe. Somewhere Christ might not have died. He could not believe that to a watcher there this world could shine with such brilliance88: it would roll heavily in space under its fog like a burning and abandoned ship. The whole globe was blanketed with his own sin.
A woman called from the only room he possessed89: "José, José." He crouched90 like a galley—slave at the sound: his eyes left the sky, and the constellations fled upwards91: the beetles crawled over the patio. "José, José." He thought with envy of the men who had died: it was over so soon. They were taken up there to the cemetery and shot against the wall: in two minutes life was extinct. And they called that martyrdom. Here life went on and on: he was only sixty-two. He might live to ninety. Twenty-eight years—that immeasurable period between his birth and his first parish: all childhood and youth and the seminary lay there.
"José. Come to bed." He shivered: he knew that he was a buffoon92. An old man who married was grotesque93 enough, but an old priest ... He stood outside himself and wondered whether he was even fit for hell. He was just a fat old impotent man mocked and taunted94 between the sheets. But then he remembered the gift he had been given which nobody could take away. That was what made him worthy95 of damnation—the power he still had of turning the wafer into the flesh and blood of God. He was a sacrilege. Wherever he went, whatever he did, he defiled96 God. Some mad renegade Catholic, puffed97 up with the Governors politics, had once broken into a church (in the days when there were still churches) and seized the Host. He had spat98 on it, trampled99 it, and then the people had got him and hanged him as they did the stuffed Judas on Holy Thursday from the belfry. He wasn't so bad a man, Padre José thought—he would be forgiven, he was just a politician, but he himself, he was worse than that—he was [25] like an obscene picture hung here every day to corrupt100 children with.
He belched101 on his packing-case shaken by wind. "José, what are you doing? You come to bed." There was never anything to do at all—no daily Office, no Masses, no confessions103, and it was no good praying any longer at all: a prayer demanded an act and he had no intention of acting. He had lived for two years now in a continuous state of mortal sin with no one to hear his confession102: nothing to do at all but sit and eat—eat far too much: she fed him and fattened104 him and preserved him like a prize boar. "José." He began to hiccup105 with nerves at the thought of facing for the seven hundred and thirty-eighth time his harsh house-keeper—his wife. There she would be, lying in the big shameless bed that filled up half the room, a bony shadow within the mosquito tent, a lanky106 jaw and a short grey pigtail and an absurd bonnet107. She thought she had a position to keep up: a government pensioner108: the wife of the only married priest. She was proud of it. "José." "I'm—hic—coming, my love," he said, and lifted himself from the crate109. Somebody somewhere laughed.
He lifted little pink eyes like those of a pig conscious of the slaughter-room. A high child's voice said: "José." He stared in a bewildered way around the patio. At a barred window opposite, three children watched him with deep gravity. He turned his back and took a step or two towards his door, moving very slowly because of his bulk. "José," somebody squeaked110 again, "José." He looked back over his shoulder and caught the faces out in expressions of wild glee: his little pink eyes showed no anger—he had no right to be angry: he moved his mouth into a ragged3 and baffled, disintegrated111 smile, and as if that sign of weakness gave them all the license112 they needed, they squealed113 back at him without disguise: "José, José. Come to bed, José." Their little shameless voices filled the patio, and he smiled humbly114 and sketched115 small gestures for silence, and there was no respect anywhere left for him in his home, in the town, in the whole abandoned star.
收听单词发音 |
1
squad
|
|
| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
raggedly
|
|
| 破烂地，粗糙地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
slung
|
|
| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
plaza
|
|
| n.广场，市场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
treasury
|
|
| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
colonnaded
|
|
| adj.有列柱的，有柱廊的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
reverted
|
|
| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
boisterously
|
|
| adv.喧闹地，吵闹地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
lieutenant
|
|
| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
unwillingly
|
|
| adv.不情愿地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
jaw
|
|
| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
relic
|
|
| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
crooked
|
|
| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
jutting
|
|
| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
inordinate
|
|
| adj.无节制的；过度的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
moron
|
|
| n.极蠢之人，低能儿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
scrawled
|
|
| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
whitewash
|
|
| v.粉刷，掩饰；n.石灰水，粉刷，掩饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
lavatory
|
|
| n.盥洗室，厕所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
billiards
|
|
| n.台球 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
irritation
|
|
| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
sentry
|
|
| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
flannels
|
|
| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
thigh
|
|
| n.大腿；股骨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
distress
|
|
| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
uneven
|
|
| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
fanatic
|
|
| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
harassed
|
|
| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
solicitously
|
|
| adv.热心地，热切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
delicacies
|
|
| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
stifling
|
|
| a.令人窒息的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
protuberant
|
|
| adj.突出的，隆起的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
livelihood
|
|
| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
trite
|
|
| adj.陈腐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
homage
|
|
| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
hatred
|
|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
bowels
|
|
| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
mule
|
|
| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
incense
|
|
| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
plantations
|
|
| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
mortification
|
|
| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
wailed
|
|
| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
whitewashed
|
|
| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
venom
|
|
| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
disinterested
|
|
| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
sleek
|
|
| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
exultation
|
|
| n.狂喜，得意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
cemetery
|
|
| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
gallows
|
|
| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
lodging
|
|
| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
patios
|
|
| n.露台，平台( patio的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
patio
|
|
| n.庭院，平台 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
beetle
|
|
| n.甲虫，近视眼的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
beetles
|
|
| n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
crackers
|
|
| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
eradicated
|
|
| 画着根的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
clergy
|
|
| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
contrition
|
|
| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
bishop
|
|
| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
deception
|
|
| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
noted
|
|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
humility
|
|
| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
piety
|
|
| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
precept
|
|
| n.戒律；格言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
chastise
|
|
| vt.责骂，严惩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
smuggled
|
|
| 水货 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
persecution
|
|
| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
Christians
|
|
| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
charcoal
|
|
| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
martyr
|
|
| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
martyrs
|
|
| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
traitor
|
|
| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
smelt
|
|
| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
inflexibly
|
|
| adv.不屈曲地，不屈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
pious
|
|
| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
gulf
|
|
| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
herds
|
|
| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
exertion
|
|
| n.尽力，努力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
astronomer
|
|
| n.天文学家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
constellations
|
|
| n.星座( constellation的名词复数 )；一群杰出人物；一系列（相关的想法、事物）；一群（相关的人） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
brilliance
|
|
| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
crouched
|
|
| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
upwards
|
|
| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
buffoon
|
|
| n.演出时的丑角 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
taunted
|
|
| 嘲讽( taunt的过去式和过去分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
defiled
|
|
| v.玷污( defile的过去式和过去分词 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
puffed
|
|
| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
spat
|
|
| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
trampled
|
|
| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
corrupt
|
|
| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
belched
|
|
| v.打嗝( belch的过去式和过去分词 )；喷出，吐出；打（嗝）；嗳（气） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
confession
|
|
| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
confessions
|
|
| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
fattened
|
|
| v.喂肥( fatten的过去式和过去分词 )；养肥（牲畜）；使（钱）增多；使（公司）升值 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
hiccup
|
|
| n.打嗝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
lanky
|
|
| adj.瘦长的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
bonnet
|
|
| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
pensioner
|
|
| n.领养老金的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
crate
|
|
| vt.(up)把…装入箱中；n.板条箱，装货箱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
squeaked
|
|
| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的过去式和过去分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
disintegrated
|
|
| v.（使）破裂[分裂，粉碎]，（使）崩溃( disintegrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
license
|
|
| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
squealed
|
|
| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
humbly
|
|
| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
sketched
|
|
| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |