A VOICE said: "Well, have you finished now?"
The priest got up and made a small scared gesture of assent1. He recognized the police officer who had given him money at the prison, a dark smart figure in the doorway2 with the storm-light glinting on his leggings. He had one hand on his revolver and he frowned sourly in at the dead gunman. "You didn't expect to see me," he said.
"Oh, but I did," the priest said. "I must thank you—"
"Thank me, what for?"
"For letting me stay alone with him."
"I am not a barbarian3," the officer said. "Will you come out now, please? It's no use at all your trying to escape. You can [181] see that," he added, as the priest emerged and looked round at the dozen armed men who surrounded the hut.
"I've had enough of escaping," he said. The half-caste was no longer in sight: the heavy clouds were piling up the sky: they made the real mountains look like little bright toys below them. He sighed and giggled5 nervously7. "What a lot of trouble I had getting across those mountains, and now ... here I am ..."
"I never believed you would return."
"Oh, well, lieutenant8, you know how it is. Even a coward has a sense of duty." The cool fresh wind which sometimes blows across before a storm breaks touched his skin. He said with badly affected9 ease: "Are you going to shoot me now?"
The lieutenant said again sharply: "I am not a barbarian. You will be tried ... properly."
"What for?"
"For treason."
"I have to go all the way back there?"
"Yes. Unless you try to escape." He kept his hand on his gun as if he didn't trust the priest a yard. He said: "I could swear that somewhere …"
"Oh, yes," the priest said. "You have seen me twice. When you took a hostage from my village ... you asked my child: 'Who is he?' She said: 'My father,' and you let me go." Suddenly the mountains ceased to exist: it was as if somebody had dashed a handful of water into their faces.
"Quick," the lieutenant said, "into that hut." He called out to one of the men. "Bring us some boxes so that we can sit." The two of them joined the dead man in the hut as the storm came up all round them. A soldier dripping with rain carried in two packing-cases. "A candle," the lieutenant said. He sat down on one of the cases and took out his revolver. He said: "Sit down, there, away from the door, where I can see you." The soldier lit a candle and stuck it in its own wax on the hard earth floor, and the priest sat down, close to the American: huddled11 up in his attempt to get at his knife he gave an effect of wanting to reach his companion, to have a word or two in private. …They looked two of a kind, dirty and unshaved: the lieutenant seemed to belong to a different class altogether. He said with contempt: "So you have a child?"
"Yes," the priest said.
[182] "You—a priest."
"You mustn't think they are all like me." He watched the candlelight blink on the bright buttons. He said: "There are good priests and bad priests. It is just that I am a bad priest."
"Then perhaps we will be doing your Church a service …"
"Yes."
The lieutenant looked sharply up as if he thought he was being mocked. He said: "You told me twice. That I had seen you twice."
"Yes, I was in prison. And you gave me money."
"I remember." He said furiously: "What an appalling12 mockery! To have had you and then to let you go. Why, we lost two men looking for you. They'd be alive today. …" The candle sizzled as the drops of rain came through the roof. "This American wasn't worth two lives. He did no real harm."
The rain poured ceaselessly down. They sat in silence. Suddenly the lieutenant said: "Keep your hand away from your pocket."
"I was only feeling for a pack of cards. I thought perhaps it would help to pass the time ..."
"I don't play cards," the lieutenant said harshly.
"No, no. Not a game. Just a few tricks I can show you. May I?"
"All right. If you wish to."
Mr. Lehr had given him an old pack of cards. The priest said: "Here, you see, are three cards. The ace10, the king, and the Jack13. Now"—he spread them fanwise out on the floor"—tell me which is the ace."
"This, of course," the lieutenant said grudgingly14, showing no interest.
"But you are wrong," the priest said, turning it up. "That is the jack."
The lieutenant said contemptuously: "A game for gamblers—or children."
"There is another trick," the priest said, "called Fly-Away Jack. I cut the pack into three—so. And I take this jack of hearts and I put it into the centre pack—so. Now I tap the three packs"—his face lit up as he spoke15: it was such a long time since he had handled cards: he forgot the storm, the dead man, and the stubborn unfriendly face opposite him—"I say: [183] 'Fly away, Jack' "—he cut the left-hand pack in half and disclosed the jack—"and there he is."
"Of course there are two jacks16."
"See for yourself." Unwillingly17 the lieutenant leant forward and inspected the centre pack. He said: "I suppose you tell the Indians that that is a miracle of God."
"Oh, no," the priest giggled. "I learnt it from an Indian. He was the richest man in his village. Do you wonder, with such a hand? No, I used to show the tricks at any entertainments we had in the parish—for the guilds18, you know."
A look of physical disgust crossed the lieutenant's face. He said: "I remember those guilds."
"When you were a boy?"
"I was old enough to know ..."
"Yes?"
"The trickery." He broke out furiously with one hand on his gun, as though it had crossed his mind that it would be better to eliminate this beast, now, at this instant, for ever. "What an excuse it all was, what a fake. Sell all and give to the poor—that was the lesson, wasn't it?—and Se?ora So-and-so, the druggist's wife, would say the family wasn't really deserving of charity, and Se?or This, That, and the Other would say that if they starved, what else did they deserve, they were Socialists19 anyway, and the priest—you—would notice who had done his Easter duty and paid his Easter offering." His voice rose—a policeman looked into the hut anxiously—and withdrew again through the lashing20 rain. "The Church was poor, the priest was poor, therefore everyone should sell all and give to the Church."
The priest said: "You are so right." He added quickly: "Wrong, too, of course."
"How do you mean?" the lieutenant asked savagely21. "Right? Won't you even defend ...?"
"I felt at once that you were a good man when you gave me money at the prison."
The lieutenant said: "I only listen to you because you have no hope. No hope at all. Nothing you say will make any difference."
"No."
He had no intention of angering the police officer, but he [184] had had very little practice the last eight years in talking to any but a few peasants and Indians. Now something in his tone infuriated the lieutenant. He said: "You're a danger. That's why we kill you. I have nothing against you, you understand, as a man."
"Of course not. It's God you're against. I'm the sort of man you shut up every day—and give money to."
"No, I don't fight against a fiction."
But I'm not worth fighting, am I? You've said so. A liar22, a drunkard. That man's worth a bullet more than I am."
"It's your ideas." The lieutenant sweated a little in the hot steamy air. He said: "You are so cunning, you people. But tell me this—what have you ever done in Mexico for us? Have you ever told a landlord he shouldn't beat his peon—oh, yes, I know, in the confessional perhaps, and it's your duty, isn't it, to forget it at once? You come out and have dinner with him and it's your duty not to know that he has murdered a peasant. That's all finished. He's left it behind in your box."
"Go on," the priest said. He sat on the packing-case with his hands on his knees and his head bent23: he couldn't, though he tried, keep all his mind on what the lieutenant was saying. He was thinking—forty-eight hours to the capital. Today is Sunday. Perhaps on Wednesday I shall be dead. He felt it as a treachery that he was more afraid of the pain of the bullets than of what came after.
"Well, we have ideas too," the lieutenant was saying. "No more money for saying prayers, no more money for building places to say prayers in. We'll give people food instead, teach them to read, give them books. We'll see they don't suffer."
"But if they want to suffer ..."
"A man may want to rape24 a woman. Are we to allow it because he wants to? Suffering is wrong."
"And you suffer all the time," the priest commented, watching the sour Indian face behind the candle-flame. He said: "It sounds fine, doesn't it? Does the jefe feel like that too?"
"Oh, we have our bad men."
"And what happens afterwards? I mean after everybody has got enough to eat and can read the right books—the books you let them read?"
[185] "Nothing. Death's a fact. We don't try to alter facts."
"We agree about a lot of things," the priest said, idly dealing25 out his cards. "We have facts, too, we don't try to alter—that the world's unhappy whether you are rich or poor—unless you are a saint, and there aren't many of those. It's not worth bothering too much about a little pain here. There's one belief we both of us have—that it will all be much the same in a hundred years." He fumbled26, trying to shuffle27, and bent the cards: his hands were not steady.
"All the same, you're worried now about a little pain," the lieutenant said maliciously28, watching his fingers.
"But I'm not a saint," the priest said. "I'm not even a brave man." He looked apprehensively29 up: light was coming back: the candle was no longer necessary. It would soon be clear enough to start the long journey back. He felt a desire to go on talking, to delay even by a few minutes the decision to start. He said: "That's another difference between us. It's no good your working for your end unless you're a good man yourself. And there won't always be good men in your party. Then you'll have all the old starvation, beating, get-rich-anyhow. But it doesn't matter so much my being a coward—and all the rest. I can put God into a mans mouth just the same—and I can give him God's pardon. It wouldn't make any difference to that if every priest in the Church was like me."
"That's another thing I don't understand," the lieutenant said, "why you—of all people—should have stayed when the others ran."
"They didn't all run," the priest said.
"But why did you stay?"
"Once," the priest said, "I asked myself that. The fact is, a man isn't presented suddenly with two courses to follow. One good and one bad. He gets caught up. The first year—well, I didn't believe there was really any cause to run. Churches have been burnt before now. You know how often. It doesn't mean much. I thought I'd stay till next month, say, and see if things were better. Then—oh, you don't know how time can slip by." It was quite light again now: the afternoon rain was over: life had to go on. A policeman passed the entrance of the hut and looked in curiously30 at the pair of them. "Do you know I [186] suddenly realized that I was the only priest left for miles around? The law which made priests marry finished them. They went: they were quite right to go. There was one priest in particular—who had always disapproved31 of me. I have a tongue, you know, and it used to wag. He said—quite rightly—that I wasn't a firm character. He escaped. It felt—you'll laugh at this—just as it did at school when a bully32 I had been afraid of—for years—got too old for any more teaching and was turned out. You see, I didn't have to think about anybody's opinion any more. The peoples—they didn't worry me. They liked me." He gave a weak smile, sideways, towards the humped Yankee.
"Go on," the lieutenant said moodily33.
"You'll know all there is to know about me, at this rate," the priest said, with a nervous giggle6, "by the time I get to, well, prison."
"It's just as well. To know an enemy, I mean."
"That other priest was right. It was when he left I began to go to pieces. One thing went after another. I got careless about my duties. I began to drink. It would have been much better, I think, if I had gone too. Because pride was at work all the time. Not love of God." He sat bowed on the packing-case, a small plump man in Mr. Lehr's cast-off clothes. He said: "Pride was what made the angels fall. Pride's the worst thing of all. I thought I was a fine fellow to have stayed when the others had gone. And then I thought I was so grand I could make my own rules. I gave up fasting, daily Mass. I neglected my prayers—and one day because I was drunk and lonely—well, you know how it was, I got a child. It was all pride. Just pride because I'd stayed. I wasn't any use, but I stayed. At least, not much use. I'd got so that I didn't have a hundred communicants a month. If I'd gone I'd have given God to twelve times that number. It's a mistake one makes—to think just because a thing is difficult or dangerous ..." He made a flapping motion with his hands.
The lieutenant said in a tone of fury: "Well, you're going to be a martyr—you've got that satisfaction."
"Oh, no. Martyrs35 are not like me. They don't think all the time—if I had drunk more brandy I shouldn't be so afraid."
The lieutenant said sharply to a man in the entrance: "Well, what is it? What are you hanging round for?"
[187] "The storm's over, lieutenant. We wondered when we were to start."
"We start immediately."
He got up and put back the pistol in his holster. He said: "Get a horse ready for the prisoner. And have some men dig a grave quickly for the Yankee."
The priest put the cards in his pocket and stood up. He said: "You have listened very patiently ..."
"I am not afraid," the lieutenant said, "of other people's ideas."
Outside the ground was steaming after the rain: the mist rose nearly to their knees: the horses stood ready. The priest mounted, but before they had time to move a voice made the priest turn—the same sullen36 whine37 he had heard so often. "Father." It was the half-caste.
"Well, well," the priest said. "You again."
"Oh, I know what you're thinking," the half-caste said. "There's not much charity in you, father. You thought all along I was going to betray you."
"Go," the lieutenant said sharply. "You've done your job." "May I have one word, lieutenant?" the priest asked. "You're a good man, father," the mestizo cut quickly in, "but you think the worst of people. I just want your blessing38, that's all."
"What is the good? You can't sell a blessing," the priest said. "It's just because we won't see each other again. And I didn't want you to go off there thinking ill things ..." "You are so superstitious," the priest said. "You think my blessing will be like a blinker over God's eyes. I can't stop Him knowing all about it. Much better go home and pray. Then if He gives you grace to feel sorry, give away the money. …"
"What money, father?" The half-caste shook his stirrup angrily. "What money? There you go again ..."
The priest sighed. He felt empty with the ordeal39. Fear can be more tiring than a long monotonous40 ride. He said: "I'll pray for you," and beat his horse into position beside the lieutenant's.
"And I'll pray for you, father," the half-caste announced complacently41. Once the priest looked back as his horse poised42 for the steep descent between the rocks. The half-caste stood [188] alone among the huts, his mouth a little open, showing the two long fangs43. He might have been snapped in the act of shouting some complaint or some claim—that he was a good Catholic perhaps: one hand scratched under the armpit. The priest waved his hand: he bore no grudge44 because he expected nothing else of anything human and he had one cause at least of satisfaction—that yellow and unreliable face would be absent "at the death."
"You're a man of education," the lieutenant said. He lay across the entrance of the hut with his head on his rolled cape4 and his revolver by his side. It was night, but neither man could sleep. The priest, when he shifted, groaned46 a little with stiffness and cramp47: the lieutenant was in a hurry to get home, and they had ridden till midnight. They were down off the hills and in the marshy48 plain. Soon the whole state would be subdivided49 by swamp. The rains had really begun.
"I'm not that. My father was a storekeeper."
"I mean, you've been abroad. You can talk like a Yankee. You've had schooling50."
"Yes.'
"I've had to think things out for myself. But there are some things which you don't have to learn in a school. That there are rich and poor." He said in a low voice: "I've shot three hostages because of you. Poor men. It made me hate your guts51."
"Yes," the priest admitted, and tried to stand to ease the cramp in his right thigh52. The lieutenant sat quickly up, gun in band. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing. Just cramp. That's all." He lay down again with a groan45.
The lieutenant said: "Those men I shot. They were my own people. I wanted to give them the whole world."
"Well, who knows? Perhaps that's what you did."
The lieutenant spat53 suddenly, viciously, as if something unclean had got upon his tongue. He said: "You always have answers, which mean nothing."
"I was never any good at books," the priest said. "I haven't any memory. But there was one thing always puzzled me about men like yourself. You hate the rich and love the poor. Isn't that right?"
[189] "Yes."
"Well, if I hated you, I wouldn't want to bring up my child to be like you. It's not sense."
"That's just twisting ..."
"Perhaps it is. I've never got your ideas straight. We've always said the poor are blessed and the rich are going to find it hard to get into heaven. Why should we make it hard for the poor man too? Oh, I know we are told to give to the poor, to see they are not hungry—hunger can make a man do evil just as much as money can. But why should we give the poor power? It's better to let him die in dirt and wake in heaven—so long as we don't push his face in the dirt."
"I hate your reasons," the lieutenant said. "I don't want reasons. If you see somebody in pain, people like you reason and reason. You say—perhaps pain's a good thing, perhaps he'll be better for it one day. I want to let my heart speak."
"At the end of a gun."
"Yes. At the end of a gun."
"Oh, well, perhaps when you're my age you'll know the heart's an untrustworthy beast. The mind is too, but it doesn't talk about love. Love. And a girl puts her head under water or a child's strangled, and the heart all the time says love, love."
They lay quiet for a while in the hut. The priest thought the lieutenant was asleep until he spoke again. "You never talk straight. You say one thing to me—but to another man, or a woman, you say: 'God is love.' But you think that stuff won't go down with me, so you say different things. Things you think I'll agree with."
"Oh," the priest said, "that's another thing altogether—God is love. I don't say the heart doesn't feel a taste of it, but what a taste. The smallest glass of love mixed with a pint54 pot of ditch-water. We wouldn't recognize that love. It might even look like hate. It would be enough to scare us—God's love. It set fire to a bush in the desert, didn't it, and smashed open graves and set the dead walking in the dark? Oh, a man like me would run a mile to get away if he felt that love around."
"You don't trust Him much, do you? He doesn't seem a grateful kind of God. If a man served me as well as you've served Him, well, I'd recommend him for promotion55, see he [190] got a good pension ... if he was in pain, with cancer, I'd put a bullet through his head."
"Listen," the priest said earnestly, leaning forward in the dark, pressing on a cramped56 foot, "I'm not as dishonest as you think I am. Why do you think I tell people out of the pulpit that they're in danger of damnation if death catches them unawares? I'm not telling them fairy-stories I don't believe myself. I don't know a thing about the mercy of God: I don't know how awful the human heart looks to Him. But I do know this—that if there's ever been a single man in this state damned, then I'll be damned too." He said slowly: "I wouldn't want it to be any different. I just want justice, that's all."
"We'll be in before dark," the lieutenant said. Six men rode in front and six behind: sometimes, in the belts of forest between the arms of the river, they had to ride in single file. The lieutenant didn't speak much, and once when two of his men struck up a song about a fat shopkeeper and his woman, he told them savagely to be silent. It wasn't a very triumphal procession: the priest rode with a weak grin fixed57 on his face. It was like a mask he had stuck on, so that he could think quickly without anyone's noticing. What he thought about mostly was pain.
"I suppose," the lieutenant said, scowling58 ahead, "you're hoping for a miracle."
"Excuse me. What did you say?"
"I said I suppose you're hoping for a miracle."
"No."
"You believe in them, don't you?"
"Yes. But not for me. I'm no more good to anyone, so why should God keep me alive?"
"I cant34 think how a man like you can believe in those things. The Indians, yes. Why, the first time they see an electric light they think it's a miracle."
"And I dare say the first time you saw a man raised from the dead you might think so too." He giggled unconvincingly behind the smiling mask. "Oh, it's funny, isn't it? It isn't a case of miracles not happening—it's just a case of people calling them something else. Can't you see the doctors round the dead man? He isn't breathing any more, his pulse has stopped, his [191] heart's not beating: he's dead. Then somebody gives him back his life, and they all—what's the expression?—reserve their opinion. They won't say it's a miracle, because that's a word they don't like. Then it happens again and again perhaps—because God's about on earth—and they say: there aren't miracles, it is simply that we have enlarged our conception of what life is. Now we know you can be alive without pulse, breath, heart-beats. And they invent a new word to describe that state of life, and they say science has again disproved a miracle." He giggled again. "You cant get round them."
They were out of the forest track onto a hard beaten road, and the lieutenant dug in his spur and the whole cavalcade59 broke into a canter. They were nearly home now. The lieutenant said grudgingly: "You aren't a bad fellow. If there's anything I can do for you ..."
"If you would give permission for me to confess ..."
The first houses came into sight: little hard-baked houses of earth falling into ruin, a few classical pillars—just plaster over mud, and a dirty child playing in the rubble60.
The lieutenant said: "But there's no priest."
"Padre José."
"Oh, Padre José," the lieutenant said, with contempt, "he's no good for you."
"He's good enough for me. It's not likely I'd find a saint here, is it?"
The lieutenant rode for a little while in silence: they came to the cemetery61, full of chipped angels, and passed the great portico62 with its black letters: Silencio. He said: "All right. You can have him." He wouldn't look at the cemetery as they went by—there was the wall where the prisoners were shot. The road went steeply down-hill towards the river: on the right, where the cathedral had been, the iron swings stood empty in the hot afternoon. There was a sense of desolation everywhere, more of it than in the mountains because a lot of life had once existed here. The lieutenant thought: No pulse, no breath, no heart-beat, but it's still life—we've only got to find a name for it. A small boy watched them pass: he called out to the lieutenant: "Lieutenant, have you got him?" and the lieutenant dimly remembered the face—one day in the [192] plaza—a broken bottle, and he tried to smile back, an odd sour grimace63, without triumph or hope. One had to begin again with that.
收听单词发音 |
1
assent
|
|
| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
barbarian
|
|
| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
cape
|
|
| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
giggled
|
|
| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
giggle
|
|
| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
nervously
|
|
| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
lieutenant
|
|
| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
ace
|
|
| n.A牌；发球得分；佼佼者；adj.杰出的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
huddled
|
|
| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
appalling
|
|
| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
jack
|
|
| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
grudgingly
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
jacks
|
|
| n.抓子游戏；千斤顶( jack的名词复数 )；（电）插孔；[电子学]插座；放弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
unwillingly
|
|
| adv.不情愿地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
guilds
|
|
| 行会，同业公会，协会( guild的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
socialists
|
|
| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
lashing
|
|
| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
savagely
|
|
| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
liar
|
|
| n.说谎的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
rape
|
|
| n.抢夺，掠夺，强奸；vt.掠夺，抢夺，强奸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
dealing
|
|
| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
fumbled
|
|
| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
shuffle
|
|
| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
maliciously
|
|
| adv.有敌意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
apprehensively
|
|
| adv.担心地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
disapproved
|
|
| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
bully
|
|
| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
moodily
|
|
| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
cant
|
|
| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
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： |
|
|
|
|
36
sullen
|
|
| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
whine
|
|
| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
ordeal
|
|
| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
monotonous
|
|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
complacently
|
|
| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
poised
|
|
| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
fangs
|
|
| n.（尤指狗和狼的）长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 )；（蛇的）毒牙；罐座 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
grudge
|
|
| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
groan
|
|
| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
groaned
|
|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
cramp
|
|
| n.痉挛；[pl.](腹)绞痛；vt.限制，束缚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
marshy
|
|
| adj.沼泽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
subdivided
|
|
| 再分，细分( subdivide的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
schooling
|
|
| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
guts
|
|
| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
thigh
|
|
| n.大腿；股骨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
spat
|
|
| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
pint
|
|
| n.品脱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
promotion
|
|
| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
cramped
|
|
| a.狭窄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
scowling
|
|
| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
cavalcade
|
|
| n.车队等的行列 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
rubble
|
|
| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
cemetery
|
|
| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
portico
|
|
| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
grimace
|
|
| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |