There happened to be on board the steamboat several gentlemen passengers, of the same stamp as Martin’s New York friend Mr Bevan; and in their society he was cheerful and happy. They released him as well as they could from the intellectual entanglements2 of Mrs Hominy; and exhibited, in all they said and did, so much good sense and high feeling, that he could not like them too well. ‘If this were a republic of Intellect and Worth,’ he said, ‘instead of vapouring and jobbing, they would not want the levers to keep it in motion.’
‘Having good tools, and using bad ones,’ returned Mr Tapley, ‘would look as if they was rather a poor sort of carpenters, sir, wouldn’t it?’
Martin nodded. ‘As if their work were infinitely3 above their powers and purpose, Mark; and they botched it in consequence.’
‘The best on it is,’ said Mark, ‘that when they do happen to make a decent stroke; such as better workmen, with no such opportunities, make every day of their lives and think nothing of—they begin to sing out so surprising loud. Take notice of my words, sir. If ever the defaulting part of this here country pays its debts—along of finding that not paying ‘em won’t do in a commercial point of view, you see, and is inconvenient4 in its consequences—they’ll take such a shine out of it, and make such bragging5 speeches, that a man might suppose no borrowed money had ever been paid afore, since the world was first begun. That’s the way they gammon each other, sir. Bless you, I know ‘em. Take notice of my words, now!’
‘You seem to be growing profoundly sagacious!’ cried Martin, laughing.
‘Whether that is,’ thought Mark, ‘because I’m a day’s journey nearer Eden, and am brightening up afore I die, I can’t say. P’rhaps by the time I get there I shall have growed into a prophet.’
He gave no utterance6 to these sentiments; but the excessive joviality7 they inspired within him, and the merriment they brought upon his shining face, were quite enough for Martin. Although he might sometimes profess8 to make light of his partner’s inexhaustible cheerfulness, and might sometimes, as in the case of Zephaniah Scadder, find him too jocose9 a commentator10, he was always sensible of the effect of his example in rousing him to hopefulness and courage. Whether he were in the humour to profit by it, mattered not a jot11. It was contagious12, and he could not choose but be affected13.
At first they parted with some of their passengers once or twice a day, and took in others to replace them. But by degrees, the towns upon their route became more thinly scattered14; and for many hours together they would see no other habitations than the huts of the wood-cutters, where the vessel15 stopped for fuel. Sky, wood, and water all the livelong day; and heat that blistered16 everything it touched.
On they toiled17 through great solitudes18, where the trees upon the banks grew thick and close; and floated in the stream; and held up shrivelled arms from out the river’s depths; and slid down from the margin19 of the land, half growing, half decaying, in the miry water. On through the weary day and melancholy20 night; beneath the burning sun, and in the mist and vapour of the evening; on, until return appeared impossible, and restoration to their home a miserable21 dream.
They had now but few people on board, and these few were as flat, as dull, and stagnant22, as the vegetation that oppressed their eyes. No sound of cheerfulness or hope was heard; no pleasant talk beguiled23 the tardy24 time; no little group made common cause against the full depression of the scene. But that, at certain periods, they swallowed food together from a common trough, it might have been old Charon’s boat, conveying melancholy shades to judgment25.
At length they drew near New Thermopylae; where, that same evening, Mrs Hominy would disembark. A gleam of comfort sunk into Martin’s bosom26 when she told him this. Mark needed none; but he was not displeased27.
It was almost night when they came alongside the landing-place. A steep bank with an hotel like a barn on the top of it; a wooden store or two; and a few scattered sheds.
‘You sleep here to-night, and go on in the morning, I suppose, ma’am?’ said Martin.
‘Where should I go on to?’ cried the mother of the modern Gracchi.
‘To New Thermopylae.’
‘My! ain’t I there?’ said Mrs Hominy.
Martin looked for it all round the darkening panorama28; but he couldn’t see it, and was obliged to say so.
‘Why that’s it!’ cried Mrs Hominy, pointing to the sheds just mentioned.
‘That!’ exclaimed Martin.
‘Ah! that; and work it which way you will, it whips Eden,’ said Mrs Hominy, nodding her head with great expression.
The married Miss Hominy, who had come on board with her husband, gave to this statement her most unqualified support, as did that gentleman also. Martin gratefully declined their invitation to regale29 himself at their house during the half hour of the vessel’s stay; and having escorted Mrs Hominy and the red pocket-handkerchief (which was still on active service) safely across the gangway, returned in a thoughtful mood to watch the emigrants30 as they removed their goods ashore31.
Mark, as he stood beside him, glanced in his face from time to time; anxious to discover what effect this dialogue had had upon him, and not unwilling32 that his hopes should be dashed before they reached their destination, so that the blow he feared might be broken in its fall. But saving that he sometimes looked up quickly at the poor erections on the hill, he gave him no clue to what was passing in his mind, until they were again upon their way.
‘Mark,’ he said then, ‘are there really none but ourselves on board this boat who are bound for Eden?’
‘None at all, sir. Most of ‘em, as you know, have stopped short; and the few that are left are going further on. What matters that! More room there for us, sir.’
‘Oh, to be sure!’ said Martin. ‘But I was thinking—’ and there he paused.
‘Yes, sir?’ observed Mark.
‘How odd it was that the people should have arranged to try their fortune at a wretched hole like that, for instance, when there is such a much better, and such a very different kind of place, near at hand, as one may say.’
He spoke33 in a tone so very different from his usual confidence, and with such an obvious dread34 of Mark’s reply, that the good-natured fellow was full of pity.
‘Why, you know, sir,’ said Mark, as gently as he could by any means insinuate35 the observation, ‘we must guard against being too sanguine36. There’s no occasion for it, either, because we’re determined37 to make the best of everything, after we know the worst of it. Ain’t we, sir?’
Martin looked at him, but answered not a word.
‘Even Eden, you know, ain’t all built,’ said Mark.
‘In the name of Heaven, man,’ cried Martin angrily, ‘don’t talk of Eden in the same breath with that place. Are you mad? There—God forgive me!—don’t think harshly of me for my temper!’
After that, he turned away, and walked to and fro upon the deck full two hours. Nor did he speak again, except to say ‘Good night,’ until next day; nor even then upon this subject, but on other topics quite foreign to the purpose.
As they proceeded further on their track, and came more and more towards their journey’s end, the monotonous38 desolation of the scene increased to that degree, that for any redeeming39 feature it presented to their eyes, they might have entered, in the body, on the grim domains40 of Giant Despair. A flat morass41, bestrewn with fallen timber; a marsh42 on which the good growth of the earth seemed to have been wrecked43 and cast away, that from its decomposing44 ashes vile45 and ugly things might rise; where the very trees took the aspect of huge weeds, begotten46 of the slime from which they sprung, by the hot sun that burnt them up; where fatal maladies, seeking whom they might infect, came forth47 at night in misty48 shapes, and creeping out upon the water, hunted them like spectres until day; where even the blessed sun, shining down on festering elements of corruption49 and disease, became a horror; this was the realm of Hope through which they moved.
At last they stopped. At Eden too. The waters of the Deluge50 might have left it but a week before; so choked with slime and matted growth was the hideous51 swamp which bore that name.
There being no depth of water close in shore, they landed from the vessel’s boat, with all their goods beside them. There were a few log-houses visible among the dark trees; the best, a cow-shed or a rude stable; but for the wharves52, the market-place, the public buildings—
‘Here comes an Edener,’ said Mark. ‘He’ll get us help to carry these things up. Keep a good heart, sir. Hallo there!’
The man advanced toward them through the thickening gloom, very slowly; leaning on a stick. As he drew nearer, they observed that he was pale and worn, and that his anxious eyes were deeply sunken in his head. His dress of homespun blue hung about him in rags; his feet and head were bare. He sat down on a stump53 half-way, and beckoned54 them to come to him. When they complied, he put his hand upon his side as if in pain, and while he fetched his breath stared at them, wondering.
‘Strangers!’ he exclaimed, as soon as he could speak.
‘The very same,’ said Mark. ‘How are you, sir?’
‘I’ve had the fever very bad,’ he answered faintly. ‘I haven’t stood upright these many weeks. Those are your notions I see,’ pointing to their property.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Mark, ‘they are. You couldn’t recommend us some one as would lend a hand to help carry ‘em up to the—to the town, could you, sir?’
‘My eldest55 son would do it if he could,’ replied the man; ‘but today he has his chill upon him, and is lying wrapped up in the blankets. My youngest died last week.’
‘I’m sorry for it, governor, with all my heart,’ said Mark, shaking him by the hand. ‘Don’t mind us. Come along with me, and I’ll give you an arm back. The goods is safe enough, sir’—to Martin—‘there ain’t many people about, to make away with ‘em. What a comfort that is!’
‘No,’ cried the man. ‘You must look for such folk here,’ knocking his stick upon the ground, ‘or yonder in the bush, towards the north. We’ve buried most of ‘em. The rest have gone away. Them that we have here, don’t come out at night.’
‘It’s deadly poison,’ was the settler’s answer.
Mark showed no more uneasiness than if it had been commended to him as ambrosia57; but he gave the man his arm, and as they went along explained to him the nature of their purchase, and inquired where it lay. Close to his own log-house, he said; so close that he had used their dwelling58 as a store-house for some corn; they must excuse it that night, but he would endeavour to get it taken out upon the morrow. He then gave them to understand, as an additional scrap59 of local chit-chat, that he had buried the last proprietor60 with his own hands; a piece of information which Mark also received without the least abatement61 of his equanimity62.
In a word, he conducted them to a miserable cabin, rudely constructed of the trunks of trees; the door of which had either fallen down or been carried away long ago; and which was consequently open to the wild landscape and the dark night. Saving for the little store he had mentioned, it was perfectly63 bare of all furniture; but they had left a chest upon the landing-place, and he gave them a rude torch in lieu of candle. This latter acquisition Mark planted in the earth, and then declaring that the mansion64 ‘looked quite comfortable,’ hurried Martin off again to help bring up the chest. And all the way to the landing-place and back, Mark talked incessantly65; as if he would infuse into his partner’s breast some faint belief that they had arrived under the most auspicious66 and cheerful of all imaginable circumstances.
But many a man who would have stood within a home dismantled67, strong in his passion and design of vengeance68, has had the firmness of his nature conquered by the razing69 of an air-built castle. When the log-hut received them for the second time, Martin laid down upon the ground, and wept aloud.
‘Lord love you, sir!’ cried Mr Tapley, in great terror; ‘Don’t do that! Don’t do that, sir! Anything but that! It never helped man, woman, or child, over the lowest fence yet, sir, and it never will. Besides its being of no use to you, it’s worse than of no use to me, for the least sound of it will knock me flat down. I can’t stand up agin it, sir. Anything but that!’
There is no doubt he spoke the truth, for the extraordinary alarm with which he looked at Martin as he paused upon his knees before the chest, in the act of unlocking it, to say these words, sufficiently70 confirmed him.
‘I ask your forgiveness a thousand times, my dear fellow,’ said Martin. ‘I couldn’t have helped it, if death had been the penalty.’
‘Ask my forgiveness!’ said Mark, with his accustomed cheerfulness, as he proceeded to unpack71 the chest. ‘The head partner a-asking forgiveness of Co., eh? There must be something wrong in the firm when that happens. I must have the books inspected and the accounts gone over immediate72. Here we are. Everything in its proper place. Here’s the salt pork. Here’s the biscuit. Here’s the whiskey. Uncommon73 good it smells too. Here’s the tin pot. This tin pot’s a small fortun’ in itself! Here’s the blankets. Here’s the axe74. Who says we ain’t got a first-rate fit out? I feel as if I was a cadet gone out to Indy, and my noble father was chairman of the Board of Directors. Now, when I’ve got some water from the stream afore the door and mixed the grog,’ cried Mark, running out to suit the action to the word, ‘there’s a supper ready, comprising every delicacy75 of the season. Here we are, sir, all complete. For what we are going to receive, et cetrer. Lord bless you, sir, it’s very like a gipsy party!’
It was impossible not to take heart, in the company of such a man as this. Martin sat upon the ground beside the box; took out his knife; and ate and drank sturdily.
‘Now you see,’ said Mark, when they had made a hearty76 meal; ‘with your knife and mine, I sticks this blanket right afore the door. Or where, in a state of high civilization, the door would be. And very neat it looks. Then I stops the aperture77 below, by putting the chest agin it. And very neat that looks. Then there’s your blanket, sir. Then here’s mine. And what’s to hinder our passing a good night?’
For all his light-hearted speaking, it was long before he slept himself. He wrapped his blanket round him, put the axe ready to his hand, and lay across the threshold of the door; too anxious and too watchful78 to close his eyes. The novelty of their dreary79 situation, the dread of some rapacious80 animal or human enemy, the terrible uncertainty81 of their means of subsistence, the apprehension82 of death, the immense distance and the hosts of obstacles between themselves and England, were fruitful sources of disquiet83 in the deep silence of the night. Though Martin would have had him think otherwise, Mark felt that he was waking also, and a prey84 to the same reflections. This was almost worse than all, for if he began to brood over their miseries85 instead of trying to make head against them there could be little doubt that such a state of mind would powerfully assist the influence of the pestilent climate. Never had the light of day been half so welcome to his eyes, as when awaking from a fitful doze86, Mark saw it shining through the blanket in the doorway87.
He stole out gently, for his companion was sleeping now; and having refreshed himself by washing in the river, where it snowed before the door, took a rough survey of the settlement. There were not above a score of cabins in the whole; half of these appeared untenanted; all were rotten and decayed. The most tottering88, abject89, and forlorn among them was called, with great propriety90, the Bank, and National Credit Office. It had some feeble props91 about it, but was settling deep down in the mud, past all recovery.
Here and there an effort had been made to clear the land, and something like a field had been marked out, where, among the stumps92 and ashes of burnt trees, a scanty93 crop of Indian corn was growing. In some quarters, a snake or zigzag94 fence had been begun, but in no instance had it been completed; and the felled logs, half hidden in the soil, lay mouldering95 away. Three or four meagre dogs, wasted and vexed96 with hunger; some long-legged pigs, wandering away into the woods in search of food; some children, nearly naked, gazing at him from the huts; were all the living things he saw. A fetid vapour, hot and sickening as the breath of an oven, rose up from the earth, and hung on everything around; and as his foot-prints sunk into the marshy97 ground, a black ooze98 started forth to blot99 them out.
Their own land was mere100 forest. The trees had grown so think and close that they shouldered one another out of their places, and the weakest, forced into shapes of strange distortion, languished101 like cripples. The best were stunted102, from the pressure and the want of room; and high about the stems of all grew long rank grass, dank weeds, and frowsy underwood; not divisible into their separate kinds, but tangled103 all together in a heap; a jungle deep and dark, with neither earth nor water at its roots, but putrid104 matter, formed of the pulpy105 offal of the two, and of their own corruption.
He went down to the landing-place where they had left their goods last night; and there he found some half-dozen men—wan and forlorn to look at, but ready enough to assist—who helped him to carry them to the log-house. They shook their heads in speaking of the settlement, and had no comfort to give him. Those who had the means of going away had all deserted106 it. They who were left had lost their wives, their children, friends, or brothers there, and suffered much themselves. Most of them were ill then; none were the men they had been once. They frankly107 offered their assistance and advice, and, leaving him for that time, went sadly off upon their several tasks.
Martin was by this time stirring; but he had greatly changed, even in one night. He was very pale and languid; he spoke of pains and weakness in his limbs, and complained that his sight was dim, and his voice feeble. Increasing in his own briskness108 as the prospect109 grew more and more dismal110, Mark brought away a door from one of the deserted houses, and fitted it to their own habitation; then went back again for a rude bench he had observed, with which he presently returned in triumph; and having put this piece of furniture outside the house, arranged the notable tin pot and other such movables upon it, that it might represent a dresser or a sideboard. Greatly satisfied with this arrangement, he next rolled their cask of flour into the house and set it up on end in one corner, where it served for a side-table. No better dining-table could be required than the chest, which he solemnly devoted111 to that useful service thenceforth. Their blankets, clothes, and the like, he hung on pegs112 and nails. And lastly, he brought forth a great placard (which Martin in the exultation113 of his heart had prepared with his own hands at the National Hotel) bearing the inscription114, CHUZZLEWIT & CO., ARCHITECTS AND SURVEYORS, which he displayed upon the most conspicuous115 part of the premises116, with as much gravity as if the thriving city of Eden had a real existence, and they expected to be overwhelmed with business.
‘These here tools,’ said Mark, bringing forward Martin’s case of instruments and sticking the compasses upright in a stump before the door, ‘shall be set out in the open air to show that we come provided. And now, if any gentleman wants a house built, he’d better give his orders, afore we’re other ways bespoke117.’
Considering the intense heat of the weather, this was not a bad morning’s work; but without pausing for a moment, though he was streaming at every pore, Mark vanished into the house again, and presently reappeared with a hatchet118; intent on performing some impossibilities with that implement119.
‘Here’s ugly old tree in the way, sir,’ he observed, ‘which’ll be all the better down. We can build the oven in the afternoon. There never was such a handy spot for clay as Eden is. That’s convenient, anyhow.’
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But Martin gave him no answer. He had sat the whole time with his head upon his hands, gazing at the current as it rolled swiftly by; thinking, perhaps, how fast it moved towards the open sea, the high road to the home he never would behold120 again.
Not even the vigorous strokes which Mark dealt at the tree awoke him from his mournful meditation121. Finding all his endeavours to rouse him of no use, Mark stopped in his work and came towards him.
‘Don’t give in, sir,’ said Mr Tapley.
‘Oh, Mark,’ returned his friend, ‘what have I done in all my life that has deserved this heavy fate?’
‘Why, sir,’ returned Mark, ‘for the matter of that, everybody as is here might say the same thing; many of ‘em with better reason p’raps than you or me. Hold up, sir. Do something. Couldn’t you ease your mind, now, don’t you think, by making some personal obserwations in a letter to Scadder?’
‘No,’ said Martin, shaking his head sorrowfully: ‘I am past that.’
‘But if you’re past that already,’ returned Mark, ‘you must be ill, and ought to be attended to.’
‘Don’t mind me,’ said Martin. ‘Do the best you can for yourself. You’ll soon have only yourself to consider. And then God speed you home, and forgive me for bringing you here! I am destined122 to die in this place. I felt it the instant I set foot upon the shore. Sleeping or waking, Mark, I dreamed it all last night.’
‘I said you must be ill,’ returned Mark, tenderly, ‘and now I’m sure of it. A touch of fever and ague caught on these rivers, I dare say; but bless you, that’s nothing. It’s only a seasoning123, and we must all be seasoned, one way or another. That’s religion that is, you know,’ said Mark.
He only sighed and shook his head.
‘Wait half a minute,’ said Mark cheerily, ‘till I run up to one of our neighbours and ask what’s best to be took, and borrow a little of it to give you; and to-morrow you’ll find yourself as strong as ever again. I won’t be gone a minute. Don’t give in while I’m away, whatever you do!’
Throwing down his hatchet, he sped away immediately, but stopped when he had got a little distance, and looked back; then hurried on again.
‘Now, Mr Tapley,’ said Mark, giving himself a tremendous blow in the chest by way of reviver, ‘just you attend to what I’ve got to say. Things is looking about as bad as they can look, young man. You’ll not have such another opportunity for showing your jolly disposition124, my fine fellow, as long as you live. And therefore, Tapley, Now’s your time to come out strong; or Never!’
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1
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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entanglements
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| n.瓜葛( entanglement的名词复数 )；牵连；纠缠；缠住 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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bragging
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| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的现在分词 )；大话 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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joviality
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| n.快活 | |
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profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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jocose
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| adj.开玩笑的，滑稽的 | |
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commentator
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| n.注释者，解说者；实况广播评论员 | |
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jot
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| n.少量；vi.草草记下；vt.匆匆写下 | |
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contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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blistered
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| adj.水疮状的，泡状的v.（使）起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 )；（使表皮等）涨破，爆裂 | |
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toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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melancholy
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miserable
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stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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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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tardy
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judgment
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bosom
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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panorama
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regale
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| v.取悦，款待 | |
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emigrants
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ashore
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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spoke
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dread
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insinuate
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| vt.含沙射影地说，暗示 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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40
domains
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| n.范围( domain的名词复数 )；领域；版图；地产 | |
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41
morass
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| n.沼泽，困境 | |
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42
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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43
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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44
decomposing
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| 腐烂( decompose的现在分词 )； （使）分解； 分解（某物质、光线等） | |
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45
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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46
begotten
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| v.为…之生父( beget的过去分词 )；产生，引起 | |
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47
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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48
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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49
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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50
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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51
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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52
wharves
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| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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53
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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54
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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56
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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57
ambrosia
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| n.神的食物；蜂食 | |
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58
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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59
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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60
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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61
abatement
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| n.减(免)税，打折扣，冲销 | |
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62
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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63
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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64
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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65
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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66
auspicious
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| adj.吉利的；幸运的，吉兆的 | |
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67
dismantled
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| 拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 )； 拆卸； 废除； 取消 | |
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68
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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69
razing
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| v.彻底摧毁，将…夷为平地( raze的现在分词 ) | |
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70
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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71
unpack
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| vt.打开包裹（或行李），卸货 | |
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72
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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73
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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74
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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75
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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76
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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78
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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79
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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rapacious
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| adj.贪婪的，强夺的 | |
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81
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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82
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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disquiet
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| n.担心，焦虑 | |
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84
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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85
miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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86
doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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87
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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88
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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89
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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90
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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91
props
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| 小道具； 支柱( prop的名词复数 )； 支持者； 道具； （橄榄球中的）支柱前锋 | |
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stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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93
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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95
mouldering
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| v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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97
marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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98
ooze
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| n.软泥，渗出物；vi.渗出，泄漏；vt.慢慢渗出，流露 | |
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99
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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100
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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101
languished
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| 长期受苦( languish的过去式和过去分词 )； 受折磨； 变得（越来越）衰弱； 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
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102
stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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103
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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104
putrid
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| adj.腐臭的；有毒的；已腐烂的；卑劣的 | |
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105
pulpy
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| 果肉状的，多汁的，柔软的； 烂糊； 稀烂 | |
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106
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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107
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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108
briskness
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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109
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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110
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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111
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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112
pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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113
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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114
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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115
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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116
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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117
bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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118
hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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119
implement
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| n.(pl.)工具，器具；vt.实行，实施，执行 | |
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120
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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121
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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122
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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123
seasoning
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| n.调味；调味料；增添趣味之物 | |
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124
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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