Aziz could not understand this, any more than an average Christian13 could. He was puzzled that Mau should suddenly be purged14 from suspicion and self-seeking. Although he was an outsider, and excluded from their rites15, they were always particularly charming to him at this time; he and his household received small courtesies and presents, just because he was outside. He had nothing to do all day, except to send the embrocation over to the Guest House, and towards sunset he remembered it, and looked round his house for a local palliative, for the dispensary was shut. He found a tin of ointment16 belonging to Mohammed Latif, who was unwilling17 it should be removed, for magic words had been spoken over it while it was being boiled down, but Aziz promised that he would bring it back after application to the stings: he wanted an excuse for a ride.
The procession was beginning to form as he passed the palace. A large crowd watched the loading of the State palanquin, the prow19 of which protruded20 in the form of a silver dragon’s head through the lofty half-opened door. Gods, big and little, were getting aboard. He averted21 his eyes, for he never knew how much he was supposed to see, and nearly collided with the Minister of Education. “Ah, you might make me late”—meaning that the touch of a non-Hindu would necessitate22 another bath; the words were spoken without moral heat. “Sorry,” said Aziz. The other smiled, and again mentioned the Guest House party, and when he heard that Fielding’s wife was not Miss Quested after all, remarked “Ah, no, he married the sister of Mr. Heaslop. Ah, exactly, I have known that for over a year”—also without heat. “Why did you not tell me? Your silence plunged23 me into a pretty pickle24.” Godbole, who had never been known to tell anyone anything, smiled again, and said in deprecating tones: “Never be angry with me. I am, as far as my limitations permit, your true friend; besides, it is my holy festival.” Aziz always felt like a baby in that strange presence, a baby who unexpectedly receives a toy. He smiled also, and turned his horse into a lane, for the crush increased. The Sweepers’ Band was arriving. Playing on sieves25 and other emblems27 of their profession, they marched straight at the gate of the palace with the air of a victorious28 army. All other music was silent, for this was ritually the moment of the Despised and Rejected; the God could not issue from his temple until the unclean Sweepers played their tune29, they were the spot of filth30 without which the spirit cannot cohere31. For an instant the scene was magnificent. The doors were thrown open, and the whole court was seen inside, barefoot and dressed in white robes; in the fairway stood the Ark of the Lord, covered with cloth of gold and flanked by peacock fans and by stiff circular banners of crimson32. It was full to the brim with statuettes and flowers. As it rose from the earth on the shoulders of its bearers, the friendly sun of the monsoons34 shone forth35 and flooded the world with colour, so that the yellow tigers painted on the palace walls seemed to spring, and pink and green skeins of cloud to link up the upper sky. The palanquin moved. . . . The lane was full of State elephants, who would follow it, their howdahs empty out of humility36. Aziz did not pay attention to these sanctities, for they had no connection with his own; he felt bored, slightly cynical37, like his own dear Emperor Babur, who came down from the north and found in Hindustan no good fruit, no fresh water or witty38 conversation, not even a friend.
The lane led quickly out of the town on to high rocks and jungle. Here he drew reign39 and examined the great Mau tank, which lay exposed beneath him to its remotest curve. Reflecting the evening clouds, it filled the nether-world with an equal splendour, so that earth and sky leant toward one another, about to clash in ecstasy40. He spat41, cynical again, more cynical than before. For in the centre of the burnished42 circle a small black blot43 was advancing—the Guest House boat. Those English had improvised44 something to take the place of oars45, and were proceeding46 in their work of patrolling India. The sight endeared the Hindus by comparison, and looking back at the milk-white hump of the palace, he hoped that they would enjoy carrying their idol47 about, for at all events it did not pry48 into other people’s lives. This pose of “seeing India” which had seduced49 him to Miss Quested at Chandrapore was only a form of ruling India; no sympathy lay behind it; he knew exactly what was going on in the boat as the party gazed at the steps down which the image would presently descend50, and debated how near they might row without getting into trouble officially.
He did not give up his ride, for there would be servants at the Guest House whom he could question; a little information never comes amiss. He took the path by the sombre promontory51 that contained the royal tombs. Like the palace, they were of snowy stucco, and gleamed by their internal light, but their radiance grew ghostly under approaching night. The promontory was covered with lofty trees, and the fruit-bats were unhooking from the boughs52 and making kissing sounds as they grazed the surface of the tank; hanging upside down all the day, they had grown thirsty. The signs of the contented53 Indian evening multiplied; frogs on all sides, cow-dung burning eternally; a flock of belated hornbills overhead, looking like winged skeletons as they flapped across the gloaming. There was death in the air, but not sadness; a compromise had been made between destiny and desire, and even the heart of man acquiesced54.
The European Guest House stood two hundred feet above the water, on the crest55 of a rocky and wooded spur that jutted56 from the jungle. By the time Aziz arrived, the water had paled to a film of mauve-grey, and the boat vanished entirely57. A sentry58 slept in the Guest House porch, lamps burned in the cruciform of the deserted59 rooms. He went from one room to another, inquisitive60, and malicious61. Two letters lying on the piano rewarded him, and he pounced62 and read them promptly63. He was not ashamed to do this. The sanctity of private correspondence has never been ratified64 by the East. Moreover, Mr. McBryde had read all his letters in the past, and spread their contents. One letter—the more interesting of the two—was from Heaslop to Fielding. It threw light on the mentality65 of his former friend, and it hardened him further against him. Much of it was about Ralph Moore, who appeared to be almost an imbecile. “Hand on my brother whenever suits you. I write to you because he is sure to make a bad bunderbust.” Then: “I quite agree—life is too short to cherish grievances66, also I’m relieved you feel able to come into line with the Oppressors of India to some extent. We need all the support we can get. I hope that next time Stella comes my way she will bring you with her, when I will make you as comfortable as a bachelor can—it’s certainly time we met. My sister’s marriage to you coming after my mother’s death and my own difficulties did upset me, and I was unreasonable67. It is about time we made it up properly, as you say—let us leave it at faults on both sides. Glad about your son and heir. When next any of you write to Adela, do give her some sort of message from me, for I should like to make my peace with her too. You are lucky to be out of British India at the present moment. Incident after incident, all due to propaganda, but we can’t lay our hands on the connecting thread. The longer one lives here, the more certain one gets that everything hangs together. My personal opinion is, it’s the Jews.”
Thus far the red-nosed boy. Aziz was distracted for a moment by blurred69 sounds coming from over the water; the procession was under way. The second letter was from Miss Quested to Mrs. Fielding. It contained one or two interesting touches. The writer hoped that “Ralph will enjoy his India more than I did mine,” and appeared to have given him money for this purpose—“my debt which I shall never repay in person.” What debt did Miss Quested imagine she owed the country? He did not relish70 the phrase. Talk of Ralph’s health. It was all “Stella and Ralph,” even “Cyril” and “Ronny”—all so friendly and sensible, and written in a spirit he could not command. He envied the easy intercourse71 that is only possible in a nation whose women are free. These five people were making up their little difficulties, and closing their broken ranks against the alien. Even Heaslop was coming in. Hence the strength of England, and in a spurt72 of temper he hit the piano, and since the notes had swollen73 and stuck together in groups of threes, he produced a remarkable74 noise.
“Oh, oh, who is that?” said a nervous and respectful voice; he could not remember where he had heard its tones before. Something moved in the twilight75 of an adjoining room. He replied, “State doctor, ridden over to enquire76, very little English,” slipped the letters into his pocket, and to show that he had free entry to the Guest House, struck the piano again.
Ralph Moore came into the light.
What a strange-looking youth, tall, prematurely77 aged78, the big blue eyes faded with anxiety, the hair impoverished79 and tousled! Not a type that is often exported imperially. The doctor in Aziz thought, “Born of too old a mother,” the poet found him rather beautiful.
“I was unable to call earlier owing to pressure of work. How are the celebrated80 bee-stings?” he asked patronizingly.
“I—I was resting, they thought I had better; they throb81 rather.”
His timidity and evident “newness” had complicated effects on the malcontent82. Speaking threateningly, he said, “Come here, please, allow me to look.” They were practically alone, and he could treat the patient as Callendar had treated Nureddin.
“You said this morning——”
“The best of doctors make mistakes. Come here, please, for the diagnosis83 under the lamp. I am pressed for time.”
“Aough——”
“What is the matter, pray?”
“Your hands are unkind.”
He started and glanced down at them. The extraordinary youth was right, and he put them behind his back before replying with outward anger: “What the devil have my hands to do with you? This is a most strange remark. I am a qualified84 doctor, who will not hurt you.”
“I don’t mind pain, there is no pain.”
“No pain?”
“Not really.”
“Excellent news,” sneered85 Aziz.
“But there is cruelty.”
“I have brought you some salve, but how to put it on in your present nervous state becomes a problem,” he continued, after a pause.
“Please leave it with me.”
“Certainly not. It returns to my dispensary at once.” He stretched forward, and the other retreated to the farther side of a table. “Now, do you want me to treat your stings, or do you prefer an English doctor? There is one at Asirgarh. Asirgarh is forty miles away, and the Ringnod dam broken. Now you see how you are placed. I think I had better see Mr. Fielding about you; this is really great nonsense, your present behaviour.”
“They are out in a boat,” he replied, glancing about him for support.
Aziz feigned86 intense surprise. “They have not gone in the direction of Mau, I hope. On a night like this the people become most fanatical.” And, as if to confirm him, there was a sob87, as though the lips of a giant had parted; the procession was approaching the Jail.
“You should not treat us like this,” he challenged, and this time Aziz was checked, for the voice, though frightened, was not weak.
“Like what?”
“Dr. Aziz, we have done you no harm.”
“Aha, you know my name, I see. Yes, I am Aziz. No, of course your great friend Miss Quested did me no harm at the Marabar.”
Drowning his last words, all the guns of the State went off. A rocket from the Jail garden gave the signal. The prisoner had been released, and was kissing the feet of the singers. Rose-leaves fall from the houses, sacred spices and coco-nut are brought forth. . . . It was the half-way moment; the God had extended His temple, and paused exultantly88. Mixed and confused in their passage, the rumours89 of salvation90 entered the Guest House. They were startled and moved on to the porch, drawn91 by the sudden illumination. The bronze gun up on the fort kept flashing, the town was a blur68 of light, in which the houses seemed dancing, and the palace waving little wings. The water below, the hills and sky above, were not involved as yet; there was still only a little light and song struggling among the shapeless lumps of the universe. The song became audible through much repetition; the choir92 was repeating and inverting93 the names of deities94.
“Radhakrishna Radhakrishna,
Radhakrishna Radhakrishna,
Krishnaradha Radhakrishna,
Radhakrishna Radhakrishna,”
they sang, and woke the sleeping sentry in the Guest House; he leant upon his iron-tipped spear.
“I must go back now, good night,” said Aziz, and held out his hand, completely forgetting that they were not friends, and focusing his heart on something more distant than the caves, something beautiful. His hand was taken, and then he remembered how detestable he had been, and said gently, “Don’t you think me unkind any more?”
“No.”
“How can you tell, you strange fellow?”
“Not difficult, the one thing I always know.”
“Can you always tell whether a stranger is your friend?”
“Yes.”
“Then you are an Oriental.” He unclasped as he spoke18, with a little shudder95. Those words—he had said them to Mrs. Moore in the mosque96 in the beginning of the cycle, from which, after so much suffering, he had got free. Never be friends with the English! Mosque, caves, mosque, caves. And here he was starting again. He handed the magic ointment to him. “Take this, think of me when you use it. I shall never want it back. I must give you one little present, and it is all I have got; you are Mrs. Moore’s son.”
“I am that,” he murmured to himself; and a part of Aziz’ mind that had been hidden seemed to move and force its way to the top.
“But you are Heaslop’s brother also, and alas97, the two nations cannot be friends.”
“I know. Not yet.”
“Did your mother speak to you about me?”
“Yes.” And with a swerve98 of voice and body that Aziz did not follow he added, “In her letters, in her letters. She loved you.”
“Yes, your mother was my best friend in all the world.” He was silent, puzzled by his own great gratitude99. What did this eternal goodness of Mrs. Moore amount to? To nothing, if brought to the test of thought. She had not borne witness in his favour, nor visited him in the prison, yet she had stolen to the depths of his heart, and he always adored her. “This is our monsoon33, the best weather,” he said, while the lights of the procession waved as though embroidered100 on an agitated101 curtain. “How I wish she could have seen them, our rains. Now is the time when all things are happy, young and old. They are happy out there with their savage102 noise, though we cannot follow them; the tanks are all full so they dance, and this is India. I wish you were not with officials, then I would show you my country, but I cannot. Perhaps I will just take you out on the water now, for one short half-hour.”
Was the cycle beginning again? His heart was too full to draw back. He must slip out in the darkness, and do this one act of homage103 to Mrs. Moore’s son. He knew where the oars were—hidden to deter104 the visitors from going out—and he brought the second pair, in case they met the other boat; the Fieldings had pushed themselves out with long poles, and might get into difficulties, for the wind was rising.
Once on the water, he became easy. One kind action was with him always a channel for another, and soon the torrent105 of his hospitality gushed106 forth and he began doing the honours of Mau and persuading himself that he understood the wild procession, which increased in lights and sounds as the complications of its ritual developed. There was little need to row, for the freshening gale107 blew them in the direction they desired. Thorns scratched the keel, they ran into an islet and startled some cranes. The strange temporary life of the August flood-water bore them up and seemed as though it would last for ever.
The boat was a rudderless dinghy. Huddled108 up in the stern, with the spare pair of oars in his arms, the guest asked no questions about details. There was presently a flash of lightning, followed by a second flash—little red scratches on the ponderous109 sky. “Was that the Rajah?” he asked.
“What—what do you mean?”
“Row back.”
“But there’s no Rajah—nothing——”
“Row back, you will see what I mean.”
Aziz found it hard work against the advancing wind. But he fixed110 his eyes on the pin of light that marked the Guest House and backed a few strokes.
“There . . .”
Floating in the darkness was a king, who sat under a canopy111, in shining royal robes. . . .
“I can’t tell you what that is, I’m sure,” he whispered. “His Highness is dead. I think we should go back at once.”
They were close to the promontory of the tombs, and had looked straight into the chhatri of the Rajah’s father through an opening in the trees. That was the explanation. He had heard of the image—made to imitate life at enormous expense—but he had never chanced to see it before, though he frequently rowed on the lake. There was only one spot from which it could be seen, and Ralph had directed him to it. Hastily he pulled away, feeling that his companion was not so much a visitor as a guide. He remarked, “Shall we go back now?”
“There is still the procession.”
“I’d rather not go nearer—they have such strange customs, and might hurt you.”
“A little nearer.”
Aziz obeyed. He knew with his heart that this was Mrs. Moore’s son, and indeed until his heart was involved he knew nothing. “Radhakrishna Radhakrishna Radhakrishna Radhakrishna Krishnaradha,” went the chant, then suddenly changed, and in the interstice he heard, almost certainly, the syllables112 of salvation that had sounded during his trial at Chandrapore.
“Mr. Moore, don’t tell anyone that the Rajah is dead. It is a secret still, I am supposed not to say. We pretend he is alive until after the festival, to prevent unhappiness. Do you want to go still nearer?”
“Yes.”
He tried to keep the boat out of the glare of the torches that began to star the other shore. Rockets kept going off, also the guns. Suddenly, closer than he had calculated, the palanquin of Krishna appeared from behind a ruined wall, and descended113 the carven glistening114 water-steps. On either side of it the singers tumbled, a woman prominent, a wild and beautiful young saint with flowers in her hair. She was praising God without attributes—thus did she apprehend115 Him. Others praised Him without attributes, seeing Him in this or that organ of the body or manifestation116 of the sky. Down they rushed to the foreshore and stood in the small waves, and a sacred meal was prepared, of which those who felt worthy117 partook. Old Godbole detected the boat, which was drifting in on the gale, and he waved his arms—whether in wrath118 or joy Aziz never discovered. Above stood the secular119 power of Mau—elephants, artillery120, crowds—and high above them a wild tempest started, confined at first to the upper regions of the air. Gusts121 of wind mixed darkness and light, sheets of rain cut from the north, stopped, cut from the south, began rising from below, and across them struggled the singers, sounding every note but terror, and preparing to throw God away, God Himself, (not that God can be thrown) into the storm. Thus was He thrown year after year, and were others thrown—little images of Ganpati, baskets of ten-day corn, tiny tazias after Mohurram—scapegoats, husks, emblems of passage; a passage not easy, not now, not here, not to be apprehended122 except when it is unattainable; the God to be thrown was an emblem26 of that.
The village of Gokul reappeared upon its tray. It was the substitute for the silver image, which never left its haze123 of flowers; on behalf of another symbol, it was to perish. A servitor took it in his hands, and tore off the blue and white streamers. He was naked, broad-shouldered, thin-waisted—the Indian body again triumphant—and it was his hereditary124 office to close the gates of salvation. He entered the dark waters, pushing the village before him, until the clay dolls slipped off their chairs and began to gutter125 in the rain, and King Kansa was confounded with the father and mother of the Lord. Dark and solid, the little waves sipped126, then a great wave washed and then English voices cried “Take care!”
The boats had collided with each other.
The four outsiders flung out their arms and grappled, and, with oars and poles sticking out, revolved127 like a mythical128 monster in the whirlwind. The worshippers howled with wrath or joy, as they drifted forward helplessly against the servitor. Who awaited them, his beautiful dark face expressionless, and as the last morsels129 melted on his tray, it struck them.
The shock was minute, but Stella, nearest to it, shrank into her husband’s arms, then reached forward, then flung herself against Aziz, and her motions capsized them. They plunged into the warm, shallow water, and rose struggling into a tornado130 of noise. The oars, the sacred tray, the letters of Ronny and Adela, broke loose and floated confusedly. Artillery was fired, drums beaten, the elephants trumpeted131, and drowning all an immense peal132 of thunder, unaccompanied by lightning, cracked like a mallet133 on the dome134.
That was the climax135, as far as India admits of one. The rain settled in steadily136 to its job of wetting everybody and everything through, and soon spoiled the cloth of gold on the palanquin and the costly137 disc-shaped banners. Some of the torches went out, fireworks didn’t catch, there began to be less singing, and the tray returned to Professor Godbole, who picked up a fragment of the mud adhering and smeared138 it on his forehead without much ceremony. Whatever had happened had happened, and while the intruders picked themselves up, the crowds of Hindus began a desultory139 move back into the town. The image went back too, and on the following day underwent a private death of its own, when some curtains of magenta140 and green were lowered in front of the dynastic shrine141. The singing went on even longer . . . ragged142 edges of religion . . . unsatisfactory and undramatic tangles143. . . . “God is love.” Looking back at the great blur of the last twenty-four hours, no man could say where was the emotional centre of it, any more than he could locate the heart of a cloud.
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1
consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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2
troupe
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| n.剧团，戏班；杂技团；马戏团 | |
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meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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5
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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invoked
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| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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culminated
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| v.达到极点( culminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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13
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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purged
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| 清除（政敌等）( purge的过去式和过去分词 )； 涤除（罪恶等）； 净化（心灵、风气等）； 消除（错事等）的不良影响 | |
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rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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ointment
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| n.药膏，油膏，软膏 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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18
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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prow
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| n.(飞机)机头，船头 | |
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protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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22
necessitate
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| v.使成为必要，需要 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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24
pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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sieves
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| 筛，漏勺( sieve的名词复数 ) | |
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26
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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emblems
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| n.象征，标记( emblem的名词复数 ) | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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cohere
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| vt.附着，连贯，一致 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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monsoon
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| n.季雨，季风，大雨 | |
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monsoons
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| n.（南亚、尤指印度洋的）季风( monsoon的名词复数 )；（与季风相伴的）雨季；（南亚地区的）雨季 | |
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35
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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39
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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40
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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41
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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42
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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43
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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44
improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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45
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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46
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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47
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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48
pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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49
seduced
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| 诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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50
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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51
promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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52
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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53
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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54
acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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56
jutted
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| v.（使）突出( jut的过去式和过去分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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57
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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58
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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59
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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60
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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61
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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62
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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63
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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64
ratified
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| v.批准，签认（合约等）( ratify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
mentality
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| n.心理，思想，脑力 | |
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66
grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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67
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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68
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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69
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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70
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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71
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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72
spurt
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| v.喷出；突然进发；突然兴隆 | |
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73
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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74
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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75
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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76
enquire
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| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
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77
prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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78
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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79
impoverished
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| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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80
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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81
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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82
malcontent
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| n.不满者，不平者；adj.抱不平的，不满的 | |
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83
diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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84
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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85
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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87
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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88
exultantly
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| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
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89
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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90
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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91
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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92
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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93
inverting
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| v.使倒置，使反转( invert的现在分词 ) | |
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94
deities
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| n.神，女神( deity的名词复数 )；神祗；神灵；神明 | |
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95
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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96
mosque
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| n.清真寺 | |
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97
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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98
swerve
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| v.突然转向，背离；n．转向，弯曲，背离 | |
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99
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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100
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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101
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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102
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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103
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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104
deter
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| vt.阻止，使不敢，吓住 | |
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105
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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106
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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107
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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108
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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109
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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110
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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111
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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112
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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113
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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114
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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115
apprehend
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| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
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116
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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117
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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118
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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119
secular
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| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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120
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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121
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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122
apprehended
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
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123
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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124
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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125
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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126
sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127
revolved
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
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128
mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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129
morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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130
tornado
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| n.飓风，龙卷风 | |
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131
trumpeted
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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132
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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133
mallet
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| n.槌棒 | |
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134
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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135
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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136
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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137
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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138
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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139
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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140
magenta
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| n..紫红色（的染料）；adj.紫红色的 | |
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141
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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142
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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143
tangles
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| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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