Laurent carefully closed the door behind him, and for a moment or two stood leaning against it, gazing round the apartment in anxiety and embarrassment2.
A clear fire burned on the hearth3, sending large sheets of light dancing on ceiling and walls. The room was thus lit-up by bright vacillating gleams, that in a measure annulled4 the effects of the lamp placed on a table in their midst. Madame Raquin had done her best to convey a coquettish aspect to the apartment. It was one mass of white, and perfumed throughout, as if to serve as a nest for young, fresh love. The good lady, moreover, had taken pleasure in adding a few bits of lace to the bed, and in filling the vases on the chimney-piece with bunches of roses. Gentle warmth and pleasant fragrance5 reigned6 over all, and not a sound broke the silence, save the crackling and little sharp reports of the wood aglow7 on the hearth.
Therese was seated on a low chair to the right of the chimney, staring fixedly8 at the bright flames, with her chin in her hand. She did not turn her head when Laurent entered. Clothed in a petticoat and linen10 night-jacket bordered with lace, she looked snowy white in the bright light of the fire. Her jacket had become disarranged, and part of her rosy11 shoulder appeared, half hidden by a tress of raven12 hair.
Laurent advanced a few paces without speaking, and took off his coat and waistcoat. When he stood in his shirt sleeves, he again looked at Therese, who had not moved, and he seemed to hesitate. Then, perceiving the bit of shoulder, he bent13 down quivering, to press his lips to it. The young woman, abruptly14 turning round, withdrew her shoulder, and in doing so, fixed9 on Laurent such a strange look of repugnance15 and horror, that he shrank back, troubled and ill at ease, as if himself seized with terror and disgust.
Laurent then seated himself opposite Therese, on the other side of the chimney, and they remained thus, silent and motionless, for fully1 five minutes. At times, tongues of reddish flame escaped from the wood, and then the faces of the murderers were touched with fleeting16 gleams of blood.
It was more than a couple of years since the two sweethearts had found themselves shut up alone in this room. They had arranged no love-meetings since the day when Therese had gone to the Rue17 Saint-Victor to convey to Laurent the idea of murder. Prudence18 had kept them apart. Barely had they, at long intervals19, ventured on a pressure of the hand, or a stealthy kiss. After the murder of Camille, they had restrained their passion, awaiting the nuptial20 night. This had at last arrived, and now they remained anxiously face to face, overcome with sudden discomfort21.
They had but to stretch forth22 their arms to clasp one another in a passionate23 embrace, and their arms remained lifeless, as if worn out with fatigue24. The depression they had experienced during the daytime, now oppressed them more and more. They observed one another with timid embarrassment, pained to remain so silent and cold. Their burning dreams ended in a peculiar25 reality: it sufficed that they should have succeeded in killing26 Camille, and have become married, it sufficed that the lips of Laurent should have grazed the shoulder of Therese, for their lust27 to be satisfied to the point of disgust and horror.
In despair, they sought to find within them a little of that passion which formerly28 had devoured29 them. Their frames seemed deprived of muscles and nerves, and their embarrassment and anxiety increased. They felt ashamed of remaining so silent and gloomy face to face with one another. They would have liked to have had the strength to squeeze each other to death, so as not to pass as idiots in their own eyes.
What! they belonged one to the other, they had killed a man, and played an atrocious comedy in order to be able to love in peace, and they sat there, one on either side of a mantelshelf, rigid30, exhausted31, their minds disturbed and their frames lifeless! Such a denouement32 appeared to them horribly and cruelly ridiculous. It was then that Laurent endeavoured to speak of love, to conjure33 up the remembrances of other days, appealing to his imagination for a revival34 of his tenderness.
"Therese," he said, "don't you recall our afternoons in this room? Then I came in by that door, but today I came in by this one. We are free now. We can make love in peace."
He spoke35 in a hesitating, spiritless manner, and the young woman, huddled36 up on her low chair, continued gazing dreamily at the flame without listening. Laurent went on:
"Remember how I used to dream of staying a whole night with you? I dreamed of waking up in the morning to your kisses, now it can come true."
Therese all at once started as though surprised to hear a voice stammering37 in her ears. Turning towards Laurent, on whose countenance38 the fire, at this moment, cast a broad reddish reflection, she gazed at his sanguinary face, and shuddered39.
The young man, more troubled and anxious, resumed:
"We have succeeded, Therese; we have broken through all obstacles, and we belong to one another. The future is ours, is it not? A future of tranquil41 happiness, of satisfied love. Camille is no longer here----"
Laurent ceased speaking. His throat had suddenly become dry, and he was choking, unable to continue. On hearing the name of Camille, Therese received a violent shock. The two murderers contemplated42 one another, stupefied, pale, and trembling. The yellow gleams of light from the fire continued to dance on ceiling and walls, the soft odour of roses lingered in the air, the crackling of the wood broke the silence with short, sharp reports.
Remembrances were abandoned. The spectre of Camille which had been evoked43, came and seated itself between the newly married pair, in front of the flaming fire. Therese and Laurent recognised the cold, damp smell of the drowned man in the warm air they were breathing. They said to themselves that a corpse44 was there, close to them, and they examined one another without daring to move. Then all the terrible story of their crime was unfolded in their memory. The name of their victim sufficed to fill them with thoughts of the past, to compel them to go through all the anguish45 of the murder over again. They did not open their lips, but looked at one another, and both at the same time were troubled with the same nightmare, both with their eyes broached46 the same cruel tale.
This exchange of terrified looks, this mute narration47 they were about to make to themselves of the murder, caused them keen and intolerable apprehension48. The strain on their nerves threatened an attack, they might cry out, perhaps fight. Laurent, to drive away his recollections, violently tore himself from the ecstasy49 of horror that enthralled50 him in the gaze of Therese. He took a few strides in the room; he removed his boots and put on slippers51; then, returning to his former place, he sat down at the chimney corner, and tried to talk on matters of indifference52.
Therese, understanding what he desired, strove to answer his questions. They chatted about the weather, endeavouring to force on a commonplace conversation. Laurent said the room was warm, and Therese replied that, nevertheless, a draught53 came from under the small door on the staircase, and both turned in that direction with a sudden shudder40. The young man hastened to speak about the roses, the fire, about everything he saw before him. The young woman, with an effort, rejoined in monosyllables, so as not to allow the conversation to drop. They had drawn55 back from one another, and were giving themselves easy airs, endeavouring to forget whom they were, treating one another as strangers brought together by chance.
But, in spite of themselves, by a strange phenomenon, whilst they uttered these empty phrases, they mutually guessed the thoughts concealed56 in their banal57 words. Do what they would, they both thought of Camille. Their eyes continued the story of the past. They still maintained by looks a mute discourse58, apart from the conversation they held aloud, which ran haphazard59. The words they cast here and there had no signification, being disconnected and contradictory60; all their intelligence was bent on the silent exchange of their terrifying recollections.
When Laurent spoke of the roses, or of the fire, of one thing or another, Therese was perfectly61 well aware that he was reminding her of the struggle in the skiff, of the dull fall of Camille; and, when Therese answered yes or no to an insignificant62 question, Laurent understood that she said she remembered or did not remember a detail of the crime. They charted it in this manner open-heartedly without needing words, while they spoke aloud of other matters.
Moreover, unconscious of the syllables54 they pronounced, they followed their secret thoughts sentence by sentence; they might abruptly have continued their confidences aloud, without ceasing to understand each other. This sort of divination63, this obstinacy64 of their memory in presenting to themselves without pause, the image of Camille, little by little drove them crazy. They thoroughly65 well perceived that they guessed the thoughts of one another, and that if they did not hold their tongues, the words would rise of themselves to their mouths, to name the drowned man, and describe the murder. Then they closely pinched their lips and ceased their conversation.
In the overwhelming silence that ensued, the two murderers continued to converse66 about their victim. It appeared to them that their eyes mutually penetrated67 their flesh, and buried clear, keen phrases in their bodies. At moments, they fancied they heard themselves speaking aloud. Their senses changed. Sight became a sort of strange and delicate hearing. They so distinctly read their thoughts upon their countenances68, that these thoughts took a peculiarly piercing sound that agitated69 all their organism. They could not have understood one another better, had they shouted in a heartrending voice:
"We have killed Camille, and his corpse is there, extended between us, making our limbs like ice."
And the terrible confidence continued, more manifest, more resounding70, in the calm moist air of the room.
Laurent and Therese had commenced the mute narration from the day of their first interview in the shop. Then the recollections had come one by one in order; they had related their hours of love, their moments of hesitation71 and anger, the terrible incident of the murder. It was then that they pinched their lips, ceasing to talk of one thing and another, in fear lest they should all at once name Camille without desiring to do so.
But their thoughts failing to cease, had then led them into great distress72, into the affrighted period of expectancy73 following the crime. They thus came to think of the corpse of the drowned man extended on a slab74 at the Morgue. Laurent, by a look, told Therese all the horror he had felt, and the latter, driven to extremities75, compelled by a hand of iron to part her lips, abruptly continued the conversation aloud:
"You saw him at the Morgue?" she inquired of Laurent without naming Camille.
Laurent looked as if he expected this question. He had been reading it for a moment on the livid face of the young woman.
"Yes," answered he in a choking voice.
The murderers shivered, and drawing nearer the fire, extended their hands towards the flame as if an icy puff76 of wind had suddenly passed through the warm room. For an instant they maintained silence, coiled up like balls, cowering77 on their chairs. Then Therese, in a hollow voice, resumed:
"Did he seem to have suffered much?"
Laurent could not answer. He made a terrified gesture as if to put aside some hideous78 vision, and rising went towards the bed. Then, returning violently with open arms, he advanced towards Therese.
"Kiss me," said he, extending his neck.
Therese had risen, looking quite pale in her nightdress, and stood half thrown back, with her elbow resting on the marble mantelpiece. She gazed at the neck of her husband. On the white skin she had just caught sight of a pink spot. The rush of blood to the head, increased the size of this spot, turning it bright red.
The young woman threw her head further back, to avoid an embrace, and pressing the tip of her finger on the bite Camille had given her husband, addressed him thus:
"What have you here? I never noticed this wound before."
It seemed to Laurent as if the finger of Therese was boring a hole in his throat. At the contact of this finger, he suddenly started backward, uttering a suppressed cry of pain.
He hesitated, but he could not lie, and in spite of himself, he told the truth.
"That is the bite Camille gave me. You know, in the boat. It is nothing. It has healed. Kiss me, kiss me."
And the wretch81 craned his neck which was burning him. He wanted Therese to kiss the scar, convinced that the lips of this woman would appease82 the thousand pricks83 lacerating his flesh, and with raised chin he presented his extended neck for the embrace. Therese, who was almost lying back on the marble chimney-piece, gave a supreme84 gesture of disgust, and in a supplicating85 voice exclaimed:
"Oh! no, not on that part. There is blood."
She sank down on the low chair, trembling, with her forehead between her hands. Laurent remained where he stood for a moment, looking stupid. Then, all at once, with the clutch of a wild beast, he grasped the head of Therese in his two great hands, and by force brought her lips to the bite he had received from Camille on his neck. For an instant he kept, he crushed, this head of a woman against his skin. Therese had given way, uttering hollow groans86. She was choking on the neck of Laurent. When she had freed herself from his hands, she violently wiped her mouth, and spat87 in the fire. She had not said a word.
Laurent, ashamed of his brutality88, began walking slowly from the bed to the window. Suffering alone--the horrible burn--had made him exact a kiss from Therese, and when her frigid89 lips met the scorching90 scar, he felt the pain more acutely. This kiss obtained by violence had just crushed him. The shock had been so painful, that for nothing in the world would he have received another.
He cast his eyes upon the woman with whom he was to live, and who sat shuddering91, doubled up before the fire, turning her back to him; and he repeated to himself that he no longer loved this woman, and that she no longer loved him.
For nearly an hour Therese maintained her dejected attitude, while Laurent silently walked backward and forward. Both inwardly acknowledged, with terror, that their passion was dead, that they had killed it in killing Camille. The embers on the hearth were gently dying out; a sheet of bright, clear fire shone above the ashes. Little by little, the heat of the room had become stifling92; the flowers were fading, making the thick air sickly, with their heavy odour.
Laurent, all at once, had an hallucination. As he turned round, coming from the window to the bed, he saw Camille in a dark corner, between the chimney and wardrobe. The face of his victim looked greenish and distorted, just as he had seen it on the slab at the Morgue. He remained glued to the carpet, fainting, leaning against a piece of furniture for support. At a hollow rattle93 in his throat, Therese raised her head.
"There, there!" exclaimed Laurent in a terrified tone.
With extended arm, he pointed94 to the dark corner where he perceived the sinister95 face of Camille. Therese, infected by his terror, went and pressed against him.
"It is his portrait," she murmured in an undertone, as if the face of her late husband could hear her.
"His portrait?" repeated Laurent, whose hair stood on end.
"Yes, you know, the painting you did," she replied. "My aunt was to have removed it to her room. No doubt she forgot to take it down."
"Really; his portrait," said he.
The murderer had some difficulty in recognising the canvas. In his trouble he forgot that it was he who had drawn those clashing strokes, who had spread on those dirty tints96 that now terrified him. Terror made him see the picture as it was, vile97, wretchedly put together, muddy, displaying the grimacing98 face of a corpse on a black ground. His own work astonished and crushed him by its atrocious ugliness; particularly the two eyes which seemed floating in soft, yellowish orbits, reminding him exactly of the decomposed99 eyes of the drowned man at the Morgue. For a moment, he remained breathless, thinking Therese was telling an untruth to allay100 his fears. Then he distinguished101 the frame, and little by little became calm.
"Go and take it down," said he in a very low tone to the young woman.
"Oh! no, I'm afraid," she answered with a shiver.
Laurent began to tremble again. At moments the frame of the picture disappeared, and he only saw the two white eyes giving him a long, steady look.
"I beg you to go and unhook it," said he, beseeching102 his companion.
"No, no," she replied.
"We will turn it face to the wall, and then it will not frighten us," he suggested.
"No," said she, "I cannot do it."
The murderer, cowardly and humble103, thrust the young woman towards the canvas, hiding behind her, so as to escape the gaze of the drowned man. But she escaped, and he wanted to brazen104 the matter out. Approaching the picture, he raised his hand in search of the nail, but the portrait gave such a long, crushing, ignoble105 look, that Laurent after seeking to stare it out, found himself vanquished106, and started back overpowered, murmuring as he did so:
"No, you are right, Therese, we cannot do it. Your aunt shall take it down to-morrow."
He resumed his walk up and down, with bowed head, feeling the portrait was staring at him, following him with its eyes. At times, he could not prevent himself casting a side glance at the canvas; and, then, in the depth of the darkness, he still perceived the dull, deadened eyes of the drowned man. The thought that Camille was there, in a corner, watching him, present on his wedding night, examining Therese and himself, ended by driving him mad with terror and despair.
One circumstance, which would have brought a smile to the lips of anyone else, made him completely lose his head. As he stood before the fire, he heard a sort of scratching sound. He turned pale, imagining it came from the portrait, that Camille was descending107 from his frame. Then he discovered that the noise was at the small door opening on the staircase, and he looked at Therese who also showed signs of fear.
"There is someone on the staircase," he murmured. "Who can be coming that way?"
The young woman gave no answer. Both were thinking of the drowned man, and their temples became moist with icy perspiration108. They sought refuge together at the end of the room, expecting to see the door suddenly open, and the corpse of Camille fall on the floor. As the sound continued, but more sharply and irregularly, they thought their victim must be tearing away the wood with his nails to get in. For the space of nearly five minutes, they dared not stir. Finally, a mewing was heard, and Laurent advancing, recognised the tabby cat belonging to Madame Raquin, which had been accidentally shut up in the room, and was endeavouring to get out by clawing at the door.
Francois, frightened by Laurent, sprang upon a chair at a bound. With hair on end and stiffened109 paws, he looked his new master in the face, in a harsh and cruel manner. The young man did not like cats, and Francois almost terrified him. In this moment of excitement and alarm, he imagined the cat was about to fly in his face to avenge110 Camille. He fancied the beast must know everything, that there were thoughts in his strangely dilated111 round eyes. The fixed gaze of the animal caused Laurent to lower his lids. As he was about to give Francois a kick, Therese exclaimed:
"Don't hurt him."
This sentence produced a strange impression on Laurent, and an absurd idea got into his head.
"Camille has entered into this cat," thought he. "I shall have to kill the beast. It looks like a human being."
He refrained from giving the kick, being afraid of hearing Francois speak to him with the voice of Camille. Then he said to himself that this animal knew too much, and that he should have to throw it out of the window. But he had not the pluck to accomplish his design. Francois maintained a fighting attitude. With claws extended, and back curved in sullen112 irritation113, he followed the least movement of his enemy with superb tranquillity114. The metallic115 sparkle of his eyes troubled Laurent, who hastened to open the dining-room door, and the cat fled with a shrill116 mew.
Therese had again seated herself before the extinguished fire. Laurent resumed his walk from bed to window. It was thus that they awaited day-light. They did not think of going to bed; their hearts were thoroughly dead. They had but one, single desire: to leave the room they were in, and where they were choking. They experienced a real discomfort in being shut up together, and in breathing the same atmosphere. They would have liked someone to be there to interrupt their privacy, to drag them from the cruel embarrassment in which they found themselves, sitting one before the other without opening their lips, and unable to resuscitate117 their love. Their long silences tortured them, silence loaded with bitter and despairing complaints, with mute reproaches, which they distinctly heard in the tranquil air.
Day came at last, a dirty, whitish dawn, bringing penetrating118 cold with it. When the room had filled with dim light, Laurent, who was shivering, felt calmer. He looked the portrait of Camille straight in the face, and saw it as it was, commonplace and puerile119. He took it down, and shrugging his shoulders, called himself a fool. Therese had risen from the low chair, and was tumbling the bed about for the purpose of deceiving her aunt, so as to make her believe they had passed a happy night.
"Look here," Laurent brutally120 remarked to her, "I hope we shall sleep well to-night! There must be an end to this sort of childishness."
Therese cast a deep, grave glance at him.
"You understand," he continued. "I did not marry for the purpose of passing sleepless121 nights. We are just like children. It was you who disturbed me with your ghostly airs. To-night you will try to be gay, and not frighten me."
He forced himself to laugh without knowing why he did so.
"I will try," gloomily answered the young woman.
Such was the wedding night of Therese and Laurent.
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1
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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annulled
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| v.宣告无效( annul的过去式和过去分词 )；取消；使消失；抹去 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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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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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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nuptial
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| adj.婚姻的，婚礼的 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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fatigue
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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rigid
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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denouement
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| n.结尾，结局 | |
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conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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revival
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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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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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stammering
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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46
broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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47
narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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48
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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49
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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50
enthralled
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| 迷住，吸引住( enthrall的过去式和过去分词 )； 使感到非常愉快 | |
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51
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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52
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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53
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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54
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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55
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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56
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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57
banal
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| adj.陈腐的，平庸的 | |
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58
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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59
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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60
contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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62
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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63
divination
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| n.占卜，预测 | |
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64
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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66
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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68
countenances
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| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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70
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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71
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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72
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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74
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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75
extremities
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| n.端点( extremity的名词复数 )；尽头；手和足；极窘迫的境地 | |
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76
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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77
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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78
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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79
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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80
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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82
appease
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| v.安抚，缓和，平息，满足 | |
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83
pricks
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| 刺痛( prick的名词复数 )； 刺孔； 刺痕； 植物的刺 | |
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84
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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85
supplicating
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| v.祈求，哀求，恳求( supplicate的现在分词 ) | |
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86
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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87
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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88
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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89
frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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90
scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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91
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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92
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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93
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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95
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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96
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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97
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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98
grimacing
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的现在分词 ) | |
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99
decomposed
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| 已分解的，已腐烂的 | |
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100
allay
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| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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101
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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102
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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103
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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104
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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105
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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106
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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107
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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108
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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109
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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110
avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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111
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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113
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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114
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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115
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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116
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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117
resuscitate
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| v.使复活，使苏醒 | |
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118
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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119
puerile
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| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
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120
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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121
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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