Both windows of the bedroom were wide open, and in the depths below the house, which was perched on the very summit of the hill, lay Paris, rolling away in a mighty1 flat expanse. Ten o'clock struck; the lovely February morning had all the sweetness and perfume of spring.
Helene reclined in an invalid2 chair, reading in front of one of the windows, her knee still in bandages. She suffered no pain; but she had been confined to her room for a week past, unable even to take up her customary needlework. Not knowing what to do, she had opened a book which she had found on the table--she, who indulged in little or no reading at any time. This book was the one she used every night as a shade for the night-lamp, the only volume which she had taken within eighteen months from the small but irreproachable3 library selected by Monsieur Rambaud. Novels usually seemed to her false to life and puerile4; and this one, Sir Walter Scott's "Ivanhoe," had at first wearied her to death. However, a strange curiosity had grown upon her, and she was finishing it, at times affected5 to tears, and at times rather bored, when she would let it slip from her hand for long minutes and gaze fixedly6 at the far-stretching horizon.
That morning Paris awoke from sleep with a smiling indolence. A mass of vapor7, following the valley of the Seine, shrouded8 the two banks from view. This mist was light and milky9, and the sun, gathering10 strength, was slowly tinging11 it with radiance. Nothing of the city was distinguishable through this floating muslin. In the hollows the haze12 thickened and assumed a bluish tint13; while over certain broad expanses delicate transparencies appeared, a golden dust, beneath which you could divine the depths of the streets; and up above domes14 and steeples rent the mist, rearing grey outlines to which clung shreds16 of the haze which they had pierced. At times cloudlets of yellow smoke would, like giant birds, heavy of wing, slowly soar on high, and then mingle17 with the atmosphere which seemed to absorb them. And above all this immensity, this mass of cloud, hanging in slumber18 over Paris, a sky of extreme purity, of a faint and whitening blue, spread out its mighty vault19. The sun was climbing the heavens, scattering20 a spray of soft rays; a pale golden light, akin21 in hue22 to the flaxen tresses of a child, was streaming down like rain, filling the atmosphere with the warm quiver of its sparkle. It was like a festival of the infinite, instinct with sovereign peacefulness and gentle gaiety, whilst the city, chequered with golden beams, still remained lazy and sleepy, unwilling23 to reveal itself by casting off its coverlet of lace.
For eight days it had been Helene's diversion to gaze on that mighty expanse of Paris, and she never wearied of doing so. It was as unfathomable and varying as the ocean--fair in the morning, ruddy with fire at night, borrowing all the joys and sorrows of the heavens reflected in its depths. A flash of sunshine came, and it would roll in waves of gold; a cloud would darken it and raise a tempest. Its aspect was ever changing. A complete calm would fall, and all would assume an orange hue; gusts24 of wind would sweep by from time to time, and turn everything livid; in keen, bright weather there would be a shimmer25 of light on every housetop; whilst when showers fell, blurring26 both heaven and earth, all would be plunged27 in chaotic28 confusion. At her window Helene experienced all the hopes and sorrows that pertain29 to the open sea. As the keen wind blew in her face she imagined it wafted30 a saline fragrance31; even the ceaseless noise of the city seemed to her like that of a surging tide beating against a rocky cliff.
The book fell from her hands. She was dreaming, with a far-away look in her eyes. When she stopped reading thus it was from a desire to linger and understand what she had already perused32. She took a delight in denying her curiosity immediate33 satisfaction. The tale filled her soul with a tempest of emotion. Paris that morning was displaying the same vague joy and sorrow as that which disturbed her heart. In this lay a great charm--to be ignorant, to guess things dimly, to yield to slow initiation34, with the vague thought that her youth was beginning again.
How full of lies were novels! She was assuredly right in not reading them. They were mere35 fables36, good for empty heads with no proper conception of life. Yet she remained entranced, dreaming unceasingly of the knight37 Ivanhoe, loved so passionately39 by two women--Rebecca, the beautiful Jewess, and the noble Lady Rowena. She herself thought she could have loved with the intensity40 and patient serenity41 of the latter maiden42. To love! to love! She did not utter the words, but they thrilled her through and through in the very thought, astonishing her, and irradiating her face with a smile. In the distance some fleecy cloudlets, driven by the breeze, now floated over Paris like a flock of swans. Huge gaps were being cleft43 in the fog; a momentary44 glimpse was given of the left bank, indistinct and clouded, like a city of fairydom seen in a dream; but suddenly a thick curtain of mist swept down, and the fairy city was engulfed45, as though by an inundation46. And then the vapors47, spreading equally over every district, formed, as it were, a beautiful lake, with milky, placid48 waters. There was but one denser49 streak51, indicating the grey, curved course of the Seine. And slowly over those milky, placid waters shadows passed, like vessels52 with pink sails, which the young woman followed with a dreamy gaze. To love! to love! She smiled as her dream sailed on.
However, she again took up her book. She had reached the chapter describing the attack on the castle, wherein Rebecca nurses the wounded Ivanhoe, and recounts to him the incidents of the fight, which she gazes at from a window. Helene felt that she was in the midst of a beautiful falsehood, but roamed through it as through some mythical53 garden, whose trees are laden54 with golden fruit, and where she imbibed55 all sorts of fancies. Then, at the conclusion of the scene, when Rebecca, wrapped in her veil, exhales56 her love beside the sleeping knight, Helene again allowed the book to slip from her hand; her heart was so brimful of emotion that she could read no further.
Heavens! could all those things be true? she asked, as she lay back in her easy-chair, numbed58 by her enforced quiescence59, and gazing on Paris, shrouded and mysterious, beneath the golden sun. The events of her life now arose before her, conjured61 up by the perusal62 of the novel. She saw herself a young girl in the house of her father, Mouret, a hatter at Marseilles. The Rue57 des Petites-Maries was black and dismal63, and the house, with its vat64 of steaming water ready to the hand of the hatter, exhaled65 a rank odor of dampness, even in fine weather. She also saw her mother, who was ever an invalid, and who kissed her with pale lips, without speaking. No gleam of the sun penetrated66 into her little room. Hard work went on around her; only by dint67 of toil68 did her father gain a workingman's competency. That summed up her early life, and till her marriage nothing intervened to break the monotony of days ever the same. One morning, returning from market with her mother, a basketful of vegetables on her arm, she jostled against young Grandjean. Charles turned round and followed them. The love-romance of her life was in this incident. For three months she was always meeting him, while he, bashful and awkward, could not pluck up courage to speak to her. She was sixteen years of age, and a little proud of her lover, who, she knew, belonged to a wealthy family. But she deemed him bad-looking, and often laughed at him, and no thought of him disturbed her sleep in the large, gloomy, damp house. In the end they were married, and this marriage yet filled her with surprise. Charles worshipped her, and would fling himself on the floor to kiss her bare feet. She beamed on him, her smile full of kindness, as she rebuked69 him for such childishness. Then another dull life began. During twelve years no event of sufficient interest had occurred for her to bear in mind. She was very quiet and very happy, tormented70 by no fever either of body or heart; her whole attention being given to the daily cares of a poor household. Charles was still wont71 to kiss her fair white feet, while she showed herself indulgent and motherly towards him. But other feeling she had none. Then there abruptly72 came before her the room in the Hotel du Var, her husband in his coffin73, and her widow's robe hanging over a chair. She had wept that day as on the winter's night when her mother died. Then once more the days glided74 on; for two months with her daughter she had again enjoyed peace and happiness. Heaven! did that sum up everything? What, then, did that book mean when it spoke75 of transcendent loves which illumine one's existence?
While she thus reflected prolonged quivers were darting76 over the sleeping lake of mist on the horizon. Suddenly it seemed to burst, gaps appeared, a rending77 sped from end to end, betokening78 a complete break-up. The sun, ascending79 higher and higher, scattering its rays in glorious triumph, was victoriously80 attacking the mist. Little by little the great lake seemed to dry up, as though some invisible sluice81 were draining the plain. The fog, so dense50 but a moment before, was losing its consistency82 and becoming transparent83, showing all the bright hues84 of the rainbow. On the left bank of the Seine all was of a heavenly blue, deepening into violet over towards the Jardin des Plantes. Upon the right bank a pale pink, flesh-like tint suffused85 the Tuileries district; while away towards Montmartre there was a fiery86 glow, carmine87 flaming amid gold. Then, farther off, the working-men's quarters deepened to a dusty brick-color, changing more and more till all became a slatey, bluish grey. The eye could not yet distinguish the city, which quivered and receded88 like those subaqueous depths divined through the crystalline waves, depths with awful forests of huge plants, swarming89 with horrible things and monsters faintly espied91. However, the watery92 mist was quickly falling. It became at last no more than a fine muslin drapery; and bit by bit this muslin vanished, and Paris took shape and emerged from dreamland.
To love! to love! Why did these words ring in Helene's ears with such sweetness as the darkness of the fog gave way to light? Had she not loved her husband, whom she had tended like a child? But a bitter memory stirred within her--the memory of her dead father, who had hung himself three weeks after his wife's decease in a closet where her gowns still dangled93 from their hooks. There he had gasped94 out his last agony, his body rigid95, and his face buried in a skirt, wrapped round by the clothes which breathed of her whom he had ever worshipped. Then Helene's reverie took a sudden leap. She began thinking of her own home-life, of the month's bills which she had checked with Rosalie that very morning; and she felt proud of the orderly way in which she regulated her household. During more than thirty years she had lived with self-respect and strength of mind. Uprightness alone impassioned her. When she questioned her past, not one hour revealed a sin; in her mind's eye she saw herself ever treading a straight and level path. Truly, the days might slip by; she would walk on peacefully as before, with no impediment in her way. The very thought of this made her stern, and her spirit rose in angry contempt against those lying lives whose apparent heroism96 disturbs the heart. The only true life was her own, following its course amidst such peacefulness. But over Paris there now only hung a thin smoke, a fine, quivering gauze, on the point of floating away; and emotion suddenly took possession of her. To love! to love! everything brought her back to that caressing97 phrase --even the pride born of her virtue98. Her dreaming became so light, she no longer thought, but lay there, steeped in springtide, with moist eyes.
At last, as she was about to resume her reading, Paris slowly came into view. Not a breath of wind had stirred; it was as if a magician had waved his wand. The last gauzy film detached itself, soared and vanished in the air; and the city spread out without a shadow, under the conquering sun. Helene, with her chin resting on her hand, gazed on this mighty awakening99.
A far-stretching valley appeared, with a myriad100 of buildings huddled101 together. Over the distant range of hills were scattered102 close-set roofs, and you could divine that the sea of houses rolled afar off behind the undulating ground, into the fields hidden from sight. It was as the ocean, with all the infinity103 and mystery of its waves. Paris spread out as vast as the heavens on high. Burnished104 with the sunshine that lovely morning, the city looked like a field of yellow corn; and the huge picture was all simplicity105, compounded of two colors only, the pale blue of the sky, and the golden reflections of the housetops. The stream of light from the spring sun invested everything with the beauty of a new birth. So pure was the light that the minutest objects became visible. Paris, with its chaotic maze106 of stonework, shone as though under glass. From time to time, however, a breath of wind passed athwart this bright, quiescent107 serenity; and then the outlines of some districts grew faint, and quivered as if they were being viewed through an invisible flame.
Helene took interest at first in gazing on the large expanse spread under her windows, the slope of the Trocadero, and the far-stretching quays108. She had to lean out to distinguish the deserted109 square of the Champ-de-Mars, barred at the farther end by the sombre Military School. Down below, on thoroughfare and pavement on each side of the Seine, she could see the passers-by--a busy cluster of black dots, moving like a swarm90 of ants. A yellow omnibus shone out like a spark of fire; drays and cabs crossed the bridge, mere child's toys in the distance, with miniature horses like pieces of mechanism110; and amongst others traversing the grassy111 slopes was a servant girl, with a white apron112 which set a bright spot in all the greenery. Then Helene raised her eyes; but the crowd scattered and passed out of sight, and even the vehicles looked like mere grains of sand; there remained naught113 but the gigantic carcass of the city, seemingly untenanted and abandoned, its life limited to the dull trepidation114 by which it was agitated115. There, in the foreground to the left, some red roofs were shining, and the tall chimneys of the Army Bakehouse slowly poured out their smoke; while, on the other side of the river, between the Esplanade and the Champ-de-Mars, a grove116 of lofty elms clustered, like some patch of a park, with bare branches, rounded tops, and young buds already bursting forth117, quite clear to the eye. In the centre of the picture, the Seine spread out and reigned118 between its grey banks, to which rows of casks, steam cranes, and carts drawn119 up in line, gave a seaport120 kind of aspect. Helene's eyes were always turning towards this shining river, on which boats passed to and fro like birds with inky plumage. Her looks involuntarily followed the water's stately course, which, like a silver band, cut Paris atwain. That morning the stream rolled liquid sunlight; no greater resplendency could be seen on the horizon. And the young woman's glance encountered first the Pont des Invalides, next the Pont de la Concorde, and then the Pont Royal. Bridge followed bridge, they appeared to get closer, to rise one above the other like viaducts forming a flight of steps, and pierced with all kinds of arches; while the river, wending its way beneath these airy structures, showed here and there small patches of its blue robe, patches which became narrower and narrower, more and more indistinct. And again did Helene raise her eyes, and over yonder the stream forked amidst a jumble121 of houses; the bridges on either side of the island of La Cite were like mere films stretching from one bank to the other; while the golden towers of Notre-Dame sprang up like boundary-marks of the horizon, beyond which river, buildings, and clumps122 of trees became naught but sparkling sunshine. Then Helene, dazzled, withdrew her gaze from this the triumphant123 heart of Paris, where the whole glory of the city appeared to blaze.
On the right bank, amongst the clustering trees of the Champs-Elysees she saw the crystal buildings of the Palace of Industry glittering with a snowy sheen; farther away, behind the roof of the Madeleine, which looked like a tombstone, towered the vast mass of the Opera House; then there were other edifices124, cupolas and towers, the Vendome Column, the church of Saint-Vincent de Paul, the tower of Saint-Jacques; and nearer in, the massive cube-like pavilions of the new Louvre and the Tuileries, half-hidden by a wood of chestnut125 trees. On the left bank the dome15 of the Invalides shone with gilding126; beyond it the two irregular towers of Saint-Sulpice paled in the bright light; and yet farther in the rear, to the right of the new spires127 of Sainte-Clotilde, the bluish Pantheon, erect128 on a height, its fine colonnade129 showing against the sky, overlooked the city, poised130 in the air, as it were, motionless, with the silken hues of a captive balloon.
Helene's gaze wandered all over Paris. There were hollows, as could be divined by the lines of roofs; the Butte des Moulins surged upward, with waves of old slates131, while the line of the principal boulevards dipped downward like a gutter132, ending in a jumble of houses whose tiles even could no longer be seen. At this early hour the oblique133 sun did not light up the house-fronts looking towards the Trocadero; not a window-pane of these threw back its rays. The skylights on some roofs alone sparkled with the glittering reflex of mica134 amidst the red of the adjacent chimney-pots. The houses were mostly of a sombre grey, warmed by reflected beams; still rays of light were transpiercing certain districts, and long streets, stretching in front of Helene, set streaks135 of sunshine amidst the shade. It was only on the left that the far-spreading horizon, almost perfect in its circular sweep, was broken by the heights of Montmartre and Pere-Lachaise. The details so clearly defined in the foreground, the innumerable denticles of the chimneys, the little black specks136 of the thousands of windows, grew less and less distinct as you gazed farther and farther away, till everything became mingled137 in confusion--the pell-mell of an endless city, whose faubourgs, afar off, looked like shingly138 beaches, steeped in a violet haze under the bright, streaming, vibrating light that fell from the heavens.
Helene was watching the scene with grave interest when Jeanne burst gleefully into the room.
"Oh, mamma! look here!"
The child had a big bunch of wall-flowers in her hand. She told, with some laughter, how she had waylaid139 Rosalie on her return from market to peep into her basket of provisions. To rummage140 in this basket was a great delight to her.
"Look at it, mamma! It lay at the very bottom. Just smell it; what a lovely perfume!"
From the tawny141 flowers, speckled with purple, there came a penetrating142 odor which scented143 the whole room. Then Helene, with a passionate38 movement, drew Jeanne to her breast, while the nosegay fell on her lap. To love! to love! Truly, she loved her child. Was not that intense love which had pervaded144 her life till now sufficient for her wants? It ought to satisfy her; it was so gentle, so tranquil145; no lassitude could put an end to its continuance. Again she pressed her daughter to her, as though to conjure60 away thoughts which threatened to separate them. In the meantime Jeanne surrendered herself to the shower of kisses. Her eyes moist with tears, she turned her delicate neck upwards146 with a coaxing147 gesture, and pressed her face against her mother's shoulder. Then she slipped an arm round her waist and thus remained, very demure148, her cheek resting on Helene's bosom149. The perfume of the wall-flowers ascended150 between them.
For a long time they did not speak; but at length, without moving, Jeanne asked in a whisper:
"Mamma, you see that rosy-colored dome down there, close to the river; what is it?"
It was the dome of the Institute, and Helene looked towards it for a moment as though trying to recall the name.
"I don't know, my love," she answered gently.
The child appeared content with this reply, and silence again fell. But soon she asked a second question.
"And there, quite near, what beautiful trees are those?" she said, pointing with her finger towards a corner of the Tuileries garden.
"Those beautiful trees!" said her mother. "On the left, do you mean? I don't know, my love."
"Ah!" exclaimed Jeanne; and after musing151 for a little while she added with a pout152: "We know nothing!"
Indeed they knew nothing of Paris. During eighteen months it had lain beneath their gaze every hour of the day, yet they knew not a stone of it. Three times only had they gone down into the city; but on returning home, suffering from terrible headaches born of all the agitation153 they had witnessed, they could find in their minds no distinct memory of anything in all that huge maze of streets.
However, Jeanne at times proved obstinate154. "Ah! you can tell me this!" said she: "What is that glass building which glitters there? It is so big you must know it."
She was referring to the Palais de l'Industrie. Helene, however, hesitated.
"It's a railway station," said she. "No, I'm wrong, I think it is a theatre."
Then she smiled and kissed Jeanne's hair, at last confessing as before: "I do not know what it is, my love."
So they continued to gaze on Paris, troubling no further to identify any part of it. It was very delightful155 to have it there before them, and yet to know nothing of it; it remained the vast and the unknown. It was as though they had halted on the threshold of a world which ever unrolled its panorama156 before them, but into which they were unwilling to descend157. Paris often made them anxious when it wafted them a hot, disturbing atmosphere; but that morning it seemed gay and innocent, like a child, and from its mysterious depths only a breath of tenderness rose gently to their faces.
Helene took up her book again while Jeanne, clinging to her, still gazed upon the scene. In the dazzling, tranquil sky no breeze was stirring. The smoke from the Army Bakehouse ascended perpendicularly158 in light cloudlets which vanished far aloft. On a level with the houses passed vibrating waves of life, waves of all the life pent up there. The loud voices of the streets softened159 amidst the sunshine into a languid murmur160. But all at once a flutter attracted Jeanne's notice. A flock of white pigeons, freed from some adjacent dovecot, sped through the air in front of the window; with spreading wings like falling snow, the birds barred the line of view, hiding the immensity of Paris.
With eyes again dreamily gazing upward, Helene remained plunged in reverie. She was the Lady Rowena; she loved with the serenity and intensity of a noble mind. That spring morning, that great, gentle city, those early wall-flowers shedding their perfume on her lap, had little by little filled her heart with tenderness.
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1
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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puerile
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| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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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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vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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tinging
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的现在分词 ) | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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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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shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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blurring
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| n.模糊，斑点甚多，（图像的）混乱v.（使）变模糊( blur的现在分词 )；（使）难以区分 | |
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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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chaotic
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| adj.混沌的，一片混乱的，一团糟的 | |
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pertain
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| v.(to)附属，从属；关于；有关；适合，相称 | |
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wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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perused
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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initiation
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| n.开始 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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fables
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| n.寓言( fable的名词复数 )；神话，传说 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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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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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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41
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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42
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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43
cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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44
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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45
engulfed
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| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
inundation
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| n.the act or fact of overflowing | |
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47
vapors
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| n.水汽，水蒸气，无实质之物( vapor的名词复数 )；自夸者；幻想 [药]吸入剂 [古]忧郁（症）v.自夸，（使）蒸发( vapor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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48
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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49
denser
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| adj. 不易看透的, 密集的, 浓厚的, 愚钝的 | |
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50
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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51
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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52
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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53
mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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54
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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55
imbibed
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| v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
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56
exhales
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的第三人称单数 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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57
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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58
numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
quiescence
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| n.静止 | |
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60
conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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61
conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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62
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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63
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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64
vat
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| n.(=value added tax)增值税，大桶 | |
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65
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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66
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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67
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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68
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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69
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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71
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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72
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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73
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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74
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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75
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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76
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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77
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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78
betokening
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的现在分词 ) | |
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79
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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80
victoriously
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| adv.获胜地，胜利地 | |
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81
sluice
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| n.水闸 | |
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82
consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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83
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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84
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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85
suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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87
carmine
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| n.深红色，洋红色 | |
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88
receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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89
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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90
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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91
espied
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| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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93
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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94
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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95
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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96
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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97
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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98
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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99
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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100
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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101
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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102
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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103
infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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104
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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105
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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106
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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107
quiescent
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| adj.静止的，不活动的，寂静的 | |
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108
quays
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| 码头( quay的名词复数 ) | |
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109
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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110
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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111
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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112
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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113
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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114
trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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115
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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116
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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117
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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118
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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119
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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120
seaport
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| n.海港，港口，港市 | |
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121
jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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122
clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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123
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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124
edifices
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| n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
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125
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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126
gilding
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| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
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127
spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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128
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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129
colonnade
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| n.柱廊 | |
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130
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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131
slates
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| （旧时学生用以写字的）石板( slate的名词复数 )； 板岩； 石板瓦； 石板色 | |
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132
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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133
oblique
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| adj.斜的，倾斜的，无诚意的，不坦率的 | |
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134
mica
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| n.云母 | |
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135
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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136
specks
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| n.眼镜；斑点，微粒，污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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137
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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138
shingly
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| adj.小石子多的 | |
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139
waylaid
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| v.拦截，拦路( waylay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
rummage
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| v./n.翻寻，仔细检查 | |
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141
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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142
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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143
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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144
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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145
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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146
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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147
coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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148
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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149
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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150
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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151
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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152
pout
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| v.撅嘴；绷脸；n.撅嘴；生气，不高兴 | |
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153
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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154
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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155
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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156
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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157
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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158
perpendicularly
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| adv. 垂直地, 笔直地, 纵向地 | |
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159
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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160
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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